The man could not have inflicted more pain if he’d run Everett through with a blade. He dipped his head and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to erase the picture O’Dell’s story had painted in his mind.
“Mr. O’Dell, I hope you can believe me when I tell you it was never my intention to hurt Tillie. On the contrary, I was trying to spare her.” He shook his head and raised his hand to run his fingertips over his scars. How could he tell this man who bore scars himself the real reason why he decided to stop seeing his daughter? “Mr. O’Dell…I couldn’t…Tillie deserves better than me.”
O’Dell’s eyebrows arched. “Does she now? She told you that, did she?”
“Well, no, she would never…That’s why I knew it was up to me. She’s too tenderhearted.” He stared down at his shoes, his stomach twisting into a knot. “Doesn’t it bother you when people stare or when you see pity or repulsion in their eyes?”
“Are ye tryin’ to tell me my Matilda pities you?”
Everett jerked his head up to meet Mr. O’Dell’s steely gaze. “No! No, she doesn’t. But other people do, and I couldn’t ask Tillie to endure a lifetime of that. I’m sorry if that offends you, Mr. O’Dell, but I love your daughter too much to put her through that.”
The moment the words blurted from his lips, Everett couldn’t believe he’d spoken them. Fire rose up from his belly, searing his face almost as hot as the flames that had scarred him. He clamped his teeth together to prevent any more words from escaping.
Mr. O’Dell crossed one leg over the other. “So that’s the way of it.” The man angled his head and fixed his eyes on the trail the flames had made across Everett’s face and neck. “Mm-hmm.”
Everett fought to keep the grimace off his face under the man’s scrutiny. It seemed O’Dell’s eyes combed over every inch of his face.
Once his inspection was complete, O’Dell leaned back in the chair again. “I’m havin’ a hard time understandin’ exactly what ’tis you don’t want to put my Matilda through.”
Every reason, every argument Everett could employ would be an insult to the man sitting before him. His mind fought to put words into a coherent defense. “It’s different for me than it was for you. You were already married and had children. You didn’t have a choice. I do, and I choose to not hurt Tillie.”
“It’s a wee bit late for that way o’ thinkin’. My Matilda is already hurtin’.” Mr. O’Dell’s expression softened. “Son, God won’t never leave ye alone, in your joy nor in your troubles. That don’t mean God will take your scars away, and I’m thinkin’ the Almighty has a bit of work to do on you still. But don’t be closin’ the door on a blessin’ He’s tryin’ to give ye.”
Everett nodded mutely. He leaned his elbows on the work counter and rested his forehead in his hands. “A couple of weeks ago, I gave considerable thought to asking Tillie to the harvest picnic. I’d just about made up my mind, but…”
He could hear Mr. O’Dell shifting in the squeaky desk chair. “I’m put in mind of another story. There was these five frogs sittin’ on a log. Four of ’em decided to jump off. So how many frogs was sittin’ on the log?”
Everett had about had his fill of Irish stories, but respect dictated courtesy. “One?”
The man rose from the chair and clapped him on the back. “Why, there’s still five frogs sittin’ on the log. There’s a difference between decidin’ and doin’.” O’Dell patted his shoulder. “Son, don’t be runnin’ from what God is tryin’ to do in your life. The blessin’s He gives us each day are the blessin’s we need the most.”
Chapter 12
Why did I even come here today?”
Even as he muttered the question to himself, Everett knew there were two answers, and neither of them had anything to do with satisfying his appetite. A makeshift table, constructed of wide planks the men had laid across several sawhorses, contained a scrumptious array of food that would tempt any normal man. From the safety of the shadowy cedars, Everett watched the women of the congregation load the tables to groaning, but the turmoil in his stomach left little room for food.
He’d finally given in to his father and Pearl and agreed to attend with them so they would stop pestering him. Understanding their good intentions soothed his irritation somewhat, but it wouldn’t make the day any easier. Thankfully, they’d chosen a spot under the wide cedar boughs at the far edge of the churchyard, where he could distance himself from the activity.
The other reason was harder to define but no less compelling. It made no sense. Part of him wanted to see Tillie, even if it was from a distance. He wanted to see her smile, hear her laugh, and know she was enjoying herself. Satisfying himself that she was happy compelled him to scan the gathering of people, but the prospect of seeing her with Ben stirred his stomach into a whirlpool. Dread ate a hole in his heart.
From his vantage point, he found the pair making their selections at the food table, Ben’s heaping plate dwarfing Tillie’s half-empty one. He escorted her to a blanket spread across the way, not far from the one where her parents sat. She wore her light green dress, the one that made her eyes look like pure green crystal, and something in his chest rolled over.
“This is the way it’s supposed to be. She’ll be happier with someone like Ben.”
“Did you say something, son?” His father and Pearl returned to the blanket with quizzical expressions and three plates laden with all manner of delicacies.
“I was just talking to myself.” He started to scoot farther back under the low-hanging cedar boughs, but Pearl passed a filled plate to him.
She gave him a motherly smile. “I hope you don’t mind me bringing you a plate. I was afraid if I didn’t, you wouldn’t eat.”
His father’s wife was developing an uncanny insight into his thoughts and feelings, but he didn’t resent it. Instead he found it comforting that she cared. He reached out to accept the plate and smiled his thanks to Pearl.
He took a few bites, forcing himself to swallow. The ladies of the church always brought their best culinary efforts to these affairs, but at the moment everything he put into his mouth tasted like sawdust. Only vaguely aware of the conversation between his father and Pearl, Everett kept his eyes trained on Tillie and Ben. Tillie smiled and nodded from time to time. Ben seemed to be doing most of the talking. Was it his imagination, or was Tillie looking out over the crowd of folks? Was she looking for him? He shifted his position, precariously balancing his plate, until he felt certain the shadow of the cedar boughs concealed him.
“How’s business, son?”
Everett pulled his attention back to his father and stepmother. “Fine. We’re staying busy.” He managed a stiff smile and bit into a piece of fried chicken.
Pearl poured water from an earthenware jug into a tin cup and held it out to him. “Have you thought any more about the letter from the attorney?”
Everett nodded his thanks and accepted the cup. “I’ve done a lot of thinking.”
Pearl’s gaze lifted across the churchyard. Everett followed her line of sight, and his eyes landed on Tillie and Ben. What were they saying to each other? Tillie reached up and tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, and angst lurched in Everett’s stomach. He looked down at the drumstick in his hand, unsure of what he might do if Ben reached over to touch those honeyed strands.
Stop it. It’s out of your hands. Let her go. Had he stayed long enough to appease his father and stepmother? If he got up to leave now, would people stare?
“Everett?”
He looked up from the partially eaten chicken leg he was studying. His father’s expression indicated Everett had missed something. “Yes?”
Everett read compassion in the elder Behr’s eyes. He suspected Father understood the turmoil swirling in his middle.
“I noticed you had a visitor the other day.”
“I did?”
“Timothy O’Dell?”
“Oh.” The Irishman’s story of Tillie going off by herself to cry seared him again. �
��Yes, he stopped by.”
When Everett didn’t say more, and the silence was broken only by the hum of nearby voices and the laughter of playing children, Pearl rose from the blanket. “I think I’ll go and cut some pieces of gingerbread cake for us.”
Father gave her a soft smile and a nod, and another ache twisted in Everett’s chest at the unspoken communication shared between their two hearts. There were times during his twilight walks with Tillie that even though the encroaching darkness prevented him from seeing her face clearly, he knew what she was thinking by the way she tipped her head or twirled a wildflower between her thumb and forefinger, or even by the way she stepped. What he had with her was something so special he couldn’t put a name to it, and he was relinquishing it—just opening his hand and allowing it to fly away like a butterfly discovering it had wings.
His father cleared his throat. “This is none of my business, and you have every right to tell me to mind my own affairs, but I have a feeling Timothy didn’t come calling with shipping freight in mind.” The look he gave Everett was one of speculation.
“No.” Everett blew out a pent-up breath through pursed lips. “He didn’t.” With one finger he traced the edge of the scar along his face. “He wanted to know what I did to make his daughter cry.”
“Ah.” His father lifted his bushy eyebrows but didn’t ask his son to elaborate.
“Father, you must understand, I’m doing this for Tillie. She deserves someone better than me.” He leaned back on his elbows and closed his eyes. “I’m not the one for her.”
A snort came from his father’s direction. “How did you come to that conclusion?”
He willed himself not to shoot back an angry retort. Taking in a calming breath, he pushed himself upright again. “Father, I will not subject Tillie to the humiliation of being seen with me. Why do you think we met and walked together in the evening? Nobody is standing around gawking at that time of night. What would people think if they saw her with me?”
Father stroked his mustache with his finger and shook his head. “I must say, son, I never thought I’d hear you insult Tillie like that.”
Everett jerked forward. “Insult her? What are you talking about? I’d never insult Tillie.”
His father shrugged. “That’s what it sounded like to me. You’re certainly not giving her much credit. Tillie O’Dell isn’t a shallow person, nor is she hypocritical. If she extended friendship and affection to you, you can rest assured it came from her heart. Don’t you think you owe it to her to let her make up her own mind on the matter?”
Everett started to shake his head at his father’s statement, but at that moment a commotion arose across the yard. He craned his neck to see around the cedar boughs. Tessa and Gideon Maxwell ran from one family’s blanket to the next, calling their daughter’s name.
“Susan! Susan!”
Several others joined the worried parents in searching around the immediate area and asking their children if they’d seen the little girl. They looked under the food table and the dessert table, and one of the women went to check the outhouse. Within a few minutes, every person was on their feet looking over the churchyard, calling the child’s name.
Everett stood, his gaze fixed on Tillie as she crossed the yard to her friend. She took Tessa in her arms and held her tight, murmuring something into Tessa’s ear. Tessa nodded and closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling with a deep breath.
Putting his abhorrence of being seen in public aside, Everett strode over to Gideon, who gathered Tessa in his arms. Tillie looked up as Everett approached. He locked eyes with her for a moment before turning to Gideon and waving Pastor Witherspoon over.
“Pastor, can you gather everyone together?”
The preacher nodded and hastily climbed the church steps and clanged the church bell. Everett grabbed Gideon’s arm.
“She can’t have gone far. We’ll find her.” He took the church steps two at a time to stand beside the preacher on the top step. Hiding his face didn’t seem important with a child in danger.
“Folks, let’s pair up and go in different directions. Some of you search in and around the church building. Others go over the yard again, and don’t forget to check around the back. Still others spread out a little. A couple of teams should go down toward the creek. Don’t leave a square foot unsearched. Pull back any low-hanging branches, and look in the bushes and underbrush. She might think she’s playing hide-and-seek. Since she’s so small—she’s only…three?”—he looked to Gideon for confirmation—“she can fit into places we can’t. When Susan is found, the church bell will be rung.”
As people teamed up and set off in specific directions, Tillie gave Tessa another hug. “We’ll find her. You need to stay right here, because the first person she’s going to want is you. Whoever finds her will bring her here.”
Indecision tore through Tessa’s eyes. Tillie knew she wanted to be out searching for her daughter but also saw the wisdom of the admonition. Tessa nodded, tears slipping down her face.
Tillie poured her friend a cup of coffee and guided her to the church steps to sit. She looked over her shoulder for Ben and found him approaching.
She gave him a timorous smile. “Why don’t we look over by the mill.”
Ben reached out and took Tillie’s hand. “Why don’t you and Everett pair up and look around the mill? I’ll go check the brush behind the church.”
Tillie blinked in surprise, and Ben released a small chuckle. “It’s all right, Tillie. I can see in the way you look at him there’s something special there. I’d sure like it if you looked at me that way, but I don’t reckon that will happen as long as Everett is around.” He squeezed her hand before releasing it. “You won’t find a finer man than Everett Behr.”
Hearing such praise coming from Everett’s employee made her heart skip. “I hope I didn’t—”
“You didn’t. I knew all along he had your heart in his pocket.”
Yes, he did, but what did it matter now? Everett had made it clear he had no intention of continuing their friendship. She gave Ben a parting smile and set off toward the mill. “Why don’t you and Everett pair up?” She sighed and set her mind to finding little Susan.
Paying particular attention to the thick reeds and cattails along the side of the mill, Tillie pulled back every bit of growth at the edge of the stream that fed the mill’s waterwheel. Susan’s name echoed through the trees as the other searchers covered the area.
“Please, Lord, help us find her. Set your angels around her, keep her safe, and lead one of us to her.”
“Amen.”
Startled, she turned abruptly to find Everett behind her. Her breath caught in her throat, and she bit down on her lip. Everett had already distanced himself from her because she hadn’t controlled her tongue.
“I’ve been saying the same prayer.” He glanced over his shoulder at the teams of other folks looking for the child. “If she isn’t found in a little while, we’ll have to organize a more widespread search.”
Tillie nodded mutely. She didn’t want to think about the possibility of Susan not being found. She couldn’t imagine the distress poor Tessa was experiencing.
She stood there, silently gazing at Everett, wanting her feet to move and return to searching, but unable to force them into motion. Finally, she found her voice, even if it did come out as a whisper. “Thank you for helping.”
He lifted one shoulder and gave a slight nod, his lips pressed together. “Look, maybe you should go and stay with Tessa,” he said, gesturing toward the church. “Gideon is out looking, and I think Tessa’s by herself. She might need a friend.”
Tillie’s heart agonized, as much for Everett as for Tessa. “We all need a friend, Everett.” She fixed her eyes on his face, and he didn’t turn away. Did he understand the depth of her statement? Could she communicate with a look what she longed to tell him?
He held out his hand, and she transferred her gaze from his face to his fingertips. She slowly l
ifted her hand and placed it in his. The magic of his touch sent shivers through her.
He closed his hand around hers and steadied her as she stepped up the short embankment. When her feet were on level ground again, he dropped her hand, and she felt a pang of loneliness. She held back the sigh that wanted to escape.
“I haven’t checked the other side of the mill yet.”
Everett nodded. “I’ll look there. Are you going to stay with Tessa?”
She glanced in the direction of the church and shook her head. “Miss Pearl is keeping Tessa busy while the rest of us search, so she’s not alone.” She started toward the little footbridge that led to the opposite bank of the stream and the stairs to the millhouse. “I’m going to keep searching.”
Everett fell into step beside her, turning his head from side to side, leaning down to part the cattails. “Do you know what Susan was doing before Tessa discovered she was missing?”
Tillie stopped. “Tessa said she’d laid Susan down on their blanket for a nap and thought she was asleep.”
A puzzled look crossed his face. “She could sleep with all the talking and laughing, and with the other kids playing and shouting?”
Tillie smiled at his lack of knowledge of children. “Most little ones can sleep through just about anything if they’re tired enough.” She sobered. “Tessa would never leave her alone if she thought Susan might wander off. She said she had only stepped away from their blanket for a few minutes to speak with Mrs. Witherspoon. When she went back to check on Susan, she was gone.”
Everett’s brows lowered into a frown. “Come on. Let’s keep looking.” He climbed the millhouse stairs while Tillie covered every foot of space under the stairs and behind the mill.
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