Too Long a Stranger (Women of the West)

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Too Long a
Stranger

by

Janette Oke

To all mothers and daughters
—

May God bless your relationships,

Heal any wounds,

Enhance understanding,

And multiply love in your hearts.

JANETTE OKE was born in Champion, Alberta, during the depression years, to a Canadian prairie farmer and his wife. She is a graduate of Mountain View Bible College in Didsbury, Alberta, where she met her husband, Edward. They were married in May of 1957, and went on to pastor churches in Indiana as well as Calgary and Edmonton, Canada.

The Okes have three sons and one daughter and are enjoying the addition of grandchildren to the family. Edward and Janette have both been active in their local church, serving in various capacities as Sunday school teachers and board members. They make their home near Calgary, Alberta.

Sarah

"I've got to think. I've got to—to plan."

Sarah lifted a trembling hand to press the palm against her brow. Her delicate face looked pinched and pale. Her lip quivered in spite of persistent efforts to keep it under control by holding it firmly between evenly spaced teeth. She brought the hand at her forehead down and clasped it with her other in hopes of stilling the tremors.

Her world—her whole secure world—had come tumbling in upon her. She needed to think, to make some sense of it all, but her mind failed to work.
What will I do? Where will I go?
whirled around in her thoughts. She had to make plans—but her brain refused to cooperate.

A soft cry came from the room next to her own.
Rebecca. Rebecca needs me.
That much she could still understand.

She left her bedroom and went quickly to the little room that was Rebecca's nursery. They had been so proud of the room. So excited about fixing it up to welcome their newborn. They had teased each other about choosing the color. Michael had insisted that the new baby would be a boy, and Sarah had been just as strong in her resolve that it was a girl. Both of them knew it did not matter. Any child would be more than welcome in this little room, in their lives and hearts.

But as Sarah entered the room and crossed swiftly to the cradle, she did not think of the decor. She thought only of the small child, little more than a year old, and now without a father.

It had been so unexpected, Michael's death. He had been so strong. So independent. Sarah still couldn't believe it was really so—that she and her baby Rebecca were now alone in the world.

"Mama's here," she whispered to her little one, a catch in her voice as she lifted the infant from the cradle and held her tightly against her shoulder.

But your papa will never be here again,
her heart cried. To Sarah's memory came the image of the tall, strong young man who had been Rebecca's father, bending over this same small bed to lift his tiny daughter up against his own shoulder. Even with her eyes squeezed shut, she could see him. The imprint of his face was as detailed and real as if he were standing before her. His firm, square chin. His slightly crooked nose. He had broken it as a twelve-year-old determined to ride one of the bulls on his father's ranch. Over the years the incident, and the nose, had become the butt of many little jokes on the part of his friends. Michael had not seemed to mind, laughing along with them.

But Sarah had scarcely noticed the nose when she first met the tall young man. She had been much too fascinated by his eyes. Brown eyes, framed with long, dark sweeping lashes.

"His eyes look like melted chocolate," she had gushed to her closest girl friend, and Jane had giggled at her remark and later embarrassed her by telling some others. Even now Sarah blushed at the remembrance.

She lifted her chin slightly in stubborn defiance. "He did have beautiful eyes," she murmured softly as though defending herself. Then her own eyes filled with tears and she pressed little Rebecca closer to her. Those brown eyes so filled with love would never look on her or on their baby girl again.

"I must get hold of myself," Sarah chided quietly. "I must. I have to plan. For the sake of Rebecca."

The baby squirmed in her arms, and Sarah realized she had been holding her too tightly. She blinked away her tears as best she could, swallowed the difficult lump in her throat, and forced a smile to her lips before she turned the child to where she could look into her face.

"Are you hungry?" she managed, her voice sounding remarkably controlled. "Mama has your dinner waiting for you in the kitchen. You've had a nice long nap."

In answer, Rebecca squirmed again and grinned at her mama. Then she reached for a handful of her mother's shiny dark hair and gave a tug. To Sarah's dismay the pins pulled loose and soft curls were soon spilling over her left ear.

"Now see what you've done," she scolded gently, but Rebecca squealed and reached for the mass, tangling her tiny fingers in the softness.

"It was my fault," Sarah conceded as she carried the child toward the small kitchen at the rear of the house. "I pinned it carelessly." She sighed and her slim shoulders seemed to sag with a sudden weight.

"Don't eat it," she told her young daughter, who was trying to stuff a fistful of the tresses into her mouth.

"You think everything is to eat—don't you?" she continued, smiling wanly as she tried to ease the hair from the tightened fist. It was a difficult task, for Rebecca had the strands all entangled in tiny fingers.

Sarah finally deposited her daughter in her high chair and, bending over her, tried to finish the task of freeing her hair from the little one's grasp.

"There," she said at last, able to straighten up again and reach to pin the hair haphazardly in place. Then she went to the cupboard for Rebecca's meal and moved to the wood-burning stove to reheat the mashed vegetables and gravy.

Rebecca squealed. She was never patient, which was especially true where her dinner was concerned.

"Mama's coming," Sarah assured her. "You don't want your dinner cold, do you?"

But Rebecca was in no mood to wait. She thumped on the tray of the chair and squealed loudly again. Sarah knew if she didn't hurry, the child would soon be crying—and then screaming. What was it Michael had said? That she was an angel—until it came to food. Then she suddenly turned into a little terror. In spite of her aching heart, Sarah smiled. The child's papa had known her well.

Rebecca began the second stage of her protest, and Sarah hurried toward the high chair. The food would have to be served as it was. She felt she could not endure a childish tantrum now. In her present state her nerves were raw, her heart near breaking, and she feared she might find herself screaming and crying right along with her offspring.

"You shall have it," she informed her small daughter. "If it isn't quite warm enough—then you've yourself to thank."

But Rebecca did not complain as Sarah spooned the food into her small mouth.

At first Sarah was absorbed in her task, but gradually troubling thoughts came back to fill her mind and heart again.

What will I do? I must make some plans.

Her whole person staggered under the weight of decisions to be made, but she seemed no nearer to any answers.

***

"What do you plan to do?"

It was Mrs. Galvan who asked the question. Sarah had regarded Mrs. Galvan as a pleasant neighbor— nothing more, since she was at least thirty-five years Sarah's senior. According to the neighborhood report, the woman had borne six children. She had lost twins, one after the other, soon after their birth, and her only daughter to whooping cough at the age of two. One of her sons had been killed in a lightning storm and her two remaining sons were now young men. The younger of the two had recently married and was on his own; the other still lived at home and helped his father run the local hardware store. Sarah had thought of the Gal-vans as fellow worshipers at the little church they attended. She met them on the streets of the little town and was always greeted warmly, but they had never been included in Sarah's small circle of close friends.

Now the older woman sat across from her at her kitchen table, a cup of tea growing cold in front of her as she cuddled small Rebecca in her arms.

"I—I don't really—know." Sarah tried hard to control her voice. She had to think. But it was so—so soon. Her head still refused to work. It was as though she was in a daze.

"If there's any way I can help—" There was such kindness in the voice that Sarah found it hard to fight the tears that surged behind her eyes. She nodded mutely.

"There may be someone who would like to buy the dray business," Mrs. Galvan went on. "That would—"

Sarah shook her head slowly. She already knew that wasn't the answer. "I—I talked to the banker," she said slowly. "He said—" She gulped and tried to go on, her voice little more than a whisper. "He said—it isn't likely. That—that anyone who wants to haul freight wouldn't need to buy but—but could just go ahead and start their own. He said—" But Sarah could not continue. It seemed that Michael's carefully built and maintained business of hauling freight from the train station in West Morin into their own small town of Kenville was really of no monetary value to her.

"Then what—?"

"I don't know. I just don't know."

Sarah shook her head, her hair threatening to spill about her ears again. She chided herself. She really had to start taking better care of her appearance. She would come to be known as the town frump. Quite a change from her reputation as a most proper young wife. She reached up to push the pins in more securely.

"I would be most happy to help in any way I can," declared Mrs. Galvan, and Sarah knew from the tone of her voice and the look in the sympathetic eyes that the woman meant every word.

"Thank you," she whispered, her head lowering. "I—I appreciate that more than . . ." But Sarah could not go on. Her chin trembled and she pressed her lips together and willed self-control.

"Why don't you try to get some rest," the older woman said, rising to her feet. "I know it's hard with a baby to care for but—" Then she checked herself. "Why don't I just take little Rebecca on home with me for the night?" she went on. "That way you can get some undisturbed sleep."

"Oh, but—"

"Now, I've cared for babies before," the woman quickly cut in.

"But she—she doesn't seem to manage sleeping through the night. She did before, but—I think she must sense . . ."

Again Sarah could not finish her thought.

"Well, perhaps
you
could sleep the night through— given a chance," assured the woman. "And if you are ever to get things sorted out, you need to be able to think. And to think, one must have rest."

Sarah knew this was so, but she did hate to give Rebecca up—even for a night. How could she bear to lose her one connection with reality? She was still shaking her head. She was sure she would sleep even less with her baby gone from the house.

But Mrs. Galvan, with Rebecca in her arms, was moving toward the nursery bedroom. "I'll just pick up a few little things and—"

"Where will she sleep?" Sarah asked hastily.

"I still have the crib from my own babies," Mrs. Galvan answered over her shoulder.

"But—" began Sarah again.

"Now don't you worry none. She'll be pampered aplenty. My husband and boy both love babies. Truth is, she'd likely be spoiled beyond bearin' if she stayed with us for long."

The woman laughed softly as she spoke the words. Sarah's thoughts still spun around. She was beyond rational thinking. Almost beyond caring. Maybe it would be okay—for just one night. Maybe she could sleep. She wasn't sure. She didn't know. She didn't seem to know much of anything at the moment. Numbly she followed the woman into Rebecca's bedroom and
absentmindedly packed a small bag with the things necessary for the child's overnight stay. Almost before she could take in what was happening, the woman left the house with Rebecca in her arms. "I'll bring her back tomorrow afternoon," she called over her shoulder. "You get some sleep."