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  The look in his eyes reminded Sarah of Tice. It made her uncomfortable, but the need for a job overrode her desire to turn and run. She had outwitted a riverboat gambler. Surely she could put up with rudeness. Sarah poised on the edge of a chair facing the desk, still clutching her reticule. “I am looking for a position.” It sounded better than job. “I can cook, sew, tend children, clean, or wait on tables.”

  The man looked her over and smiled again. “Take your hat off and let your hair down.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Sarah said in the icy voice with which she’d refused to marry Tice.

  “Your hair. I can find you a better job than household drudge. The starting salary is—” He named what sounded to Sarah like a princely sum.

  “What would I have to do, and why do you want my hair down?” Sarah demanded.

  The man gave a long-suffering sigh. “Do you want a job, or don’t you? You look like someone’s sainted aunt with your hair like that. People who come to my club want to be served by girls who are lively and attractive. In the right clothes and with that hair, you can be a raving beauty. You’ll make more just in tips than you can imagine.”

  A warning bell sounded in Sarah’s brain. She remembered her father saying, “If something sounds too good to be true, it probably isn’t true.” “Club? Do you mean a restaurant?”

  He guffawed. “Hardly. I run the Golden Peaks Men’s Club. High-class entertainment. Can you sing? Ace Hardin’s girls have to do more than serve food and drinks.” He leered. “A lot more.”

  Sarah stood so quickly that her chair crashed to the floor. She felt her face flame. “I will neither sing nor serve food and drinks in your Golden Peaks or any other club. Such places are unholy and lead men to destruction. They are an abomination to God and to decent people.” She whipped around and started for the door.

  Hardin sprang with the speed of a panther. He grabbed Sarah by the shoulders and kicked the door shut. “No one talks to Ace Hardin like that. You came in here of your own free will, missy.” He began dragging her to an open door in the back of the room. “I’ll lock you in the storeroom and let you reconsider. You’re just the kind of girl who will bring customers to my place. I’m not passing up a chance like this.”

  Filled with horror Sarah slumped. Only Hardin’s cruel grip kept her from falling. The next instant she began kicking and scratching with all her strength. She opened her mouth to scream, but Hardin let go with one hand and put meaty fingers over her mouth. “Shut up, you hellcat,” he commanded.

  It was the opportunity Sarah needed. She wrestled her right arm free and snapped open the reticule still hanging from it. She pulled out Seth’s wooden gun and shoved the muzzle into the man’s stomach so hard he let out a huge wheeze.

  “Stand back!”

  Hardin’s mouth fell open. His skin turned a sickly green, and his hold on her loosened. “You–you’re not going to shoot me, are you?” He took a step back.

  Sarah pushed the gun farther into the overhanging belly that hid the carved pistol. “Put your hands in the air and walk backwards to the storeroom door,” she ordered.

  Step-by-step they crossed the room with Sarah’s hand firm on Seth’s toy. “Reach behind you, and open the door. Step inside and don’t try any tricks. I won’t say what might happen if you do.” It wasn’t a lie. If her bluff didn’t work, she was a goner.

  Hardin did as he was told.

  The door closed behind him.

  Sarah turned the key in the lock and fled from the employment office as if pursued by Gus Stoddard and Tice Edwards.

  Chapter 13

  When Sarah fled from Ace Hardin’s employment office, she headed straight for Miz Hawthorne. She flung herself into the good woman’s arms and sobbed.

  “My goodness, child,” the old lady gasped. “Whatever is the matter?”

  “I should have left when I first felt something was wrong, but I need a job so much. I didn’t know that he—” A fresh torrent of tears came.

  Miz Hawthorne’s arms tightened. “Who? What did he do to you?”

  “He said to take down my hair and asked if I could sing.” Fury dried Sarah’s tears, and she sat up straight. “He said ‘his girls at the Golden Peaks had to do more than serve food and drinks—a lot more.’ I told him such places were terrible and started to leave. He grabbed me and said he’d keep me in his storeroom until I changed my mind!”

  “How did you get away?”

  The absurdity of Sarah’s escape sent her into peals of laughter. “I threatened him with a wooden pistol!”

  “You what?” Miz Hawthorne stared as if she couldn’t believe her ears.

  Sarah chortled. “I really did.” She groped in her reticule and brought out her weapon of defense. “I stuck the muzzle right in his fat belly and backed him into the storeroom. He thought I was going to shoot him!”

  After a moment of stunned silence Miz Hawthorne said, “Well, I never!” and burst out laughing. When she could control herself, she wiped her eyes and pushed Sarah away. “We have to tell our sheriff about this right away. The idea, recruiting young girls to serve in such a place. The sheriff will put a stop to that.”

  “No,” Sarah cried. “I’d have to sign my name on a complaint. It would become public knowledge. Please, Miz Hawthorne, don’t tell anyone what happened.” A new, terrifying thought struck her. “You don’t know Tice Edwards. He has the chief of police in St. Louis under his thumb. If Gus found Seth’s letter, Tice may already have had the authorities in St. Louis send telegrams to sheriffs along the train route.” She finally convinced her landlady the best thing to do was for the runaway to lie low for a few days and see if there were repercussions from the fiasco, although Mrs. Hawthorne doubted there would be.

  “I don’t know this Ace Hardin, but if word ever got out that a slip of a girl had gotten the best of him with a toy pistol, the scoundrel would be the laughingstock of Denver.” Her eyes twinkled. “After you leave, I’ll tip off a deputy sheriff friend of mine. He’s an honest young officer. If anything can be done to put Hardin out of business, he will see to it.”

  “You won’t mention my name, will you?” Sarah pleaded.

  “Oh no. I’ll just say Hardin and the Golden Peaks Men’s Club need looking into.”

  For the next week Sarah seldom went out, even to look for work. Miz Hawthorne guarded her as a mother cougar guards her cubs, and the few young ladies staying with her at the time knew nothing except that “Miss Joy” would soon be leaving. Yet Sarah no longer felt secure in Denver. Destitute and dependent on her landlady’s kindness, the thought of being followed and dragged back to St. Louis against her will prompted her to forget about employment—especially after being nearly frightened to death when she saw a man who closely resembled Tice Edwards.

  The next day she tearfully got out her mother’s wedding ring and without a qualm gathered together the trinkets Tice brought while courting her and prepared to leave Denver. However, the pathetic amount she received from their sale left her without enough money for a quick ride to Madera. Although it would take much longer, she would have to make the last leg of her journey by stagecoach. Miz Hawthorne wanted to make up the difference, but Sarah refused.

  “I won’t be beholden to you, Mrs. Hawthorne. I can make it on my own the rest of the way. I have enough to purchase passage on the stage to Madera and pay for what little food I’ll need and lodging at the stage stops. Once in Madera I’ll be safe with my brother. The Diamond S Ranch is close by.”

  “I hate to see you go, child, but go you must,” Miz Hawthorne told her. “Godspeed, and I’ll be praying for you. Always remember: He cares for His own.”

  “I know.” Sarah embraced her. “I’ll never forget you. I’ll send word when I get to California.” If you ever do, an inner voice mocked.

  Sarah didn’t listen. God had delivered her from Gus Stoddard, from Tice Edwards, and from Ace Hardin. He knew what lay ahead and would prepare ways of escape.

  Sarah traveled the
endless miles from Denver to Madera in a rocking coach. She shrank into a corner and looked over her shoulder at every stage stop. She kept her veil over her face much of the time, a shield against bold stares, even though it almost gave her heatstroke. She rejoiced when other women or families came aboard or clean-cut cowboys who glanced at her then respectfully looked away. If it became necessary to identify herself, she gave the name Miss Joy, which she’d used to take passage.

  Not all the trip was unpleasant. Sarah marveled at the ever-changing landscape. Towering forests. Deep canyons with silvery streams rushing from their mountain birthplaces to their final destination: the Pacific Ocean. Huge rocks ranging from frowning granite walls to grotesque red peaks and columns. Stretches of desert with little shade. Pungent sagebrush. Giant tumbleweeds. Long-eared rabbits the loquacious driver called jacks. Deer and antelope. Sheep and cattle and horses.

  Sarah learned from listening to California-bound ranchers who boarded the stage that there would be no sheep on the Diamond S. “Scourge of the earth,” one weather-beaten man declared. “Those stinkin’ sheep crop the grass so close our cattle starve, along with drivin’ folks crazy with their baa baa.”

  Weary beyond description Sarah reached Madera travel worn and near penniless. She was tired of looking at flat land. Even glimpses of the snowcapped Sierra Nevada in the distance had palled—and if she never saw another stagecoach, it would be too soon. Thoughts of a real bath sent a pang of longing through her body. She sighed. Baths cost money she didn’t have.

  The stagecoach door swung open. Stiff from her long ride, Sarah carefully lowered her veil and accepted the driver’s helping hand. She clutched her precious reticule and stepped out of the coach. The driver swung her carpetbag to the board sidewalk nearby. His team snorted and stamped, obviously eager to reach the large water trough in the middle of town. Their hooves stirred up a cloud of yellow dust. Sarah quickly reached for a handkerchief and held it over her nose, wondering what to do next.

  The driver pointed toward the wooden sidewalk and a portly, bald man standing in front of a building identified as MOORE’S GENERAL STORE. MADERA POST OFFICE. “Set yourself down in the shade of the store. Our postmaster will take care of you.”

  The jolly-looking man laughed. “I sure will, miss, or my name’s not Evan Moore. Would you care for some lemonade? It’s fresh made.”

  The friendly welcome unknotted Sarah’s nerves. She threw back her veil, dropped to a bench, and fervently said, “I can’t imagine anything I’d like more.”

  The postmaster’s eyes twinkled. “Fine. Would you like to come inside or stay here in the shade? My ‘post office’ is actually just a cubbyhole behind the counter in my general store. It has enough pigeonholes for the mail.”

  Sarah smiled at him. “I’m too tired to move, Mr. Moore. If you don’t mind, I’ll see your post office—and the store—some other time.”

  “Fine. Fine.” He rubbed his hands together and stepped inside. When he returned, carrying large glasses of cold lemonade, he sat down beside her. Sarah thanked him and timidly said, “I’m Sarah, Seth Anderson’s sister. How can I get word to the Diamond S that I’m here?”

  “Well, I swan! I shoulda known.” Evan slapped his leg. “You resemble him some. Say, does he know you’re coming?”

  “No.” Not sure how much to tell, Sarah said, “I wasn’t sure when I’d arrive.”

  Evan scratched his bald head and looked troubled. “Last I heard, the Diamond S were driving the cattle up to the high country. I’m not sure when they’ll be back. Do you want me to get someone to carry you out to the ranch?”

  Bitter disappointment filled Sarah. What should she do? Except for a lone ten-cent piece, her coffers were empty. Pride warred with necessity—and won. “I can’t just show up and beg to be taken in until Seth returns,” she whispered.

  “Any sister of young Anderson would be welcome on the Diamond S,” the postmaster reassured her. “That’s how we do things ’round here. By the way, call me Evan. Mr. Moore was my dad, God rest his soul. Anyway, if going to the ranch isn’t to your liking, you bein’ an Easterner and used to different ways and all, ’tain’t no problem.” He called to a freckle-faced boy kicking up dust with a worn boot, “You there, Johnny, get over here. This lady’s Seth Anderson’s sister. Ride out to the Diamond S, and tell them to send word to Matt and Seth that she’s here.”

  Johnny grinned. “Sure, Evan. Whatever you say.”

  Sarah took the last of her money from her reticule and held it out. “Thank you, Johnny.”

  He drew back, and his face turned red. “Aw, you don’t have to pay me. It’s only ten miles.”

  How unlike the Stoddard children, Sarah thought. This boy must be about Peter’s or Ian’s age but what a difference! Neither would walk across the street on my behalf, let alone take a hot, dusty, twenty-mile round trip without being well paid. She pressed the dime in Johnny’s unwilling hand. “Please. I’ll feel better if you take it.”

  “Well, all right. Thanks.” He pocketed the ten-cent piece and sped down the street toward the livery stable hollering, “Hey Pa, I gotta ride out to the Diamond S. Seth Anderson’s sister’s here, and he don’t know it. She’s real nice, Pa—and purty.”

  Evan laughed outright, and Sarah felt warmed through and through. Never before had she been more aware of God’s loving care and His promise in Isaiah: “No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper; and every tongue that shall rise against thee in judgment thou shalt condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord, and their righteousness is of me, saith the Lord.” God had cared for her every step of the way. Surely He would provide for her in this strange land that oddly enough didn’t feel strange at all but as if she’d come home. She impulsively turned to Evan.

  “Mr. Moore—Evan, I just gave my last dime to Johnny. I need a place to stay until Seth comes and a way to pay for it. It will take time for him to get back from the high country, won’t it?”

  “You can bet your bottom dollar on that. Don’t fret, Miss Sarah.” Evan stood and offered her his arm. “We’ll just mosey on down to the Yosemite Hotel and see what the proprietor says. The captain took care of Seth when the boy was hurt. He thinks a powerful lot of him.” Evan coughed. “We all do. Especially Matt Sterling. Seth reminds him of Matt’s kid brother, who died a few years back.”

  If Sarah had been able to choose someone to enlighten her about Madera, she couldn’t have found anyone better than Evan Moore. He proudly escorted Sarah to the Yosemite Hotel, talking while she observed. A wide main street, typical of other western towns she’d come through, stretched on either side of Evan’s store and post office. The friendly man’s face wreathed with smiles when he said, “We’ve got ourselves three hotels. Three general stores. A drugstore, a butcher shop, a blacksmith shop, and a livery.” He laughed. “And according to Matt Sterling,” he said impressively, “ ‘just about the prettiest and most wide-awake town in the entire San Joaquin Valley.’ ”

  Sarah stifled a yawn. After the hustle and bustle of St. Louis, Madera seemed more sleepy than wide awake, but unwilling to offend she kept her opinion to herself.

  After running out of information about the town Evan obviously loved, he said, “We’ve got some mighty fine folks here, Miss Sarah. Captain Perry Mace is one of them. He’s been ’most everywhere and done ’most everything. Funny. The Mexican War’s been over for ages, but he’s never been called anything but ‘the captain.’ Wears a top hat all the time. Well,” he added in a droll voice, “maybe not to bed.”

  Sarah rewarded him with a smile, but her heartbeat quickened. God sometimes led His children by strange paths. Would He use this eccentric adventurer to help her as he had helped Seth? It could be days before her brother was able to reach her.

  On hearing Sarah’s plight the captain promptly said, “Sho, you’ll stay right here in my hotel until Seth comes.” He waved an expansive hand. “You’re more than welcome.”

  The kindness and western ho
spitality Sarah had encountered ever since she reached Madera brought a lump to her throat. She swallowed hard. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate it, but I will only accept on one condition. I’m no stranger to hard work and can earn my keep.”

  An approving look brightened the captain’s keen eyes. “Spunky, just like that brother of yours. Good. If you want to work, it’s fine with me. I can always use another girl to help wait tables.” He glanced at her hot, dark traveling outfit. “You’ll need a lighter dress though.”

  Would lack of proper clothing mean she wouldn’t get the job? Even so, she had to be honest. “My few calico work dresses are pretty worn.”

  The captain waved aside her stumbling confession. “Your dress doesn’t much matter as long as it is clean. The girls wear aprons that cover them from their necks to the tops of their shoes. I’ll have Abby show you to a room and fix you up.”

  Sarah still wasn’t satisfied. Even if she only worked for a few days, the captain must know the whole truth. “I’ve never waited tables, but I’ve cooked and scrubbed and taken care of a mean stepfather and his four ornery kids,” she burst out.

  “If you’ve done that, then I reckon you’ll feel right at home waitressing.” He shook Sarah’s hand until her fingers tingled. “Thanks for bringing her over, Evan. Unless I’m a piker and not Captain Perry Mace, Miss Sarah’s going to be a mighty fine gal to have around.”

  Several long, uncertain days passed with no sign of Seth. Although longing to see him, Sarah concentrated on her new job and quickly caught on. Her eagerness to always do more than her share endeared her to the other girls. It also won the captain’s approval.

  “I just wish I could keep you on permanently instead of just until your brother comes,” he grumbled. “We’re going into the busiest season of the year.”

  Sarah just smiled, but in the dark hours of the night, a daring thought took root in her mind and refused to be banished. Why not keep working at the hotel after Seth comes?