What Once Was Lost

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  So for the past hour she’d paced, pausing occasionally to peer out the window in hopes of capturing a clue. Wagons bearing men had rattled south out of town. None had yet returned. She pondered the little she knew. The men had all departed in the same direction as the poor farm property. But of course at least three farmers lived in that direction, too, so she wouldn’t allow herself to draw conclusions so quickly. The number of men leaving indicated it must be a sizable emergency. Another fire? Perhaps a fence down and cattle escaping? Desire for information sent her to the door, but as her hand closed on the knob, she remembered her promise. She’d keep her word.

  Nibbling her thumbnail, she paced the room again. Creaking floorboards in the hallway signaled someone’s approach. Christina dashed to the door and swung it open. Ben stood outside. The serious look on his face immediately stirred her concern. “What is it?”

  “Miss Willems, I’m sorry to tell you this, but the little blind boy, Tommy, wandered away today.”

  Christina sank onto the edge of the bed, her thoughts whirling. The wagons had gone south. The mill was north. Realization dawned. “Was he at the poor farm?”

  Ben nodded.

  “But why?”

  “Apparently he and the mill owner drove out there. I’m uncertain of their purpose. But while Mr. Jonnson was otherwise occupied, Tommy disappeared.” Sympathy showed in his dark eyes. “The sheriff and many of the town’s men, as well as the men who’ve been working to repair the house, are out searching. I’m sure they’ll find him.”

  Christina pressed her fist to her lips. “Oh, I want to go help …” Then she frowned, something he’d said capturing her attention. “Men working to repair the house? What men?”

  Streaks of red crept up his cheeks. “It was meant to be a surprise, but I’ve blundered. I suppose it would be cruel to stay silent now.” He grabbed the chair and seated himself, placing his hat on his knee. “Clearing your name is only part of my purpose for being in Brambleville. My secondary purpose was securing the poor farm property for Mr. Dunnigan. He’s been seeking an appropriate property for a, er, pet project for some time. And after your description, he went out to view the house and grounds himself. He asked me to contact the mission board and arrange for purchase the same day.”

  Christina’s chest ached so badly she feared her heart had stopped beating. The poor farm sold? “I … I don’t understand. Why would Mr. Dunnigan be interested in buying an old house that served as a poor farm?” And why would he purchase her house when she’d told him how much it meant to her? His betrayal stung like a slap.

  A crooked smile quirked Ben’s lips. “Mr. Dunnigan is an astute businessman, and he knows a good investment property when he sees one.” He rose. “And that is all I’m at liberty to divulge.”

  Christina jumped up, extending her hands to the lawyer. “I know you said I shouldn’t leave the room until the issue concerning the theft is solved, but I can’t stay here knowing Tommy is lost somewhere. Please, won’t you take me out to the poor farm? If I’m with you, no one can suspect I’m doing anything illegal.”

  Ben pursed his lips, seeming to ponder her request.

  “Please. I won’t be able to rest until he’s found.”

  He released a heavy breath and nodded. “Very well. We’ll go to the livery and ask to borrow a buggy. I’ll take you out and hunt with you.”

  Christina grabbed his arm, so relieved she nearly hugged him. “Thank you.”

  He settled his hat over his dark hair and escorted her down the stairs. The desk clerk stared as they passed through the lobby, but Christina didn’t care. Let people stare. Let them whisper. It didn’t matter anymore. The poor farm was sold. Her residents—Louisa, Rose, Alice and her children, the twins, Cora, Wes, the Schwartzes—had all found their own places to work and live without her assistance.

  She still had Tommy. Dear, sightless Tommy. But no home to which she could take him. Tears threatened, but she couldn’t think of herself now. She needed to focus on finding Tommy, on bringing him back to safety.

  Ben made arrangements to borrow the buggy often used for funerals. The last time Christina had ridden in it, she and Wes had transported Mr. Regehr and Mr. Breneman to the poor farm to examine the damage. Little more than a month ago. How could one’s life turn upside down in such a short time? She’d lost so much—her home, her residents, her purpose, her reputation, her closeness with her heavenly Father. And all she’d gained in return was a deep affection for a man who wanted to remain stubbornly aloof from the world. At least Papa wasn’t there to witness her plunge into failure. She found a small measure of comfort in having spared her father this heartache.

  Ahead on the right a ramshackle house, long since abandoned, caught Christina’s attention. She grabbed Ben’s arm, encouraging him to pull back on the reins. She waited until the buggy rolled to a stop. Then she pointed. “Do you suppose anyone has checked inside there?”

  Ben wrinkled his nose. “It seems a rather gloomy place for a child to seek refuge.”

  “But Tommy can’t see. He’d only know it was shelter.” She edged herself over the seat. “I’m going to look inside.”

  Ben wrapped the reins around the brake handle and climbed out after her. “Miss Willems, please wait. The roof doesn’t look secure to me. Allow me to explore instead.”

  Christina sighed but agreed. She waited just outside the broken door, squinting through the shadows at Ben, who moved gingerly through the single room, pushing aside broken crates and a rusty bedframe. After only a few minutes, he emerged covered in cobwebs.

  Sweeping the strings of white from his hair and shoulders, he sneezed. “No one’s been in there in a very long time. I suggest we continue on.”

  Christina’s shoulders sagged. “I so hoped …”

  He took her arm and spoke kindly. “Come now. We’ve only begun to search. Don’t lose heart already.”

  She smiled her thanks and turned toward the buggy. As she did, a strange sound met her ears. Ben must have heard it, too, because he stopped and looked around, a puzzled expression on his face.

  “What was that?” Christina asked.

  They stood still as fence posts, listening. The sound came again—an odd, warbling whistle. Ben frowned. “Perhaps a bird?”

  “I’ve never heard birdsong like that before.” Christina turned a slow circle, seeking the source of the strange noise. “Could it be wind in the trees?”

  Ben shrugged. “I suppose that’s possible. Wind through a knothole or other small space could create a whistle.”

  Christina shook her head. “Well, we can’t stand here trying to determine what’s making a whistling sound. We need to find Tommy.”

  Ben took her arm and hurried her across the uneven, grassy ground.

  Chapter 41

  Cora leaned against the cool barn wall. The rough stone pulled hair loose from her bun. She tucked in the strands as best she could and resituated herself more comfortably. Wagons and horses crowded the yard, but the people had all scattered. From a distance voices called for Tommy.

  “I want to help,” she muttered as the breeze tossed another strand of hair across her face. She considered setting out, but Mr. Jonnson had said Tommy might turn up here. Someone should be at the farm to welcome him. So she anchored the tangled strand of hair behind her ear and scanned the landscape, hoping for a glimpse of a slender, blond-haired boy.

  “God, where is he?” Asking the question out loud reminded her she could pray while she waited. Hands pressed against her swollen belly, she closed her eyes and addressed the Father, who Pa and Ma Creeger said was always available to her. She prayed for Tommy. For the people out hunting for him. For Pa and Ma Creeger’s store. For Miss Willems. And then she prayed for her baby. “It’s gonna need a family, God. I’d like Pa an’ Ma Creeger to raise it, but they said no. Reckon You already know that, seein’ how You know everything. Well, You know this baby’s gonna need more’n I can give it, so would You please send a lovin’ family for
my baby? Thank You. Amen.”

  She opened her eyes and spotted something duck behind the house—low, at the same level as the thick clumps of grass growing along the foundation. What had she seen? A small critter—a dog or a raccoon? Or could it have been a boot? Maybe Tommy’s boot?

  Hope filled her breast. She leaped up, nearly stumbling in her excitement. One hand supporting her stomach, the other holding her bun in place, she ran as quickly as she could around the corner of the house. Someone knelt, all bent forward, in the trampled grass by the wall. Although all she could see was the soles of two brown boots and someone’s britches-covered hindquarters, she knew instantly this wasn’t Tommy. All her breath whooshed out in a rush of disappointment.

  The man jerked, planting one foot on the ground and angling his upper body to look in her direction.

  Cora drew back. Why was Hamilton Dresden prowling out here?

  He pushed to his feet, his gaze moving back and forth. “Where’d you come from, girl?”

  “I been out by the barn, watchin’ for Tommy. He’s lost.”

  The scowl he’d been wearing suddenly melted into an expression of deep concern. “I know. I … I was lookin’, too.” He kicked at something in the grass with one foot and then strode forward, grabbing her arm. “But he ain’t here. So let’s go.”

  Cora had no choice except to scuttle along beside him. His firm grip pushed her toward the corner of the house, but curiosity made her glance over her shoulder. Shock flooded her. Digging in her feet, she wrenched her arm free and hurried back to the spot where he’d been kneeling.

  He pounded after her. “You come back here, girl!”

  Cora skittered out of his reach. She bent over and grabbed what had caught her eye. Holding the thick stack of paper money in both hands, she gawked at Dresden. “Where’d you get this?”

  He swung at it, but his fingers caught air as she pulled it back. He glowered at her, clenching and unclenching his dirty fists. “Girl, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll hand that over.”

  Cora edged backward, holding the fat wad of bills against her thundering heart. “Where’d you come by so much money?”

  “Never you mind!” Dresden advanced on her, fury sparking in his narrowed eyes. “Just give it to me!”

  Cora shook her head. The pins from her bun came loose, and her hair blew across her face as she continued working her way slowly, inch by inch, backward over the ground. “You stole it, didn’t you?” Hair caught in her eyelashes and stuck to her lips. She tossed her head, sending the tangled strands over her shoulder, and threw out another accusation. “You must’ve robbed a bank or a stagecoach. Tell the truth—you stole this money!”

  “I worked for it!”

  Her back collided with something hard and immovable—the wall of the wash house. A satisfied smirk tipped up the corners of his lips. Cora’s mouth went dry as fear wrapped its tentacles around her. His menacing advance changed to a cocky saunter. She was trapped, and he knew it. She glanced left and right, seeking an escape route. If only one of the searchers would return to the house!

  Drawing on her only defense—gumption—she tried to hold him at bay. “You’re a liar. I know a ne’er-do-well when I see one. Betcha you ain’t done a lick o’ work in your whole life. So how would you earn so much money?”

  A growl emerged from his gritted teeth as he lunged forward and planted his palms against the wall on either side of her shoulders. He leaned close, his rancid breath smacking Cora in the face. “Not that it oughta matter to you any, girl, but I’ll tell you how I come by that money. I made it.” When she jolted in surprise, he grinned. “That’s right. Printed it myself in the basement of an old warehouse. I’d sneaked in there just wantin’ to get warm, but imagine my surprise when I found counterfeiting equipment all set up an’ ready for use. Nobody was around, so I spent the night makin’ enough money to keep myself in fine form for a good long while.

  “Stayed there two days, sneakin’ in an’ out and spendin’ a few bills just to make sure they’d pass for real. Figured on makin’ a lot more, but that third night some fellas—seedy ones, if you get my meanin’—found me. Chased me off.” A regret-filled sigh heaved from his chest, assaulting Cora’s nostrils with a foul odor. She turned her face sharply away, and he grunted out a laugh. “ ’Course, I had full pockets when I ran, so it didn’t bother me too much.”

  Cora trembled within the barricade of his arms, but he seemed talkative. The longer he talked, the longer he’d wait to hurt her. So she asked, “If you had plenty o’ money, why’d you come here?”

  He laughed as if she was the dumbest person he’d ever met. “How could I stay around the city, knowin’ them men would be after me? I came here to hide out for a while. Figure where to go next. Stashed my money under the house.” He snorted. “But then Miss High-an’-Mighty Willems sent me off, spoutin’ Bible verses at me about he who does not work does not eat an’ siccin’ that dull-witted Wes on me. Makin’ me feel like nothin’.”

  To her surprise sympathy welled. Cora understood feeling like nothing. And she’d done some wrong things to try to make herself feel important. Maybe Hamilton Dresden just needed a Ma and Pa Creeger in his life to show him he didn’t have to be a nothing anymore. She started to say so, but he went on.

  “Oh, I left like she said I should, but I had to come back for my money. Had me a little fun after that fire, watchin’ her squirm an’ wonder where she was gonna end up layin’ her head, same as she done to me. Played a few tricks, too. But I’m through with all that now.” His tone turned matter-of-fact. “I’ll get my money, an’ I’ll take myself on the train to a big city an’ live like a king. But first I gotta take care of you.”

  Cora gasped. She dropped the bundle of money to cup her hands over her belly, where the babe stirred. If he killed her, this baby would die, too. God wouldn’t let that happen, would He? “Wh-whaddaya gonna do with me?”

  He grabbed a handful of her loose-flying hair. She let out a screech of pain, and he barked, “Hush!” Keeping a firm grip on her hair, he bent both of them over and snatched up the money she’d dropped. He shoved it into his pocket, and then he herded her toward the house, where he’d managed to remove one stone from the foundation. His fingers tore at her hair, hurting her, but she gritted her teeth and remained quiet even when he jerked her down to the ground beside him and knelt on her skirt. “Don’t you move, girl.” Too frightened to do otherwise, she remained on her hands and knees and sent up plea after plea to the heavens for deliverance.

  His reaching under the house resulted in four more stacks of paper money. Counterfeit money, Cora now knew. He’d surely kill her. He couldn’t risk her telling anybody about what he’d done. Oddly, instead of wild panic, an unexplained peace settled over Cora. If he killed her, she and her babe would go up to heaven, up to God. She didn’t want to die—everything within her longed for escape and a chance to keep living—but the fear melted away. God was with her. She felt Him from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. Without conscious thought she smiled.

  Dresden filled his pockets with the money and rose, yanking Cora up with him. “C’mon now. I got someplace special for you.” He gave her a vicious shove toward the corner of the house, chuckling. “Reckon there’ll be enough room for you. Tommy don’t take up much space.”

  She whirled to face him, her jaw dropping.

  An evil grin creased his whiskered face as he nodded. “Uh-huh. Somethin’ else I get to hold over the holier-’n-thou Miss Willems. Now you an’ me are gonna—”

  A man in a three-piece suit, holding a short length of wood over his head like a club, burst around the corner. Yelling like a medieval warrior, he charged at Dresden and brought the wood down on the man’s head. Dresden’s mouth fell open. His eyes rolled back. And then he crumpled on the ground with his arms flung outward. The man—the lawyer from town, Cora realized—stood over Dresden for a few seconds, the board still gripped in his hands. When Dresden didn’t move, he tosse
d the piece of wood aside and grabbed Cora’s shoulders.

  Aiming a glance past Cora’s head, he called, “It’s safe now, Miss Willems!” Then he dipped his knees and peered into Cora’s face. “Are you all right, miss? We’ve been watching, waiting for the chance to intervene.”

  “I—He—You—” Cora stared at the tall lawyer, so many emotions rolling through her she couldn’t form words.

  He gave her a little shake. “Speak to me, miss. Did he hurt you?”

  Miss Willems scurried over, her white face wreathed in worry. “Oh, Cora, we saw him accost you. Are you—”

  With a cry of despair, Cora broke free of the lawyer’s hands. She dropped to her knees next to Dresden and grabbed his shirt front with both fists. “Wake up! Do you hear me? Wake up!” She shook him, but his head only lolled to the side, his slack mouth releasing a dribble of drool.

  Miss Willems knelt beside Cora and touched her back, real soft with just her fingertips, like she was afraid Cora had something catching. “Cora?”

  Cora spun on her friend. Tears clouded her eyes, making Miss Willems’s puzzled face blur. “He was gonna take me to Tommy.” She flung an accusing look at the lawyer. “But you killed him, an’ now we’ll never know what he did with Tommy!”

  Tommy blew another lungful of air through the harmonica’s mouthpiece. A single note rolled through the well. All the hollering he’d done when Dresden took off had left him hoarse. His throat wouldn’t make anything more than a raspy whisper. For a while he’d cried. But that’d hurt his throat, too. So he’d sat in silence with his legs stretched out in front of him and his back against the curved wall. But the quiet made him edgy. So he’d begun filling the space with melodies of his own making. Some of his tunes weren’t too pretty, but at least they gave him company.

  He wished he had his jacket. When he and Mr. Jonnson’d set out in the morning, it’d been warm enough that he hadn’t needed it. But down here, underground, it felt chilly. Would it be cold like this in a grave? He didn’t much like the thought, so he pushed it aside. He drew up his knees and fit his elbows between them. Huddling up that way warmed him. Cupping the harmonica to his lips again, he played one long note after another. He took his time, exploring each little hole with his tongue before sending a stream of air through.