Sarah My Beloved (Little Hickman Creek Series #2)

by Sharlene MacLaren

  Sensing an immediate need for the privy and not wanting to use the chamber pot again, Sarah donned her warm robe and slippers.

  Relief set in when she opened the door to the living room and discovered Rocky nowhere about. His blankets were folded and stacked at one end of the sofa and a low flame flickered in the lantern, and Sarah determined he must have headed for the barn. A roaring fire seemed to bid her a cheery welcome, its warmth filtering through the house.

  She opened the back door and grimaced when she saw the glossy covering of ice and felt the rush of frosty air as it drove through her lungs and straight down her body. Everywhere she looked, freezing rain had left its mark. Tree branches, once spry and resilient, now sagged nearly to the ground, while others had given way to the extra weight and broken off to lie sprawled about the yard.

  It was deadly quiet, save an occasional snapping of a distant twig or the faraway hoot of a sheltered owl. A hint of daybreak rose in the eastern skies, a tinge of orange and pink filtering through low-lying clouds. Sarah shivered and yanked her wrap more snugly about her before heading down the narrow path toward the outdoor facility, anxious to be done so she could begin breakfast before the children awakened.

  While measuring each step with care, she scolded herself for not having brought the lantern. Not only was the path dimly lit, it was precarious at best. Therefore, she should not have been surprised when her smooth-soled slippers sent her legs in two different directions like some kind of bungling acrobat. Flailing arms could not restore her balance, and so it was that she found herself falling rearward. She flopped on her backside, stunned and appalled.

  Unexpected pain soared through the back of her head, which she'd hit the hardest, starting at the base of her skull and steadily climbing like a noxious spider creeping along, intent on reaching its prey.

  Dazed and uncertain, she sought to lift herself. Failing in her attempt, she lay back and fought down fear and nausea.

  As unexplained drowsiness set in, she listened to her own voice mutter a whispered plea. "Dear God, please help me."

  11%a12-4A IQn~e

  ill she be all right, Uncle Rocky?" asked Seth for at least the tenth time that afternoon.

  "She'll be fine," Rocky assured, pitching another forkful of manure into the wagon, his second wagonload that day. "But it will take some time. Doc Randolph says she has a concussion.

  "What's that?"

  "I've already told you half a dozen times."

  "I forget."

  Rocky bit his lip to keep from smiling. Or maybe it was to bite back a frown. The boy was driving him crazy with his questions. Truth was, he'd almost gone crazy himself when he'd discovered Sarah lying flat out on the ground on his way back from the privy earlier that morning.

  When she hadn't responded to her name, he'd panicked. She'd looked so lifeless lying there in a heap in the middle of the path, all arms and legs. Relief had come quickly, however, when he'd swept her up to carry her into the house and heard her mumble, "I can walk just fine."

  She couldn't, of course, and she'd been in no position to argue at that point.

  He'd laid her on her bed, raced into Seth and Rachel's room, and, after waking Rachel, instructed her to watch over Sarah until he returned. Then he'd ridden Sparky, his pinto, to Doc's office faster than a brakeless locomotive going downhill, despite the icy conditions.

  He'd kicked himself for not having insisted the night before that she wait for him to walk her out in the morning-or at the very least use the chamber pot. Of course, discussing such things with his wife was nearly impossible. She went red as a cherry every time he so much as mentioned the words chamber pot. He suspected she'd never used one before she'd come to Little Hickman. Boston and most big cities in the East had introduced indoor plumbing some time ago, and with her supposed wealth, he suspected she'd had more than one indoor commode in her New England house.

  "What's a-con-concoction again?" asked Seth, stumbling on the word, and then still getting it wrong.

  "Concussion," Rocky corrected, grinning in spite of himself. "Doc says it's like an injury to the brain."

  Injury?" .

  "Her brain has been hurt. But not so bad that it won't heal with time. She will have a headache, and maybe feel tired for a few days, but then she'll start getting stronger."

  "Oh." The boy seemed temporarily satisfied. "Ain't it time to check on her again?"

  Seth leaned his small frame against the stall gate, looking every bit the little man, worried frown and all. He had been Rocky's ever-present shadow that whole day since Sarah's fall. Rocky supposed the lad was dealing with some insecurity, and he couldn't really fault him for it. To date, every adult he'd loved (save his grandparents) had deserted him in one way or another. Guilt stabbed Rocky square in the chest when he realized he'd probably contributed to the kid's lack of confidence.

  "Don't say ain't, Seth, and no, it's not time. We just checked on her half an hour ago."

  When last they'd entered the house, Rachel had been sitting beside the sleeping Sarah, her face buried in a book. . .Little Lord Fauntleroy. She'd lifted her face long enough to scowl and give them both the shushing sign. Rocky figured the girl had learned plenty about nursing when her mother had fallen ill, and for the first time, he viewed her through different eyes. At seven years old, she was already accustomed to tending and protecting, and something about that revelation disturbed him.

  "But Doc says we hafta keep wakin' her up," Seth argued.

  "Rachel is with her right now, and we don't have to wake her up for a while yet."

  "Why do we hafta keep wakin' her up?"

  "I've explained that. Doc Randolph wants us to keep an eye on her condition. Waking her every so often is the best way to tell if she is coherent."

  "Co-what?"

  "Never mind," he answered, tossing a forkful of muck into the wagon before glancing at the boy. "Doc said she can sleep for a few hours at a time, so try not to worry, okay?"

  "Who's gonna check on her in the middle of the night?" Seth asked, ignoring Rocky's offer of consolation.

  Rocky sighed. "I suspect I will. Now, why don't you run in the house and see if Rachel needs anything. But be quiet while you're at it."

  It was his secret ploy to get the boy's mind on something else-and out of his own hair. He'd accomplished precious little with the kid on his tail all day. Normally, there wasn't that much to do on Sunday afternoons, but he still had to tend to the usual chores, milk the cows, gather eggs, and feed and water the animals. Seth's constant shadow had kept him from even accomplishing these most mundane tasks.

  "Okay, but what if Sarah's awake?"

  "Well, then, I expect she'll be wanting to visit with you," Rocky assured.

  "Yippee!" Seth yowled, making a beeline for the house.

  "Keep the noise down!" Rocky called after him, doubting that he'd even heard the order the way his short, spry legs sent him sailing out of the barn.

  Rocky shook his head and resumed mucking out the last stall of the day.

  Sarah couldn't believe her predicament. While Rocky and Rachel cleaned up the supper dishes, Seth delivering more dishes to the sink, she was helpless to do much more than fight down drowsiness and watch from her reclined position on the sofa.

  Although it felt as if someone had split her head into two matching pieces with a razor-sharp hatchet, she wished to goodness she could get off this lumpy couch. After all, Rocky had married her for purposes of taking over the household chores. It was part of their arrangement. What must he think to find himself back in the kitchen again, tending to mundane chores, not to mention tending to her? Was he upset with the situation, perhaps even angry with her for her carelessness? He'd said few words to her all day long, unless one counted the number of times he had asked her what day it was, where she was, and if she could remember what had happened. However, when he'd asked her if she knew her own name, it was the final straw.

  "I fell on the ice, Mr. Callahan; I did not fall off my ro
cker!"

  He'd awarded her a slanted grin, skimpy as it was, and answered, "No need for crankiness, Mrs. Callahan. I'm just following Doc's orders."

  She hadn't intended to be snappish, but her deplorable situation seemed to warrant it.

  More than once, she'd held her aching head, touched the tender bulge at the back of her skull, and asked God to show her His purposes for allowing the accident. The only verse that came to mind all through the day, however, was a portion of one from 1 Peter, "Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, that he may exalt you in due time," and she couldn't figure out for the life of her what that had to do with anything. She decided she was already quite humbled if she considered her ill-timed circumstances. Did God really find it necessary to remind her? She'd wanted to gather in the living room that day for church. What possible good could come from missing that opportunity?

  "Well, that's done," mumbled Rocky some time later, jarring Sarah out of another momentary slumber. "How are you feeling, Sarah?" he asked, laying a towel down and moving across the room to drop into a nearby chair, Rachel and Seth tucking their feet under them on the floor beside her. Everyone looked particularly drained, and Sarah felt responsible.

  "Tired," she replied, "and helpless."

  Rocky managed half a smile. "Well, there's no help for that. Doc says you're to stay in bed for at least three days."

  "But that's ridiculous," she answered, grabbing her head when the sound of her own voice ripped at her nerve endings.

  "I can help, Sarah," Rachel said, her diminutive voice holding undue authority, her small palm coming up to pat Sarah on the arm. "You have to obey Doc's orders if you want to get well."

  Sarah blinked, awed by the girl's maturity. "I appreciate that, Rachel, but I won't have you doing all the work."

  "I'll help, too, and Uncle Rocky says we can all pitch in with the housework."

  Warmed, Sarah focused tired eyes on Rocky. "Did you say that?"

  He broke into a leisurely smile. "I did, but just so you know, we'll be anxious to see you back on your feet. It was a bit of a letdown to have to abide my cooking again."

  She managed a tremulous smile. "I thought the biscuits were-were.. .

  "They was kinda hard," Seth put in. "And burnt."

  "Seth!" Sarah scolded.

  When she looked at Rocky, he was laughing. "He speaks the truth," he said.

  Sarah bit her lip and covered her mouth with the corner of her blanket. "Well, the salt pork was-tasty-and the cheese..." What could she say about the cheese?

  The room went still until Rachel giggled. "Uncle Rocky found a block of cheese in the back shed. He had to cut off a big hunk of mold. It sure stank up the place!"

  Rocky threw the girl a frenzied look. "You didn't have to mention that."

  Under normal circumstances, Sarah wouldn't have laughed and the throbbing pain in her head warned her against undue movement, but there was no help for it. Something about his pathetic expression humored her, flat-out enchanted her. What started out as stern restraint transformed into a flicker of mirth, then outright laugher, bubbling up from down deep, uncontrolled and urgent.

  Rocky stared, as did the children, and the more they studied her outburst, the more she giggled. Finally, a flash of humor sneaked across Rocky's face, setting off a rippling effect of laughter from Seth and Rachel, which must have amused Rocky the more.

  At first, his laugh was low and throaty, as if he meant to hold it back. But as the merriment continued, his laughter deepened, reverberating off the walls of the little Kentucky cabin and blending with the others' mirth to create some kind of exquisite harmony.

  Sarah didn't know what to make of it. She was thrilled to hear her husband laugh with such freedom, not to mention the children, and it struck her that she wished the moment could go on forever despite the pounding ache of her head.

  Yet, just as all good things must end, this too finishedRocky cleared his throat and stood, an instant of wistfulness stealing into his expression but quickly being replaced by inexplicable withdrawal. "I best go check on the animals," he said. The abrupt manner in which he strode across the room and threw on his jacket told her he had emptied himself of his good-natured humor.

  Hours later, Rocky lay sprawled on the lumpy couch, staring at the plaster ceiling, tossing and turning to avoid the loose spring that insisted on poking his backside.

  He knew without checking it was well past midnight. Unable to sleep, he yanked a corner of the blanket up and over his exposed shoulder. Sarah's scent wafted past his nostrils with the simple movement. She'd used the same blanket today, he reminded himself, rubbing its downy edge under his nose once more for good measure.

  "Don't be stupid," he muttered aloud, disgusted with the direction his mind had taken him. She was his wife, yes, but in name only. He'd do well to remember that.

  He told himself again she wouldn't outlast spring planting, particularly after today. He could see she wasn't accustomed to inconvenience by the way she'd grumped at him off and on. She was probably used to having house cleaners, nursemaids, and butlers at her disposal. Well, lying on a lump-ridden couch all day with no one to tend to her but a five- and sevenyear-old had undoubtedly soured her to the hassles of rural living. Of course, he'd checked on her as often as possible, but the usual farm chores had kept him from seeing to her every need.

  He went over the events of the day-waking her every few hours; reheating a kettle of chicken soup for lunch, of which she'd only taken a few spoonfuls; helping her to her bedroom twice so she could see to her personal needs; then seeing her back to the couch, where she'd insisted on remaining. He knew it mortified her that he'd stood outside her bedroom door-waiting, listening-while she went about her business, but he'd be hogtied before he'd let her walk any distance on her own until her dizzy spells passed. Doc Randolph said she would be feeling poorly for several days if he were to judge the length of her recovery by the size of the knot on the back of her head. Yes, after today she'd be more than ready to head back East, where all the luxuries of private nursing lay at her fingertips.

  He must have finally dozed, for it wasn't until close to two in the morning that he heard a shuffle in Sarah's room, something like a heavy book or lamp hitting the floor, and then a whimper or a moan.

  In less than a second, his feet hit the floor. He passed a hand over his scruffy face to get his bearings, making sure he hadn't been dreaming, and made a beeline for Sarah's room, forgetting his trousers altogether. After giving a gentle knock and getting no answer, he flung wide the door. There she was, sprawled on the floor, reaching for the side of the bed, her ruby tresses falling across her face, her nightgown creeping up to reveal two shapely legs.

  "What happened?" he asked, bending over her to help her to her feet.

  "I'm sorry to be such a nuisance," she replied, taking the hand he offered and allowing him to lead her back to the bed. "I thought I could manage to walk out to the privy, but...I'm suddenly so dizzy." She sat down and mopped her moist forehead with a trembling hand. "I guess I lost my balance.

  "Are you all right?" he asked, fearful that she'd hurt herself.

  "I'm fine."

  "What exactly did you think you were doing, young lady?" His voice came off sounding harsh, but she'd scared him plenty.

  Her shoulders sagged in quiet resignation as she gave way to a shaky sigh. "I just wanted to go to the...you know."

  "Outhouse," he finished, biting back a grin, relieved to see she was okay, just shaken.

  She gave a resolute nod. "I'm such a bother," she blurted.

  "Sarah..." He dropped down beside her and felt the poke and jab of the old straw mattress, smelled the musky dampness of the plaster walls. He'd never minded the mattress when he slept on it, but somehow it didn't seem right that Sarah should have to lie on it. Raw, primitive emotion tugged at his soul, its edges sharp and jagged, as a stab of guilt hit him square in the chest.

  Without thinking, he put an arm around her sh
oulder. It was the first time he'd actually touched her in any way but casual. Even the hasty wedding kiss he'd planted on her lips had lacked true sentiment. "You're not a bother," he said, hearing the quake in his own voice. "I'm sorry if I've given you the impression that you are."

  A choked, desperate sigh escaped her throat. "But look at the trouble I've caused you. You haven't even gotten a good night's sleep since I arrived. And now you've had to go back to making the meals."

  "You're not complaining about my cooking, are you?" he teased.

  She glanced sideways in surprise, her warm breath touching his cheeks. "No."

  "Well, then, you should just try to relax and do as the doctor says, take it easy for the next few days. Everything will work out fine." For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what had just come over him. He hadn't been this reasonable since-well, he couldn't remember when.

  The tension in her shoulders loosened as he coaxed her closer, and when she rested her head in the hollow of his neck, he found himself drinking in the comfort of her nearness, enjoying her softness far more than was right.

  And if he didn't watch himself, he might be tempted to kiss her.

  "Are you ready for me to help you out to the privy?" he suddenly asked, recalling her motive for getting out of bed. "The ice has melted, but I insist on walking you there just the same."

  She took a quick, sharp breath and pulled herself away from him. To his dismay, the place where she'd rested herself felt vacant and unreasonably cold. "I don't care what the doctor says," she declared, "I'm not going to waste my time lying on that couch-not when there's work to be done."

  Just like that, she stood up, took a moment to steady herself, and began walking to the door. He jumped up beside her and took her arm.