Cleo had been right about crying, too. Crying did no good. Mama cried and cried until Sarah wanted to cover her ears and never hear her again. All Mama’s crying never changed anything.
When the other children mocked Sarah and called her mother names, she looked at them and said nothing. What they said was true; you couldn’t argue with it. When she felt the tears coming up, building like a great hard pressure inside her, hot, so hot she thought they would burn, she swallowed them down deeper and deeper until they became a hard little stone in her chest. She learned to look back at her tormentors and smile with cold arrogance and disdain. She learned to pretend nothing they said could touch her. And sometimes she convinced herself nothing did.
The winter Sarah was eight, Mama became ill. She didn’t want a doctor. She said all she needed was rest. But she kept getting worse, her breathing more labored. “Take care of my little girl, Rab,” Mama said. She smiled the way she had long ago.
She died in the morning, the first sunlight of spring on her face and her rosary beads in her dead-white hands. Rab wept violently, but Sarah had no tears. The heaviness inside her seemed almost too great to bear. When Rab went out for a while, she lay down beside Mama and put her arms around her.
Mama was so cold and stiff. Sarah wanted to warm her. Sarah’s eyes felt gritty and hot. She closed them and whispered over and over, “Wake up, Mama. Wake up. Please, wake up.” When she didn’t, Sarah couldn’t stop the tears. “I want to go with you. Take me, too. God, please, I want to go with my mama.” She wept until exhaustion overtook her and only awakened when Rab lifted her away from the bed. Men were with him.
Sarah saw they meant to handle Mama and she screamed at them to leave her alone. Rab held her tight, almost smothering her in his foul-smelling shirt, while the others began wrapping Mama in a sheet. Sarah went silent when she saw what they had done. Rab let her go, and she sat down hard on the floor and didn’t move.
The men talked as though she weren’t there. Maybe she wasn’t anymore. Maybe she was different, the way Mama once said.
“I bet Mae was real pretty once,” one said as he began sewing the shroud closed over Mama’s face.
“She’s better off dead,” Rab said, crying again. “At least now she’s not unhappy. She’s free.”
Free, Sarah thought. Free of me. If I hadn’t been born, Mama would live in a nice cottage in the country with flowers all around. Mama would be happy. Mama would be alive.
“Wait a minute,” said one, and pried the rosary from Mama’s fingers and dropped it in Sarah’s lap. “I bet she woulda wanted you to have that, honey.” He finished the stitching while Sarah ran the beads through her cold fingers and stared at nothing.
They all went away, Mama with them. Sarah sat alone for a long time wondering if Rab would keep his promise to take care of her. When night came and he didn’t come back, Sarah went down to the docks and flung the rosary into a garbage scow. “What good are you?” she cried out to the heavens.
No answer came.
She remembered Mama’s going to the big church and talking to the man in black. He talked a long time, and Mama had listened, her head bowed, tears running down her cheeks. Mama never went back, but sometimes she would still sift the beads through her slender fingers while the rain spat on the window.
“What good are you?!” Sarah screamed again. “Tell me!” A sailor looked at her oddly as he passed by.
Rab didn’t come back for two days and when he did, he was so drunk he didn’t remember who she was. She sat cross-legged with her back to the fire, looking at him. He was maudlin, sloppy tears running down his bearded cheeks. Every time he raised the half-empty bottle by its neck, she watched his Adam’s apple bob. After a while, he fell over and snored, the rest of the whiskey running through the cracks in the floor. Sarah put the blanket over him and sat beside him. “It’s all right, Rab. I’ll take care of you now.” She couldn’t do it the way Mama did, but she would find some way.
Rain drummed against the window. She put out her tin cans and blocked her mind to everything but the sound of the drops plinking into them, making music in the cold, dull room.
She was glad, she told herself, really glad. No one would come knocking at the door. No one would bother them anymore.
Rab was guilt-ridden in the morning. He cried again. “I gotta keep my promise to Mae, else she won’t rest in peace.” He held his head in his hands and peered at her with bloodshot, sad eyes. “What am I going to do with you, kid? I need a drink. Bad.” He looked in the cupboards and found nothing but a can of beans. He opened them and ate half, leaving the rest for her. “I’m going out awhile and think things through. Gotta talk to a few friends. Maybe they can help.”
Sarah lay on the bed and pressed Mama’s pillow against her face, comforting herself with the lingering scent of her mother. She waited for Rab to come back. As the hours passed, the trembling started deep inside her.
It was cold; snow was falling. She lit the fire and ate the beans. Shivering, she dragged a blanket from the bed and wrapped herself in it. She sat as close to the grate as she could.
The sun was going down, and the silence was like death. Everything slowed inside her and she thought if she closed her eyes and relaxed, she could stop breathing and die. She tried to concentrate on that, but she heard a man’s voice, talking and excited. It was Rab.
“You’ll be pleased. I swear. She’s a good kid. Looks like Mae. Pretty. Real pretty. And smart.”
She was relieved when he opened the door. He wasn’t drunk, just lightly in his cups, his eyes bright and merry. He was smiling for the first time in weeks. “Everything’s going to be fine now, kid,” he said and brought another man into the shack with him.
The stranger was built like the stevedores on the pier, and his eyes were hard. He looked at her and she drew back. “Stand up,” Rab said, helping her. “This gent’s come to meet you. He works for a man who wants to adopt a little girl.”
Sarah didn’t know what Rab was talking about, but she knew she didn’t like the man who had come with him. He came toward her, and she tried to move behind Rab, but Rab held her in front of him. The stranger cupped her chin and lifted her face, turning it from side to side to study her. When he let go, he took up a handful of her blonde hair and rubbed it between his fingers.
“Nice,” he said and smiled. “Real nice. He’ll like this one.”
Her heart drummed wildly. She looked up at Rab, but he sensed nothing wrong.
“She looks like her mother,” Rab said, his voice breaking.
“She’s thin and dirty.”
“We’re poor,” Rab said piteously.
Taking some bills from his pocket, the man peeled off two and handed them to Rab. “Clean her up and get her some decent clothes. Then bring her here.” He gave him an address and left.
Rab whooped. “Things’re lookin’ up for you, kid,” he said, grinning. “Didn’t I promise your mama I’d take good care of you?” He took her hand and walked her quickly to another shack several blocks away. A woman in a thin wrapper answered his knock. Her curly brown hair fell about her pale shoulders and she had circles beneath her hazel eyes.
“I need your help, Stella.” After he explained all, she frowned and chewed on her lower lip.
“You sure about this, Rab? You weren’t just drunk, were you? It don’t sound right somehow. Didn’t he give a name or nothin’?”
“I didn’t ask him, but I know who he works for. Radley told me. The gent who wants to adopt her is rich as Midas and way up in government.”
“Then why’s he looking on the docks for a daughter?”
“It don’t matter, does it? It’s the best chance she’s got, and I promised Mae.” His voice trembled with tears.
Stella looked at him sadly. “Don’t cry, Rab. I’ll fix the kid up real pretty. You go get yourself a drink and come back later. She’ll be all ready for you.” He went, and Stella rummaged through her wardrobe until she found something soft and pink.
“I’ll be right back,” she said and took a bucket to get water. When she came back, she warmed some in a pot. “Now, you wash good. No man wants a dirty girl.” Sarah did what she was told, fear growing in her belly.
Stella washed her hair with the rest of the water. “You’ve the prettiest hair I ever did see. It’s just like sunshine. And you’ve got pretty blue eyes, too.”
The woman altered the pink shirtwaist and braided Sarah’s hair with blue ribbons. Sarah remembered Mama doing the same thing when they lived at the country cottage. Or had she dreamed that time? Stella put pink paint on Sarah’s cold cheeks and lips and rubbed it in gently. “You’re so pale. Don’t be scared, sweetie. Who’d hurt a pretty little angel like you?”
Rab came back the next day, drunk and no coins jingling in his pocket. His eyes were wide, blank, and full of confused pain. “Hello, kid. I guess this is it, huh?”
She hugged him tightly. “Don’t send me away, Rab. Keep me with you. You be my father.”
“Yeah? And what am I going to do with a kid, huh?” He pried her loose and looked down at her with a sad smile. “I got enough problems.”
“You won’t have to do anything. I can take care of myself. I can take care of you.”
“How you gonna do that? You ain’t old enough to do nothing worth money. You going to steal like me? No. You move in with Money-Pockets and have the good life. Now, come on.”
They walked a long time. It was getting dark. Sarah was afraid of the shadows and clung tightly to Rab’s hand. They passed saloons filled with loud music and shouting and singing. They went down streets lined with houses, big fancy houses, the likes of which she had never seen before. The lit windows looked like great glowing eyes following her every movement. She didn’t belong, and they knew it and wanted her gone. Shivering, Sarah hung close to Rab’s side as he asked men directions, showing them the slip of wrinkled paper.
Sarah’s legs ached and her stomach growled. Rab stopped and looked up at the big house flanked by others that were similar. “Ain’t this a grand place!” He stared in awe.
No flowers. Stone. Cold. Dark. Sarah was too exhausted to care and sat down on the bottom step, miserable, wishing she were back in the shack by the docks with the smell of the sea drifting in on the tide.
“Come on, kid. Couple more steps and you’re home,” Rab said, pulling her up. She stared fearfully at the huge brass lion head that was on the door. Rab took the ring that was held in its bared fangs and banged it against the door. “Fancy,” he said.
A man in a dark suit opened the door and gave Rab a derisive lookover. Rab handed him the paper before he could close the door in his face. The man studied it, then opened the door wide enough for them to enter. “This way,” he said coolly.
Inside it was warm and smelled sweet. A wide room opened before Sarah, and in it lay a glorious flowered carpet on a shining wood floor. Above were sparkling jewel lights. She had never seen anything so fine. Heaven must be something like this, she thought wonderingly.
A red-haired woman with dark eyes and a full, red mouth came to greet them. She was wearing a beautiful black dress with jet beads winking over her shoulders and full breasts. She looked down at Sarah and frowned slightly. Her eyes flashed at Rab and then met Sarah’s again more gently. She bent and extended her hand. “My name is Sally. What’s yours, honey?”
Sarah just looked at her and drew back behind Rab.
“She’s shy,” Rab said apologetically. “Don’t mind her.”
Sally straightened and looked at him with hard eyes. “You sure you know what you’re doing, mister?”
“Sure, I know. This is some place you got here, ma’am. Nothing like the dump we’ve been living in.”
“Up the stairs to your right,” Sally said in a dull voice. “First door on the left. Wait there.” She reached out before Rab took two steps and stopped him. “Unless you’re smart and take my advice. Leave now. Take her home.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“You won’t see her again after tonight.”
He shrugged. “She ain’t mine anyway. Is he here? The big man, I mean.”
“He will be shortly, and you’ll keep your mouth shut if you’ve any sense in your head.”
Rab headed for the stairs. Sarah wanted to run back out the door, but he had a firm hold on her hand. She looked back and saw the woman in black watching her. She had a pained look on her face.
Everything in the upstairs room was big: the mahogany highboy, the red brick fireplace, the teak desk, the brass bed. A white marble washstand stood in the corner, along with a brass towel rack polished so fine it looked like real gold. All the lamps had jeweled tassels, and the drapes on the windows were bloodred. They were closed tightly so no one could see in. Or out.
“Sit over there and rest, kid,” Rab said, patting her back and pointing toward a wing chair. It was exactly like the one Mama used to sit in at the country cottage. Sarah’s heart suddenly started to race. Could it be the same one?
What if her father had been sorry? What if he had been looking for Mama and her all this time and had found out where she was and what had happened? What if he was sorry about all the awful things he had said and wanted her after all? Her heart beat faster and faster as hope and dreams built of desperation and fear filled her.
Rab went to a table near the window. “Will you look at this.” He ran his fingers lovingly over a set of crystal bottles. He took the stopper out of one and sniffed the amber fluid inside. “Oh, my…” With a sigh, he brought it to his lips and tipped it. Gulping half of what was inside, he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Closest I’ll ever get to heaven.” He took the stopper from another and poured a little into the one from which he had drunk. He held them up to see if they were even again, then put them down carefully and fitted the stoppers in place.
He opened the armoire and went through it, tucking something in his pocket. Then he went to the desk and went through it as well, tucking more things into his pockets.
Sarah heard faint laughter. Her eyes were heavy and she rested her head against the wing of the chair. When would her father come? Rab went back to the glass bottles and drank from another two.
“Enjoying my brandy?” came a deep, low voice.
Sarah glanced up in surprise. She stared, her heart sinking. It wasn’t her father at all. It was a tall, dark stranger. His eyes glittered, and she thought she had never seen a face so cold, nor so handsome. He was dressed all in black and wore a shiny hat.
Rab shoved a stopper back into the crystal decanter and put it back on the silver tray. “Haven’t had anything so fine in a long time,” he said. Sarah noticed how his face paled as the man stared at him with those strange eyes. Rab cleared his throat and shifted. He seemed nervous.
The man took off his hat and placed it on the desk. Then he took off his gloves and dropped them into it.
Sarah was so fascinated by the man that she failed at first to notice the other man standing just behind him. She blinked in surprise. It was the same man who had come to the docks and looked her over. She pressed back against the chair. The second man was watching Rab, and his eyes reminded her of the rats in the alley behind the shack. She looked at the fine gentleman and found him looking at her with a faint smile. But somehow that smile didn’t make her feel better. It made her insides shiver. Why was he looking at her like that, as though he were hungry and she was something he wanted to eat?
“What’s her name?” he asked without taking his eyes from her.
Rab’s mouth opened slightly and he looked dumbfounded. “I dunno.” He gave an uneasy, befuddled laugh, clearly drunk.
“What did her mother call her?” the man said dryly.
“‘Darlin’… but you can call her whatever you like.”
The man gave a short, humorless laugh and dismissed Rab with a contemptuous glance. He studied Sarah carefully. She was scared, so scared she couldn’t move when he walked toward her. He smiled again when he
stopped, his eyes shining oddly. He took a wad of bills from his pants pocket and removed a gold clip. He counted out several and held them out to Rab without even looking at him.
Rab took them eagerly, counting them again before he stuffed them into his pocket. “Thank you, sir. Oh, my, when old Radley told me it was you lookin’ for a daughter, I couldn’t believe the kid’s luck. And she ain’t had much in her life, I can tell you.” He rattled on, saying the gentleman’s name twice, too drunk and too stupid to see the change in the man’s face.
But Sarah saw.
He was furious, but more than that. He looked…Sarah shivered again. She wasn’t sure how he looked, but it wasn’t good. She glanced at Rab, feeling panic build inside her again. He rambled on, trying to flatter and cajole the man standing before her, not even noticing the subtle signal being passed from the gentleman to the man behind Rab. A scream tore at Sarah’s throat, but it didn’t come out. It couldn’t. Her voice was as frozen in terror as the rest of her. She watched in horror as Rab kept talking. He didn’t stop until the black cord was looped around his neck. His eyes bugged. Choking, he clawed at his neck, drawing his own blood with his dirty fingernails.
Sarah bolted from her chair and ran to the door. She twisted and pulled at the knob trying to escape, but the door wouldn’t open. She heard Rab strangling, his feet kicking and scraping as he struggled. She pounded her fists on the wood and screamed.
A hard hand clamped over her mouth and yanked her away from the door. She kicked and bit and fought—and gained absolutely nothing. The man’s body was stone, and he caught hold of her arms and held them pinned painfully tight with one hand while the other clamped harder over her mouth.
Rab was silent.
“Carry him out of here,” the man holding her said, and she got a glimpse of Rab on the floor, the black cord still around his neck, his face grotesquely distorted. The man who had come to the shack unloosed the cord and slipped it back into his pocket. Pulling Rab up, he draped him over his shoulder.
Francine Rivers Page 4