Family Lessons

by Allie Pleiter

  “I’m not sure that it matters much at the moment,” the lad said with his hat twisted in his hands, “but there’s something you should know.”

  “What could be so important now?” Holly whispered.

  “I was just out back in your shed and, well, lots of Mr. Miller’s tools are missing.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The wind whipped Mason’s hair Tuesday afternoon as he stood with his hand on Bucky’s shoulder beside the fresh grave of Charlie Miller. There wasn’t much weeping at Evans Grove’s funerals anymore; the entire town was plum grieved out, weary of piling fresh sod onto new caskets. After so many in March, this one felt like a last cruel trick. As if God up in His Heaven was taunting that death still marched on and He wasn’t through yet. For a man who hated funerals, Mason Wright had been to far too many of them lately.

  “Did you find out any more?” Bucky said as they walked away from the ceremony. He and Mason had been trying to solve the mystery of the missing tools, but had only come up with Mel’s vague recollection that most of the missing tools weren’t in the best of shape.

  “It’s as if someone went to the shed looking for the broken ones rather than take the best tools from the shop.” Mason caught Liam’s eye as the children filed back to school. He made a mental note to talk to the boy later, for he looked rattled by the loss of Charlie. All the orphans who had been at the picnic dinner looked stunned by Charlie’s death. Poor little Sasha.

  “And nobody knows anything about Mr. Gavin’s wheelbarrow or Miss Ward’s gate,” Bucky added, “Except that they were broken, too.”

  Mason narrowed his eyes at Bucky. “Broken gate, damaged tools, broken wheelbarrow. Someone scavenging for scrap metal maybe?”

  “I thought of the same thing, except Gavin’s wheelbarrow was mostly wood. And why not take the bigger, better tools if you were looking for metal?”

  “Something’s up.” Mason settled his hat back on his head. “I don’t know what, but I aim to find out before Miss Ward gets any more ideas.”

  Bucky scratched his chin and stared back at the tiny gated cemetery they’d just left. Sadly enough, the forlorn square of land just east of town was already near full. “Charlie told me Mayor Evans came to him last week to see about building new fencing to make a larger cemetery. I gave him a hard time because he made some crack about being glad he’d left room for his own spot near Gloria.”

  Mason had found it odd to be burying the man beside the grave of his first wife now that he was remarried, but he remembered the days of longing to be laid to rest beside Phoebe when his time came. A man’s grief never made good sense. “He’s gone too soon.” Justice seemed overrun by death these days. Order and balance seemed gone; the bandit leader’s hanging had left a sour taste in Mason’s mouth on Saturday. And to come back to news of Charlie’s loss? Well it just left Mason wondering how folk hung on to any faith when the world seemed out of kilter like this. He’d walked through life these past two days like he was groping in the dark. His soul—if he still had one—felt like it was dragging the weight of Beatrice’s gate, Charlie’s tools and Gavin’s wheelbarrow all together while swimming against the floodwaters. He was going under, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

  “Sure is a shame.” Mason hadn’t heard most of whatever Bucky just said. The words just sort of washed over him as he watched Holly Sanders kneel down and offer comfort to Liam. “Charlie weren’t never much for young’uns, but he was starting to take a shine to that little girl.” Bucky went on. “He never said so, but I could tell.” Cindy came up and put her arm around her husband, laying her head on his shoulder as Bucky put his arm protectively around his new wife. “I was planning on asking Charlie to be our baby’s godfather, you know.” Bucky’s voice broke just a bit on the last word. “Planned on asking him that very morning.”

  What was the point of so much pain? Mason thought. How was he supposed to tell younger men like Bucky—or even Liam—to stand tough and make something of themselves when only more pain waited for them later in life?

  “He’d have been happy for us,” Cindy said. Her hand stroked the bit of a belly Mason recognized as the beginning of pregnancy. Phoebe’s hand would always do that when she was sad or worried, as if the new life offered some kind of comfort from the inside. When Bucky kissed the top of Cindy’s head, Mason felt it happen again; the numb emptiness that had always been his companion was giving way to the slow burn of loneliness.

  It was a dangerous transformation that had overtaken him the night he’d had dinner with Bucky and Cindy. It had been his undoing that same night when he kissed Holly. It had near swallowed him whole on the ride to Greenville. He was lonely.

  He watched the teacher now from the safety of several yards out. Her hand cupped Liam’s chin and offered a sad smile. She tenderly checked his still-bandaged hand, patting it softly while the boy nodded. It still stunned him how he could feel the sky in her blue eyes from here, framed as they were with wet lashes. She didn’t seem to drown under the weight that was pushing him down, even though they’d both been surrounded by so much pain. For a moment—an unguarded, careless moment—he let himself wonder if the Bible she clutched fiercely to her side was the thing that held her upright.

  The thing she’d tried to give him. Beatrice used scripture like a weapon, but hadn’t Holly tried to use it as a lifeline? Had she seen him drowning and tried to throw him a rope? It had stuck in his head—the jumble of thoughts on his ride to Greenville proved as much. Now there was a disturbing thought. Was it faith, rather than the sheer hunger of a man next to a woman, that had pulled him to her so strongly that night?

  The wind shifted, and Liam turned in Mason’s direction, catching his eye. Holly’s glance followed, and Mason felt the yards between them vanish despite neither of them moving. An actual panic crept up his backbone as she made her way across the stretch of grass with Liam. It felt too precarious to be near her anymore, and yet he seemed constantly aware of where she was whenever she was within eyesight. Like a storm he could feel coming but couldn’t stop.

  “Hello, Bucky, Cindy. I hear congratulations are in order. That’s wonderful, really wonderful.” She used the tone of voice Mason had come to recognize from the train tracks as her applied cheer. Once he’d found Holly too continually cheerful. Now he knew that her sunny disposition was a tool for her, a bridge of sorts over patches of pain or weariness. He found it highly irritating that he could now hear when she was truly happy and when she was putting on her cheer the way he pulled down his hat—to hide.

  “We’re so excited,” Cindy said looking up at Bucky with a newlywed’s wonder in her eyes. It hurt—it physically hurt—to see so much hope and joy right there before him.

  Holly held out a hand. “As well you should be. I can’t think of better news. My ma always said ‘a baby is God’s reminder that the world should keep on,’ and that’s the best message for Evans Grove. A patch of happiness is just what we need.”

  “I feel like we got a whole acre of happiness,” Bucky said with a smitten grin. He looked down at Liam. “Hey there, Deputy McLoughlin. Congratulations to you, too.”

  “It ain’t real,” Liam said, cocking his head to one side.

  “’Course it’s real. Sheriff Wright don’t mess around when it comes to the law. He takes his partners seriously and it’s serious work.”

  “Which is why,” Cindy said, hugging Bucky, “Mr. Wyler won’t be wearing any badges any time soon, Sheriff. My baby needs his daddy home every night for supper and no gunfights.” Cindy’s unwillingness to let Bucky take the deputy oath despite his excellent marksmanship had been a bone of contention in the past, but now with a baby on the way, Mason knew he’d be working alone for the next year unless someone with the right skills came along.

  “I’ll do my best, ma’am,” Liam said, tipping his hat. “If you don’t mind, though, I might get a few pointers from Bucky if he ever has the time.” He grinned up at Cindy, charming her the way Liam charmed ev
eryone.

  “Obliged,” Bucky said. To Mason’s growing discomfort, the three of them walked off in conversation leaving him and Holly alone. The silence stretched out heavy and enormous.

  She brushed back the strands of hair the wind whipped across her face, turning for a moment toward the fresh grave. “I can’t believe Charlie is gone.” After a moment, she turned to him, pushing out a breath while she clutched the Bible to her chest. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said what I did the other day.”

  He’d picked the fight the last time they were together. He’d turned her question—direct as it was—into an argument and stopped just short of accusing her, and she was apologizing? Did she have any idea the pile of debt, the mountain of unearned mercy she heaped on his head every time they were together? “Don’t apologize.” It came out wrong; barked like an order rather than the release he’d meant. Glory, but her eyes tangled his tongue. “It’s not necessary,” he backpedaled, but that only came out worse. Even out under the wide-open sky, he felt trapped in tight next to her, pinned to his faults by the weight of her regard.

  Charlotte Miller walked up to Holly, and Mason seized the opportunity. “Sorry for your loss, Widow Miller. Charlie was a good man. Miss Sanders.” Quick as civility would allow, he tipped his hat to the two ladies and walked off toward where the others were heading back to town.

  “How are you holding up, Charlotte?” Holly hardly needed to ask; the woman looked worn and thin.

  “Widow Miller,” Charlotte repeated, looking after Mason’s quick exit. “I can’t quite get used to that.”

  “I imagine it’s a title no woman ever gets fully used to wearing.” She held her elbow out for Charlotte to grasp. “I’ll try to stick to ‘dear Charlotte’ if it will help you feel better.”

  “My favorite title right now is ‘mama.’” Holly was pleased to see a whisper of happiness cross the woman’s pale face as Sasha waved to her mama while walking toward town with Amelia Hicks. “Sasha has been such a comfort to me. I thank God every night He sent her into my life right now.”

  “It has to be such a blessing,” Holly agreed. “Sasha is a darling girl. I look forward to having her in class next year.”

  Charlotte turned to grasp Holly’s elbows. “I need her. I know God sent her to me as comfort through all this.”

  “God knew exactly what He was doing. You’ll be a wonderful mother, Charlotte. The two of you will be fine.” That wasn’t exactly true. Holly had heard Beatrice talking to Miss Sterling, asking if the OSS would consider it proper for a widowed woman to foster a child. But that wasn’t what Charlotte needed to hear. Holly would hold off on telling her for now, and just pray that the issue would be resolved soon. “Take your little girl home, eat something and then both of you try and sleep. I’ll stop by toward dinner and see how you’re getting on. Don’t you dare come by the schoolhouse tomorrow. We’ll manage without you just fine.”

  The widow’s clothes whipped in the wind, hanging on her thin frame like mourners’ crepe. The woman looked more placid than she did sad. Shock does strange things to people, she thought to herself, remembering how outgoing she’d become in the wake of the train attack. The world—her life, her town, her friends— had just about turned on its ear in the last two months, as if God had taken the entire universe and shaken it like the snow globes Mama used to keep on the mantel at Christmas. Lord, Holly prayed as she watched Charlotte reach down and scoop little Sasha up into her arms, I know You’ve planned how all the pieces will fall, but it’s hard to see from here. I can’t see where I fit into all this. I can’t tell if I’m following Your Spirit or going my own willful way. Hem me in. Hem all of us in with Your protection. Give me eyes to see where to go from here.

  With a last look at the sad addition to Evan’s Grove’s already-too-full cemetery, Holly turned and headed for home.

  * * *

  Liam burst through the door a half an hour early, panting as if he’d run the entire way from the schoolhouse. “She’s after me!”

  Mason wasn’t thrilled about school yard games of tag extending to his office. He’d been angry and irritated all morning, having slept poorly. Come to think of it, he’d been angry and irritated all week. He wasn’t in the mood for Liam’s theatrics today. “Who’s after you?”

  “Miss Ward. And she’s mad as a hornet.” The boy was actually looking around the room for places to hide.

  Now, Beatrice Ward mad as a hornet wasn’t exactly a rare thing around these parts, but Miss Ward out to get Liam could only spell disaster. For a second, Mason actually considered hiding the boy, or at least locking him in a cell for protection. By the time he could consider the foolishness of these thoughts, Beatrice Ward had pushed his door open and stood fuming in the center of his office.

  “I have endured enough!” she huffed, hands on her hips and eyebrows nearly dug into the bridge of her sharp little nose. “These urchins must go. That one,” she said, pointing to Liam, “most of all!”

  Mason moved between the two of them. “Why don’t you tell me what’s gone on, Miss Ward, and we’ll see what can be done.”

  “He’s stolen from me. He’s stolen from half of Evans Grove, I’m sure we’ll discover.”

  “I did not!” Liam countered from behind Mason. “I never took nothing. I only looked.”

  “So you admit you were at my home last night. Looting from the unfortunate, were you? You lawless little—”

  “Hang on there,” Mason cut in. “Miss Ward, why don’t you sit down.”

  “I will not sit down.” Beatrice crossed her hands over her chest in a defiant gesture. “I will not sit idly by while our dear little town is overrun with thieves. Thieves who don’t belong in our homes.”

  “As if I’d ever want to live with you,” Liam snarled.

  “That’s enough,” Mason raised his voice over the pair of them. When the room fell silent, he turned to Liam. “Were you at Miss Ward’s house yesterday?”

  “Last night. Prowling around after dark, he was.” That old woman had no need of weapons with the ability to shoot a look as dark as she could. Even Mason felt a small shiver at the level of disdain in her glare.

  Her accusation could only mean one thing. He looked at Liam. “Did you break your promise to me?”

  “You knew he’d escaped before? And you did nothing?” came Beatrice’s shrill voice from behind him. Mason held a hand out behind him to quiet her while his eyes bored into Liam’s fearful ones.

  “I was goin’ crazy in there. Tom and Patrick were yelling and Heidi was crying and Ma’am was pacing the room all worried.” Liam swallowed hard. “It was like I couldn’t even breathe.”

  “So you snuck out again.” This was not good news, not at all.

  “Well, well,” Beatrice gasped behind him. “So he has you charmed now, too. That little miscreant has everyone feeling sorry for him when all he wants to do is rob us when our backs are turned. Greenville’s too good an end for that boy, I tell you. He belongs in prison. He’s no better than that gang from the train, he is.”

  Now she’d gone too far. Mason whirled on her. “Miss Ward, I’ll thank you to hold your peace.” He stalked over to her, wielding every inch of height he had over that bitter old woman. “A woman of your standing ought to know better than to—”

  The slam of his office door stopped him short. Mason turned back to find his office empty, Liam’s hat on the floor, and the boy long gone.

  Chapter Twenty

  Mason wheeled on Beatrice Ward. “What is wrong with you, old woman?” Her shock registered a bit of his own, but hang it if that woman hadn’t just driven him past his final shred of composure. “Where in that Bible of yours does it say you can treat a child like that?” Mason pushed past her to thrust his head out the door, but he already knew what he’d find. If there’s anything Liam McLoughlin excelled at, it was turning invisible.

  “I could ask the same of you!” she yelled. “You evidently knew that boy was sneaking out and y
et you did nothing. Have you even questioned him regarding my missing gate? Or are you too fond of him to see him as the criminal he is?”

  Mason found himself torn between the need to run after Liam and the need to finally give Miss Ward a piece of his mind. “As a matter of fact, Miss Ward, I did.” He wanted to snarl the words at her, but forced a civil tone into his voice. “He came clean with me about finding your house a very good place to hide, but resisting going in on account of you being on the Selection Committee and all.”

  “Every smart criminal works an angle, Sheriff Wright.”

  “Liam McLoughlin is not a criminal.” He ground it out through gritted teeth. “Whereas I have tossed Vern Hicks and his bottles off your porch four times since the storm and I don’t hear you calling to run him out of town. How do you know it isn’t Vern who’s made off with your gate?”

  She started in on some version of a defense, but Mason decided he would hear none of it. She wasn’t worth the breath it’d take to argue with her. “Good afternoon, Miss Ward,” he cut in to her tirade as he grabbed his hat off its hook by the door, not even listening to whatever it was she was spouting at him. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t see you out.”

  * * *

  Holly rushed out of the school yard as fast as she could manage, shouting directions to Cindy and Bucky Wyler as to how to gather the students into their afternoon chore teams. When Beatrice had asked to have a few words with Liam, she never imagined it would turn into the fiasco that ensued. She’d gone back into the classroom to get some papers, and come back out to Liam running down the street and Beatrice shouting after him. With Rebecca off visiting Sasha, Holly couldn’t just leave the children and run off after Beatrice and Liam, no matter how bad things looked. The ten minutes it took for Cindy and Bucky to arrive dragged by like hours until she could head off after whatever war had broken out between the young boy and the old woman.

  Sure Liam would run straight to Mason, Holly ran down Victory Street to find the sheriff turning and peering in several directions. “Where is he?” she called, panting from the run.