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

by Dawn Kinzer

  “Yes?”

  No, she’d been kind to him. He couldn’t accuse her of making up stories. “It was thoughtful of you to bring the food. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She grabbed the dripping umbrella leaning against the porch wall. “See you in church.” Rebecca opened the umbrella and stepped into the downpour.

  Peter leaned against the closed door and closed his eyes. Fried chicken would satisfy the hunger in his belly, but it wouldn’t fill the emptiness he felt without Sarah.

  chapteR THIRTY-SIX

  Sarah and Gram had cleaned all morning with few words spoken between them. Rain beat against the windows, and the gray sky matched their moods. No doubt there’d be more discussion about Sarah’s relationship with Peter.

  “I’m all tuckered out.” Gram wiped her damp forehead with a handkerchief. “I’ve finished my lunch, so I’m going to my room for a nap. There’s still plenty of leftover stew from last night’s supper for you.”

  “Thanks. I’m not hungry, though.”

  Gram leaned on her cane. “You didn’t touch your breakfast. A person has to eat.”

  “Maybe later.” Sarah moved the feather duster over a dining room chair. “I think I’ll walk to the post office while you rest.” She could use some good news today, especially if it was a letter giving her a date to report for the missions orientation. Then she could throw herself into preparing for a new adventure. It might help her avoid thinking about the horrible lies gossips were spreading about her relationship with Peter.

  “You’ll get drenched.”

  “I’ll take an umbrella. The walk will do me good.” It wouldn’t matter if she arrived home soaking wet—she needed to clear her head. The dusting could wait until she returned.

  The grandfather clock chimed once as Gram shuffled off down the hall toward her room. Sarah put the cleaning supplies aside. Her hat pinned securely on her head, she pulled her coat from the closet, along with a leather bag and a large black umbrella.

  The storm threatened to turn the umbrella inside out, but she held it steadfast into the wind. Good thing she’d had sense enough to wear old, tired boots. Large puddles hindered her path, and as much as she tried to avoid the mud, it coated her skirt.

  She opened the post office door, and a ringing bell announced her arrival to a vacant room. Her shoulders relaxed. Either townspeople had picked up their mail earlier, or they were waiting for the storm to lessen. At least she’d avoid stares for one day.

  “Hello, Sarah.” The postmaster lifted his thick, bushy eyebrows and smiled. “You’re certainly adventurous, going out in weather like this.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Harmon.” Sarah closed the umbrella and hooked the handle over her wrist. “It’s a little blustery out there, but nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Some things came in for you and your grandmother.” He rummaged in their mailbox, and along with the latest addition of The Delineator, he handed her several envelopes. “Sarah...” His face reddened. “I’ve known you and Peter almost your whole lives.”

  “Since before we were old enough to attend school.”

  “I don’t know how to say this.” He gave a low moan. “I’ve heard talk, but I don’t believe any of it. It’s not in you—or Peter.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Harmon,” Sarah whispered, barely able to get the words out.

  “I’m speaking up where I can.” He gave a quick nod. “There are many others who feel the same. Just wanted you to know.”

  She hadn’t been discarded by the entire town after all? “I appreciate your kind words. I truly do.” Thank you, Lord. There were those who knew her well enough they still trusted her integrity. People who weren’t willing to believe a crazy story. Friends who refused to view her as a Delilah.

  The bell above the door rang again—a farmer carrying a package wrapped in brown paper. Rain dripped from his body. He removed and shook his hat, spraying drops on the wood floor.

  Sarah stepped outside and stood under the entrance roof to peruse her mail, her hands almost numb from the cold. Aside from the magazine, the stack included a letter addressed to Gram from a friend who lived in Boston, and one addressed to Sarah from the Foreign Missions Society.

  Finally! Warmth radiated through her chilled body. She clutched the unopened envelope to her chest.

  Sadness washed over her, extinguishing her initial joy. The letter also meant she’d be leaving Peter behind, and possibly any hope of them finding their way back to each other. Was that what God wanted? His desire for them all along? To always be separated by physical distance—never together?

  She couldn’t worry about that any longer. Peter had made his choice, and it wasn’t her. Sarah needed to move on with her life.

  How soon would she need to pack? Sarah slipped Gram’s mail into the leather bag. She ripped open her own envelope, unfolded the letter, and scanned the message.

  This can’t be right.

  Her body sagged against the building wall. With trembling hands, she read each word several more times, then crumpled the paper in her hands. She closed her eyes. Was this how it felt to be poisoned? Like your insides were being painfully consumed?

  Sarah stuffed the crushed letter into her bag and stumbled into the storm, not bothering to raise the umbrella. Her hat would be ruined—she didn’t care. The wind and rain pummeled her body, driving her to pick up her pace. Despite the cool air, her cheeks burned and sweat dampened her underclothing.

  “Look out, lady!”

  Muddy water sprayed across Sarah’s coat. Distracted by the letter’s contents, she’d almost stepped in front of a wagon racing down the road. An urge to run rushed through her body, and she sprinted through all the puddles in her path.

  She reached a side street, empty of any travelers. Almost home. Safety. Shelter. She slid on the slick ground beneath her. First one foot and then the other flew upward—the motion throwing her to the ground and knocking her breath from her body. She lay with her backside in the mud, the umbrella and bag half drowned in a nearby puddle.

  There would be no trip to Africa. The missions board—with regret—had withdrawn the assignment. A married couple with medical experience had recently applied and would be sent in her place. No additional funds remained to send Sarah at this time.

  Thank the good Lord she’d been prudent in sharing her plans with few. She wouldn’t have the entire town aware of her failure or asking endless questions.

  The battering rain soaked through her clothes, and mud coated her hair. She grabbed a handful of wet, mushy dirt and squeezed it through her fingers with all her strength. Her stomach contracted and a scream pushed past her raw throat. Why did everything good in her life always get ripped from her grasp?

  Without caring if anyone else heard, and with eyes closed, Sarah cried out to God in anger. Tears mingled with the downpour bathing her face.

  A sharp pain shot through her hip. She couldn’t stay there, visible and stretched out like a flattened toad. She staggered with her belongings to a nearby oak tree and slumped on the grass behind it, hidden from sight. The small, dilapidated house on the neglected lawn sat dark and empty, waiting to be resurrected.

  Lightning cracked across the sky, thunder boomed, and the wind whirled around her while the spirit within raged against God for abandoning her. What had she done to deserve such rejection? She’d been obedient to what she believed God wanted, and what had he done in return? She’d lost everything—parents, her grandfather, Peter, and the chance to matter.

  Time lost relevance as she purged her pain until worn out.

  For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.

  She heard Jeremiah 29:11, her grandfather’s favorite Bible verse, as though he stood next to her and spoke the words himself.

  A truth found its way into her heart. Sarah wanted to believe she’d been called to the foreign mission field because it provided a means to escape her h
ometown with dignity. She’d used it as an excuse to run away from every painful thing associated with her life. How foolish. God knew. He’d seen right through her. She was broken inside, and her chin trembled.

  Sarah pushed herself up from the ground. In surrender, she tilted her head toward the sky.

  Forgive me, Lord.

  Bleak skies loomed above, and sheets of water fell, splashing and deepening the puddles around her. But raindrops, sparkling like diamonds in bright sunlight, slowly and softly landed wet on her face, and God began a cleansing work within Sarah. She could give up and wallow in self-pity, or with God’s help she could press on and discover her true purpose.

  She gathered her things and trudged down the sodden and sloppy street. Fatigued and covered with mud, she might appear forlorn to any passersby, but she no longer felt alone.

  That reality gave her necessary strength and hope, because though a short walk home remained, a long and difficult journey waited ahead.

  chapteR THIRTY-SEVEN

  A day earlier, standing under dark clouds in pouring rain and covered in mud, everything seemed clearer. Now, even with stunning blue skies, Sarah’s world had grown foggy. She knew going back to work would be difficult. She just didn’t know how difficult.

  Sarah glanced around the store as customers meandered around the displays. Several had shot unpleasant looks or gone out of their way to avoid her help that morning. Could it have only been forty-eight hours since Annie had filled her in on the gossip? It felt more like weeks. She needed to be more realistic. Not enough time had passed for the community to see that she and Peter were no longer spending time alone together.

  She couldn’t help wondering if they’d refused to comply with the church council’s request to not see each with the exception of Sunday services, but had gone about their business as usual, if people would have stopped speculating about their relationship. Would avoiding each other only raise more questions? Regardless of the best tactic, Peter had succumbed to the council’s wishes without giving her a choice.

  Until she found a new direction for her life, Riverton would remain her home. It might be better to attend the Methodist church, despite Gram’s disapproval. Seeing Peter—even from a distance—would only be painful.

  Gram’s comments were probably her way of showing concern, but a softer tone wouldn’t hurt. Like that morning. They’d almost argued over Sarah not eating breakfast. But she lacked appetite for even her favorite foods, and since arriving at the Home Store for her shift she’d felt nauseated from worrying about people’s perceptions.

  Annie dumped a pile of flannel shirts on the counter. “Would you help me? A customer left a huge mess.”

  “Of course.” Sarah grabbed a charcoal-colored shirt and folded it into a neat square.

  Annie’s experienced hands made quick work of several shirts. “How are you?”

  “You mean...”

  “You. Peter. What we talked about the other day.”

  “I could be better.”

  “Oh, Sarah, I’m so sorry.” Annie placed her hand on Sarah’s. “The entire situation is not fair.”

  “No, it’s not.” She finished folding the last shirt and placed it on the stack. “But, Peter has decided what’s best for him, and there’s nothing I can do about it. So, I need to do the same.” Sarah spoke with warmth toward this kind friend. “Your concern means a lot to me. I’ll be all right.”

  “I’ll put these away.” With a slight smile, Annie scooped the pile into her arms and headed toward the clothing section.

  Sarah bent behind the counter to rearrange items in the case. Someone must have purchased the pocket watch with the train carved on the case. It no longer lay in the usual place.

  “Excuse me.”

  Oh, Lord, please. Not today. Sarah slid the display case shut and stood. “Hello, Mrs. Hoyt.” Both Kathryn and Rebecca Hoyt eyed her with that superior glare often shared by mother and daughter. Sarah feigned a smile. “How can I help you?”

  “We’ve already made our purchases,” Mrs. Hoyt said in a blistering tone. She clutched a wrapped parcel to her chest. “I’ve been a member of Peace Lutheran Church for a number of years. I love my church, and I don’t want anything or anyone doing it harm.” She spat out the words. “And as a long-term member, I think not only do I have a right to know—I have a duty to know—if you intend to drag our beloved pastor down with you.”

  If Mrs. Hoyt had observed Sarah sprawled in the rain the day before, she’d have seen that Sarah remained quite alone.

  Without saying a word, Rebecca still made it clear that she stood in solidarity with her mother. Sarah’s chest heaved with emotion, but she’d control her anger despite wanting to remove the teacher’s smug expression.

  “Is there a problem?” Will stepped to her side. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “It’s of a personal nature, but I think you’d want to be aware of the situation, since I’m sure it’s affecting your business.” Mrs. Hoyt shifted her stance and hugged her thick hip with her right hand.

  William’s solid presence boosted Sarah’s moral. “If you have an issue with anything related to the store, I want—I expect—you to come to me so we can fix it. But as far as I’m concerned, you have no business harassing Sarah or any other employee. About anything.”

  Mrs. Hoyt scowled. “Surely you’re aware of the indiscretion—”

  “You mean allegation.” He tilted his head. “I’m surprised, Mrs. Hoyt, that a lady with such class would lower herself to believe unfounded rumors.”

  Mrs. Hoyt’s jaw dropped, but Rebecca lifted her chin, and her eyes shot sparks.

  If the action wouldn’t have added to the fire, Sarah would have thrown her arms around Will—her protector and defender—right then and there. She’d never been afraid to fight for herself, but now wasn’t the time or place. Instead, she focused on speaking with a level tone. “Mrs. Hoyt, I’m sorry that you’re distressed by the lies, because that’s what they are. Lies. I assure you, the concerns expressed are unwarranted.”

  “I certainly hope no more damage is done.”

  “Reverend Caswell and I have agreed to keep some distance between us, and I don’t see that changing.” Sarah hadn’t intended on saying that much, but she wanted the hateful woman to leave her alone. Why did Mrs. Hoyt feel the need to pour salt into Sarah’s wounds?

  “Good. I’m glad we had this talk.” Mrs. Hoyt gave Will a satisfied smile. “See? No harassment, whatsoever.” She gave her daughter a quick nod. “Come along, Rebecca. Have a fine afternoon, Mr. Reed.” Mother and daughter meandered toward the store’s entrance.

  Sarah released a long sigh, relaxing her shoulders. “Thank you, Will. It seems you’ve come to the rescue again.”

  “My pleasure. Those two are...The words that come to mind shouldn’t be said in mixed company.”

  “I’ve probably thought them myself.” She gave a weak smile.

  A mischievous grin grew on Will’s face.

  “What are you thinking, Mr. Reed? Are you formulating a cunning scheme to lock up Mrs. Hoyt and her daughter? Make them write one million times ‘I will not bear false witness’?”

  “No, but that’s not a bad idea.” He leaned against the counter. “Do you have any plans this evening?”

  “None.” Except to soak her tired feet. And maybe read a book. After standing for more than eight hours a day, it always felt good to slip out of her boots.

  “You do now. I’ll take care of everything—including sending a message to your grandmother that you won’t be home for supper.”

  “Will, what are you up to?”

  “Nothing unpleasant.” Humor glinted in his eyes. “Trust me.”

  ***

  Lazy Hay River sparkled under the setting September sun. A trio of butterflies danced like fairies among the wildflowers—their brilliant white wings a stark contrast to the coneflowers’ bright yellow petals and the sky-blue asters.

  The evening breeze carried a slig
ht chill, but the thick quilt beneath Sarah provided a barrier from the cool ground. She pulled her wool shawl around her shoulders. “Thank you, Will. This has been nice. Peaceful.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I mean it. The last few days have been...difficult. I haven’t laughed much—not like tonight.” She and Peter used to share times enjoyable times like this. What would he think if he knew she was having supper with another man? Regardless, Sarah couldn’t help but feel gratitude for Will’s generosity.

  He winked. “I’ve been told that I’m pretty entertaining.”

  Would anyone care that she was out in the country alone with Will? Or didn’t it matter, since her reputation had already been tainted, and he wasn’t held to a higher standard than anyone else? Not like Peter.

  Will flipped open the large wicker basket. “There’s more cheese, rolls, turkey, coleslaw,” he said as he rummaged through the basket, “and cherry cobbler if you’re still hungry.” His grin almost spread from one ear to the other.

  Sarah put up her hand. “Thank you, but I couldn’t eat another bite, even though it was all delicious.”

  Will dropped the basket lid back into place. “Thanks to Mrs. Sherlock. I’m going to miss that woman’s cooking when I check out of the hotel.”

  “You’re moving?”

  “The beginning of November. Seven weeks.”

  “Oh.” She should have known that a refined man like Will wouldn’t be content staying in a small town.

  “The original plan has always been that I’d return to Milwaukee. You know my father sent me here to study George’s—Mr. Carter’s—way of doing business so I could implement some of his strategies in our own family business.” Will stretched out flat on the blanket and crossed his arms beneath his head. “The other reason for sending me out into the wilderness was to punish me for not living up to his expectations. But, he’s been pleased with Mr. Carter’s reports.”

  Not another loss. Will had become someone she could depend on, and she’d feel his absence deeply. “But you once mentioned you might consider staying. Making a life here no longer interests you?”