Page 8 of Married By Midnight
It was no use. Nothing was coming to her. She might as well clear her head. She stared at the painting of children being tossed about in a small boat. That was how she felt. Her eyes traveled across the painting and she spied the artist’s name in the lower corner.
“Mr. Homer, you have probably seen everything in this room. I wonder where my father put his notes?” The painting didn’t respond. Sarah gave a sharp laugh. She better not let anyone know she was talking to a painting or they would have her institutionalized. That would make the tax sale obsolete.
The rain was starting to come down heavier now and the room was turning darker. Sarah lit the oil lamp by the window and looked out at the barn. She could see Dell and Dusty leading in the horses. She looked out the window facing the road to town and she was surprised to see a dark figure walking down the gravel road.
They were too far outside of town for random people to be walking by. The person must be lost. She watched the figure come closer to the house. As it approached the window, Sarah gave a little gasp. It was an elderly woman!
Sarah knew exactly what she needed to do. She needed to offer the woman shelter from the storm.
Chapter 3
There was no reason that someone should be out walking in the rain alone, least of all someone of that age! Her father taught her to help anyone in need. She ran out of the office and into the foyer. Grabbing a shawl off a peg by the door, Sarah draped it over her head to protect herself from the weather. She opened the door and dashed out of the house, down the path towards the road.
Water was starting to collect in the road, causing the dirt to run off to the sides. Sarah lifted her skirt and jumped over several large puddles.
The woman had already passed the gate that went around her mother’s flower garden. Sarah lifted her skirt and made haste after the old woman.
“Miss! Miss!” she yelled. Thunder clapped in the sky causing Sarah to jump, releasing the hold she had on her skirt. Several inches of the fabric fell into the muddy water.
The woman must have jumped too, because suddenly she was in front of Sarah.
“You shouldn’t be out here in this weather, my dear,” she said.
Sarah brushed away the hair that was sticking on her forehead. “Neither should you.”
“I’m just headed towards town.” The woman’s gnarled fingers held tightly to a walking stick. She had a basket in her other hand.
Sarah could see the side of the road had washed away. That would be dangerous come night. “Why don’t you come in and wait until the rain has passed?” The thunder roared once more. Sarah could see a bolt of lightning in the distance. “It isn’t safe for either of us out here.”
The woman nodded and Sarah lifted the shawl covering her head and lifted it above the old woman. “Once we get inside, I’ll make us a hot pot of tea and you can warm yourself by the fire.”
The old woman nodded. “That sounds lovely,” she said patting the air above Sarah’s arm. “What’s your name, dear?”
“Sarah. Sarah Abrahams.”
“Sarah Abrahams.” The woman rolled the name off her tongue. “I had a childhood friend named Sarah. That was a long time ago.” The woman looked at her with crystal blue eyes. “She wasn’t as pretty as you.” Sarah opened the door to the house and led the woman inside. She appeared to float above the ground. Sarah shook her head. She must be seeing things. “My, what a beautiful home you have.”
“Thank you.” Sarah draped the wet shawl across some pegs to dry. “You can take off your jacket and hang it up here by the door. It should dry rather quickly in here.”
The woman looked at the puddle of water collecting around her feet. “Oh my. That isn’t good is it?” She looked at Sarah. “I’ll just keep my jacket on for now. Thank you.” She looked at the mud that had collected on the bottom of Sarah’s skirt. “You should probably get that off and into a bucket of lye to soak.
Sarah looked down. Her boots as well as the hem of her skirt were coated in mud. “I should get these off. She quickly slid her feet out of the boots and placed them by the door. Lifting her skirt over her arm to stop the mud from mopping the floor, she moved further into the house.
“The fireplace is right in there,” Sarah said pointing to her father’s office.
“Thank you, Sarah,” the woman said. “I should be dry in a jiffy.”
“I’ll quickly change and make us a pot of tea.”
“Yes. Yes, that would do nicely. You don’t happen to have any of those tarts from the bakery in town, do you?” Sarah shook her head. “Georgina just makes the most wonderful jam tarts.” The woman closed her eyes. “The smell of them baking is just intoxicating.” She opened her eyes and looked at Sarah once more. “Never mind me. Shoo!” she said waving her hands at Sarah. “I’ll just be in here warming up by the fire.”
“Alright.” Sarah turned to leave and realized she didn’t know what to call her guest. “I didn’t catch your name,” she said returning to the door.
The woman had settled into her father’s chair by the fireplace. She had placed the basket by her feet and was holding her hands out to the fire. “I can never get warm, no matter what I do. I guess it comes with the territory,” she quipped. “My name? Oh, you wanted my name.” She quickly stood and gave a curtsey. “Mrs. Louisa Pennyworth at your service.”
Sarah nodded and went to her room to change out of her wet clothes. Mrs. Pennyworth must be drenched with those heavy layers of fabric she was wearing. If Sarah didn’t know better, she would think it was a mourning gown.
Carrying her dirty dress to the kitchen she put it in a bucket of water on the stove to soak. She would deal with it later.
