Lacy Williams (4 page)

“Two girls had a situation at home and had no choice but to bring their young sister to school with them. I was planning to talk to you about it after supper tonight.”

The older man shook his head. “There shouldn’t have been anything to talk about. You should’ve sent those girls home instead of allowing something like that in the classroom.”

“Mr. Allen, the infant didn’t even cry. I doubt it was much of a distraction.” After seeing her with those three girls at the picnic, Oscar wasn’t surprised she was standing up for her students.

“Junior said it distracted him.”

No doubt the boy had gone running straight to his papa to tattle. Oscar barely knew the boy, but could tell he was spoiled and entitled.

Sarah’s lips tightened. “Your son would be better served paying attention to his own lessons, as I’ve expressed before.”

The man’s face reddened even more. Oscar sensed this was an argument they’d had before.

“Maybe you’ve been given too much freedom in your classroom. I’ll remind you that the school board has the final responsibility for those children and their learning and I won’t allow it to be jeopardized. If those girls bring the baby to class again, you
will
send them home.”

The man slammed out of the barn, leaving them in near darkness.

She breathed in a small gasp. Was she crying?

“You okay?” he asked. If she’d been his younger sister, he would’ve reached out and touched her arm, but he didn’t think Sarah would’ve welcomed his touch. They weren’t exactly friends.

She started, as if she’d forgotten he was there. He wasn’t even sure Mr. Allen had seen him; the older man hadn’t acknowledged Oscar.

“I’m fine.”

He couldn’t see her face in the dim light, but her voice didn’t sound fine. She sounded suspiciously teary.

“Here.” He pressed the newspaper she’d been so worried about before into her hands.

She didn’t answer, only moved out the door and into the evening air. He followed.

“Sarah, wait. Is there anything I can do?”

She shook her head and kept walking. For a moment, he wished he hadn’t teased her so badly before.

“Please. Is it the same girls we ate lunch with before?”

He reached out and snagged her arm, pulling her to a halt and so that she faced him. “Sarah, I’ll help.”

She brushed a hand across her face and he saw lines of weariness etched in her features. “Yes. It was the Caldwell girls, but I don’t know how you could help. They said...”

She swallowed audibly. “Their mother died several months ago, just after the baby was born. A fever, I think. They told me their stepfather was too drunk to care for the baby. That’s why they brought her to school.”

Oscar’s memories took him back to Boston. His uncle had taken him in after Oscar’s parents had died, but the man hadn’t been any kind of parent. In the end, Oscar had run away from the man’s cruelty and emotional abuse, and that’s when he’d met Jonas. Without Jonas, where would he have ended up?

“They’re awful young to be dealing with something like that.” His mind worked, as he considered the girls and what he might do. “Can the local church do anything for them?”

“I don’t know. Their father—stepfather—might not accept it. I’ve heard him rail against the church before. And there’s—there’s more besides. People may not want to help them.” She clutched the newspaper to her midsection. “But I’ll have to try. I can’t just leave the girls on their own.”

“Sarah! Come set the table!” the rancher’s voice rang out from the house.

A glance at the house showed the rancher’s wife in silhouette in the light streaming from the kitchen window. Did she approve of her husband shouting at Sarah like he did?

Sarah’s face pinched. “Excuse me.”

Oscar took his meals in the mess, with the rest of the cowboys on the spread. But he wouldn’t let her dismiss him so easily, not when something had upset her so. And he couldn’t forget those little girls and their dirt-smudged faces from the picnic.

And it galled him to see Sarah so upset. “Sarah, wait—”

“Leave me alone!”

She stomped off toward the house, leaving him stinging with her dismissal. He didn’t
need
to get involved. What he needed was to finish his job with Allen’s horse and return to his cabin, his spread, his life.

And so he would.

Chapter Four

M
idmorning the next day, Oscar finished a training session with Paul Allen’s colt and released it to the near paddock. With no saddle or bridle, it galloped free, tossing its mane and whinnying in happiness. He planned to rope it later that afternoon for another session on the long reins.

His rioting thoughts weren’t so easily marshaled. He’d been unable to sleep last night, thinking about Sarah and her predicament. She was competent. Bossy. She’d be able to get some of the women in town to help those little girls. Surely, she would.

But that might take time. He knew she had a full day of teaching today. What if something needed to be done right now?

How well he knew what it was like to be abandoned by a relative, even if the abandonment was figurative. He couldn’t stomach the thought of those girls suffering.

So he found himself saddling the gelding and asking one of the cowboys for directions to the Caldwell place.

Riding up, the spread was a sorry mess. Fields empty where winter wheat should already be sprouting. The cabin hadn’t been painted in years. Planks were missing from the barn roof. It didn’t look as if the place would weather the winter.

Oscar dismounted and ground-tied his horse in the yard. A haggard-looking man answered his knock. Oscar could smell the stench of day-old alcohol on the man. His eyes were bloodshot. It was impossible to tell if he was drunk now or just hungover.

A baby cried from inside the cabin.

“What d’ya want?” the man snarled.

“Mr. Caldwell? I’m Oscar White.”

The man’s eyes widened slightly. Perhaps he’d heard about some of Oscar’s exploits. In this one instance, Oscar could be glad of the stories people told about him, even if some of them were exaggerated.

“I’m a friend of Sarah Hansen—the schoolteacher?”

Now the man’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah?”

“She mentioned to me how you’ve been having a hard time since your wife died...”

The baby squalled louder and Oscar took a half step forward, toward the doorway. “You mind if I come in?”

The man moved aside—a little wobbly, but eyes still suspicious. Oscar followed him inside the small living area. A ratty sofa took up one side of the room and on the other was a rickety table and chairs half in the kitchen. An open doorway led to what must be the only bedroom.

“Sarah—Miss Hansen, well, she’s worried about the girls,” he said, voice rising to be heard above the baby crying from the other room.

“That nosy busybody can mind her own business—”

“You mind if I...?” Oscar motioned to the bedroom, not waiting for an answer, but walking right in. The man stumbled after him.

Inside the room, one bed took up nearly all of the floor space. Rumpled, stained bedclothes half hid the sobbing babe. Oscar picked her up and immediately understood from the smell why she was upset—she’d messed her britches. He held her in the crook of one arm, hoping that she wasn’t going to soak through to his shirt, and dug around in the scraps of clothing on the floor until he found a cloth diaper that seemed remotely clean.

Caldwell looked on from the doorway. “I don’t need no interference from anybody—”

“Look,” Oscar said, giving the man a sharp glare over his shoulder as he changed the baby. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. Some days it’s hard to want to get up and do anything.”

He picked up the baby, who was silent and watching his face now that she was clean.

“But you’ve got three little girls looking to you to take care of them.”

The man’s face went impassive. “They aren’t my girls. They were my wife’s.”

“But they’re your responsibility now.” Oscar waved a hand around the room. “Your place isn’t ready for winter. If you don’t get a good crop, are you even going to be able to feed yourself?”

The man shook his head, turning away and going into the kitchen area. Oscar followed, only to watch the man take a bottle out from beneath a cabinet and unscrew the top.

The kitchen was messy. Dirty dishes overflowed the dry sink and the remains of breakfast covered the table. The floor hadn’t been swept in a good long while.

Oscar jiggled the baby on his arm while he considered what to say to the obviously bitter man before him.

“I’d like to help, Mr. Caldwell.”

The man shook his head as if to clear it, but Oscar doubted what ailed him would be easily shook off.

Caldwell hiccuped, then shrugged. “I guess if you want to work, I ain’t gonna say no. I cain’t pay you.”

“All right. We’ll see how today goes,” Oscar said, smiling down at the baby, who returned a toothless grin.

He was perhaps playing on Paul Allen’s generosity by taking the afternoon, but Oscar didn’t see a choice. He needed to make sure the baby would be cared for until her sisters returned home from school.

* * *

Time seemed to drag for Sarah. Cecilia and Susie had arrived at school on time, but had been subdued and quiet all day. Junior Allen caused problems at lunch, preventing her from having a moment to talk to the girls. After classes were over, they’d remained long enough to give her several quiet nonanswers while standing before her desk. Sarah had been conscious of the other children gathering things and speaking in small groups, and obviously the girls had been aware of the other children, too. She couldn’t blame them for their desire to keep their family problems private. When all the troubles with Sarah’s father had been going on, she hadn’t wanted anyone from town to know how bad things really were.

But now that Sarah knew there was a problem, she couldn’t just let the girls suffer. She would just have to go speak to their stepfather herself.

She gathered her things and set off for the Caldwells’ small spread. It wasn’t close to the Allen place, so that meant she’d spend a good portion of her afternoon walking, and maybe even miss supper. But she had no choice.

She was disappointed but not surprised with the state of the farm. The fields hadn’t been properly plowed after the summer’s crops had been taken in. Even from afar, she could see the dilapidated condition of the cabin. Outside, a broken clothesline hung down to the ground and debris littered the yard.

But someone was singing.

A rich baritone voice filled the afternoon, lifting in a familiar hymn. It slowly faded and as Sarah approached the cabin, rose again.

As she neared the place, she saw Cecilia and Susie sitting on the worn plank porch, legs swinging beneath their skirts. She moved to join them, and that’s when she saw him.

Oscar White, with a bundle of some sort strapped around his broad chest, working a horse and plow. Singing.

He had a nice voice, soothing and even.

“What is going on?” she asked the girls as she stepped up onto the porch.

“The horseman is here,” Susie said in an awed voice.

Cecilia glared over her shoulder at Sarah. “You sent him.”

“I did no such thing.” She wouldn’t have even if she’d thought of it. After he’d witnessed her dressing down by Mr. Allen, she’d only wanted to escape him. She didn’t even
like
the man.

She never would have imagined he would come here on his own.

“Where’s your fath—stepfather?”

Both girls shrugged, faces turned back to watch the horseman wield the plow.

Sarah took it upon herself to peer inside. The cabin was quiet. “Mr. Caldwell?”

She moved through the open room, sniffing what smelled like stew. A line had been strung from one side of the kitchen into the open living and it was strung with diapers, sweet-smelling and white.

Had
the horseman
really washed baby diapers?

A glance at the stove did indeed reveal a bubbling pot of stew. The kitchen was clean, though the floor needed to be swept.

The girls’ stepfather wasn’t indoors, and when Sarah slipped out the back door it was to see Oscar leading the now-unhitched horse to the barn.

“Is Mr. Caldwell there?” she called out to him.

He turned and saw her. Then he took off his hat and waved it at her. “I’ll be there in a minute!”

The girls’ feet pounded inside; Sarah joined them in the kitchen, where they looked with wide eyes at the linens hanging above their heads.

“I’ve got the horse settled for the evening,” Oscar said as he banged in the back door, backing inside. “Your pa left on the donkey a while ago.”

Cecilia and Susie looked at each other, acknowledging they knew where he’d gone. Sarah’s heart pinched for them.

Oscar turned around and Sarah realized that the bundle strapped around his wide chest was the baby. She hadn’t even thought about the tot, and he’d had the baby out with him while he’d plowed. Now he spoke softly to her while he unwrapped the makeshift sling—a bedsheet?

Cecilia reached out for Velma when he’d gotten her out of the sling and he relinquished her with a final slurping raspberry on her cheek, to which she laughed.

“Y’all don’t have to stay,” Cecilia said, moving toward the table. “Our pa will be home in a while. We can take care of supper for ourselves.”

Sarah moved toward the girls, laying a hand on each of their shoulders. “Girls, is there anyone else who could possibly help you? Do you know if your mother’s parents are still alive? Did she have any siblings?” She’d already asked about family connections once, but perhaps the girls had kept something back from her before. Cecilia certainly had not been forthcoming about anything that was going on.

Cecilia’s face went perfectly blank, but Susie’s features screwed up and she turned her face away.

“There’s no one who wants us,” Cecilia said quietly.

“What—” Sarah started to ask more, but Oscar caught her elbow and shook his head slightly.

“Girls, I sampled the stew earlier and it should be about right. Can you serve yourselves?”

They nodded. “Thanks, mister,” Cecilia whispered, surprising Sarah with her gratitude toward the man. She’d been nothing but difficult toward Sarah since the baby had appeared in the classroom.

Oscar used his hold on Sarah’s elbow to propel her through the cabin and outside. She shrugged off his hand as they crossed the threshold.

“I wasn’t done asking them about their family.”

“No, but they were done talking to you. You push too hard.”

Her back went up. “I was trying to help,” she hissed.

“I know.” He wasn’t ruffled by her tone at all, only amused. The corner of his mouth turned up.

He motioned toward his horse, now saddled and waiting for him just off the porch. “If you don’t mind riding double, I’ll give you a lift back to the Allens’ place.”

“No, thank you.” She had no intention of getting on his beast. How easily an animal like that could throw them and break their necks!

“Aw, he promises to behave. And I do, too.”

If she was a weaker woman, the grin he gave her—a flash of white teeth against his tanned skin—would’ve made her knees knock. But she wasn’t weak, and she started walking toward the road.

“No, thank you.”

“C’mon, Miss Schoolteacher. I promise this guy’s as gentle as a kitten. It’s a long walk.”

She just shook her head and kept going. Finally, he fell in step beside her, the animal trailing behind him as the man held the reins loosely. She couldn’t keep from noticing the brawny shoulder beside hers.

“It isn’t necessary for you to accompany me home,” she said stiffly. “I’m sure you have things to do if you’ve been working here all day.”

He nodded. “My ma would have my hide if I let a lady walk home alone, daylight or not.”

“I can’t believe you washed and hung those diapers,” she murmured, because she couldn’t forget the bobbing string of white linens.

He chuckled. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to help out with the little ones. And there wasn’t much choice—there weren’t any more clean ones to be had.”

She shook her head, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. Imagining such a big strapping man doing a menial woman’s chore...she couldn’t picture it.

“And the stew?” she asked.

He shrugged. “They needed something to eat for supper.”

“And the baby? The singing?”

“I couldn’t very well leave little Velma inside by herself all day, could I? The sling is a little trick I picked up from my pa when Breanna was an infant. The singing, well...”

His voice trailed off and she glanced at him. Beneath his hat, his cheeks looked red. Was he embarrassed?

“At first, neither the baby or the horse really wanted to work with me, but once I’d started singing, they both calmed right away.”

“Are you planning on going back tomorrow?”

He frowned. “I don’t know. I doubt that would make Mr. Allen very happy. I’ve got responsibility for that colt. I don’t know if I can really get involved.”

That was the response she’d expected. He wasn’t a resident here in Lost Hollow. And the girls weren’t his responsibility.

But they were her students. And she refused to let them fall through the cracks, like she and her sisters had after her father’s accident.

“Can I ask why no one else in town seems to want to help this family? Caldwell is no peach to be around, but I would think there might be some women who could provide the occasional meal to ease the burden on the girls a little....”

She hesitated, but finally said, “I’m not sure on all the details. I believe it has to do with the girls’ real father being an Indian. He died before Velma was born, but I don’t think he was fully accepted in the community.”

“That’s a shame. Those girls shouldn’t be punished because of their parentage.”

“Mr. Caldwell seems to make it worse with his behavior. He isn’t exactly sociable, and can be...unkind—” it was a very softened description of how she’d seen him “—when he’s under the influence of drink...” Her voice trailed off.

He was silent, thoughtful.

“Listen, there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about,” he said, half turning toward her as they walked. “About last night.”

“What?” she asked. “More of your courting advice?”

He smiled and her traitorous heart tripped. “No. It’s about the horse. I’ve been trying for almost a month to get that mare to warm up to me, and she ate that apple chunk right out of your hand.”