What Once Was Lost

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Levi had assured Tommy he wouldn’t leave without telling him, then had returned to his work. He’d made sure to keep his hands as busy as Tommy’s so the boy wouldn’t have cause to worry. Amazing how much the boy perceived by using his ears.

  The grind of wooden wheels against hard-packed earth now reached Levi’s ears. Miss Willems had stopped the wagon at the edge of the porch. Before she could alight, Levi swung the mill door open and called, “We’re in here.”

  Without a word she released the brake, gave the reins a flick, and drew the horse to a halt near the mill doors. He stepped to the edge of the wagon and held out his hands, a silent offer to help her down. Why he’d decided to be gentlemanly, he couldn’t say—she’d never needed his assistance before. But somehow it seemed the right thing to do. Her gaze lit on his waiting hands, and she drew back for a moment, her brow puckering as if uncertain. But then she placed her gloved hands in his and allowed him to assist her.

  The moment the soles of her scuffed black boots reached the ground, she pulled free of his light grasp and gave him a disapproving frown. “Did you say ‘we’ are in the mill, meaning Tommy, too?”

  Levi slipped his fingertips into his trouser pockets. He allowed a wry grin to climb his cheek. “Good afternoon, Miss Willems. How are you today?”

  Her cold-reddened cheeks blazed to a deeper hue, and she pursed her rosy lips as if she’d tasted something sour. The bodice of her wool coat expanded with a deep breath. As she released the air in a steamy little cloud, her expression softened, and a weak curve replaced the stern line of her lips. “Please forgive me. I’ve had a rather trying afternoon, and I’m afraid my manners are lacking.” She clutched her elbows, a slight shiver shuddering her frame. “Did you say Tommy is inside the mill?”

  “That’s what I said.” Levi ambled toward the wide-open door, aware of the patter of feet behind him. “We’ve spent the whole day out here.” He gestured for her to come in, then gave the door a yank, sealing them inside. He watched her release the buttons on her coat one by one while searching the dimly lit room. Her eyes seemed to take in every minute detail. When her gaze landed on Tommy’s corner, those blue eyes flew wide open, and she slapped one hand over her mouth.

  Tommy shifted to one knee, his face crunching in concern. “Miss Willems, is that you?”

  The woman flung a brief, venomous look at Levi, which took him so by surprise he staggered backward two steps. Then she darted to the corner, pushed aside one of the sawhorses, and threw her arms around Tommy. She cradled the boy’s head against her shoulder and pressed her cheek to his hair while she murmured to him.

  Tommy remained stiff within her arms, his eyes blinking so slowly Levi could count the blinks. Then she bolted upright. One hand remained on Tommy’s shoulder, but the other balled into a fist and landed on her hip. Her eyes blazed fire as she glowered at Levi. “Misssster Jonnson, would you kindly explain yourself?”

  He stifled a chuckle. Yep, modig. With her narrowed eyes and the way she hissed his name, she reminded him of a cornered snake. Except he’d never seen a snake so pretty. He shuffled forward a few steps but kept a good distance between them. A cornered snake might strike. “Sure. If you’ll tell me what you need explained.”

  “You’ve placed Tommy in a—in a cage!” She gestured at the circle of sawhorses. “He’s a boy, not an animal or a criminal in need of confinement! Is this your idea of proper treatment?”

  Levi’s amusement fled, and his hackles rose. “Ma’am, I—”

  “And look at him!” She caught Tommy by the elbow and hefted him to his feet. A man’s silver watch, suspended on a chain, swung back and forth across her chest with her jerky movements. “Sawdust in his hair.” She fluffed the strands. A shower of tiny wood bits flew around her hand. “And on his clothes!” She smacked at the boy’s knees, dispelling more bits. “Fingertips raw and bleeding …” Holding the boy’s hands aloft, she cringed.

  Levi did, too. He hadn’t realized how much the bristly hemp had cut into Tommy’s flesh. He should’ve chosen something else for the boy to use for practice. Before he could offer an apology, she rushed on.

  “And don’t think all the ropes strung from building to building out there escaped my notice. Why, it’s a veritable maze! Placed, no doubt, to save you the trouble of escorting Tommy.”

  Tommy patted the air near Miss Willems’s shoulder. “Miss Willems? Miss Willems?”

  She ignored the boy and stomped toward Levi, fists on her hips and eyes sparking. “Have you simply confined him and gone about your business as if a boy in need of care was never placed in your keeping?”

  Levi growled under his breath. Maybe she was a little too modig. He aimed his finger at her face and matched her scowl with one of his own. “I told you I wouldn’t mollycoddle him. I told you I’ve got a business to run and I don’t have time to play nursemaid. And you still left him here, so don’t turn all high and mighty and act like I’ve done something wrong. I’ve done exactly what I said I’d do—I let that boy fend for himself.”

  She stared at him in open-mouthed amazement. While she was quiet, for once, he took advantage.

  “And let me tell you something else, Miss Willems.” Levi lowered his hand and gentled his voice. “He’s done just fine.” Levi tipped sideways slightly to look at Tommy, who stood, arms rigid at his sides, right where Miss Willems had left him. “He takes himself to the outhouse, thanks to the guiding rope. He dresses himself and feeds himself and washes his face. Even combs his own hair.” Behind Miss Willems, Tommy’s tense stance relaxed. Levi decided to tease a little, hoping to earn a smile from the boy. “Of course, he can’t get his cowlick to lie down.” He aimed a smirk at Miss Willems. “But then, I’d wager you couldn’t either.”

  Tommy snickered, but Miss Willems’s stern expression remained the same. She yanked her scarf from her head, mussing her hair. Light brown strands—the color of stained oak—framed her flushed cheeks. “But confining him. Placing him in what amounts to a cage …”

  Levi resisted rolling his eyes. “Miss Willems, I didn’t do that out of meanness. I’ve got dangerous equipment out here. As you’ve pointed out, Tommy can’t see. I didn’t want him getting hurt. So I built the barrier to protect him.”

  She shifted slightly and peered over her shoulder at Tommy. The anger seemed to slowly drain from her stiff frame. “Oh …” She swallowed. “Well, he does look as though he’s been well fed. And except for the sawdust, he’s clean.”

  Levi bit his tongue to hold back a snide remark.

  Then she spun on him again. “But his poor fingers, all torn and bleeding. Why were you forcing him to tie knots?”

  Levi opened his mouth to instruct her to address Tommy. The boy had a tongue, and she should encourage him to use it. But before he could form the words, Tommy interrupted.

  “He wasn’t makin’ me do it.” Tommy inched in their direction, his hands outstretched. Miss Willems met him halfway. The boy clung to her, his expression pleading. “I wanted to. It wasn’t Mr. Jonnson’s doing at all.”

  “You wanted to tangle together pieces of rough rope?”

  Levi grimaced. Did the woman know how disparaging she sounded? He cleared his throat. “He’s not tangling ropes, ma’am. He’s weaving. Trying to learn how to cane.”

  Miss Willems crinkled her nose. The gesture carved years from her appearance. “Trying to learn to … what?”

  “Cane,” Tommy said. Excitement made the boy’s voice shoot high like a saw blade humming at full throttle. “So I can fix Mr. Jonnson’s chair. A mouse chewed the seat, an’—”

  “Tommy, slow down.” Miss Willems shook her head. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

  Levi strode to the wall, removed the damaged chair from the pegs, and plopped it on the floor in front of Miss Willems. “See here? A mouse chewed a hole in the middle of the seat, so the caning came undone.” He explained how Tommy had inadvertently formed a loosely woven pattern with some discarded wood curls. “I f
igured, if he can weave strips of wood, maybe he can weave reeds or sisal. He wanted to try.”

  Miss Willems slipped her arm around the boy’s shoulders. “I apologize for accusing you falsely, Mr. Jonnson.” Considering she was delivering an apology, she certainly chose a tart tone. “Well-meaning you might be, but it’s clear you lack the awareness of what is an appropriate activity for Tommy.” She looked again at the boy’s fingertips, and pain creased her brow. “His fingers require attention—some salve and bandages.”

  Levi gestured in the direction of his house. “I’ve got some—”

  “No need. I’ll see to his injuries when we reach town. I know Mrs. Beasley keeps medicinal supplies in a cabinet.” Miss Willems began herding Tommy toward the door. “Let’s gather your things, Tommy, and before long I’ll have you all bandaged up and ready to go to Mr. and Mrs. Tatum’s house.”

  Levi reared back. What?

  Tommy halted, jerking free of Miss Willems’s hold. “What?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Tatum’s house, where Joe and Florie are staying.” Miss Willems caught Tommy’s wrist and gave a gentle pull. “They said you could stay there, too. So let’s go.”

  Dumbfounded, Levi remained rooted in place and watched the woman try to draw Tommy to the yard. The boy turned stiff and uncooperative. He wrenched his hand from her grip.

  “Tommy …” She sent a pink-cheeked glance in Levi’s direction. A hint of pleading shone in her eyes.

  Levi chewed the inside of his cheek. He should help Miss Willems—encourage the boy to go. But his tongue refused to form words.

  Miss Willems cupped her hands on Tommy’s shoulders. “Tommy, when I brought you here, it was only because I couldn’t find someplace else. Do you remember? Mr. Jonnson told me this wasn’t a safe place for you to stay and asked me to find another place for you quickly.”

  Levi’s chest tightened. He’d been heartless that night. Honest, but heartless.

  “I’ve done that. So now it’s time to go.” She lifted her gaze to Levi, her expression firm. “Mr. Jonnson, if you’d be so kind as to collect Tommy’s things and put them in the wagon, we’ll be on our way.”

  Tommy knocked Miss Willems’s hands from his shoulders and turned in a circle, his arms reaching toward Levi. He took two steps, and his toe caught on a rock. With a cry of alarm, he plummeted toward the ground. Levi bolted forward and caught him before he fell. Tommy gripped Levi’s jacket with both fists.

  “Mr. Jonnson, I wanna stay here. I wanna learn to cane.” The boy held Levi’s jacket so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I want … I want to do something.”

  Levi’s pulse tripped hard and fast. His mother’s voice drifted in from long ago: “If you’d only get up and do something, Axel, how much better you would feel. Please—get out of your chair and do something.” Far hadn’t heeded Mor’s words, and they’d all been forced to watch him drift deeper and deeper into himself until he’d finally gone to sleep and didn’t wake again. Did such a fate await Tommy if forced to simply sit and do nothing?

  But why should he feel responsible for this boy? Hadn’t he decided long ago his life would be easier if he kept to himself? He knew all too well that some people deceived you. Some people abandoned you. If you let them get close, some people broke your heart. A pain—like a fist squeezed tight—gripped his chest. He wouldn’t let himself be hurt like that again.

  He took hold of Tommy’s upper arms and set him aside. “Go with Miss

  Willems. You can learn caning at the banker’s house. They’ll have string or rope, too. You don’t need to be here to do something.” His dry throat turned his words harsh.

  Tommy blinked up at him, confusion evident in his pinched brow. “But what about your chair?”

  Levi gritted his teeth. “Never mind the chair, boy. Just go.”

  Defeat slumped Tommy’s shoulders. His hands fell from Levi’s jacket. “M-Miss Willems? Take me to the wagon.”

  “I’ll get his things,” Levi said and headed past them to the house. It wouldn’t take long—the boy owned next to nothing. Levi snatched up the few belongings, wadded them into a ball, and returned to the wagon. Miss Willems had already helped Tommy onto the high seat, and she stood poised beside it, watching for him. He pressed the bundle under the seat.

  “Thank you for allowing Tommy to stay with you.” She sounded prim. Proper.

  He responded in kind. “You’re welcome.” He offered his hand, and she allowed him to assist her into the wagon. He stepped back. “Bye, Miss Willems. Bye, Tommy.”

  The woman smiled in reply as she picked up the reins, but Tommy stared straight ahead, unmoving, as if he hadn’t heard the farewell. But Levi knew better. And, to his surprise, it hurt to be ignored.

  Chapter 11

  Cora hunched over the slop bucket with a plump potato and a paring knife in her hand. Long coils of brown peel fell from the blade and landed with a plop in the smelly bucket. She glanced at the Regulator clock tick-ticking on the kitchen wall. Miss Willems had said she’d be back in time to help with supper preparations, but Mrs. Beasley wanted supper on the table precisely at six. The hands had already moved toward five o’clock. It wasn’t like Miss Willems to go back on her word. Had something happened to her?

  She reached for the final potato in the bowl on the table. Before she picked it up, though, the scuff of feet on the back stoop captured Cora’s attention. Finally! She dropped the knife next to the bowl and bounded to the door. But instead of Miss Willems, Wes stood outside the door, shivering.

  Cold wind wheezed through the door opening. She caught Wes’s coat sleeve and drew him over the threshold, then snapped the door shut with a firm click. “What’re you doing here? Have you seen Miss Willems?”

  A frown marred Wes’s normally placid face. “I seen her. Drove her an’ them mission men to the house. I wanted to talk to her again. She here?”

  Cora shook her head and scuttled to the stove—that wind chilled a person clear through in no time. When would the cold leave and spring arrive? “Huh-uh. I was hopin’ you were her. She should’ve been back an hour or so ago.”

  Wes dragged his boot heels across the floor as he approached the stove, hands extended. His frown didn’t melt when he reached the heat. “I’m mad at her, Cora. Don’t like to be mad, but …” He raised his shoulders and held them there, like a turtle trying to shrink into its shell. “Gotta talk to her. Can’t let her give up.”

  A chill of foreboding wiggled its way down Cora’s spine. “Whaddaya mean ‘give up’?”

  “Them mission men, they said they didn’t wanna build the house up again. Said if they were gonna have another poor farm, it’d be someplace else. Like Lawrence.”

  Cora staggered to the table and collapsed in the chair. She stared at Wes, her pulse galloping faster than a runaway horse. She needed a home, but she couldn’t go back to Lawrence! “But why?”

  “ ’Cause they don’t want Miss Willems runnin’ the poor farm anymore. Said it was …” He scrunched up his face, his eyeballs rolling back and forth as if seeking something hidden. Then he huffed out a breath. “Unseemly.”

  Goose flesh broke out on Cora’s arms. She snatched up the potato and knife and set to flicking bits of peel into the bucket. “They say why?”

  Wes yanked out the second chair and folded himself into it. Elbows on the table edge, he leaned close. “You know Ham Dresden?”

  Cora searched her memory. She’d heard the name, but she didn’t know the man. “Huh-uh.”

  “Oh, that’s right. He was gone before you came.” Wes snorted. “Good riddance, too. Never met such a lazy man in my whole life. If Miss Willems sent him to the garden to chop weeds, he’d stretch out under a tree an’ take a nap. If she sent him to the barn to feed the animals, he’d climb into the loft an’ hunker down in a pile of straw. He was a fine one for sleepin’. For eatin’, too. Only time I saw him set himself to doin’ something with any ginger, it was liftin’ a fork.”

  Relief shuddered through C
ora’s frame. They weren’t blaming the unseemly behavior on her. At least not yet. She’d finished peeling the potatoes, so she fetched a cooking pot. “Were the mission men upset that Miss Willems let Ham Dresden stay at the poor farm?”

  Wes scratched his head, uncertainty pinching his features. “Don’t think it was the stayin’ that bothered ’em so much as … somethin’ else. But I don’t know what the somethin’ else is.”

  Cora cut potatoes into chunks and dropped them into the pot. A troubling thought formed in the back of her mind. Miss Willems was old. Lots older than Cora. Probably twenty-eight. Maybe even twenty-nine. And she wasn’t married. She must be getting desperate for a husband. Had she let this man—this Ham Dresden—stay at the poor farm without working for his keep because she was sweet on him? Had there been some indecent goings-on? Cora didn’t want to think such things about Miss Willems, but she’d known too many women who gave precious parts of themselves to win men, only to be cast aside in the end.

  She gulped. “Sure is troublesome, isn’t it? Maybe—”

  “So I did hear a man’s voice.”

  Cora jerked, slicing her thumb with the knife. Wes leaped to his feet and clutched his chest, shock on his face.

  Mrs. Beasley stormed to the table, anger mottling her jowled cheeks. “I thought I made it clear I don’t allow male callers. You think I want every tongue in town waggin’ how Miz Beasley’s got a sparkin’ house?”

  Wes inched away, his eyes so wide they appeared ready to pop from his head. Even though he towered over Mrs. Beasley and was a man to boot, he hurried out the door like a hawk chased off by a sparrow’s ferocity. And left Cora all alone to fend off the disgruntled sparrow.

  “Wes didn’t come here to spark.”

  “Well, you two sure seemed mighty cozy there at my table.”

  Heat ignited in Cora’s middle. Ma’s sneering face appeared in her memory. “What you doin’ cozyin’ up to some man? You’re no better’n them gals who live in the bawdyhouses!” Cora blurted, “He wasn’t here for me. He was lookin’ for Miss Willems.”