Where Leads the Heart, Page 2

  Relieved at the way his voice seemed stronger, Sarah stood up as Rachel, Wade’s wife, came into the parlor carrying a tray laden with cups of steaming coffee. “Here. Let me take that. It’s much too heavy for you in your condition.” Sarah eyed the gentle bulge under Rachel’s skirt.

  Rachel handed it over with a tired smile of thanks and a glance at her husband.

  As if aware of the censorious look his wife gave him, Wade’s gaze sharpened, and he smiled at his sister. A self-satisfied smirk. “I’m glad to see you came to your senses. Ben is quite a catch. Just see you don’t forget your family when you’re rich.”

  Was money all he ever thought about? Sarah bit back her angry words. She didn’t want to upset her father. “That’s not important,” she said in a quiet voice.

  Wade gave a cynical laugh. “It’s the only thing that’s important. I always thought you could do better than Campbell.”

  William saw the stormy light in Sarah’s eyes and the angry color in her cheeks and laid a placating hand on her arm. “Why don’t you go on up to bed, Sweetheart? You can tell us all about your plans tomorrow.”

  The battle light died in her eyes, and she nodded wearily. It didn’t do any good to argue with Wade anyway. He had never liked Rand, probably because he was one of the few people Wade couldn’t dominate. Rand had been a strong man, in body as well as spirit. She kissed her father good night and walked upstairs, running her hand along the smooth oak banister. She looked back down into the entryway as she thought about her father’s words. She was going to miss her home more than she’d realized.

  Once in the sanctuary of her room, she pulled off her dress and reached for her nightgown. She caught a glimpse of herself in the oval oak mirror. Goodness, but she’d lost weight in this past year! Her ribs were prominent stair steps up her chest, and her neck looked positively bony. She’d always been tiny, barely five feet tall, but now she looked as though a strong wind would blow her away. But grief had honed her beauty and chiseled the fine bones in her face. Her startling green eyes were enormous and stood out in sharp contrast to the honey golden skin stretched over her high cheekbones.

  She looked around her familiar bedroom. The large room was furnished with dainty white furniture stenciled with pink. A lacy coverlet topped the feather bed, and dozens of pastel pillows offered a plump, safe haven to curl up and read. She pulled the coverlet back and crawled beneath the smooth sheets, pulling her feather comforter up to her chin. She was filled with a strange foreboding as Shane’s words came back to haunt her. What if Rand wasn’t dead? That’s just foolishness, she told herself. She’d indulged in such daydreams in the first months after his death. But the feeling persisted as she drifted off to sleep.

  two

  Ben swung off his horse and walked quickly toward the house. Ever since yesterday’s party, he’d been filled with a feeling of complacency and self-satisfaction. As he approached the stately brick two-story, he was struck again with his usual sense of pride in all he’d accomplished. He, Ben Croftner, son of the good-for-nothing drifter, Max Croftner, had pulled himself up by his own boot straps out of the dirt and lived in a house that was the envy of everyone in Wabash—and Indiana, for that matter. And if some of his business dealings didn’t bear close scrutiny, well, that’s just the way it was in the world of high finance. You did what you had to do to get to the top. There had been much opportunity since the war, and he had discovered he had an aptitude for exploiting it. And now Sarah was finally his.

  He wiped his dusty shoes on the rug by the door, then stepped into the parlor. His pride rose again as he saw the elegant appointments in the front parlor. Velvet drapes, fine walnut tables and Dresden figurines, a plush rug imported from France, and an overstuffed horsehair sofa and chair. He frowned as he saw the figure on the sofa. Too bad he couldn’t just leave his family behind the same way he’d left his old life. Although his brother had been useful this past year.

  Labe swung around at his entrance and jumped up, an envelope clutched in his hand. “I ain’t goin’ to do it no more, Ben.” His voice quivered with fear and outrage as he thrust the envelope into his brother’s hand. “My boss almost caught me takin’ it. And I ain’t goin’ to jail for nobody. Not even you.”

  Ben’s contented smile softened the lines of petulance and selfishness around his mouth as he patted Labe’s shoulder. “You don’t have to do it anymore. Sarah finally gave in last night. By the time the next letter comes, she’ll be my wife.”

  Labe’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. “I never thought you’d really pull it off. When you come back from the war with that crazy scheme, I thought fightin’ them Rebs had done made you loco.”

  Ben’s grin widened as he sank into the plushness of the high-backed chair and took off his sweat-stained Stetson and wiped his face. His voice grew soft with reminiscence. “When I got back and found out they all thought Rand was dead, I knew it would be an easy matter to let them go on thinking it. All I had to do was burn the letter I was supposed to give Sarah from Rand. Lucky for me I had such a faithful brother working in the post office.” His gray eyes glinted with avarice. “I always knew she belonged to me.”

  “Easy for you, maybe,” Labe burst out, his anger resurfacing at Ben’s lack of thanks for all he’d gone through. “You’re not the one who had to steal six letters with a boss like mine around. That Jack don’t miss nothing that goes on. I don’t see how I got away with it this long.”

  “I know, Labe, and I appreciate all you’ve done.” A note of impatience crept into Ben’s voice. “Like I said, it’s all over. Now all you have to do is keep your mouth shut.” He dismissed his brother’s worries and looked at the envelope in his lap. “I suppose I should read what this says.” He grinned as he ripped open the top and took out the single sheet of paper. “Won’t Mr. High and Mighty Rand Campbell be surprised when he gets back and finds out Sarah is married to me!”

  He settled more comfortably in his chair and quickly scanned the sprawling lines. His smile faded and a scowl twisted his handsome face. “He’s coming home in a couple of weeks!” He ripped the page to shreds and jumped to his feet. “But he’s going to be too late!” He strode out the door without another word to Labe.

  Labe stared after him with growing dismay. If Rand came home, how was he going to explain the missing letters? Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Labe was not the brightest man in town, but he knew when he was in real trouble. He moaned low in his throat. Why’d he ever listen to Ben? “Ben’s just a user,” he muttered to himself as he watched Ben through the window. “Too bad most folks can’t see past his good looks to the rottenness underneath.”

  “Just like Rand Campbell to spoil things,” Ben muttered as he strode toward the barn. “But he’s going to be too late this time.” He flung the harness over his horse’s still-damp neck and hitched up the buggy. As he flicked the buggy whip over the horse’s head and headed toward the Montgomery farm, his narrowed eyes glittered with determination. He’d come this close—he wasn’t about to let it all slip away now. Not even if it meant Rand really had to die.

  He hadn’t kept up a charade for five months to lose Sarah now. He’d been really clever, telling her how he’d found Rand in the prison camp and got him to the hospital, only to see him die while holding his hand. And Rand should have died. He’d been just a shell of a man with his skin stretched over his bones when he was finally liberated from Andersonville prison camp. It was the most hideous thing Ben had ever seen. But he had rallied, much to Ben’s dismay. Ben really hadn’t expected him to recuperate as fast as he had, and now he threatened to spoil all Ben’s carefully laid plans.

  Sarah was sweeping the front porch when he stepped down out of the buggy. She looked up with a start, afraid for an instant it was Wade back from the fields. That was one good thing about getting married, she thought. She’d get out from under Wade’s thumb. She relaxed and lifted a hand in greeting when she saw him. How good-looking he was, she thought. His blond hair
just curled over his collar, and his gray eyes were gentle and tender. She dispelled her misgivings from the night before. The strange look was just a trick of the moonlight. She was doing the right thing.

  “How’s my lovely lady today?” Ben bounded up the steps with a smile and took her hand, his anger carefully masked.

  “A little tired,” she admitted. “Everyone has been stopping by to congratulate me. News travels fast.”

  “Especially good news.” He guided her down onto the porch steps and sat beside her. “I was talking to Labe this morning, and he was saying how good it would be to have a real woman doing for us once you and I are married. You know we haven’t decided on a date yet, and I was hopin’ to make it on my birthday next weekend. Could you be ready?”

  “Bu–but Ben! That’s only eight days.” Panic rose in her throat, and she tried to keep the dismay out of her face as she stared at him. “There’s such a lot to do. I–I have to make my dress. And—”

  He gripped her shoulders and a note of impatience crept into his voice as he stared into her green eyes. “You can be ready, I’m sure. If you really want to be. Don’t you think you’ve made me wait long enough? I surely don’t care what you wear. Your Sunday dress will do just fine.”

  She dropped her eyes, ashamed. Why did he always make her feel so guilty, so indebted to him? “I can be ready,” she whispered. She allowed his hug, then watched him ride away with something that felt like relief. What difference did it really make anyway? One date was as good as another if she was really going to go through with it, she thought as she squashed her misgivings. And besides, if she wanted Amelia to be her bridesmaid, the wedding needed to be before Amelia left.

  She untied her apron and started toward the McCallister farm. She paused at the knoll overlooking Amelia’s home. It was so pretty from up here. Doctor Seth and his family still lived in the log home he’d built when he first arrived twenty years ago, although with his burgeoning practice he could well afford an elaborate home in town. But she was glad the McCallisters had never moved. It was her second home, and she ran over the meadow that separated the two properties nearly every day.

  The house had been added onto over the years and now sprawled carelessly in several directions. Their two families had been best friends ever since Sarah could remember. At one time there was hope that Amelia would marry Wade, but that was soon dashed as Wade grew to manhood and became the arrogant, self-righteous boor he was. Amelia felt sorry for him, but she had never had any romantic interest in anyone but Jacob Campbell.

  Amelia was on the wide front porch, churning butter. “I was just coming to see you as soon as I was finished,” she said, smiling, her face flushed with exertion. Tendrils of dark hair clung in curls around her face. “I have some ideas for the wedding.”

  Her smile faded as Sarah explained Ben’s plans. “Eight days! Isn’t that too soon to get everything ready?” she asked hopefully. “And you said I would be the first bride.”

  “It has to be enough time, and if we wait until after your wedding, you might have to leave too soon.” Sarah avoided her gaze. “Ben wants to be married on his birthday. It’s the least I can do after all I’ve put him through these past five months. You know how patient with me he’s been—” Her voice faltered as she saw the skeptical look Amelia threw her way. She shrugged. “What difference does it make?”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Amelia said slowly. “One time is as good as another to ruin your life. And I’ve never understood why you think you owe Ben anything. He hasn’t done anything special for you. He was just determined to capture you, and it seems like he has.”

  “Don’t start, Amelia. Please.” Sarah’s tone was uncharacteristically sharp, and she saw Amelia’s blue eyes glisten with quick tears. “I’m sorry.” She hugged her friend. “It’s just that I have to go through with it. Papa would be so disappointed. And besides.” She gave Amelia a wink. “I was thinking last night how nice it will be to get away from Wade.”

  Amelia smiled and blinked away her tears. “He just needs the Lord in his life.”

  Sarah just smiled. She was a little envious of her friend’s faith. No matter what happened, Amelia seemed to trust God. She never had a bad word to say about anyone.

  That’s why her attitude toward Ben was so perplexing. Sarah knew her friend was just concerned. But really, this was for the best if Amelia could just see it. Sarah would make a fresh start with Ben, and as the years passed and she had children to occupy her time, maybe she could numb the pain in her heart.

  §

  The next few days sped by as Sarah threw herself into marriage preparations. She fell into bed at night too exhausted to think or even to dream. Papa had bought her a new machine called a Singer treadle sewing machine. Her dress, even with its yards and yards of soft, creamy lace, quickly took shape under its whirring needle.

  Friday afternoon she sat back and massaged her aching neck thankfully. It was finally finished. She stared out the living room window at the weeping willows swaying along the riverbank. The soft breeze, laden with the rich scent of the Wabash River, blew through the sheer curtains and caressed her flushed face. Unbidden, a memory of walking hand-in-hand with Rand along the riverbank hit her, and she clutched her skirt in anguish. I won’t think about him any more, she told herself. I’ll be Mrs. Ben Croftner in two days. Then all the ghosts would be laid to rest.

  She jumped nervously as the knocker on the front door clattered. She jumped up and hurried to the front hall. Pastor Aaron Stevens stood on the front porch, turning his hat in his hands. “Pastor,” she said in delight. “Come in.”

  “I was out calling on the new family by the river, the Longs, and just thought I’d stop in and see how you’re doing,” he explained as he followed her into the parlor. His deep blue eyes were concerned as he noticed her pallor and the dark circles under her eyes.

  “I just finished my dress.” She pointed to the heap of cream material on the sewing machine.

  “Are you all right, Sarah? You look—” He hesitated as he sat down on the sofa. “Well, troubled. Not quite the picture of a joyous bride-to-be I expected.”

  She smiled wearily. Pastor always seemed able to sense her moods in a strange way. She sighed and nodded. “I guess I am troubled. More than I’ve admitted to anyone else. And I don’t want to be! This is for the best—I’m sure of it.”

  Pastor Stevens pushed his heavy black hair away from his forehead. “Are you really sure about this marriage, little sister? Have you prayed about it?”

  Sarah lifted her chin mutinously. “Not really. And I know you’re going to say I should. But God didn’t seem to be listening all those months when I prayed for Rand’s safety.” There. She’d finally admitted the thought that had been nagging her for over a year. Did God really care about her?

  Pastor Stevens frowned as he leaned forward. “I had a feeling you blamed God for Rand’s death. I’m glad you’re finally admitting it.” He took her hand, his dark blue eyes warm with concern and compassion. “Sarah, please listen to me. It’s hard, I know, but we can’t always see God’s plan in our lives. I remember when I was a little boy, I was lying on the floor at my grandmother’s feet. She was doing some embroidery work and I looked up at the underside of the hoop. The yarn was all tangled and gnarled. A real mess. But when I climbed up beside her and looked down at what she was working on, it was a beautiful garden. That’s the way our lives are. We’re looking at the picture from underneath, but God is working out a specific plan from above.”

  “No plan could be right without Rand in it! I don’t think God really cares about me anymore.” She didn’t care if the words shocked Pastor, it was how she really felt. If God really cared, He wouldn’t let her go through this heartache.

  Pastor Stevens got up and knelt beside Sarah’s chair. “God still loves you, Sarah. He didn’t promise we’d never have trouble or heartache. In fact, He assured us we would. But He’s given us His Word to go with us every step of the way. C
an’t you just trust Him like you used to? I remember the old Sarah and how she believed God for every little thing in her life. Wouldn’t you like to be that same young woman again?”

  “I just can’t!” she said, standing up and moving to the window, her back to the young pastor. “Maybe someday when the wounds aren’t still so fresh, I’ll be able to trust Him like I should. But nothing has turned out like I expected. Every time I see the knoll on the other side of the woods, I remember it’s the spot where Rand and I meant to build our home. Everywhere I look there are reminders of how my life is in shambles.” She turned abruptly. “If you don’t mind, Pastor, I have a lot of things to finish up.” She knew she sounded abrupt and rude, but she just couldn’t talk about it anymore. It hurt too much.

  Pastor Stevens stood reluctantly, frustration etched on his face. “If you need to talk, you know where to find me,” he said as he left. “Please pray about this before you go through with it, Sarah.”

  She didn’t answer him, and he left after gazing at her for a moment. She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the front door shut. She pushed away a stab of guilt as she went to the kitchen to start supper. She’d chosen her course, and she’d stick with it.

  three

  The train shrieked a warning of imminent arrival, and Rand Campbell jerked awake, his heart pounding. He licked dry lips—how he’d love a drink of his ma’s iced tea. The thought of sun tea brewing in a glass jug on the back step at home caused a fresh wave of homesickness to wash over him. It wouldn’t be long, though.

  Then the fear he’d tried to keep at bay for the past three days flooded back. What would he find at home? He’d passed mile after mile of war-ravaged scenes. Homes burned, fences torn down, hopeless looks on the faces of women and children. What if he arrived and found his home gone and his family missing? And Sarah. What if she were dead? What if she didn’t wait for you? a part of his mind whispered. He pushed the thought away impatiently. His Sarah would wait no matter what. Then why didn’t she write? Why didn’t Ma write? The unanswered questions made him feel sick.