He wanted to tell Miss Sassy she was safe, that he would protect her. But he couldn’t do that. To come out of the shadows would be suicide. There were many in this camp who would take pleasure in killing one of his kind. As he watched, he smiled at her reaction. He could tell from her body language she was fighting back. She may be a woman, but she had the heart of a lion.
He shrunk back in the shadows as the man stormed off. Whatever Miss Sassy had said, the man was angry and dangerous. His eyes narrowed as he spotted the glint of tears in her eyes. She would need closer watching. He wished he could just pick her up and take her home, but life wasn’t that easy. For one thing, from what he had been told, she would fight him every step of the way. He must move slowly.
He waited until the older woman had left and it was time for Miss Sassy to go home. He moved quietly, too quietly, making her jump in fright when he reached her.
“Please do not scream. My name is Bear and I come in peace.”
“What do you want?” Sarah asked, hugging the wall of the store behind her, no doubt wishing she were on the other side.
“I watched you work hard all day with no food. I brought you this.” Bear handed her a parcel. “You must stay strong and healthy.”
“Thank you, but…I don’t know you. Why would you help me?”
“I do not like the man who treats you bad. But I must go for now. I will come back.”
And he was gone.
* * *
Sarah’s heart had only just started beating normally again and then he was gone. Who was he? Why was he really here? She looked around where he had vanished. Only his scent lingered, making her think of Walking Tall and the other Indians she’d known as a child. Those thoughts led to Almanzo, the boy who had been like a brother to her. He probably hated her though, for running out on the family. He had been no fan of Edwin either.
She clutched the package to her side as she walked back to her lodgings at Mulligan’s store. It wasn’t as big as the Newland’s store back home in Portland, and the Mulligans were nowhere near as nice as the Newlands. Mr. Mulligan considered himself a religious man. But his version of religion was alien to Sarah. It involved a God who seemed to hate everyone and everything. He insisted his wife wear what he considered to be modest clothes. This included having her head covered at all times. Sarah smiled at the thought that homely Mrs. Mulligan was going to set any man’s blood racing, but then wiped the smile from her face. Who was she to judge anyone? She wasn’t one of their religious group, yet they had offered her shelter. She should count her blessings.
Opening the door to the side of the main storefront, she went inside quickly, locking the door behind her. Here she felt safe. Her home. A small room at the back of the store. The owners let her stay for a very low rent. They lived upstairs but they wanted someone to sleep downstairs to discourage looters.
She sat at her small table and opened up her package. With wonder she smelled the nuts and fruit the Indian had given her. Immediately her mind was full of memories of the trail. Her family had traveled to Oregon by wagon train. Her ma and brothers had died from illness, so it was left to Uncle Rick and some of the other wagon train members to look after her and Carrie, her sister. Jo was one of the women who helped. She had fallen in love with Uncle Rick and the two married and had practically adopted the girls.
While on the trail, the Indians had often given them food to eat in exchange for Jo’s help with medical things. Scott, their wagon Trail master, had grown up with the Indians so they were friendly to him and his charges. Sarah closed her eyes, inhaling the different scents of the feast in front of her. She pictured the Indian man. He was much taller than her and had wonderful black eyes filled with kindness. Tears fell freely down her face as she ate his gift. He’d been the first person to show her real kindness in a long time and she didn’t even know where he was from. Only his name. Later as she lay in her bed, waiting for sleep, she wondered if she would see him again. It would be nice to have a friend.
Chapter 4
Portland, Oregon
Tilly pulled up outside Newland’s store. She had been practicing her baking and wanted Mrs. Newland to be her first victim. She didn’t trust Almanzo’s reaction. If she served her husband fried boots, he was bound to say they were delicious.
“Good morning, Tilly. You’re in town early.”
“I thought you might like some cookies with your morning coffee,” Tilly said, smiling at the older woman. Her smile widened as she saw the look of horror cross Mrs. Newland’s face before it was replaced with acceptance. “I promise I have improved lots. Though, I am not quite at Bridget’s standard yet.” Bridget had been coaching her when she had time, but Tilly thought it would be years before she would be as good at cooking as Jo’s Irish housekeeper.
“Nobody can bake cookies like Bridget dear. Jo and Rick were lucky when she came to live with them. Come inside and let me put the coffee on. I’m dying to hear all your news.”
Tilly walked into the store, saying a quick hello to Mr. Newland before following his wife up the stairs into their private quarters. Fiona still lived there but she was already at work helping the doctor at his office. Her experiences at the orphanage meant she had experience and patience with children, which was something Dr. White was extremely grateful for.
“It sure is quiet around here since you moved out, Tilly,” Mrs. Newland commented as she set the table with cups and plates. Tilly put the basket down. Taking off her shawl she hung it on the peg at the back of the door.
“I hope that isn't your way of telling me I was noisy, Mrs. Newland?” She loved teasing the older woman and watching her face turn pink. Mrs. Newland was one of the kindest women Tilly knew and she was proud to call her a friend.
“So tell me, how is Jo doing? We never see her in town but I suppose that is because of the pregnancy. Has she heard anything from Sarah?”
Tilly’s smile dropped at the mention of Jo’s adopted daughter. Rick’s own niece and she probably didn’t know her uncle was dead. Almanzo said Jo and Rick had treated Sarah like a daughter since her ma had died on the Oregon Trail. “No, nothing from Sarah. We have no idea whether she knows about Rick or not. Carrie wrote to her, but she hasn’t even answered her sister. Carrie says she won’t have anything to do with her but I suspect if Sarah did turn up, Carrie would welcome her with open arms.” Tilly had seen Carrie’s red-rimmed eyes even as she denied missing her big sister.
“Almanzo too, although he is likely to give her a stern talking to. They were very close on the trail up here. I thought sometimes they were going to end up married,” Mrs. Newland stopped and blushed. “Sorry Tilly, I didn’t mean any offense.”
“None taken Mrs. Newland. I know she and Almanzo were close but I think she always thought of him as a brother. He doesn’t say much about her, although I know he was hurt when she ran off.”
“And Jo? How is she?” Mrs. Newland asked, changing the subject.
“She’s not doing too well. I mean the pregnancy isn’t making her ill, but she just seems so sad all the time.” Tilly frowned, thinking of the woman who was like a mother to her. Almanzo’s adopted mother for all intents and purposes. “Della is very worried about her. It’s like she is an empty shell. She’s there, but not there. If that makes sense. She looks after the twins and Carrie but she never smiles or laughs. She said the light of her life went out when Rick died.”
“Poor Jo. I was ever so fond of Rick. He was a lovely man, always had time to help a friend or neighbor. He was a great teacher too. Strict but fair. That new man can’t seem to keep the children under control. The number of complaints we hear from the parents. If I charged them a dollar for every moan, I could retire a rich lady.”
“Retire? You? Never. Portland wouldn’t be the same without Newlands,” Tilly said.
“You’re too kind, dear. So tell me, what can I do to help Jo?”
“I don’t know Mrs. Newland. I don’t know anyone who lost someone they loved as much as
Jo loved Rick.”
“What does Almanzo say?” asked Mrs. Newland as she poured the boiling water into the coffee.
“You know what men are like. He thinks she’ll get over it in time. Not that he doesn’t miss Rick, of course, he does. But he says with time, the pain becomes more bearable.”
“Perhaps but only when one deals with that pain. I will speak to the Reverend. He may be able to help.” Mrs. Newland placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of them both and then sat down. She reached for a cookie, the look on her face like someone facing the gallows.
“They’re nice this time. I promise. They won’t break your teeth.”
Mrs. Newland smiled, although whether at the joke or with relief Tilly wasn’t sure. She couldn’t blame the woman. The last time she baked cookies, they had been so hard you could dent a wall if you threw one at it.
Mrs. Newland took a hesitant bite before beaming. “Tilly, these are good. In fact, I will have to save some for Mr. Newland. He loves dunking a cookie in his coffee, although he swears he doesn’t do that.”
Tilly smiled at the praise. At least she had gotten to grips with one task. The sheer volume of work involved with being a homesteader had surprised her. She was a hard worker, but everything was so new to her.
“You look tired dear. Are you working too hard?”
“Oh Mrs. Newland, it never stops, does it? By the time I have all the chores done, I have to start over again. Why can’t a house stay clean? It's not like we have a dozen children running around making it messy. There’s only Almanzo and me.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself Tilly. You had to learn from scratch. Most women who farm out here were born to it. You, well you were born into a different kind of life altogether.”
“I know, but we’ve been married almost eight months and I still burn the bread or singe his shirts. He must be sick of me.”
“Dear now, don’t be getting yourself into a state. He’s not sick of you. Anyone with eyes in their head knows your husband adores you. Quite right too. You’re a lovely young woman with a heart of gold. You must stop being so hard on yourself. And you should learn to accept help when it’s offered.” Mrs. Newland stopped to take a drink. “Bridget was only saying the other day how much better you were managing.”
“I don’t know how I will get on if he has to go away,” Tilly’s sentence stopped mid-sob. Mortified at giving into her emotions, she stumbled through an apology but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, her tears flowed.
“There now darling, let them fall. You aren't the first to shed tears over the situation our beloved country has gotten itself into and you won't be the last. We can only pray it doesn’t come to war. If it does, we will pray the men get their heads straight and it ends as soon as it starts.”
“I'm sorry Mrs. Newland. I shouldn't have come here dragging my sorrows to you.”
“You absolutely should. Who else are you going to talk to? Poor Jo has enough to deal with. She doesn't want to think about Almanzo or her brother Stephen going off to fight. Della can't bear to speak of it. The Thompsons were always a close family and Rick's death brought them even closer. You need to speak to someone who is outside that circle.”
“Do you really believe there will be a war? Can’t they do something to stop it?”
Mrs. Newland looked at her sadly. “I guess they could if they really wanted to, but I figure the mess has become too big for one man to solve.”
Tilly decided it was time to change the subject. “Are you and Mr. Newland coming to our house on Sunday after church? All the family will be there, Blacky and Fiona too.”
“Are you sure we wouldn’t be intruding?”
“Don’t be silly. We want you with us. Just don’t bring Mrs. Morgan with you.”
Mrs. Newland gave Tilly a look. “The day I take that woman anywhere, the pigs will fly by your window.”
Tilly jumped up and kissed Mrs. Newland on the cheek. “I’ve got to get back and start getting ready.”
“But it’s only Tuesday.”
“Yes, but there is so much to do. I have to cook and clean and make sure….”
Mrs. Newland burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“Tilly, you don’t have to do everything yourself. Everyone will bring a dish with them. Now off you go and let me get back downstairs to the store or Mr. Newland will be moaning again.”
Tilly smiled gratefully at the older woman. She was lucky to have such lovely friends.
Chapter 5
Tyrell’s pit.
The next few days passed and there was no sign of the Indian. Sarah had tried not to get her hopes up, but she was disappointed all the same. It would be nice to see a friendly face once in a while. She caught herself thinking of Walking Tall, Almanzo, Jo and Rick. And Carrie. Would her sister ever forgive her?
She sloshed the water around. Thankfully Faulkner hadn’t come back to see her either for which she was grateful. She was so engrossed in thinking about her own problems, she didn’t see the child until he stood right next to her. She recognized him as belonging to one of the many families living in the shanty town nearer the mines.
“Mrs. Morgan, there’s bad sickness at the mine. Can you come?”
Sarah looked at the barefoot child wearing rags. “Who are you? Why did you call me? What about the doctor?”
“He won’t come. Said he wasn’t paid the last time he went to the mine. I don’t know if that’s true but my ma, she needs help. She said you helped her before. Her name is Joan Fallon. Mine is Johnny. Please come.”
Sarah frowned. She couldn’t remember his ma, but she had given a few pence to a mother whose baby was sick a couple of weeks back. She’d felt sorry for the thin, wretched looking creature. But giving a few pennies was different from visiting sick people. She didn’t want to catch anything. “I’m sorry, Johnny but I can’t. I have too much to do here. Mrs. Brown would have my hide. I need this job more than anything.”
Johnny stared at her, tears filling his eyes. “Ma will die. Please, won’t you help us?”
Sarah turned her back on the boy and plunged more clothes into the hot, steamy water. She couldn’t help. What did she know about nursing fevers? She wasn’t a doctor or a nurse. No, the boy would have to find someone else. But who? There weren’t that many women in town. She bit her lip. Could she let someone die? But she had the baby to think of. She looked back, but Johnny was gone. She pushed the clothes down furiously, kneading out the dirt. Using the arm of her dress to wipe the sweat from her forehead, she stared into the water but in her mind, she saw Jo. Her Ma wouldn’t have said no. Jo had helped save her life and the lives of their friends when they came by wagon to Oregon. Sarah had been told the story of how Jo had defied her father and gone to help an Indian woman who was sick. That had been Walking Tall’s mother who later died in a massacre. Jo wouldn’t have thought twice about helping the boy.
* * *
Sarah washed more clothes wondering whether the boy had gotten help or not. The hours passed slowly, despite her working harder than she ever had. Every time she took a rest, the guilt threatened to overwhelm her. Being pregnant was no excuse not to help the boy and his family. She was going to have the baby adopted as soon as it was born. She argued back and forth with herself all day. When Mrs. Brown arrived back the look of surprise on her face when she saw how much laundry had been cleared, would have made Sarah laugh if she hadn’t felt so guilty over the boy.
“Sarah, I asked you to work harder, not drive yourself into an early grave. You must have worked all day.” Mrs. Brown looked at Sarah closely. “I ain’t going to ask what’s bothering you. Go home lass and get some sleep. Your shoulders and back will be aching tomorrow.”
Shocked her gruff employer actually seemed to care, if only a little, Sarah thanked her. Picking up her shawl, she wrapped it around her shoulders and stepped outside. There was a bite in the wind and, now she had stopped working so hard, the sweat on her skin was drying
out. It would give her a chill if she didn’t get home fast. Home. It sounded so much grander than it was.
Sarah reached the store without meeting anyone she recognized. She opened the locked door and walked through the store savoring the different scents. Her stomach rumbled reminding her she hadn’t stopped for lunch. Again. Reaching her small room, she closed the door behind her and fell on the bed. Although hungry, she didn’t have the energy to cook. She would make do with an apple and get up early to make flapjacks. Then she remembered the parcel the Indian had given her. She ate the leftovers with relish before she stripped, letting her clothes fall in a heap on the floor before diving under the covers. Shutting her eyes, she waited for sleep but as soon as her head hit the pillow she was wide awake.
If she closed her eyes, she kept seeing his face. The boy reminded her of Jake, Jo’s six-year-old nephew. Only Jake looked healthy and well fed, had both his parents, Becky and Scott to look after him whereas the boy from earlier was skin and bone not to mention alone. She wondered where his pa was. Sick like his ma or down the mine? Maybe he had died in one of the many pit cave-ins. She had known Edwin’s work could be dangerous but until she came to live here, she had no idea of how often the men got buried under ground. Often they were never able to recover the bodies.
She tossed and turned but it was no use. She knew she should have helped the boy and now she was paying for it. Getting up, she cooked a quick breakfast over the stove thankful to her landlord that he had kept it lit overnight. It was another perk of staying at the store.
She was expected to do some chores to help toward the cost, like taking the family’s laundry with her to work and returning it clean and neatly ironed. Sometimes she swept the store floor and occasionally she helped with stock inventory but that was the extent of it. Mr. and Mrs. Mulligan were good people. Mrs. Mulligan especially thought Sarah worked too hard. She had guessed Edwin had run off but she didn’t ask for details.
Oregon Disaster: Trail of Hearts book 5 Page 2
