“Pastor. Pastor Jess?” I wheeled around in circles, my eyes scanning the platform. “Pastor Jess!” Panic edged into my soul. “Paaastoor!”
“Worie, over here.” He waved his hand for me to come, and I edged my way through the crowd to where he stood. He shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out the paper to show the address to a man decked out in fancy clothes.
I stepped closer to the pastor, and the man eyed me. He inched away like he thought I was filthy.
“Wondered if you could direct me toward this road?” The pastor took me by the hand and pulled me close to him.
The man pointed toward a row of buildins. “Top of the hill and turn left. Pass the general store and dress shop. You’ll see the church. That’s the road.”
“Dress shop? What’s that?” I had a hunch I knew, but this was a strange place.
“In the city, most women pay to have their dresses sewed.” Pastor Jess gently nudged me ahead. “Maybe we can stop in for you to look at the dresses later.”
I looked at him right strange. “Pastor, I’m a mountain girl. I ain’t never seen the likes of this, and if the truth be knowed, I don’t want to. I just want to find Farrell and T. J., get back on that train, and go back to the mountains where I belong.”
He smiled and motioned me ahead.
We walked up a steep hill lined with long, thin houses, then, like the man said, the pastor turned toward the church. People dodged piles of horse manure as they crossed from one side of the road to the other, while wagons just sloshed right through.
“Pastor Jess?”
He took my arm and led me to the boardwalk. “I’m sure we ain’t far. What’s on your mind?”
I stopped and faced him. “I’m scared. What if Calvin has done something terrible with them children? What if I can’t find them? And what about Doanie? She’ll be brokenhearted the rest of her life. What if—”
“Worie, stop. What-ifs can’t never be answered, and once you start askin about them they’re like rabbits. They just keep multiplyin.” He bent enough to look me in the eye. “The good Lord tells us it ain’t for us to worry over. He knows ever hair on your head, and if that ain’t enough, He reminds us that even the birds are fed. He knows exactly what He will do. Don’t worry.”
Them sounded like nice words, but as Momma used to say, “That’s easier said than done.”
Pastor Jess stepped around me to eye the buildins down the way, but I leaned in front of him. “I ain’t never been real close to the good Lord. Momma was. Ever day she went to her knees by her bed. And I sure don’t aim to say I appreciate what He has allowed to happen—with Momma, these children . . . and all. But I know one thing. I felt like I found my direction on that train, and that was enough to make me sit up and take mind.”
“That’s a good thing. The Lord makes Hisself known to us.”
“I ain’t sure how, but I heard Him clear as could be. So you need to know, I took a minute to speak my mind to Him.”
Pastor Jess laughed as he slipped my arm through his. “I’m sure you did.”
I think Pastor Jess knew they was no point in preachin to a hardheaded woman, so he didn’t commence to tell me how to behave or insist I pray more. Guess the good Lord give him the wits enough to know He’d done the work that needed to be done in my heart. Pastor Jess knew then to just keep his mouth shut. And he did.
Pastor Jess’s steps grew longer, and he pulled me along. His arm went up as he pointed. “There! There it is.”
I yanked his arm down. “Where? Do you see the youngins? Where? I don’t see where.”
“There. The painted red house.”
I broke into a run, shovin folks outta my way, Pastor Jess right behind me. I worked my way through the hordes of people to the house where a sign hung over a huge white door.
1 Riding Road
Home for Lost Children
All Who Enter Are Loved
A bell hung from a metal holder, waitin for me to yank the rope. I wheeled around and stared at Pastor Jess. “Preacher, my hand won’t reach up there.”
It had nothin to do with my bein able to grab the rope. My hands was froze in place. Behind this door was the children.
“Would you?” I asked.
Pastor Jess tugged the rope and it rung loud for its size. My mind spun in circles. What would I say? How would the children act? Had they missed me, Doanie? I felt my gut churn and my stomach retch.
The knob wiggled and a woman pulled the door open just enough to peer through. “Yes? Who calls?”
Pastor Jess tipped his hat and introduced himself. “We’re in search of two children. Siblins. Was hopin we might find them here.”
The woman made no effort to open the door, and her ponderin was takin way too long. I laid my shoulder against the door and pushed. She didn’t weigh nothin, for I shoved her right easy outta the way.
“My name is Worie Dressar. They was a man, Calvin Dressar, my brother, that took two children from me . . . from their sister. One was a little girl about five years old, maybe six, and a little boy, three or four years old. I need these children to come home. Their sister is a mess worryin over them. They here?”
Pastor Jess gently nudged me to the side. “What she says is true. The children were taken without permission. The girl’s name is Farrell and the boy is T. J.”
She went to ponderin again, and whilst I waited for the old woman to decide if we was truthful or not, I looked over the house. A large stairway climbed its way upward, and fancy crocheted doilies covered shiny wood tables with dishes I feared would shatter if a body breathed too hard. The house was quiet. No sounds of children. No signs that young ones lived there.
The woman pointed to a long chair. “Have a seat. I’ll get Master Holtsclaw.”
“Master?” I snapped. “On the mountain we have slaves that was freed.”
Pastor Jess bumped my arm. “Shhh! It ain’t what you think.”
But Ely and Bess had told me stories of their master and how he made them work and live in filth. And how they attacked him and tied him up to get away. What else could “master” mean? I was sure, nothin good.
We waited a spell before a tall, handsome man come around the corner. A lean, well-dressed woman followed. He extended his hand. “Charles Holtsclaw. This is Mable, my wife. She tells me you’re looking for two children.”
I leaped up. “They was took from me. Took from their sister. I want them back. Where are they?”
Pastor Jess faced me. “Worie, sit down and hush. Now.”
I could tell he was riled. I eyed him a minute, then found my seat. That’s when I heard that voice in my head. Rest in Me. Trust. A chill climbed my spine, for I heard them words as clear as day. Momma always said a body’s conscience would speak to them, but I wasn’t bettin on my conscience. Not this time.
I watched as Pastor Jess and Mr. Holtsclaw talked, and then I heard words that took my heart right outta my chest. Surely I wasn’t hearin the man right. The words “train,” “orphan,” and “west” burned my soul, and I come off that chair in a rage.
“Are you tellin me you put my little Farrell on a train and sent her away from her family? Is that what you are tellin me?”
The man took a step back. “Families pay good money to find children they can love.”
The rage inside me let loose like a flood after a heavy rain. I went to slappin the man on his chest, screamin. They was nothing I could do to stop my anger. It raged. Words belted outta my mouth that I can’t even recall. The man took hold of my arms and held them tight against my sides while Pastor Jess tried to talk sense to me. And when it finally passed, I dropped to my knees and sobbed.
“Lordy mercy. You sold my youngin. You took Doanie’s baby sister and sold her.” Sobs, wails, fell from the deepest part of me.
Pastor Jess knelt beside me. They was not a word he could say. Nothin.
“You sold my little Farrell.” That was when I felt that voice again. Trust Me.
I stoo
d and pushed Pastor Jess to one side. Straightenin my shoulders and raisin my chin, I swiped the tears. “What a man will do for money,” I said. “What a man will do for money.”
I opened the door and walked out. The sign on the door hung by a small chain and a nail. I pulled it down, threw it on the ground, and stomped it. The man stood dumbfounded.
“All who enter are loved! Hogwash! Like I said, what a man will do for money.” And I walked away.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
Pastor Jess followed behind me, hollerin, “Worie, wait. Wait.”
I didn’t know where I’d go or what I’d do. I just know a rollin hate bubbled outta me.
I stopped and wheeled around. “Leave me be!” I screamed. “Leave me be!” Folks walking by eased past, afraid I was speakin to them. “They ain’t nothin you can say, Pastor Jess. Nothin. They is no excuse for a man to sell a little youngin. None.” Rage rose, and I put my hands on my head and screamed long and hard. Tears poured out.
Pastor Jess just stood at my side. His lips moved, but nothin come out. I figured he was prayin for the good Lord to strike me down. Lord knows that was what I was prayin.
When I simmered down, Pastor Jess gently pulled me close. “I know your heart is broken,” he whispered.
Them was the right words, cause if he’d said, “I know how you feel,” I’d have slapped him.
“Let’s find a place to rest. Let you get your wits back.”
We walked to a square covered in grass. A pretty wooden porch stood to one side. Flowers lined a stone walkway, and birdhouses stood on poles nestled inside the beds of flowers.
“It’s called a gazebo.” Pastor Jess pulled me tighter under his arm. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
It was beautiful. Green vines crawled up the sides, and clusters of purple flowers hung. Bees hummed about, happy to have flowers to sip from. We climbed the stairs to a bench. Pastor Jess pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dangled it in front of me.
“What will I tell Doanie?” The words oozed from me with the same agony I felt when I found Momma dead. “Oh Lordy, what will I tell that youngin? ‘A man sold your sister to a stranger’?”
“We can’t change what is. We don’t forget Farrell, but we trust she has found a family that will love her. It’s all we can do.”
“But . . .”
“No buts, Worie. We know she has a home. We can’t change that. We look to find T. J. and hope there is still something we can do for him.”
“We didn’t ask about T. J.,” I whimpered.
“Before you lost your temper—”
“I had reason to lose my temper!” I snapped.
Pastor Jess swallowed and let his chin drop to his chest. I could tell his patience was wearin thin, but bein a man of the cloth, he worked right hard to not grow angry. “Before you lost your temper, once you hushed up talkin and set down, I was able to talk to Holtsclaw. No one offered him a boy.”
“What?” I pulled myself up straight. “That must mean Calvin still has him.”
“That would be my guess.”
“But Calvin ain’t a patient man, and that boy ain’t learned to use the hole yet. I ain’t seein Calvin changin that youngin’s pants.”
Pastor Jess smiled. “Well, I hadn’t thought of that, but it is a good thought.”
“You reckon he plans to do the same with T. J.? Sell him? You know if there is a dollar to be made, Calvin will stoop to hell to grab it.”
“Well, farmers need boys to raise so they can shoulder the hard work in the fields.”
I could have swore my heart quit beatin. I could see life in the city was easier than in the peaks of the mountains. Folks had more. It wasn’t hard to see that the more a body has, the more they want. At least in the hills, we take care of our own. Momma helped them orphaned children, and she never once offered to sell one.
I slung my head from side to side, tryin to shake the horrible thoughts out, but all that come to mind was Ely and Bess tellin me about bein whipped with a bridle strap. “They better not a soul lay a hand on them youngins to hurt them. I will hunt them down.” I buried my face in my hands and cried. “They’ll be no peace until I have them back in my arms.”
It took all my strength to muster up the courage and trust to offer a prayer. But I did. “Reckon everbody says You know best. But bein sold ain’t best for a three-year-old boy. Oh Lord, have mercy.” I whispered the words into my palms. “Can’t You just one time show me You’re real?”
I stood and paced the large rounded porch, and when I stopped and looked across the deep green grass my eye caught on a man. I grabbed the pastor’s sleeve and pulled him toward me. “Look yonder. Is that . . . Oh Lordy . . . is that . . . ?”
“Calvin?” Pastor Jess slapped his forehead. “I can’t believe my eyes.”
I slowly pulled the tail of my skirt between my legs and tucked it in at the waist. One tug and I’d pulled the string of my bag tight around my arm. You didn’t have to be right bright to figure I was ready to take after him, so Pastor Jess pressed his arm in front of me.
“We ain’t seen the boy. Wait!”
It seemed ever turn I made somebody was tellin me to wait or trust, and I was up to my gullet in hearin them words, but the pastor was right. We hadn’t seen T. J., and runnin Calvin down now might ruin my findin the youngin. We waited and watched.
Two men walked to Calvin and shook his hand. I could see them heads bobbin up and down as they laughed and talked. Calvin eased around a wagon and pulled up a cover. Then it happened. Me and the pastor saw a little blond head pop up like a mole in a hole.
“That’s him!” I shouted. I cocked my head toward the heavens and lifted my hand. “Alright, You’ve proved Yourself, Lord.” And with that, I took out across the grassy square. I couldn’t muster no words to holler, I just run as hard as I could. Pastor Jess strode beside me.
When I got within earshot of Calvin, I commenced to shout, “Give me my boy!”
I hadn’t much more than got the words out when I lowered my head and rammed Calvin with my shoulder, knockin him to the ground. It was like when we was kids roughhousin, and this time I hit low and hard first. Pastor Jess landed on top of us both, and while he managed Calvin, I climbed to my feet and reached for T. J.
“Hey there, baby boy. Miss Worie’s come to get you.” Them little arms stretched out and wrapped tight around my neck. I closed my eyes and squeezed. “It’s alright, baby. We gonna get you home. Doanie cries after you ever day.”
I wasn’t sure where I would go, but everthing in me told me to run. And I did. I run as hard as I could toward that train platform.
Pastor Jess was hollerin, “Worie, don’t run! Don’t run!”
Despite his yellin, I did what I had to do. T. J.’s legs wrapped tight around my waist, and his head pressed hard into my neck. With ever step, I felt the air push from my lungs. I could run and do it real good. I’d done it enough as a youngin when Calvin would take after me.
The train whistle squalled and the steam hissed from its sides. Just a little farther and I’d be on my way home. My legs felt like they had logs tied to them. Just a little farther. Just a little more.
Suddenly it felt like somebody hit me in the back with a branch. I grabbed the back of T. J.’s head as I fell forward. Arms wrapped tight around my knees, stoppin me from kickin, and when I rolled over, there stood a man huffin and puffin.
They was no way I was turnin T. J. loose, no matter how they pried my fingers.
“Get up, young lady. I’m takin you to jail.”
Pastor Jess finally made his way to my side, his chest heavin. “Wait, Sheriff. Let me explain.”
“Let go of the child.”
“No!” I shouted. “Calvin stole him once. He ain’t stealin him again.”
“That’s my boy.” Calvin heaved the words out.
“He ain’t neither. Don’t you touch him.” I swung to one side to keep Calvin from touchin T. J. “Pastor, tell them. Don’
t just stand there. Make them listen.” I squeezed T. J. tighter. “Baby boy, you hang on to Miss Worie with all your worth. You hear me?” I felt his head nod.
Calvin ranted to the sheriff about how the boy was his fair and square.
“Fair and square!” I hollered. “This here is a youngin, not a bet. You don’t win a little youngin fair and square. You idiot.” T. J. held so tight around my neck that I commenced to cough. “You ain’t takin this boy away from me again. Get away from us.”
By this time a crowd of people circled us, and I felt an idea come over me. They wasn’t nobody in their right mind who would let a person yank a child from his momma’s arms. So I used that to help me and T. J.
“T. J., listen to me,” I whispered in his ear. “You can talk plenty good enough. Miss Worie needs you to start screamin and callin me your momma. Can you do that?”
And the little one did just that. “Mommmmaaa! Mommmmaaa!” he screamed as loud as he could.
I looked at the crowd. “Don’t let them take my boy. Please don’t stand there and let them take my boy!”
Ever time Calvin tried to touch T. J. he screamed, “Mommmmaaa!” And it was only minutes before the crowd took hold, pressuring the sheriff to leave the boy in my arms.
“Ain’t you the sly one?” the sheriff said.
“I done told you, you ain’t takin my boy again.”
Pastor Jess stood between Calvin and me, keepin him from tryin to take T. J. “This wasn’t how I figured we’d get T. J. back,” he uttered.
“You just figure how to sweet-talk that sheriff,” I snapped.
The sheriff pointed toward a building just down the way. “Alright. You hold that boy, but we’re walkin to the jail. You understand?”
I nodded.
“Worie, what are you tryin to do, takin the boy back?” Calvin kept grabbin at T. J. and cussin ever other word.
“Them ain’t words that the good Lord will find favor on,” Pastor Jess said as he kept shovin Calvin’s arms away.
“You ain’t sellin this boy. I’m takin him home to his sister,” I said.
It didn’t take us but a few minutes to get to the buildin. That crowd of people followed, shoutin at the sheriff to let a momma have her youngin. I wasn’t always sneaky, but I was right proud of rilin that bunch of folks.
What Momma Left Behind Page 15