A Lady Like Sarah (25 page)

"Where money's concerned, I've always been a tight
spitter
," she explained, twisting and turning. She debated what to do. Finally, the vision of herself in the mirror was simply too much of a temptation to pass up.

"I'll take three of those there petticoats. If I'm
gonna
buy me a dress, I might as well go whole hog."

While Sarah worked the ruffled layers under her dress, the seamstress hovered nervously, wringing her hands and casting anxious glances at the door as if she feared the arrival of other customers.

"You don't understand. My dresses are designed for
ladies."

"Don't surprise me none," Sarah replied. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, wishing with all her heart that a certain handsome preacher could see her now. "If this ain't a miracle!" she announced, feeling suddenly lighthearted. "I'm a full-fledged lady!"

The woman stood staring at her with hands placed firmly on her wide hips. "Not with that hair, you're not."

Sarah touched the unruly mass with her hand and frowned in dismay. "It's the only hair I've got."

Mrs.
Springlock's
face softened as if she suddenly felt sorry for her. "Come in back. I'll see what I can do."

Sarah followed her through a narrow door to a room that was even more cramped than the one in front. She stood before a beveled glass mirror while the proprietor brushed her hair back and created smooth curls with a flame-heated curling rod. After a while, the older woman stepped back and nodded approvingly at her own work.

"You clean up mighty nice," she said.

Sarah turned her head from side to another. "Looks like I've got me a head full of sausages," she said, grinning.

Mrs.
Springlock
smiled back at her.

Sarah walked around the room, testing the feel of
soft
fabÂric around her ankles. She never felt anything quite like it. "It's
gonna
take some
gettin
' used to."

"If you want to be a lady, you best stop walking like a man."

Sarah stopped
midstep
. "It's the only walk I got."

"Nonsense.
You just need to work on it. Take small, dainty steps." Mrs.
Springlock
demonstrated, her bulky hips swaying like an old mule's rump.

Sarah tried her best to imitate the woman. "I feel like a hog on a saddle," she said, describing her discomfort.

The woman stared at Sarah's feet. "It would help if you wore decent footwear. Those boots—"

"I ain't parting with my boots," Sarah said. The hem of the dress nearly reached the floor, hiding most if not all of her boots.

Mrs.
Springlock
made a face. "If you want to be a lady, you must refrain from using the word 'ain't.' It's a contraction that should be avoided at all costs. The correct terms are 'am not,' 'is not,' 'have not,' or 'are not.'"

"Whoa!" Sarah's head spun. "That's a whole lot
of
 
'
nots
'
I'm
gonna
have to remember. If you need that many words to replace 'ain't,' then lady talk sure
ain't. . . am not. . .
efficient."

"Is not," Mrs.
Springlock
said sharply.
"Isn't efficient."

Sarah sighed. She wasn't sure that she would ever learn to walk and
talk like
a lady, but she sure did look like one. Justin said that no one would hang a lady, and she wanted so much to believe he was right.

She stood staring at herself in the mirror for the longest while. Was the color of the dress purely coincidence—or something else?

Watch for signs, the old preacher had said. But what if she was reading them all wrong?
Still. . .

She closed her eyes. Dare she take a chance? She'd told

Justin that faith was enough for him, but would it be enough for her?

Heart pounding, she finally made up her mind. She pulled her wad of money out of her overall pocket with shaky hands and paid for the dress and unmentionables.

Then she buckled her gun belt around her middle.

Mrs.
Springlock
stared down her considerable nose. "A lady doesn't wear a gun belt," she sniffed.

"This lady does," Sarah said. Talking and walking like a lady was one thing, but giving up her weapon and boots was where she drew the line. She pushed the remaining money into the pocket of her dress.
¹

"What's the fastest way to get to Rocky Creek?"

Mrs.
Springlock
put the cash into her money box and handed Sarah her change. "Take the ferry across the river and catch the train to Texarkana. From there you can take a stage to Texas."

Sarah thanked her, took a deep breath to brace
herself
, and left the shop.

It
took
Justin
a
full day just to clear the rubble from inside the church and another day to
rehang
the door and replace the missing floorboards. The pews and piano were damaged beyond repair.

He worked long hours, but his heart wasn't in it. He quesÂtioned God's plan for him, questioned his ability to serve the people of Rocky Creek. Questioned why God brought Sarah into his life, only to take her away.

He tried to pray, but the words wouldn't come. Each night upon retiring, Elizabeth asleep at the foot of his bed in her little crate, he sought comfort from the Bible, but doubts and questions continued to plague him.

After another sleepless night, he sat at the kitchen table picking at the breakfast Ma had cooked for him. Since saying good-bye to Sarah even his appetite began to suffer.

He made a list of all the things that still had to be done to ready the church for worship. The list seemed endless. For every chore he crossed off, he thought of two more to take its place.

Next to him, Ma rocked Elizabeth in her arms. All rosy from her bath, the baby smelled like a flower garden after a spring shower.

He leaned over and tickled her under her little pink chin, and her bowlike mouth curved up.

He sat back in astonishment. "Look at that," he said, beaming. "She smiled at me."

"Just a little indigestion," Ma said.

Undaunted, he leaned forward again and made silly goo-goo sounds that would normally have made him feel like a fool. He was rewarded with another toothless grin. The softÂening in his heart pained him only because Sarah wasn't there to see Elizabeth smile.

Satisfied, he sat back. "See? What did I tell you?"

This time Ma didn't argue with him. "It's good to know that
somethin
' can put a smile on
your
face."

Elizabeth wrinkled up her little nose and started to fuss. "I think it's time for someone's nap," Ma said. She rose and placed Elizabeth in the little crate and carried it to the other room where it was quiet. She returned moments later and glanced at Justin's chore list.

"I think I can round up chairs for the church," she said. "How many do you need?"

Justin couldn't begin to guess.
"A hundred?"

Ma looked dubious. "You'll be lucky if anyone shows up the first day."

Justin's disappointment must have shown, for she leaned forward and patted his arm. "A few will come out of curiosity, I suppose, you being a new preacher and all." In a more cheerÂful voice, she added, "If you want, you can move the piano from my parlor to the church. It's out of tune, but it's better than nothing."

He mopped up the runny egg yolks with a piece of bread. "I'm much obliged. Do you play?"

The question seemed to startle her. "Me? I play a little.
Nothing religious, mind you.
Our piano player Mrs. Kimble died last year, bless her soul. I'll ask around. There's bound to be someone else in town
who
can play."

Justin stared down at his list. "I don't know what I would have done without your help. I especially appreciate you takÂing care of Elizabeth. I haven't had time to look for a home for her."

It wasn't only time that kept him from searching for suitÂable parents. After losing Sarah, he simply didn't have the heart to part with Elizabeth too. After the smile she gave him that morning, he wondered if he ever would.

Ma sat down at the table opposite him. "I hope you don't judge our town by the condition of the church."

"I'm not here to judge," he said. Still, he couldn't help but think that had the citizens of Rocky Creek built fewer saloons, more time would have been left for the church. But he wasn't about to share that opinion with his kindhearted landlady.

"If you don't mind my saying so, you look like something the cat dragged in," she said.

Justin grunted. "I've not been sleeping well."

Ma gave a knowing nod. "She must have been some woman."

Justin looked up in surprise, his fork held in midair. "What makes you think it's a woman keeping me awake?"

"When a man spends half the night pacing the floor, it's generally because of some petticoat."

Justin smiled at her choice of words.
Petticoat
was hardly a word that came to mind when he thought of Sarah.

Ma folded her arms on the table. "Love is like a soft matÂtress. It's easy to fall into but near impossible to get out of."

Justin
lay
his fork on his plate and wiped his mouth on his napkin. "God called me to be a clergyman," he said, more for his own benefit than for his landlady's.
"That's
what I need to think about.
God's work."

Ma gave him a tender, motherly look.
"Seems to me like you're putting the cart before the horse."

Justin raised a questioning brow. "I'm sorry?"

"All I'm saying is
,
God made you a man before He made you a preacher."

Sarah
stepped out of the stagecoach in the center of Rocky Creek and felt a surge of panic. The town looked exactly as she remembered it, arousing the same old fears.

Memories of the trial and verdict assailed her. The last time she'd left town, she was on a fast horse and dodging bullets. She'd hoped never to see Rocky Creek again, but here she was of her own free will and shaking like a quiverÂing bow.

Main Street was deserted, the residents inside away from the hot August sun. Hugged on three sides by rolling hills, the town appeared serene, but she knew better.

She wondered where Justin was. She didn't want to see him yet, not while her future looked so bleak. She was taking a big chance on coming here, and she desperately wanted to believe that she hadn't misread the signs. She told herself that if Justin was right about the town not hanging a lady, then she had nothing to worry about. Maybe then she could clear her name and have a chance for a normal life.

Oh, Justin, please be right.

Just thinking of Justin gave her back the courage that had near deserted her. She could do this. She
must
do this.
For his sake as well as her own.

The town marshal's office was located directly across from the stage stop. She stepped off the wooden boardwalk, her pounding heart as erratic as an unbroken horse.

Since the town was deserted, she abandoned the confinÂing ladylike steps she'd tried to emulate. Instead, she kicked up her boots in high-
steppin
' strides and crossed Main Street.

Before entering the office, she raised her eyes to heaven and braced herself with prayer. "God, I know I've asked for
Your
help a lot lately. I'm sure
You
got a lot of other people to help, and I don't want to take unfair advantage or
anythin
'. But if
You
have another one of those miracles
lyin
' around that You don't need, I'd be much obliged if You'd send it my way. Amen."

She took a deep breath and went over the words she had copied down from a newspaper on the train ride to Texarkana and practiced in her head. Pressing against the butterflies in her stomach with one hand, she threw open the door with the other.

Marshal Briggs sat behind his
desk,
his feet propped up, a hole centered on the sole of each boot. At sight of her, he quickly dropped his feet to the wooden floor with a thump and looked her up and down like a man buying livestock.

"May I help you, ma'am?"

Ma'am.
No lawman had ever addressed her with such regard before. Encouraged, Sarah closed the door behind her. Standing proper as she imagined a lady to stand, hands folded demurely in front, she said, "I wish to turn myself in."

The marshal's bushy gray eyebrows rose so high that only his receding hairline kept them from disappearing altogether. His eyes then crinkled as if he was privy to a joke.