Too Long a Stranger (Women of the West) Read Free Page A

horses—ah—still belong in good part to the-—ah—bank."
    "The bank?"
    He refused to look at her as he shuffled the pages again.
    "What do you mean?" asked Sarah, leaning forward, demanding by her very stance that the man stop his fumbling around and get to the heart of the matter.
    "Well—ah—" He pushed his spectacles higher on the bridge of his nose.
    "Yes?" prompted Sarah. She finally seemed to have captured his attention.
    "The bank—ah—holds a note—a loan," he managed to get out before he dropped his gaze again.
    "How—how large a note?" asked Sarah directly.
    "Well—ah—Mr. Perry was doing well in paying it off." The man stopped and went back to shifting piles of paper nervously again. Sarah was sorely tempted to reach out a hand to still the restless documents.
    "How much?" she asked again.
    "Well—ah—"
    "How much did Michael still owe?" she said, and marveled at the steadiness of her own voice.
    "Well—ah—if we could sell them—everything—at a reasonable price—then—ah—you would realize a sum of—ah—say—twenty-five or thirty dollars."
    Sarah gasped. Twenty-five—even thirty dollars— would not care for her and Rebecca for any time at all.
    "But—" she began but didn't know where to go with her exclamation. Her denial. Her protest.,
    "I—I admit—ah—that it doesn't sound like much but—Michael was making the payments with—ah—no difficulty. He would have soon—"
    Sarah did not let him finish. "You are saying that it is a solid business?"
    He looked at her then. But he still did not speak.
    "Are you?" she demanded.
    "Well—ah—yes. Solid but not—not—ah—high paying."
    "But sound?" She insisted that he give her a straightforward answer.
    "Solid and sound," he admitted with a nod of his head.
    "So I have a good business—that is worth— nothing!" she pushed further.
    He shifted his feet and the papers.
    "Is that it?" asked Sarah, trying hard to keep her voice under control.
    "Well—ah—"
    "Is it?" She had to guard herself. She did not want to become hysterical. She lowered her voice and spoke again. "Is it?"
    "Well—ah—a man could—"
    "A man?" demanded Sarah. She could feel her head spinning again. The whole world seemed to be going off into the distance. Nothing seemed real. Nothing seemed tangible. She clasped her handbag for something to make contact with, trying to bring things back into proper relationship. Then she reached out from somewhere within her and clutched onto a single thought that made sense.
    "Then I'll hire a man," she said evenly. Her head seemed to clear. The world stopped spinning for just a minute.
    The banker was shaking his head. "You'd have to pay wages," he told her plainly, without his customary pauses of speech.
    Sarah's head went spinning again. "Wages?" she said dumbly.
    "Wages—ah—to the driver," he went on, grabbing some pages. Sarah thought she would go mad with the rustling of the paper, the nervous gestures of the man.
    "The—ah—bank payments—ah—plus the man's wages—ah—would leave you—ah—little—for your livelihood," the man said frankly. His words seemed brutal—wrenching apart the only shred of hope she had held.
    She swallowed and tried to get her head working— understanding. "You're saying," she said slowly, "that the business is profitable—but not so profitable that it could—could handle a—a salaried man—as well as pay off the debt?" she repeated.
    He nodded.
    She lowered her gaze and twisted her gloved hands together.
    "I—ah—see the freight wagon is—ah—still making the run," remarked the banker.
    "Yes," breathed Sarah, her head coming up. "Through the kindness of the parson who has arranged for volunteers to take turns with the driving. But I have presumed on their kindness long enough. I must—must make other plans—soon."
    "I—ah—see," said the banker and cleared his throat again.
    "There is—is a matter of a—ah—payment due next—ah—week," he offered.
    For one brief