Sweet Sarah Ross by Julie Tetel

Author:Julie Tetel [Julie Tetel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781459268012
Publisher: Harlequin

Chapter Eleven

Sarah angled into the wagon train at a perpendicular, coming up alongside the middle wagon—pulled by a team of mules—at the head of which sat a man and a woman. When Sarah was close enough to distinguish their faces, her joy turned to confusion not to recognize them, and she was further confused not to be recognized by them. She had expected welcoming signs of relief or shouts of happiness at her reappearance, but was met only with measuring regards and silence. It wasn’t until much later that she realized what a sight she must have presented astride a huge gray stallion, with her pantalets exposed beneath her Indian dress and a man in buckskin breeches slumped behind her.

She opened her mouth to identify herself as Sarah Ross Harris, daughter to Barbara and Morgan, sister to Martha and Helen—those brats!—who had no doubt found some poor soul on the wagon train to plague and pester in her place. She opened her mouth to remind everybody who she was, but what came out were odd scratching noises. It seemed that her throat no longer worked properly.

Neither did her ears. The woman on the wagon turned to the man, and Sarah could not believe that she heard the woman say, “Mr. Wilkins, do you think this poor woman speaks English?”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Wilkins,” the man replied. “Her hair is blond, and her eyes are brown, so she might well speak English, for she does not look like any Indian I’ve ever seen.”

“Indeed not,” Mrs. Wilkins agreed, “and it’s not as if she looks dangerous, but rather more…disreputable.”

Of course I’m not an Indian! Sarah tried to say. She didn’t think she managed to get the words out because Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins continued to look at her with equal parts curiosity and suspicion. And I’m not disreputable!

“Yes, disreputable,” Mrs. Wilkins continued, “careering about the wilderness with a half-naked man who might well be an Indian.”

“In a Christian spirit, Mrs. Wilkins,” Mr. Wilkins said, “we cannot judge whether she herself is a heathen or whether the half-naked man is past saving. So we must…”

Sarah didn’t even try to understand the rest of this strange conversation. She gestured to Powell’s unconscious body, so that Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins could see that he was in desperate need of their Christian aid, if it came to religious principles. She tried words like “please” and “help” and “thirsty” and “riding all night long,” but succeeded in capturing their attention only with her clear articulation of the word “Baltimore.”

By that time, another man, most likely the wagon master, had ridden back to the wagon to size the situation up. Drawing next to her, the man on horseback asked, “You’re from Baltimore, ma’am?”

Sarah nodded vigorously, croaked some more, and knew how Powell had felt when he had first splashed through the water and had come upon her. “And Washington,” she managed next in reference to Powell. “Government. Surveyor.”

The wagon master, a big, ruddy man, raised bushy brows. “A

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