Too Long a Stranger (Women of the West) (25 page)

"Yes, ma'am," he replied and reached down to lift the cases again, a twinkle in his eye. "They're none too light, I'm thinking," he quipped over his shoulder as he disappeared into the bedroom.

Rebecca was staring after him in bewilderment and dismay when the door was flung open. It was Sarah. Her face was flushed from her hurrying. She looked even more disheveled than when Rebecca had seen her last.

"Seth found the horses," she said, panting from her rush through the streets. "He's already cared for them. He's bringing your luggage."

So Seth was the name of the hired help. Rebecca would remember. It was one of the little unspoken rules in the Foster household. One called the servants by name. They always seemed to respond in better fashion when addressed personally. "Would you draw my bath, Lolly?" "Bring round the carriage, Manville." "I'll have tea in the drawing room, Wilbur." It was the way one spoke to servants.

But her mother should know that there had been no one on duty when she entered the house. Was Seth the negligent one? But he had been sent to pick up her luggage and care for the horses. Where was the kitchen help? Surely they should have been at their post.

The young man reentered the kitchen.

"Oh, Seth. Here you are," said Sarah. "I'm sorry about the horses. I got so excited when I saw the stage was in that I just left them and ran. Have you met Rebecca?"

The young man nodded in Rebecca's direction.

"Rebecca—this is Seth. I don't know how I'd ever manage without him. Seth—my little girl."

The young man moved forward easily and with no embarrassment or inhibition held out his hand.

Rebecca was further taken aback. She had never had a young man offer her his hand before. Manners dictated that the man wait for the woman to decide if she wished to extend a hand. And never, ever, under any circumstance, did a servant presume to be so familiar.

For one moment Rebecca stood, her
cheeks staining red, her composure unsettled. Then she slowly extended her hand to have it firmly shaken by the young man before her.

"Pleased to meet you, miss," he said warmly. "Your mama has hardly been able to wait for you to get home. Now I think I can see why. Welcome home."

Rebecca thought that the spoken words were meant to be some kind of compliment, but she couldn't really sort them out. Here she was shaking hands with a servant, and her mother stood by beaming as though it was totally acceptable and even welcomed.

He gave her one more nod, then moved toward the door. His eyes turned to Sarah. "I know you have lots to talk about," he said with understanding. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Sarah nodded.

After the young man was gone, Sarah turned back to Rebecca. "Would you like your bath now—or your supper?" she asked. "I know you're both tired and hungry. Which comes first?"

"Well—I—I am hungry—and filthy. I will need to clean up before I can—even think of eating, so I suppose I— The bath must come first."

"I'll bring in the tub," said Sarah good-naturedly.

"Bring in the tub?" echoed Rebecca.

"There isn't room for it in here, so I hang it out on the back wall," said Sarah as though that was the most natural thing in the world.

"But—"

But Sarah had already left the room. When she returned Rebecca was again shocked. The tub was nothing more than a laundry tub. She was expected to bathe in that?

"I'll fill it with water from the reservoir. That's one nice thing about this stove. It has a nice big reservoir. I've never run out of hot water yet."

And so saying Sarah went to place the tub in Rebecca's room and returned to take up a pail and a dipper to begin dipping water from the reserve tank at the end of the kitchen stove.

"While you're bathing I'll get our supper on. I already have the stew cooking."

Sarah failed to see Rebecca's look of horror. Stew? Did she mean the stuff that was cooked in one pot? The meat and vegetables all tumbled in together like—like common— Rebecca wrinkled her dainty nose.

"I left it at the back of the stove this morning. Mrs. Galvan promised to stoke the fire off and on through the day. It should be just right by now. I'll just get some biscuits in the oven and fix some of those fresh vegetables that Mrs. Galvan brought from her garden, and we'll be all set. Made some johnny cake for dessert. That was always your favorite. You would've eaten it every night if I'd let you."

Rebecca followed her mother toward the bedroom, her head whirling. This world was certainly different from the one she had known.

"Do you have to—to do everything?" she asked. "Don't the servants—"

Sarah stopped mid-stride. She whirled to look at her daughter, her eyes large, astounded. "Servants?" she echoed hollowly.

Rebecca nodded.

"We don't have servants," said Sarah with some force.

"We—we don't?"

"My land, no. No one here has servants."

Rebecca swallowed. How did one ever do without servants? Who did all the work?

"Then—?" Rebecca could not finish the question.

Sarah dropped her gaze and began to walk toward the bedroom with the pail of water in her hand. "Anything you want done here—you have to learn how to do yourself," she said quietly.

"Then—then who is—Seth?"

"Seth," Sarah said evenly, "is a neighbor. He is from our church. He works for me—that's true. But not as a servant. As a—a hired hand. Paid and respected. And he does far more than he would need to do to earn his wage. Far more.

"And another thing—he is the closest to God of any person I know. That's Seth."

Rebecca swallowed, nodded her head, and moved toward her bedroom and the tub that waited on the rag rug. If she was to rid herself of the trail dust, she had to disrobe and climb into that ugly metal tub. She hated the thought. She hated everything that had greeted her in this miserable town. Oh, if only she could have stayed where she was. If only she was back where she belonged. Rebecca longed to cry, but under the circumstances it did not seem like the proper thing to do.

***

Sarah stared at the closed bedroom door. Rebecca really was young. And she was so beautiful. She was also naive. She had lived in splendor and opulence. She would have to learn to live all over again. Could she? It was a totally different world. Sarah had not realized how different until that very moment.

Love filled her mother-heart as she thought of her bewildered offspring in her dusty, fashionable clothes. She looked as if she belonged in a rich man's parlor. Not on the dirty, windswept streets of Kenville.

Hard Days

Rebecca longed to linger in the tub—but the size and shape made it most uncomfortable. She could not stretch out her legs for a proper soak. So she found herself hurrying through her bath.

Besides, she was hungry. The aromas from the kitchen that drifted toward her room made her stomach rumble.

"But it's stew," she complained under her breath. "I won't even be able to eat it."

When Rebecca had finished her bath and changed into fresh, though wrinkled, garments, she found herself drawn toward the inviting smell.

The small kitchen table was set with simple dishes. There were no linens. No candles. Nothing that Rebecca was used to. Still, in spite of herself, she felt ready to eat.

She eyed the biscuits. They did look good. She would just fill up on biscuits until her mother supplied something more suitable to her taste. But even before she took the chair at the table, she had changed her mind. She would try a small bit of the steaming stew just to see how it tasted.

Sarah was still scurrying about the room. Rebecca had not looked her mother's way until she spoke.

"Well—we're ready. You sit right there."

It was then that Rebecca noticed that Sarah too had changed for the meal. She wore a simple black skirt and a white shirtwaist, very much like the apparel that Hettie, from the kitchen, wore—except that Hettie always wore a white frilled apron over the skirt. It made the outfit decidedly more attractive, Rebecca thought.

When Sarah bowed her head, Rebecca did too. Silence followed and then Rebecca realized her mother was fighting for control so she could voice her thoughts in prayer.

"Dear Lord," Sarah began. "You are so good—and I thank you. Thank you for bringing Rebecca safely home. Thank you for the fine young lady she has become. Our years of separation were such—hard years, but now they are behind us and we look forward to— to many days of being together. Bless our days and make us a blessing to each other and to those we meet. And bless this food that you have so bountifully provided for our use. In the name of Christ our Lord and Savior. Amen."

Sarah was still blinking away thankful tears when she lifted her head. Rebecca felt both amazed and slightly ashamed.

***

"Here," said Sarah, tossing Rebecca a kitchen towel. "I'll wash and you can dry—just like we used to do."

Rebecca was not used to drying dishes—though she would not have admitted it under the circumstances.

"You—you even do the dishes—yourself?" she queried, hoping that her voice didn't give her away.

Sarah turned to look at her daughter. "Of course," she said, and even managed a bit of a laugh. "Didn't Mrs. Foster do dishes?"

"Never," said Rebecca with emphasis.

"Then who did?"

"The kitchen help," replied Rebecca, her voice indicating that this was only right and proper.

"Well—we are the kitchen help," Sarah said stoutly. "Anything that gets done here will get done by our own hands." Rebecca could not avoid an expression of shock, and Sarah, seeing it, went on lightly, "You'll get used to it."

They finished the dishes in silence.

"I have dreamed of this day," Sarah said as she hung the emptied dish pan back on its peg behind the kitchen stove. "Just think—we have the whole evening to talk."

Rebecca nodded.

"Now—let's get cozy," encouraged Sarah. "Where do you prefer? Here in the kitchen—with the fire crackling and the kettle singing—or in the other room where you can curl up in one of the chairs?"

Rebecca swallowed away the retort on the tip of her tongue. She found nothing cozy about either place. The kitchen was hot after the evening meal, and the chairs in the other room where she was to get cozy were solid and uncomfortable.

"You choose," said Rebecca.

Sarah chose the small room she referred to as the "other" room. Rebecca selected a chair and tried to get comfortable.

"Now—tell me all about your years at school," invited Sarah.

"Well—I—I rather—told you all of that in my letters," replied Rebecca.

Sarah nodded.

"I was really proud of you—being valedictorian and all that. I wish I could have heard you ..." Her voice drifted to a halt. Then she said, "I was—I am proud of you."

Rebecca nodded. Her school days already felt so distant now.

"And your piano. I was so pleased about all the nice things they said about you in those—reports on your recitals. I'm proud."

Rebecca reached down and smoothed out her skirt. If they'd had servants she would have had her dress pressed to remove the packing wrinkles.

"I—I wish we had a piano," went on Sarah. "Then I could hear you play. I'd—really like that."

There was silence.

"The pastor's wife—do you remember her? The church organist. She said you could play at church. She said she'd be glad to have you do the playing. Folks are all anxious to hear you. I showed some of them the newspaper write-ups about you. Everyone here was proud."

Rebecca nodded. She wondered if her fingers would still remember the keys. She wished her mother had a piano. Then she could at least lose herself in her music.

"Tomorrow night we are to have supper with the Galvans. They can hardly wait to see you again, but I— I wanted this night together to—for just us—to just talk—to—"

But the talking did not go well. There seemed so little to say to each other. At last Sarah stood to her feet. "You must be dreadfully tired," she said, and Rebecca patted away a yawn in response. She was weary. Maybe that was what was the matter with her. With the world. Maybe things would not seem quite so abrasive—so crude—once she had rested.

"Our talk can wait," said Sarah. "We have years and years to catch up." She smiled. When she smiled she was almost pretty, Rebecca noticed with surprise.

"I think I would like to retire," Rebecca admitted and stood up.

She was almost to her door when Sarah spoke. Rebecca was afraid she would see tears in her mother's eyes again.

"You know I had this—this funny idea—that when you came home—it would be—well sort of like it used to be when I—I used to tuck you in and tell you a story and hear your prayers. I—I guess—I'll have to—to— adjust. I mean—look at you. You're not my little girl anymore. You've—you've grown up while you were gone. It might—take a while for me to get used to—to who you are now. I—I hope that you can be—patient with me while I—kind of sort it all out."