Too Long a Stranger (Women of the West) (29 page)

There was a bit of uncomfortable stirring at first, but once Seth had begun his little talk, they listened— all of them. Rebecca found herself listening carefully too, her eyes on the young man before her.

He's like
—
like a preacher,
she thought to herself, though she didn't remember the preachers that she was familiar with being quite as earnest as Seth appeared to be.

He spoke of God's plan for the human race. Of the sin that entered the world through Adam. Of God's great love that made a way to redeem mankind from the fallen state.

"He loves us. He loved us so much that He was willing to send His only Son to die—but He wants our love in return. How can we show our love? By obedience. But we can't follow His commands if we don't know what they are. We find them by studying His Word. He tells us there how He wants us to live. The most important thing that we—any of us—can do in life is to discover what Jesus wants us to be—and let Him help us to become that."

They were strange words to Rebecca. Oh, she knew all of the facts from the Bible. They had to study the Bible at school. She had learned dozens of Bible passages. But she had never heard anyone talk like this before.

"We need to put aside our own selfish desires and find what God wants for our lives," he went on. "He always has the best plan. We can trust Him. We can trust Him completely with every part of our life. Our past—that He will forgive and forget our wrongdoing if we ask Him. With our present—because He knows our thoughts and feelings and what we are struggling with. Our future—because He has a plan for our life. He loves us."

Rebecca had never heard such strange words. She began to put the words together with all the things she had heard her mother say about this young man. She had much to think about.

***

Rebecca was reminded of the fact that it was Sunday again the moment she rolled over and opened her eyes. The delicious aroma of breakfast came drifting into her room. Her mother was never there to cook breakfast on other mornings. It would be nice to have something hot—something palatable—again. Rebecca stretched and groaned. She had the vague notion that she would be expected to be up soon.

But Rebecca hated getting up to face
another day, even Sunday. She tugged the blanket up closer to her chin,
dislodging Cat, who slept at her side. The cat complained, then leaped easily to
the rag rug and began to groom her fur. After a few good licks she curled up into a ball on the rug and closed her eyes again.

"You lazy thing," said Rebecca. "All you ever want to do is sleep."

Rebecca's words were self-condemning. With a flushed face she threw back the covers and crawled from her bed.

"It's not that I'm lazy," she excused herself. "There's just no good reason to be up and about. There's nowhere to go. Nothing to do. I hate it. It's nearly intolerable."

"Rebecca," came Sarah's call. "Breakfast. We need to be ready for church soon."

Church. Rebecca had never been overly fond of the Sunday morning ritual. But at least there were no longer the daily chapels as there had been when she was a student.

She drew on her robe and proceeded to the kitchen. Hot cinnamon buns greeted her, sending their pungent aroma throughout the room.

"Good morning," greeted Sarah. "Did you sleep well?"

For an answer Rebecca yawned again.

"Church starts in an hour. We'll need to hurry," said Sarah.

Rebecca seated herself in her place at the table.

"We've been invited to the Galvans' home for dinner," went on Sarah. "She has asked Mr. Murray as well."

"Who's Mr. Murray?" queried Rebecca without real interest.

"He owns the store."

"Oh—him." Rebecca easily dismissed the man.

"He says business is so good that he might hire a clerk. Are you interested?"

Rebecca frowned. "In being a clerk? Really, Mother."

Sarah turned to her daughter and spoke rather sharply. "When I was in need of work, clerking for Mr. Murray would have seemed like a godsend. In fact, he offered me the job and I was tempted to accept."

"So why didn't you?" asked Rebecca carelessly.

"Because I knew he didn't need a clerk at the time. He was just offering me the job out of the goodness of his heart."

Rebecca smiled disdainfully. "Some goodness," she said and reached for a cinnamon roll.

"Now just a minute, young lady," began Sarah, and Rebecca looked at her in surprise. "I might be willing to let you take advantage of me. But I won't allow you to speak of my friends in such a fashion. Alex Murray has helped me to get through the tough years. He even gave credit at his store when I couldn't pay. Fact is— when he asked about you working for him—I put him off. I wasn't sure that you'd—that you'd be worth your pay." Her flushed face looked as shocked at her frank words as Rebecca was.

Rebecca stared at her with wide-open, horrified eyes. Then she sprang to her feet and faced her mother, her own cheeks flushed with anger. "I had no idea when I came back West that I would be expected to be hired help," she hissed.

"Hired help? No. No—not hired help. A member of the family—that's what. Just a living—working—acceptable member of the family."

"So I'm not acceptable. Then why did you bring me back?"

"I brought you back because you are mine. Because I thought we belonged together," said Sarah, her voice ragged with emotion. "I thought that you would be as—as anxious to be back with family as I would be to have you."

"Well, you were wrong," stormed Rebecca
through tears. "You were wrong." Her voice rose. "I don't belong here. You know
I don't belong here. I hate it here.
I
hate it!"

And she ran from the room, loud sobs seeming to fill the space around Sarah, choking her.

***

Sarah sat in a kitchen chair with her face in her hands. The tears came freely. "Oh, what have I done?" she cried. "What have I done? I'm supposed to be the mature one. The mother. I wanted so much to have her home. To make her belong. To have her love me, and now I've gone and spoiled everything. Everything. We'll never share a closeness now. Never. Oh, God— I've really messed this up. I—I need your help. Patience. Help me with Rebecca, Lord. Help me to understand why—why she feels so—" Her prayer ended in sobs. But Sarah could not go on. She felt like having a good long cry. Instead, she roused herself, cleared the table and washed up the dishes, and prepared herself for the morning service. She knew Rebecca would not be going. She could still hear her crying in her bedroom. Sarah longed to talk with her. To offer an apology—but she wasn't sure just yet what her words should be. What approach she should take. How could they communicate when they had not been together? She didn't understand her daughter. She didn't know her little girl. And her little girl did not know her mother. Their two worlds were so far apart. She never should have sent Rebecca away to school for so many years. Now the girl was a stranger in her own home. She no longer fit.

Sarah bowed under the weight of her burden. She couldn't have Rebecca hating every minute of her life here in the West. She couldn't force the young girl to love those who loved her. Nor could she demand that she cooperate when she obviously was so miserable. She wasn't sure what she should do. Would Rebecca learn to love, or at least accept, her home in time? It seemed unlikely.

"Oh—God—help me. Help me to know what's the right thing to do. I don't want to lose her, Lord. I don't want to lose her. But—I just don't know. I don't know what to do."

A Difficult Decision

"Rebecca—may I come in?"

Rebecca wished with all her heart she could say no, but she knew that she could not. She didn't wish to see her mother. Not now. Maybe not ever. She wasn't sure. She was hurt. She was angry. She wanted to be alone.

The door pushed open and Sarah appeared. In her hands was a tray of food.

"Mrs. Galvan sent you some dinner," she said as she set the tray on the nightstand. "She was—sorry to hear that you were—not feeling up to joining us for dinner at her house."

Rebecca wondered what her mother had said about her absence. Had she admitted to the neighbors that they'd had an awful spat?

"I'm—sorry about this morning," Sarah began. "I had no — no right to talk to you like I did. I'm ashamed—and I'm sorry. I've—I've done a lot of thinking—and praying. I— Can you forgive me?"

Rebecca had not expected her mother to come to her in apology. She didn't know quite how to respond. She had been prepared to defend herself. To speak her mind about the way they lived. The condition of the house—Sarah—everything. Now what was she to say?

"I'm—I'm terribly sorry," went on Sarah. "I know that—that I have no right to expect—well, just to expect you to feel about me as I feel about you—just because I'm your mother. You see—I—I welcomed you as a baby—me and your father—you—you brought us so much joy—both of us. We longed to give you everything.

"Then—when we lost your father—I still wanted you to have—the best. I—I doubted that the—the West could give you that. I was wrong. You would have been fine here. I—I look at our other young people— upright, intelligent, hard-working individuals, and I think—I—"

But Rebecca cut in, tears forming in her eyes again, anger showing in her voice, "And you think that I'm not upright and intelligent?"

"I—I didn't say that—didn't mean that," quickly put in Sarah.

"Then what did you mean? You as good as said. You—"

"I meant that you could have been that anyway. The West—or the East—has no—no monopoly on goodness. It's the person—they are—we are each responsible—ourselves—for how we turn out—what we do with our life—not our circumstances."

"So it's my fault that I didn't turn out to your liking?"

Sarah stopped and looked at her daughter. Rebecca was pushing too far. She didn't even try to understand. But Sarah refused to speak further harsh words. She stood slowly to her feet and turned to look out the window, her back to Rebecca.

But Rebecca was not finished.

"Look at you," she hurled at her mother's back. "Just look at you. You—you dress like a—like a man and you don't even—don't even—fix your hair or— or— You're not—not to my liking either."

The angry words stung Sarah more than she would have thought possible. She felt the tears gathering in her eyes. She felt the slump of her shoulders—the rending of her broken heart.

She stood silently. She could not speak. Did not trust herself with words. In spite of the pain that she was suffering, her glance went down to her plain skirt and simple white shirtwaist.

It's true,
she admitted silently.
It's true. She has a right to be embarrassed. I must
—
I must look
—
horrible to her.

But Sarah made no comment about the slashing remarks. Silently she prayed while Rebecca sobbed behind her.

Oh, God,
she prayed silently,
this has all gone wrong. It is not what I wanted. Not what I longed for. I wanted so much for us to be
—
to be mother and daughter. I wanted so much for her to love me. But it's all wrong. We don't seem to be
—
be able to connect with each other. We are not even able to understand each other. To be mother and daughter.

In tears, Sarah finally gave her little girl entirely to her Lord. He would have to work in Rebecca's heart. She, as mother, could not dictate and demand. She had to simply trust her child to God, asking that His will be done for each of them. For Sarah's part, there seemed only one thing to do. She could not force Rebecca to accept her way of life. She had to be willing to let Rebecca go. To choose her own way in life. Perhaps that freedom would lead her back to the life that she knew and understood—away from her mother and the West. Sarah's heart ached at the thought.

When the worst of Rebecca's storm of tears seemed to have passed, Sarah spoke, quietly, evenly, her voice hardly cracking in her efforts to keep it calm and controlled.

"I—I don't have the funds—right now—unless I borrow. I—I hate to do that. But I will if I have to."

She took a deep breath and let it out in a soft sigh.

"If—if you feel you cannot be happy here—I'll allow you—let you go back. It—may be a while before I can make the arrangements. But I'll—see to your ticket. I'm—I'm sorry. I hate to see you go. I had such—such hopes and dreams—of us being together again—but I can—I think—understand that you— you've—got to be free to live—where you—you desire to live."

Sarah turned suddenly and looked at her daughter. Rebecca's slim shoulders still shook with sobs, and tears lay on her cheeks.

"Is that what you wish?" Sarah asked softly.

Rebecca did not trust herself to speak. It was a bitter triumph. She hated to see the woman who was her mother hurt. She hadn't wanted that. And Stanley was somewhere in Europe. She would not be going back to Stanley. And Seth— Rebecca still hadn't sorted out her thinking concerning Seth.

Still—it was what she wanted. What she longed for. She hated the way her mother lived.

Slowly she nodded her head, avoiding eye contact with the woman near her bed.