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Mac’s sides and shoulders ached from the tension that had gripped him over the last couple of hours. He might as well have been in a Saturday night brawl. Rose waved to his cousins as the cowboys left. No one said a word about Lizzie and what happened two years before. Oh, the boys had gone on and on, bringing up every embarrassing thing that had happened to him growing up. They’d entertained Rose, making her laugh until she grabbed her sides and begged them to stop.
Rose relaxed against the back of the buggy seat. “I like your cousins, and I think I learned a great deal about you today.”
Thorn snapped the reins, and they started back toward Central City. “You said something about that earlier. So that’s what this day was about?”
Rose blushed redder than the roses outside her house. “I need to know more about you. We’re married. But until today, I knew precious little about you.”
Mac’s heart pounded a little harder. “Is it important to know all about me?”
Rose dropped her head and fiddled with her fingers. “Yes.” The word came out as a whisper and was carried away by the warm breeze.
“Why?” Mac’s question was just as low.
Seconds passed, each one slower than the one before.
At last, Rose raised her head. “Because I have feelings for you. Feelings I’ve never had before.” Her hands trembled as she twisted them together. “I hate the fight we had the other night. I know you were trying to protect me from Stanley. But I thought...it felt like you were trying to control me like Alfred used to do. Trust is a precious thing, and I need to trust you, but I don’t know how. Maybe if I know more about you....”
Mac felt gut-punched. Rose had feelings for him. He should be thrilled. Isn’t this what he wanted? But he couldn’t accept those feelings, not until he learned more about what happened to Lizzie. Then, and only then, would he be free, able to accept and return those feelings. Assuming he wasn’t the reason she ended her life.
Sarah Rose stared at him with eyes questioning and waiting.
So many things to respond to from her little speech. What a cad his next words revealed him to be. “Well, just as long as you understand Stanley’s a threat to you.”
She turned her head and no longer looked at him as she shifted away from him. “Oh, I understand all about Stanley Snodgrass.” Her voice had turned to ice. “Stanley was always sent for after Alfred beat me, killed my babies, nearly killed me. I overheard that black-hearted miscreant ordering the doctor to keep me alive because Grandfather needed me to control Drew. Believe me, I know just how evil he is.” She wiggled her reticule where it lay on her lap. “Which is why I always carry a gun with me.”
Mac pulled on the reins. The horse stopped. He looked from her bag to her face. “You’ve got a gun in there? Do you know how to use it?”
“Of course. It wouldn’t do me any good if I didn’t.”
He wasn’t sure if he should worry more or less about Rose’s safety. He sucked in a deep breath and snapped the reins over the horse. “Hope you don’t get angry with me.”
“Oh, you’ve made me plenty angry with you, just not too angry.” She paused and let a tiny smile play on her lips. “Yet.”
Mac couldn’t keep back a burst of laughter. Life was getting more interesting every day.
***
With all the stories she’d heard the day before from Thorn’s cousins still rolling around in her head, Sarah slipped her corset over her chemise and pulled to tighten the laces. In the last few weeks, she had gotten more lax in dressing in all the layers of undergarments as she worked with Helen and Drew on the bakery and café, but today was Sunday. And like her mother always taught her, she would wear her Sunday best for church. Still to go were the petticoats and her new dress.
A few minutes later she ran her hand down the royal blue fabric as she finished sliding the last of the mother-of-pearl buttons through their holes. The color matched that of her eyes. At least that’s what the seamstress said the week before at the final fitting. Hopefully, Thorn would find her attractive in it.
Sarah finished her hair just before Emma let everyone listening know that she was awake.
While she moved quickly across the woven rug on her bedroom floor, Sarah reached up and touched the locket around her neck—Poppa’s last gift to Grandmother. Only she had died before he could give it to her. A smile tugged at her lips. Her father had named her after his mother and had given the necklace to Sarah on her twelfth birthday. After opening the adjoining door, she smiled at Emma. The little girl grinned back.
“I promised Helen we would go to church with her this morning, so let’s get you cleaned up.” Sarah quickly changed Emma’s diaper and washed her face. She would wait until after breakfast to dress her. No sense in putting clean clothes on her until after the little girl ate.
When they entered the bacon- and coffee-scented kitchen, Thorn sat at the table drinking coffee.
“Dada. Dada.” Emma reached for him. Sarah almost lost her hold on Emma when the little girl reached for Thorn.
He took Emma and eyed Sarah from head to shoe, then grinned and winked.
Heat filled Sarah’s cheeks, and she turned away. She grabbed a cup. With her back to him, she filled it and took a sip. Maybe they would think her cheeks were red because she burned her tongue. “Oh, that’s hot.”
She patted her cheeks and turned around. Drew and Helen tried to smother their laughter. That ploy hadn’t fooled anyone. She gave up and joined them at the table.
Helen headed for the oven. “I think the biscuits are about done, so we’ll have plenty of time to eat before church.”
Sarah glanced at Thorn. She had gone to church with Helen several times and had asked him each time if he would go with them. He’d never accepted her invitation. She hoped today would be different. “We’re all going to church this morning. Will you go with us?”
Thorn turned his attention to Emma and tickled her under one of her chins. “Not today. Maybe some other time.”
Sarah bit the inside of her lip. True to the promise she had made to herself during the first time she had attended the church service with Helen, Sarah had continued to go for Emma’s sake. She’d been reading her Bible again for the same reason. Even though she had lost her joy in God, she wanted it for her daughter.
The thing was, as she did those things for Emma, her own heart was changing. But just because she was coming back to God, albeit little by little, didn’t mean Thorn was ready to return. Another thought struck her. Maybe he had never come to God in the first place. Church, religion, God, Jesus were all things they had never discussed.
The starch started oozing out her spine again. No. If she had gone so far from God and yet was coming back, Thorn could, too. It would just take time. Besides, right now she didn’t have the strength to bring him along. Her life was still in too much of an upheaval.
“All right, maybe next time.” She gave him a smile, hoping he knew she understood.
He turned towards her and nodded, lifted his lips into a smile and winked again.
Sarah raised her cup to her mouth. His acknowledgement of her acceptance of his denial had to be the cause of the heat rising in her cheeks, and not the wink from those green MacPherson eyes. Right?
***
The wooden benches were filling up fast by the time Sarah and the others arrived at the small building. They had just gotten settled on the last bench when Toby Barr stood and welcomed the group. Helen had told her that Mr. Barr had become the song leader mainly because he had a strong voice, was willing to serve, and had the only songbook. After flipping through his book, he cleared his throat and led them in several songs, then a prayer.
With a nod to the man who gave a talk each Sunday, Toby flipped to another page in his songbook. “The song before the lesson has always been one of my favorites and when Brother Joshua told me he planned to talk about Joseph today, I thought it would fit in just fine. Would you all stand and join me in singing ‘How Firm a Foundation?’”
Sarah knew the hymn. It had been one of her father’s favorites, too. He’d always had it sung before he preached about Job. During the first verse of the song, she thought of the trials the young boy Joseph faced—taken from the only home he had ever known, sold into slavery, abused and lied about, imprisoned. She considered how he’d gone on to build a new life. She had never thought how she had so much in common with Joseph before now.
When they started another verse, she thought of how that young boy reacted to things that had happened to him and how it differed from the way she had. “When through the deep waters I call thee to go, The rivers of sorrow shall not overflow, For I will be with thee thy trails to bless, And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.”
Blood pounded in Sarah’s chest. God hadn’t been with her when Alfred beat her, had He? Oh, Satan was there. She had felt him standing in the room and laughing every time. She could still remember the stench of his evil breath over Alfred’s whiskey-soaked one.
The next verse started. “When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie, My grace, all-sufficient shall be thy supply; The flame shall not hurt thee: I only design thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine.”
But the flame did hurt. The flame of Alfred’s beatings hurt so badly and took so much. How could the loss of three babies not hurt?
Sarah looked sideways as Helen touched her arm. Brown eyes looked at her, then at Emma. Sarah hadn’t realized her arms were shaking, and the baby was about to cry. With a nod, she handed Emma to Helen, then wrapped her arms around her middle. The song was nearly over. “The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose, I will not—I will not desert to his foes; that soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake, I’ll never—no, never—no, never forsake.”
With a smothered cry, Sarah forced herself to remain seated. She still had to get through the sermon. She blotted out whatever Brother Joshua said. The only way she could sit quietly was to count the number of threads in the lacy shawl of the woman in front of her, one hundred twenty-four little white stitches from side to side. She had just finished counting the stitches from top to bottom when Helen touched her arm again.
“Let’s go.”
Sarah looked around. People were standing, visiting, leaving. That’s right. She had to leave, go home, get to her room. Without a word, she hurried out of the building and into their buggy. All the way home, she could feel Helen watching her. While her mind fought the memories of the past, a separate part of her was grateful that someone was taking care of her daughter. Thankful because she knew right then she couldn’t do it.
When Drew pulled the horse to a halt, Sarah jumped down. She hit the ground and glanced up at Helen. “Take care of Emma, please.” Her voice was no more than a whisper, but at least she got that much out. She turned on her heel and raced to the house, not sure what she was running to or running from.
***
The kitchen door burst open, and Mac stood so fast his chair crashed backwards. Sarah, pale-faced and wide-eyed, ran past him without a word. He set the cup down and hurried across the kitchen. If Snodgrass was out there, he’d beat him to within an inch of his life. He stopped mid-stride when Drew and Helen, carrying Emma, walked through the doorway.
“What happened? Rose just came through here looking like a ghost was chasing her—a ghost or Snodgrass.”
Drew ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen her so upset.”
Helen bit her lip and told him that she’d gotten upset during the service. Lot of help that was.
“Did someone say something?”
“We arrived late and didn’t have a chance to speak to anyone before the service began.”
Mac wasn’t sure he could help his Rose, but he wanted to try. He headed for the hallway. “Why don’t you all eat? I’m sure Emma’s hungry. I’ll check on Rose.”
“Wait.” Drew followed him across the room. “Maybe I should be the one to check on her.”
“Thanks, Drew.” Mac rested his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. He admired his willingness to look after his sister, but it wasn’t his job anymore. “She’s my wife. I’ll go to her.”