Sarah's Smile (The Daughters of Riverton Book 1) Page 3

  “I may be old, but I’m still capable of doing a great many things on my own. I’m not climbing into my grave anytime soon, you know. I still have many good years ahead.”

  “I certainly hope that you do.” Sarah took a deep breath and swung around to face her grandmother. “I’ll cut a few lilacs after supper. Would you like a small bouquet in your bedroom?”

  “That would be nice. Thank you.”

  “The Delineator came in the mail today.” The magazine always raised her grandmother’s spirits. She enjoyed perusing the latest fashions.

  “Wonderful. That will help occupy my time while you’re at work.” Her grandmother studied Sarah. “By the look on your face, that letter you’ve been waiting for didn’t arrive today.”

  “No, Gram, but it will. It’s just a matter of time.” Her grandmother didn’t like the idea of Sarah leaving, but no matter what excuse Gram came up with, she wasn’t going to stop Sarah this time.

  “I wish your grandfather had never shown you that book of David Livingstone’s journals. It put all those wild ideas in your head.” She rapped the floor with her cane. “Mark my words, you’re going to get yourself killed, and then where will I be?”

  “That’s not going to happen, but even if it does, you’ll be fine. Mrs. Vance will look out for you while I’m away.” Sarah had gone over this countless times, but she reached for more patience. “You like her, and she’s looking forward to moving in with you. Although she loves her family, living with six rambunctious grandsons has gotten a bit much for her. With staying here, she can see them often but also enjoy a little peace and quiet. You’ll be good company for each other.”

  “It doesn’t matter that she’s nice. I’m not used to having strangers living in my home.”

  “It will be an adjustment, Gram, but she’s lived in Riverton for months. You sit next to her in church every Sunday. She’s not exactly a stranger.” Sarah forced a smile. “Are you hungry? I can make supper.”

  The elderly woman took a few steps toward the pantry, and using her cane for balance, betrayed her weariness. “I thought we’d have a light supper tonight. There’s fresh potato salad and a bit of ham in the ice box. We still have canned beets. I haven’t cooked up any rhubarb preserves yet, but we have butter and honey for our bread.”

  So much for a light supper.

  Jumbled emotions from seeing Peter again had made Sarah’s stomach a bit queasy, but she’d try to eat something to make her grandmother happy. The other option was to decline, in which case Gram was sure to lecture Sarah and make her even more miserable.

  Sarah pulled out the potato salad and leftover ham. “You deserve to rest, so let me take care of the food.”

  “I guess it would do me good to sit a spell.” Her grandmother made her way into the dining room, and Sarah followed with the salad and meat. The older woman eased her body into a chair at the table already set with dishes and silverware. “Anything new in town?”

  “No.” Nothing she wanted to talk about.

  “Have you seen Peter? I suppose I should be calling him Reverend Caswell now.”

  “I saw him only for a few minutes while walking to work. He’d taken some tools to the blacksmith for Ellie. She’s helping him get settled.”

  “I know he got used to a finer home, being married to his rich wife, but he shouldn’t have anything to complain about when it comes to the parsonage. The ladies from church cleaned the place from top to bottom until it was spotless. I made sure of it.”

  “Peter never complained about anything, and I don’t expect he’ll start now. The parsonage will exceed his expectations.”

  Sarah marched back to the kitchen and returned with several slices of bread, butter, and honey.

  Her grandmother wrung her hands. “I hope he doesn’t have strange, modern ideas. I was so used to how Reverend Olson did things, and I always enjoyed his sermons. I hated to see him retire. Now I have to get used to someone new all over again.”

  “Gram, you’ve known Peter his whole life.”

  The older woman tapped her cane on the floor. “How can I trust my spiritual life to someone who used to sneak frogs into Sunday school?”

  Sarah bit her lower lip to keep from smiling at the memory of the loose frog hopping around the room, sending all the girls against the wall squealing. Well, except for her. She’d helped the other boys corner the creature so Peter could scoop him up.

  “Peter is a grown man. He’s not an eight-year-old little boy anymore, he’s twenty-eight. I doubt he’ll be bringing any frogs to church services.”

  “I should hope not.” Gram laid her cane against the table. “I made fresh coffee.”

  “I’ll bring you a cup.”

  “And a glass of cold water, please. I’m parched.”

  “Yes, Gram,” Sarah yelled from the kitchen. She descended the steep, narrow stairs into the cellar where the potatoes, onions, and canned goods were stored. In the dim light from the open cellar door, she found and grabbed a jar of pickled beets from a shelf.

  Alone, with near darkness surrounding her, protecting her, Sarah gripped the jar in her hands so tightly, it was a miracle the glass didn’t break. She should be more grateful that her grandparents had taken her in and raised her. After all, her own parents had gone on their merry way and left her behind. But how many years did Sarah owe her grandmother before the debt was paid?

  In contrast to Gram’s sour and demanding disposition, Grandpa Nels had often showered Sarah with affection and told her she was more than her parents’ legacy. Thank goodness she’d inherited his gift for working with numbers and had been able to take over some of his accounting business. It helped put food on the table those years before the Home Store was built.

  When her grandfather died, Sarah temporarily gave up her dream of making her own mark on the world. Instead, she’d watched Peter—the one person she thought she could count on to love her—leave for college and adventure, while she stayed to care for her demanding grandmother.

  Some days, the only thing Sarah had to cling to was her belief that despite anything she might face, God would never abandon her. That truth she yearned to share with anyone who felt hopeless and alone. She’d made a promise to her grandfather—and to God—that she would devote her life to it. Now that the door had opened for her to leave Riverton, no one would stand in her way. Not her grandmother, not Rebecca Hoyt, and not Peter.

  chapter five

  Please, Edward.” Soft-spoken Miriam Carlson latched on to her husband’s arm. “There’s no harm in letting Sarah do her job.”

  “Mr. Carlson, I’m happy to help your wife find material and thread.” Sarah swallowed her distaste for the crude farmer. He reeked of manure, and his foul language made her cringe, but they were overshadowed by the unfounded hatred lashed out at her during his weekly stops at the Home Store.

  “No!” He scowled, and his slate-colored eyes peered at Sarah over his hooked nose. “I don’t trust you. We’ll find another clerk to wait on my wife.”

  Sarah’s cheeks flamed. “I know you still hold a grudge against my father, but what took place years ago has nothing to do with me.”

  “She’s right, Edward.” Miriam bit her lip. “You can’t blame her. She wasn’t even born.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I don’t care. She’s from his stock.” He pointed a gnarled finger at Sarah. “How many times do I need to remind you that your father cheated me out of near everything I had? I almost lost the farm. And I wasn’t the only one he stole from. The men he worked with at the mill would have strung him up if he and your ma hadn’t left town when they did. Your mother was no better to run off with the likes of him.”

  Sarah gritted her teeth—it wouldn’t solve anything to strike back. A much younger Sarah had fought when accused of being a thief like her father. With time, she’d tried to put the past behind, but the bitter man still wallowed in self-pity.

  She grasped the gold locket hanging from her neck—the only thing besides Sarah
her mother had left behind—as though it would offer strength. The raised floral design held pearls within the foliage, but the locket itself had remained empty over the years. Just like her mother’s presence in Sarah’s life.

  The farmer growled. “Come on, Miriam.” He grabbed his wife’s elbow.

  “I’m sorry, Sarah,” Miriam whispered as her husband dragged her in another clerk’s direction.

  Margaret Jorgenson strolled up to the counter. “Mr. Carlson sure seemed in a hurry. Are you giving away free items on the other side of the store?”

  “I’m afraid he doesn’t care much for me. I’m somehow at fault for my father’s misdeeds.” Even though she wasn’t even alive when her father and Mr. Carlson associated with each other.

  “What is wrong with people?” Her tone and rigid posture hinted disgust with the man’s behavior. “Mr. Carlson chose to gamble his money and possessions.”

  “I wish he could acknowledge that.” As a child, Sarah had snuck off as often as she could to spend time with the petite, silver-haired widow who lived down the street from home. A retired teacher, Mrs. Jorgenson had been happy to read aloud from her collection of storybooks whenever Sarah asked, and she’d earned a special place in Sarah’s heart. “Thank you for being so understanding.”

  “You know you’re like a daughter to me. Trust me. Other people in this town feel the same way. So, don’t pay any mind to the few who are crotchety and ill-mannered.” Mrs. Jorgenson’s smile warmed the chill brought on by the resentful farmer. “I’ve made my purchases, but I wanted to say hello. I’ll be on my way so you can get back to whatever you were doing.” She draped the cords to her bag over her wrist, and clutching her small package to her chest, headed toward the front door.

  “Now where did I leave the feather duster?” Several store shelves still needed cleaning. Sarah spotted the duster, lying next to her favorite parlor clock. The carved mahogany case stood twenty-four inches high with cupids at the sides and plate glass mirrors. At four dollars and fifty cents, she’d settle with admiring it in the store. Besides, she wouldn’t need a fancy clock where she was going. She danced the feathers around the other oak, walnut, and mahogany pieces ticking time away.

  Children’s voices grew louder, and Sarah turned to see who had come into the store. Ellie waved as she led her daughter and another little girl toward Sarah. Ellie’s blue wash suit was neatly trimmed with white cord and strips of white braid. Sarah had helped choose the skirt and matching shirtwaist from the Sears, Roebuck, and Company catalog. A birthday present from her husband—something worn when going to town, but not around the farm.

  Even if the younger child hadn’t skipped over to the counter holding Ellie’s hand, Sarah would have recognized the little girl. Golden curls framed her face, but the eyes peering up at Sarah were Peter’s.

  “Sarah, I’m sorry if we’re interrupting your work. We’re taking Mary back to the farm to play for the day so Peter can get some work done, and Grace insisted on showing her the toy section in the store before we left.” Ellie fingered the girl’s curls. “Mary, this is my closest friend, Miss McCall. She’s also been your daddy’s friend since they were not much older than you.”

  “Hellooo, Miss McCall.” Mary said, then giggled.

  “Hello, Mary.” Sarah crouched down to eye level with the child. Peter’s daughter.

  She thought she’d prepared herself for this—proof that Peter loved another woman. For just a moment, Sarah wanted to put distance between her and the child, but a desire to embrace the sweet thing quickly replaced those feelings. Sarah did neither.

  “I’m four. Did you know my daddy when you were four?”

  “I did. But we didn’t become really good friends until we were eight, the same age as Grace.” Sarah smiled up at Ellie’s daughter, a replica of her mother.

  “I think Grace has named every doll on the shelves.” Ellie winked.

  That revelation tickled Sarah’s insides—she would have done the same at that age. “I see. Well, I’m sure they would love to have someone visit them.”

  “Girls, you can look at the toys for a few minutes while I talk to Sarah. If you’re very good, I’ll let you each have a peppermint stick to eat on the way home.” Ellie lifted up her pointer finger. “But just one.”

  The cousins almost ran away from the women.

  “Grace.” Ellie’s voice was firm.

  The older girl halted and peered over her shoulder at her mother.

  “Remember. We’re ladies.”

  The two children continued, almost on tiptoes to another section in the store. Mary’s blonde ringlets bounced as Grace led the way.

  “She’s a little angel.” Sarah couldn’t deny the child’s beauty and charm.

  Ellie’s eyes danced. “She’s also a mischievous little thing—always wanting to play hide-and-seek at the most inopportune times. Yesterday, it took me twenty minutes to find her.”

  “You should be used to challenges with those two boys of yours.” Sarah had witnessed more than a few—and some quite humorous. “She probably just wants your attention.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” Ellie adjusted her white straw hat decorated with purple and blue pansies. “I’m so thankful Thomas, the kids, and I finally get to spend time with her.” She sighed. “Peter’s wife made it so difficult for us to know her or Mary. I still don’t know what she had against coming here—why Peter couldn’t pry her away from Minneapolis—even for a few days. He doesn’t want to talk about it. I tried earning Lily’s friendship, but whenever I visited their home, I always felt like an intruder.”

  Never a gossip, Ellie hadn’t said much when she returned from those trips, and Sarah didn’t ask. She’d wanted to know about Peter—what his bank job and marriage had been like—if he was truly happy with his new family. Yet, she couldn’t bear hearing about the life he’d made without her.

  “It’s too bad Mary will never know her grandparents,” Ellie said. “They would have adored her.”

  “But she still has family. She has you, Thomas, Grace, the boys...”

  “Yes, she does. But while the kids were playing this morning, she told Grace she wants her own mommy. Poor thing. We’ll love her the best we can, but no one can replace a mother.” Ellie straightened. “I should get those girls back to the farm. I still need to make the chocolate cake I promised the boys for the picnic tomorrow. Not to mention Thomas’s favorite apple pie and fried chicken for tonight’s supper. A peace offering.” She leaned toward Sarah. “We had a small argument last night,” she whispered.

  “You?” Sarah couldn’t imagine the couple disagreeing about anything.

  “I finally told him how much I want to work as Dr. Burnside’s assistant. You know, just help with small things. Maybe become a midwife. I know nursing school isn’t an option—not with three children and the farm to help manage. But I could learn a lot by spending time with Doc.”

  “Thomas doesn’t agree?”

  Ellie shrugged. “You know my husband. Thomas is a wonderful man and a great father. But he thinks I have enough to do already. He believes that by not giving me his blessing, he’s in some way protecting me.”

  “Maybe he’ll change his mind.” Ellie was already helping tend sick animals and people. She’d be a wonderful nurse. She just wanted a chance to learn more.

  “Right. And maybe someday women will be given the right to vote.” Ellie gave a bubbly laugh.

  “We can hope.” Women having a voice in important matters outside the home. Wouldn’t that be something?

  “That day may or may not come, but in the meantime I’m so happy you have the opportunity to do something special.” Ellie clasped her hands together. “You’ll tell me as soon as you hear something, won’t you?”

  “Of course.” Sarah motioned Ellie to the end of the counter. “The mission society assured me that once everything was in place, I’d receive the schedule for orientation and departure. Notice could come any day.”

  “Are yo
u sure you want to do this? Africa?”

  “I need to do something with my life, Ellie. Something with purpose—something more than being a store clerk.” And now, more than ever, she had to get away. She couldn’t live in the same town as Peter and risk being hurt again. Too much prayer, time, and energy had gone into accepting a new dream that didn’t include him.

  “But it’s so far away.”

  “Ever since my grandfather showed me the book containing David Livingstone’s journals, I’ve imagined living an adventure and making a difference in people’s lives. My grandfather and I spent hours poring over those journals, and we talked about the importance of people everywhere hearing about God and his love for them.” Sarah glanced around the store to see if anyone stood within hearing range. “You know I’ve been waiting for this opportunity for years. Every time I wanted to apply before, something got in the way. First my grandfather died. Then Gram got sick with pneumonia.”

  “It’s just that I’ll miss you. And now that Peter is home, I was hoping …” Ellie brightened. “Why don’t you come out to the farm for supper? Bring your grandmother. Peter and Mary will both be there.”

  “Thanks for the invitation, but Gram is baking rhubarb pies for the picnic tomorrow, so I’m sure she’ll be tired.”

  Ellie gave Sarah a slight, but understanding smile. “You and Peter need to talk.”

  “When the time is right.”

  “I don’t know exactly what happened between you two, because you’ve never been willing to discuss it, but I think he hurt you deeply when he married Lily. Regardless, as long as you’re living in the same town and involved with the same church, there’s no way you can avoid each other.”

  chapter six

  Rebecca Hoyt had exercised great patience during the day, waiting for the hour when she could excuse her students. Now, trying not to appear hurried, she strolled toward Peace Lutheran Church with a hymnal clutched near her bosom. She reached the steps to the church’s front entrance and took a deep breath before ascending. At the top, Rebecca grasped the handle to the massive door. Her insides felt like a swarm of bees had invaded.