Romance Rides the Range

by Reece, Colleen L.

  Copyright

  ISBN 978-1-60260-895-5

  Copyright © 2010 by Colleen L. Reece. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

  One

  Spring 1882

  St. Louis, Missouri

  “It’s over, girl. Git up.” Gus Stoddard’s gruff voice crackled with impatience.

  Seventeen-year-old Sarah Joy Anderson ignored the command and continued to bend over the freshly dug grave. Her tears fell freely, mixing with the recent rain shower. The April morning’s sudden cloudburst symbolized her grief. It was as if all heaven wept on her behalf. The shower had cleared the air of the usual humidity of the St. Louis, Missouri, day and left the morning refreshingly cool and clean. A rainbow spread its half circle over her mother’s grave just as the minister read John 14:1–3—a fitting eulogy for a God-fearing woman like Virginia Anderson Stoddard.

  “ ‘Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.’ ”

  The familiar words brought a measure of comfort, but it fled like darkness from dawn at her stepfather’s harsh voice.

  “I said git up, girl.” This time, the hard prod of a leather boot accompanied Gus’s voice. “The young-uns are hungry. You take ’em back to the house and fix ’em some dinner. I’ve got business down at the docks.”

  A wave of rebellion swept through Sarah. “I want to stay here awhile.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you want. Do as I say. Now.” Gus yanked Sarah up from the mound of dirt. He spun her around so hard her worn bonnet slipped to her shoulders, revealing a thick braid of red gold hair circling her head. “Look at you. There’s no call to shame yourself in front of the preacher and mourners by crawling all over the grave. You’ve got mud on your Sunday-go-to-meeting dress. You’re a disgrace! What would your mother think of you wallowing in the mud instead of minding your brothers and sister?”

  They are no kin of mine, Sarah silently protested. Long experience with Gus Stoddard had taught her to hold her tongue even when she wanted to cry out against him.

  Sarah glanced down through tears at her blue-sprigged calico dress. Several large, dark splotches covered the skirt and the undersides of the long sleeves. Her hands were caked with mud from falling onto the mound of dirt that held the last remains of the dearest person she’d ever known. Oh Mama. What will become of me now? She read the tombstone once more: Virginia Stoddard. 1840–82. Nothing more. No words of endearment, no mention of the other little life that lay in the woman’s arms—the tiny baby girl who had never even been named. Engraving cost money—more than the unfeeling man standing next to Sarah cared to pay. He certainly wouldn’t see the need to write anything other than the bare-bone facts.

  Sarah looked up and blinked back tears. Most of the twenty-five or so mourners had gone, leaving her alone with the man who now had control over her life. She gazed silently into Gus Stoddard’s face. It seemed chiseled from stone. The hard black eyes staring at her from beneath heavy brows made Sarah wonder what her gentle mother had ever seen in this man. Perhaps Gus had been handsome at one time, with his thick, curling dark hair and solid muscular build. Sadly, whatever charms he’d used to win Virginia Anderson had quickly worn off after the marriage vows. It had been the longest three years of Sarah’s life.

  “What are you staring at, girl?” Gus demanded, giving her a hard shake.

  She fought back fear and revulsion. “Nothing.” Her voice was so devoid of emotion it earned her a sharp smack across the cheek. She ignored the slap as she had learned to ignore so many things from her stepfather.

  “Mind your impertinence, missy,” Gus snapped. “We can’t stand around all day grieving over a dead woman. There’s work t’be done, you hear? Take your brothers and sister home while I mosey down to the docks. I’ve got business with Tice Edwards.”

  The look on Gus’s face convinced Sarah he was in no mood to be trifled with. She grabbed eight-year-old Ellianna by the hand. “Come on. Let’s go home.” With her other hand she reached for five-year-old Timmy and motioned for the two older boys to follow. Together they headed back to the three-room cottage on the edge of town, the Stoddards’ most recent residence. It was a two-mile hike through the bustling city of St. Louis; the humidity that had for a short time relented would soon be back in full force.

  You’re not my pa. Sarah shouted silently. These are not my brothers and sister. She gave Ellie’s hand an impatient tug. “You’re always dragging your feet, Ellie. Can’t you walk a little faster? Timmy doesn’t have any trouble keeping up.”

  In response, the child bit Sarah’s hand.

  “Ouch!” Sarah yelped. “What did you do that for?”

  “You were pulling too hard,” Ellie answered spitefully, glancing at the older boys walking alongside. They grinned.

  Ian, the oldest at thirteen, stopped and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I ain’t goin’ home,” he announced, kicking at a rock with one bare foot. “I’m goin’ t’catch me some rats down by the riverboats.”

  “I’m goin’, too,” declared eleven-year-old Peter. He pulled back on his suspenders and let them go, grinning at the loud crack they made.

  “Fine,” Sarah muttered. “The rest of us are going home for nice hot stew and my special biscuits. You two aren’t getting any if you don’t come now.”

  The older boys looked at each other. Ian shrugged his shoulders then turned and took off toward the docks. Peter glanced briefly at Sarah then hurried after his brother.

  The two youngest children whined and kicked. “We wanna go, too!”

  Sarah held firmly to their arms. “You’ll fall into the river and drown; then where will I be?” she growled over their screams of rage. “Just settle down and come along.”

  When they finally reached home, the need to heat yesterday’s stew and mix up a batch of biscuits pushed Sarah’s grief to the back of her mind for a few minutes. But as she pulled the hot pan from the small, black beast of a cookstove, the familiar odor of her mother’s baking powder biscuits wafted on the air and set Sarah to crying again. She dropped the pan on the top of the stove, hastily dished up the stew, and placed the food before the two hungry children. They instantly set to eating with fingers and spoons.

  “You’re welcome,” Sarah muttered past the lump in her throat. She untied her apron, hung it on a nail, and headed for the ladder to the loft she shared with Ellie and the boys. A thin blanket hanging from a tightly stretched rope separated the attic into two rooms. Sarah pushed past the flimsy partition and flung herself down on her corn-husk mattress, sobbing. Why had God taken Mama and the newborn baby?

  When no more tears came, Sarah rolled over and stared at the attic ceiling. The pine boards were old and warped. Here and there a chink of sunlight showed through the tar paper and rough shake roof. Was there any hope it would be repaired before fa
ll? Hardly. Gus Stoddard was not long on work. He could usually be found doing the least strenuous job for the most money. Gambling figured highly in his income opportunities, but Sarah knew he lost far more money than he won. She only had to look around the cramped shack and count the number of times she mended britches and lowered hems to figure out Gus was just as poor at gambling as he was at any honest venture. When things got too lean, he’d find work on the docks just long enough to tide them over for a few weeks.

  “Oh God!” Sarah cried out to the ceiling. “Why did You let Mama die? How will I get along without her?” A vision of what lay ahead sent a cold chill into the girl’s aching heart. Virginia had named her only daughter Sarah Joy, but what little joy Sarah had known during the past few years was buried in a lonely grave.

  Thinking about her mother’s death plunged Sarah into the past—to the tragic death of her father five years before: the lingering illness that transformed the tall, strong but gentle Scandinavian giant into a thin, pale shadow. The anguish of watching their once-productive farm slowly deteriorate into disrepair when John Anderson could no longer work it. The final, agonizing hours of a wonderful husband and father. Although he had no fear of death, he mourned for his family, who would soon be left alone in the world. Seeing him so had wrenched Sarah’s heart but not like this most recent, terrible loss. Now she was alone. Alone with—

  “Why did you have to marry that horrible Gus Stoddard?” she sobbed. “We were getting along all right. You, Seth, and me.” Even as she spoke, Sarah knew it wasn’t quite true. Although her brother, Seth, had worked hard, he couldn’t make the farm pay. Forced to sell Pleasant Acres, the family relocated to St. Louis, but every day was a struggle to live.

  A year later Virginia Anderson had informed her eighteen-year-old son and thirteen-year-old daughter that she was remarrying. “He’s a widower,” she said. “A kind, God-fearing Christian man I met at a church social. He has four motherless children. The youngest is only two years old. Mr. Stoddard is anxious to share his home with a woman who will treat his children as her own. In exchange he will make a good husband and provide a home for us.”

  Sarah snorted. “A good husband?” she said disgustedly. She pulled herself to a sitting position on her bed, clenched her fists, and savagely slammed them onto her thin, uncomfortable mattress. Gus Stoddard had been desperate for a woman. A woman who would do all the work without even a thank-you. A woman who would care for his unruly, disrespectful children and go for days wondering when her new husband would return from his many “business” deals.

  “Translation,” Sarah sneered, “gambling and drinking binges. We were better off starving to death by ourselves.”

  She closed her eyes and tried to shove the pain of the last three years from her mind. “It’s over,” she insisted. “No point in digging up old memories. They should stay buried. I’ve got enough trouble right now without borrowing from the past.” “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” The verse from Matthew’s Gospel popped into her head, but it did little to quiet her anxiety. Sarah knew the verse referred to worrying about tomorrow, but was God also trying to tell her to let the past take care of itself?

  It was no use. Memories flooded her troubled mind, and Sarah could do nothing to stop them. At last she gave in and relived the heart-wrenching weeks that had followed her mother’s marriage to Gus.

  ❧

  Sarah and her brother saw through their new stepfather immediately. Gus Stoddard proved himself a hypocrite from the honeymoon on. Not once did he step into a church after the marriage ceremony. He dragged Seth to the docks to work, beating him if he raised the slightest objection. He forced Sarah to accept work as a laundress. Her hands turned raw and bled. Did she or Seth see a penny of their wages? Of course not! Gus pocketed the money then gambled it away.

  A year later Seth made a bold move. “I’m going west,” he confided to his sister one spring evening near the back fence. “I can’t take old man Stoddard one day longer.” Seth squared his shoulders, and a parting ray of sunlight rested on the red gold hair that matched his sister’s. His once-laughing mouth tightened into a straight line. With a pang, Sarah realized the childhood companion she adored was now a man. A man like their father, who had set his course and would not deviate from it.

  “What about. . .what about Mama. . .and me?” Sarah asked, frightened. Seth leave? Unthinkable! Who’d stand between her and Gus when the disreputable man had had too much to drink and started on a rampage?

  Two

  Seth looked troubled. His blue eyes, so like Sarah’s, darkened in concern. “I talked to Mama,” he assured her. “She agrees it’s best for me to leave. Gus is bound and determined to apprentice me to some wheelwright or blacksmith. Even worse, he wants me to learn the gambling trade.” Seth laughed bitterly. “What do you think our pa would say about that?”

  Sarah shook her head. “Pa never gambled a day in his life. Nor drank a drop of whiskey. He loved God and Mother. And us.” Her voice quavered. “Seth, what will become of Mama and me?”

  He reached out and pulled his young sister close. “Never you mind. Just hang on for a year or two. I’ll go west and become a cowboy. I’ve heard they don’t make much money, but if you’re good at your job, you can get steady work all year round.” He paused and added softly, “I’ll pray every day for God to watch over you until I can save enough to send for you and Mama.”

  Sarah shook her head. “You know Mama won’t leave Gus and the kids. She made a promise, remember? ‘In sickness and in health. Till death do us part.’ Just like she promised Pa. Mama will honor her vows—even if it costs her everything.” A sob rose in her throat, but she hastily swallowed it. Seth had to go. She must not make it harder for him than she knew it already was.

  “All right then. I’ll send for you, little sister.”

  Sarah felt her heart leap with sudden hope. To be free of her brutal stepfather would be the greatest gift her brother could give her. Just as quickly her joy vanished and a dull ache entered her heart. How can I leave? Mama relies on me for more than just help in managing the house. The kids don’t listen—they make more work for her. Who would she talk with in the long evenings when Gus is gone? I’m Mama’s only confidante. God, I simply can’t leave her.

  Sarah felt torn in two. She loved her mother, yet she adored her brother. Since their father’s death, Seth had been her protector, her cherished companion, her safeguard against some of her stepfather’s unpredictable moods. More than once Gus’s upraised hand had been stayed because of Seth’s presence. What would happen when her brother left? She shuddered. She dared not remind Seth of this, or he might stay on her account. That must not happen. Although Gus held back from brutalizing the women, he clearly had no qualms about laying into Seth for the smallest offense. One of these days the beast would beat Seth senseless—or kill him in a drunken rage.

  Sarah sighed, her decision made. “I can’t leave. I’ll get by.” She clasped one of Seth’s hands. “But you’re right. You’ve got to leave before our stepfather does something terrible to you. He’s a mean one. Stubborn, too. He’ll no doubt have the law after you, seeing you’re not yet of age. If you can only stay out of his clutches for two years, you’ll be safe.”

  Seth heaved a sigh. “I know. I don’t want to leave you and Mama, but I’ve got her blessing. She gave me what money she could spare. It must mean the Lord’s going to look after me.”

  “I hope so, Seth.” Sarah gave her brother a hug. “Write to us, would you? Let us know where you are.”

  “I’ll try. But it’ll probably be some time before I settle down in one place long enough to write.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Right away.” His face gleamed in the growing dusk. “I already said good-bye to Mama. Gus is down at the docks, hanging around his favorite riverboat. He’ll no doubt be gone all night. By the time he staggers home, I’ll be long gone.” Seth paused then quickly added, “Thank God that for once in the
ir marriage Mama stood up to Gus when he wanted to sell Copper! I wouldn’t get far on foot. Even so, I can only carry food and a few extras in the saddlebags. Look after what little else I have, won’t you, and bring it when you come.”

  He paused. “Don’t worry if you don’t hear from me for a while. When I do write, I’ll send the letters to. . .” He named a trusted friend. “We can’t take a chance on Gus intercepting them.”

  Sarah sadly nodded and watched her brother walk off into the night. The sound of creaking leather, followed by the soft thud of the sorrel’s hooves diminished, leaving her alone in the darkness. Hot tears fell as she hurried to hide her brother’s few pitiful childhood treasures. The Stoddard children mustn’t get their greedy little hands on Seth’s belongings, especially the toy pistol Seth’s pa had painstakingly carved for him years before, so perfect in detail it closely resembled the real thing.

  ❧

  Days passed. Gus Stoddard’s initial fury at Seth’s departure waned. A muttered “good riddance” a few weeks later assured Sarah and her mother that he had no immediate plans to track the young man down and drag him home. Life settled into routine—an empty routine for Sarah, who missed Seth’s hearty laugh and reassuring presence more than she had dreamed possible.

  Months limped by with no news of Seth. Sarah feared some misfortune had befallen her brother in the wild West. Each night after the youngsters had been put to bed, Sarah and her mother fell to their knees, asking God to keep His strong hand upon Seth. They also prayed for a letter.

  More than a year later the longed-for missive finally arrived, delivered by Seth’s friend. Seth was safe! Sarah and her mother rejoiced but kept the news to themselves, hiding the letter long before Gus returned from spending most of the afternoon and evening gambling away the little money he had. It would do Seth no good for Gus to learn the young man was now in California.

  Seth had written that he loved learning the cowboy trade on the Diamond S Ranch. “I’m the greenest greenhorn in the entire outfit,” he lamented in his letter. “I don’t know why my boss, Matt Sterling, has taken such a shine to me, but if it weren’t for him, I’d probably be lying dead in some back alley in Madera.” He closed his letter by writing, “Don’t worry. I’m alive, I’ve got a good job, and I am saving all I can. Keep praying for me. I know it’s those prayers that have seen me through some hard times.”