Grace like a Whisper

by Edna Lee Allen

  “I hadn’t heard that, Erastus. Congratulations,” said Jed.

  “Well, I’m working on it. Not sure whether I’ll be blessed, or not.”

  “I told him maybe he shouldn’t wait to build a house until after he finds a woman. Go ahead and build you a right, fine house and the woman might just come to you a little easier.”

  Erastus stepped back, both hands in his pants pockets. “This here is good farmland. Best Central Texas has to offer, at least. I wanted to be done married with a mess of kids by now.”

  “I kept telling him not to be discouraged, but he don’t listen.” Harrison leaned in and lowered his voice. “Rumor’s going around that the new schoolmistress won’t be needed come soon, and he has his eye on her.”

  Erastus’s cheeks turned pink. “She sure is a pretty thing. And Minnie sure is attached to her. Talks about her all the time. Never heard a word from her about Mr. Hennessy, but she talks about Miss Cantrell like she’s some kinda angel or somethin’.”

  “Good luck to you with that, Erastus.” Jed’s throat constricted and he grabbed the reins. “I appreciate all these vegetables.”

  The Littleberry brothers stepped back, and Jed turned the wagon around. His jaw had clamped so tight the tension ran all the way down his spine. He changed his mind regarding what to do about Miss Cantrell more than a dozen times on the way home. Both Hail Talbert and Erastus Littleberry could provide finer homes and a sounder life than anything he could give her.

  Jed thought to skip the Darringers’ house and just head for home. Griffin would get over it. But a butchered old hen sounded right tasty. The bones could be used to make broth for soup. It wouldn’t take too long to prod Darringer into shelling out what he owed.

  The horses plodded through the trees near the Darringer property and insisted on stopping at the creek for a drink. Jed agreed with the animals. He took a long sip from his canteen.

  Two of the family’s clan were running toward him. Their hands waved wildly “Fire!”

  Over treetops, charcoal gray smoke curled toward the heavens.

  Piercing pain stung Jed’s chest.

  “My pa thinks that might be your place.”

  17

  Old Man Crump was hauling a bucket of water from his place toward the shop.

  His wife stood in the yard and looked on.

  Thomas emerged from around the corner, the tendons in his neck locked tight from the two heavy pails he carried on either end of a yoke.

  Jed kept the horses far enough not to be spooked and ran toward the shop.

  Griffin’s voice thundered from inside. He batted smoke seeping through the planks on the far wall. His terse words scolded the flames as he stomped and kicked dirt on the lower timbers. But the sparks continued to intensify as loud snaps of hard wood echoed throughout the small building.

  Thomas‘s worried gaze filled with relief when he saw Jed.

  Jed took the pails of water from the boy and dumped the buckets on a sizable area.

  Griffin hacked from the smoke in his lungs but continued to wave the billows with his hat and apron.

  Jed grabbed him and guided him toward fresh air.

  Griffin immediately fell upon his knees, his forehead inches from the ground.

  Maynard Grigsby, who lived in the three-room house on the other side of the meadow, ran past with another filled pail. “Getting close,” he hollered. “We just about got her out.”

  Thomas emerged with two more buckets.

  Jed moved deftly toward him, feeling undeserving of this boy’s innate loyalty and goodness. “Go ahead,” Jed told him as he once again took the pails, “take care of Josiah. We got this.”

  Thomas’s eyes darkened. “We don’t know where he is.”

  ~*~

  Blackened swirls of smoke billowed into an otherwise endlessly blue sky.

  Grace stopped mending and secured her needle into the sock. “Edith?”

  The old woman opened sleepy eyes.

  Grace pointed. “Smoke is coming from over there. Is that someone clearing brush?”

  “Most likely. But it looks rather dark.” She squinted. “Maybe not.”

  A wagon rolled by faster than normal. Three older boys sat in the back. Two men on horseback came from the opposite direction. The driver of the wagon stopped the carriage and shouted something about a fire.

  Grace picked up her skirt and ran into the yard.

  One of the boys in the back of the wagon stood up. “Blacksmith shop’s on fire!”

  The riders cut ahead in front of the wagon.

  Grace turned back to look at Edith, who waved to go on ahead. Grace ran.

  Other neighbors spilled out from their yards.

  Billows of smoke poured out from the two main doors of the smithy. Griffin hacked smoke from his lungs. An older gentleman in faded overalls handed him a glass of water. He gulped part of it down and then dumped the rest over his face.

  “Miss Cantrell!” Thomas ran toward her. He wrapped his arms around her waist. His hair and clothes smelled of smoke.

  A gentleman came out from the shop, a long, gray beard hung a few inches above his waist line. “Think we got her out.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and blotted his forehead.

  Jed emerged through the smoke that had lessened in intensity. His skin shone with sweat as he stepped into the sunshine. He removed his hat and brushed his forehead with his sleeve. Wet curls lay tighter around the nape of his neck. Jed rested a hand on Griffin’s shoulder as he spoke to him. The apprentice looked more upset than the blacksmith. Jed shook hands with several men and thanked them.

  A short woman with round, full hips, carried a bundle wrapped in a checkerboard cloth. Two young girls trailed along beside her. Each handed Jed a bread loaf. The woman spoke to Jed and then Griffin took what she carried in her arms.

  Jed scanned the area. “Thomas?”

  Thomas peeled away from Grace and dashed toward Jed. The boy immediately burst into sobs. Jed took Thomas’s face in his hands and spoke in a soft tone. Kindness radiated from the blacksmith’s voice and his body language.

  Onlookers turned and drifted past her, returning to whatever places they came from.

  Griffin put both loaves of bread under one arm and guided Thomas toward the house. Thomas looked over his shoulder at her. His dark eyes held an expression that spoke volumes.

  Jed turned and for a brief moment her gaze connected with his. He lowered his chin, pulled on the brim of his hat, and walked toward the house.

  A crisp, white shirt against a black lapel caught her eye. Hail Talbert stood at the edge of the road, looking to be more of a spectator than a worried citizen. His gaze was on her.

  He bowed his head, but she ignored him and strode toward home.

  ~*~

  Jed drove the wagon with Griffin on the seat next to him.

  Thomas and Paxton Hubbard sat in the back.

  The sky grew darker and the clouds heavier.

  Griffin cupped his hands around his mouth. “Josiah!”

  “Come home, Josiah!” Paxton shouted.

  “Please,” Thomas echoed.

  They’d scavenged the area, hollering for Jed to stop at any movement in the brush.

  Jed drove the wagon down all the paths the boys had taken. He figured Josiah would be reluctant to wander too far into the unknown. He stopped the wagon and looked out over the field where the boys often played, and where Paxton had spent hours working with them on the slingshot. Nothing stirred. A red-bellied woodpecker drummed on a nearby tree.

  “Josiah!” Thomas hollered again, this time his voice cracked.

  Silence tortured the air. In a few hours the sky would darken further, thick clouds hiding the moon’s glow. Rain looked inevitable. Something skittered in the tall grass twenty or thirty yards off. All heads turned that direction. By the size of the movement Jed knew it to be nothing more than a field mouse. Or perhaps a rabbit. But not a little boy. He tugged on the reins. His stomach knotted as
the wagon pulled forward.

  Thomas sat with his knees bent, his forehead buried between them.

  Paxton still trailed his arms over the side.

  Griffin stretched his fingers wide and then knotted them into fists.

  The quiet Jed had grown accustomed to now seemed lonely and unsettling.

  No one spoke the entire way home, and Paxton climbed down from the wagon without a word.

  “Paxton,” Jed called to him. “Thanks for helping.”

  His lips pressed into a bittersweet smile. “He’ll come back.”

  Jed nodded and then lifted his hand to say goodbye.

  “I’ll help tomorrow. I’ll get up first thing, I promise.” Paxton shouted as the wagon pulled away.

  Before the wagon came to a full stop, Thomas jumped out and scampered toward the house.

  Griffin climbed down to help with the horses.

  In less than a minute, Thomas exited, ran down the steps, and dashed around the side of the house. The sound of Thomas calling Josiah’s name broke Jed’s heart in places he had never felt before.

  Griffin’s eyes closed, and his lips pressed into a hard, thin line.

  Thomas returned. He stopped, bent over with his hands on his knees, and panted.

  Jed fumbled for words. His soul stirred as it searched for what to say, but like a dry well it produced nothing tangible. He squatted, opening his arms to the distraught boy.

  Thomas straightened; his dark eyes gleamed. He sprang forward. “It’s all your fault. You weren’t here!” His small fists pounded Jed’s chest. “The fire scared him. Why did you leave?”

  The boy was weak, but then he kicked, and when the toe of Thomas’s shoe hit his shin, sharp pain went to the bone. Jed grabbed Thomas’s wrists and then pulled him into his chest. “Settle down.” Jed cupped one hand on the back of the child’s head. “We’ll find him.”

  “He’s probably scared.” Thomas’s stiff body softened, and his shrieks melted into sobs.

  “I imagine he is.”

  “What if it rains?” His voice was shaky.

  “Oh, he’ll get a little wet if he doesn’t find shelter.”

  “What if he doesn’t come back tonight?”

  “We’ll look for him tomorrow.”

  “But what if—”

  “We’ll look again.” Jed stroked Thomas’s dark hair and stood. “And keep looking until we find him or he comes home.”

  Thomas sniffled but stayed glued to Jed’s side.

  Griffin finished with the horses and came up. “Come on.” Griffin tugged on Thomas’s sleeve. “Let’s get ready for bed, so we can make a run first thing in the morning—if he doesn’t come back before then.”

  Jed hung back and looked at the billowing sky, which, a few hours ago, only held a few small clouds. He didn’t think Josiah would be gone for long. And it wouldn’t surprise him if the boy returned before the first raindrop hit the grass. But Jed needed a moment to be still. To bask in the emotions that raced through his veins. He had three young people to look after. Their care. Their upbringing. But more than that. They needed his trust. His commitment. And his love. And he needed theirs.

  ~*~

  Grace pulled the light-weight cloak over her shoulders. She dreaded wet, dreary mornings. Sleeping past the early morning hours on rainy days would never be an option.

  “I’m sure you could dismiss the kids home early if the weather doesn’t blow over soon.”

  “I won’t do that, Edith. Not unless it’s storming something terrible. From the sky, it looks like it’ll be nothing more than a hard rain.”

  Thunder rumbled as if it mocked her.

  Edith frowned.

  Grace wrapped her arm around the old woman and gently kissed her forehead. “Besides, I’m sure the children will feel deprived of their education if I’m not at school today.” She tied her bonnet under her chin and grabbed her lunch pail. The air had cooled considerably since yesterday and hit her nose and cheeks as soon as she opened the front door. A gust of wind ripped the rain toward the house. She scampered down the steps. Mud covered the main road, so she cut through the meadow. The smell of wet grass filled her nostrils.

  Days like this she wished the schoolhouse had a teacherage. Perhaps someday she would work at a school with a home for the teacher and wouldn’t have to travel in the rainy weather. And she would not have to depend on anyone else for shelter. She loved Edith but knew she wouldn’t always be there.

  She entered the schoolhouse, hung up her lunch pail, removed her bonnet, lit the woodstove, and knelt in front of the bookshelves. She scoured the poetry books for poems about rain. And there was a book of short stories that contained an allegory about a farmer and a storm.

  Clara came in and knelt beside her. “What’re you doing?”

  “Looking for some things we could do today.”

  “Like what?” Wyatt had shuffled across the wood-planked floor in his wet, bare feet, leaving a small trail behind him. The frayed hem of his trousers were soaked to the middle of his shins, and water dripped from his bangs down the tip of his freckled nose.

  “Well, I thought we could find something to go along with this beautiful weather we’re having.”

  Another bolt of thunder ripped in the heavens.

  “My ma said it won’t rain all day, and I should just go on to school,” Wyatt grumbled.

  “I didn’t want to stay home.” Minnie sat down next to Clara. “I want to be a teacher like you. But Pa says I should get married instead.”

  “You would be a very good teacher if given the opportunity. You’re smart and eager to learn. I see in you compassion, but you’re also strong. You care about people and want to bring out the best in them. And you don’t settle for mediocrity. Very good characteristics of a schoolmistress.”

  “I like you being our teacher,” Clara said as she leaned her head onto Grace’s right shoulder. “Ma says you and your sisters came here on the train.”

  Another clap of thunder deterred the conversation.

  “I hope Josiah went back home.” Wyatt bent over and rolled up his wet pant legs. “He might be stuck out there somewhere.”

  “What do you mean?” Grace asked.

  “You didn’t hear?” Clara lifted her head off Grace’s shoulder. “He ran away.”

  “After the fire started, he took off,” Wyatt interrupted. “I know that ’cuz I saw the fire. Me and my pa ran up there to help when we seen the smoke.”

  “When you saw the smoke, or when you had seen the smoke.” Grace’s heart beat faster, even as she corrected the boy. “But how do you know Josiah never came back?”

  “Guess he could’ve. But they looked for him all night.”

  “The blacksmith came by my house this morning and asked if Josiah had come by. But we hadn’t seen him. Thomas’s eyes were red. He looked real sad.”

  Grace carried the three books to her desk. “Where could he have gone?”

  “My uncle told me orphans sometimes try to run back home. Is New York far away?” Minnie asked, her brow wrinkled.

  “Yes, Minnie, New York is very far from here.”

  “He wouldn’t know how to get back there. Besides, how’s he gonna get on a train with no ticket?” Wyatt chided her.

  “Well, he has that scar on his face. So I bet the sheriff could track him if he went to another town,” Clara added.

  “He’s probably just hiding.” Wyatt shook his head.

  Clara picked up the book of poetry. “If no one else comes, can we just read all day?”

  “Read?” Wyatt scrunched his face, and then he pulled out a small, brown leather bag. “Let’s play marbles.”

  “We aren’t playing marbles.” She looked at the empty desks. Raindrops thudded on the rooftop. Sorrow flooded so deeply she could hardly stand. Such a small child, scared, helpless, wet, cold, and alone. God, do something for that child. Even if it means I will no longer teach. Even if it means I go back to Kansas. I’ll do whatever You want me to do. Go w
herever You lead. But please, see good for Josiah.

  ~*~

  Gossip got out that Josiah went missing, and that he was the cause of the fire. Townspeople’s eyebrows pinched together when Jed explained it had started accidentally in the chimney, that such things are bound to happen in a smith’s shop, and that no one was to blame. Doubt remained in their gazes.

  When the storm eased between downpours, half the town showed up at Jed’s door. Women carried food in their arms, and the men offered to tear out the burnt lumber and replace the boards.

  Jed felt obligated to accept their offers and gritted his teeth through the offered advice that he reconsider keeping the boys Despite the offensive comments, many worried about “the little white-haired boy with the scar.” Perhaps one of them would learn his name before winter.

  Jed carried a plate of fried ham and eggs and a day-old biscuit slathered in honey to the stream where Thomas washed the household’s clothes. He set it on a flat clearing and gazed at the creek swollen from yesterday’s downpour. “Here’s you some food.”

  Thomas didn’t look up, but continued to twist the shirt he was washing.

  “You need to eat.”

  Thomas unfolded the garment, laid it over a large rock on the bank with the other cleaned clothes, and then grabbed a pair of Griffin’s trousers. Scrubbing on the washboard seemed to release his frustration. His white knuckles gripped the bar of soap wrapped in cheese cloth, his fingers red from the cold water and harsh lye.

  “Thomas?”

  “Not hungry.”

  Jed knelt and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  Thomas jerked his head. “I’m not eating! And don’t ask me again!” The boy’s chest rose and fell in a heavy rhythm.

  His sorrow caused Jed’s own heart to fill with pain deeper than he’d ever felt.

  Widow Jenkins had carried the ham, eggs, and honeyed biscuit from three houses away.

  Thomas hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. Tears like melted wax streamed from Thomas’s eyes, black as obsidian.

  Jed wanted to tell him Josiah would be found, that he’d come back, and that everything would be fine. He went to the shop to join Griffin and two other men as they hauled fresh lumber from the back of Old Man Phelps’s wagon.