Lacy Williams (11 page)

Mr. Allen’s lips twisted in an ugly sneer. “Leave those ones to the horseman.” He turned his narrowed gaze to Oscar. “We’re about due to settle up, aren’t we?”

Sarah stifled as gasp as the man’s meaning became clear. Oscar was through with Mr. Allen’s colt, whether he was done training it or not.

“If that’s the way you want it, sir,” Oscar responded coolly.

But Sarah couldn’t just leave the girls to Oscar’s care, not without seeing what was going on at home. Perhaps it would take both of them to dry out Mr. Caldwell if he’d gone on a binge, or at least she could settle the girls while Oscar took care of their stepfather.

“I have a duty to my students,” she said softly, still with as much firmness as she could muster.

“You have a duty to the school board,” he trumpeted. “If you go with them—if you sully your reputation—you will be finished in Lost Hollow.”

He slammed out of the schoolhouse, leaving a ringing silence behind him. A soft panting sound came from Susie, and Sarah realized the girl was terrified into crying. She slung her arm around the girl’s shoulders, hugging both girl and infant.

“Wh-wh-why does he have to be so mean?” Susie mumbled into her shoulder.

“Some people are just cruel, honey.” Sarah met eyes with Oscar above Susie’s head. His face was more serious than she’d ever seen him.

From outside, the sound of wheels creaking and hoofbeats seemed overly loud in the silence.

“You can still catch him if you run,” said Cecilia with forced casualness from closer to the door. She had her back turned and was absently kicking the corner of one desk.

“I’m determined to see these Christmas socks you’ve spent all week telling me about,” Sarah said with a lift of her chin. She’d been bullied by Paul Allen for too long. She wouldn’t let him ruin Christmas for these three precious girls. Not when their stepfather was doing a good enough job of it.

Oscar moved to the potbellied stove to bank the fire while Sarah moved around the room, snuffing the borrowed lamps that had lit the room.

When he stood, there were two wrapped bundles in his arms. “Well, let’s get loaded up, then. It’s a good thing I brought extra blankets, it feels colder already.”

After they’d wrapped up as best they could, their little troupe followed him outside, Sarah securing the door behind them. As she settled the girls in the sleigh—it was going to be an incredibly tight fit—he tied their bareback horse to the side and snugged two large blankets around Sarah before coming around to his side and adjusting something in the floorboards.

“I warmed some bricks in the stove,” he explained when he looked up to find her watching. “Don’t want our feet to freeze.”

It was a thoughtful gesture. He’d been more than helpful the entire evening. Almost as if he’d done it for her.

The sleigh rocked when he stepped into it. “You’re gonna have to scoot—”

“Oomph!” Sarah was shoved almost off her side of the sleigh as Oscar settled himself into the seat.

Both girls giggled. “Miss Sarah, don’t fall!”

Somehow they managed to fit all five of them on the single bench seat. With Susie half seated on top of Sarah’s lap, and Cecilia no doubt the same on Oscar’s, and Velma sandwiched in the middle.

“Hyah!” Oscar snapped the reins and they began to slide across the snowy landscape. Mr. Caldwell’s horse trailed behind.

With snow falling faster now, it formed a blanket of silence around them, insulating them from seeing houses that Sarah knew weren’t far off the road. It was as if they were the only ones out.

“It’s kinda spooky,” Cecilia said softly.

“Too quiet,” Oscar agreed. He winked at Sarah over the top of the girls’ heads. Even with three girls between them, his look was pure male appreciation. Just that look could keep Sarah warm for the entire ride.

“You know what we need?”

“I’m afraid to guess,” Sarah teased him.

“What? What?” the girls chorused.

“Christmas carols.” He didn’t wait for agreement, just began belting out “Jingle Bells” in his strong baritone.

The girls looked at each other, looked at Sarah and dissolved into giggles. But soon they were singing along with him with abandon, voices high and not quite in tune. Velma giggled and clapped along.

When he changed to “The Holly and the Ivy,” he nodded at Sarah to join in. She did, though quietly, because she didn’t have a strong voice, not like his.

She admired him. He’d distracted the girls almost immediately so they wouldn’t dwell on Paul Allen and the man’s explosion of temper. Unfortunately, Sarah was not so easily sidetracked.

She would do her best to see the girls settled, and quickly, and then have Oscar return her home to the Allens’ ranch. She couldn’t afford to lose her job. But she wouldn’t consider herself much of a teacher if she put her own needs above those of her students. If only Mr. Allen could understand her need to care for her students. She couldn’t understand why he held such a grudge against two little girls, no matter their heritage or family situation. They were children and deserved to be cared for.

But what about Sarah? Who would care for her if she lost her job? She’d been taking care of herself for so long and wanted a husband to partner with. Would she ever receive what she longed for so desperately?

* * *

Oscar could see Sarah’s mind working even as she sang along with them. Worrying about Paul Allen’s threat?

Oscar didn’t believe the man would go through with firing her. It was the middle of the year—where would he find another teacher? Surely the parents could be rallied based on Sarah’s performance.
If
they could be brought together to stand up to the man. They had showed a surprising lack of backbone when it came to helping the Caldwell girls. Perhaps it was a bluff to keep Sarah under his thumb. One could hope.

In all of Oscar’s dealings around town and with the cowboys on Allen’s ranch, he hadn’t been able to discover what Allen had against the Caldwell family. He didn’t know if it was the dead mother, the stepfather or the girls’ Indian heritage that made the man dislike them, but it sure didn’t seem fair.

And he’d do what he could to keep Sarah from getting punished for something that wasn’t a punishable offense.

But he was getting a little worried about this snow. It was coming down even harder now, in huge, fluffy flakes and clumps. The breeze was picking up, too, and if it got any worse, he might even call it a blizzard.

It could be difficult to get Sarah home after they got the girls settled. But his pa would say there was no sense worrying about it now—he’d wait until he knew for sure.

He held the reins loosely in his left hand and reached out of the blankets and over to Sarah’s shoulder with his right. His gentle clasp of her shoulder shook her out of her thoughts and he grinned, bringing that color he loved into her cheeks. Yes, she was fun to rile, and if it brought her out of her worries, even better.

He guided the horses into the Caldwells’ yard and all the way to the barn. “It’s really coming down, gals. Let’s let this boy warm up a little in here and go check on your stepfather.”

Instantly subdued, the girls obediently clambered down from the sleigh. He followed them to the cabin, glad he’d spent one evening earlier in the month repairing the chinks and roof with pitch, making the little cabin snug enough to survive this storm.

As they moved inside, Caldwell roused from the sofa, where he’d apparently been in a drunken doze—he stank like a distillery.

“Where you been?” the man lisped, pointing a shaking finger at the girls.

“They came to the school pageant,” Sarah said, more patiently than Oscar expected her to be. “Alone. On your horse.”

“Stole my horse?” he rasped, stumbling across the floor to grab Cecilia’s arm. “I told ya we wasn’t goin’. Refuse to be humiliated in front of the whole town. Charity cases....” His mumbling wound down as he seemed to lose his train of thought.

“Mr. Caldwell, your daughters performed exceptionally well tonight. It’s a shame you weren’t there to watch them.”

“She’s right,” Oscar said. He moved to the man and gently encouraged him to release Cecilia’s arm, which the man did, but backed away, face coloring. “You were doing better with your drinking. What happened tonight?”

“Couldn’t face them all,” the man muttered, rubbing one hand over his face. “Self-righteous...” His words faded behind his hand.

“But the girls needed you,” Sarah pleaded.

“They ain’t my brats!” he hissed.

Susie gasped. Tears streamed down her face. Oscar tried to reach for her, but she ducked past his outstretched hand and ran into the bedroom.

Red-faced, Cecilia scooped Velma off of the floor where Sarah had set her down. “You are...are...a horrible man.” She followed her sister into the bedroom and slammed the door closed.

“Cain’t do this anymore,” Caldwell muttered. “Interfering busybody, and...” He pointed at Oscar. “You with your sanctimonious ideals trying to sober me up. This ain’t my place—can’t make nuthin’ grow, can’t make a living. And those ain’t my kids!”

He slammed outside, letting in a flurry of snow and leaving a wake of bitter cold behind.

Chapter Eleven

O
scar watched Sarah wilt onto the edge of the sofa Caldwell had vacated upon their entrance. “That didn’t go so well.”

“No,” he agreed.

She covered her face with her hands and for a moment he thought she might be crying, but when she looked up at him a moment later, her eyes were dry.

“I just...” She paused. Swallowed. “I can’t believe he could say that he doesn’t want them. They’re bright girls. Adorable and friendly. How could anyone—” Her voice broke and he found himself moving toward her.

He knelt at her feet, gathering her hands in his. He remembered her words from their late fall picnic, knew she must be remembering the sense of abandonment she’d felt after her father’s injury. “I know how you feel,” he whispered.

She startled and their eyes met and held. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated. Could he really tell her this? The only person who knew all of it was his brother Maxwell. But she’d trusted him with her past....

“My parents died when I was ten. There was no one else but an uncle to take me in. He didn’t really want me. Didn’t like me at all. I stayed as long as I could, but I ran away when I was twelve. That’s when I met my pa—Jonas. He took me in and I helped him and Breanna get the homestead up and running. And then the other brothers came along and then Penny, too.” He hid his face in her hands, unable to watch her expression change if she felt sorry for him. “My uncle might not have abandoned me in the same way your father did you, but I know what it feels like to be with someone who isn’t there emotionally. No kid should have to feel like that.”

She untangled one of her hands from his grasp, but when he thought she would push him away, her fingers threaded through his hair, her palm resting against the exposed nape of his neck.

They remained like that for several minutes, silent. Sharing and empathizing together about parents and caregivers who had let them down.

“You and your brothers seemed so close,” she finally commented softly. “I’m surprised you can be away from home for so long without missing them and your father like crazy.”

He turned his head, still pillowed on her knees, to stare at the fire crackling in the hearth, enjoying their closeness.

“It’s different now,” he said quietly. “My brother Maxwell—he and I are the closest in age—has left home for medical school, and now that I’ve got my own place...”

He could’ve left it at that, but he’d told her all of the rest of it. He might as well say the words, reveal what was really eating at him. “And my pa has his own kids now,” he whispered. “It’s not the same between us.”

She nearly dumped him off her lap as she stood and moved away, facing him with hands parked on her hips. “You mean to tell me the reason you’ve been gallivanting around Wyoming on your adventures is because you think your father doesn’t love you anymore now that he’s got his own children? That is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.”

He had to smile at her impassioned speech and that just seemed to rile her up even more. She scoffed at him. “Your father cared enough about you to take you in and give you a place to stay, give you his love for all those years and you think he just stopped loving you? Are you daft? Have you even talked to him about it?”

* * *

Oscar looked at her askance, as if asking if he’d talked to his father about his mistaken feelings was crazy.

“He’s been busy with the little tykes. No, I haven’t talked to him.”

She glared at him. How could he be so cavalier about something so important? “Babies take time. There’s feeding and diapering and cleaning up after them and their messes.” She gestured to the supper table, where dishes had been left, including those from little Velma’s dinner. “Or haven’t you noticed?”

He grinned again. “I’ve noticed.”

“That doesn’t mean you stop loving the older children. They still have a place in your heart.”

He shook his head. “It’s not the same. They’re his kids. His
real
kids.”

She’d seen the way his brothers had acted when they’d been in town. Family members didn’t share that closeness without a strong foundation. She sincerely doubted that his father had stopped caring about Oscar just because he’d had more children.

“Will you talk to your father when you get home? Just talk to him about what you’ve said to me?”

His face changed. It was imperceptible, but it was there. Some of the spark behind his eyes had died. “I’ll think about it.”

He stood up. “I’d better go check on Caldwell. Hopefully he’s warm in the barn. And sleeping off the liquor.” He turned for the door, picking up his coat on the way.

A cold blast of air hit her ankles, and then another as Oscar scooted right back inside, muttering.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s snowing even harder, and the wind’s picked up. Just want to make sure I can get back to the cabin once I’m out there.”

A nervous thrill went through her stomach. “Will we be able to get back to the Allens’ place?”

“I’ll let you know when I get back.” He unhooked the thin cord she’d seen clean diapers hanging on that first day, then followed it to a second hook on the opposite wall where the coil of cord rested. He took it out with him.

She should probably be concerned about the state of her job, but right now her worry was for the girls. She went to the bedroom door and knocked softly.

“What?” came Cecilia’s voice. Sarah was prepared for the girl’s belligerence, but the vulnerable note in her voice made Sarah’s throat prickly and hot.

She pushed open the door gently. “It’s Sarah.”

“What do you want?” The wobble was still there in Cecilia’s voice, but she had her back to the door, and her arms crossed.

Susie sat on the floor, tears tracking down her face.

Only Velma was peaceful, curled up in a nest of blankets in the middle of the bed.

“I want to make sure you and Susie are all right.”

“We’re fine.” But the words were punctuated with a sniffle.

Sarah moved into the small room and sat on the floor next to Susie, her back against the wall and knees pressed against the bed. All three of them slept in here, in that bed barely big enough for one adult?

“I know it’s hard—” Sarah murmured.

“What do you care, anyway?” Cecilia blurted out, whirling. Her face was as tearstained as her sister’s, but her eyes were full of fire.

Velma murmured in her sleep, stirred, but didn’t wake.

“I care.” Sarah reached for the older girl, but Cecilia slipped away from her. “I care, because I know what you’re going through. And I want you to know you’re not alone.”

“What do you mean?” Susie sniffled.

Sarah took a breath and started her story. “My mother died when I was young. A little older than Cecilia. I had two younger sisters, too,” she said, trying to engage the other girl in the story, but Cecilia remained aloof. “I wasn’t very good at taking care of the household chores—not like you girls are—but we muddled through. Then when I was fifteen, my father decided there was money in mining. I guess some men make a living at it, but my father’s choice was disastrous. He was gravely injured in a mining accident and could no longer work.”

Susie moved to sit cross-legged on the end of the bed, paying avid attention. Cecilia absently flicked the curtain at the dirty window, but even though she pretended to ignore them, Sarah had the sense she was listening.

“I was really angry with my father for a long time,” Sarah admitted. “He had three daughters. I thought he should have chosen a less risky job so that he could better take care of us. When he was hurt, there was a little savings, but after it was gone, we were basically destitute.”

There. A flicker of interest from Cecilia, whose chin turned minutely in Sarah’s direction.

“No one in town seemed to know or care that we were poor—barely making it. We never had new things. My poor sisters wore hand-me-downs until they were worn through, underthings and everything.”

Susie giggled.

“I even...” This part was hard for Sarah to tell. “I even had to have a friend cut down my mother’s dresses, because I didn’t have anything to wear and no money to purchase material—not that I could’ve sewn a dress, anyway. Many times the children in school made fun of me. Not so much my sisters, but all the children thought I was bossy and too strict.” Oscar had been the start of those jokes, but now that she knew him better, the memory was less painful. “None of them knew that we were just trying to survive.”

Now Cecilia joined her sister on the end of the bed. Though she didn’t look at Sarah but stared down at the worn quilt covering it, Sarah knew she had the girl’s attention.

“And do you know what I wished almost every day?”

“What?” breathed Susie.

“I wished for one person in town—one adult—to really see what was going on in our family. See that we needed help. But no one ever did.”

“So what did you do?” Ah! A quiet question from Cecilia.

Sarah held back her smile, but hope soared through her.
Please God, let me be getting through to the girl.
“I left my schooling early and went to the Normal School in Cheyenne. When I wasn’t in class learning how to be a teacher, I washed dishes and did laundry for the house where I boarded. I hoarded every penny to send back to my sisters. Then, after I got my first teaching job, things got a little easier.”

“Did—did your papa die?” asked Susie softly.

“Yes. Just after my first months at the Normal School. I had to miss classes to see to the funeral arrangements.” And had nearly starved herself in the months after trying to pay for the resulting expenses and keep her sisters fed.

“I don’t want things to be hard for you girls.” Sarah reached out and took Susie’s hand. She awkwardly patted Cecilia’s shoulder, and for once the girl didn’t lean away. “That’s why I’ve been trying to help, even though I’ve botched things part of the time. I don’t want you to have to suffer like I did.”

* * *

Inside his gloves, Oscar’s hands were numb by the time he reached the barn and tied off the end of his cord to the door handle.

The barn was blessedly warm compared to the gusting wind and swirling snow. Between the couple of cows and Caldwell’s horses along with Oscar’s own animals, there was enough heat from the animals to warm the area enough to sleep. He hoped.

“Caldwell?”

No answer. Oscar scoured the barn, beginning to worry when he didn’t find the man. Perhaps he’d visited the privy?

After fighting the storm to reach the barn, Oscar knew it would be impossible to get Sarah home tonight. It would risk both of their lives to try it. He started unharnessing the horse from the sleigh, giving it a brisk rubdown before putting it in its stall. Hopefully Sarah wouldn’t be too upset. And hopefully her boss would see that she’d had no choice but to stay in a safe place during a snowstorm. But that was a worry for tomorrow.

By the time Oscar had the horse comfortable in its stall, Caldwell still hadn’t shown his face.

Oscar began to really worry.

If the man was out in the building blizzard, he could get lost or disoriented. Oscar had had the wash line to guide him, and had still been unsure of his course before he’d knocked into the side of the barn. What if the man got injured? Or had just found a hole to burrow in somewhere until the storm passed?

Should Oscar risk going after him?