Too Long a Stranger (Women of the West) (21 page)

In the past Rebecca had often chaffed under the unwritten family "law." Correspondence took up so much of her Sunday afternoons. She wished to read—or even sleep. It was so hard to write her mother, Mrs. Galvan, Uncle Boyd, the Fosters, Robert and Stanley. She was thankful that she didn't have to write the two younger girls. They could be included in the letter home to the Fosters.

But now, since her last trip home to the Fosters, Rebecca was no longer irritated by the task of writing to Stanley each week. She waited impatiently for his letter and then read it over and over, watching carefully for words that might indicate—well, that he looked forward to hers as well. Rebecca was never quite sure whether his letters were still "brotherly" or if some of the phrases like "I miss you" or "I look forward to seeing you at Christmas break" held more meaning than in the past. Stanley had always written such things—but in brotherly fashion. Rebecca had never paid attention to them before.

"—she's immune," said Peony.

Rebecca's attention jerked back to the conversation in the room.

"Oh no, she's not," denied Annabelle. "I've known Rebecca all my life, and she enjoys turning heads as much as anyone."

The girls all giggled and Rebecca flushed. It was true. She had always enjoyed the attention of fellows her age. And there were always plenty around her.

"Then maybe she's—fallen head over heels," put in Jo.

Again, giggles.

Annabelle sobered and looked directly at Rebecca. "Are you keeping a secret from me?" she demanded in mock anger.

"Don't talk nonsense," said Rebecca with a flick of her skirts, but her cheeks did flush.

"Oh!" squealed Peony in her characteristic way. "Rebecca has a beau. Oh-h—how romantic."

Giggles and hoots followed.

"I need some sleep," cut in Rebecca. "I have an exam tomorrow."

"Afraid you'll only get a ninety-nine percent," taunted Jo.

"I'll not get fifty if I don't get some sleep," responded Rebecca dourly.

"Say," said Jo, "you are in a bad mood."

"Out of sorts?" asked the frank Peony, irking Rebecca further.

"No—I'm not out of sorts," she replied sharply, slipping off her shoes and moving toward her cupboard to get her nightie. "I'm tired, that's all."

But it wasn't all. Stanley's letter should have arrived in yesterday's post. It always arrived on Wednesday. It hadn't. Nor was it in today's mail. What could have happened? Rebecca felt agitated. Concerned. What if—? But she pushed aside the troubling thoughts. She didn't even wish to consider the possibilities.

***

"How's young Seth doin'?" asked Boyd as he and Sarah walked back from church. Sarah took a moment to think about her answer. Seth's confidence had not been shaken by the difficulties of hauling freight. He looked as fresh at the end of the day as at the beginning. Oh, he might look tired, but he never looked down. He spoke with enthusiasm. He usually finished his shorter run before she herself did and was always on hand to help unload her return deliveries. He cared for his team with diligence. He even took care of her horses when she arrived home. He didn't fuss about the weather, and they had experienced some nasty storms since he had taken over the other run.

"He's—he's doing fine," she finally answered, her head nodding with her words. "He's a good worker."

But Seth was much more than a good worker. He was—was a—partner? An encourager? Sarah wasn't sure. She only knew that she looked forward to seeing him each day. He gave her spirits a much-needed lift. His boyish—yet settled—confidence did much to get her through her day. She often wished with all her heart that she knew the reason for his quiet, calm acceptance of life.

"He seems like a fine boy," went on Boyd, "his whole family—"

"Yes," responded Sarah. "Yes—he is."

***

"What's your secret?" Sarah asked one day after she had worked with Seth for a number of months, watching daily his quiet demeanor.

"Secret?" He turned puzzled brown eyes to her, but even in his confusion she could see the laughter ready to spill out if something should amuse him.

"You always seem so—so at peace—even when things go wrong. If I'd had a broken wagon wheel and had to ride one of the horses back, toting the heavy wheel to the smithy, and then been late on the run and heard complaints about it, I'd have been ready to take to my bed."

He gave her a smile and looked down at his scuffed boots. When he looked up again the smile was gone, but that same peace was still in his eyes. "The secret ..." he mused. "Guess it's no secret. I mean—it's not just mine—it's for everyone. Every child of God. I just remember John fifteen. Verse five. Especially the last part. I say it over and over to myself. It reminds me where my strength—my help—comes from. Ma was always strong on gettin' us to memorize from the Scriptures. She said we couldn't draw on them—if we didn't have 'em within to draw on."

He tapped his chest over his heart. "She said we need the Word not just in our head but in our heart," he finished.

Sarah nodded. She had the Word in her head. She knew her Bible quite well, though she would have admitted that she hadn't spent much time memorizing the verses. Perhaps she should have. Perhaps it would help her through some of the difficult days.

She looked at the young man before her and nodded her head. His eyes met hers with such serenity, such confidence, that she found herself swallowing in confusion. Then he smiled again and Sarah felt she had somehow just been blessed.

"I'll care for the horses," he offered.

She nodded again. "Good," she managed. "I've got a lot of bookkeeping to catch up on," and she turned and left him.

*"But first," she promised herself as she walked away, "I'm going to look up John 15:5. I want to see for myself just what you're talking about."

***

I
am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same hringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing.

Without me ye can do nothing.

The words remained in Sarah's mind as she began her bookkeeping tasks. They stayed in her mind for the rest of the day. She reflected over her past years. She had done something. Not without God of course. She had always believed in God. But it was she, Sarah, who had done quite well working through her needs. She had provided for Rebecca. She had fought for and kept the freight run. She had acquired the second run and managed to keep them both operating smoothly, though she had nearly collapsed in the attempt. And now—now she was in a rather enviable position. Both runs were paying nicely. She had no debts. Rebecca was soon to graduate with a first-class education. Rebecca would soon be back home again and she, Sarah, would be able to lay some money aside for—for other things. Things had worked quite well. She had managed, through her own perseverance and hard work to make it—on her own. She may have felt just a bit of justifiable pride in her accomplishment.

Sarah stirred in her chair. She was pleased—even proud. But why—why didn't she have the same—same gentle peace this young man evidenced? The quiet assurance that he showed her every day—whether things went well or turned ugly? Why did she often fret and worry until well into the night?

"He's just a boy," she reminded herself. "He hasn't really been knocked about by the world yet. He'll learn. He'll learn that life can get pretty rough on one. We'll see how—"

Sarah abruptly left her chair and crossed to the window. She pulled agitatedly at the curtain and looked out across the yard to where the horses fed contentedly from the manger in the corral. They had been curried and rubbed until they shone. No harness sores to worry her. Seth saw to that.

Seth.

He was such an unusual young man. Sarah respected and appreciated him. In a motherly fashion she wished to protect him from the hard knocks in life. She would hate to see him crushed—destroyed. It would be so cruel. But life was cruel. She knew that. Didn't life rob her of Michael? Oh, she missed him. She still missed him after all the years. Now she had only Rebecca. Rebecca. Her little girl. The little girl who would soon be coming home.

Rights of Passage

So much happened in such a short time that Rebecca's head was swimming. Exams were over. She had earned the honor of giving the valedictory address at her graduation ceremony. Her mother was not there to hear her give it—nor was anyone from faraway Renville, but the Fosters were there, including Robert and Stanley, who had come especially for the occasion. Rebecca had to remind herself that she was really not the reason they had come, because Annabelle also was graduating.

Mrs. Foster gave an elaborate party for the two girls, celebrating their graduation and the beginning of "a new life," as she referred to their future. Anna-belle was nearly beside herself with gaiety during the occasion, but Rebecca, though outwardly enthusiastic, inwardly quaked.
What new life?
She had been quite satisfied with the old one. Now what lay in store? She could not even guess. She only knew that in her room, in the left corner of the top drawer in her small hankie box where she kept special treasures, smugly lay a oneway ticket for Kenville, as though dictating her future. She was going home.
But home to what and to whom?
Rebecca tried hard to remember what her life had been like before she entered Tall Elms School for Girls. She tried to remember the people who were important to her before she had become such a part of the Foster family. But she could mentally picture only snatches of this or that, and the pieces didn't seem to complete any visual scene or concept. It made her uneasy to think ahead. At times over the past days, her stomach felt so queasy that she pushed the food around on her plate without eating.

"It is so-o romantic," Peony had bubbled as usual. "The West. You must be so-o excited! How I envy you."

But Rebecca had ignored the words. She wasn't convinced that she was to be envied.

In fact, more than her uneasiness about the future caused her to dread the thought of the quickly approaching day of her departure for her western home. She would be putting miles and miles between herself and Stanley.

"You will be back?" he questioned as the two stood on the veranda sipping glasses of icy lemonade. The other guests from the party had finally departed and the servants were scurrying about to clean away the remains of the celebration.

"I—I—don't really know," Rebecca answered in a voice softened by emotion.

She wished to hear him say that he wanted her to come back. That he would miss her when she was gone. But he didn't say any of those things. Instead, he said in his teasing fashion, "Don't let one of those rope-to-tin' cowboys lasso your heart."

Rebecca knew she was supposed to laugh, but for some reason she found it difficult to do so.

He sobered then and moved a bit closer, looking out over the vast green lawns with her. He leaned his elbows on the railing and cupped his chin.

"Changes," he said. "I'm not sure they are all they are claimed to be."

Rebecca stirred uneasily. She wasn't sure they were either.

"What will you do when you get back home?" he asked her seriously.

"I—I really don't know. I—I don't remember much about my life back then—except that I stayed with Aunt Min while Mother worked, and Uncle Boyd—Uncle Boyd used to—to—spoil me, I guess."

She managed a little laugh.

"Well, you won't need to stay with Aunt Min now," said Stanley, drawing up to his full height. He moved near enough to brush against her shoulder. "You're quite grown up, Rebecca."

Rebecca felt her face flushing and was glad for the darkness that hid her discomfiture.

They stood in silence, deep in thought. Rebecca knew that she should stir herself and say she must get in. But her heart longed to hear some words of endearment—of commitment. Instead, Stanley shifted uneasily and faced toward the green lawns again. She heard a sigh escape his lips. It seemed to come from his very soul.

"You are not the only one facing change," he said.

Rebecca turned to him.

"I need to make some decisions. Father wishes me to turn to law. I don't want that. Yet I don't want a career in the military either. Mother would like me to be a doctor. I—I don't really know what I want." He sighed again. "But I have to decide. I'm at the end of my Academy courses. Now I—I have to choose and I'm so—uncertain. Right now my whole future looks— bleak."

Rebecca was surprised at his little speech. She had thought his future was so settled. His education was so solid and gave him so many possibilities. And she was particularly surprised by his final word choice. Bleak? For Stanley? Why, he'd had every advantage, it seemed to her.

He wheeled to face her. "Why did you choose this time to go?" he demanded, his voice husky with agitation.

"I—I didn't choose," managed Rebecca.

"Then why—?"

"I must. Mother sent the—the ticket."

"Tear it up."

His words surprised her. What was he saying? Was he so distraught that he was becoming unreasonable?

She had no answer. She just stood looking at him, sensing his frustration—his anger. She wasn't liking what she was seeing, but she couldn't figure out what was prompting his dark mood.