Walker's Wedding Page 15

  Sarah shook her head at his shenanigans. “Go ahead and make fun of me. You’ll be sorry one day when I’m a famous author.”

  Potster deposited the chicken on the counter and affected a sweeping bow. “If you think you can write anything more romantic than that in your book, Mrs. Famous Author, I’d like to hear it.”

  Sarah consulted the roughed-in chapter. She’d been working this morning on the part where the heroine switched places with the girl on the train. The more she wrote, the more the story became autobiographical, and she broke out in a cold sweat when she pictured herself carried off by an angry mob, publicly humiliated for her behavior. She’d plead with Walker to save her, but he would coldly turn away, saying she’d hurt him more than Trudy.

  Then he would look her straight in the eye and say something derogatory about hats.

  It didn’t make sense, but then nothing in her life made sense, so why should her musings?

  But writing came surprisingly easy to her, as if she’d been born to pen fanciful, romantic stories.

  “Oh, this is much more romantic than that silly chicken dance.”

  “Then read it to me,” Potster said.

  “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

  “Fire away. I’m all ears.”

  She took a deep breath and started to read.

  The train, a massive, domineering beast with an engine full of coal as black as Elizabeth’s heart, crept through the hills and valleys, destined to reach the end of the track and take her to her one true love. But who was that love, that knight, that chivalrous man who would be forever hers? The man who would whisk her off on his stallion into the bright sunset? Who was this man for whom she risked her future to marry? She did not know, nor had she any idea of his means or ways.

  Once she had assumed the life of Emma Lowery, she knew she could not turn back. She could know but one life, a dreary existence of deceit, longing, desire, but also one of true and unabashed love.

  Sarah paused. The following paragraphs dealt with her arrival at Spring Grass. The characters so closely mirrored Potster, S.H., and Flo that she was afraid to read it aloud. She knew the wise cook would discover her guise.

  Potster glanced up. “Ain’t bad…a little rough around the edges, but you can fix that. Go on.”

  Sudden tears welled to her eyes, blurring the pages. Potster was so trusting, so gentle and kind; he had been her best friend since she’d met him that day in the barn. If she lost his respect she would never forgive herself. She’d had few close friends in her life, and she couldn’t bear to lose him. What would he think of her when he discovered that she was deceiving Walker, that she had been all along? And Flo? Would she regret the day she’d taken Sarah under her wing? Was the housekeeper beginning to suspect that Sarah was a fraud? She’d been distant since she’d caught Sarah looking at Walker’s books. Sarah sensed that Flo was suspicious of her intentions. With each passing day, she could feel herself getting snared deeper and deeper in her web of lies. She wanted more than anything for the deception to be over, but she was powerless to stop the deceit. At first she had been frightened that Walker would send her away, but now she worried more about hurting him badly, and she couldn’t bear the thought.

  Potster saw the tears and frowned. Laying aside his knife, he approached her, squatting to kneel beside her chair. “Here, now, it’s not that bad. I don’t know anything about writin’ books. You shouldn’t take to heart what some ol’ farmhand says about yer writin’. It’s gonna be a fine book, believable or not.”

  His remark was more than she could bear. Dropping the pages, Sarah buried her face in her hands and whispered brokenly, “It’s me, Potster. It’s me, and it’s all true! The story is about how I traded places with that girl on the train. I’ve meant to tell Walker—every day I think I will, and then something happens and I don’t. I love him so much, and I truly think he has feelings for me—but I’m afraid that once I tell him what I’ve done, he’ll be so furious with me that he’ll send me away. Oh, Potster, I don’t know what to do!”

  Potster drew back, his eyes bewildered. “Whadda ya mean it’s you? It’s just a story.”

  “No!” Sarah cried. “The story is about me! I’m Elizabeth. I’m the one with the black heart. I’m only pretending to be the bride the agency sent.”

  Sarah related the whole story: running away from her father, meeting Lucy on the train, how they hatched their foolish plan. She told him about the Mallorys’ letter, and how they wanted Lucy to marry Walker only for what he could provide them.

  Potster sank into a chair opposite Sarah. “If that don’t beat all. Have you told anyone else about this?”

  “I can’t tell Walker, and Flo already thinks I meddle too much.” The sobs began again, unchecked. “Walker will send me away, Potster. I know he will. He’ll never forgive me for deceiving him, and who could blame him? I should have told him the truth from the beginning, but I was foolish. So very selfish and foolish.”

  Potster awkwardly bobbed his head. “No one’s gonna hate you, and no one’s gonna send you away, but you’re gonna have to tell Walker what you’ve done. The longer this goes on, the worse it’ll be. He’s a fair man. He’ll be mad as a hornet, ain’t gonna try to kid you about that, but he’ll listen to your side of the story.”

  Sarah shook her head. “I can’t. I love him, Potster, and if he sends me away I’ll die. I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I thought I would have been able to tell him by now. I thought once he fell in love with me, he’d find the ruse laughable.”

  Reaching across the table, Potster wiped her tears with the edge of the tablecloth. “Walker’s had worse news—and he’s got a heart bigger than you think. You got to tell him, young’un, and you got to tell him before another day passes.” He bent to retrieve her fallen pages and put them back into her hands. “You got to tell him before he finds out on his own. That’d make things a heap worse, child—a whole heap of a lot worse.”

  Sarah knew Potster was right. Not another day could pass without Walker’s knowing the truth.

  How many times had she promised herself the same pledge, and when the day ended she still hadn’t told him? But today was different. It had to be today.

  She dabbed her eyes on the edge of her sleeve. “I’ll go find him and tell him now.”

  “That’s my girl.” Getting up from the table, he went back to the stove and turned the chicken, casting worried looks her way.

  Sarah felt surprising relief, and Potster’s quiet reassurances gave her the courage she needed. Telling Walker wasn’t going to be pleasant. She remembered what Wadsy always said. Correcting a lie was never easy, so it was far better to not tell one.

  She got up from the table, grasping the edge when the room spun. It took a second for the setting to come back into focus. Potster glanced at her.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I felt a little lightheaded,” she said, her focus slowly clearing. The dizziness passed, but the smell of hot grease was making her queasy. “I’m all right now.”

  “You best go to the house and lie down a while. Flo’ll fix you something cool to drink. I ain’t got nothin’ but coffee out here.”

  Releasing the table’s edge, she tested her legs. “I suddenly feel very unsteady.”

  “You’ve overexcited yourself, young’un. Stop by the kitchen and have Flo give you a cool cloth before you go looking for Walker. Go on now.” His smile gradually faded. “If you really don’t feel good, maybe you ought to stay put until Walker rides in.”

  Sarah touched her head. “No. I want to tell him before I lose my courage.”

  “Sarah, if you need me, you come and get me, and we’ll tell him together.”

  Sarah crossed the room to give him a grateful hug. “I’m glad you’re my friend.”

  The old man awkwardly patted her back. “That’s good, little gal. Because you’re gonna need one.”

  Yes, she was going to need all the friends she could muster when she
told Walker.

  Sarah paused when she stepped out of the bunkhouse, allowing her eyes time to adjust to the bright sunlight.

  A commotion in the barn caught her attention. She could hear the thump of sharp hooves hitting wood. When she walked into the barn, she discovered Diamond down in her stall, legs flailing against the wooden cubicle.

  “What’s wrong, girl?” Sarah peered over the stall to look at the mare. The animal gazed up at her, nostrils flared with pain.

  Potster burst into the barn after her, wiping his flour-covered hands on his stained apron. “What’s going on in here?”

  “I think Diamond’s trying to foal.”

  He quickly assessed the situation. “She’s a bit early yet. We need Walker and S.H.” Potster knelt to comfort the animal.

  “I’ll get him,” Sarah flew out of the barn and raced toward the field on shaky legs. She spotted Walker and his foreman on horseback, riding slowly across the north meadow. Waving her arms wildly, she tried to catch their attention.

  When Walker spotted her, he kicked his horse into a gallop. Sarah waited until he was close enough to hear her.

  “It’s Diamond! She’s trying to foal! Hurry!”

  Walker nodded and galloped toward the barn. Within moments he jumped off his saddle, dropping the reins. Sarah ran to catch up.

  “How long has she been like this?” he asked.

  Sarah struggled to match his long-legged strides as they entered the barn. “I don’t know. I found her a few minutes ago and she was already down.”

  Potster massaged the horse’s belly, trying to keep her from thrashing her head into the side of the stall. Diamond’s eyes were wide, her mouth foaming.

  “This ain’t good,” Potster warned as Walker came into the stall. “Poor girl’s in a lot of pain.”

  “Easy, girl, easy.” Walker knelt, running his hand down the animal’s heaving sides. “Keep her still, Potster. Sarah, get me a bucket of water.”

  Sarah grabbed a bucket from the wall and rushed to the pump. Latching onto the handle, she pumped furiously, impatient with the small stream. Water trickled slowly into the pail, and she pumped harder, using both hands now. Flo came out the back door, shading her eyes.

  “What’s going on?” she hollered.

  “Diamond’s trying to foal!” Sarah stopped momentarily to catch her breath.

  Flo approached, commandeering the pump handle. “Here, I’ll bring the water. You go see if Walker needs help.”

  Sarah hurried back to the barn. On the way, she noticed black smoke rolling out of Potster’s kitchen window.

  “The chicken!” she cried. “The chicken’s on fire, Potster!”

  Potster darted out of the barn, his eyes following Sarah’s finger.

  “Go help Walker!” Potster sped off to salvage dinner as Diamond’s whinnies filled the air.

  Sarah ran inside to Diamond’s stall, where Walker was calmly stroking the mother’s back with one hand.

  “Where’s the water?”

  “Flo’s bringing it.” Sarah’s chest heaved. “How’s she doing?”

  “We need to cool her down and see if we can stop her labor.” Walker spoke softly to Diamond and she nickered lowly, her eyes wide with fright.

  “What can I do?” Sarah asked.

  “It’s all up to Diamond now. Come on, girl. Relax. You need to hang on a few weeks more before you have this foal.”

  The horse’s sides heaved as Sarah climbed the side of the stall and leaned over the railing to watch. Diamond’s sweat-slick coat shuddered under Walker’s soothing hand. Diamond rested, panting. “Atta girl.” Walker turned to maneuver along the railing, and she couldn’t see his expression. A moment later he was crouched behind Diamond.

  The mingled smells of sweat and horse filled Sarah’s nostrils. Walker gently patted Diamond’s side.

  “Good girl, good Diamond.” Sarah noticed that he had taken off his gloves and now ran his hand lightly over the horse’s head.

  The mare heaved and nickered, but she calmed as Walker continued to speak in soft tones.

  The stall suddenly tilted, and Sarah lifted her hands to her head. She saw Potster enter the barn and say something to Walker, but the blood pounding in her ears blocked out the words. Potster placed the bucket of water beside Walker and glanced up at Sarah, mouthing words that looked something like “far too…”

  What was he saying? Sarah scowled, shaking her head to clear the fuzz. The stall was spinning out of control. Spinning, whirling—then it went black.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Walker strode through the back door, carrying an unconscious Sarah. Flo followed, shock registering on her face. “What happened?”

  “She fainted. Send one of the men for the doctor.”

  “Doc’s over in Dexter County vistin’ kinfolk. Effie mentioned Sunday that he’d be there all week.”

  Walker took the stairs two at a time. Kicking their bedroom door open, he carried Sarah to the bed and gently put her down. Momentarily stirring, her eyes fluttered. Smiling, she lightly touched his cheek before sinking back into unconsciousness.

  Flo hurried in with a pan of cold water and cloths. By the time she wet the compress, Sarah was coming around.

  “Walker…”

  He gently pressed the cloth to her forehead. “Hold still, sweetheart. You fainted.”

  She gazed up at him, eyes melting into his. “Swooned?” she murmured.

  “You were looking over the stall one minute and out cold the next.” He grinned, smoothing a lock of hair off her face. She tried to sit up, pushing his hands aside.

  “Diamond?”

  “She’s quiet now.”

  Sarah wilted back to the pillow, her eyes drifting shut. “I’m glad.”

  “I’ll get her something cool to drink,” Flo offered, turning to leave.

  When the door closed, Sarah looked at her husband. “I’m fine, Walker. Really.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  Reaching out, she traced the outline of his cheek. “Apparently breakfast didn’t set well with me.”

  “Doc Linder’s away visiting family, but if you think you need him—”

  “I’m fine, really.” After sitting up, she swung her legs off the bed and slowly stood. Moving to the washstand, she groaned when she encountered her image in the mirror.

  “Potster said you felt faint earlier. What’s going on?”

  “It was too hot. The bunkhouse kitchen is always sweltering.”

  Flo returned with two glasses of lemonade. Placing the tray on the bedside table, she clucked. “What are you doing up? You should lie flat for a while.”

  “I feel better, Flo. There’s no need to fuss.”

  “Well, young lady, you’re not going anywhere until you’ve had something cold to drink and have been off your feet for at least an hour.”

  Sarah glanced at Walker, grinning. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I have to check on Diamond,” he said, backing out of the room. His eyes still locked with Sarah’s. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  “Walker…I need to talk to you,” Sarah murmured.

  “We’ll talk later, sweetheart. Don’t let her up, Flo.”

  “I won’t.”

  When the door closed, Sarah lay on the bed and closed her eyes. She’d promised Flo an hour of rest, but she was having difficulty keeping still. Through the open window, she could hear the ranch going about its daily business. Walker was close to the house this afternoon. She had to tell him. She’d promised Potster and she’d promised herself. It was one promise she intended to keep.

  She savored the last few blissful moments of Walker’s innocence. After today, nothing would ever be the same between them, regardless of how he took the news.

  Blinking back tears, she recalled the feel of his arms at the dance, the warmth of his hand on the small of her back as he helped her into the buggy, and the concern in his eyes this morning.

  She kept her eyes closed against a swell of
dizziness. Her stomach rolled, and she wondered if she needed to empty it. The breakfast muffin—she shuddered at the thought.

  An hour passed, and she slid off the bed and washed her face and straightened the pins in her hair. The dizziness was gone, and her head cleared. She couldn’t put it off any longer. Walker would probably be in the barn. They would have a few moments of privacy—enough for Sarah to tell him the truth about her identity and their marriage.

  Flo was bent over the sink, scrubbing pots, when Sarah crept down the stairs. Unlatching the front door, she glanced over her shoulder as she slipped out, letting the door softly close behind her. She wondered if this was how men felt facing the guillotine. It couldn’t be much worse than the mission she was about to embark upon.

  When she turned around, she jumped as she came face-to-face with Lucy Mallory. Sarah stared at her but couldn’t find her voice.

  Lucy broke the strained silence. “Hi.” She grinned. “Guess you shore didn’t think you’d ever see me again.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Sarah grasped the porch railing, staring at Lucy as if she were an apparition. “What are you doing here?”

  Lucy set down her valise. “I didn’t marry Rodney.” She drew a deep sigh. “He turned out to be no good, just like Pa said.”

  This can’t be happening. The dizziness returned and Sarah held on tighter to the rail. Not now, when I was just about to tell Walker.

  The girl shrugged. “For a while everything was wonderful, but then he started going out every night drinking and coming home early in the morning, smelling of whiskey and women’s perfume. He vowed that he loved me and was gonna marry me soon, but, well, money was always so tight, and then he quit his job at the dock because a feller cussed him out. I wanted to send Ma and Pa the five hunnert you gave me and tell them that McKay fellow gave it to me, but Rodney done spent it all afore I could say squat.” She frowned. “Shore surprised me. He talked so sweet and all, but he was for sure a scoundrel. Once we were broke, they set us out in the middle of the street.” She paused, her eyes perusing the large farm house. “Oh, my. This is so purty.”