Until very recently, that is.
Thanks to a swarm of locusts.
She sat on the chair, still staring at the bed, trying to decide if she could move it herself. But would that be snooping? Would that be a breach of trust? Not that there was much trust to breach in the first place, but there was something growing, no matter how small or fragile.
Shadow whimpered and Sarah jumped. She turned to see him staring at her, his dark eyes wide, his head tilting.
“What are you looking at?” she asked, feeling guilty over something she hadn’t even done.
Thunder rumbled outside and Sarah rose from her chair, absent-mindedly smoothing the creases on her skirt. Thinking not a moment longer about trust and guilt, she moved toward the bed and closed her palms around the rough tree bark that covered her bedframe. Her back strained when she lifted it, inching it out from the sod wall. She felt Shadow’s judgmental glare, and reminded herself that he was just a dog.
When she pulled the bed out far enough, she saw the tin box sitting unobtrusively in the square hole. Odd, that she had not known of its existence a week ago, having slept above it all this time.
Her stomach did a quick flip and she found herself glancing nervously at the door. If it had begun to rain, Briggs may decide to return early from plowing the field.
Not that it mattered, she told herself. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. She only wanted to know how much money they had so she could plan their trip to town and prepare a list of supplies.
Forcing herself to ignore the nervous tightening in her belly, she crouched down on her knees between the bed and the wall, lifted the cold tin box, and set it on the mattress. She stared briefly at the tarnished tin, back at the door, then back at the box again. Slowly, tentatively, she raised the lid.
The small, rusty hinges squeaked, and Shadow trotted over to sniff what was inside. Sarah looked down at a few buttons sitting on top of some papers. Reaching in and unfolding them, she discovered the deed to the property and a few old grocery bills marked paid.
Feeling a little foolish for having been so curious about nothing, she moved to replace the papers. It was then that she noticed a small blue velvet bag with a drawstring tucked into the corner of the box.
Shadow dropped his furry chin to rest on her outstretched arm, watching closely as she withdrew the bag and inserted two fingers to open it and feel what was inside. She touched something cold and hard, and pulled it out.
Eyes wide with disbelief, she stared at the sparkling discovery—a jewel necklace—undoubtedly worth far more than her mother’s pearls. A large oval gemstone surrounded by tiny diamond sapphires was set into a teardrop-shaped setting of gold, suspended on a shiny gold chain.
Sarah held the exquisite object between her fingers, feeling her pulse soar at the sheer beauty of it, as it reflected the golden flame from the lantern.
Shadow whimpered again and she patted the soft fur on his head. “What’s the matter, boy?” she asked, knowing he sensed her uneasiness and wanting to convince him everything was all right.
But in all honesty, it wasn’t. What was this necklace doing here and why hadn’t Briggs mentioned it? They were literally sleeping on a fortune—a fortune that could see them through the winter and probably the following winter, too.
She squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to believe there was a good reason he hadn’t mentioned it or offered to sell it instead of her pearls. Perhaps it was made of paste and worth nothing. No. Most likely it was a treasured family heirloom.
She opened her eyes and looked down at it, deciding immediately that it had to be genuine. Only true gemstones could sparkle so beautifully, so brilliantly.
Then something clicked in her mind.
With a growing sense of dread, she slid her fingers back into the velevet bag and withdrew a small card. To Isabelle. Love forever, Briggs.
Briggs had told Martha and Howard that he’d sold the necklace, but in truth, he had kept it. Why? To hold onto the memory of his first love? Or perhaps he thought she’d come back to him one day.
Sarah shuddered. He had loved this other woman. She would have been his first choice—if he’d had one.
Sarah sat back on her heels. Shadow lay down beside her, resting his chin on his paws and staring up at her. She ran her fingertip over the jewels. How had Briggs given this to Isabelle? Had he knelt down on one knee and proposed at that moment, or had he held her in his arms and kissed her and felt like he would never love anyone else that way again?
She stared blankly across the room and thought of the day her mother gave her the pearls. It was Sarah’s thirteenth birthday. She had felt like a woman that day. For the first time.
She gazed once more at the inscription. Love forever…
Did Briggs think his memories were worth more than hers?
The pettiness in her wanted to throw the necklace straight at him as soon as he walked through the door. But no, that would not do, she decided. She was not a hysterical person and neither was he. He had not thrown anything at her on their wedding night when he’d made a similar discovery about her past experience. He’d simply walked out. Maybe there was a reasonable explanation for this, and for why he hadn’t told her about it when she’d offered her pearls to keep him from leaving her to work in Nebraska.
Carefully, she dropped the necklace back into the tiny velvet bag, pulled the drawstring closed, and returned everything to its proper hiding place. As she pushed the bed back up against the wall, she knew she must let this foolish jealousy settle a bit, and like a sensible adult, she would simply ask Briggs about it when he returned.
* * *
Sarah leaned over the butter churn and forcefully—too forcefully perhaps—pumped the smooth wooden handle in and out. Her back was going to pay for this tomorrow, but she couldn’t help it. She needed to work off some tension somehow.
Her arms soon felt like they were going to fall off. Straightening to rest for a second or two, she glanced down at Shadow, stretched out on the floor at her feet. She remembered the hectic days in her old life back in the restaurant in Boston, when the other server would quit or walk out. Most of them had after a short while—leaving Sarah to tend all the tables by herself.
At least here, Garrison couldn’t wander in any time he pleased, sit at her kitchen table, and expect her to wait on him.
She tightened her clammy grip on the churn handle and pumped it again. If she could handle Garrison and get herself out of that mess, she could confront a husband about a necklace.
Shadow raised his head and perked his ears, drawing Sarah’s attention away from that prospect. Hearing a wagon, she glanced out the dust-covered window and saw Howard, Martha, and their children. Though she was happy to see them, a part of her wished they had chosen a different day.
Shadow barked and darted out the door. Sarah pushed fallen tendrils of hair away from her forehead and wiped the perspiration from her nose and cheeks. She would try to forget her problems for now.
She gathered her skirts and walked up the steps and outside into the sunny afternoon. “Martha. Howard. How wonderful to see you.”
Howard helped his wife down from the wagon seat, and as soon as her feet touched ground, she strode to Sarah and clasped both her hands. “I’ve been after Howard to let me come calling. It’s dreadful what happened to our farms, but we will survive. You’ll see.”
Sarah nodded politely, hoping it was true.
“Shadow!” Mollie shouted.
Tail wagging, the dog paced back and forth in front of the wagon. Howard lifted Mollie out while Frank hopped down on his own. Sarah smiled as she watched them stroke Shadow’s golden fur and nearly crush him with hugs.
“Please, come in. I’ll put on a pot of coffee. And I hope you’ll all stay for supper.”
Martha smiled and followed, but Howard stayed behind. “That sounds mighty neighborly,” he replied. “If you ladies will excuse me, though, I think I’ll head out to the field to see how Briggy’s doing.”
He climbed back into the wagon and drove away. The children took off with Shadow, laughing and chasing him around the yard in circles.
“They’ll tire out soon enough,” Martha mentioned, her arm looped through Sarah’s. “But until then, let’s enjoy the silence indoors.”
They went into the dark little house. “Oh, my,” Martha commented. “You’ve made quite a difference here. I knew you would, but I see you’ve given up on your window.”
Sarah looked sheepishly toward the dirty panes. With all her work, she’d forgotten to wipe them these last few days. “With the wind, it gets dirty so fast, and I just haven’t had time to—”
Martha held up a hand to hush her. “Please, do not apologize. I know what it’s like.” She picked up a wet cloth from the table, went outside and scrubbed off the dust. Welcome sunlight beamed into the house. “What you need is a little helper or two,” she said, returning. “Things will get easier when you have children old enough to take over some of your chores.”
Still thinking about Isabelle’s necklace beneath the bed, Sarah replied, “I’m sure you’re right. Why don’t we sit down?”
Martha sat and dug into her bag. “I have something for you. Howard returned from town this morning and it’s our habit to pick up the mail for the entire vicinity.” She pulled out a letter and handed it over.
A warning voice whispered in Sarah’s head as she reached for it. Who would write to her? No one knew she was here. There must be some mistake. But when she accepted the tattered envelope, she saw it was addressed to Sarah MacFarland. Her maiden name.
Cold fingers of fear slowly crept up her neck. She’d snuck away from her old life without even informing her employer. This letter could only be one person, determined enough to search for her, and find her.
She ran her finger over the tidy, familiar penmanship. All it said was, “Sarah MacFarland, Dodge City, Kansas.” How could she open this in front of Martha? What would she tell her?
Sarah walked toward the window, keeping her back to her neighbor, fighting the panic that took her breath. She hesitated, then gently tore open the seal and began to read.
My dearest Sarah,
I don’t know if you’ll ever receive this. All I know is that your ticket took you as far as Dodge City. The train master was kind enough to help me.
My heart forces me to write to you, regardless of where you may have traveled beyond Dodge. Why, my dear? Why did you leave? And why so far away? What are you hoping to find in such untried country? Who there could give you the things you deserve? Fine things, for a fine woman. That’s what you were meant for.
Please, love, come home to me. Couldn’t we put that misunderstanding behind us? I know you love me. You said so in your vows. And surely I don’t need to remind you what will happen if you’ve betrayed me. Come home, Sarah. Come home to me before I am forced to come there and fetch you.
Your truest love, Garrison
Numb with shock, Sarah folded the letter. She stared unblinking out the window at the frolicking children, hearing their muffled laughter, as if it came from a distant world.
A hand on her shoulder startled her.
“Sarah, my dear. Is it bad news?”
She was breaking out in a sweat. Her head was throbbing as she tried to find an answer to Martha’s question. “No, everything’s fine. I…I was just churning butter before you arrived, and I must have worked a little too hard. I feel a bit dizzy.”
Martha led her to a chair. “Perhaps you should sit.”
Sarah knew her friend was right. If she didn’t get off her feet, her knees might buckle and she might collapse to the floor. But when she sat down, the tension in her neck and shoulders failed to leave her. The pulsing of rushing blood continued to pound inside her ears.
“Is that better?” Martha asked.
Sarah could barely respond. She didn’t know what to do. Her hand trembled as she stuffed the letter back into the envelope. She wanted to burn it now, but she couldn’t. Not in front of Martha.
“Tell me, Sarah, what is it?”
“It’s nothing. Just a note from my old employer. It seems he wants me back.” She laughed nervously and slid the letter under the pot of flowers on the table.
“The patrons must have adored you.”
Feeling flustered, Sarah stood up again, but realized immediately that Martha noticed her sudden restlessness. Searching for something to do, Sarah stoked the stove.
“Do you need help?” Martha asked.
“No, I’m fine.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Would you like some coffee?”
“That would be nice, thank you.”
While Sarah moved around the kitchen, she couldn’t help but sense that Martha knew something was wrong. After sitting in silence for a moment, Martha began to talk about the locusts. Sarah nodded and tried to respond accordingly, hoping she hadn’t driven a sharp wedge into this blossoming friendship.
Sarah finally served the coffee and sat down again, finding it difficult to ignore the letter that was screaming at her from under the flower pot.
She couldn’t let Briggs find out. She couldn’t drag him into this. He would try to do something about it, with no idea who he was up against. Garrison would kill him. She had to figure out a way to solve this problem on her own. In the meantime, she would simply have to burn that letter.
Chapter Seventeen
Holding the soft leather reins in his hands and resting his elbows on his knees, Briggs steered his creaky wagon into the yard. Behind him, he could hear Howard’s team rolling in, the horses nickering and jangling their harness as they came to a stop. With Howard’s help, Briggs had plowed more field than he’d expected. He decided just this once to quit early. Besides, Howard had brought his fiddle.
Mollie and Frank came darting out of the house, shouting, “They’re back! They’re back!”
“Hello there!” Briggs called out.
Little Mollie ran straight into her pa’s arms while Frank ran toward Briggs and grasped Gem’s bridle, eager as usual to help in some way.
“How about unhitching the team, Frank?” Briggs suggested.
As he hopped down from the wagon and landed with a thud in the dirt, he couldn’t mistake the pride and excitement in the young boy’s face.
Just then, the ladies’ melodic voices emerged from the house. He turned. Something happened inside him in that moment—a sudden burst of joy, an unexpected contentment.
He couldn’t take his eyes off Sarah, who bent forward to pick up little golden-haired Mollie, then approached him with the wee girl straddling her hips.
One day, Sarah would be the mother of his children. He wondered if that time would come sooner than he thought. He’d just have to wait and see….
“How was your day?” she asked.
“It was excellent.”
For some reason, she wouldn’t look at him. Instead, she watched Martha speak to Howard.
Briggs took Mollie into his arms. “What do we have here? A little mermaid?” Mollie giggled and planted a wet, smacking kiss on his cheek. “Why thank you, Miss Mollie,” he replied, chivalrously. “I was waiting for that.”
“You need to shave!” she blurted out, rubbing her tiny soft hand over his stubbly chin.
Martha marched over. “Mollie! You shouldn’t say such things!” Martha smiled playfully at Briggs as she took the child from his arms. “Hello, Briggy,” she greeted, touching her cheek to his. “It’s nice to see you. Did Sarah tell you we brought a letter?”
Briggs looked at Sarah. Her face went pale. “No, she didn’t. Not yet, I mean.”
“My old employer,” Sarah said, too quickly. “The restaurant is busy and….” She stopped talking and her smile quivered.
A sick feeling crept into Briggs’s gut. “He wrote to you?”
“Yes,” Martha answered for Sarah. “He wants her to come back to work, but we shouldn’t be surprised. Who wouldn’t want her back?”
Briggs barely heard what Martha was
saying. All he could do was stare at Sarah, whose eyes were shifting about.
“Thank you for delivering the letter,” he said to Martha, never taking his eyes off his wife.
“My pleasure.” Martha stood with them for a moment, but when nothing was said, she smiled awkwardly and walked back to her husband.
Without looking Briggs in the eye, Sarah turned toward the house. “Coffee’s on if you all want to come inside.”
“Where do you want the horses?” Frank asked. “In the stalls or the pen?”
Briggs had to search his mind for an answer. “In the stalls.” The boy began leading them one at a time into the barn. When Briggs turned around, Sarah had already gone into the house.
He wanted to trust her about who had written the letter, but at the same time, he wanted to take a look at it for himself.
Martha hurried in behind Sarah. He supposed he would have to wait to ask.
He hated himself for assuming that Sarah was keeping something from him, but how could he help it? She’d been so vague about her past, and even now, she seemed nervous about something. He hoped the letter wasn’t from who he thought it was from.
* * *
With her heart racing like a runaway wagon, Sarah pulled open the door to the dugout and hurried down the steps. She fixed her gaze on the letter on the table. Was the stove still burning?
Just before she could reach for the envelope, the door squeaked open. Sarah whirled around, expecting to see Briggs, but it was Martha with Mollie in her arms. “Shall we set the table?” Martha asked.
Sarah tried to breathe normally. “I was just about to do that.”
Martha set Mollie down. “Why don’t you play with your doll? I have to help Mrs. Brigman.”
Sarah glanced at the letter. She had to hide it.
With the pretext of clearing away the flowers, she picked up the cup, set it on the window sill, and stuffed the letter into her pocket. First chance she got, she would toss it into the stove.
* * *
Briggs and Frank swung the barn door closed. They walked together to the little dugout, Shadow at their heels. Once inside, Briggs paused on the bottom step, inhaling the delectable scent of freshly baked bread mixed with coffee and spices.
Mail Order Prairie Bride: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Book 1) Page 13
