What Once Was Lost

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  In constant darkness Tommy couldn’t always determine the passing of time. He shrugged. “Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes.”

  “We been walkin’ a l-lot longer’n th-that.”

  Although Tommy couldn’t determine how long they’d been trying to make their way to the Jonnson mill, he knew it’d been a while. The wind was a lot colder than when he and Joe had sneaked out the front door, so the sun must be going down. “I know. But horses can walk faster’n people.”

  “Wish we h-had a h-horse right now. My feet’re tired.”

  “Wanna rest a minute?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Joe’s hand tugged on Tommy’s arm, and Tommy dropped onto the ground. Now that they weren’t thrashing through brush, something—a gentle sound—reached his ears. His heart leaped in anticipation. He felt the area around him with both hands. The soil was damp and covered by thick grasses. The dry blades pricked his palms, but he didn’t care.

  “Joe, are we by the river?”

  “If you stick your feet out too far, they’ll be on ice. Water’s all froze along the bank.”

  Elation filled Tommy’s chest. They’d done it! They’d reached the river! The mill was on the river—Mr. Jonnson had worried Tommy might fall into the water, so he’d put up ropes. If they’d found the river, they’d find the mill.

  He pressed his hands between his knees and rocked in place, excitement coursing through him. “Look up an’ down the river, Joe. Do you see a building with a waterwheel on its side?” When he was little, his pa had taken him to a gristmill on the river. Tommy had watched the half-submerged wheel go round and round, mesmerized. He wished he could see it in his head now, but the images were all erased.

  Scuffling sounds let Tommy know Joe was standing up, looking. Then a disgruntled huff sounded next to Tommy’s ear. “I don’t see no such thing. River winds around. All I see is bushes an’ trees an’ water.” Joe snugged up to Tommy, his head bumping against Tommy’s shoulder. “We ain’t gonna be able to get there by ourselves, Tommy. Let’s go back to the Tatums’, huh? I’m cold an’ hungry.”

  Hurt tightened Tommy’s chest as he thought about sitting in the kitchen by himself while laughter and happy chatter carried from the dining room. Mrs. Tatum had been real nice while she scooted him up to the table at noon, telling him to enjoy his dinner and even putting the spoon in his hand. But then she’d said to stay put because “the Spencers are new in town, Tommy dear. Mr. Tatum and I must make a good impression. As soon as they’ve left, I’ll have Joe come fetch you.”

  “Fetch you.” Like a dog.

  Tommy clenched his fists. “You go on if you want to, but I’m not goin’ back to the Tatums’ place.”

  “It’s gettin’ close to dark, Tommy. You can’t stay out here!”

  Tommy clawed at Joe and caught hold of his jacket. He held tight even though the younger boy squirmed. “You said you’d help me. We found the river, an’ the mill’s on the river. We gotta be close.”

  Joe pried Tommy’s hand loose. “If it gets dark, I won’t be able to see it any better’n you can.”

  Desperation welled, turning his voice into a whine. “Please, Joe. If we follow the river, we’ll find it. I know we will.”

  “Which way, Tommy? Which way do we go?”

  Tommy nibbled his lower lip. He tasted blood. The wind must’ve dried his lips out good. “I … I ain’t sure, but—”

  “Then I’m goin’ back to town.”

  A memory clubbed Tommy. “Wait!” He reached out and captured Joe’s arm. Joe grunted, but he plopped down beside Tommy. “The mill … it’ll be built where the river flows at it. So if we follow the river against the flow, we’ll find the mill!”

  “You sure?” Joe sounded doubtful.

  Tommy nodded his head so hard his ears rang. “I’m sure. C’mon, Joe. You can get us there. I know you can.”

  “B-but it’s cold, Tommy. An’ I’m real hungry.”

  “Mr. Jonnson’s house’ll be warm. An’ he’ll give us somethin’ to eat.” He’d let both boys sit at the table with him, too. Tommy shook Joe’s arm. “Let’s go. If we get movin’, we’ll warm up some.”

  Joe grumbled, but he rose and pulled Tommy up with him.

  “Thank you, Joe.”

  “Let’s just hurry, huh? It’s gettin’ dark.”

  “Won’t be long before it’ll be too dark to see anything.”

  Christina acknowledged Wes’s somber statement with a worried nod. She sat on the edge of the wagon seat, one hand curled over the front board and one holding tight to Papa’s watch like a talisman. For hours they’d been searching with no sign of either boy. She’d called Tommy’s and Joe’s names so many times her throat ached, and she sounded hoarse. But she ignored the discomfort and called again, “Tommy? Joe? Tommy!” No answer.

  Wes kept the horse moving at a slow, steady clop, clop, clop. Everything within her wanted to rush the russet-colored mare, to force it into a thunderous run that would bring her quickly to the boys. But a snail’s pace allowed time to scan both sides of the road. She and Wes had covered perhaps a mile and a half—a great distance for two little boys on foot in the cold.

  Reverend Huntley had gathered a dozen men, who spread out in every direction. The minister had instructed them to return to the church and ring the bell if they found the children. While squinting through the gloaming for a glimpse of Tommy’s blond head or Joe’s blue jacket, she listened for the clang of the steeple bell. But so far only the clop of the horse’s hoofs, the occasional chatter of a squirrel, and the whistle of the gusting wind through the trees had greeted her ears. Her chest constricted in fear, hindering her breathing. Where could those boys be?

  “Oh, Wes …” Christina gulped back tears. “If we don’t find them, if something horrible happens to them, it will be all my fault.”

  Wes flicked a frown in her direction. “You didn’t send them young uns out the door. They did that on their own.”

  “I know, but …” She clamped her lips closed and continued to scan the roadsides in silence. Would it absolve her conscience to tell Wes she’d failed to listen to Tommy when he’d needed her? No. And it wouldn’t do Wes any good either, to know how thoughtless she’d been. She kept her worries to herself as the horse continued its steady progression northeast.

  The moon slipped above the leafless treetops, its face smudged by the presence of clouds. Not a single star winked against the gray backdrop. So dark. And so cold. The boys must be terrified. Please, please … Her heart tried to pray, but guilt and self-recrimination kept a petition from forming. God must be as disgusted with her as she was with herself.

  Wes tilted his chin toward the sky. “Nightfall, Miss Willems. An’ it’s gettin’ c-colder by the minute. We oughta t-turn around an’ go back.” His lips were blue, his cheeks and ears bold red, and he shook so badly the entire seat quivered.

  As much as Christina hated to concede defeat, it made no sense to continue in full darkness. Several of the searchers had set off on foot, lanterns in hand. They’d have a better chance of spotting the boys than she and Wes would. Although it pained her to leave the responsibility to others, she needed to see to Wes’s needs, too.

  “Yes, I suppose we—” Ahead, two squares of soft yellow pierced the deep shadows. Christina pointed. “That’s the Jonnson place. Let’s stop there and warm up a bit before returning to town.”

  Wes snapped the reins on the horse’s back, and it broke into a trot. As the wagon rolled into the yard, the door to the house opened, and Mr. Jonnson stepped onto the porch. Lamplight flowed through the open doorway, throwing the shadow of his wide-legged stance across the porch boards. Suspenders dangled by his knees, and his feet wore thick gray socks in place of boots. How rugged he appeared—solid, masculine, able. Deep within her the desire to melt against his strong chest rose up and sent her heart to fluttering. From where had this longing come? She took hold of Wes’s arm, ready to tell him to turn the wagon back to the road, but a convulsive
shudder shook the man’s entire frame. He needed warmth.

  “Miss Willems, is that you?” A puzzled scowl marred Mr. Jonnson’s face.

  “Yes.” Christina waited until Wes set the brake. Then she scrambled over the wagon’s edge, talking all the while to cover her erratic emotions. “I saw your lights and hoped you might allow us to come in and warm up a bit. Wes and I have been out searching for two lost boys, and we’re chilled clear through.”

  He met her at the edge of the porch. “Who’s lost?”

  “Tommy. And another of my young charges, Joe.”

  Mr. Jonnson’s brow pinched into lines of worry. “They in the habit of running off?”

  Christina shook her head, battling tears. “No. But since the fire, things have been so unsettled. Especially for Tommy, being moved from place to place. I suspect he’s the one who masterminded the escapade and brought Joe along to be his eyes.” Her voice broke. She hugged herself to keep from leaping into his arms. “I’m dreadfully worried and want to keep looking, but …” Wes shuffled up behind her, his clamped hands beneath his chin and his shoulders hunched. He trembled from head to toe. “Wes must get warm. May we come in?”

  Mr. Jonnson ushered them over the threshold without a word. Wes scuttled directly to the blazing fireplace and extended his hands. Standing side by side with the tall mill owner, her restiveness heightened. Their last exchange played through her mind. She’d been accusatory, even unfair. She’d angered him, yet he’d remained controlled. This man both irritated her and yet inexplicably intrigued her. A rush of warmth filled her cold cheeks. She lowered her head to hide the evidence of her discomfiture. She hoped the fire chased away Wes’s chill quickly so they could be on their way.

  Mr. Jonnson gestured toward the fire. “Do you want to warm up, too?”

  Christina fiddled with a loose piece of yarn on one glove. “I’m fine. I have a heavy coat and my scarf and gloves. Poor Wes has only a jacket.” She should have insisted he borrow at least a hat and some gloves before setting out. Another regret. She kept her gaze aimed at the toes of Mr. Jonnson’s socks. “Had he been adequately clothed for the brisk wind, we wouldn’t have troubled you.”

  “It’s no trouble.” He turned and strode away, removing his feet from Christina’s line of vision. He moved to a chair in the corner, sat, and began to tug on his boots. “I’ll bundle up and set out while you two get warm.”

  His meaning penetrated the fog muddling Christina’s brain. “Y-you’re going to look for them?”

  He gave her a dumbfounded look that most likely matched hers. “Those boys have to be found, Miss Willems. Cold as it is, they won’t last a night out there. Especially if we get the snow my knee’s been telling me is coming.” He rose, slipping his suspenders into place. A scowl created deep furrows across his forehead. “You think I’d just sit here and toast my toes while Tommy and some other boy are out there, cold and lost?”

  “Well, I suppose I—”

  The scowl turned into a grimace of remorse. “Especially since it’s my fault Tommy’s out there.”

  “Yours?” Christina shook her head, confused. “Why?”

  “I shouldn’t have let you take him the other day. He didn’t want to go.”

  Recalling the way Tommy had clung to the man brought on another wave of guilt. She pressed it back with a show of defensiveness. “He’s a child. He doesn’t know what he wants.”

  “Doesn’t he?”

  Christina fidgeted beneath his calm, steady look.

  “He’s trying to get here, you know.”

  Until that moment Christina hadn’t allowed herself to acknowledge what her instincts had told her. She’d chosen this route over all the other directions she could have gone because deep down she knew Tommy would try to return to Mr. Jonnson. “Yes, I know.”

  For one long moment they gazed into each other’s eyes, unspoken communication crossing the three-feet-wide expanse of wood-planked floor between them. The tenderness in his eyes sang notes of awakening in Christina’s heart and chased away every vestige of animosity she’d held toward this man.

  He gave a jolt and walked over to a cupboard where an unlit lantern stood ready. He lifted the globe, ignited the wick with the flick of a match, then settled the globe in place. Finally he looked at her again, and his face wore the familiar closed expression she’d witnessed on earlier visits. A chill wound its way down her spine despite the warm house and heavy wool coat.

  “I’ll go on foot, so you just take your wagon on back to town when you’re warm again.”

  Christina snatched his coat from a hook beside the door and held it out to him. “I’m going with you.”

  His lips formed a grim line.

  “I’m going with you,” she repeated. Before he could speak a word, she turned to Wes. “Wait for me here, Wes. If”—when—“we find the children, you’ll be able to transport all of us to town.”

  “All right, Miss Willems.” He sank down on his haunches before the crackling flames. “Be careful.”

  “I will.” She faced Mr. Jonnson, lifting her chin in a challenge. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 15

  Levi did his best to keep his gaze forward, where the beam of his lantern lit the pathway, but it wasn’t easy. He was too keenly aware of the woman trudging along beside him.

  Wind whipped the tails of her scarf over her shoulders. Little strands of hair—darker in the scant moonlight—wisped around her cold-reddened cheeks. Her skirt tangled around her ankles, threatening to trip her. But she uttered not one word of complaint. Even as heavy snowflakes began to fall from the dark sky, covering her scarf and shoulders with lace, she kept putting one foot in front of the other. Kept calling the boys’ names again and again with a voice raw and croaky. His admiration for her determination grew greater with every step they took.

  Back in his house when they’d fallen silent and stood like two pillars on opposite sides of a porch, staring into each other’s eyes, he’d experienced a tug unlike anything he’d felt before. Everything inside of him had strained to cross the expanse of floor between them and gather her into his arms. To offer her protection. To reassure her. Only the presence of the big, rawboned man at the fireplace had kept him from following through on the temptation.

  Now as they trudged across the rough landscape with nothing but a faded half moon and a hoot owl as witnesses, he was glad his hands were busy—one holding the lantern aloft, the other holding the collar of his coat closed against the wind and increasingly heavy snow. If they were free, Miss Willems would be caught in an embrace. And he sensed she wouldn’t be averse to it. He needed to be careful.

  They’d covered perhaps a mile and a half, moving over an ever-thickening blanket of snow, when a gust of wind tore the scarf from Miss Willems’s head. She lunged to catch it, but it flew out of her reach, somersaulted across the ground, and landed at the edge of the river. One fringed tail snaked across the ice and dipped into the frigid flow.

  Levi couldn’t step out on the ice and collect it for her—too dangerous. And with it wet, she wouldn’t be able to wear it anyway. He glanced at the sky, its whitish cast promising even more snow, and made a suggestion he knew she’d resist. “We should turn back.”

  As expected, she drew herself upright and gave him a stubborn look. “Absolutely not!”

  Levi hid a smile. Although her response was foolhardy, he would’ve been disappointed if she’d said anything else. But someone had to be reasonable. “You’ll catch your death with your head uncovered. And besides, how do we know someone hasn’t already located the boys? We could be wandering around out here for no good reason.”

  She tugged the collar of her coat around her ears. The snowflakes that had gathered on the heavy gray wool dropped down her neck, and she shivered. “They haven’t been found yet. The church bell hasn’t rung.” Then her brow puckered with worry. “We’d hear the church bell out here, wouldn’t we?”

  On a clear Sunday—the one day he didn’t close hims
elf in his mill—he could hear the bell pealing across the miles. With them closer to town, they’d surely hear it despite the wind. “Yes. Is that the signal?”

  She nodded, hunkering even deeper into her collar. Lantern light fell on her form and turned the snowflakes on her hair into glittering diamonds. A woman as refined and lovely as Miss Willems shouldn’t be out in the middle of the night, freezing her nose off, yelling until her throat turned raw. He would continue searching if that was what she wanted, but she needed to go back.

  He took her by the elbow and turned her toward his house. “Let’s get you back, and then I’ll set out again.”

  She jerked loose. “No! Mr. Jonnson, please, I must keep looking for the boys. They are my responsibility.” Tears glistened in the corner of her eyes. “I must find them.”

  Even though she spoke the words in a rasping whisper, her tone held an intense fervency. Levi frowned. “What does it matter who finds them as long as they’re found?”

  “It matters.” She turned her gaze away, her chin trembling. “You want to blame yourself for Tommy’s running away, but you aren’t to blame. I am. I … I failed him today.” She brought her head around and fixed him with a pleading look. “I can’t fail him now. I must find him. And Joe.” That stubborn jut returned to her jaw. “If you don’t want to keep looking, I understand. But I would appreciate the use of your lantern while I continue the search.”

  Levi shook his head. Headstrong female! She’d probably catch pneumonia. He might, too. With a muffled growl he set the lantern on the ground, yanked off his hat, and plunked it on her head. She looked ridiculous with it settled around her ears, and the wind was more chilly with his head uncovered, but what else could he do? He’d never met a more modig woman. Despite the grim situation, a grin twitched at his cheeks. Mor would like Miss Christina Willems.

  He snatched up the lantern. “All right. Let’s go.”

  For the next half mile, the only words they uttered were calls to the missing boys. Her voice was becoming more and more hoarse, so he took up the call. “Tommy! Joe! Answer if you hear me!” And, finally, when the snow fell so thickly it hindered his vision even with the bright glow of the lantern, he heard a faint reply.