Too Long a Stranger (Women of the West) (27 page)

A strange thought crossed her mind. If she had to be out West, she wished she could be here. Back with Aunt Min and Uncle Boyd—just like she used to be while her mother was off doing whatever she did during her day.

Rebecca stirred uneasily at the thought and dismissed it. She was a big girl now—she did not need a nanny.

After the meal was enjoyed and the dishes were washed and placed back on the pantry shelves, Boyd entered the kitchen.

"I have something for you," he said to Rebecca, words that had a familiar ring to Rebecca. She remembered hearing them many times in the past.

He came toward her with something in his arms. Rebecca's eyes widened. It was a cat.

"Remember her?" he asked softly.

Rebecca reached out and let her fingers trail through the soft fur. She loved cats. Mrs. Foster had never allowed pets. She said she was allergic to them, but Rebecca always secretly wondered if she didn't just hate them.

The cat looked up at Rebecca and she did remember. "Uncle Boyd," she said—and then laughed. "I—I did call it that, didn't I?"

"You did until she had her first batch of kittens— then you changed her name to Cat," laughed Sarah, joining Rebecca and running a hand over the cat's back.

Rebecca laughed again.

"You asked me to keep her—remember? You thought she would get lonesome with your ma gone all day."

"She—she must be pretty old now!" exclaimed Rebecca.

"She is. But she still seems healthy. Hasn't had kittens for a number of years now. But she still has a life or two left."

He held the cat out to Rebecca and she accepted her carefully. It felt good to have the cat snuggled up in her arms. It was warm and purring and contented to snuggle against her.

"Can I take her home?" asked Rebecca.

"She's yours. You can do whatever you like."

Rebecca nodded. This was something that was really hers, still hers, from those long-ago years.

***

"It's a lovely evening. Would you care to go for a walk?" Sarah asked Rebecca after they had finished the supper dishes. Rebecca looked out the window. It
was
lovely. She ached to get out and stretch her legs. She felt as if she had been caged up for nearly the whole week. Then her eyes took in the form of her mother, and her head dropped in confusion.

"I—I don't think so," she answered. "I—I—it is so dusty that one gets one's skirts all covered with—"

Sarah nodded. "Well, maybe we should just sit out on the front porch."

That seemed harmless enough. They were at the end of the street. No one ever came down their way. "Fine," said Rebecca and followed her mother out the back door and around to the front.

"I think we're going to have another hot day tomorrow," said Sarah, "so we'd best enjoy this nice cool breeze tonight."

Rebecca nodded her agreement. Her cheeks were hot. She felt deep shame for the thoughts she was thinking, but nevertheless they were there. She was ashamed of her mother. Ashamed of the way she dressed. The way she carelessly wrapped her hair and pinned it in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Didn't she ever look in a mirror? Didn't she realize how unattractive she looked? How unfeminine? Surely she could see that she should do something about her appearance. Her hands were—were brown and calloused and often dirty with jagged, unkept nails and—they were disgusting. And Rebecca flushed a deeper red. She was ashamed of being ashamed.

***

They sat quietly for some time, enjoying the stirring of the evening breeze. Sarah even appreciated the squeak of the complaining old rocker that seemed to sing a little off-key melody in time to the movement.

"It's nice here in the evening," Sarah remarked. "No matter how hot it gets during the day, it always cools off so one can sleep at night."

Rebecca nodded. She had been glad for the light blanket on her bed. At the Fosters' home she had needed only a sheet in the summer months. And she had still tossed and turned in the muggy heat.

"But I always feel lazy without something in my hands," went on Sarah. "Well—guess I'll go get my knitting."

She had no sooner left the porch than Boyd came up the boardwalk.

"Enjoyin' the evenin', Becky?" he asked. He still called her by her childhood nickname and for reasons she could not explain, Rebecca did not mind.

"It's nice out here, isn't it?" she answered, motioning to the chair beside her on the porch.

"I was wonderin' if you might like to go for a walk?" he asked her.

"I'd love to," she replied, and fairly skipped down the steps to join him.

He left her for a moment and went around to the open kitchen window. "Sarah," he called, "I've invited Becky for a walk. We'll not be gone long."

Rebecca didn't see Sarah in the kitchen where she was gathering up her knitting. Sarah lifted her head, tipped it slightly, then nodded. Rebecca had not wished to go for a walk. She had told her so. Was Boyd's offer so much more inviting? She shrugged and headed back to the porch to spend her evening alone.

***

"I'm afraid Rebecca is terribly bored," Sarah said to Boyd a few days later.

"I don't suppose life is quite the same for her," he admitted.

"She seems to just—just wander around aimlessly while I'm gone."

"Well—she'll need some time to find herself. She likely hasn't got over the long trip out yet."

Sarah nodded. She could only imagine, never having had the chance to make the difficult trip herself.

"What does she do with her day?" Boyd asked.

Sarah thought for a moment. "I don't really know. She—she visits the horses some, I guess. Seth asked if he could break the black to saddle. Rebecca has taken a fancy to him. She does ride, you know. Was taught at the school back there."

"Even that will be different," put in Boyd. "They likely taught her English saddle."

"English? How's that? A saddle is a saddle."

"No—our western saddles are different—but she'll likely adjust fast enough." He thought for a moment longer. "What did you say—to Seth."

"I told him to go ahead if he had the time. He took Ebony home with him. Wants to gentle him into riding.

"He'll do a good job. He's patient—and good with horses."

Sarah pushed back her bonnet. It was hot again. She looked down at her dusty trousers and dirt-streaked shirt. She longed to get home to a tub of warm water.

"Rebecca help with the chores around the house?" Boyd asked off-handedly.

Sarah's brow furrowed. "No—not yet."

"I'm sure she will—once she learns where things are—feels more familiar. It would be good if you could have some help shoulderin' the load."

Sarah nodded. But in her heart she wasn't sure if Rebecca would ever help. She wasn't sure that Rebecca knew how to do any of those things that a woman was supposed to know. She hadn't even understood how to use an iron. It was Sarah who'd had to stay up late pressing wrinkles from creased dresses and crinolines.

"I don't think they taught them much of that at that school where I sent her," she admitted slowly.

"Well—she'll catch on soon enough," Boyd assured her and moved to check off another crate against his list.

Sarah longed to agree. She felt a bit of shame at how little Rebecca seemed to know about simple things around the house. "I guess so," she answered, unable to say more.

***

Rebecca
was
bored. There was nothing to do. Even Ebony was gone now, and the other horses left in the corral could not be coaxed to the rails for pampering.

No longer the young kitten that had been given to Rebecca years ago, Cat seemed to wish to just lie and sleep. She wasn't even the energetic mother cat that had been all bounce and business in caring for her offspring.

Rebecca wandered restlessly about the house. She wished there was something to do. Something new to read. The few books she did find were old and worn and meant for a child. Rebecca flipped through the pages of one in irritation. She remembered the stories. She had enjoyed them then—when she had been four or five.

She tossed the book carelessly into one of the chairs and went to see if she could find something to eat in the sparsely stocked kitchen.

***

Each new day was as boring as the last. Even Cat brought little company. Rebecca longed for the day when Ebony would be returned and she could go for long rides to escape the monotony. Seth had told her the horse was coming along nicely and that it wouldn't be long until he could be trusted for her to ride. Rebecca could hardly wait.

Seth. He was a puzzle to Rebecca. She was used to young men noticing her, admiring her. And though Seth was mannerly and friendly, he seemed to quite ignore her beauty. Rebecca was embarrassed to find herself fixing her curls, choosing a dress, just to get some response from the young man. But except for a good-natured greeting and friendly conversation, he paid little attention to her preening.

It puzzled her. It annoyed her. Was she losing her charm? Was the West robbing her of even that? No. She got plenty of stares from other young men on the few occasions she went out and about the town.

Then why didn't Seth notice her? He seemed to pay far more attention to the horses he worked over so diligently.

Even more annoying was the way her mother spoke of Seth. As if he could do no wrong. As if he was the final authority. She was always saying, "Seth would say to remember Proverbs 3:5-6," or "Seth says that one must guard against the appearance of evil," or "Seth would ask what the Bible has to say on the matter."

Rebecca got terribly tired of listening to Seth's little sermons secondhand.

Yet there was something about the young man that fascinated Rebecca. Perhaps it was just his rugged good looks. Peony would have swooned over him and declared him to be "So-o romantic." Rebecca wished to see some evidence of that. He seemed totally taken up with his work for her mother and his attendance at the local church.

Rebecca just couldn't quite figure Seth out.

***

"I have to rush. It's washday," said Sarah, sounding weary.

"How are things going?" Boyd asked.

Sarah shook her head. "She's—she's still adjusting, I guess," she answered, understanding his question.

"Takes a while," he admitted.

Sarah thought about the statement. She shrugged and picked at the hole in her glove. She would soon need new ones and she didn't have the money. She had been spending far more on groceries, trying to please Rebecca's more sophisticated taste.

"I—I don't think she's happy here," she said slowly.

He looked up. "Maybe she's just missing her friends," he put in, his tone comforting.

"Could be. Could be. I'll have to think on that. See what I can do. Maybe the Fosters would let their girl come out for a visit. I'll have to look into it."

***

"Something bothering you, honey?" Sarah asked Rebecca later. "You seem so—so withdrawn."

Rebecca looked up and shrugged her shoulders. "Just bored," she replied. "There's nothing to do in this town."

Sarah lifted her head slowly. The whole house was filled with work she had to try to crowd in after coming home from her daily deliveries, and Rebecca claimed there was nothing to do.

"Seems I always find more than enough to do," she answered, trying hard to keep her voice even.

Rebecca shrugged her shoulders and looked away.

"I know—I know," cut in Sarah, sensing the girl's irritation. "It is a quiet little town. We don't have many young folks. Especially not in the church. Are you lonesome?"

Rebecca did not answer the question, but looked as if she might cry.

"I've been thinking," Sarah hurried on. "How would you like to have Annabelle come for a visit?"

Rebecca sat upright, the cat in her lap deposited unceremoniously on the floor. For one moment excitement flashed across her face, but it was quickly replaced with a look her mother could not interpret.

"Here?" she said, casting a quick glance around her.

Sarah smiled. "Sure. Here. She could have my room, and I'd sleep on the cot."

Rebecca leaned back. "I don't suppose her folks would let her travel so far alone," she said, her tone casual.

"You did," reminded Sarah.

"Yes, but I—I was born in the West," said Rebecca quickly.

"I suppose," replied Sarah thoughtfully, pleased to hear that Rebecca was in some way identifying with the West.

"Well—would you like me to write and ask Mrs. Foster?" Sarah went on.

"I—I don't think it would be wise. Not just now.  Things are—are rather unsettled, and it—it just wouldn't be the right time. Believe me—it's not a good time for such a—an invitation."

"Very well," said Sarah. "We'll let it go for now."

***

As Sarah left the room Rebecca watched, then let out her breath. That would be a dreadful mistake.
Annabelle would jump at the chance, and Mrs. Foster had already promised the girl that should the occasion arise, she would purchase the ticket. Rebecca felt she had just avoided the most dreadful catastrophe. She did not wish to hurt her mother, but she would be absolutely mortified to have one of her friends, especially Annabelle, see her here.