“I don’t want to go down there.” Her voice was raw with fear, not the controlled schoolmarm’s voice she’d used with the children.
Her panic got to him more than he planned. Somehow the harsh tone he needed here became harder and harder to muster. “You need to.”
“No, I don’t. Not today I don’t.”
Her hand rose in his direction. Mason hated how he edged himself out of her reach, sure if she touched him he wouldn’t be able to hold the distance he needed. She did need this, and while he ought to have been kinder about it, he couldn’t be. “Yes, today. Now.” Instead of saying I’ll help, he said, “Waiting won’t help.” Before she said anything that could change his mind, Mason set the wagon to moving toward the long black line of the train snaking its way around the bend.
“You can just let me off and I’ll watch from here.”
Life had handed him the perfect chance to push Holly Sanders away for good, and he was going to take it. This was what she needed to heal in the long run, and if she blamed him for the way it hurt right now then all the better. He urged the horse a bit faster. “You’re going down there.”
“Let me off.”
He braved a look at her, regretting instantly how the fear in her eyes doubled the pain under his ribs. “No.”
“I’ve changed my mind and I don’t wish to go down there.”
For a split second Mason was tempted to back off. To be kind, to go slow, even to hold her shoulders steady while she edged into the clearing. Only he couldn’t afford to be even the least bit kind. Not to her, not with the cannon-fire of feelings going off in his chest. So, even though it felt plain awful, Mason pronounced “Too late,” and sped the wagon up a bit more.
The only time he dared to touch her was to reach up and help her down out of the wagon, and even that was torture. The tremble in her hands made it nearly impossible to drop her grasp and look away. Mason busied himself with the somber task of loading Arlington’s casket onto the train, stopping only once when he heard a small, meek sound. He looked up to see Miss Sanders standing stiff and straight, arms wrapped tightly around herself, forcing in deep breaths he could nearly feel from his careful distance. She would make it. She would earn the order and balance he knew would allow her to put this behind her.
He didn’t go near her, didn’t look at her or talk to her, only watched from across the clearing until the set of her shoulders told him she’d found strength she probably hadn’t known she even had. Then, still keeping his distance, Mason walked to the wagon and swung himself back into the driver’s bench. Only then did he allow himself one indulgence: he leaned over and extended a hand to help her into the wagon.
She didn’t take it. Instead, Miss Sanders hoisted herself up and settled rod-straight onto the bench next to him.
He should have been glad she said nothing, did not take his offered hand, didn’t even look at him. Only he wasn’t. As he drove them back to Evans Grove in dry, tight silence, Mason found himself more miserable than ever.
* * *
Hours later, Holly looked up as Rebecca came into her house. The last of the daylight spilled into the darkened room from the doorway behind her. “Holly?”
It hadn’t even occurred to Holly that the room had gone dark. She’d been so lost in her thoughts.
“Holly?” Rebecca called again, coming to stand in front of her. “Holly, are you all right?”
She was so tired of being asked that question, mostly because she no longer knew the answer. “No, not really.”
“Are you ill?” Rebecca didn’t look much better, bless her. Her face wore the same drawn pallor it had in the church doorway earlier this afternoon.
Tucking her handkerchief back in her pocket, Holly dragged her thoughts out of the fog that had engulfed her since the long, dreadful ride back from the train tracks. “No, I’m not ill.”
“Well, you’re surely upset, from the looks of you. Was it awful, taking...” Rebecca still avoided saying the words. “Was it awful going where you did?”
Mason was right. Rebecca hadn’t been ready.
Holly startled herself with the thought of calling him Mason. She’d never called him that to his face, of course, but when had he become Mason in her thoughts? Today, she answered herself, when I peered in at the wolf in the cave. “It was difficult.” How could she explain this afternoon when she barely understood it herself? All she currently knew for sure was that she felt as if she’d been wrung through Beatrice Ward’s newfangled washing machine. “The conductor was very kind.”
Mason was not. He’d made her stand in that clearing until her hand stopped shaking and the dark memories of the afternoon had cleared. There had been some part of her that thought he would stand beside her, supportive—it had been his idea, after all—but he stood away from her. Watchful but distant, he left her alone to find her own way out of whatever still made her hands shake.
No, he hadn’t been kind. But he had been right. With time, her peace returned, and she’d known this was the right thing to do. Still, she could not bring herself to thank Mason. Too much else had transpired between them on that ride. Holly had simply climbed into the wagon when she knew the inner storm had settled, and they’d ridden home to Evans Grove in silence.
Rebecca pulled a second chair out to face Holly. “I’d like to think we’ve become friends.”
“We have.” Holly leaned her elbow on the table, weary of all the tumult. “I’m glad you’re here, glad the children may get the chance to stay here.”
“Then while the Turners are seeing to the children’s evening chores, why don’t you and I take a walk.” Rebecca extended her hand to Holly. “It’s a lovely night, and I need to take our list of suggested questions for tomorrow’s meeting over to Miss Ward at the hotel.”
Holly let Rebecca pull her from the chair. “Is Beatrice asking to see the list of questions again? We went over them at the meeting. Twice.”
“Miss Ward insists we add three questions about the children’s ‘spiritual upbringing.’” She gave the last two words the exact righteous intonation Miss Ward would give.
“Sasha is four years old. How is anyone going to ask her three questions about her spiritual upbringing?”
Rebecca shrugged as she opened the door. “She knows Jesus loves her.”
“That won’t be enough for Miss Ward. I expect she’ll want an exact verse—or take points off for lack of one.” Holly breathed in the calm, crisp air and looked at Rebecca. “This is a matter for the heart, not a quiz. Don’t you think the Holy Spirit can guide the right parent to each child, and help each child reach out to the right parent?”
“I’d like to think that’s how it works. I certainly pray for every child and the home they’ll eventually find.” They began to walk south down First Street. Holly realized how good it felt to be pulled out of a sullen mood by a trustworthy friend. Rebecca was turning into a good friend, the kind Holly wished would choose to stay in Evans Grove even after the children were placed. That seemed impossible, but then again, what of the past days would have seemed possible even a week ago? Give her a home here, Lord. She’d be happy here, perhaps. Somewhere, under all that finery, she seems hungry for good people who simply care about her. Evans Grove can give her that. “I believe God brought these children to Evans Grove, you know that. It could be that way for you, too. I’ve so enjoyed having you to talk to, someone else who pours their lives into children’s futures.”
“‘That’s a lovely way to put it. It was my father who put me onto this train with these children, and quite frankly, I didn’t want to go. I’d had...a bad experience and even thought of this position as some kind of punishment, or maybe it’s kinder to say ‘medicine.’” The wind jostled the budding tree branches overhead and swished their skirts. Holly could see there was much more to Rebecca’s story than those vague words, but chose not to push the woman into saying more. She only nodded and offered a small smile.
“I’m loath to admit it, but my fa
ther was right,” Rebecca continued with a sigh. “Helping these children has been good for me. I care about them very much. I suppose I do pour my life into their futures. You have a way with words, Holly.” When they turned to walk west down Victory Street, the sunset’s rays made Rebecca’s golden tresses dance in the breeze. What a stunning beauty the woman was—she was the farthest thing from “mousy.” Rebecca carried herself like a queen, with an enviable air of culture and refinement. Was it wrong to think a woman like that could find a life in somewhere as rough-hewn as Evans Grove?
“I do want these children—all of them—to find good futures.” Rebecca’s words lacked confidence, and worry furrowed her brow.
“Rebecca,” Holly began, “what happens to them if they aren’t placed?” She hesitated before adding in a quieter tone, “The stories aren’t true, are they?”
“Some of the orphanages do a wonderful job, but it’s never the same thing as a stable home. Greenville is the last hope for these children. We had a whole car full of youngsters when we started out.” The woman hugged her chest and gave a sigh. “It’s been heartbreaking to watch them passed over at stop after stop.”
“You really do care about them a great deal.”
Rebecca’s response was only another sigh. “I’ll be praying hard tonight, that’s certain.” She gave Holly’s arm a quick squeeze. “With God’s help and your help, things could turn out splendidly.” After a moment she added, “And since we’re friends, you and I, do you want to talk about today? Something is bothering you—and not just the placement meeting.”
Suddenly, Holly’s broken heart didn’t seem like much of a burden to bear. She was useful, respected even if not loved, and never, ever had to feel as if no one in the world wanted her. She’d not just lost a colleague to a terrible crime. She wasn’t alone, healing from some “bad experience,” facing an enormous challenge in a strange place. Her pain over one man’s disregard seemed self-indulgent right now, even if it did hurt mightily. “It’s nothing. It was just...much harder than I thought it would be.” That much was true. “I believe I’ll be better now that I’ve forced myself to go back there.” That wasn’t quite true. Mason had forced her, but she didn’t want to get into that with Rebecca. She wiped stray hairs out of her eyes, feeling mussed next to Rebecca’s windswept beauty. “I’m just very weary.”
They passed the general store, and Mrs. Gavin waved at them from the lighted window. “Back in New York, when I was very, very tired, I would go buy a new hat.”
Holly laughed. “We’ve no haberdashery here, I assure you.”
Rebecca gave a wink, “So then why don’t we ask Mrs. Gavin to let us in for a new hair ribbon? I’m certain Miss Ward can wait another fifteen minutes.”
Holly hadn’t bought a hair ribbon in years. She hadn’t even bought anything new for her important trip into Newfield. Perhaps there were things Rebecca could teach her that no one would find in any book. Holly knew a man like Mason couldn’t be turned with a simple hair ribbon, but how long had it been since she’d felt pretty? Since she’d even tried? She managed a playful smile as Rebecca knocked on the front door of Gavin’s General Store. “Maybe even thirty minutes.”
* * *
“It’s the eyes that get me,” Mason told Bucky the next afternoon as they stood in the back of the church hall and watched the children line up for the selection meeting. “There’s something sad about them.”
Bucky squinted to see whatever it was that Mason saw, but merely shook his head. “What? I just see shiny smiles.”
That was it, in a manner of speaking. Those smiles were too shiny. “Don’t you think no tot ought to grin like that when they’re up for auction? Seems plain wrong. Unnatural.”
Bucky stared at him. “Wait a minute...I thought you were for this whole thing.”
“I am. I was. I mean I still am, but seeing it now, seeing them lined up like something to be bid on...”
“Nobody’s buying nothing here, Mason. It’s sweet what Miss Sanders is doing. Good Christian charity for some poor youngsters.” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. “What’s gotten into you? You’re never a sack of sunshine, but today—”
Mason cut him off. “I know, I know.” He’d been prickly ever since dropping Holly Sanders off yesterday. He’d gotten what he wanted, so he should feel better, only he didn’t. He felt worse, and somehow the pleading look in these orphans’ eyes sent his mood darker. “Young ones ought to have mas and pas, that’s all.” He nodded over to little Galina, twirling about in her frilly dress. “Not have to parade for them.”
Bucky, forever a candy-coated optimist since his recent marriage to Cynthia Levermore last Valentine’s Day, only sighed. “You’ll die waiting for a perfect world, Sheriff. Nothing short of Heaven’ll ever be perfect.” Bucky’s eye twinkled. “But my Cindy, she comes mighty close.”
“Perfect enough to be thinking about adding to that new household?” It hadn’t even occurred to Mason until this moment that Bucky and Cindy might be one of the families to take in one of the orphans. He’d been hard-pressed to see Bucky so smitten as a husband, much less consider him as a father. Still, Bucky was a good man.
Bucky came as close to flustering as the big man got. “We might, but—”
“Hey, I was just fooling with you. I—”
“No.” Bucky interrupted his interruption. “It’s just that...well...”
There was something oddly startled behind Bucky’s glare. A slightly frantic, slightly smitten grin Mason had put down to newlywed foolhardiness—only this was more. Mason turned to face his friend. “Wyler, what is it?”
The man turned red and scratched his sandy hair. “It’s just that, well, Cindy...she thinks...” Bucky leaned in and whispered, “She thinks we may already have a young’un on the way.” He shrugged, the grin on his face turning positively goofy.
Mason’s heart twisted in two—one half in painful recollection of the elated whoops he’d howled to the treetops when Phoebe told him he was going to be a father, the other half in joy for his friend’s new happiness. “Congratulations!” The words felt thick and bitter on his tongue.
“Shhhh.” Bucky looked away and adopted a falsely casual stance. “Cindy doesn’t want anyone to know ’til she’s sure.”
“Would all the eligible families please come to the front of the room,” Reverend Turner called out. “I think it is only appropriate to begin such a momentous meeting with prayer.”
Mason listened to the words but felt nothing. It was as if he were standing on the outside of a house on a cold night, looking in at the warmth inside but locked outside. He’d had Bucky’s gleeful enthusiasm once, had believed God created love and families. He didn’t have the right to another try at happiness for himself—not after the way he’d let Phoebe and their baby down—but these kids...if anyone deserved a chance, they did.
Miss Sterling stood in front of the children. “Please talk with each of the children. Ask them about what they do well, their likes, all those things. Think about your needs and your household as you talk, and then give your requests to Miss Sanders at the end of thirty minutes.” Miss Sanders had come up with this format instead of the usual “select a child out of the line” model Mason knew the Society used. He had to agree it seemed kinder and wiser given the circumstances.
An hour later, Mason folded his hands again as Reverend Turner said a prayer over the Selection Committee’s approved placements: Tiny Sasha, the youngest tot in long, dark braids, would go to Charlotte and Charlie Miller. Helen and Theodore Regan would have Galina join them out on their farm, and little Lizzie—and her stuffed rabbit Bobbins, Holly Sanders had pointed out with a smile—would make their home with the Hutchinsons.
“What do you think?” Curtis Brooks came up to Mason after the meeting, eyebrows raised in an invitation of Mason’s opinion.
Mason found himself shrugging, at a loss to put a definite endorsement on the process. “Three little girls found homes tonight. Hard to argue with that.�
�� It had been heartwarming to watch Miss Sanders and Miss Sterling bundle off the girls to supper and their first night in new homes. Still, Mason found he couldn’t ignore the four boys and quiet girl who trudged off to another night in the schoolhouse with obvious disappointment. “Scrawny as they are, I’d have thought the boys would go first, given all the work that needs doing around here. But I reckon the girls are less trouble to get settled.”
Brooks let out a chuckle. “Those boys are a handful, I have to admit. Strong, but feisty.” The banker tucked his hands in his pockets. “Young Liam there is a clever lad. All that energy needs a good place to go or...”
“Or it will go bad twelve ways to Sunday.” Mason swallowed a smirk of nostalgia at his mama’s favorite saying for when his own boyhood behavior left something to be desired. “Boys with empty time always fill it with trouble.”
“That’s been my experience,” Brooks sighed.
“Are you a father, then?” Mason had realized earlier that other than his bank affiliation, no one in Evans Grove knew anything about the man. He’d shown a fair amount of wisdom on the Selection Committee, but Mayor Evans had put him on there to observe, not necessarily to contribute.
“Me? Gracious no. I’ve got a passel of nephews, but no family myself.” He rocked back on his heels. “The right match hasn’t come my way yet, and business keeps me busy.”
But not too busy to be here, Mason thought. Mr. Brooks still hadn’t explained his presence beyond “wanting to help,” and hadn’t made any declaration about how long he was planning to stay.
“How about yourself?”
Brooks had no idea the weight of that question. People never did. Mason gave the answer he always gave. “I prefer my solitude.”
Mason was glad the banker only nodded. Holly Sanders would have asked eleven questions of him. She’d been efficient and quiet around him today, and he was glad of it.
Family Lessons Page 8