A Lady Like Sarah (24 page)

A young Mexican chambermaid with long black hair and a shy smile brought her a tin bathtub and filled it with cold water. She handed Sarah a threadbare towel and a half bar of lye soap.

"Gracias,"
Sarah said.

The maid gave a quick smile and left.

Sarah scrubbed herself from head to toe, washing away every last bit of road dust until her skin was rosy pink. Then she washed out her clothes and arranged them over the windowsill to dry. Afterward, she threw herself on the bed and, despite the paper-thin mattress and rowdy noise rising from the street below, slept all night.

The next morning, she stopped at the desk to inquire about her brothers.

"No other Cooper has checked in," the clerk said, nose parked on the registration book.

Yesterday, she hadn't given the matter much thought, but in the light of day, their absence worried her. Following George's orders to
lay
low, she started for the stairs, but she was hungry and the thought of waiting in the stifling hot room for her brothers was more than she could bear.

She turned and headed back to the desk. "Where's the best place to eat?"

"Maude West's place is the best, but the whole building has been quarantined due to measles. You might try Mrs. Berry's Inn. It's right next door to the First National Bank."

Leaving the hotel, she walked to Garrison Street. WithÂout boardwalks, it was all she could do to keep from being run over by the many carriages, shays, and buckboards that vied for space.

Dressed in baggy pants and shirt, her hat pulled low and hair tucked out of sight, she doubted that anyone would know she was a woman. Still, she wasn't about to get careless and her eyes were in constant motion. Some businesses were closed, the black wreaths in the window indicating recent deaths in the family. Other shops had a sign on the door that read
Quarantined.

On several occasions she thought she saw Justin, only to discover upon closer observation that each man in question looked nothing like him. By the time she reached the inn, she was shaking. She kept her identity as a woman hidden by pointing to the menu, but when her order came, she found she had little appetite.

Sitting by the wavy paned window, she watched a pale young woman walk by pushing an empty baby pram. Black ribbons fluttered from the handlebars and Sarah's heart ached. Thank God, Justin insisted upon keeping Elizabeth away from this town.

She saw a man lovingly helping a woman into the stageÂcoach, and it was all she could do to keep from bursting into tears.

Her spirits low, she started back toward the hotel. HearÂing church bells, she thought of Justin. On impulse, she folÂlowed the musical chimes to the Lost and Found Church.

The double doors were unlocked, so she peered inside. The church was empty except for a cat that ran between her legs and disappeared in nearby bushes when she opened the door.

On impulse, she entered the church. She hadn't been inside a place of worship since her mama's funeral. The church was similar to the one she remembered from her childhood. Surprised to find that the stained-glass windows and rigid pews seemed less intimidating to her now that she was an adult, she walked down the middle aisle.

A voice from behind startled her. "You know you're not supposed to be outside." She spun around to face the owner of the voice, an elderly man dressed in black, talking to a gray cat in his arms. Blue eyes regarded her from a wrinkled but kind face.

"I let the cat out," she said. "I'm sorry—"

"It's not your fault. The fool cat doesn't know what's good for him. If he stayed in church, he would be safe. But he keeps wandering away, just like some people I know.
Almost got run over by a wagon last week."
He set the cat on the floor. "By the way, my name is Reverend
Hotchkins
," he said. "And you are?"

"Sarah . . . C-cooper," she stammered. Thinking there might be a rule about lying in church, she glanced up to make sure the ceiling and walls were still intact and not about to fall on her.

If the kindly preacher noticed her hesitation or suspected she was lying about her name, he kept it to himself.

"When a young woman comes to church between Sundays, it usually means one of two things. Either she wants to book the church for her wedding, or she's in a whole peck of trouÂble." He studied her. "I guess the latter. Am I right?"

She nodded.

"Want to talk about it?"

"I can't," she said.

"That bad, eh?"

"God and
me . . .
we ain't always been on friendly terms."

"Just because you wandered away from church is no reaÂson to think God's not looking out for you. Isn't that right, Jeremiah?"

She smiled. "Your cat's name is in the Bible," she said.

The old preacher's eyes crinkled. "Maybe you aren't as lost as you think you are."

She stared at him in confusion. "I never said I was lost."

"I figured there was a reason you came to Lost and Found."

"I heard the church b-bells," she stammered. The preacher with his keen insights unnerved her. "I best
be
going." Anxious to make her escape, she started up the aisle.

Reverend
Hotchkins
scooped the cat up with one hand and stepped aside to let her pass. "Follow the signs," he called after her.

Her hand on the ornate handle of the heavy door, Sarah glanced over her shoulder.
"Signs?"

"God is leading the way. You just have to follow the signs."

She paused outside the church, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the glare of the sun. Dodging around a horse-drawn hearse blocking the road, she headed for the hotel.

On the outer wall of a bank were colorful posters proÂclaiming the fall arrival of
Barnum's Greatest Show on Earth
and promising a "more extensive, expensive, and wonderful circus, hippodrome, and menagerie than has ever before been seen in this country."

Next to it a smaller poster announced the first Sebastian County Fair. The smaller print read:
The opening address will be given by Judge Parker.

Just reading the name of the hanging judge sent shivers down her spine. Moving away from the bank, her eyes inadvertently lit upon a wanted poster tacked to a nearby post.

Stopping in her tracks, she stared at the yellow placard in horror. Bold, dark type read:

Wanted

Sarah Prescott

Reward: 500 dollars in gold coin.

Heart pounding, she glanced around. She'd seen wanted posters for her brothers but never one for herself.

Until today.

She ripped the notice away from its
pinnings
and read the small print at the bottom:

Suspect was last seen wearing canvas pants, slouch hat, and red leather boots.

The sketch wasn't a good likeness, but the description was accurate.

Whipping off her hat, she let her hair fall loosely to her shoulders. But there wasn't anything to be done about her pants or boots.

She crumpled the notice in her hands and stuffed it in her pocket. Suddenly it seemed that every man and woman was looking straight at her.

Though the sun beat down with unforgiving heat, she shivered. The busy street that had moments earlier wrapped her in anonymity now lurked with danger.

Could the man in a long black coat and gray pants be a Wells Fargo agent? Were the two men dressed in brown and wearing plug hats
Pinkerton
detectives?
And what about the tall, broad-shouldered man with the tawny mustache and goatee?
Could that possibly be Judge Parker himself?

Feeling trapped, she glanced up and down the busy street. She spotted what surely was a marshal heading her way and quickly ducked through the door of the nearest open shop. A jangle of bells and the smell of sweet lavender greeted her.

Satisfied that no one had followed her, she glanced around the tiny, cramped shop. Rough wood shelves piled high with bolts of fabric lined the walls on both sides. On the back wall, spools of thread dangled from little wooden pegs, interspersed with trails of colorful ribbons and delicate lace.

A woman with hips wide as a depot stove bent over the counter, her graying hair a mass of spring-tight curls. A sign read Mrs.
Springlock's
Dry Goods. If the tightly curled hair was any indication, the woman could be no other than the proprietor herself.

"May I help you?" she mumbled through a mouth full of pins. Judging from the look of disapproval on her matronly face as she stared at Sarah's tousled red hair, she didn't much relish the thought.

Sarah stood behind a stack of fabric bolts to hide her canÂvas pants from the woman's prying eyes. "Just
lookin
'," she said.

Then she saw something that practically made her knees buckle beneath the heaviness of her heart. A dress similar to the one Justin had salvaged from the ill-fated wagon train hung from a nearby hook. But it was the color that tore at her soul and caused her heart to squeeze in anguish. It was the exact same blue as the dress ravished by locusts.

The sleeves were puffed at the shoulder and cuffs, and edged with blue satin ribbon. The pleats on the fitted bodice hid a row of fine china buttons.

She regretted not trying the first dress on for Justin. She regretted a lot of things.

She pulled the dress off the wooden hanger and held it in front of her to hide her masculine attire from the woman in back. Her appearance in the mirror shocked her. For the longest while all she could do was
stare
at the unfamiliar image of herself. If this wasn't an answer to a prayer, she didn't know what was. The old preacher had told her to watch for signs.

But a wanted poster?
A sign from God?

Shaken by the thought, she called, "Is this dress for sale?"

Mrs.
Springlock
hesitated as if to decide how she wanted to answer the question. "For a price," she said finally through stiffened lips. She pulled the pins one by one out of her mouth and jabbed them into the hem of a woolen cape.

"A price, eh?"

The shopkeeper pulled the last of the pins from her mouth. "I only sell to women of discriminating taste."

"Well, I'll be," Sarah said, unable to believe her good forÂtune. "Then I'm the person you're
lookin
' for. I'm 'bout as
incriminatin
' as you can get."

Sarah undid her gun belt and laid it next to a bolt of dark chambray. The woman's mouth fell open, and her face turned white as baker's dough.

Sarah, not wishing to frighten her, quickly tried to reasÂsure her. "Don't you go
worryin
' none, you hear? I know how to use it. Why, I once shot a cigar out of a man's mouth from thirty yards away."

Mrs.
Springlock's
eyes bulged like the yolks of two fried eggs. Taking this as a sign that the seamstress was duly impressed with her skill as a marksman, Sarah pulled off her clothes right in the middle of the store. But before she had a chance to tug the dress down over her head, the proprietor rounded the counter and gasped.

"Oh my!"
Mrs.
Springlock
exclaimed, her hands flying to her chest. Her curls bounced up and down like broken matÂtress springs. "What a disgrace. You should be ashamed of yourself."

At first Sarah thought the fool woman was still fretting over the gun, but then she noticed the seamstress staring openly at her unmentionables—or rather lack of them.

The way the women carried on, you'd think not wearing undergarments was as foolhardy as walking around without a weapon.

Ignoring the woman's scandalized gasps, Sarah slid the dress over her head and pushed her arms into the sleeves. She stood before the full-length mirror to work the tiny buttons into the holes. She viewed herself from every angle. Never before had she known the luxury of a full-length mirror.

"Will you look at that? I can see myself
comin
' and
goin
'." She lifted the hem of the skirt and wrinkled her brow. "I'd have to grow another
coupla
feet for this dress to fit. Are your
incriminatin
' customers really so tall?"

Mrs.
Springlock
gave a haughty sniff. "The skirt is designed to be worn over
three
petticoats."

"Three?" Sarah wasn't sure she heard right. It seemed like a waste to wear three of anything. "I ain't owned a single petÂticoat in my life," she admitted.

Robert had given her money, but she hadn't planned on purchasing anything so frivolous as a dress, let alone a pettiÂcoat. She didn't feel right about spending stolen money. The truth was that she never did. She hated watching her brothers throw money around on gambling and other vices. Though George offered to buy her pretty things, she never took one penny more than she needed for bare necessities. Now, howÂever, it seemed like she had no other choice.