Montana Cowboy Family

At the end of the school day, she reminded Sammy of her note for his mother. He nodded and raced away.

The children all departed and she quickly tidied the classroom, then went in search of Logan. She was so anxious to learn how things had gone between him and Sammy that she would willingly seek out the very man who had the power to upset her carefully constructed world. One that had narrowed down to her students, a few friends and her books.

He saw her coming and hung his hammer on a nail to wait.

“Sammy seemed pleased with himself when he came back,” she said.

“He’s a good kid. He ate half my lunch. While we ate, I told him a man must live by certain standards or he couldn’t call himself a man.”

She swallowed hard. Just as she’d suspected, the Marshall men had high standards. A woman like her would not be accepted. Probably not even tolerated. She could imagine the look of horror she’d receive if they found out about her past.

Turning her attention to another matter, she asked, “What do you know about Sammy and his family?”

Logan leaned against the wall and faced her. “I’ve been asking about them.”

She didn’t wait for him to say what he’d learned. “His father doesn’t like company. Don’t you think that sounds ominous? I sent a note home asking to visit his mother.”

“You might have a hard time doing that. From what Uncle George learned at the store, the mother died a short time ago. A man came by to ask about an empty place on the west edge of town. He assumed the man was Mr. Weiss though he didn’t give his name. I guess the man hasn’t been around again since.”

“Sammy’s mother’s dead? Why wouldn’t Sammy just say so? Why would he lie about such a thing?”

Logan shrugged. “Maybe he’s afraid you might consider it unsuitable for a boy his age to stay with his father.”

“He has no reason to think I would object. Why would he?” Her eyes were hot with denial and objection. “The poor child. Who comforts him?”

“I expect his father does.”

Recalling the bruises she’d noted, she wondered if the father offered any sort of understanding to the child. “Being a father or mother does not necessarily mean a person knows how to comfort. Or even desires to.”

“Sadie Young, you have a very jaded opinion of family life.” He planted a big hand on her arm, an act so solicitous that her insides crackled. “What happened to make you that way?”

The trembling started deep in her soul and spread in ripples to her limbs. She must not let him know how his words affected her, and she stepped away, forcing him to lower his arm to his side. “This isn’t about me. It’s about Sammy. I’m convinced there’s more to the story than we know, and I intend to investigate.”

Logan watched her carefully. “Have a care how you deal with this hurting family. I recall how difficult it was when my mother died. I expect they’re in need of a few kind words to get them through their loss.”

“I would never be unkind, but neither would I hesitate to intervene if a child is being—” She sought for a word that would describe her concerns without demanding she provide more information because, apart from a few bruises that could be explained as normal boyhood bumps, and the hurt she saw in Sammy’s eyes, her suspicions were based largely on recognizing something in the boy that echoed from her own wounded spirit. “If a child is being intentionally hurt.”

He shoved his hat back on his head and looked heavenward, his eyes closed for a moment. He met her gaze, his piercing and demanding. “I see you’re going to be stubborn about this. At least promise you’ll let me know before you do anything.”

She met his eyes, matching him hard look for hard look. She had no intention of backing down before his insistence.

“Miss Young, I can’t let you visit a widower without an escort.”

She swallowed hard. Was he really interested in protecting her reputation? Gall burned at the back of her throat. If only he knew how impossibly late such concern was. But she had two choices—agree or walk away. She guessed if she chose the latter, he wouldn’t hesitate to bang on her door and demand her promise. Better to give it of her own volition. “I’ll let you know.” She wanted nothing more than to run to her quarters, but she walked away in what she hoped was a calm, controlled manner.

“Be sure you do,” he called.

She closed the door, but the wooden barrier did nothing to quell the racing of her heart. He’d touched her in a comforting way. He’d shown genuine care for a hurting family. And he seemed concerned about her reputation. Comfort, understanding, consolation—all things she’d once yearned for—and now got from a man she was half-frightened of. It unsettled her through and through.

She pushed back her shoulders and lifted her head. She no longer needed any of those things. She’d found them with God, through reading the scriptures, and in standing on her own two feet. But an innocent touch from Logan and those supposedly dead feelings rushed through her like floodwaters. She did not thank him for bringing those emotions to the surface.

She must ignore those feelings, ignore the man who triggered them. She looked about her rooms for something with which to occupy herself. Her flowers. They always filled her with a sense of peace and beauty. Sitting at the little desk where she also prepared school lessons, she pulled out the thick book in which she pressed the flowers she gathered. Shortly after her arrival on the stagecoach a few weeks ago, Logan’s sister, Annie, had taken her for a buggy ride out to the open fields, and she’d picked wild crocuses to add to her collection. They were dried and she chose a piece of heavy paper. With her tweezers, she gently lifted the crocuses from their place of preparation to glue them in an arrangement. At some point, she’d add other flowers and create a picture to frame and hang on the wall.

Her usual sense of peace eluded her as Logan hammered on the outside of the building.

* * *

All weekend, Sadie worried about Sammy. Was he getting fed? Did someone comfort him? Or did someone hurt him? She busied herself on Saturday by cleaning the classroom, preparing lessons and baking a cake. But Logan and another man worked on the schoolhouse, and their noise and—she allowed herself to admit—Logan’s presence made it difficult to concentrate. She slipped next door to visit Kate.

“Did I see a small boy with Logan yesterday?” Kate asked.

Sadie had met Kate on the stagecoach earlier in the spring as they traveled to Bella Creek. Kate was as ordinary as could be, often wearing a big white apron to protect her clothing from the things she encountered as her father’s assistant. Kate’s father was the new doctor. Kate had brought her friend Isabelle with her to Bella Creek. Sadie smiled thinking of Isabelle. Imagine, an heiress in their midst, and none of them had realized it at first. Kate and her father had come in response to a plea for help from the townspeople of Bella Creek, the request for a doctor and a teacher after a devastating fire.

She turned her attention to Kate’s question. “Little Sammy Weiss.” She explained the situation. “Have you or your father had occasion to meet any of the Weisses?”

Kate said they hadn’t and they turned the conversation to other matters.

On Sunday, Sadie glanced about the congregation. Sammy wasn’t there. She told herself there might be a good reason the family didn’t attend. Perhaps they weren’t churchgoers, but she’d been hoping to see them.

Instead, she ended up meeting Logan’s gaze across the aisle. The blue sky of outdoors echoed in his eyes, sending a jolt through her. She jerked her gaze away and stared hard at the preacher...another recent newcomer. She forced herself to listen carefully to each of Preacher Arness’s words and left the service strengthened and encouraged.

She might not be acceptable in the eyes of many people, should they learn her secret, but she was wholly accepted by God through the cleansing blood of Christ. Humming a hymn under her breath, she smiled at each who greeted her. Grandfather Marshall took her hand and asked after her well-being. Although his kind words brought a sting of tears to the back of her eyes, she managed to answer calmly and moved on before Logan could do more than nod. She had no need to avoid him, and yet she couldn’t stand and make polite conversation with him, either.

* * *

Monday morning, Sammy handed her a note as he entered the classroom. “From my ma,” he said. He walked away before she could think what to say.

Logan said Sammy’s ma had died. Was he mistaken? How was she to find out?

She opened the note and read it: “I’m sick. Can you come some other time?”

She studied the writing. Many of the older children wrote better than this, but perhaps the woman had not been properly schooled, which would explain the promise she’d elicited from her son to attend classes. But why would someone say the mother was dead?

She set the children to work and checked on each of them. She paused at Sammy’s desk and bent close to speak privately to him. “I’m sorry your mother is ill. Can I do anything?”

“No, ma’am,” he whispered.

“If you think of something, don’t be afraid to ask.” She pressed her hand to his back.

He flinched so sharply that she jerked her hand away.

“Are you hurt?” Had this occurred over the weekend? It was the first time she’d touched him in that particular place but, in truth, he had shrunk back from every touch she offered. Pain and anger tore at her insides. There had been a time she’d thought family to be a place of shelter and protection. There were families who portrayed these ideals, and many others that did not.

He sidled away as far as his desk allowed. “No.” His brown eyes were big and watchful.

She didn’t need the details to know this child had been hurt and was afraid. She glanced about. Now was not the time or place to say anything.

She waited until recess and called him to her desk as the others went out to play. “Sammy, if you need someone to talk to, or if you need help of any sort, please let me know.”