Chapter 11

Sarah crept down the ladder from the loft and into the brooding St. Louis night, thankful when it closed around her and muffled her light footsteps. She started down the road toward Jefferson City, clutching her heavy carpetbag in one hand, her reticule in the other.

It was the longest night of Sarah’s life, a night that taught her the true meaning of 1 Thessalonians 5:17: “Pray without ceasing.” She jumped at the slightest sound. Passing hoofbeats drove her into hiding every few hours. “Lord, I know this is what You want me to do,” she whispered. “I know You will be with me. But I’m still frightened. It is so far to California. Please help me be strong and not afraid.”

The rising wind whisked away Sarah’s prayer and fluttered the long cloak she had donned over her mother’s worn, but still serviceable, Sunday-go-to-meeting dress. Sarah shivered and pulled the cloak closer, thankful both it and the dress were dark blue. With dark gloves, Virginia Anderson’s old black hat pulled low, and a thick dark veil hiding her face, Sarah was next to invisible. Why, then, did concern over what Gus would do if he realized she had escaped haunt her? Every shifting shadow, every night noise set her heart pounding until it felt like it would burst.

A horrible screech from a nearby tree sent Sarah into a panic. She began to run, thankful for the few stars that broke through the murk to light her way. The unseen culprit screeched again. This time the flapping of wings followed.

Sarah stopped short. “You noisy bird,” she told the owl that glided over her head. “Go on with your hunting. I’m too big to be your prey.” She laughed softly. “Sarah Joy Anderson, if a stupid bird can scare you, how will you ever survive in California? There will be a lot more terrifying things there than a silly old hooting owl.”

Not as terrifying as staying in St. Louis.

The thought dried up Sarah’s laughter like drought parched a prairie. Nothing the unknown West might have in store for her could be more threatening than the horror of having to marry Tice Edwards.

Step-by-step, Sarah’s shabby shoes carried her away from the gambler and her stepfather. In an effort to stem the nightmare image they conjured up, she began repeating scripture. A wave of gratitude filled her once more, as it had done all through her ordeal. Gratitude that John and Virginia Anderson had instilled in their children a love for the Bible and its promises from the time Seth and Sarah were born. Each verse from the psalms that Sarah murmured in the semidarkness quieted her troubled spirit. She ended by reciting: “ ‘In my distress I called upon the Lord, and cried to my God: and he did hear my voice out of his temple, and my cry into his ears.’ ”

When no more verses came to mind, Sarah fought the darkness surrounding her by softly singing hymns. Each brought comfort, most of all the hymn her mother had always sung when things with Gus became unbearable. Now, although Sarah kept her voice so low it didn’t even carry to the treetops, the much-loved words came straight from her heart:

He leadeth me! O blessed tho’t!
O words with heav’nly comfort fraught!
What-e’re I do, wher-e’re I be,
Still ’tis God’s hand that leadeth me.
Sometimes ’mid scenes of deepest gloom,
Sometimes where Eden’s bowers bloom—

Sarah’s voice broke. A river of tears crowded behind her eyes. Eden itself could be no more wonderful than reaching California and Seth. Her heart swelled, and she bowed her head. “There’s a long, hard road ahead of me before I get to Madera. Please go before me and open the way.” She took a deep breath. “I want to trust You, no matter what happens.”

No peal of thunder answered Sarah’s prayer. No bolt of lightning illuminated the road. But a still, small voice whispered deep inside, “I will not only walk before you, Sarah Joy. I will walk beside you: your Savior, companion, and friend.”

Tears gushed. “Thank You, God,” she fervently said. “I needed to be reminded like Elijah in the Bible. Your presence wasn’t in the strong wind or the great earthquake but in the still, small voice.” The still, small voice that spoke to Sarah’s heart did what nothing else could accomplish. It increased her determination to throw herself totally on God’s mercy and let Him take charge. Each step took her farther from Gus and Tice. Each hour meant that much more time before they raised a hue and cry over her absence.

By morning Sarah had traveled a goodly piece. However, lack of sleep had begun to take its toll. She ate sparingly from her small supply of food and drank from a nearby spring. A little later a farmer in a mule-driven wagon stopped beside her.

“Need a ride, miss?” he called.

Sarah looked into the farmer’s kindly face. The steadiness of his faded blue eyes and the creases many years of living had etched in his trustworthy face reassured her.

“Yes, thank you.” She climbed into the back of his wagon. She felt badly about not removing her veil but decided to leave it on. She must not be recognized in case Gus or Tice ever crossed paths with the old man. Surely they were searching for her by now, determined to make her go through with the wedding! Still, how could they know where she was? She had confided in no one and left no trace of her destination. Thankful that, although the farmer looked curious, he asked no questions about why she was alone on the road at such an early hour, Sarah gratefully dozed off and didn’t rouse until he said, “Wake up, miss. This is where I turn off the main road.” He pointed. “My farm’s a mile or so down the lane.”

He paused and looked worried. “Wish I could take you farther, but lots o’ folks travel this way. You’re sure to get another ride soon.”

It seemed shabby not to give any explanation so Sarah said, “Thank you for the ride. I’m going to see my brother.” Somewhat refreshed from her nap, she jumped from the wagon and reclaimed her meager possessions.

Relief settled over the old man’s face. “That’s good. Mighty good. There’s nothin’ like kinfolk.” He took up the reins and clucked to the mules. “I better get along home. My old woman will be waitin’ for me.”

Sarah watched him until a bend in the side road hid him from sight.

Thank You, God, for sending him. I was so tired.

It wasn’t the last time Sarah thanked God for providing for her needs. Other helpful people offered assistance and food. Sarah fought the dread of being overtaken every mile of the way, heartbeat quickening each time hoofbeats sounded behind her. She continued to be vigilant, but when no one showed undue interest in her cloaked, heavily veiled figure, she began to believe her goal of reaching California in one piece was actually possible. However, arriving in Jefferson City two weary days later convinced Sarah her arduous journey had just begun. She realized her only hope of reaching California before Judgment Day was to find a faster mode of transportation. Using extreme caution, her mouth dry from fear, Sarah wrapped her long dark veil around her head, bent forward and shuffled up to the ticket window in the Jefferson City train station like an aged woman. In a cracked voice she purchased a railway ticket to Denver. It was all the money she dared spend.

Once on the train Sarah remained wary of strangers and kept strictly to herself. Heart thudding she hid behind her veil each time the train stopped. She cast furtive glances at every man who boarded—and heaved great sighs of relief when she recognized no one and the train continued its journey.

In spite of keeping up her guard, the ever-changing landscape that rushed outside the train window fascinated Sarah. From cornfields to rolling hills and, at last, distant snow-covered peaks, it was unlike anything she had ever seen.

Sarah also comforted herself by rereading Seth’s letters and reflecting on what a good man Matthew Sterling must be. She often lapsed into daydreams about meeting Seth’s idol. Her heart beat fast beneath her worn traveling gown, and she blushed, remembering her fantasy about walking down the aisle of the Madera church to become Matt’s bride.

“Why are you allowing a man you have never met to win a place in your heart?” Sarah chided herself. “Matthew Sterling is so far beyond your reach that it is foolish to allow him in your thoughts.” Sarah sighed. Why couldn’t Tice Edwards have been as honest and kind as Seth said Matt was? What a contrast! Despite reprimanding herself, every time Sarah looked at the faded photograph, she couldn’t help wondering if God might be leading her toward happiness in the far West.

Yet scrunched up in her seat in the dark hours of the night, common sense mocked her. Why would anyone as important as Matthew Sterling be attracted to a runaway girl whose education is limited to what her mother taught her and a love of books? A girl whose skills are better suited to drudging in Gus Stoddard’s household than being mistress of a great ranch? The cruel taunt plunged Sarah’s spirits to the toes of her shabby shoes, but the coming of morning and whispering, “Get thee behind me, Satan,” brought a measure of comfort.

The evening before the train reached Denver, Sarah sustained a terrible shock. When she took out her letters from Seth, she discovered one was missing! She felt the blood drain from her face. Impossible! Surely she would have noticed before now. She frantically searched her carpetbag to no avail. Her reticule. Her seat and the floor around her. Between the pages of her mother’s Bible.

It was no use. The letter was gone.

Sarah tried to think what might have happened to it or where she may have lost it. A heartbeat later the truth hit her like two locomotives colliding head on. It painted a chilling picture in her mind. Once in the attic while musing and comparing Matt Sterling with Tice Edwards, she had been interrupted by the children swarming up the stairs, screaming for her attention. All Seth’s letters and the photograph scattered to the floor. Sarah had hastily gathered them up and shoved them into her reticule.

Sarah swallowed the terror that threatened to overpower her and buried her face in her hands. Lord, when I dropped the letters, one must have gotten pushed under my bed. Otherwise I would have noticed it my last night at home while I was frantically gathering my things. What little sense of security she had been able to muster between spells of panic fled. Gus and Tice must know her destination, a truly alarming twist.

Sarah harbored no hope that they would give up and leave her alone. Gus still had his debt. Tice had his pride. The owner of the River Queen would never stand for being made a laughingstock. By now all of St. Louis must be buzzing about Tice’s being practically deserted at the altar. Any feelings he ever had for Sarah would have changed to hatred and the desire for revenge. Tice would never let her go. He and Gus would dog every step of her way until they found her.

Sarah groaned. When they did, Gus would swear on a stack of Bibles as tall as the snowcapped peaks of the Sierra Nevada that he was her legal guardian and had the right to return her to Missouri. The false documents he and Tice had illegally procured would convince the authorities. Her only hope was to reach the Diamond S before they caught up with her. Seth would fight to the death before allowing Gus and Tice to take his sister. And if Matthew Sterling was half the man her brother thought he was, he would protect her for Seth’s sake.

During the remainder of the trip to Denver, every time the train stopped, Sarah shrank lower into her seat and fervently prayed. She asked just one thing: that she not look up and see Gus’s ugly face leering at her. Or Tice Edwards’s eyes filled with anticipation of the punishment he would surely inflict on the girl who hated him but would soon be in his power.