Sarah My Beloved (Little Hickman Creek Series #2) (32 page)

"Until you surrender everything into God's very capable
hands, regardless of the circumstances, you'll continue to miss
out on His marvelous blessings."

He flashed her a glacial stare, then shook his head and
walked through the doorway.

"Uncle Rocky," came Rachel's wee voice. "I thought I heard
you.

"Hey, sugar," Rocky said, walking over to the girl, who still
lay half asleep on the sofa. "I'm glad you're okay."

Sarah observed from the bedroom door. It was the first
time she'd ever heard him use any sort of endearment with
the little girl.

"Thank you for saving me," Rachel whispered.

He bent just slightly at the waist so as to touch her forehead. "It was my pleasure," he whispered in return.

Then, just like that, he strolled across the room, heaved
on his coat, and headed out the door.

Heavenly Father, Sarah prayed in earnest, open my husband's
heart to Your divine truths.

Everyone managed to make it to the supper table that
evening, Rachel surprisingly the most talkative, despite her
bumps and bruises, Seth more introverted than usual.

"I thought I was gonna die in there, Uncle Rocky," Rachel
said after swallowing several gulps of milk and setting down the
glass. Her expressive blue eyes flashed with newfound admiration for the man who'd rescued her. Sarah's heart warmed
to the sudden change, and she inwardly thanked God for the
miracle.

"Not a chance," Rocky replied, taking small bites at a time,
the burns along his jaw apparently making it difficult to chew. He
looked exhausted, Sarah observed, but the set of his shoulders
said he wouldn't be admitting it any time soon. She'd offered to
bring a tray to his bed, but he wouldn't hear of it, claiming he
felt better moving around. Sarah doubted the truth in that but
refused to argue, especially considering their earlier exchange. He was a hard man, she mused, in more ways than one, and his
first glimpse of the downed barn hadn't helped matters any.

"Why'd you come in after me?" she asked, obviously determined to press for details.

He stopped eating to look across the table at her, and
didn't speak until she met his gaze. "I never gave it a second
thought, Rachel. Sarah told me you were in there, and that was
all I needed to hear."

"You mean Aunt Sarah. Me and Seth decided that since
you're ar uncle we should think of her as ar aunt."

Rocky set his eyes on Sarah. "That's probably a good idea.
After all, she is my wife." There was something about the way
he claimed her with his eyes that made Sarah fidget.

"Well, anyway, I'd be dead if it weren't for you," she added
between chews.

"Rachel, don't talk like that," Sarah said. "Neither your
uncle nor Ben Broughton would have let that happen. Besides,
the whole town was praying for your safety."

"How did the fire start?" Seth asked, finally joining in.
He'd barely touched the food on his plate, making Sarah
wonder if yesterday's events hadn't bothered him more than
he let on.

"Mr. Thompson said someone must have accidentally
kicked a lantern over, igniting a nearby hay bale. Everything
happened so fast."

"I should have hung every lantern rather than placed
some of them on tables. I don't know what I was thinking,"
Rocky said.

Sarah sensed deep regret in his voice. "It was an accident,
Rocky," she assured him.

"If I'd planned more carefully, it wouldn't have happened."

"You didn't know, Uncle Rocky," Rachel offered. The girl's
sudden compassion for the man she'd once disliked amazed
Sarah. She wondered if Rocky sensed the dramatic change or
spotted the respect and admiration in eyes that once held utter
distrust.

Rocky looked at Rachel as if seeing her for the first time
and gave a nod.

At the close of the meal, Rocky excused himself and
headed for the bedroom, claiming utter fatigue. "Thank you
for the use of the room, Sarah," he said without turning.

She studied the back of him, noting strong shoulders
slightly slumped. "You're perfectly welcome," she replied. Sarah
imagined that besides being exhausted, he suffered emotional
pain. After all, he'd lost a great deal.

If only you would see what God can do through these difficult circumstances, she longed to say to him. However, her better judgment kept her mouth clamped shut. She'd probably said enough
for one day. Best to let God take over where she'd left off.

Rachel meandered back to the lumpy sofa, exhaustion evident in her face.

"Would you like me to prepare a cool bath for you, honey?"
Sarah asked. "I'm sure Seth wouldn't mind staying out here
while you wash up. I'll get the tub ready in your bedroom and
call you when it's time."

Baths, although a chore to set up, were a once a week
arrangement, twice if Sarah had her way. And she suspected
they would be more often than that once summer weather
arrived.

"I guess that would be nice," the girl replied.

Sarah glanced at Seth, who had quietly walked across the
room to retrieve a toy soldier near the hearth. "Seth will use
the water when you're done."

"I don't need a bath," he bleated.

Sarah sighed. "You played hard yesterday and today. The
whole yard is covered in ashes and soot, so, yes, you do need
a bath."

"Okay," he mumbled, dropping to the sofa, his voice giving
way to a short lived coughing spell.

Thinking she'd give him a cup of tea later, Sarah set about
getting the bathtub ready.

Bright sunlight filtered through feathery white clouds,
mocking Rocky's gloomy outlook.

He wandered through the seared remains of his barn,
bending to pick up what was left of his best saddle, then dropping it onto a pile of other scorched leftovers. In his quest to
finish clearing what the men had missed yesterday, he'd found
a section of rope, tools, barbed wire, pieces of an old horse
blanket, corroded buckets, part of a milking stool, shingles,
and traces of blistered tar paper from the collapsed roof.

He kicked a stray piece of charred wood with the toe of
his boot and cursed under his breath. How was it possible?
Everything he'd worked for years to build-gone in the blink
of an eye.

Until you surrender everything into God's hands, you'll miss His
blessings. Sarah's words chewed a hole through his heart. It was
difficult to believe a blessing could be hidden somewhere in the midst of all this rubble, yet Sarah seemed to believe it.
What did God want from him anyway?

A wagon pulled by two horses came over the rise just as
he was about to head back inside. Doc Randolph sat atop the
buckboard, his graying beard blowing in the wind, the wide
brim of his hat dipped low to protect his eyes from the worst
of the sunlight.

"Rocky," he called out. "What are you doing up and
about?"

Rocky couldn't help but grin as he waved at the older man.
While Doc had a fine reputation as a doctor, most complained
that his bedside manner was less than impressive, probably
due to heavy time constraints and the large number of folks
he visited daily.

"Just stretching my muscles," he stated. "Trying to make
some sense of this mess."

Doc pulled his horses to a stop and studied Rocky from
his high perch. "It's a shame indeed. But you'll rebuild. Same
time next year you'll look back on the whole experience and
find some good in it." He sounded like Sarah.

"Glad to see you're getting some color back," Doc continued, laying the reins aside, snatching up his black bag, and
stepping down. "Rode out to check on your burns." He came
close. "Hm. They're healing nicely. Your wife must be taking
good care of you."

Rocky thought of how Sarah had doted on him that first
night, soothing his burns with a cold cloth, sitting up with him,
helping him through the worst of it. When he finally woke up,
she'd brought him meals, assisted him from his bed to the outdoor necessary, and spoke in quiet tones. Whether she knew it or not, she'd brought comfort to his battered soul. But then
she'd ruined all that by insisting he needed to surrender everything to God, that he was somehow missing a great blessing.
He'd sneered at the remark, finding the notion absurd. The
best he could figure, God was using him as a punching bag.

"She's been a fine nurse," Rocky felt forced to admit.
Unfortunately, he'd been a bear of a patient, disagreeable and
stubborn to boot. He hadn't even thanked her sufficiently for
seeing to all the extra chores, milking the cows, feeding the
livestock, gathering eggs. It seemed his wife was tougher than
he thought. Still, he wouldn't blame her if she up and deserted
him tomorrow. To date, he'd given her little reason for hanging around, although he suspected it was the children who
kept her firmly in place.

"The rest of your family doing all right?" Doc asked.

There was a hint of concern in his tone. "Far as I know,"
Rocky replied.

Doc pulled at the end of his beard and frowned. "A number
of children have been hit with a strange virus I haven't quite
put my finger on yet," Doc said. "I thought it was a common
cold, but some are running pretty high temperatures."

"You worried?" Rocky asked.

Overhead, a flock of birds sailed by, their distinctive call
identifying them as geese. Probably headed for wider portions
of Little Hickman Creek, Rocky mused to himself. It was a
sure sign of an early spring.

"Not overly so," the middle-aged man answered. "Figure
I'll give it a few more days. If we don't see some improvement,
or if the thing spreads, I'll put in a call to Lexington. May end
up needing an antidote."

"Antidote? You think it might come to that?"

Doc shook his head. "Highly doubtful, but it doesn't hurt
to stay on guard. Don't go speaking about this to anyone. No
sense in creating undue panic."

Rocky nodded. "I'll keep that in mind. You let me know if
you need anything."

Doc Randolph grinned. "I won't be calling on you until
you're healed, young man. I expect you to spend the next several days resting."

"Several days? I have an addition to finish on my house
and then a new barn to build, Doc. You'll have to bring a rope
to tie me down next time you come out if you expect me to
spend more than a day or so resting."

Doc threw back his head and let go a peal of laughter. "I
just came from the Broughton farm and got nearly the same
remark from Benjamin. You two must've come from the same
mold."

Rocky chuckled. "That we did."

Doc looked up at the clear blue sky. "Well, think I'll meander up to the house and check on that little girl of yours. She
sure fared better than you did as far as the burns go, and she
came out on the good side of fate with that table falling on top
of her. I still can't believe no bones were broken."

"Sarah would say fate had nothing to do with it," Rocky
remarked, stuffing his hands in his pockets while shifting his
weight.

Doc lifted a questioning brow then nodded. "S'pose she
would at that. I do know that several folks were praying hard
that night. Guess we can't help but give God credit where
credit's due."

Doc never had been one to attend church services, but if
even he admitted God's divine intervention, Rocky suspected
there might be some truth to it.

At that, the doc strolled toward the house, leaving Rocky
to ponder their conversation.

Sarah was beginning to worry over Seth's unusual cough.
Poor child. It was nearing midnight and he'd gotten little sleep.
She lay on the lumpy sofa, staring at the ceiling and fretting
over what else she could do. She'd already given him plenty of
water, a dose of homemade lemon syrup-an old remedy she
recalled having learned from Mrs. Winters-and made sure
he was amply covered in quilts. Hopefully, by morning there'd
be an improvement.

At least Rocky slept well for the first time since the fire. She
suspected he'd exhausted himself today with all the puttering
he'd done outside, disposing of debris the crew of men had
missed yesterday. She'd offered to help, but he wouldn't hear
of it, claiming she'd already done more than her share, referring to the milking, which she'd done before he'd even awakened, a feat she was proud of, despite her tired, sore hands and
achy back muscles.