Four
All Sarah’s dreams of what she imagined the perfect marriage would be came from her own parents’ life together. She couldn’t have had a better example. Her father and mother had honored and respected as well as loved each other. Sarah, even in the earliest stages of budding womanhood, recognized how important that was in a godly marriage. She thrilled when she caught the look that sometimes passed between her mother and father as they shared a secret joke or wanted to communicate without letting Seth and Sarah know. It was like magic, Sarah realized. It had made such a deep impression that she vowed never to give her life into another’s keeping until God sent someone of His own choosing—and she looked forward to the time when she and her future husband would share such special moments.
An overheard conversation had deepened Sarah’s determination. One bright summer morning Sarah had started lightly down the stairs of the farmhouse where she had been born. Halfway down she heard voices from the parlor. Mama had a caller. Sarah sighed and cast a longing look out the open screen door into the lovely, beckoning day. If Mama heard her, she’d be summoned into the parlor and forced to be polite to some tiresome neighbor.
Sarah turned to tiptoe back upstairs but froze when she heard a recently married young woman, scarcely more than a girl, say, “Mrs. Anderson—Virginia—everyone knows what a wonderful marriage you have. I want to work hard to have the same. I know a lot of it is because you are both strong Christians, but there must be something more. Please. Tell me your secret to finding happiness.”
The unseen eavesdropper held her breath, waiting for her mother’s reply. After a low, amused laugh, Virginia Anderson’s voice rang like a silver bell. “Letty, John and I have always been so busy making sure the other person is happy that we haven’t needed to ‘find happiness,’ as you put it. It’s just there. In abundance.”
Sarah never forgot her mother’s simple recipe for joy in marriage. The words sank into her pounding heart and glowed like a precious gem.
Now, years later, Sarah mourned while she rummaged through the cupboards for something to fill her stomach. “This can’t be happening. I cannot, will not marry Tice Edwards. I don’t even know him. Why would such a man want to marry me in the first place? He doesn’t know me. How could he just up and decide he wants me based on one or two stingy little glimpses? It’s absurd!”
Sarah slammed the cupboard door shut and stepped to the stove to pour a cup of warmed-over coffee. With a tired sigh she settled herself at the table and pondered her situation. She wanted a husband with whom she could laugh, enjoy life, and confide. One who would put God first and lead his family in Bible readings and evening prayers. “It wouldn’t hurt if he was a hardworking man like Pa,” she added, sipping the bitter brew. She made a face. “Maybe I’m expecting too much. Maybe they’re all like Gus. At least the boys and men from around here are all cut from the same bolt of burlap—rough and ugly.”
The image of two men instantly came to mind: her brother Seth, no longer troubled-looking but smiling at her from a faded photograph he’d sent in one of his rare letters, and the tall, dark-haired stranger posing beside him. A rough-clad stranger whose steady gaze and half smile reassured Sarah that her brother had found a true friend. Her heartbeat quickened. “I’ll bet he isn’t like Gus,” she whispered. “Matthew Sterling looks kind and good. According to Seth, he’s as solid and true as his name.”
She closed her eyes and imagined the stranger riding up to rescue her from the unspeakable future Gus and Tice planned. The next instant Sarah shook her head. “Appearances are just that—appearances. Seth might be mistaken about his friend. Even though Matthew means gift of the Lord, he might be no better than Gus and Tice.”
Sarah sighed. If all men were like those two, she would never marry. Better to live alone than live married to someone she didn’t love—or worse, who would never really love her the way God meant a husband to love his wife.
“So, God, what am I supposed to do?” she pleaded. “Tice Edwards is obviously a man used to getting his own way. He’s no doubt got a justice or a preacher or two under his thumb. How am I going to escape this trap they’ve laid for me?” She took another gulp of coffee and stared at the tabletop.
Like a gentle breeze a scripture verse whispered in her mind. “There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.”
Escape? Yes! Sarah’s heartbeat quickened. She must flee from the fate Gus intended for her. But how? Gus was clearly trapped in Tice’s web of debt as surely as they intended to trap Sarah. “Perhaps there’s a different way,” she murmured. “If I could offer Gus another way out of his debt, he might not be so keen on marrying me off.” She managed a small smile of hope. Maybe Gus could ask Tice Edwards to extend the loan one more time. If he—
The door swung open and smashed against the wall in the middle of Sarah’s musings. Timmy entered first. He ran to Sarah and threw his thin little arms around her neck. The other boys shuffled past and plopped themselves on the floor in the center of the room with a pack of playing cards. Ellie sat down at the table near Sarah and just looked at her. As usual nobody said a word. No one offered an explanation of their recent whereabouts.
Sarah sighed. Keeping track of the Stoddard children was worse than trying to corral a flock of frightened chickens. The only relief she got was the days they were in school and she had the house to herself. Some days the older boys played hooky and surprised her by crashing in through the door and upsetting all her carefully laid plans.
Gus burst in and kicked the door shut with the heel of his boot. He lifted a bottle filled with amber liquid to his lips and took a swallow. “Well, Sarah,” he drawled, “I gave you a few minutes by yourself to work things through.” He fell into the ragged armchair and waited.
If Gus thinks I’ll thank him for this small consideration, he is greatly mistaken, Sarah decided. Just looking at him made the bile rise in her throat. She swallowed hard and determined to work on an escape plan right away. “I’m not going to marry Tice,” she stated. Before Gus could strike out, Sarah continued. “Promise you won’t force me to marry Mr. Edwards, and I’ll pay off the debt you owe him. I’ll find work—good-paying work—and I’ll pay back every cent. I’ll keep this place clean and care for the kids. Just don’t make me marry him.”
Gus grinned and took a swallow of whiskey. “Sarah, Sarah.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You are such an innocent. Have you any idea how much I owe Tice Edwards?”
She shook her head.
“I owe him more than six thousand dollars.”
Sarah blanched. “Six thousand dollars?” If she worked day and night until she was an old woman, she could never hope to pay back such a sum. Her hopes crashed. In desperation she threw herself to the floor in front of Gus. “Please,” she pleaded, “don’t force me to marry Mr. Edwards. Who will take care of the children if I’m gone? Timmy’s still little. Ellie’s too young to look after him all day while you’re out of the house.”
“Who’d take care of ’em if you hired yourself out to work?” Gus growled. He sat up and leaned closer to his stepdaughter. “I can get me another woman anytime I want. Just like I got your ma. It ain’t hard to do. Your ma is proof of that.”
It took every ounce of self-control Sarah had to keep from grabbing a frying pan off the dilapidated stove and giving him a whack. How could he speak that way, with Mama barely cold in the grave?
Gus reached out and grasped Sarah’s wrist. “I’ll tell you another thing, missy. Tice Edwards sees something in you he likes. I don’t know what, but you’ll not do anything to make him change his mind, you hear? He’s a gentleman. Told me he plans to court you right and proper for a week or two—starting tomorrow. You’d best get yourself cleaned up and ready when he comes calling in the afternoon. Or else.” He thrust her aside and we
nt back to his bottle. Soon he was snoring loudly, sprawled across the chair with his head thrown back.
Tiptoeing so as not to wake his father, Timmy crept to Sarah and whispered, “I’m hungry.”
“It’s too late to fix you anything,” Sarah muttered, getting up. She turned to Ian and Peter. “Go up to bed, boys. The night’s half over.”
Ian glared at her while Peter remarked, “We don’t have to.”
“Fine. Stay up all night. See if I care.” Wearily she took Timmy’s hand and glanced around the room for Ellie. The little girl lay sound asleep in a corner, curled into a small, tattered ball. Wisps of dark brown hair fell across her face, pouting even in sleep. Sarah thought about rousing her, but what was the point? Ellie would certainly protest against being wakened and dragged up to the attic. Why care if the child spent the night on the cold, hard floor?
A sliver of guilt stabbed Sarah as she guided Timmy up the steep ladder to the room above. Her mother never would have allowed Ellie to huddle in the corner. Virginia always had a tender word for the fractious little girl, no matter how weary and heartsore she felt after a long day’s work.
“I’m not like you, Mama,” Sarah confessed in a whisper, giving Timmy one last boost onto the attic floor. “I can’t be patient and kind to these rowdy youngsters when my own world is falling apart. I’m sorry.”
“What did you say, Sarah?” Timmy asked quietly.
“Never you mind.” She tumbled him onto his pallet and tucked the quilt around his peaked face. She rose. “You just go to sleep. It’s late.”
“Sarah?”
“What now?” Sarah snapped.
“You—you ain’t leavin’ us to marry that gambler fellow, are you?”
Sarah caught her breath at the fear she heard in Timmy’s voice. Reaching down, she patted him on the leg. “I don’t know, Timmy. I hope not. But it’s nothing you have to worry about right now.”
Before he could reply, Sarah crept around the partition and onto her own mattress. The corn husks rustled and crackled while she tried to find a comfortable position for her weary body. Soon she lay still. The rustling ceased. Only the soft laughter of the boys downstairs and the occasional snore of a drunken Gus Stoddard floated up through the hole in the ceiling.
Although Sarah’s body was at last at rest, her mind was spinning. The verse from Corinthians about escaping temptation repeated itself in her mind. Her escape from Tice Edwards by offering to pay Gus’s debt was obviously not a viable plan. There must be another way to escape.
A familiar verse from Genesis 12 popped into her head. “Get thee out of thy country, and from thy kindred, and from thy father’s house, unto a land that I will shew thee.”
Leave? Sarah held her breath and stared at the pale moonlight peeking through the cracks in the attic roof. Run away? She shivered in the dark. How could she just up and leave? She had no place to go, no money to get there. Worse, she would be alone—dreadfully alone.
“Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.”
Sarah held her breath in wonder. All those Bible verses she’d learned as a child were coming back to her just when she needed them most. But again, the word how kept rearing its ugly head—mocking her, urging her to stay and accept her future. She wavered. In spite of her unspoken vows never to marry until she felt God approved, maybe marrying Tice Edwards wouldn’t be as bad as she was making it out to be. He was rich. He seemed polite and was obviously interested in her. He had spoken gently to her and prevented Gus from striking her.
She chewed on her lip in deep thought and rolled onto her side. The corn husks rustled loudly. There would be no corn husk mattress waiting for her if she married Tice. Only silks and satins. Soft, smooth bedcoverings. No leaking roof. Then, like a clap of thunder, the memory of her mother’s marriage to Gus resounded in her memory. Sarah remembered how content her mother had appeared when she knew she was marrying a man who would care for her and for her children. Gus had also seemed the perfect gentleman—before the wedding.
“I can’t marry Tice Edwards,” Sarah resolved between clenched teeth. “I don’t love him. I don’t even know him. I must escape. I have no choice.” That decided, she gave the situation over to the One who knew exactly what He was doing. “I don’t know how I’m going to escape, God, or where I’m going to go,” she whispered in the darkness of the attic, “but I do know You’re the only One who can help me now. Show me the way.” She sighed, turned over, and fell into an uneasy sleep.
Five
Eighteen months earlier
Central California
Matthew Sterling rode into Madera and dismounted in front of Moore’s General Store—which housed the post office—thirsty enough to drain a well. It was over a hundred degrees in the shade, and there was no shade on the ten miles between town and Matt’s Diamond S Ranch. Just flat land, dry grass, and a glimpse of the snowcapped Sierra Nevada in the distance, so far away and hazy in the shimmering late September air that the mountains looked like a mirage.
With a practiced flick of his wrist Matt led his favorite buckskin gelding, Chase, to the well-filled horse trough in the middle of town, being careful not to let him drink his fill. “Whoa there,” he ordered. “You don’t want to founder.” He raised his canteen to his own parched lips and grimaced when the lukewarm water poured down his throat.
Matt forced the reluctant horse away from the trough and secured the reins around a nearby hitching rail before giving Chase an affectionate slap on the chest. “Won’t be more than a minute, old boy. Gotta pick up the mail, swap a quick ‘howdy’ with the captain, then it’s back to the ranch for a cool drink and some shade.” He chuckled as he always did when he thought about stopping by the hotel to greet the captain. He’d known Captain Russell Perry Mace ever since he was a small child, but Matt had never heard the stocky adventurer called anything but the captain. I guess once a captain, always a captain. Even if the Mexican War’s been over for ages, Matt thought. Between his title and his ever-present top hat, Captain Mace was an easily recognized figure anywhere in Madera.
Chase shook his dark mane and snorted as if to hurry his master along. He stamped a hoof, and a swirl of pale yellow dust rose up and billowed around the young man.
“Hey!” Matt admonished with a laugh. “None of that. I won’t be long.” He glanced down at his dust-caked shirt and chaps. What was a little extra dust at this point? He’d been out on the range all day and had built up a good supply of dirt long before Chase showered him.
“Howdy, Matt. Haven’t seen you around town for a spell. How’re things on the Diamond S?”
Matt turned. Evan Moore, Madera’s portly postmaster stood in the doorway of his store grinning. His bald head glistened in the hot afternoon sun. Matt smiled back. “Busy, Evan. Fall roundup’s just around the corner.”
“Got a full crew?”
“Pretty much. Wish I didn’t have to hire on drifters.” Matt shook his head and joined the postmaster on the wooden sidewalk. “They’re nothing but trouble, but if I don’t snatch ’em up, Chapman over at the Redding Ranch is likely to hire ’em. I don’t want to be caught shorthanded this year.”
“I don’t blame you.” Evan motioned the young rancher to follow him inside the store. “Don’t worry about the dust,” he said when Matt removed his wide-brimmed felt hat and slapped it against his chaps before entering. “Can’t seem to escape the dust, no matter how hard a body tries. Just like this infernal heat.” Evan wiped the sweat from his shining head and strolled to the small cubicle behind the counter that served as the Madera Post Office. He reached into a pigeonhole and withdrew a fistful of envelopes addressed to Matthew Sterling, c/o Diamond S Ranch. “Sorry, Matt. Nothing from Dolores.”
“Drat that girl,” Matt muttered, swiping at the stubborn hank of black hair that hung over his eyes like a horse’s forelock. He replaced his Stetson and sorted through the letters with a scowl. “Don’t they teach young ladies to write at that fancy finishing school
back east? You’d think Dori could send word to her only brother that she’s alive and happy.”
The postmaster made no comment.
Matt sighed. He missed little Dori. He missed her chatter. He even missed the silly, affected airs she put on when she wasn’t happy with the way things were going out at the ranch. Sending her to school in Boston had been Solita’s idea, not his. “Senor Mateo, you must let the senorita finish her education,” the diminutive Mexican housekeeper had insisted. “She is unhappy here. Your mama and papa would have allowed it, had they lived. Since they are no longer with us, you must decide what is best for her, not what is best for you.”
Matt had agreed, but he wasn’t pleased about it. The white stucco, Spanish-style hacienda seemed huge and empty with the only remaining member of his family gone. He enjoyed these rare visits to Madera. Picking up the mail—a task easily done by any greenhorn ranch hand—was Matt’s excuse to mingle with the friendly people of the small valley town.
Madera—lumber in Spanish—was the perfect name for the thriving little village that had sprung up all at once a few years back. The California Lumber Company had chosen this site along the Southern Pacific Railroad line as the terminus for their timber flume back in 1876. Six months later the town had been laid out, and building had commenced at a lively rate. Matt often paused in the middle of the wide main street to take in the three hotels, three general stores, the drugstore, butcher shop, blacksmith shop, and livery. He thanked God each and every time for timber, flumes, and lumber companies. No longer isolated on his ranch ten miles east of nowhere, the rancher and his hands benefited from the influx of new businesses and the people who ran them. All in all, Madera was—in Matt’s opinion—just about the prettiest and most wide-awake town in the entire San Joaquin Valley.
Matt gave Evan a curt good-bye and left the post office in ill humor. It rankled him that Dori, as usual, was probably caught up in her own affairs and wouldn’t get around to writing her brother until Christmas. He stuffed the handful of envelopes into his saddlebag and sighed. “Sometimes I wonder why the good Lord made girls in the first place,” he muttered. “Trouble. Nothing but trouble.”
Romance Rides the Range Page 3
