The Clash Between the Minds Page 12

  "I wish." Sarah laughed along with her. She set Lindsay back down. "It's so good to see you. It seems like forever since we've been together."

  "It does, doesn't it? Come along, the carriage is over there." Lindsay pointed.

  "I brought Redfire. I might visit Mother and Father next, and you know they're not close to a train station. I'll have to ride from the nearest station to their house."

  "I should have realized you had Redfire when I saw the saddlebags."

  Sarah picked up her bags and looked down the platform. "He's being unloaded now." She and Lindsay walked to the ramp, and Sarah showed her ticket and was given Redfire's reins. She led him to the waiting carriage and tied him to the back.

  The carriage driver tipped his hat. He pulled down an attached folding step and assisted Lindsay into the passenger area. He stowed the saddlebags in the back, and Sarah climbed in. They settled down as the carriage started to move.

  "We get to enjoy the luxury of a rented driver?" she said to Lindsay. "Scott couldn't come?"

  "I told him I wanted to meet you, so he stayed home with the children."

  "How is everyone?"

  "Scott's been fighting a cold, but otherwise, we're all fine. You haven't mentioned Faith or Benjamin," Lindsay said. "Is everything all right?"

  Sarah cleared her throat. "That's a long story. One I'd like to discuss with you after I've settled in and we have some time alone."

  Lindsay gave her a questioning look. "I can't wait to hear it."

  The carriage stopped at the Coulter residence. The driver put down the step and gave Lindsay a hand out. As Sarah exited, he retrieved her bags from the back.

  Sarah reached in her pocket, but Lindsay touched her arm. "It's already taken care of. I paid him ahead of time."

  "I'll take your bags to the door, sir," the man said and proceeded to do that. He laid them on the cement entryway.

  Sarah pointed down the street. "Will you take my horse to the livery stable, too? His name's Redfire."

  His face lit up when Sarah handed him a silver dollar. "Thank you, sir. I'll take good care of him." He tipped his hat and returned to the carriage.

  Sarah grinned inwardly as Lindsay removed the house key from her purse and handed it over. But before Sarah could use it, Lindsay stayed her arm.

  She made a gesture toward Sarah's trousers. "You always dress as a man, now?"

  "It's who I am, Lindsay. I know very well that I'm a woman, but I choose to dress like a man. Does that bother you?"

  Lindsay grinned. "Not a bit. You seem perfectly natural to me. But Scott might have something to say about it."

  "He can say what he pleases. He won't change my mind." Lindsay let go of Sarah's arm, and she raised the key and unlocked the door. They entered the house, removed their coats and hats, and hung them in the closet. "Scott?" Lindsay called.

  "I'm in here." His voice came from the drawing room. Lindsay and Sarah followed the sound.

  Scott was sitting on the sofa with a newspaper laid out on the table in front of him. He rose as they entered the room and walked toward Sarah. "Sarah, I'm so glad to see you. I've missed you." He embraced her, and they gave each other a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  "I missed you, too," Sarah said. She stepped back a little and half-circled his upper arms with her hands. "I heard you weren't feeling well, Scott, but you look good. A little trimmer than last time, but that suits you."

  Scott lifted her hands from his arms and moved back. He turned his head, quickly pulled a handkerchief from his trousers Pocket, and coughed into it. "Sorry about that. I'm having the devil of a time getting rid of this cough." His gaze traveled up and down Sarah's form as he replaced the handkerchief. "You're dressing like a man, I see. Isn't it enough to be living in sin with a woman without publicly flaunting your difference from polite society?"

  "Scott!" Lindsay said. "Sarah's our guest."

  "Let him go," Sarah said with a slight shrug. "He feels a need to judge, I suppose."

  Scott snorted. "Society's the one judging you, no matter how you try to ignore it."

  Sarah made a show of gazing around the room. "I don't see any society here." She looked back to Scott. "Have you nominated yourself as their spokesman?"

  Scott's face reddened. "I'm just trying to get my sister to act like a sister, not a brother. Take a look at yourself. You're ridiculous."

  Sarah gave him a shove and was surprised when he staggered backward onto the sofa. Her voice filled with sarcasm. "If you can open your mind for a moment, let me ask you to imagine something. Suppose for some unnamed reason, you decided to put on a dress. Would that make you a woman?"

  Lindsay, her hand to her mouth, gazed from one to the other as they spoke.

  Scott waved a hand in dismissal. "Of course not."

  "Wearing trousers doesn't make me a man, either. I'm just a woman who likes to wear trousers. You know I always preferred them to dresses. And I always will, no matter what you say or think. So you can continue to harp on it while I'm here, or let it go, and we can enjoy each other's company. Which will it be?"

  Scott huffed a breath. "It's your reputation at stake here, not mine. Do as you please." He stood and said, "The children have been wanting to see you." He went through the kitchen to the back door, and Sarah heard him call out. Moments later, Pres and Jessica came running in, with Scott following them. They stopped just short of Sarah.

  "Hello, Aunt Sarah," Pres said in a serious tone. He had the same chestnut brown hair and amber eyes that Scott and Sarah had. Jessica looked like the twins, but she had black hair and blue eyes. She peered at Sarah with an uncertain expression. Of course, Jessica probably didn't even remember Sarah. Sarah had last visited when she was three. Faith and Benjamin had been with her then, and Pres and Jessica had followed Benjamin around like little puppy dogs. To Benjamin's credit, he never complained. In fact, he played tag and ball with the two younger children and helped to keep them occupied.

  Sarah knelt on one knee. "Don't I get a hug?"

  Pres grinned broadly and threw his arms around her neck. Sarah wrapped one arm around him and squeezed. She extended the other arm toward Jessica. "Pres, tell your sister I'm friendly, will you?"

  Pres looked back and laughed. "Come on, Jessie. It's Aunt Sarah, Papa's sister."

  Jessica moved a little closer. Sarah captured her hand and tugged gently until she could put an arm around her. She hugged them both then let them go. "Do you two remember Benjamin?"

  "I do," Pres said quickly and Jessica nodded.

  "He asked me to say hello to you. He couldn't come this time because of school."

  "I have school, too," Jessica said.

  Sarah looked at Lindsay, who said, "She and Pres have been playing school for a couple of years, so I took her for a test, and they put her in first grade."

  "Can you read?" Sarah asked.

  "Yes, sir."

  Sarah's mouth turned up on one side, and Pres said, "Jessie, you mean 'yes, ma'am.' Aunt Sarah's a girl, like you and Mama."

  Sarah pulled her tied-back hair around to the front. "See. I'm a girl who wears trousers."

  Jessica giggled. "Yes, ma'am." Jessie touched the scars on Sarah's face and leaned closer, studying them. "Why is your skin wrinkled?"

  "I got burned a long time ago. Before you were born." Sarah touched the blaze in her hair. "It made my hair white, too."

  Jessica looked at her with wide eyes. "I'm sorry."

  Sarah swallowed audibly, but she couldn't overcome the spasming of her throat.

  "Children," Lindsay said, "go back outside now, and I'll call you for supper." The two hurried out.

  Sarah struggled to stand, and Lindsay put a hand under her elbow and helped her up. "Your leg still bothers you, I see."

  "Sometimes. Sitting on a train for almost two days didn't help. It stiffened up."

  "Speaking of sitting on a train, you probably want to wash up before dinner. You have your old room, as usual."

  "Thanks." Sarah pi
cked up the saddlebags and went upstairs. The recollection that Faith had been with her last time she visited hung heavy on her heart. But she was determined to enjoy this brief time with Scott and Lindsay. Especially Lindsay.

  The next morning, Scott went off to work and the children to school. Sarah helped Lindsay clean the kitchen after breakfast, and now they sat at the table drinking coffee.

  "So," Lindsay said with no introduction, "what's going on with Faith?"

  "Let me start at the beginning." Sarah told the whole story, going back to when she met Noah and offered him and his family work and a place to live. She explained all their problems with the Ku Klux Klan and the shooting of one of them, who turned out to be the storekeeper. She told of Faith's anger at her for putting Benjamin at risk while saving Noah.

  Lindsay's face turned ashen when Sarah told of the two boys who kidnapped her and Benjamin and what had become of Hiram Blanton.

  "He died?" Lindsay gasped. "How terrible."

  "Yes, it was." Sarah could still smell the horrific odor of burning flesh. "That drove a wedge between Faith and me. She abhors violence, and I always seemed to be in the thick of it."

  Sarah went on to tell of Dr. Litchfield's attempts to turn Faith against her, and her anxiety that he might have made some inroads.

  Lindsay smoothed her hand along Sarah's forearm. "I know you're hurting, and I hate Joel Litchfield for any part he plays in it."

  Sarah felt a lopsided grin making its way up her cheek. "That makes three of us."

  "Three? You and I and..."

  "Leah. And she's a pretty good judge of character."

  "And Faith isn't?"

  "You know Faith. She always sees some good in everyone. And Litchfield treats her well. He's handsome and charming, and he's a doctor. What wouldn't she like?"

  "That he's trying to push you out of her life. Can't she see that?"

  Sarah sighed. "Apparently not. I'm scared to death that his influence will turn her away from me."

  "Is it wise to leave her alone with him?"

  "I can't stay so close to her and not be with her. It's driving me crazy. And I can't force her to choose me over Litchfield. That's something Faith has to decide on her own." Sarah buried her head in her hands. "Something that really troubles me is that she seemed relieved that I was leaving, almost like she wanted me out of the way. I don't even want to speculate on why that might be."

  Lindsay got up, moved behind her, and kneaded her shoulders and neck. "Let's hope you misunderstood her reaction. That's enough about Faith for now. Let's eat some dinner and take a buggy ride. It's beautiful outside."

  "That sounds good to me."

  Late that afternoon, the adults sat in the living room while the children played on the floor. Pres had toy lead soldiers and horses lined up on opposing sides and was making battle sounds as he moved them closer toward each other. Jessie lay on her stomach, drawing with crayons on the blank page of a book.

  Scott waved for Sarah's attention and pointed toward Jessie's drawing. Sarah leaned forward in her chair, donned her spectacles, and tilted her head for a better view. When she saw the drawing more clearly, she slipped from the chair and lay on the carpet next to Jessie. Engrossed in her work, Jessie made no notice of Sarah until Sarah put a finger on one of the three figures Jessie had drawn. "Is that me?" Sarah asked.

  "Yes, ma'am." Jessie had portrayed Scott and Lindsay on the sofa and Sarah in the chair. Sarah and Scott looked almost alike, but were identifiable by the colors of what they wore. Under Scott and Lindsay, she had printed "Papa" and "Mama," but nothing was printed under Sarah.

  Jessie looked sideways at Sarah. Sarah caught her breath, struck by the look she had seen in her own mirror on occasion. Jessie examined Sarah's face. "Wait, I have to fix this," she said and then drew spectacles on Sarah's picture. "If you'll spell your name for me, I'll put it right here." She pointed to the empty space below the figure.

  "All right." Sarah propped her arms up and rested her chin on her hands. "It starts with 'S.'"

  Jessie pressed her lips together and shook her head. "Aunt doesn't start with 'S.'"

  Sarah heard a soft chuckle from Scott, and she tried valiantly to smother her own. "You're right. The first letter is 'A.'" She continued itemizing the letters until Jessie finished. Sarah marveled at the detail in a five-year-old's drawing. "How did you color your Papa's and my eyes?"

  Jessie picked two crayons from the cigar box they were stored in. She waved one of them. "First I colored them brown." She put down that crayon and waved the second one. "Then I colored them yellow." She laid the yellow crayon next to the brown. "It looks pretty good." She glanced at Sarah. "Doesn't it?"

  "Yes, it does. The whole drawing looks good."

  Scott spoke up. "I told her she takes after you, and I'm glad she does. I remember how upset I used to get that you could draw better than I could."

  Sarah put her arms down and glanced back at him. "And I recall that you scribbled over a couple of mine once."

  Scott rubbed one ear. "Yes, and you hit me in the side of the head so hard I saw stars. I never scribbled over another one."

  Pres stopped his army battle and looked at his father. "Aunt Sarah hit you? Did you hit her back?"

  "I have to admit Aunt Sarah only hit me when I deserved it. And no, I never hit her back. Boys don't hit girls, no matter what. You know that."

  Pres picked up a horse and turned back to his army game. Sarah almost missed his mumbled remark. "Sometimes girls deserve it, too."

  Sarah's gaze met Scott's. He nodded his head and mouthed the words, "I agree." She reached to the side and yanked on his pant leg. They both grinned broadly at each other. Sarah looked at Lindsay, and she was grinning, too.

  Jessie tugged Sarah's sleeve. "Draw something, Aunt Sarah." She turned to a fresh page in the book and scooted it and the cigar box over in front of Sarah.

  "What do you want me to draw?"

  Lindsay said, "Draw Jessie."

  "Yes, draw me. Make me come to life."

  For a moment, Sarah was taken aback. When she drew something that really pleased her, she used to say that she had made the scene come to life. No doubt Scott had told Jessie the same. But the double meaning that phrase had for her and Jessie struck her dumb.

  Jessie sat up, moved to a spot in front of Sarah, and crossed her legs beneath her. "Please," she said when Sarah hesitated.

  Sarah forced a grin. "All right." She searched the box and pulled out a charcoal pencil. "I'll draw you, then I'll draw Pres, and you can color the drawings in."

  Pres crawled closer. "I want to color my own."

  Sarah smiled inwardly, recognizing the sibling rivalry. "You can do that," she said as she put charcoal to paper.

  Lindsay sat on the edge of the bed while Sarah finished packing her saddlebags. "Must you leave so soon? We've barely had time to talk, and you never did get a chance to visit Theo's family."

  "I'm sorry, Lindsay. I'm just too fidgety to stay longer. Please Wake my excuses to them."

  "Will you be going down to see Mother and Father Coulter?"

  Sarah stuck the last item in the bag and sighed. "I've given it a lot of thought, but I don't think so. Not this time around. I expect Mother would raise Cain about my trousers. Scott's reaction drove that home to me, and I've had about all the rejection I can handle right now."

  "I understand, and my heart goes out to you, Sarah."

  Lindsay stood and gave her a hug. "I'll pray that things work out between you and Faith. You're a good person, Sarah. You don't deserve all this commotion."

  Sarah hugged her back. "Keep saying that in your prayers, please. I think a reminder's in order."

  Lindsay chuckled and stepped away. "Be careful on your journey."

  "I will." Sarah shouldered her saddlebags and walked away with Lindsay following her. When she reached the front door, she turned and gave Lindsay another hug. "Say goodbye to Scott and the children for me."

  "God bless you, Sarah."<
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  Sarah waved and headed for the livery stable.

  Chapter Eight

  1871—Wyoming Territory and Missouri

  Christmas passed and so did New Year's. Sarah had been gone for two months. Seemed like two years. She tugged and shrugged the poncho into a new position, but nothing helped. She'd been riding Redfire across the plains for seven hours, accompanied by ever-increasing ice-cold rain, blown in her face by a strong wind. Low-hanging clouds dimmed the late afternoon and gave the rippling grassland the appearance of ghostly shrouds sweeping back and forth.

  Mountains rose ahead of her, and a yearning for their shelter filled her. A downpour had developed an hour ago, and water streamed from her hat brim. Her hair and clothing were soaked. Even her boots were soaked, and her feet felt damp.

  Lights appeared through the gloom ahead of her, and she sighed with as close to gratitude as she could muster in her condition. Soon she arrived in the muddy streets of a small town, its tents and buildings huddled together at the foot of a mountain. When she got close to two store windows, she saw that one displayed work Pants, shirts, and clodhoppers and the other displayed shovels, Picks, sledgehammers, and gold pans. A mining town, maybe?

  Just as she drew even with a livery stable, she saw a sign over a large, stone building that said "Kuster Hotel." A little beyond that was a tent that she saw men going into and coming out of. Probably a bar. Just what she needed. She pulled Redfire up at the stable and dismounted. After making arrangements for him to be taken care of, bedroll and all, she threw the wet saddlebags over her shoulder and headed for the tent.

  When she got inside, the first thing she saw and felt was a huge Franklin fireplace blazing away. Drawn like a moth, she walked toward the warmth. She stopped at a three-foot-square table next to the fireplace and looped her saddlebags over the back of one of four chairs that stood at the table. She peeled off her hat and her poncho and laid the poncho across another chair. After giving her hat a hard shake, she put it back on her head, took off her wet coat, hung it on a chair back, and looked around. Near her sat six similar tables, four occupied by men playing cards. Just past them, a bar that ran the length of the tent had a diverse group of twelve men leaning against it. A short, muscular man with a long mustache tended the bar. A sandwich menu was pinned to the wall behind him, next to two shelves of booze. Eight oil lamps hanging around the tent frame threw just enough light to scatter the dimness beyond the fireplace.