Too Long a Stranger (Women of the West) (6 page)

He didn't speak—just stood there studying her face, her dirty, dangling skirt, her stained shirtwaist, and her bedraggled hair. Then he nodded slowly, turned and called to Boyd, and moved forward to sort through the stacks of freight.

Boyd was not quite so open as he studied Sarah. She felt his eyes turn her way, slide over her quickly as though he wished to deny what he was seeing, and then busied himself helping his father.

Sarah knew better than to move forward to help. This was her town. These men were her neighbors. They would not feel that she was in their debt because of their manly concern.

When the last of their items had been lifted off and Sarah climbed wearily back up over the large wheel, about to lift the reins to move on down the street, Boyd stepped forward. He reached out a hand to pat Gyp on his muscular rump, making the dust fly in little swirls around his fingers.

"How's it goin'?" he asked simply.

Sarah shrugged. She looked down at her skirts, turned one stinging hand upward so she could study the blistered palm, and tried to lift bone-weary shoulders.

"I found a boy to help with the loading," she answered him.

He nodded and thumped the horse with a firm, fiat-handed pat again. "You should be wearin' gloves," he informed her gently, not allowing his eyes to travel to her hands.

Sarah nodded back.

He fumbled with the harness, at first maybe just for something to do. But then his hands seemed to sense something wrong and he turned his attention to the straps.

"Got a tug twisted here," he said as his eyes and his hands traveled on and down the pieces of leather. He leaned to unsnap the offending piece and gave it half a turn, snapping it back in place. Sarah assumed he then would move away and she would be free to go. She was anxious to finish her deliveries and get home to little Rebecca. But Boyd did not step away from the team. Instead, he moved closer, his big, work-hardened hands traveled over the muscled side of the horse with a keen sensitivity. Sarah's eyes followed.

"Got a bit of a harness sore here," he said without a change of tone.

"Harness sore?" Sarah could vaguely remember Michael talking of harness sores. He checked his team carefully each night when he brushed them down and put them in their stall.

"Guess that tug jest rubbed a bit. You got anything to put on it?"

"Well—I'm—I'm sure that Michael has—had. He—he talked about—I think he kept something in the barn. I'm sure—"

"I'll slip over after work tonight and check on it," Boyd said simply, and without even glancing up at Sarah he stepped back from the team.

She lifted the reins and spoke to the horses, who immediately moved forward.

"Thet little Rebecca—she's somethin'," the man called after her.

A smile lifted Sarah's tired features. "She is," she called back to him. "She really is. I can hardly wait to get home."

And she flicked the reins to hurry up the team. Suddenly she had renewed strength to finish the tasks of the day.

Adjustments

By the time Sarah had unhitched the team, rubbed them down, pumped enough water into the trough to give them a long drink, measured out their oats, and filled their manger with hay from the loft, her back was aching so badly that she wondered if she could make it to the house upright.

"I still
need
to go get
Rebecca," she whispered to
herself. "But first I need to clean up some. The way I look,
she'd hot even know me."

But
when Sarah entered her kitchen by the back door,
Rebecca toddled toward her with a glad cry. Sarah forgot her dirty dress. She even forgot her aching back. She hurried to sweep the infant into her arms. Tears filled her eyes and ran in streaks down her cheeks as she crooned words of love to her little girl. "Mama missed you," she said over and over. "I missed you so much."

A movement caught Sarah's attention. Mrs. Galvan stood at the kitchen stove stirring something delightfully inviting in a cooking pot.

"Thought you might be tired out on yer first day," she offered.

Sarah sighed deeply. "I didn't imagine it would be so hard," she admitted.

"I did," the woman said with a nod. "I did. But then—you'll gradually git used to it. It'll git easier— with time."

"I certainly hope so." Sarah rose from her kneeling position and lifted Rebecca up in her arms. "Oh," she groaned with the movement, "I ache from top to bottom. I hurt in muscles I didn't even know I had."

"You'll be good and stiff tomorrow," went on the older woman. "I've fixed you a hot bath with Epsom Salts in yer room. You run along and soak an' I'll tend Rebecca."

"But your own supper—" began Sarah.

"Got it fixed and on the back of the stove. Men can help themselves if I'm missin'. They've done it before. Never have starved either."

Sarah glanced down at her rumpled, dirty shirtwaist. "I'll never get this clean again," she murmured sadly as she moved stiffly toward her bedroom and the welcoming bath.

While she soaked she listened to Rebecca's happy chatter from the kitchen. Mrs. Galvan's low voice spoke often to the little girl, but Sarah did not even try to understand the words. She was so tired. So weary. It seemed that she had dragged the entire weight of a troubled world around in that freight wagon all day long. She tried to shrug it away and relax. Surely, as Mrs. Galvan had said, it would get easier.

***

Knowing that another long day faced her, Sarah was about to retire. The light rap on her front door stopped her in her steps toward her bedroom.

"Who can that be?" she muttered to herself, and the thought of the banker checking up on her entered her mind. Her shoulders straightened unconsciously and she crossed swiftly to the door.

But it was Boyd who stood there. At the sight of him she remembered his promise. She also remembered her neglect.

"Oh—the harness sore—I forgot all about it."

"I checked on it," he said easily. "I rubbed some salve into it and padded that piece of harness. I don't think it will be a problem."

Sarah stepped back, nodding acknowledgment and murmuring her thanks. "Come in," she invited, feeling embarrassed about her lack of courtesy.

"I won't be stoppin'," he said and stepped back rather than forward. "Jest wanted to let you know it's been cared for."

"Thank you. Thanks so much," Sarah managed to say. "I—I had forgotten—"

"You have a lot on your mind. I'll check on the horses now and then. They look sound right now."

Sarah frowned. "Check? What—?" She had no idea what to watch for. Hadn't even realized that it was part of the task.

"Jest run a hand over them now and then. See if they flinch. That means sore spots."

"Sore spots? Like—from the harness?"

"And muscles an' things."

Sarah's head started to spin. The freight-hauling itself had turned out to be much more complicated than she had imagined. Now this.

"An' check their feet to—"

"Check their feet?" Sarah was aghast.

Boyd nodded.

"What—? How do you do that?" Sarah thought of the large, hair-covered hooves of the pair of animals. How would one ever go about checking them? And what did one check?

"Never mind," he said hurriedly. "I'll drop by and check them."

He appeared to feel it was settled and nodded as he turned to go. Sarah spoke quickly. She had to get things clearly settled before they got out of hand.

"No," she said, reaching her hand out as though to hold him in place. "No—they are my team. I must learn to care for them myself."

He looked up at her from his place on the step below the open doorway where she stood, a shadow in his eyes.

"I mean—I—I really need to know how to care for my own horses," she repeated more gently. "I—I can't—can't live—dependent on them—if—if I don't even know how to care for them. Don't you see?" she finished lamely.

He nodded.

Sarah swallowed and felt the color flushing her cheeks. As much as she hated to be in anyone's debt, she knew that she needed this man's help.

"But—I—I would be—be forever grateful if you could—could teach me what I need to know. That is— if you have the time," she hurried on.

He nodded again. His troubled eyes seemed to brighten.

"I'll teach ya," he said simply, and Sarah knew it was a promise that would not be broken.

***

One day seemed to slide into another, losing its own identity in the sameness of the routine. Sarah did gradually get used to wrestling the harness over the broad backs, she did learn to wear tough leather gloves that helped with the bruises and blisters of her slowly toughening hands. She paid the strong-backed boy who daily loaded her freight, and managed, with the help of the kind hometown folk, to get it unloaded at the other end.

She even learned to dress more appropriately for the task at hand, choosing skirts that were darker and not as full and shirtwaists that wouldn't show the dirt as readily and had no ribbons or frills to catch on the bundles and boxes that she endeavored to maneuver into organized place. Her abundant hair, that Michael had always adored, was pulled back out of her way in a much simplified fashion. She often wanted to weep as she surveyed herself in the mirror. She felt as if she had forsaken her femininity—but that was the price to pay for survival. This was the only way she knew of to provide for Rebecca.

***

"How are you?"

Sarah had been asked the question many times over the past few weeks, but perhaps never with such sincere concern. Mr. Murray, who stood beside her in the churchyard, held her eyes steadily, so she was reluctant to give a quick reply.

"I'm—I'm doing—fine," she finally answered. She felt that the answer was a truthful one, though it didn't reveal her discouragement concerning the long, difficult days on the road or her regret at needing to miss so much of young Rebecca's daily growing up.

He looked at her steadily. His gaze seemed to rest for a moment on her small, toughening hands. She quickly pulled on her Sunday gloves with a nervous gesture.

"I will still be happy to teach you the clerking," he said in a soft voice so it would not carry to the other members of the congregation who stood around them chatting.

"You are kind," she whispered back. "I—I do appreciate it."

"You will feel free to let me know if there is ever— anything that I can do?"

His direct question called for an honest answer. She wished to say, "No. No, I will never feel free to ask for anyone's help. I want to make it on my own." But his gaze made her change her mind. Perhaps—perhaps she would need someone—sometime. And if she did, she knew of nowhere else to turn. She lowered her head to avoid the penetrating eyes and said softly, "I promise."

When she lifted her eyes again to look at him, he was still studying her. He nodded slightly, his eyes still showing concern even though a bit of a smile played about his lips; then he lifted his hat and bid her a good-day.

"A funny little man," Sarah breathed to herself as he walked away. "So—so intense."

But it gave her a good feeling to know that she had someone on whom she could count. Someone to turn to.

She called to Rebecca, who was playing nearby with another child, waved to Mrs. Galvan, and started for home.

***

Each month—on time—Sarah met the bank payment, and she couldn't help but feel a bit smug as she counted out the money onto the desk of the solemn banker.

And every Sunday was her day. Her own special day with Rebecca. After the morning church service they ate their simple dinner together, chattering and laughing. Sarah tried hard to fill the huge gap in their home and the place in their hearts that had once been filled by Michael.

Rebecca was growing quickly. She was now steady on her feet and rarely tumbled as she ran about the house or yard. And daily she seemed to add new words to her limited vocabulary. Mrs. Galvan always seemed to have some amusing little anecdote to tell Sarah when she returned home, shoulders weary, body dragging from another difficult day on the dray wagon.

Boyd had kept his promise. Sarah knew more about Gyp and Ginger than she had thought possible to know about horses. She no longer felt so intimidated as she worked with them. They were more than just animals. More than just big animals. They were part of her team. Necessary for her livelihood. Needed for her very survival. It was vital to keep them well and strong.

She checked them carefully each night and each morning. She went over the harness, the wagon, each working part of the partnership. She prayed as she studied carefully each part of her equipment and team that Boyd had not forgotten any detail. She did not know what she would have done without him-—but she was independent now. She had learned what must be done. She was on her own. And making it. They had little income to spare—but they were making it.

***

A long, pleasant fall was roughly
pushed aside by a sudden winter storm. From her bed Sarah knew the howling wind
and the slashing of snow against the windowpane meant that the day would not be an easy one. She hated the thought of pulling herself from her bed. She dreaded hitching the team in the tearing wind. She hated the thought of the cold, bitter miles of travel to pick up the freight and then deliver it all.