What Once Was Lost

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  She swallowed a wave of sadness and forced a cheery tone. “Do you want to arrange for your return trip while we’re here?”

  Mr. Dunnigan stooped to lift the bags again. “I prefer to get settled in the hotel first. I’m uncertain as yet when I’ll return to Kansas City.”

  Christina sent him a curious look. “You have business in Brambleville?”

  A secretive smile toyed beneath his mustache. “Perhaps.”

  She longed to question him, but eagerness to see how Louisa had fared in her absence overrode curiosity. “Very well. The hotel is this way.”

  As they walked toward the hotel, Saturday shoppers paused with crates or packages in hand to stare at Christina. Her face flamed. She could well imagine what they must be thinking—Miss Christina Willems being squired down Main Street by an unfamiliar gentleman. The gossip wheels would spin madly until she had an opportunity to explain Mr. Dunnigan’s presence in town. She smiled and nodded greetings, feigning an ease she didn’t feel, and her discomfort rose with each blank stare or frenzied whisper.

  At the hotel entry Mr. Dunnigan returned Christina’s bag to her. “I see a livery farther up the street. Do they rent conveyances?”

  Christina nodded. “They have a nice four-seat buggy often used to transport grieving folks to the cemetery east of town.”

  To her surprise he laughed. “Ah. Well, I’m sure it’s quite nice. But I was thinking more along the lines of a sturdier vehicle. A buckboard or something similar to a good Missouri Springfield wagon.”

  “You’d be more than welcome to make use of the poor farm wagon,” Christina offered. “Our wagon and horses are at the livery. Wes, a young man who resided at the poor farm, is employed there. If you tell him I sent you, he’ll hitch the horses for you and will probably even offer to drive you wherever you’d like to go.” Curiosity rose above propriety. “What is it you wish to explore?”

  “Spoken in true female fashion.” He laughed lightly, his eyes twinkling. “You remind me of Parmelia, always wanting to know what I’m up to. But being left out of an occasional secret does not harm, and it might eliminate disappointment should things not work the way one plans.” His cryptic reply confused Christina further. “I’ll go in and get settled now. But as soon as I’ve secured a room and put my bag away, I’ll be ready to visit Mrs. McLain’s sister-in-law. Where will I find you?”

  “I stay at the Beasley Boardinghouse, on the corner of Main and Maple.”

  He nodded. “Very well—Main and Maple. Until later, then. Thank you again for your kind assistance.”

  “You’re welcome. Good day, Mr. Dunnigan.” She waited until he entered the hotel. Then she turned to hurry to the boardinghouse. Louisa would surely be relieved to be set free from her duties in Mrs. Beasley’s kitchen. She’d only taken two steps when someone blocked her pathway. She let out a little cry of surprise, then broke into a relieved smile. “Sheriff Garner … Good afternoon.”

  “Good afternoon, Miss Willems. Been watching for you.” His somber expression chased away her momentary relief.

  “For me?” Her pulse scampered into a frenzied beat. Had something happened to one of the poor farm residents in her absence? She shouldn’t have stayed away so long! “What’s wrong?”

  “Plenty.” He took her elbow. “Come with me.”

  Her bag fell from her hand. “But—”

  Mr. Dunnigan strode up on her other side, his expression stern. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  The sheriff scowled at Mr. Dunnigan. “This don’t concern you, mister, so step aside and let me do my duty.”

  Mr. Dunnigan bristled. “And is your ‘duty’ accosting women on the streets?”

  Sheriff Garner’s face turned nearly purple. “My duty’s questioning possible thieves, and that’s just what I’m fixing to do.”

  Christina’s jaw dropped. “Thievery?”

  Mr. Dunnigan held out one hand toward the sheriff. “See here, sir. I—”

  The sheriff pointed at Mr. Dunnigan. “Mister, I told you to step aside.” He began herding Christina in the direction of his office.

  Christina looked helplessly over her shoulder at Mr. Dunnigan.

  He moved to the edge of the boardwalk, uncertainty on his face. Then he picked up her discarded bag and disappeared into the hotel. Fear rose in Christina’s breast. What would happen to her now?

  As Levi approached the churchyard Sunday morning, a tingle of awareness rolled across his scalp. Something was awry. People stood in little clusters, all talking excitedly in hushed tones. Tommy must have sensed it, too, because he sat up straight and bobbed his head as if testing the air.

  The boy groped for the brim of the brown suede hat Levi had purchased and tugged it low on his brow. Then he hunched his shoulders, slouching forward and burying his chin in the open collar of his jacket. Tommy’s odd behavior increased Levi’s feelings of impending doom. Something had the boy spooked, but he’d fallen into another sullen silence and refused to talk. Levi hoped some of his poor farm friends might be able to get through to him.

  He tugged the reins to halt the horses, then propped his foot against the brake to keep the wagon from rolling forward. “All right, Tommy. Here we are, so—”

  “You comin’, too?”

  The abrupt question took Levi by surprise. Tommy knew Levi didn’t attend service, so why would he ask such a thing? “I’ll wait for you at the livery, same as always.”

  Tommy popped out of his hiding pose and shook his head wildly. “Huh-uh. You come, too.”

  Levi’s stomach clenched. Clearly the boy was troubled. He wanted to help Tommy, but sit side by side with the same kind of folks who’d ridiculed his family, rejected his father, and held him and Mor accountable for Far’s death? “Tommy, I—”

  “Mr. Jonnson!” Mrs. Creeger, with Cora in tow, scurried to the side of the wagon. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you.” She peered up at him the way a drowning man would view a rescuing hand—concern and relief mingling together.

  Levi gestured to the groups gathered on the grassy churchyard. “What’s got everyone so excited?”

  Her lips pursed. “Shameful, isn’t it? Jay took one look and went to fetch the reverend to talk sense into them. They’re all blathering about the sheriff arresting Miss Willems.”

  Tommy let out a frightened gasp, and Levi jammed the brake’s lock into place with an angry thrust. Forcing a calm tone for Tommy’s sake, he looked at Cora. “Take Tommy, will you?” He waited until the young woman caught Tommy’s hands and helped him down from the seat. Then he hopped down and moved close to Mrs. Creeger. “Tell me everything.”

  Cora led Tommy to the shade of the towering maples growing at the edge of the churchyard, away from the wagon and from the busybody groups. It wouldn’t do the boy any good to hear what folks were saying—that Miss Willems showed up in a fancy gown and paraded up Main Street with some dandy like she owned the town. Cora wanted to defend Miss Willems, but fear held her silent. Once these folks discovered her sin, they would surely turn on her the same way they were now turning on Miss Willems.

  Beside her, Tommy crossed his arms over his chest and shivered. Cora put her arm around him. “You doin’ all right, Tommy?”

  He shook his head. He wore a new hat—one just like Mr. Jonnson’s. He looked handsome in it and very grown up. But he sounded like a little boy, whispering so soft Cora had to strain to hear him. “Gotta talk to you. About somethin’ real important.”

  She leaned down, putting her ear close to his mouth. “What is it? Go ahead an’ tell me.”

  Instead of speaking, Tommy slowly pushed his hand into his britches pocket. When he pulled it out, he held a clump of rumpled bills. One fell from his fingers and fluttered to the grass at their feet.

  Cora’s jaw dropped, and she quickly snatched up the bill. “Tommy!” In her surprise she forgot to keep her voice soft. “Where’d you get this money?”

  Tommy clutched the wad of bills to his chest and rocked nervously in place.
“Shh!”

  But it was too late. Some folks close by had already turned to stare. Another ripple spread across the grounds, and more people turned their heads, looking at Cora and Tommy. She wrapped her arms around him, shielding him and the money with her body.

  A man separated himself from one small group and ambled toward Cora. She recognized Hamilton Dresden even though he’d gotten a fresh haircut and wore a different suit—a gray pinstripe in the latest style. But his leering grin hadn’t changed. She gritted her teeth.

  “What’cha got there, boy?” Dresden asked.

  Tommy burrowed his face into the curve of Cora’s shoulder. She tightened her grip on him. “Leave him be, Hamilton Dresden. Tommy’s no concern of yours.”

  As if he were a politician making a speech, Dresden swept his arm around, indicating the crowd that was surging toward them. “These fine folks might think otherwise.” He reached for Tommy’s shoulder. “C’mere, boy. Show these people what you got there.”

  Levi Jonnson strode across the grounds and pushed Dresden’s hand aside. “Leave the boy alone.”

  Dresden backed up, hands upraised. “Easy now. Not lookin’ for a tussle. Just tryin’ to get at the truth.”

  “You wouldn’t recognize the truth if you tripped over it.”

  Cora secretly cheered Mr. Jonnson’s bold statement. But Dresden only smiled in an insolent way and slipped his watch—Miss Willems’s silver watch—from his pocket and flicked the case open, closed, open, closed. He said in a sly tone, “I ain’t the one tryin’ to hide somethin’.” He nodded in Tommy’s direction. “Why don’tcha see what the boy’s got there if you’re so interested in the truth?”

  The muscles in Mr. Jonnson’s jaw clenched, but he turned his back on Dresden. Very gently he took hold of Tommy’s arm. “Tommy?”

  Tommy’s whole body turned stiff. Cora instinctively pulled him tighter against her. Somehow Tommy’s fear—Tommy’s secret—got tangled with her own. She cried, “Can’t you just leave us be?”

  Mr. Jonnson’s eyes looked sad, but he shook his head. “I need to see. Tommy …”

  Tommy’s tears formed a wet splotch on Cora’s dress. Ma Creeger scurried over and put her arm around Cora’s waist. She whispered in Cora’s ear, “Let go, Cora. It’ll be all right. Just let go.”

  Let go … Let go … Cora lost all strength. Her arms dropped away from Tommy, and Mr. Jonnson turned the boy to face him. He caught Tommy’s hands and pulled them from his chest. Green bills stuck out of Tommy’s fingers like clumps of weeds at the edge of the road.

  A gasp rolled across the churchyard. Dresden leaned close, his grin triumphant. “Now ask him where he got that money, Jonnson, since you’re so set on knowin’.” Dresden poked Tommy on the shoulder, and his voice turned hard. “Tell ’im, boy. Tell ’im.”

  Chapter 36

  Tommy’s breath came in short little spurts. He felt dizzy. Mr. Jonnson’s hand on his arm kept him from falling, but it also kept him from escaping. He wanted to escape. He didn’t want to say what Mr. Dresden had told him to say. But the man stood right there. Tommy smelled the cigar smoke that always clung to his clothes, the same odor he’d smelled the night the poor farm burned. He’d wanted to get help from Cora, but she’d gone and hollered out, and now everybody waited. He sensed them surrounding him the way he’d once seen a pack of wild dogs surround a lame lamb. Then, he’d cried out of sympathy for the poor creature. Now, the tears rolling warm down his cheeks were for himself.

  “I … The money—it …” “I’ll burn down the mill.” Tommy shrank against Mr. Jonnson.

  Dresden spoke again. “That’s the money took from the mercantile. Am I right, boy?”

  Tommy bit his lip and managed to nod in a jerky manner.

  Mutters and gasps filled Tommy’s ears. Firm, familiar hands gripped his shoulders. Mr. Jonnson’s warm breath, scented from this morning’s pancakes and maple syrup, brushed his face. “Are you sure the money’s from the mercantile, Tommy?”

  Tommy pulled in a shuddering breath. He told the truth. “Yes, sir.”

  “Take the boy to the sheriff.” Dresden’s booming voice carried over all the other angry murmurs.

  Suddenly a new voice intruded. “Folks, come inside the church now.” Reverend Huntley, Tommy realized. Would the people listen to the minister, or would they rather listen to Dresden? If they’d go inside the church, like Reverend Huntley asked—if they’d stop thinking bad things about Miss Willems—then maybe they weren’t really hypocrites after all. Tommy needed to believe something good existed somewhere. He held his breath, waiting, hoping.

  It seemed hours passed, but then feet shuffled. Voices still murmured, but the murmurs grew softer. Soles of shoes pat-patted on steps—the steps leading to the church. Mr. Jonnson let go of Tommy’s shoulders, but he curled his hand lightly around Tommy’s neck instead. Tommy stayed still, holding the money Mr. Dresden had given him and waiting until all the noises from the crowd’s leave-taking faded away.

  He sniffed the air, searching for a whiff of cigar smoke. Had Dresden gone inside, too?

  “Tommy …”

  Over the past weeks there’d been plenty of times Tommy thought Mr. Jonnson sounded sad. But he’d never sounded sadder than he did just then. “Y-yes, sir?”

  “We’d better take that money to the sheriff.”

  Someone cackled. Chills broke across Tommy’s body. Dresden was still there. The man spoke. “That’s exactly what you oughta do, Jonnson. Hand it over to the sheriff. Let the boy tell where it came from. He’ll do what’s right. Won’tcha, boy?”

  Tommy stiffened, hugging the money tight to his chest.

  Mr. Jonnson gave Tommy a little push. “Come on.”

  Tommy stumbled alongside Mr. Jonnson with Mr. Dresden’s cackling laugh following them. Mr. Jonnson boosted him into the wagon, then climbed up, too, the seat shifting under his weight. Not until the wagon had rolled forward a good distance did Tommy find the courage to ask the question tormenting him.

  “Mr. Jonnson, if the mercantile people get their money back, will the sheriff let Miss Willems go?”

  “Well, Tommy, that’s not quite the way things work.” Mr. Jonnson’s voice sounded tight, like something was stuck in his throat. “You see, when people do something wrong—like stealing—they have to be punished for it.”

  Tommy’s heart thudded so hard he worried Mr. Jonnson would hear it. “Punished … how?”

  “They usually have to go to jail, Tommy.”

  Miss Willems in jail? How could he say what Dresden wanted him to if it meant Miss Willems might go to jail? But if he didn’t say what Dresden had told him, the man would burn down Mr. Jonnson’s mill. Tommy swallowed.

  “Whoa …” The wagon stopped. The brake was set. A hand clamped over Tommy’s knee. Firm. Comforting. Steadying. “Here we are.”

  Tommy swallowed again, but the sour taste in his mouth—the taste of fear and sorrow—didn’t go away.

  “Let’s go talk to the sheriff, Tommy. Then—” Mr. Jonnson’s voice caught in a funny way. The same way Tommy’s did when he was trying not to cry.

  Mr. Jonnson helped Tommy down, then took his elbow and led him onto the boardwalk. As Tommy moved slowly beside Mr. Jonnson, he suddenly realized why the man was so sad. He believed Miss Willems had stolen the money. Why was everything so mixed up?

  Reverend Huntley preached a fiery sermon. Cora found herself shivering as he pounded his Bible and worked his way through the Ten Commandments. She’d never seen the man so overwrought. Even though she didn’t want to listen—he scared her with his stern frown and thundering voice—she couldn’t turn her attention elsewhere.

  “These aren’t my words, brothers and sisters. These are given to us by God Almighty Himself, and He says, ‘Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour.’ Lies! Idle gossip! Speculation! God is a God of truth, and He calls us to defend and promote truth.” His eyes roved across the congregation. Cora released a little gasp as his gaze foun
d her.

  “Promote truth …” Did he know? Oblivious to the minister’s continuing admonishments, she leaped up and scrambled over the Creegers’ feet. Ma Creeger reached for her, but Cora pushed her hands away and stumbled up the side aisle and out onto the grassy churchyard. Her chest heaving, she slung her arms around the trunk of the same maple that had shaded Tommy and her earlier and gave vent to the deep fear and sorrow and guilt weighting her down.

  “Cora, Cora …” Ma Creeger’s tender voice carried over the sounds of Cora’s anguish. She took hold of Cora’s shoulders and pulled her into an embrace. Stroking Cora’s hair, she soothed, “Shh, now, shh. Everything’s going to be all right. You’ll see. The truth’ll come out, as truth always will. And everything will be fine.”

  Cora shook her head, hiccups jolting her shoulders. Once the truth came out, her life would be ruined. “N-no it won’t. It won’t ever be fine again.”

  “Of course it will. All these rumors about Miss Willems—”

  Cora jerked free. “Miss Willems?”

  Ma Creeger’s brow crunched into a confused frown. “Why, yes. Isn’t that what’s got you all upset—what people have been saying about Miss Willems?”

  Cora’s tears continued to roll down her cheeks as she let out a wild laugh. “I wasn’t cryin’ about Miss Willems. I was cryin’ ’cause—” “Promote truth.” Cora cupped her swollen belly, hidden by the full layers of her blue-striped skirt. She gulped twice, gathering strength, and then blurted, “I was cryin’ over me, Ma Creeger. ’Cause I went an’ got myself in a family way, an’ I don’t know what to do.”

  She held her breath, waiting for Ma Creeger to purse her face in distaste. To rail at Cora for her stupidity and shamefulness, the way Ma had. To storm away and not look back. But instead a soft look—a look of such deep tenderness it brought a new rush of tears—crossed Ma Creeger’s face. She opened her arms, and Cora fell against her, weeping anew.

  Somehow Ma Creeger managed to hold on to Cora and walk at the same time, because the next thing she knew, Ma Creeger was settling her into one of the rocking chairs at the mercantile. She fetched a handful of new cotton handkerchiefs from the little box on the shelf and pressed them into Cora’s hand. Then she sat in the other rocker, put one hand on Cora’s knee, and waited until Cora ran out of tears. It took a good long while. Cora hadn’t known a person could hold so many tears.