Healing Sarah (American Homespun Book 3) Read online

  According to the note, Tim’s second choice hadn’t met with her unknown correspondent’s approval either.

  His mother? Try again.

  Sarah laughed out loud. She’d had no idea he would ask his mother. How did that come about? He certainly hadn’t told her of his choice. The note writer must have ways of gathering information Sarah didn’t. Sarah pocketed the note. It would join the others upstairs.

  John rode up in his wagon.

  About time he visited Emma.

  “Morning, Sarah. Is Ma here?” John didn’t wait for an answer as he walked passed her and went into the house.

  After looking up and down the street a couple of times, Sarah followed him in and found him with his mother in the kitchen.

  John stood near the work table. “Can’t Sarah take care of that? I really need you.”

  Emma continued stirring the contents of her bowl. “Sarah can’t cook for company.”

  “But Lettie can’t come help today.”

  Did he not listen during the family meeting last week? Emma was doing so well, with only minor lapses at night. She did not need to go out to the old house! Sarah balled her hands into fists. “John, can I talk to you for a moment? I think Piggy Peggy has a problem.”

  Emma waved him out the door. “Go help Sarah while I put this in the oven.”

  John stomped out the back door after Sarah. As soon as they reached the pigpen, she whirled around and looked him straight in the eye. It was hard to be intimidating when she was more than a foot shorter. “What are you doing?”

  “I need Ma out at the house. Lettie sent a note saying she is ill, and it looks like it may rain, finally, and the south field is half frozen. I need to try to save the corn. I can’t risk having the children running around if this infernal weather takes another turn for the worse.”

  “We agreed last week you would not take Emma out to the old house.”

  “I didn’t agree to anything. All I heard was you telling tales about Ma not being in her right mind.”

  Sarah moved her hands to her hips. “They weren’t tales. She has been so good this week. Helping Amity Barns has worked wonders to keep her in the present.”

  “Well then, helping her own grandchildren should be better.” John turned back to the house.

  Sarah fumed. Unless Emma refused, she had no say. If only Samuel were here.

  Emma was just putting the cake in the oven when Sarah reached the kitchen. “Take this out at ten thirty and let it cool. To the beans, add yesterday’s ham at the same time. You’ll be fine without me. Mrs. Morton said she would be here the entire morning unless either Mrs. Holcomb or Mrs. Cobb started their lying-in early. Oh, good. You found my wrap.” She said to John, then she kissed Sarah on the cheek and left.

  Amity took Mrs. Wilson’s absence in stride and worked on her next nine-patch square. Somehow Sarah remembered to remove the cake from the oven—only five minutes late. It didn’t look burned.

  By the time the clock tower rang out the noon hour, Sarah concluded from Mrs. Morton’s absence that another citizen was about to come into the world. Tim knocked and came in—a pattern they had found less disruptive to Amity. He looked around the room. “Mrs. Morton went to assist Mrs. Cobb. Where is Mrs. Wilson?”

  Sarah couldn’t stop her frown. “John came this morning. I think the meal is ready. Amity, would you like to come eat?”

  Amity sniffed the air.

  “Don’t worry. Emma made it before she left.”

  As they moved into the kitchen, Tim leaned low and whispered in Sarah’s ear. “I don’t believe the tales about your inability to cook at all. You just don’t like to cook.”

  Sarah shook her head. “I assure you I only abhor cooking because I do it so terribly. The entire Wilson family wouldn’t lie about it.”

  They sat at the table. Sarah searched for a topic of conversation. Amity always listened, though sometimes she would participate. “I understand you are going to the concert with your mother on Saturday.”

  “How did you hear that? I only told—My mother seems a bit miffed about it too. I am not sure why I invited her to go with me.”

  Sarah wished he’d finished the sentence regarding whether she knew whom he’d told, but then, Mrs. Dawes-Morse could have told any number of people. “I think your problem is you are the most eligible bachelor in town. You probably upset more women than just your mother with your choice.”

  “The woman I asked first wouldn’t go with me.”

  “Couldn’t. There is a difference.” Sarah set three bowls of baked beans on the table.

  “Yes, and when I must leave halfway through to attend to some emergency, my mother will forgive me. Name another woman who would do that.”

  “S-Sarah.”

  Tim laughed. “You are right, Amity. Miss Marden wouldn’t be upset with me at all.”

  Sarah bent over her bowl and rolled her eyes. Tim thought entirely too much of himself.

  The temperature dropped significantly while they had been eating lunch. The farmers were not going to like this, not after last night’s rain and freeze. Tim’s horse’s breath formed pale clouds. In February he would predict snow, but in June this could only mean rain.

  The cold sliced through him—and a feeling he hadn’t experienced since the night before the battle at Plattsburgh overcame him. Something bad was coming, and he was not prepared.

  He stopped by the livery to get an extra horse blanket. In this weather, someone was bound to need him, and leaving the horse cold and wet wouldn’t help anyone.

  Next stop—home.

  The greatcoat he’d worn during the war might come in handy. He grabbed the muffler his sister had sent him last winter and a set of gloves. On the way out, he raided the kitchen. The cook frowned when he took half a loaf of bread and a large wedge of cheese, but she didn’t complain.

  At the office, he inspected his bag, adding a bottle of laudanum and some more bandages, as well as soap and a clean towel. He checked his bag again, then added a pair of forceps. With Mrs. Cobb delivering early, other women could too. There was supposed to be a lunar eclipse on Sunday, or maybe Saturday. At the moment he couldn’t remember other than some farmers arguing about it over the newspaper last week. Who knew how that could affect things both with weather and babies? But he did know they came at the most inconvenient times.

  He arrived at the Mortons just as Mrs. Morton returned.

  “Join me in a cup of tea, or coffee, or whatever we can find warm in the house.” She waited at the front door. “The Cobbs added one more boy to their family, well over seven pounds.”

  The maid took both their coats and told them she would serve them in the parlor.

  Tim was surprised to find the doctor downstairs. Mrs. Morton frowned and immediately started fussing over her husband.

  “Don’t look at me that way. I couldn’t stay one more day in that bedroom. Don’t worry, dearest. They carried me like a baby. I didn’t walk.”

  Mrs. Morton took the chair nearest the couch where Dr. Morton rested.

  The doctor rubbed his splinted leg. “I always wondered what the old men complained about when they told me they could feel the weather changing in their bones. I am content to believe them now.”

  The maid came in with a steaming pot.

  Tim took a cup from her and warmed his hands. “I can’t say I ever wondered myself.”

  “Don’t! It isn’t worth it. But I don’t like this weather at all. Tell me about your visits today.”

  Tim and the Mortons conversed about the few patients he had seen and went over Mrs. Morton’s list of women set to deliver during the next three weeks—twelve in all. Only two were first-time mothers. Mrs. Morton had checked on both. Neither showed signs of early labor. Tim breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t delivered a baby for over a year and wanted to avoid it if possible.

  They were just finishing when someone pounded on the door. A boy of twelve brought news of a brother falling an
d breaking his leg.

  “And so it starts.” Dr. Morton raised his cup in salute as Tim pulled on his greatcoat.

  As he trotted his buggy down the road, he thought he saw a snowflake in the fading sunlight. It had to be his imagination. It didn’t snow in June.

  Mr. Barns came to collect Amity not long after Tim left. Sarah wished not for the first time that she owned a thermometer. It felt like January outside, not June. Just before dusk fell, John returned with Emma. He only stayed long enough to mutter a goodbye.

  Sarah helped Emma with her wrap, then led her into the kitchen.

  “Oh, Mary, I am so glad you are here. Is Anna upstairs with the boys? I am sorry I took so long.”

  No. Not that night! Sarah would beg Samuel to punch his brother for taking Emma home. Sarah had only been mistaken for her aunt, who had been murdered by deserters during the Revolutionary war, a couple of times before. Getting lost in that day never ended well for Emma, as in the end she had to remember the death of her own child as well as discovering her dear friend’s body.

  “Emma, I am not Mary. I’m Sarah, her niece.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Anna isn’t married yet.”

  Direct wasn’t working. Next up—distraction. “I made some baked beans. Why don’t you sit down for dinner?”

  “They smell just like mine. You girls are going to be excellent cooks. But you must go. Look how dark it is getting. It feels like snow.”

  “Emma, it is the 7th of June, 1816.” She emphasized the year. “It is not going to snow.”

  Slap!

  Sarah covered the side of her face and tried to rub out the sting.

  “Don’t you ever lie to me again. Your father is going to worry about you not coming home, and you are trying to tell me it isn’t 1778? What is wrong with you?”

  Tears stung Sarah’s eyes.

  Eighteen

  A draft wound its icy fingers around Sarah’s ankles as she descended the stairs. Hadn’t she banked the fire properly last night? White powder covered the floor. Flour? Emma wasn’t usually careless when she baked …

  Sarah’s foot slipped.

  Snow.

  Impossible. Snow didn’t fall in June, and it shouldn’t be inside even in January. Not in Massachusetts.

  Wind blew more snow through the open back door. She hurried to close it and threw the latch. Sarah closed her eyes and tried to remember if she’d locked up last night, and then her heart dropped.

  Emma!

  She rushed to Emma’s room. It was empty, the bed unmade. Then she hurried up to her room in search of her heavy boots. Needing extra light, she pulled back the curtain. The ice-covered window revealed a world buried in at least a half foot of snow. Was this some sort of odd dream—a result of last night’s conversation with Emma? Sarah pressed her hand to the glass but pulled it back immediately as the frost stung her palm. No dream.

  She pulled on her heavy woolen stockings and dug her wool pelisse out of the trunk, along with a pair of mittens. She tugged them on as she hurried back down the stairs. The snow in the hallway had already started to melt. Sarah took a moment to check the fire and added a log. The bark pulled a yarn from her mitten. She untangled it. Rushing made her sloppy. But Emma would be cold. Sarah forced herself to slow down. If the log rolled out of the fireplace after she left … Using her teeth, she pulled off her mittens and laid the fire properly.

  Satisfied the fire posed no danger, Sarah grabbed her mittens and stepped out the back door, the wind whipping at the loose hairs around her face.

  She cursed, then covered her mouth with a mitten. But the word fit.

  There were no tracks.

  The area between the house and the one behind it was devoid of human life. Sarah quickly made her way back through the house and out the front door, grabbing her shawl on her way and wrapping it around her head. Sarah looked up and down the empty street. Only a few people braved the cold. Horses churned up the snow, and boys were shoveling off porches and walkways. Snow blew off the rooftops, mingling with the few flakes still falling from the sky.

  Sarah made her way through the snow as best she could.

  The boy across the street looked up. “Hey, Miss Marden! Mama told me to clear the snow at your house next.”

  “So kind of you. Have you seen Mrs. Wilson?”

  “No, you’re the only lady I have seen out.”

  Sarah crossed the street and took the path Noah Larkin had cleared to his home. The front door opened before Sarah could knock.

  “Miss Marden, whatever are you doing? Have you ever seen snow in June? I didn’t believe those tales out of Canada, but here we are. Come in!” Mrs. Larkin held the door wide for her.

  Sarah shook her head. “Mrs. Wilson is missing. She went out in the night. I started a fire. Can you send one of your girls to tend it for me?”

  “Oh, my! What is she doing out in this? Verity! Verity!” Mrs. Larkin’s twelve-year-old daughter came from the kitchen. “Get your cloak and run over to Mrs. Wilson’s to mind the fire. Get some water boiling, too.” Verity nodded and left the room.

  Mrs. Larkin turned back to Sarah. “I’ll come over as soon as I can. No doubt you’ll need some warm soup when you find her.”

  Sarah cringed at the thought of Mrs. Larkin finding her larder lacking. “Do be careful. The door was open for a while, and I didn’t have a chance to mop.”

  “Shall I send Noah with you?”

  “No, I am going to go to the livery to see if I can get a horse. But if he and his friends could look around here …”

  “A horse—you know Mr. Hood won’t let a woman—”

  Sarah didn’t want to debate Mr. Hood’s archaic views on a woman’s abilities. “It is still worth a try. I really must hurry.” With any luck, he’ll have a small buggy with runners on it. He would be more likely to rent that out to a woman, especially if he learned she was searching for Emma.

  Avoiding the deeper drifts as best she could, Sarah worked her way down the street, asking each person she met if they had seen Mrs. Wilson. No one had.

  A hidden layer of ice lurked beneath the snow, threatening to topple her more than once. If Emma had left after most of the snowfall, she could not have gone far, but the amount of snow that had blown inside indicated Emma had been out for hours already.

  There were several boys on the green preparing for battle, snowballs and barriers being prepared in earnest. Sarah recognized Davey Sloan, who’d terrorized her class two years ago.

  “Davey!”

  The redhead looked up and prepared to sprint away.

  “Have you seen Mrs. Wilson pass this way?”

  “The old woman you live with?” He dropped the snowball he was forming and came over.

  She didn’t bother correcting his rudeness regarding Emma. “Did she come this way?”

  “Nah, you are the only lady I’ve seen.” The other boys had halted their preparations and moved closer.

  “Have any of you boys seen Mrs. Wilson?”

  They all shook their heads or shrugged.

  “If you see her, will you please walk her back to my house? I don’t want her to slip on the ice.” She didn’t bother inquiring if they knew which house. She was a teacher. They knew.

  Mr. Swanson was sweeping the snow off the walk in front of his store. He promised to keep an eye out and ask anyone who came by.

  The livery door stood slightly ajar. The elder Mr. Hood looked up from the horse he was brushing. “Miss Marden, what brings you here?”

  “I need our horse!”

  “I already rented the buggy sleigh to the young doctor, and there is no way I am going to let a young girl ride in this snow.”

  Sarah bit back the retort. People always judged her by her size. “Mrs. Wilson is missing. I need to find her.”

  “Get some of the boys to go looking for her, and you go back and wait at home.”

  “Please, I think she may have walked to her old place or to Samuel’s. If I can ride,
I can be there and back so much faster.”

  The old man shook his head. “I can’t be responsible for lending you a horse that could kill you. There is ice under the snow.”

  “Little Brown is sure-footed. I just need help saddling him.” Unlike his father, Little Brown made an excellent carriage horse and didn’t balk at being ridden sidesaddle, which was why Samuel had boarded him for her use.

  The man crossed his arms. “You think your sister’s husband would forgive me if you get yourself killed?”

  “Please, Mr. Hood. I must find Mrs. Wilson.”

  “Then you better go find a man who can ride.” He turned and walked away.

  For the horses’ sake, she willed herself not to scream. Find a man. She clenched her fists. If only it were that easy.

  The tiny sleigh glided easily over the snow. Tim was lucky Mr. Hood had runners on any of his buggies in June. No doubt it would get more use before the day ended, but right now all he wanted was a warm fire and a warm drink. The baby he had been called out to deliver arrived before he had as they often did in the first storm of the season. If that was what one could call snow in June. Maybe the traveling minister was correct about it being close to the end of the world. Red and yellow snow in Italy, snow here in June, and Canada had gotten so much snow in May there were rumors of the Canadians not exporting any food this year. If it didn’t warm up soon, Massachusetts wouldn’t grow much to export either.

  A woman ran out of the livery and into his path, and he reined in the horse. “Look out!”

  She jumped back.

  “Sarah?” He came to a stop in front of her. “What are you doing?”

  She used her mitten to wipe at her eyes. “Emma is missing! I need to go out to Samuel’s, and Mr. Hood won’t help me saddle Little Brown.”