Dorothy Garlock - [Tucker Family]

by Keep a Little Secret

  Owen had smiled at her when they’d finally resumed their journey to the ranch, and Charlotte thought they would continue their conversation, but he fell silent. Once they arrived, Owen hurried off toward the closest barn without a word or glance in her direction. Hannah appeared at dinner alone without a hint of her brother’s whereabouts. Charlotte was so confused, so disheartened, that she’d even ignored Hale’s attempts to get her attention.

  Even as she lay in bed that night, listening to the strange sounds that emanated from the ranch grounds outside her window, Charlotte wrestled with the confusion Owen caused in her. On the one hand, he infuriated her; she couldn’t remember if she had ever met a man more insufferable; never in her life had she been spoken to so rudely. But on the other hand, when she thought of how Owen had talked about the loss of his mother, the hurt look that had radiated in his eyes, and even the way he had smiled affectionately toward her, she decided that whatever impressions she had formed of him were wrong or at the very least… truly complicated.

  Who was the real Owen Williams?

  “We’re here,” John said, tearing her from her thoughts and bringing the truck to a stop.

  Ahead of them, a small, dilapidated shack sat beside a shallow drainage ditch that had been baked bone-dry in the scorching heat. A tin roof had been tacked down over its shoddy, wooden frame, a hole cut into the roof where a dented stack belched up faint smoke. Its lone window was so small that it made the house look as if it were a child squinting up into the sun. The whole building sat off-kilter, its foundation sinking slightly and leaning to the left into the unsteady earth. A couple of scrawny chickens clucked while scratching in the dirt in a futile search for something to eat.

  “I don’t understand what—” Charlotte began, but before she could even finish her question, the answer presented itself.

  The door to the cabin slowly opened and a small girl stepped outside, shielding her eyes from the early sun. Long blond hair hung limply past her shoulders and down onto her stained, blue blouse. The rest of her clothing, noticeably the dark skirt that hung so low that it brushed along the ground, appeared to have been cobbled together from other garments. From beneath her shaded brow, dark eyes regarded them intently. She was obviously quite young; Charlotte would have been surprised if she was as old as her sister, Christina, who was just fourteen. The girl looked unwashed; a smudge of grime colored her face just to the side of her chin; with growing horror Charlotte wondered if it could be a bruise. What most drew her attention was the girl’s stomach, however. It was round and bulging with the unborn child she was carrying, pregnant nearly at the end of her term.

  But before Charlotte could wonder aloud at what she was seeing, a man sauntered out from behind the small shack, and spat a thick stream of tobacco onto the scorched earth. Some of the dark juice dribbled down his whiskered chin. The sparse hair on his head was as white as snow, his face a wrinkled mess of canyons and deep valleys. He was thin as a scarecrow, his back bowed deeply, his shoulders and emaciated hips jutting awkwardly from his makeshift clothes. His beady eyes regarded them warily over a bulbous nose that looked to be red from too much drink. Charlotte couldn’t even begin to guess his age, but was certain that he was old enough to be the girl’s grandpa.

  “Who are these people?” she asked.

  “Come with me and it’ll all be explained as best it can be,” John answered as he opened the truck’s door.

  Before he could even start sliding from his seat, Charlotte reached out, snatching John by the wrist and holding fearfully tight. “Tell me why you brought me here,” she demanded.

  Even as she raised her voice in both unease and frustration, Charlotte couldn’t help but let her eyes wander back to the dilapidated shack and its forlorn inhabitants. Neither the girl nor the man had taken a step toward them, each regarding their arrival with a blank expression. Apprehension spread across her and she wanted nothing more than for John to turn the truck around and drive them away.

  For his part, John Grant remained calm. “I brought you here to this girl ’cause I believe that you can do for her what there ain’t no chance I can,” he explained carefully, reassuringly taking Charlotte’s hand in his own. “I know I ain’t been too forthcomin’ with the details since you arrived, but that’s not on account of me tryin’ to deceive; instead it’s ’cause I just want to help her… for reasons that I ain’t exactly proud of. Trust me on this, Charlotte.”

  Finally, she nodded.

  Unsteadily, Charlotte got out of the truck and slowly followed as John headed to where the girl stood, her meek face showing little reaction to her visitors. Out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte noticed the old man spit another dark stream of tobacco, while his gaze never left her.

  With every step, she felt consumed by questions:

  Who are these people?

  What is their connection to John Grant?

  Why are they staying all the way out here instead of back on the ranch with everyone else?

  What reason does John have for bringing me here?

  “Charlotte, I’d like you to meet Sarah Beck,” John said in introduction. “Sarah, this is the woman I was tellin’ you ’bout, the new schoolteacher here in town, Charlotte Tucker.”

  Up close, Charlotte was struck by the sudden realization that her initial observation of the girl might have been wrong; the girl was very young, younger than Christina. That this girl… this child standing before her was pregnant nearly nauseated her.

  “Hello,” she somehow managed, extending her hand. The girl took it limply, never bothering to make eye contact or utter a sound.

  Sarah’s only answer was to nod her head.

  “Sarah and her father, Alan, came here a little more than four months ago, arrivin’ from Arkansas,” John continued to explain, his voice as free and friendly as if he were introducing acquaintances outside of church. “Had themselves a spot of trouble but were lucky enough to find themselves a place out of the storm, ain’t that ’bout right, Alan?”

  “Yep,” the old man agreed with an ugly, coughing laugh. “Seems to be.”

  Charlotte smiled awkwardly, though she couldn’t begin to see what could be so funny about their situation.

  “Now, Sarah,” John said, “why don’t you just head on inside while Miss Tucker and me have a couple of words. When we’re finished, she’ll come on in and talk to you a mite ’bout what’s to come.”

  “Yessir,” the girl mumbled, and did as she was told. Though he hadn’t been similarly instructed, Alan also ambled away.

  Once she was sure they were alone, Charlotte again asked, “Why did you bring me here?”

  “It’s just like I told you,” John replied. “I want you to help her.”

  “What can I possibly do?”

  “You and I both know that if that girl don’t get as much schoolin’ as she can she ain’t gonna have much of a future. Hell, even if she were to get a good education, odds are that it’s gonna be a struggle every step of the way.”

  “And you expect me to be the one to teach her,” Charlotte said, beginning to understand just a bit, “because she can’t go into town…”

  “I don’t know what things are like up in Minnesota, but I reckon that they ain’t gonna differ too much from the way things are here.” John sighed deeply, his features taut and his voice growing a bit tired. “Around these parts a woman… a girl gettin’ pregnant at Sarah’s age, without a husband in sight, will set every tongue in town to waggin’. For much less offense than that, folks’ve been run out of town on a rail. To send her to your school, even havin’ the intentions of a saint, wouldn’t be right.”

  Charlotte knew that John was right. Back in her teaching college in Minnesota, one of her fellow students had become pregnant and the result had been scandalous. Even though the girl intended to marry the man and regardless of the fact that they had been together for more than a year, she had been shamed into leaving. The fate facing a girl of Sarah Beck’s age would undoubtedly
be worse.

  “How old is she?” Charlotte asked.

  “Thirteen is what I’ve been told.”

  “Do you know how much schooling she’s had?”

  “My assumption would be that it’s a hell of a lot less than she should have,” John answered in dismay. “But I ain’t rightfully asked much. My hope is that spendin’ a little time with her, talkin’ to her a bit, will give you whatever answers you’re lookin’ for.”

  Still, Charlotte wavered. Though she eagerly looked forward to teaching her new pupils, the idea of instructing a pregnant teenage girl hidden far out of inquisitive eyes was not appealing. What if I were to be seen with this girl and her father? She felt certain that the answer to her unspoken question was a simple one: she would be ostracized like Sarah, and that was a risk she didn’t feel comfortable taking.

  “I’m sorry, John,” she said apologetically, “but I don’t think that I can teach her much. I’ll not have much time to spend with her.”

  “Won’t you try, Charlotte?” he answered before she could say any more, his calloused hands taking her by the shoulders, his eyes beseeching. “I know this ain’t an easy thing for you to agree on, with you bein’ new to these parts and all, but I feel like I ain’t got any choice. I ain’t gonna lie to your face by sayin’ there ain’t no risk, but whatever doubts you got, whatever reservations are makin’ you want to walk away from here, I’m askin’ you to put ’em down.”

  Until that moment, Charlotte felt certain that the reason John Grant was trying to help Sarah Beck was out of a sense of kindness, a neighborly way to offer a hand to someone down on her luck, but now she found the reason insufficient. There was more to all of this, something unspoken, but unfortunately, it was not enough for her to simply take him at his word. She needed more explanation.

  “Who are these people to you?” she asked bluntly. “Why, John?” she insisted. “Why are you doing this?”

  For a long moment, John simply stared at her, before breaking his gaze and looking off over her shoulder into the distance. From his expression, Charlotte clearly saw that he was struggling to find an answer. Finally, he said, his voice hard to hear, “I have my reasons.”

  Charlotte frowned, a bit put out that he wasn’t being more forthcoming. “That’s not good enough for me,” she explained. “If I’m going to put my future in Sawyer in jeopardy, if I’m going to try to teach her…”

  “Then how ’bout for now there ain’t any such expectations,” John suggested. “How ’bout you just go on in there and have yourself a little talk with Sarah, get to know her a bit, and then you can decide.”

  “But what if I choose not to teach her? Won’t you be upset?”

  “If that’s the decision you come to after talkin’ with her, then that’ll be fine by me. Even if I’m disappointed, leastways I’ll have tried.”

  “I don’t know if she can be taught.”

  “I ain’t askin’ for you to perform no miracles. All I’m askin’ is she be given a chance.”

  Charlotte sighed and turned away from John, her arms folding over her chest as she absently kicked at a loose rock. While she still had a few strong reservations, it was hard for her to imagine what harm could come from just going inside and talking. From somewhere deep in her memory, a recollection from a much older time floated up; she had once stood outside another broken-down shack far out in the woods, and by taking a chance and going inside she had discovered her father, long thought dead. On that day, if she hadn’t found the courage, Mason Tucker would surely have died. Maybe this was another such moment, another opportunity to save a life.

  There’s only one way to find out…

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll go in and talk to her.”

  Chapter Eight

  TO CHARLOTTE’S CURIOUS EYE, the inside of the rickety, dreary cabin that Sarah Beck shared with her father at the far edge of the ranch property was nearly as uncomfortably cramped as the inside of the steamer trunk she had brought with her on the train ride to Oklahoma. The only difference was that her trunk carried a greater number of belongings.

  Scarcely illuminated by the sliver of bright summer sunlight that slipped in through the front door and tiny, cracked window, the single room was barren. A pair of old mattresses lay toward the back, one on a frame and the other tossed haphazardly on the floor; Charlotte hoped that, given Sarah’s current condition, her father was the one sleeping on the hard wooden floor. A wooden apple crate, its once-colorful label long since faded, lay beside the beds on its side, cluttered with a handful of items. Near the door, a beaten and worn table was pushed up against the wall; as it was missing one of its legs, this was the only way that it could be forced to remain standing upright. A pair of equally damaged chairs sat on opposite sides of the table, buckled and slightly bowed in the seat. A cast-iron stove threw off waves of stifling heat.

  “Do you want some coffee?” Sarah asked meekly, still refusing to make eye contact as she reached for the pot on the stove.

  “I’m afraid that I’m a bit too warm for that, but thank you all the same,” Charlotte answered with a forced smile, wiping at the heavy beads of sweat that made her blouse cling to her skin. All the while, she did her best to avoid obviously looking at Sarah’s very round, pregnant belly.

  “Yes, ma’am.” As quiet as a mouse, the young girl took a seat at the table.

  For a moment, Charlotte could only stand and take stock of what an untenable situation she had allowed herself to enter into. Though she had heard her speak only a handful of words, she knew that Sarah Beck was facing an impossibly difficult future. Even with some schooling, what chance does this girl have? Even if Charlotte was to try her very best, to devote as much time and energy to teaching Sarah as she could, to instruct her in the most basic of things, it seemed unlikely that much change could be hoped for. To make matters worse, she would risk her reputation if she was seen with a pregnant teenager. That could destroy her own future.

  On entering the Becks’ cabin, Charlotte recalled another such shack and the day her father had returned to her life. With her beloved dog, Jasper, always by her side, she’d gone inside just such a place and discovered Mason Tucker, a man she then had not known was her father. But for Mason, so delirious from fever that he had mistaken Charlotte for his wife, her own mother, there’d been somewhere for her to take him, somewhere he could be nursed back to health and his ills made right. But where did Sarah Beck have to go? How could the hopeless future before her be avoided?

  Glancing back out the door, Charlotte saw John Grant talking with Alan beside the truck; the rancher offered the down-on-his-luck older man a cigarette that was quickly, almost hungrily accepted. Though her instincts still told her to march back out and demand a return to the ranch house, to put meeting these people right out of her mind, Charlotte was unable to act upon them.

  “All he asked was for you to talk to her…” she mumbled under her breath.

  Sighing, she took the seat opposite Sarah.

  “Mr. Grant said that you and your father came here from Arkansas,” Charlotte began as a gentle way of starting to understand just how big a task lay before her. “Is that right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Did you have any schooling back where you came from?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Just as Charlotte was starting to wonder if she would have to pry words from Sarah Beck as painfully as a dentist extracts rotten teeth, the girl added, “But it weren’t much.”

  While Sarah spoke, Charlotte took a long look at the young girl. Strands of her limp blond hair hung down before her face. An outbreak of pimples stained her face near her thin lips and tiny nose. Thankfully, the darkened spot Charlotte had seen on Sarah’s face appeared, on closer inspection, to indeed be dirt, not a bruise as feared, although the difference did little to staunch Charlotte’s growing sense of apprehension and unease.

  But what truly struck her as she stared at Sarah was the nearly overpowering fear that if she had ever f
ound herself in a similar situation, if she’d become pregnant at such a young age, her life would have looked every bit as hopeless. How could I possibly have gone forward with my life? What burdens would I have put upon all those around me? Even with her parents’ help, even with the best of intentions, the shame of what she had done would have consumed her. Though she had only the briefest encounter to assess how much help Alan Beck would be to his daughter, confidence in the man eluded her. Sarah obviously had nowhere else to turn.

  Fighting down her apprehension and determined to, at the least, do as John had asked, Charlotte moved forward with her questioning. “Can you read or write?”

  At the question, Sarah’s eyes rose up and held to Charlotte’s for scarcely an instant, faster than it would have taken her to even blink her long lashes, but in that fleeting moment a touch of shame revealed itself in her expression, a protected yet painful secret being pried loose. When she spoke, her gaze was again facing down.

  “Just… just a bit, I reckon,” she stammered, “but I ain’t got much of a chance to do any practicin’ or any such. My pa ain’t the type to have no books just layin’ ’bout. I seen a Bible or two when I weren’t but waist-high, but since we weren’t never much for churchgoin’, I forget it all.”

  “But you do know how to read?”

  Sarah nodded.

  Determined to find out just how truthful Sarah was being with her, Charlotte began looking around the cabin for some means of testing her. Just as Sarah admitted, there wasn’t a single book to be seen, but Charlotte’s gaze settled upon a large sack of flour resting against the wall beside the stove. On it, stenciled in oversize red letters, were the words: MCGREGGOR FLOUR—THE VERY BEST FOR YOU AND YOUR FAMILY.

  “Can you read what’s written on that sack?” she asked, pointing.