by Heather Gray
Sarah felt fear slither through her body like a snake on the water. Her stomach clenched, her heart raced, and her mind drew into sharp focus. She and Minnie held hands and stood close against each other. Gunfire sounded as though it was coming from everywhere. With the sound so great, there was no way to determine if there were shooters inside the house, outside the house, or both. The cellar caused the sound to bounce around and create confusion, making it difficult to pinpoint the source. Even knowing that, though, Sarah was certain there were many shooters, far too many.
After several minutes of shooting, the ferocity of the gunfire eased off, and soon shouting could be heard interspersed with the gunshots.
Mrs. Smith could be heard from across the small space, “The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want.” Minnie and Sarah both joined Mrs. Smith in reciting the Psalm.
Sarah knew reciting scripture should bring her peace or, at a minimum, calm. Fear continued to move through her, though, in waves. Even as she spoke the words of the Psalm, she began to ask God why she was so scared, why she didn’t have the fortitude both Mrs. Smith and Minnie seemed to be demonstrating. Then it suddenly struck her.
Sarah was not afraid for herself or for her companions in this cellar. She was, however, terrified for Samuel. He was up there. With a gun. As a deputy. Whatever bedlam was occurring in the town, he would no doubt be in the middle of it. Once she recognized the source of her fear, Sarah dropped to her knees and began to pray. Minnie slid down the wall beside her and hugged her tight as she petitioned the Father on Samuel’s behalf.
“Lord, I am so scared for Samuel. Please keep him safe. Please don’t let anything happen to him. Help him and all other men out there to do their jobs. Please protect the people of Larkspur. Lord, please, please, please keep Samuel safe. It’s a selfish prayer, but it’s all I can think right now. I am so scared for him. Give me the strength to be brave and to trust You, no matter the outcome.”
By the time Sarah was done praying, the sound of gunfire had completely ceased. She knew he would say no, so Sarah didn’t even bother asking Arty if they could leave the cellar. He had a job to do, and that job was to keep her and the Smith women safe, and he would do that job at all costs. Sarah had thought everyone was overreacting and that it was so silly to have put them in the cellar, but she saw it now with crystal clarity. They were in the cellar because it was under the house and had earthen walls. The rest of the house was made of wood, and there was no place in the house above where they would be safe from stray bullets. Obviously the sheriff – and Samuel – had known there was going to be a gunfight. Samuel had made sure Arty would get them to a place where they would be safe.
The foursome in the cellar waited. Many minutes had passed since the gunfire stopped. Arty never said a word, but Sarah could tell by the way he began fidgeting that he was getting impatient. Was he waiting for a signal of some sort? By his expression, Sarah could tell Arty was getting worried. He probably had much more information than she had about what was going on in town. With the look of concern on Arty’s face, Sarah’s worry for Samuel grew exponentially.
Without a watch, Sarah could not tell what time it was or how long they had been in the cellar, but as the candle burned down to almost a nub, Sarah began to believe it had been hours. When Minnie’s stomach growled loudly enough for everyone to hear it, Sarah knew for certain it had been much too long. Minnie caught the apple that Arty, with a sympathetic smile, tossed to her. Mrs. Smith got another candle out and set it next to the stub that had begun to flicker. Arty kept his post and continued to watch the door intently.
Sarah had been holding herself so tensely her muscles began to ache. The ache metamorphosed into pain, and the pain began to grow in intensity when, with a soft word to Arty, Mrs. Smith bustled over and told Sarah to sit down. Sarah shifted her position with no small amount of discomfort. Crouching on the ground now, Sarah leaned against Minnie. Mrs. Smith covered the girls with one of the quilts and then returned to her position against the opposite wall. Continuing her silent prayer vigil, Sarah kept asking God to keep Samuel safe.
As the quilt began to collect the heat from Sarah’s body and radiate it back to her, she felt lethargy begin to creep into her bones. She couldn’t imagine what she would do if anything happened to Samuel. The intensity of her feelings told her she cared for him much more than she had admitted, even to herself. Despite his secretiveness, she ached at the thought that something could have happened to him. He could have been hurt, or worse yet, killed. At the mere thought of Samuel dying, Sarah’s breath caught in her throat, and her head began to swim. Her last conscious thought was a prayer. Lord, he has so much to offer. Even if it’s not meant to be between me and Samuel, please don’t take him now. He’s the type of person who will make the world a better place. Please let him be okay.
****
Sarah woke with a start to the sound of a thousand fists banging on the cellar door. Her heart jumped into her throat, and she and Minnie staggered to their feet. As they stood, Sarah realized the cellar was distorting the sound, creating an echo that wrapped around them until it sounded like an onslaught.
“Arty, it’s me. You in there?” came the words from the other side of the cellar door.
Samuel’s voice, the one Sarah had hoped to hear, was not the source of the words coming from the other side of the door. Even Arty seemed confused.
“Sheriff, that you?”
Without answering, the sheriff replied, “Samuel sent me with a message. He said mockingbird.”
Arty jumped up and opened the door in a hurry when he heard the sheriff’s message. “We’re mighty glad to see you, sheriff. The shooting stopped a long time ago, and Mr. Livingston never came like he said he would.”
Helping the ladies up out of the cellar and into the kitchen, Sheriff Spooner spoke in a soothing voice, “Everything is under control now. Everyone involved in the robbery has been apprehended and is in jail. Some of the men who came because of the ad have since high-tailed it out of town. When they saw how quickly we dealt with the commotion and the outlaws, they took off. And good riddance.”
Mrs. Smith asked urgently, “The mayor? Where is he?”
“Over at the jail, ma’am. He’s got a long night of work ahead of him. He got a little knick in the arm, but he’s fine. Said to tell you he wouldn’t be home until after dark, but he’s taking all of tomorrow off to make it up to you.”
Mrs. Smith visibly sagged with relief at the news. “What about the church? The people at church? Are they okay?”
Sheriff Spooner nodded. “Most everyone followed instructions and made their way out to the designated location. Went real smoothly, all things considered. A couple of the men were right angry and were spoiling for a fight, but as soon as the first gunshots started sounding, they got all serious-like. Some of them took their families and fled, and some of them took up positions around the church to help defend that particular exit route from town so the church folk would have a safe escape. It was a mighty fine plan.”
Mrs. Smith appeared satisfied with the answer. Sarah, having held it in for as long as she could, blurted out, “Where’s Samuel?”
The look on Sheriff Spooner’s face sent arrows darting through Sarah’s heart. She could feel it being shredded within her chest. When he took his hat off the way men do only when they are delivering dire news, she grabbed onto Minnie for support, afraid that her legs would not hold her.
“He’s been shot. It’s bad. He’s at Doc’s now.”
Before any of them could stop her, Sarah raced out the door. “Arty, stay with her!” was shouted somewhere behind her, but she did not stop or turn around. She fled to the doctor’s office as though fire were chasing her, threatening to lick at the hem of her gown. Sarah burst into the doctor’s office only to find the waiting room empty and silent. Samuel must be in surgery, she surmised. Frantic to see him, she knew she couldn’t go crashing into the operating room.
Trying to figure out what to do
, Sarah started to backpedal when she ran into Arty who, as he’d been told, had stuck with her. They exchanged an awkward “Excuse me” and “Pardon me”. It was clear from the look on his face Arty had no idea what to say. He held his hat in his hand and rolled the brim of it in every possible direction, worry engraved into the planes of his face. Sarah would have laughed at the sight of what he was doing to his poor hat if she weren’t so worried about Samuel.
Sarah was deciding she might go on through to the doctor’s inner office anyway, nice and quiet-like, when the inner door of the office opened, and Doc Billingsly stepped into the waiting room where she and Arty stood.
“How is he? Is he okay? How bad is it?” Sarah sucked in a deep breath and made herself hold it for a moment so she wouldn’t continue peppering the doctor with questions.
“I’m fine today, Sarah, and how are you?” Doc Billingsly asked Sarah with a lilt in his voice and an aged twinkle in his eyes.
Sarah knew he was trying to joke with her, but she was frozen to the spot, her hands clenched in front of her. She wanted to plead with him for answers.
“So that’s how it is, eh? Mr. Livingston has caught the fancy of our Miss Jenkins. Apparently, I need to get out more. I had no idea. Sorry to have teased you.”
“Please,” was all Sarah could utter as her heart raced and her head swam. In the back of her mind, she knew Doc Billingsly wouldn’t be carrying on if there was bad news. If it was bad, he’d get right to the point. That was the only thing keeping Sarah from an all-out panic.
Doc had just begun to speak when the outer office door opened again. In came Sheriff Spooner, Mrs. Smith, and Minnie from the street. Doc was not a man who liked to repeat himself. He waited for everyone to enter and then told them all what they were anxiously waiting to hear.
“Three bullets. Two went clean through and only hit the fleshy part of his arm. Those ones are cleaned and stitched. As long as infection doesn’t set in, they should heal fine. The third one went into his chest here,” said the doctor as he indicated his upper right chest. “I had to dig it out before I could stitch him up. It will be a few days before I know how much damage was truly done inside, but for right now it looks like our biggest problem is going to be infection. There’s no telling where those bullets had been or what they’d come into contact with before they went into his body, which is one of the reasons infection is such a risk and shouldn’t be taken lightly. He needs a lot of prayer.”
“Can I see him?” Sarah asked in a whisper.
Doc Billingsly looked at Mrs. Smith, who nodded in his direction. He then said, “I’ll take you back to see him. You can stay a short time. It’s important he get his rest. He probably won’t wake up while you are in there. And Sarah, he looks poorly. Be prepared.”
Sarah knew the doctor meant well, but she did not wish to be coddled. The second she stepped into the room, though, and saw Samuel, she knew the doctor had not said nearly enough to prepare her. Samuel was paler than she’d ever seen anyone before. Color had almost drained away from him, bled out like a watercolor with too much water and not enough paint. His skin had the appearance of wax. His lips were an unnatural shade, a hint of a likeness of the color lips ought to be. More lifeless than anything she’d ever seen, his limbs merely lay there. She should have been shocked by his naked torso, but all she could see were the bandages. Being white, the bandages should have stood out in stark contrast to his skin, but they instead blended one to another with almost no variation in shade. So pale was his skin, she almost could not tell where his body ended and the bandages began.
Regaining her sense of equilibrium, Sarah directed her attention to Doc Billingsly and asked, “What can I do to help?”
“There is nothing that can be done right now. Just pray.”
Sarah shook her head emphatically at him, “Doc, you’ve got to let me help. I will sit here and read to him, sponge water into his mouth, bathe his face if he gets a fever, anything. Please let me help. If he doesn’t make it,” she choked on the words and had to pause, taking several shallow breaths to try to push through the pain. “If he doesn’t make it,” she repeated, “I need to know I did everything I could to let him know how much I care. How could I possibly live with myself otherwise?”
The doctor’s sympathetic gaze rested on Sarah, but when he continued to say nothing, she added, “You cannot send me away.”
Doc Billingsly finally nodded. He pointed to a chair in the corner. “You can use that chair,” he said. As he left the room he added, “I’ll be back a bit later with a Bible. The good Lord is the only one standing between Samuel and death right now, the only one who can heal him from the inside out and keep infection away. If you want to read to him, that’s what you ought to be reading.” Sarah nodded her gratitude, though she wasn’t sure if the doctor saw it. He was already closing the door.
Sarah could hear voices coming through the door and assumed Doc Billingsly was telling everyone she would be staying with Samuel. A short while later she heard the outer door open and close. Glad everyone had gone, she wanted to be left alone with Samuel. He might not survive this. She understood that. If he died, her heart would never be the same. All the light and laughter she had recently discovered in life would be in danger of abandoning her as well. Leaving was not an option; she needed to be here. If something happened to Samuel, her place was by his side. They might not be married… yet… but she could not leave him and spend the rest of her life haunted by regrets.
“Samuel?” she said softly. “Samuel, can you hear me? It’s Sarah. I’m right here with you, and I’m not going anywhere. If you need anything, ask. I’m not leaving you. You can’t die on me either. That would be ungentlemanly of you. I don’t care how hard it seems. You need to tough it out, be a man, and get through this.” Sarah heard the words coming out of her mouth and gave a watery smile. “Okay, maybe I’m not the best at pep talks, but you know what I mean. You’re going to get through this if I have to drag you kicking and screaming. Make it easier on all of us. Cooperate and get better.”
Holding Samuel’s hand in her own, Sarah bent her head, resting her forehead against his clammy, limp hand. Her hair, in disarray from her run over to the doctor’s office, cascaded forward, putting a protective shield around her face. It gave her the feeling of privacy. As she sat there, tears trickled down her cheeks, and her chin quivered uncontrollably. Pain was no stranger to Sarah, but the breed of agony coiling through her soul was new, different somehow.
Sarah understood death. She had lost both parents. She also knew life went on after death and that if Samuel died, she would survive, and her life would continue forward. Even knowing all these things, her heart was frozen, stuck beating the same rhythm over and over again. Please-don’t-die-please-don’t-die-please-don’t-die.
Dear Lord, you know my heart. You know my pain and my sorrow. You know Samuel’s heart, too, far better than I do, in fact. He is such a good man, Lord. Please don’t take him. His time here isn’t done yet. He has so much to offer, so much to give.
Like a whisper on the wind, words were spoken in Sarah’s heart. As do you, my beloved child. Will you trust me?
Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. She almost cried in shock as she felt, more than heard, those words. I don’t have anything to offer, Lord. I’m too timid and serious and stuck in my ways. Samuel is so much more worthy than I am. Take me instead. Let him live.
You are beautiful to me. Will you trust me? The words wrapped Sarah in a warm embrace, causing her heart to open like a tender spring flower.
Tears no longer trickled down Sarah’s cheeks; they poured down. She doubled over in the pain, gasping as sobs racked her body. Lord, how can you love me? I am nobody. I am nothing. I matter not in this world.
It wasn’t until she expressed those words to God that Sarah realized what she had thought of herself all these years, the way she had viewed her role in the world. She was neither the pretty one nor the one people sought out at gatherings. There w
as nothing remarkable about her. Boring and dull, someone who did her duty and made sure things got done but who had no sparkle about her when she did so – that was what Sarah saw when she looked in the mirror. Her life was merely an existence, living day to day, surviving. Her only true friend was Minnie, and even then, Sarah never openly shared her inner self with Minnie. Minnie was vivacious and always getting into trouble, and that made Sarah feel a thrill, made her feel alive, which is why she so enjoyed the girl’s company.
Have I always been so ungrateful, Lord? You’ve given me so much, yet I’ve never really taken joy in this life. I thought I was doing my duty by not complaining. That’s not enough, though, is it?
A verse came to Sarah. Long ago in church she had learned John 10:10. “The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.” Is that what I’ve been doing all this time, Lord? Letting Satan steal my life? Steal my joy? Jesus came so I could have life abundantly. My life has never been more enjoyable than these past weeks since meeting Samuel. For the first time I think I understand what it could mean to have an abundant life. I’m so sorry I never understood before.
Pausing, Sarah took a couple of deep breaths. She raised her head so she could look right at Samuel’s face, his pale lifeless face. Looking directly at Samuel, Sarah spoke out loud to God, “I trust You. No matter what happens to Samuel, I trust you. I trust You with Samuel’s life, and I trust You with mine. I will not let Satan win. I won’t let him steal my joy again.”
“Bravo, Sarah,” came the soft words from behind her. Sarah spun around to see Mrs. Smith standing there. “You are growing up child.” She didn’t know what to say to her dear friend’s mother, the woman who had been so kind to her all these years, who had offered motherly advice whenever Sarah sought it, but who had never pushed her way in and tried to run roughshod over Sarah’s memories of her own mother. That wonderful, kind woman simply handed Sarah her own Bible and said, “Doc Billingsly said he was going to get a Bible for you. I thought you would appreciate having your own. Here are,” she said, indicating a basket at her feet, “some refreshments. We are going to give Samuel a little bit of time to recover from surgery, and then we will be moving him. Minnie and I are setting up a bed in the sitting room at home.”
