Too Long a Stranger (Women of the West) by Janette Oke Page A

Sarah remembered that the debt at the bank was almost paid up. Soon the team, the wagon, the whole business would be hers, debt free. She would not have to make the hated trip to the sturdy brick building and count out her hard-earned bills and coins into the eager hand that stretched for them.
    No. She would soon be her own boss and perhaps—just perhaps—the extra money would cover the costs of a young daughter at boarding school. Sarah felt slightly comforted as she laid the letter on the table so she would not forget it the next morning.
----

Chapter Nine
    Contents - Prev / Next
    Sharing the Plan
    Was it a miracle or just coincidence, Sarah wondered as she fingered the letter she held in her hands, that the reply to her letter arrived the very day she had counted out the last payment to the banker? Whatever the case, she could hardly wait to get home to read the contents.
    After she had cared for her team she hurried into the coolness of her kitchen and lowered herself to one of the painted chairs. Her hand trembled as she tore open the envelope and lifted the pages to catch the light from the window.
    It was a long letter, bearing the signature of Miss Nola Ann Peabody with the interesting letters behind her name. Sarah scanned the first several paragraphs. She would read them in detail later. Her immediate question was if she could afford to send Rebecca.
    The monthly cost nearly took her breath away. It was far more expensive than she had imagined. Mentally she began to calculate. It was impossible. She could never make it. It was a dream that couldn't ever come true. She simply wasn't able to make that much money with the freight run.
    She stood to her feet, still trembling, and lifted a hand to brush back a wisp of hair. As she moved, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the wall. Even Sarah was shocked at how much she had changed since Michael's death.
    "Look at me," she whispered to herself. "Just look at me. I'm a—a skeleton. I—I'm unkempt and—and old. Michael would—wouldn't even know me now."
    Sarah wanted to return to the chair, lay her head on her arm and weep.
    But she did not allow herself the comfort of tears. Instead, she straightened her tired back, lifted her chin, and stared back defiantly at the face in the mirror. "Well, I won't have this kind of life for Rebecca," she declared aloud with a voice remarkably calm. "She will be properly educated. She will be trained in—in something—so that should she ever be on her own she will not have to—to resort to any activity unbecoming to a—a lady. She will be one. Somehow. I'll do it— somehow. I will."
    And Sarah forsook the woman in the mirror and crossed to her bedroom to improve her appearance before the little trip to the Galvans for Rebecca. She still had several months before Rebecca would be ready for her first year. Sarah would spend those months saving. She would have the equivalent of the bank payment as additional income now. And she could find other ways to cut corners. By the time Rebecca had to leave for school, Sarah should have been able to save up for the initial expenses, she reasoned. From then on—well, she would cross that bridge when the time came.
    ***
    "Why don't we marry Uncle Boyd?" asked Rebecca at the supper table.
    Sarah had assumed that the child had forgotten the foolish gossip of the town's busybodies, and she looked at her daughter in alarm. Had the idle talk started again? She had been so careful. Even distant to the two men who had been so kind to her. She often felt ashamed of her own stiffness. She refused the cups of tea as much as she had looked forward to them. And she never even stopped to chat with Boyd if she could avoid it. She always found something pressing that needed to be done while he helped Newton unload the freight. She missed the chats, but she had no intention of feeding the town's gossip mill.
    Here was Rebecca boldly bringing it up as though they were speaking of what they