Too Long a Stranger (Women of the West) (17 page)

Sarah treasured each of the letters that came from Rebecca. That first one had been written in a child's beginning script, short and obviously copied.

"Dear Mother," she wrote. (Rebecca had never called Sarah "mother" before.)

"I am fine. I like school. I am learning to read. With regards, Rebecca."

Sarah smiled at the stiffness of the letter. It was so unlike her bubbly, expressive child.

As the months passed and the letters continued to arrive, Sarah was able to watch the development of her only child. She wept the first time one arrived that sounded like the little girl had written her own thoughts. Rebecca was now in her third year and able to write letters on her own.

Dear Mama,

How is Cat. I think about her a lot. Has she had more kittens. I had a leter from Uncle Boyd but he forgot to talk about Cat.

I miss you all but I like it hear at schol. Annabelle is my best frend.
I like going to her house. Thank you for letting me go to her house in the
somer. I pray for you and Aunt Min and Uncle Boyd and Mr. Galvan to sometime, and I pray for Cat to.

Love,

Rebecca Marie Perry

There was no longer reason to rush home and change garments and tidy her hair to go pick up Rebecca. At first Sarah had followed the old pattern of cleaning up and changing her work clothes when she came home from the freight run. But as the deliveries had increased and her energy had depleted, she eventually decided that it was unnecessary. She could save time by going directly to her home chores.

She dressed in simple skirts and shirtwaists. Frills were costly and too hard to keep clean and pressed. Only on Sundays did Sarah make the attempt to look feminine and ladylike. Sarah would have looked forward to Sundays—had they not been so lonely. That one brief day of rest certainly was a respite from heavy boxes and endless, backbreaking labor, but she also found herself restless and at loose ends on Sunday afternoons. After the morning service, a quick bite to eat, and a nap, there was nothing with which to fill the rest of the long day. She wished there were services in the evening. She longed for a friend to share a long walk or a drive in the country. As inviting as it could have been, she would not accept the invitations of her single male friends, and all the women her own age were busy caring for their own families.

Sarah did accept invitations to the homes of church friends, but they didn't come often. Families were too busy with those of their own to think of the young widow down at the end of the street.

So on Sunday evenings Sarah often paced her small rooms or fidgeted in her kitchen. She tried to read, but she often found it difficult to concentrate. Her letters to Rebecca gave her mind and hands something to do, so she gave a great deal of time and attention to these links to her daughter. Sarah was never sure just what filled all those pages. Sometimes she wrote lessons from Bible stories in a folksy, motherly way. At times she wrote other little stories, just as she used to tell them to a young Rebecca at bedtime. Even at the distance between them, Rebecca became her chief companion. Rebecca, the child she had borne and loved with all her heart, was her reason for living.

***

"Is Boyd in?"

Sarah had never taken the liberty of calling on a gentleman before—but she needed a man to talk to, and Boyd seemed the logical one.

Mrs. Galvah did not so much as raise an eyebrow. "He's writing his weekly letter to Becky. Come in. I'll tell 'im yer here."

"I hate to bother him but—"

"No bother. How ya been? Sit down. Just made a fresh pot of coffee. Ya can pour yerself a cup whilst I fetch Boyd."

Sarah went to the cupboard and lifted down a heavy mug from the shelf. She could use a cup of coffee. It might clear her head and help her thinking.

Boyd soon walked through the door, his broad shoulders reminding Sarah that here was someone she could lean on.

His eyes showed concern, and Sarah felt them studying her carefully. She smiled a tentative smile and broke the tension in the room. "I'm fine. I'm all in one piece. I just need a bit of advice."

He nodded, smiled in a relieved way, and moved to the cupboard to retrieve a cup, which he filled from the pot at the stove.

"Haven't seen much of you lately," he observed. "How's everything?"

"Fine," answered Sarah.

She shifted her weight in her chair. She wasn't sure whether to make small talk and ease her way into the topic on her mind or just plunge right in.

She decided on the latter.

"I hear a rumor that another freight run is to open up—to High Springs," she said.

Boyd nodded. He sat down at the table across from her and took a sip from the scalding coffee.

"Heard the same," he said with another quick nod.

Sarah leaned forward and tapped her fingers impatiently on the table.

"It shouldn't affect you none," Boyd said, setting his cup back on the table.

"I want it," said Sarah.

Boyd looked puzzled.

"I want it," Sarah repeated. "Do you know how I go about getting it?"

Boyd set down his cup and stirred in his chair. He leaned slightly toward Sarah. "From what I've heard," he began slowly, "you already have the bigger of the two runs. If it's smaller ya want—"

"I don't want smaller," said Sarah quickly. "I couldn't afford smaller."

"Then you're best to jest stay with yer present—"

"I plan to," cut in Sarah, pushing restlessly at her coffee cup without even looking at it.

"I don't figure—" began Boyd.

"I want them both," said Sarah.

"Both?"

Sarah nodded and pushed her cup to the side, leaning toward Boyd.

"The way I have it figured," she told him with animation, "if I had both of them I would do just fine in— in paying for Rebecca. I—I would even have some left over for—for whatever. It would—"

Boyd held up his hand to wave Sarah to a stop. "It sounds good, Sarah, but your team could never cover that many more miles in a day. They are plodders. This isn't a stagecoach run we're talking here. This is freight—heavy, and lots of it."

"I know," said Rebecca, moving to the edge of her chair. "I have thought of that. I know my team couldn't do it. But faster horses could."

"Faster horses?"

"If I had faster horses—say a couple of teams— then I could make an early morning run from West Morin, as I do now, deliver Renville's freight, and still have time to get back to West Morin to pick up High Spring's
freight for an afternoon run. There would be time—with faster horses."

Boyd leaned back in his chair and studied her face.

"I could switch teams and give them a rest—if I had the two," went on Sarah.

He shook his head.

"And how do
you
get a rest, Sarah?" he asked slowly. "The High Springs run is a much longer run. And if you cut across country on the return trip, the road is even rougher. When do you rest?"

Sarah did not want to address his question. She felt it unfair of him to ask it. Yet she knew Boyd well enough to know he would press until he had the answer.

"It's not like—like it was when I first started," she began her argument. "I've—I've toughened up. I'm used to it now. I'm—I'm sure I can handle it."

His expression showed he was not in agreement, but he asked simply, "What do you plan?"

"Well—I thought I would sell Gyp and Ginger. They should bring a fair price. I've had—had offers in the past. They are—good horses. Then I'll buy four lighter horses and—do both runs." Sarah was out of breath by the time she had finished her speech. She didn't know if it was because of her excitement or her forcefulness.

Boyd just nodded, then said, "And what if the lighter horses can't stand up to the haulin' of freight?" He was twisting his cup back and forth by its handle.

"They will—won't they?" Sarah sat back into her chair. For the first time she was feeling some doubts.

Boyd shook his head. He seemed to be studying on it. "I don't know," he said at last. "That's a pretty mean road. Particularly in the winter and after the spring thaw."

Sarah knew his words were true. But she hated to hear them. She stirred impatiently. One hand came up and brushed restlessly at the hair that insisted on curling about her face.

"I need that High Springs run," she said with emphasis.

Boyd looked at her—fully—evenly. After some minutes he spoke.

"So why don't you let me help with Rebecca's schooling? She's—she's special to me too, you know."

Sarah felt rebuked—much as she had as a little girl when her strict father had spoken firmly to her. But how could she let another man help pay for the education of Michael's daughter? No, she had to do it alone. Her chin came up.

"I'm responsible for it," she said with more strength than she felt. "I—it would just be—be easier if I—if I had that other freight run. If you wish to help—then I am asking—for your help now. I need to know how to go about getting that business—I need help choosing some horses."

There, she had spoken her piece. She had poured out all of her dependency. She needed a man. She needed Boyd. It had been hard for her to admit her need, but she had swallowed her pride for Rebecca's sake. Now it was up to him whether he would choose to help her—or refuse.

She didn't know if she dared to lift her eyes to look at him. She studied her hands that clasped together on the table before her, twisting and untwisting in their agitation.

Suddenly she felt her small, work-darkened hands gathered into two stronger, larger ones. She lifted her eyes then. Boyd was leaning toward her, his coffee cup pushed aside.

"Sarah," he said gently, "you'll never know how I have longed to help you—how I have longed to take care of you. I'll do anything that I can. Anything."

Sarah was unprepared for his answer. This huskiness in his voice. This promise with his eyes as well as his lips. It would have been so easy to move toward him, lean her head on his shoulder, and release all her burden to him in tears and commitment. For a moment Sarah struggled. She remembered the words spoken long ago as he had left her on her step one dark night. "Anytime." She knew that promise still held true.

Then Sarah stirred. That wouldn't be fair. Wouldn't be fair to take advantage of this man in his kindness. She pulled her hands gently from his, blinked dampened dark lashes, and whispered softly, "Thanks. Thanks, Boyd—I—I really do need your help. I want that extra freight run. I need someone to choose my horses."

The spell was broken. He studied her, a look of sadness filling his eyes; then he cleared his throat, nodded, and reached a hand to pass it through his hair.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, his voice sounding dull and defeated.

"I—I'll need to sell the bays. What's a fair price? I've no idea. Then I'll need two teams to replace them. I'll—I'll likely need to get a bank loan for the purchase but—" Sarah hated the thought of dealing with the banker, although it seemed to be the only thing she could do.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Then he looked at her with directness. "Trust me?" he asked frankly. "Do you mind if I speak my feelin's?"

Sarah nodded her head.

"I'm not sure you should sell the bays," he began frankly and waited for her response. It was not long in coming.

"But I
have
to sell them to get the money for—"

"I understand that," he interrupted, "but if this plan doesn't work, you've nothin' to fall back on."

Sarah slumped in her chair and thought about his words. It was true. But it had to work. It just
had
to.

"And when it comes to buying lighter horses—I'd say a minimum would be five. Six'd be better—but ya might do with five."

Sarah gasped and he quickly went on. "It's not at all uncommon for a lighter horse to go lame—or get harness sores or just quit pullin' when pushed hard. Stage drivers have to have several spares. They change teams often. Now you—with hauling every day—you'll need more than just the four to count on."

Sarah sat mulling over his words. They weren't what she had wanted to hear.

"Now I've got a team of blacks I could lend ya until ya get started," he went on, and Sarah drew in a quick breath. Everyone in the county knew his blacks. They were a beautiful team—but spirited. She wasn't sure she could handle them even with her years of driving experience.

"I—I couldn't use your blacks," she said, shaking her head. "I couldn't. Hauling freight would ruin them."

He didn't argue with her. "Well—they're there if ya need 'em," he said instead.

Sarah nodded. It was nice to know.

"Guess the first chore is to see if we can git ya the run," Boyd observed. "No use changin' horses if the new run is already spoken for."

Sarah nodded. It was so.

"Well—I'll nose around some an' see what I can find out," he promised. Sarah knew he would keep his word.

***

Sarah was never sure just how he managed it, but he called on her three days later to tell her that the additional business was hers. It was to start in a week's time. She would need to have her plans made, her horses purchased, and her customers on line.