Walker's Wedding (18 page)

W
alker was about to start up the stairs with a tray for Sarah the next morning as she stepped off them. He had planned on surprising her with coffee and muffins in bed. The only surprise now was Sarah's early rising.

“How nice of you!” She stood on tiptoe to kiss him. Her face glistened with soap and water and her smile melted him. “I'm sorry I spoiled your surprise,” she whispered, kissing him again.

“Why don't we eat upstairs anyway?” he suggested

“What about your morning chores?”

“They can wait.”

Laughing, she turned and sprinted back up the stairs, clutching handfuls of her dress before her.

In the bedroom, he set the tray on the nightstand. Sarah sat on the edge of the mattress and picked up a muffin and pulled a piece off the top, offering it to him. They fed each other bits of the sweet treat and tried unsuccessfully to twine their arms together as they sipped the scalding coffee. Eventually they burst out laughing.

“I'm so happy here, Walker.”

He took her hands in his and began kissing bits of muffin from her fingertips. He had come so far in the last couple of weeks. So far…

“Sarah? Is something bothering you?” he asked.

She struggled to break free of her imposed prison. Now was the time to tell him.
Tell him, Sarah! She
started to speak but managed only a weak, “Well…” before falling silent again. If she told him he would make her leave. He was starting to trust her, to fall in love with her. He would accuse her of lying, which she had. Of being as bad as Trudy, which she was. She couldn't leave here. She loved him so desperately!

His gaze softened. “Nothing could be that bad. What is it?”

She searched for delay. “It's Caleb.”

“Caleb?” He frowned. “What about Caleb?”

“I…I don't think he likes—no—trusts me.”

Walker laughed. “Caleb? Why would you say that?”

“He seems…uncomfortable around me, Walker. Do you know why?”

Chuckling, he drew her to his chest. “That's what's bothering you? Honey, if I hadn't known him all these years I'd think he didn't like me, either.”

Sarah pulled away to meet his gaze. “Actually,” she bit her lip again, deep in thought, “I've been meaning to ask you something about Caleb.”

“What is it?” He reached for his coffee.

“I know you trust him, but how well? I mean, how much attention do you pay to his accuracy with your ledgers?”

Walker's hand paused as he brought the cup to his mouth. “What makes you mention the ledgers?”

“Just wondering.”

“I pay little attention to the books. That's what I pay Caleb for. Why the concern?”

Sarah felt her cheeks color. “No reason, really. It's just that my father always took care of our business…ledgers and all, so I was wondering how closely you watched them.”

Walker grinned. “Well, you have nothing to worry about. I trust Caleb completely.”

“I'm not worried,” she scoffed. “Finances are the least of my concerns.”

“Good,” he said, “because I don't want you to have to worry about anything ever again.”

She wished that were possible, but once again her nerve failed her. She couldn't lose this man. He was her whole life now.

P
otster cracked another egg into the bowl, eyeing Sarah. “Clean as a whistle.”

“Cleaner,” Sarah agreed. Sniffing the aromatic air, she wondered if she'd ever cook as well as Potster. She bent her head and sighed, and wrote another sentence in the notebook. After her morning talk with Walker, she'd thrown herself into writing, sickened that she had deliberately let the ruse continue. God had every reason to be disappointed in her. When Walker left for the fields, she'd sought refuge in Potster's kitchen.

“You spend all yer spare time workin' on that book. What's it say, anyway?”

“You wouldn't like it, Potster. It's about love.”

He frowned. “What's that supposed to mean? Love's my specialty. I know a lot about the subject.” He rolled a chicken leg in a bowl of flour. “Name me one stronger love than man and his food, and I'll eat my hat.”

“God's love for you. And me.”

“Shucks, that's a given. Throw me another one.”

“The story is about a girl from the East who runs away to the West and finds the perfect man.”

“Oh,
that
kind of love.” Raising a cleaver, he split a chicken breast with one swift motion. “The lovey-dovey kind that makes the ol' heart go pitter-patter?”

Sarah laughed as the old cook picked up a whole chicken and started waltzing it around the kitchen, cleaver still in hand. He cooed to the plucked bird, giving it loud, smacking kisses and calling it “milady” and “madam.”

Sarah shook her head at his shenanigans. “Go ahead and make fun of me. You'll be sorry one day when I'm a famous author.”

Potster deposited the chicken on the counter and affected a sweeping bow. “If you think you can write anything more romantic than that in your book, Mrs. Famous Author, I'd like to hear it.”

Sarah consulted the roughed-in chapter. She'd been working this morning on the part where the heroine switched places with the girl on the train. The more she wrote, the more the story became autobiographical, and she broke out in a cold sweat when she pictured herself carried off by an angry mob, publicly humiliated for her behavior. She'd plead with Walker to save her, but he would coldly turn away, saying she'd hurt him more than Trudy.

Then he would look her straight in the eye and say something derogatory about hats.

It didn't make sense, but then nothing in her life made sense, so why should her musings?

But writing came surprisingly easy to her, as if she'd been born to pen fanciful, romantic stories.

“Oh, this is much more romantic than that silly chicken dance.”

“Then read it to me,” Potster said.

“Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“Fire away. I'm all ears.”

She took a deep breath and started to read.

The train, a massive, domineering beast with an engine full of coal as black as Elizabeth's heart, crept through the hills and valleys, destined to reach the end of the track and take her to her one true love. But who was that love, that knight, that chivalrous man who would
be forever hers? The man who would whisk her off on his stallion into the bright sunset? Who was this man for whom she risked her future to marry? She did not know, nor had she any idea of his means or ways.

Once she had assumed the life of Emma Lowery, she knew she could not turn back. She could know but one life, a dreary existence of deceit, longing, desire, but also one of true and unabashed love.

Sarah paused. The following paragraphs dealt with her arrival at Spring Grass. The characters so closely mirrored Potster, S.H., and Flo that she was afraid to read it aloud. She knew the wise cook would discover her guise.

Potster glanced up. “Ain't bad…a little rough around the edges, but you can fix that. Go on.”

Sudden tears welled to her eyes, blurring the pages. Potster was so trusting, so gentle and kind; he had been her best friend since she'd met him that day in the barn. If she lost his respect she would never forgive herself. She'd had few close friends in her life, and she couldn't bear to lose him. What would he think of her when he discovered that she was deceiving Walker, that she had been all along? And Flo? Would she regret the day she'd taken Sarah under her wing? Was the housekeeper beginning to suspect that Sarah was a fraud? She'd been distant since she'd caught Sarah looking at Walker's books. Sarah sensed that Flo was suspicious of her intentions. With each passing day, she could feel herself getting snared deeper and deeper in her web of lies. She wanted more than anything for the deception to be over, but she was powerless to stop the deceit. At first she had been frightened that Walker would send her away, but now she worried more about hurting him badly, and she couldn't bear the thought.

Potster saw the tears and frowned. Laying aside his knife, he approached her, squatting to kneel beside her chair. “Here, now, it's not
that bad. I don't know anything about writin' books. You shouldn't take to heart what some ol' farmhand says about yer writin'. It's gonna be a fine book, believable or not.”

His remark was more than she could bear. Dropping the pages, Sarah buried her face in her hands and whispered brokenly, “It's me, Potster. It's me, and it's all true! The story is about how I traded places with that girl on the train. I've meant to tell Walker—every day I think I will, and then something happens and I don't. I love him so much, and I truly think he has feelings for me—but I'm afraid that once I tell him what I've done, he'll be so furious with me that he'll send me away. Oh, Potster, I don't know what to do!”

Potster drew back, his eyes bewildered. “Whadda ya mean it's you? It's just a story.”

“No!” Sarah cried. “The story is about me! I'm Elizabeth. I'm the one with the black heart. I'm only pretending to be the bride the agency sent.”

Sarah related the whole story: running away from her father, meeting Lucy on the train, how they hatched their foolish plan. She told him about the Mallorys' letter, and how they wanted Lucy to marry Walker only for what he could provide them.

Potster sank into a chair opposite Sarah. “If that don't beat all. Have you told anyone else about this?”

“I can't tell Walker, and Flo already thinks I meddle too much.” The sobs began again, unchecked. “Walker will send me away, Potster. I know he will. He'll never forgive me for deceiving him, and who could blame him? I should have told him the truth from the beginning, but I was foolish. So very selfish and foolish.”

Potster awkwardly bobbed his head. “No one's gonna hate you, and no one's gonna send you away, but you're gonna have to tell Walker what you've done. The longer this goes on, the worse it'll be. He's a fair man. He'll be mad as a hornet, ain't gonna try to kid you about that, but he'll listen to your side of the story.”

Sarah shook her head. “I can't. I love him, Potster, and if he sends me away I'll die. I didn't mean for it to go this far. I thought I would
have been able to tell him by now. I thought once he fell in love with me, he'd find the ruse laughable.”

Reaching across the table, Potster wiped her tears with the edge of the tablecloth. “Walker's had worse news—and he's got a heart bigger than you think. You got to tell him, young'un, and you got to tell him before another day passes.” He bent to retrieve her fallen pages and put them back into her hands. “You got to tell him before he finds out on his own. That'd make things a heap worse, child—a whole heap of a lot worse.”

Sarah knew Potster was right. Not another day could pass without Walker's knowing the truth.

How many times had she promised herself the same pledge, and when the day ended she still hadn't told him? But today was different. It had to be today.

She dabbed her eyes on the edge of her sleeve. “I'll go find him and tell him now.”

“That's my girl.” Getting up from the table, he went back to the stove and turned the chicken, casting worried looks her way.

Sarah felt surprising relief, and Potster's quiet reassurances gave her the courage she needed. Telling Walker wasn't going to be pleasant. She remembered what Wadsy always said. Correcting a lie was never easy, so it was far better to not tell one.

She got up from the table, grasping the edge when the room spun. It took a second for the setting to come back into focus. Potster glanced at her.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing. I felt a little lightheaded,” she said, her focus slowly clearing. The dizziness passed, but the smell of hot grease was making her queasy. “I'm all right now.”

“You best go to the house and lie down a while. Flo'll fix you something cool to drink. I ain't got nothin' but coffee out here.”

Releasing the table's edge, she tested her legs. “I suddenly feel very unsteady.”

“You've overexcited yourself, young'un. Stop by the kitchen and have Flo give you a cool cloth before you go looking for Walker. Go on
now.” His smile gradually faded. “If you really don't feel good, maybe you ought to stay put until Walker rides in.”

Sarah touched her head. “No. I want to tell him before I lose my courage.”

“Sarah, if you need me, you come and get me, and we'll tell him together.”

Sarah crossed the room to give him a grateful hug. “I'm glad you're my friend.”

The old man awkwardly patted her back. “That's good, little gal. Because you're gonna need one.”

Yes, she was going to need all the friends she could muster when she told Walker.

Sarah paused when she stepped out of the bunkhouse, allowing her eyes time to adjust to the bright sunlight.

A commotion in the barn caught her attention. She could hear the thump of sharp hooves hitting wood. When she walked into the barn, she discovered Diamond down in her stall, legs flailing against the wooden cubicle.

“What's wrong, girl?” Sarah peered over the stall to look at the mare. The animal gazed up at her, nostrils flared with pain.

Potster burst into the barn after her, wiping his flour-covered hands on his stained apron. “What's going on in here?”

“I think Diamond's trying to foal.”

He quickly assessed the situation. “She's a bit early yet. We need Walker and S.H.” Potster knelt to comfort the animal.

“I'll get him,” Sarah flew out of the barn and raced toward the field on shaky legs. She spotted Walker and his foreman on horseback, riding slowly across the north meadow. Waving her arms wildly, she tried to catch their attention.

When Walker spotted her, he kicked his horse into a gallop. Sarah waited until he was close enough to hear her.

“It's Diamond! She's trying to foal! Hurry!”

Walker nodded and galloped toward the barn. Within moments he jumped off his saddle, dropping the reins. Sarah ran to catch up.

“How long has she been like this?” he asked.

Sarah struggled to match his long-legged strides as they entered the barn. “I don't know. I found her a few minutes ago and she was already down.”

Potster massaged the horse's belly, trying to keep her from thrashing her head into the side of the stall. Diamond's eyes were wide, her mouth foaming.

“This ain't good,” Potster warned as Walker came into the stall. “Poor girl's in a lot of pain.”

“Easy, girl, easy.” Walker knelt, running his hand down the animal's heaving sides. “Keep her still, Potster. Sarah, get me a bucket of water.”

Sarah grabbed a bucket from the wall and rushed to the pump. Latching onto the handle, she pumped furiously, impatient with the small stream. Water trickled slowly into the pail, and she pumped harder, using both hands now. Flo came out the back door, shading her eyes.

“What's going on?” she hollered.

“Diamond's trying to foal!” Sarah stopped momentarily to catch her breath.

Flo approached, commandeering the pump handle. “Here, I'll bring the water. You go see if Walker needs help.”