Sarah's Smile (The Daughters of Riverton Book 1)

by Dawn Kinzer

  Somehow, it just seemed right to savor their secret—their joy—without being pinned down to the what, when, and how of their lives. If their relationship became public knowledge, the town would watch their every move. Not only the gossips, but the well-wishers offering advice. A great many wouldn’t understand Sarah leaving a handsome preacher to go off to another continent.

  Did she even understand it? This desire to still venture to another land?

  In so many ways it didn’t make sense. Not with Peter back in her life. But she couldn’t shake the memories of her grandfather praying for missionaries and how his face lit up each time he read aloud to her from David Livingstone’s journal.

  Over time, Sarah realized his dream had become hers. Her decision to go to Africa was in part a way to honor the man who had given her a home and loved her unconditionally. But later, the vision of playing with the children and teaching them songs about Jesus had become like rain on a parched land.

  After years of loving him and wanting him to love her, she and Peter were finally together. In many ways, she’d already been granted a new beginning. For several nights she’d tossed and turned, asking God if she should contact the missions society and tell them she’d changed her mind. Then she and Peter could begin their life together instead of waiting two years, and Mary would have the mother she wanted and needed. God remained silent on the subject.

  However, something kept holding her back from writing that letter and telling the board her plans had changed. What if a life with Peter was all too good to be true?

  chapteR TWENTY-NINE

  William mentioned that you and Annie switched your schedule this week.” Mr. Carter pulled his watch from his trousers and flipped it open. “You’ll be working Friday, and she’ll be here on Saturday?”

  “Yes, sir.” Sarah laid several lace-edged handkerchiefs in a glass display case and closed the door. “She has a personal matter to take care of tomorrow.”

  Mr. Carter closed his watch and slipped it back into his pocket. “I appreciate my employees cooperating with each other. It shows good teamwork.” He slipped his fedora onto his head. “I’m going home a little earlier tonight. William’s in charge of locking up.” Mr. Carter glanced around, and seeming satisfied, gave Sarah a nod. “Have a good evening. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Carter.” He might think teamwork and cooperation and were behind employees staying late some evenings and swapping shifts when needed. But at the core, they wanted to please him. Not because they feared him, but out of love and respect. Besides, Sarah would hike through dense woods, swim across rapids, and climb tall oak trees to help a friend. Even Will, despite his persistent flirting with her.

  The hands on the large wall clock inched toward closing time, and she could almost taste the chicken and dumplings Gram had promised for supper.

  Sarah had wasted her lunch break on another trek to the post office, only to find no letter from the missions society waiting—again. Rather than dwell on that disappointment, she tried to focus on her Saturday off from work. After studying several verses in the Bible last weekend with Clara, Sarah looked forward to meeting with her again. The morning they’d shared together had been encouraging and inspiring.

  The remaining customer paid for a tea kettle and left. Annie grabbed a broom and swept the floor with vigor. If any other tasks needed finishing, Sarah would gladly do them in order to hasten their departures.

  She poked her head into the back room. “Will?”

  Not there. Strange. He hadn’t been on the floor for several hours. A box sat wedged between the back door and its frame. Maybe he stepped outside for air.

  With the box shoved aside, Sarah peeked out into the alley. Will, his jaw clenched, listened to a stranger who spoke in a low, angry voice. Dressed in a rumpled, but expensive-looking suit, the man seemed out of place in a small farming community. Clientele usually came dressed in their everyday work clothes. The stranger scowled, and the half-smoked cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth bounced up and down as he talked. If only she could hear and discern his words.

  He poked Will in the chest. Will slapped the other man’s hand away, leaned forward, and got in the stranger’s face. The other man grasped his cigar between his two fingers and threw it to the ground. They were going to fight!

  Will had come to her rescue more than once. She couldn’t stand by now and do nothing.

  “Mr. Reed!” Sarah stepped into the sunlight. “I’m sorry to interrupt you and—what is your name, sir?”

  Will backed away from his provoker. “This is...Mr. Smith.”

  The man glared at Sarah.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Smith.” She forced the biggest smile she could muster, then turned her attention to Will. “Could you please come inside? Annie and I desperately need your help. It can’t wait.”

  “Of course.” A sly smile slid on to Will’s face, and he extended his hand toward Mr. Smith. “We’ll have to continue our discussion another time.”

  The other man ignored the gesture. “Be assured—we will,” he growled. Without even a glance back, he stalked off.

  Will leaped up the steps and followed Sarah back into the building. “How can I assist?”

  Sarah reeled around, her heart still racing. “I’m not the one who needed help.”

  Leaning against the wall, he raised his hands. “You just said—”

  “If Mr. Carter catches you fighting—” Sarah perched her hands on her hips. “What exactly was going on out there?”

  “So you do care.” Will offered a confident grin. “Since you’ve turned me down for dinner the last four times I’ve asked, I was beginning to wonder.”

  “Don’t change the subject.” He could be so charming and yet so insufferable at times. “Of course I don’t want to see you get into trouble—or hurt.”

  “Don’t worry about Mr. Smith. He’s harmless.”

  Gut feelings didn’t deceive—the man was far from harmless.

  “We did some business together back in Milwaukee. He happened to be passing through and wanted to see how I liked the area. Our little disagreement was over nothing.”

  “It didn’t seem like nothing. You two almost came to blows.”

  Will stepped away from the wall, and his eyes turned dark and serious. “There’s nothing to worry about. I promise,” he whispered.

  She searched his eyes, but could only penetrate so far. Whatever lay hidden beneath their depths, he refused access.

  His demeanor brightened. “Have you changed your mind about having dinner with me?”

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “I’m persistent when I know what I want.” He reached for her hand, but she pulled away.

  “Time to close the store. If I don’t get home soon, Gram will worry.”

  “You’re free to go.” Will dropped into a chair near the desk.

  Sarah grabbed her handbag from her personal cabinet. “Goodnight, Will.”

  “Goodnight, Sarah.” He offered a weak smile. Then, seeming to dismiss her, slouched with a faraway look in his eyes.

  Trouble had found Will. If she gambled like her father, she’d bet on it.

  ***

  The late August sun had almost set, and Sarah relaxed—no other sound in the night air except for the porch swing creaking with each rocking movement. Summer never seemed to linger long enough. The children had already been in school for several days.

  Gram’s eyes had grown heavy after filling her stomach with chicken and dumplings for supper and winning two games of cribbage, so she’d gone to bed. The grandfather clock inside chimed nine times, loud enough for Sarah to hear it through the open window.

  Feet pounded the path leading up to the house. Peter bounded up the steps and raised his hand to ring the doorbell.

  “Peter, I’m here.”

  “Can you stay with Mary?” His worry-filled eyes sent her heart tripping. “Frank had a terrible fall out at Ole’s and Doc Burnside se
nt for me.” Peter pushed fingers through his dark hair. “It sounds bad, Sarah.”

  “Of course. I’ll stay as long as you need me.” Sarah almost leapt from the swing. “What was Frank doing out there?”

  “Working on the barn roof—extra money for the family. I’m taking Clara with me. She’s frantic to see him. Mrs. Jorgenson will stay with Clara’s children, but Mary has been asleep for over an hour.”

  “I’ll just grab a few things and leave a note for Gram so she doesn’t fret.”

  “Thanks, Sarah.”

  “Go, Peter. Mary will be fine.”

  He raced down the steps and took off toward Frank and Clara’s home.

  This couldn’t be happening. Everything would be fine. It had to be. That family had already suffered a devastating loss.

  God, please don’t let anything else happen to hurt them.

  chapteR THIRTY

  What happened?” Peter sat on Ole’s porch with the elderly farmer and his wife while the doctor spoke with Clara. Light filtered outside through curtained windows, creating eerie shadows. Peter slapped a mosquito feasting on his forearm.

  “I’m to blame. I hired Frank to patch up the roof on my barn. If I hadn’t been so sick lately, I’d a done it myself, and this never would’ve happened.”

  “You old fool, you’re not in any shape to climb up on that roof,” Martha said in an affectionate tone. “We’re not so young anymore, and we’ve got to get used to the idea. What happened to Frank isn’t your fault.” She focused her attention on Peter. “Reverend, he’s been punishing himself ever since we found Frank lying on the ground.”

  “Your wife is right, Ole. It was an accident. Pure and simple.” Peter had grown up on a farm. Things happened, even when people were careful.

  “Frank tied himself off at the rooftop. The best I can figure, the knots somehow slipped out, Frank lost his balance, and he tumbled right off onto the ground. If he yelled, we never heard him.” Ole pulled a large red handkerchief from his overalls, blew his nose with a honk, and stuffed the kerchief back. “Found him in a heap. Still plenty of light out then, but I was going to tell him to quit before it started getting dark. I was too late.”

  “Frank will be fine, Ole.” Peter couldn’t imagine the outcome any other way.

  The screen door swung open and Dr. Burnside stepped outside. “Clara is with him now.” He sank into the extra chair and released a deep sigh. “I’m afraid there’s not much more I can do. His body is so broken up inside, riding in the back of a bumpy wagon to a hospital would kill him for sure.”

  “He doesn’t even have a chance?” A mule’s kick straight to the stomach couldn’t have made Peter’s gut hurt more. “Frank is physically the strongest man I’ve ever known, and men have fallen off taller buildings and come out of it with a few scratches.”

  Doc shook his head. “If he’d landed on a pile of hay or something that had a little give to it...From what I can tell, besides all the internal damage, his head hit something hard. It’s a miracle he’s survived at all, but I’m not going to lie. I don’t think he’ll make it through the night. I’ve warned Clara. If she wants the children to have a chance to say good-bye to their pa, they should be sent for now.”

  This couldn’t be happening—to Frank’s family—to Peter. He didn’t care if it was selfish...he needed more time with his friend. Even though they disagreed on many things, they’d somehow found enough common ground to form a bond. “Is Frank awake?”

  “Awake and talking.” Dr. Burnside removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “But his mind is a little fuzzy as to what happened.”

  Clara pushed the porch screen door open so slowly, Peter wondered if she had enough strength left in her to stand. She stepped outside and leaned against the wall, hugging her body as though trying to hold herself together. “He wants you, Reverend.”

  Martha immediately stood and wrapped her arm around the other woman’s shoulder. “You come sit down over here.” She guided Clara back into the rocking chair.

  Peter knelt so he could look her in the eyes. “We’re here to help, Clara. We’ll do whatever we can for you and Frank.” He grasped her hand and held it firmly, willing strength to flow from him. “After I talk to him, would you like me to fetch the children?”

  “Yes, they should be—” Her voice seemed to catch in her throat, and her shaking hand covered her mouth. “I—I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Reverend, you’re needed here. So is the doc. I’ll take a wagon into town.” Ole stood. “I just need to get my hat.”

  “I’ll go with you and help with the little ones.” Martha leaned over and squeezed Clara’s free hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll be back in no time. Ole and I raised five of our own. We can handle your bunch just fine.”

  “Thank you,” Clara whispered back.

  “I’ll sit with Clara while you see Frank.” Dr. Burnside gave Peter a warning look. “Don’t make him talk too much.”

  Peter nodded. He closed the screen door behind him and shuffled down the hall. How could someone feel so eager to reach a destination, and yet be filled with so much dread he could barely move one foot in front of the other?

  The bedroom door stood open. A small lamp emanated a soft glow. Strong, muscular Frank sprawled limp beneath a sheet and blanket, his head propped on several pillows. His eyes were closed.

  A straight-back wooden chair sat next to the bed, and Peter took advantage of it. His own leg muscles lacked their usual strength. He should be handling this better. After all, his pastoral call included sitting at the bedside and comforting dying people. But this was his friend, looking as though life had already drained from him.

  “Frank?” Peter leaned forward and touched the blacksmith’s thick forearm.

  Frank’s eyelids fluttered, then he opened them halfway. “Reverend,” his voice sounded breathy.

  “You’re supposed to call me Peter. Remember?” Peter’s throat began closing in, as though someone gripped him tight enough to shut off his air.

  “Pete.” Frank gave a weak chuckle. “Ah, Pete. You never did catch a bigger fish than me.”

  “No. Not yet. But I’m not giving up on fishing just because you caught that beauty the other day.” A day Peter would remember for the rest of his life.

  “That—that sure was a nice trout. It sure was...” Frank coughed several times.

  “Take it easy. If you talk too much, Doc Burnside and Clara are both going to tan my hide.”

  “I’d—like to see them try.”

  Peter had to be honest, no matter how difficult. His friend deserved to know the truth. “Your injuries are serious, Frank, but we can’t give up hope. I’m praying for you—haven’t stopped.”

  “Right for the jugular.” Frank closed his eyes. “Must have less time than I thought.”

  “I’ve never lied to you, and I’m not going to now.” Peter’s mouth had grown as dry as the bones Ezekiel had written about in the Bible. Frank wouldn’t be around for birthdays, graduations, weddings...he’d never know his grandchildren. “Ole and Martha are bringing the children out to the farm.”

  Frank opened his eyes. “That’s good.”

  “Then you know?”

  “I’m about done for?”

  Lord, please help me. “You know I can’t just sit here and not talk about...”

  “You’ve been a good friend, Pete. Haven’t forced religion on me before. Don’t try now.”

  “I wouldn’t be a friend at all if I didn’t bring it up.”

  “Can’t forge something without a lot of heat, and the fire is about gone out. Too late.”

  “It’s not, Frank. God loves you.”

  “You know why...”

  “Your son’s death was an accident. Stop blaming yourself and stop blaming God. Forgiveness will free you from the heavy burden you’ve carried.”

  “If I forgive myself...it will be like saying what happened didn’t matter. Lewis’s life wasn’t important. I brought him to the black
smith. Should have seen and stopped him from shoeing that nervous horse. Wasn’t paying attention. He paid the price.” Frank blinked and a single tear slid down his cheek. “I don’t deserve forgiveness.”

  “As a father, you would have forgiven your son anything. Why can’t you believe that your heavenly Father is willing to do the same?”

  “Won’t talk about this anymore.”

  “Please, Frank. Let me pray with you.”

  “No.” The blacksmith breathed heavy. “I...”

  “What? Anything. I’ll do anything.”

  “The boys. They need a man...” Frank blinked. “And Clara...”

  “The family will be well taken care of. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Thanks, Pete.”

  “I’ll be right outside if you need me.” Peter stood and grasped the dying man’s hand, then tried to swallow the lump in this throat. “You’re a good man, Frank.”

  Peter stepped outside into the quiet night. Ole and Martha were on their way into town. The doc remained inside, checking on Frank. Clara wouldn’t leave his side again. Peter slumped down on the front porch steps and buried his head in his hands.

  He had to do something. Peter pushed off from the wooden steps and hiked into the night. If he didn’t slow down, he’d trip and fall flat on his face. Strides took him past the barn into the center of a small, open field.

  A half-moon hung in the cloudless sky, reflecting enough light that Peter could see the ground and the silhouetted woods surrounding the field. He eyes scanned the star-studded night.

  “God!” Peter raised his hands toward the heavens. “Abba Father!” The twinkling stars blurred in his vision, and his face grew wet. He stood alone—with no excuse to bury his anger or hide his grief—no one waited to judge his actions. “Creator of all that lives...why?”

  He pleaded with God on behalf of Clara and the children until empty and exhausted. God didn’t respond by splitting the firmaments with his radiance, or an audible voice giving instruction. No, God answered as he often does, with the quiet breath of the Holy Spirit blowing through his people. El Shaddai, the Lord God Almighty, who sees all and knows all, hadn’t abandoned them. He stood with Peter in that open field, and he sat at Frank’s bedside.