by Tina Susedik
Sarah held her breath as her husband slapped on his hat and yanked on his overcoat. Would he change his mind before he left?
“Don’t forget your scarf and gloves. It’s freezing and snowing out there.” For a man in his early forties, he forgot the simplest things.
“Hell, woman. Don’t tell me what to do. I’m not a six-year-old you can coddle.” A blast of cold air shot into the cabin as the door slammed behind him.
“Is he gone?” Tommy’s small voice broke her heart.
Now that they were alone, Sarah touched her aching cheek where Peter had hit her earlier. “Yes, he’s gone. It’s safe to come out.”
“You lied to him, Mommy. I don’t have a cold.”
Tommy didn’t call Peter by a name any more than Peter did him. Which she found sad.
How to explain to him why she’d lied, when she’d been telling him forever that lying was bad?
Squatting down, Sarah took her son’s hands in hers. “Did you want to go with him tonight?”
“No.” Tommy stuck out his bottom lip. “I hate those places. They’re loud and smoky and the ladies touch me.”
Sarah’s stomach lurched. They touched her son? “How do they touch you, Tommy?”
He shrugged his narrow shoulders. “They kiss my cheek and play with my hair. I hate it, and I hate them.”
“Is that all they do?”
Tommy nodded.
Thank heavens. “Now, about my lying. I did it to protect you. I knew you didn’t want to sing tonight. If I hadn’t lied, he would have taken you.”
She rose, hoping he understood what she was talking about. Picking up a chair Peter had knocked over, she summoned up a smile for her son. “Let’s eat supper and read a story. Then you can go to bed.”
After Tommy was asleep, Sarah took a clean towel, shrugged into her coat, tied a scarf over her head, and slipped on her mittens. When she opened the door, cold air took her breath away. Making sure the latch was fastened tight, she stepped into their small backyard, scooped some snow into the towel, and held it against her throbbing cheek.
What was she going to do about Peter? Marrying so quickly after her parents’ death hadn’t been the wisest choice. When Peter had come courting her, she was just eighteen. Promising to take care of her, he seemed like a savior. A woman on her own in a town on the edge of the wilderness was not safe.
Sarah chuckled and kicked at the snow piling up on the wooden porch. And how did marrying a man twice her age turn out to be a safe thing? The minute the license was signed, he became a tyrant, not the partner she’d always dreamed of wedding. Had it been too much to expect a loving union like her parents had?
To her dismay, it wasn’t long before she learned Peter married her for her money and not to love and take care of her. Sarah tossed the wet towel on the porch. How could she have been so stupid? Except for what she managed to hide in a floorboard beneath their bed, everything her father had worked for was gone. Now Peter was using their son to pay for his drinking.
Sarah brushed the snow from a wooden rocker and sat. In no time, the cold and damp seeped through her petticoats and skirt. She swiped at her tears.
Then, there were the women. In a town this size, did he really think she wouldn’t find out about them?
Once, in total despair, she’d approached Peter’s parents, hoping they’d put a stop to his behavior. To her shock, they blamed his transgressions on her. If she was a good wife, he wouldn’t need to carouse and womanize. In their eyes, the sun and moon rose on their treasured son.
Snowflakes began to fall. In the silence of the night, their whispers made Sarah wish for simpler days when she was young and her parents alive. A thought, so piercing it hurt her heart, ran through her mind. What if Peter never returned? Life wasn’t easy for a woman on her own—especially one with children. But right now, it had to be better than life with an abusive husband.
Sarah squinted. What was that light in the backyard, near the outhouse? Was someone out there with a lantern? A shiver ran down her spine. Was it a man searching for someone to rob? Or worse?
The light didn’t move. An animal? This close to the edge of the wilderness, an occasional cougar or wolf wandered into the town searching for an easy meal. Yet the light didn’t look like a predator’s eyes.
Sarah stood and leaned her palms on the railing. The glow became brighter and an image of a tree appeared. She took a large piece of wood from the woodpile beside the back door. Not much for protection, but it was better than nothing.
Her boots grew wet as she trudged through the deepening snow. It was a tree. Something this large couldn’t suddenly appear, could it? She stopped. Was it humming? Calling her name? Some unseen force seemed to beckon her. Maybe Peter’s slap tonight rattled her brain.
Standing at least twenty feet high, the trunk was twisted and gnarled like the rough strands of yarn she used to knit mittens and scarves. Sarah stepped closer, nearly tripping on one of the several roots rising from the ground. Long branches hung down, similar to the weeping willows lining the nearby creek. Would the bark feel as smooth as it looked? Pale green, oval leaves shimmered in the wintry breeze, their shiny undersides reminding her of fish glimmering just below the surface of the creek on a sunny day.
Dare she touch it?
“Reach for me and I’ll give to you.”
Sarah shook her head. Had the tree really whispered to her? She pulled off her mittens and spread the drooping branches aside, her hands brushing the silvery leaves. Instantly her cold hands warmed. Heat spread through her and peace settled in her heart. Peace she hadn’t felt since before her parents’ deaths.
Resisting its call was impossible. With trembling fingers, she touched the smooth, light brown bark. The tree became brighter, as if the sun was rising and turning the evening sky aglow. Sarah closed her eyes. This had to be a dream. When she opened them, she would probably find herself buried under mounds of blankets, safe and warm in her own bed.
Instead, a shadowy man appeared. He wore a wide-brimmed dark hat like the child-sized one Tommy wore. A long, heavy overcoat blew away from his tall body, revealing slim hips and broad shoulders.
Peter?
Couldn’t be. Peter was shorter and stockier.
He removed his hat and raked his fingers through hair that brushed his shoulders. Thick, dark hair. A long rifle hung by his side. Definitely not Peter. Not only was her husband bald, but he’d never touch a weapon of any kind.
Sarah’s heart kicked up speed when he glanced over his shoulder. His dark brown eyes stirred something deep within her. A smile revealed twin dimples and a cleft in his chin.
Who was this man, and why did he make her feel as if everything in her world was going to be all right?
A brisk wind kicked up the snow, blinding her. When the snow settled, the man and tree were gone, leaving her standing by the outhouse, holding a piece of wood, feeling more bereft and lonely than ever.
Just a dream. Simply a dream and wishful thinking. A tall, good-looking man was never going to come into her life to save her and Tommy. She was married to Peter and nothing was going to change that.
Chapter 3
A loud pounding woke Sarah from a dream about the mystery man. A luscious dream of warm arms, a firm body, and a loving heart. She took a moment to still the blood racing through her veins. The man had been kissing her, running his hands over her bare breasts, licking her nipples, moving lower and lower . . .
For a few seconds, she allowed herself to enjoy the delicious shiver running through her. It had been a long time since Peter had demanded his husbandly rights. So long, she couldn’t even recall when.
A voice called, muffled through the front door. “Miz Nickelson, it’s Sheriff Josiah Jones. I need to talk to you.”
What trouble had Peter gotten
himself into this time? Drunk? Caught with another man’s wife?
Probably both.
With a disgusted snort, she pulled back the covers and swung her feet to the floor. Even through her woolen socks, the cold, wooden planks curled her toes. The air turned white with every breath she took. Darn, lost in thoughts of the mysterious tree and man, she’d forgotten to add more wood to the fireplace. Peter would thrash her for sure.
Throwing a shawl over her shoulders, Sarah walked around the kitchen table, and cracked open the door, looking at the sheriff through the slit.
“Can I come in?” The tall, robust man’s frown didn’t bode well.
The sky was still dark. “What time is it?”
“Nearly six.”
Sarah tugged her shawl tighter to her neck. “I’m not dressed, Sheriff.” When he nudged the door with his foot, she had no choice and let him in.
“I’m not here on a social call, ma’am.” Like a gentleman should, he removed his hat. Flecks of snow dotted his coat. “I have some bad news.”
This wasn’t the first time the sheriff had told her Peter was in jail for being drunk and causing problems. Probably wouldn’t be the last. Sarah couldn’t hold back a sigh. How much was it going to cost this time? “What did he do now?”
Josiah rubbed the back of his neck and wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Um. Sarah. Ma’am. I’m sorry to tell you, Peter was killed tonight.”
A jolt of ice numbed her body and she lost her grip on the shawl. It slid to the floor as Sarah reached behind her for a chair. Her breath whooshed as she dropped to the seat. “What? What did you say?”
The sheriff retrieved the shawl and handed it to her, then squatted before her. “I know this is a shock. Several men bet him he couldn’t race down the street on Jamison Gold’s stallion.”
“But it’s storming.”
“I know.” He shook his head. “You know how those men are when they’re drinking.”
Of course, she knew how they were. A bunch of idiots. “What happened?”
“The horse slipped on the icy street, and Peter was thrown. I’m sorry, Sarah, he broke his neck and was killed instantly.”
“Where is he?”
“Since his parents’ house was the closest, we took him there. I didn’t think you’d want Tommy to see him.”
The sheriff stood, his cracking knee joints breaking through the silent house. He poked the embers in the fireplace, put in pieces of wood, then blew on the red coals until flames shot up.
Now what should she do? Going to her in-laws was about as enticing as seeing her husband’s body. His parents never made any bones about disliking her. Despite the fact that, when Peter had married her, he’d gained access to a lot of money, they thought she hadn’t been good enough for their precious son.
“Do you want me to take you to him?”
Guilt rushed through her. Her first thought wasn’t that Peter was dead, but that she and Tommy were free. Sarah’s thoughts of him never coming home didn’t mean she wanted him dead. “I can’t leave. Tommy’s still asleep.”
He nodded, his face somber. “There’s nothing you can do for Peter now, anyway.”
“I’ll have to go over later, once I get Tommy dressed and fed.” She stood next to Josiah at the fireplace and held out her freezing hands to the warmth springing forth.
He touched her arm. “You want me to send Mary over to watch him while you deal with his folks?”
Sarah bit her bottom lip. Everyone knew what type of people the Nickelsons were. It would be better if Tommy wasn’t present for the inevitable scene. “That would be wonderful. I don’t know how long I’ll be at their house.”
Josiah’s gentle smile helped lighten her heart a bit. “I’ll do even one better. I’ll escort you to the Nickelson’s place and stay until you’re ready to come home.”
“You don’t have to do that.” Though she’d certainly welcome his presence.
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know what kind of man Peter was.” The sheriff looked pointedly at her cheek. “His parents aren’t any better. You’ll need protection.”
“I appreciate it, Josiah.”
“I’ll bring Mary here in a few hours.”
“All right. I’ll be ready.”
Sarah sat in the rocker by the fireplace, resting her feet on the raised stone hearth, letting its heat seep through her cold body. Her mind swirled with thoughts and images of her life with Peter. Except for Tommy, none of it was pleasant. The next few days were going to be even worse.
No doubt his folks would find some way to blame his death on her.
~ ~ ~
Sarah entered the warm, small log house she’d lived in her entire life and hung her coat and bonnet on the wooden pegs by the front door.
Thank heavens the ordeal was over. Peter’s body was now stored in the winter vault behind the jail, waiting to be buried when the snow was gone and the ground thawed.
Why couldn’t he have died when it was warmer and been buried right away? Now she’d have to deal with his folks again. Even though he was Peter’s son, they had no use for Tommy, and thankfully, wouldn’t be stopping by to see him, or demanding him to come visit.
She glanced at the sheriff’s wife. “Mary, thank you for spending the past few days with Tommy.”
“It was my pleasure, dear. Tommy is such a sweet little thing. We played in the snow and he’s taking a bit of a nap.” Mary Jones poured coffee into two cups and handed one to Sarah. “I’m looking forward to the day when my children start having babies. I miss having little ones around.”
Sarah’s hands shook as she accepted the cup. She sat in her favorite rocker, waving her hand to a matching chair for Mary to join her. Wrapping her hands around the cup, she rested her head against the chair’s tall back.
“How did it go, dear? I hope you don’t mind, Josiah shared some of the events with me.”
“Then you know how awful it was.” Sarah sipped from her cup. Awful didn’t begin to describe what happened.
Mary placed her hand on Sarah’s arm. “Do you want to tell me about it? Sometimes it helps to talk with another person.”
“You’re right, Mary. I wish my mother were here to talk to. If she was though, I wouldn’t have married Peter, and I wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“Josiah told me they’re going to sell this house. How can they do that? Isn’t it yours?”
Sarah huffed. “It was until I married Peter, then my property became his. Unknown to me, he wrote a will giving everything to his parents.”
If he were alive right now, she’d kill him. Strangle him with her own bare hands. Hit him with a poker. Poison his beer.
“What are you going to do?”
“They are so kindly allowing Tommy and me to stay here for the rest of the winter. Their suggestion, no demand, is that I leave town.”
Mary frowned. “Where would you go?”
Sarah pulled a tattered piece of paper from her skirt pocket. “I saw this at the store.” She passed it to Mary and bit her lip waiting for the older woman’s reaction.
“Are you crazy?”
“Probably.” Sarah rubbed her hand across her forehead. “Being a mail-order bride is better than any other options I have. If this flyer is to be believed, this man, Mister Sampson, is a little older than me and looking for someone to share his life with. He even says a widow with children is fine.”
“What if you get out there and find out he’s short, ugly, and beats women?”
Sarah shook her head. “Wouldn’t be much different than what I had with Peter. At least I’d be away from my in-laws. Over the years, I’ve managed to hide some money from Peter, but it’s not enough to buy the house back. And my mother-in-law . . . well, don’t get me started.”
&n
bsp; “Ooh, I’d love to give that woman a piece of my mind. She’s such a—a—”
Sarah couldn’t hold back a smile. “Witch?”
Mary refilled her cup and laughed. “That’s a nice way of putting it.”
That wasn’t the worst of it. Sarah couldn’t mention how her father-in-law suggested she stay in the house so he could ‘visit’ her whenever he wanted. A shudder ran through her. Intimacy with Peter was one thing, but a man in his sixties? Just the thought made her want to throw up.
“I told them my plan, and they’ll help pay for a wagon, oxen, and supplies. That’s how much they want me gone. If Mister Sampson isn’t paying for the trip and he turns out to be an ogre, I’m not beholden to him for paying our way to Oregon City.”
“I don’t understand why they are so set in your leaving.”
Sarah rose. Was that Tommy sniffling? “They believe Peter’s death was my fault.”
“How do they figure that?”
“If I’d been a better wife, Peter wouldn’t have drunk so much or seek out other women.”
She thought about the vision of the man by the tree. Was it a sign? Maybe this Mister Sampson was that man.
Mary slapped her hands on the rocker arms. “That is just plain hogwash. Everyone knows Peter was a drunk before he married you.”
Unfortunate that no one had told me.
When she was born, Peter had been nearly twenty. As a child, she had no clue what went on in taverns. His drinking had come as a complete surprise.
Mary stood and folded Sarah into her arms. Oh, how she wished it was her mother holding her. A sob rose in Sarah’s chest, threatening to explode. If she started crying now she’d never stop. Mary leaned back and smiled into Sarah’s tear-filled eyes.
“There’s only one thing to do.”
