What Once Was Lost

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Defeat bowed his shoulders. He missed Mr. Jonnson. He missed talking with him. Laughing with him. Feeling at home with him. But all that good feeling had washed away when Mr. Jonnson claimed he was disappointed in Tommy. Which meant the man didn’t know him after all.

  His stomach rumbled. He’d skipped breakfast, too restless to sit at the table and eat a bowl of mush with Mr. Jonnson. But the leftovers were probably still on the stove. It didn’t taste as good cold, but he knew better than to try to light the stove. If Mr. Jonnson had left the jug of sorghum on the table, Tommy could stir some into the pot and flavor the cold mush. At least it would satisfy his hunger.

  Hands outstretched, he felt his way to the wide doorway and groped for the rope. His fingers swept across the bristly fibers, and he caught hold. He scuffed toward the house, his heels dragging and stirring up dust that tickled his nose. Caught up listening to his own feet, he almost missed the sound of horse hoofs clop-clopping. He stopped, lifting his head and keying in on the sound.

  The clops, slow and steady, grew louder. Drew near. One horse, not two. And no wagon wheels crunched. So it wasn’t Mr. Jonnson coming back. Probably someone wanting to buy lumber. Tommy gripped the rope and waited until the horse and its rider stopped. Then he called out, “Mr. Jonnson’s not here right now. He went into town.”

  “Already know that, Tommy-boy.”

  Goose flesh broke out across his arms. Not again!

  Dresden’s throaty chuckle rolled. “Your ears don’t ever hear wrongly, do they?”

  A saddle squeaked, and a quick thump, thump spoke of boots hitting the ground. Tommy clutched the rope with both hands, his heart pounding, as footsteps neared. Then two fists grabbed his shirt front and yanked him to his toes. The odor of stale cigar smoke filled his nose. “You an’ me’s gonna have us a talk, boy. An’ those sharp ears o’ yours are gonna listen real good to what I say.”

  Chapter 34

  “Mr. Dunnigan, I appreciate your taking the time to escort me back to Brambleville.” Christina placed both hands against the green velvet seat to hold herself upright as the train rocked along the track. The man sat opposite her, his hat on the brass rack above his head swaying with the motion of the car. “But I regret how it must inconvenience you.”

  Maxwell Dunnigan smiled and linked his hands over his stomach. “I assure you, Miss Willems, after all you’ve done for my wife and me this past week—ascertaining the children are settling well into their new home—we owe you a tremendous debt of gratitude.”

  Christina lowered her head. She’d never confess how much it hurt to leave the children and Rose behind. Yet days of being a guest of the Dunnigans proved to her how fortunate the twins were. The Dunnigans’ beautiful home in one of Kansas City’s most prestigious housing districts offered every amenity, and the children’s rooms were bright, cheerful places for both play and rest. Maxwell and Parmelia Dunnigan were warm, kindhearted people. She couldn’t have handpicked a more loving couple or a better home for Joe and Florie if she’d searched a dozen years.

  Last night, as she’d visited with Rose in the lovely cranberry-and-beige room across the hall from the children’s rooms, Rose had said, “Hasn’t God smiled upon the twins and me, giving us such a wondrous place to live? It’s a gift, Christina—a true gift.” Christina determined to focus on how Rose and the children were being gifted rather than her own heartache at bidding them farewell.

  Lifting her face, she offered Mr. Dunnigan a weak smile. “You and Mrs. Dunnigan have more than paid your debt by providing me with two new dresses.” Parmelia Dunnigan had taken Christina and Rose shopping, insisting a lengthy stay required a more extensive wardrobe. She smoothed her hand across the silk skirt of saffron yellow. The fabric shimmered, tones of deeper ocher emerging and disappearing with her touch. Christina had never owned such a high-quality frock. “Not to mention your willingness to explain to Louisa why Rose chose to remain in Kansas City. She certainly won’t scold you, although I know she’ll miss Rose terribly.”

  Christina could still scarcely believe Rose had chosen staying with the twins over returning to Louisa. The two women were so devoted to each other, having lived together since their husbands had been killed more than four years ago when lightning struck the ground near them. But Rose insisted that Louisa would be free to explore new options—perhaps even a new relationship—if she didn’t feel obligated to provide companionship for her.

  Mr. Dunnigan threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, that Mrs. McLain. She adds an element of lightheartedness to the household, which will benefit all of us, I’m sure. Being new at parenting, Parmelia and I might attempt to be too strict and stodgy with the children. Mrs. McLain’s interaction with them—her mild reproofs as well as her demonstrativeness—has been a wonderful example for us to follow. I believe she is going to be the mortar binding us together as a family.”

  “Perhaps you’re right.” Christina gazed out the window and watched the passing countryside. Every mile brought her closer to Brambleville. Within her breast two opposite desires warred. Eagerness to resume her position at the poor farm, to be needed again, battled against a reluctance to look at the rooms previously occupied by Alice and her children, Wes, the Schwartzes, the twins, Cora, and Rose. Those spaces would be glaringly empty. How would she bear it? She’d been gone less than a week, but so much had changed. It seemed as though years had passed.

  Mr. Dunnigan folded his hands in his lap. “Miss Willems, tell me about where Joe and Florie had been living. I’d like to understand more about their life before they came to Topeka.”

  Christina swallowed the lump of sadness rising in the back of her throat and honored the man’s request. Talking about the beautiful house and grounds of the Brambleville Asylum for the Poor—as well as her father, the other residents, and their family-like manner of sharing the duties—increased her fervor to return. Reluctance slipped away, despite knowing how different it would be with so many of her former charges now in other places. But new people would arrive, new opportunities to serve would open. A sheen of perspiration cooled her brow. Once she was needed again, she would be fine.

  When she finished, Mr. Dunnigan leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I admire you, Miss Willems. You’ve dedicated your life to assisting others. I find it quite commendable.”

  Embarrassment brought a rush of heat to Christina’s face. “To be honest, it’s all I know, Mr. Dunnigan. My parents set an excellent example of service for me to follow. I … I am aimless without a means of ministry.” Fear gripped her. If she wasn’t able to convince the mission board to reinstate her as a director, what would she do? Where would she go?

  His brows came together briefly in a mild scowl. “Mrs. McLain intimated you’d encountered some difficulties recently, which led to the twins being transferred to Topeka. Please don’t consider me forward, but I’d like to know what those difficulties are. Maybe there’s something I can do.”

  “Well, I don’t know what you want me to do.” Sheriff Garner plopped into his squeaky barrel-shaped chair and squinted at Levi. “Nobody saw the thief. So right now everything’s speculation.”

  Levi leaned one hand on the edge of the desk. He’d spent nearly an hour hunting for the sheriff, building up a full head of steam as he searched. Now that he had the man cornered, nothing he said seemed to impact him at all. “But Hamilton Dresden has the watch in hand. How could he have it if he didn’t take it?”

  “Could’ve bought it from Miss Willems, same way Creeger did.”

  “But Miss Willems didn’t have it anymore!”

  “We don’t know that, do we?” The sheriff rocked in his chair, the steady squeak, squeak of loose joints echoing against the rock walls. “According to the minister, Miss Willems wasn’t in church Sunday morning like she usually is.”

  Levi huffed out a mighty breath. “Because she’d been sitting on a wagon seat, talking with me!”

  “You already told me so.” The sheriff spoke patiently, bu
t his eyes showed frustration. “But you also said you couldn’t account for her whereabouts late mornin’ or afternoon.”

  As the sheriff continued, Levi clamped his teeth together so hard his jaw ached.

  “According to Louisa McLain, Miss Willems claimed she’d only be gone a day or two. But instead she’s stayed away nearly a week with only a halfhearted explanation as to where she is or what she’s doing. You and I both know travel takes money. Oh, now, Creeger said he paid her ten dollars for that watch, but a person would use up ten dollars pretty quick paying for train fare, meals, and a hotel room—especially for two people, since she toted off one of the poor farm ladies with her. So where’d Miss Willems get the money for a long trip? Nobody can answer that question for me.”

  Levi threw his arms wide. “Miss Willems could tell you.”

  “Except Miss Willems isn’t here, is she?” The sheriff rose and faced off with Levi. “Listen, Jonnson, don’t it seem at least a little likely? The house where she was livin’ got damaged, and she needed money so she could start a new life somewhere else. Her pa’s watch didn’t fetch enough from Creeger, so she sneaked into the mercantile—a six-year-old could’ve busted the flimsy lock on the store’s back door—and took the timepiece along with Creeger’s money, then sold the watch to Dresden for more money before skedaddling.”

  Indignation filled Levi’s chest. “You can’t honestly think Miss Willems would do such a thing. A woman who’s spent her whole life taking care of other people suddenly turns selfish enough to steal from friends?”

  Sheriff Garner shrugged. “Desperation can change a person. I’ve heard plenty of whispers about how her attempts to get that poor farm running again have all failed. She’s got no family holding her here, so why wouldn’t she just pack up and go? It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  Levi had seen her with Tommy, with Cora and Wes, with the other poor farm residents. They were her family. He growled, “It doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “Doesn’t have to make sense to you. You’re not the law.” The sheriff rounded the desk and moved to the door. He opened it, a clear invitation for Levi to depart. “As I said earlier, it’s all speculation right now even though circumstantially things don’t look too good for Miss Willems. But I won’t be filing any charges until I’ve had a chance to speak to her. Assuming, of course, she ever shows her face in Brambleville again.”

  Levi bit his tongue to hold back words of fury. She’d be back. She wouldn’t abandon Tommy and the others. And he’d cheer when she proved the sheriff and the entire town wrong.

  Tommy hunkered beneath the window with his knees pulled tight under his chin. He’d folded his arms across his chest. Sweat poured down his forehead and stung his eyes. Even so, he shivered uncontrollably. Would Dresden come back? Threaten him some more? “Just do as I tell you, boy, an’ nobody’ll get hurt.” The man’s voice rang in his head, blocking out all other sound. He didn’t believe Dresden. Not for a minute. Anybody who’d lie to blame somebody else for his wrongs wouldn’t mind lying about hurting people either. He’d be back. And next time he might not just talk.

  When would Mr. Jonnson come home? Tommy’s anger with the man fled in light of his fear. He didn’t want to be alone. For all he knew, Dresden was sneaking around outside right now. More of his vile words paraded through Tommy’s memory.

  “Cross me, Tommy-boy, an’ I’ll burn down the mill. I didn’t mean to start that fire at the poor farm. Lantern just slipped outta my hand. But fires—they cause a lot o’ damage. Won’t bother me none to start one out here. That what you want, boy?”

  Tommy covered his ears with both hands, pulling into an even tighter ball. But Dresden’s voice wouldn’t go away.

  “The mercantile owner’s gonna want this back. An’ you’re gonna give it to him. But make sure you tell folks that Miss Willems gave you this money to keep for her.” In Tommy’s pocket a wad of bills burned like a fire. “And don’t you tell nobody I was here. You hear me, Tommy-boy? You hear me?”

  “Do you hear me?”

  Tommy jerked, a live voice chasing the one in his head into hiding. He pressed his palms to the floor and looked around, frantic. “Who—who’s there?”

  A hand touched his shoulder, and Tommy screeched in alarm. He scrambled sideways, but strong hands curled around his ribs and hoisted him to his feet. He flailed, hollering, but the hands held firm.

  “Tommy, what ails you? It’s me!”

  The voice penetrated his fog of fear. He stopped fighting, his breath coming in heaves. “M-Mr. Jonnson?”

  “That’s right.” The hands let go of his ribs and moved to his upper arms, holding him steady. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you were asleep.”

  “I … I …” Tommy gulped twice. “Don’t you tell nobody I was here. I’ll burn down the mill.” “I must’ve dozed off. Dreamin’.”

  A soft chuckle rumbled. So different from Dresden’s. “Must’ve been a bad dream. You wanna talk about it?”

  “No!” Tommy wriggled loose from Mr. Jonnson’s hold and stumbled forward, hands pawing the air. He located the back of a chair, pulled it away from the table, and slid into the seat. Leaning on the table, he willed his rapidly beating heart to calm.

  “I’m sorry I was gone so long.” Mr. Jonnson moved around the room, and little bumps and thumps accompanied him—putting his purchases away. “I ran an extra errand. It took longer than I expected.” A light slam told Tommy he’d closed the cupboard. “I bet you’re ready for some lunch.”

  Tommy wasn’t hungry. He’d had the hunger scared right out of him. But he nodded anyway.

  “Well, here. Munch on this while I put some sandwiches together.”

  Something brushed his palm—fragrant licorice. Tommy’s favorite candy. “Th-thanks.” He held the string in his fist, but he didn’t lift it to his mouth.

  “I got you something else, too, but I’ll wait ’til after lunch to give it to you.”

  “A-all right.”

  A long silence fell. Tommy twitched in the chair, gripping the licorice, listening for any sound or scent that might tell him Dresden lurked outside somewhere.

  “Tommy?” Mr. Jonnson’s voice boomed next to Tommy’s ear. Then his hand brushed across Tommy’s forehead. “You’re white as a sheet. And your hair’s wet. You’re not sick, are you?”

  Tommy licked his dry lips. He had to act normal. If Dresden was watching—if Dresden was listening—and Tommy let slip anything he’d said, he’d make good on his threats. “No, sir.” His voice squeaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “No. I’m fine.”

  “Well then, eat your candy while I fix lunch. It won’t be long.”

  Tommy chomped off a bite, but he found no pleasure in the sharp taste. He chewed. Swallowed. Busy sounds came from the work station, which faced the corner of the kitchen. Tommy took a chance that Mr. Jonnson wouldn’t see and shoved the licorice deep into his pants pocket. His fingers encountered the bills Dresden had given him, and he started to shake.

  Within seconds Mr. Jonnson was at his side again, placing his hand on Tommy’s head. “No fever, but you sure aren’t acting like yourself.”

  Tommy pushed Mr. Jonnson’s hand away from his head and stood. He squared his shoulders and stuck out his chin, determined to bring his trembling under control. “I’m fine, I told you. Just groggy from … from fallin’ asleep like I did.” He tipped his head. Was Dresden hearing him? He raised his voice. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  The clock across the room ticked the seconds, but no other sound intruded. Tommy released a light sigh of relief. Surely Dresden had gone. He wouldn’t risk being caught by Mr. Jonnson. He was safe now. Safe.

  He said, “Except I’m hungry.”

  Mr. Jonnson laughed. A short, not-too-sure laugh. “All right. We’ll have us our sandwiches. And then—”

  “Then tomorrow I wanna go to church,” he blurted out. He needed to talk to somebody. Cora. Or maybe Wes. Somebody who could keep a secret. And they’
d be at church.

  “I thought you didn’t want anything more to do with church.” Mr. Jonnson sounded plenty confused.

  Tommy scrambled for a sound reason to go. “Well, but you, um, you told me people don’t come close to me ’cause they’re scared.”

  “Yes, I told you that.”

  Would Mr. Jonnson figure out Tommy’s strange behavior was caused by a mighty fear? He hurried on. “So I shouldn’t hold it against them, right? Miss Willems wants me to go, so …” He ran out of reasons.

  Once more Mr. Jonnson’s hand found Tommy’s head. He tousled Tommy’s hair—the gesture so kind and loving, tears spurted into Tommy’s eyes. He sniffed hard.

  “All right, Tommy. I’ll take you to town tomorrow.”

  Relief sagged his knees, and he sank back into the chair. “Good. Good. Thanks.” Tomorrow he’d get Cora’s or Wes’s advice. Together they’d figure out what to do about Dresden. There wasn’t any reason to be scared anymore. So why did his hands keep shaking?

  Chapter 35

  The train rumbled into the Brambleville station early afternoon.

  The moment the conductor gave permission to disembark, Christina reached for her bag, but Mr. Dunnigan took it as well as his own small valise. She smiled her thanks and preceded him from the passenger car to the boardwalk.

  Beneath the cloudless sky, he placed the bags on the walkway and removed his gold watch from his vest pocket. A flick of his thumb opened the cover, and he gave the face a quick look before clicking it closed and returning it to the little pocket. Watching his simple motions, Christina experienced a deep ache in her breast. How many times had she seen Papa check the time in the very same way? Loneliness for her father, and for his watch, welled in her breast.