Echoes of Mercy: A Novel

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Caroline started to ask, “Then where—”

  At the same time Miss Key began, “Were the—”

  They both stopped. Caroline stifled her impatience and nodded toward the teacher. “Go ahead, please.”

  “Were the children ill today? I know they missed several days due to their father’s death, but I was surprised when none of them came to school today.”

  Caroline’s pulse leaped into double beats. “They did come to school today. I walked them here myself after breakfast.” She pictured them standing in a row on the porch with Letta between the boys, hands lifted in farewell. She’d waved good-bye and then hurried to her apartment, eager to sleep.

  Miss Key frowned, shaking her head. She opened her attendance book and pointed to the empty boxes where check marks would indicate the children’s presence for the day. “They weren’t here.”

  Caroline staggered toward Noble, hands extended. The note about Lank slid from her fingers and floated to the floor. Noble’s boot crushed it when he stepped forward and caught hold of her hands. She sought strength from his steady presence.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Miss Key’s voice penetrated the fog surrounding Caroline. She forced a calm reply. “Apparently the children have run away.” Then her bravado melted, and she threw herself into Noble’s arms.

  Letta

  “What was that?” Lesley threw himself against Letta, and she wrapped her arms around his trembling frame. The echoing howl came again, haunting against the gray countryside.

  Letta gave her brother’s shoulders several assuring pats. “It’s just a coyote, Lesley.” At least she hoped it was a coyote and not a wolf. She didn’t think a coyote would eat children. But a wolf? She couldn’t be sure.

  They’d left the railroad tracks at sunset, seeking a place of shelter. But they’d wandered aimlessly across stubbled ground and thick-grassed plots, and they hadn’t found so much as a hollow log to climb into for the night. Now with full dark upon them, she could hardly see ten feet in front of her. If a barn or other building waited out there, she wouldn’t know until she ran smack into it.

  Lank pressed close on her other side. “Scuh-scuh-scared.”

  Letta was, too, but she couldn’t admit it. She had to be brave. So she huffed out a snort. “No mangy ol’ coyote spooks me. Listen.” She lifted her face toward the sky, pursed her lips, and let out a wavering howl. The boys giggled, and she smiled in satisfaction. “Now you try.”

  In unison they imitated her. They dissolved into more giggles, but their laughter stopped when the coyote let loose another howl—this time louder. Closer.

  “Take the bucket, Lank.” Letta pressed the bucket—empty now but still useful if they came across anything worth gathering—into Lank’s hand, then curled her arms over the boys’ shoulders. “Come on now. Gotta be a shed or somethin’ out here so we can bed down for the night.”

  Their feet crunched against dried grass, loud in an otherwise quiet surrounding. The wind had finally died down, and it didn’t so much as whisper through the wild growth. Letta squinted at the thick shadows, her heart praying, praying, praying for a shed or a barn or even a lean-to where she could curl up with Lank and Lesley and sleep, safe from harm. If only the moon would poke its head out of the clouds. Then maybe she could see.

  Ahead, a dark shape shot from the grass. Lesley screeched, and Lank swung his arms around Letta, clunking Lesley on the shoulder with the empty bucket. Lesley set up a wail. The shape rose no higher than Lesley’s head, flew a dozen yards, then dropped in the grass again.

  Letta shook loose the boys and gasped, “Hush up, Lesley. It was just a prairie chicken.” But it took a good three minutes for Lesley to stop bawling and for her chest to stop heaving.

  She leaned forward, trying to catch her breath, and when she straightened again, the clouds shifted enough to allow a shaft of moonlight to flow toward earth. The pale glow fell on the shake roof of a dilapidated wooden shed. Lank pointed, and Letta nodded. “I see it. C’mon.”

  They trudged forward, Letta scanning the dark grounds in both directions. Even though she wanted a place for them to stay, now that they’d found one, she worried about going in. Was this somebody’s home? If someone was in there already, would they think she and the boys were intruders and fire a rifle at them?

  She stopped, pulling on the boys’ jackets to stop them, too. “Wait here,” she whispered. The two clung to each other, their eyes wide in their white faces. Letta crept forward, cringing at the crunch beneath her feet. She rose up on tiptoe, rested her fingertips on the window ledge, and looked inside. Black. Pitch black. If somebody was in there, she wouldn’t know.

  “Letta?” Lesley’s wavering whisper reached her ears.

  She shot a scowl in his direction and hissed, “Shh!” Then she tipped her ear toward the window, listening. Not a sound came from inside. Just to be sure, she banged her fist on the side of the shed, then ducked down in case somebody fired out the window. Her heart pounded so hard her ears rang, but no guns fired, and nobody yelled. The place was empty.

  Collapsing against the rough wall, she waved to the boys. “C’mon over.”

  They scuttled to her, arms outstretched. She caught their hands, and together they inched their way around the side of the building until they located a door. Someone had nailed two boards in a big X across it, but she and Lank gave the boards a few yanks. The rotted wood gave way, throwing Lank on his bottom. Lesley covered his mouth and giggled, and Lank came up grinning.

  Letta rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help laughing at the two of them. Laughing felt good after the tension of the last few minutes. “Get in there,” she said, shaking her head in amusement. They stepped over the threshold, and Letta shut the door behind them. Inside was black as pitch and smelled like dust and mold and neglect, but they’d found a shelter. God had heard her prayers.

  Moving cautiously—even with her eyes wide open, she couldn’t see a thing—Letta pressed her hands to the boys’ back and shuffled them to the far side of the small room. Then she tugged their jackets, drawing them to the floor with her. She leaned against the wall and curled her arms around her brothers. They rested their heads on her shoulders, releasing twin sighs.

  “Go ahead an’ sleep,” she prompted, giving their shaggy heads a few pats with her cold fingers. “I’ll stay awake in case somebody comes around.”

  “ ’Night, Letta,” Lesley murmured. Lank snuggled in. Within minutes their deep breathing let her know they’d faded off.

  With effort she held her eyes open and kept her gaze aimed at the door. When morning came, she might find out she’d put her brothers to bed on a pile of mouse droppings, but for now they felt safe. That was all that mattered.

  Caroline

  “Ungrateful little brats …”

  Caroline gritted her teeth. If Gertrude O’Malley referred to Letta, Lank, and Lesley as brats one more time, she might lose her temper. The woman didn’t possess even a thimbleful of charity. Where was her concern for the children?

  “Can’t believe I spent my time an’ money comin’ here.” Mrs. O’Malley paced the raised walkway outside the train station, her thin face set in a fierce scowl. “What am I s’posed to tell my man when I get back? He ain’t gonna be too happy about us wastin’ money on train tickets.” She clomped her way past Caroline again, waving her arms. “An’ missin’ my train yet! If we hadn’t gone searchin’ my brother’s hovel for them brats, I could be on my way by now. As it is, I’ll be gettin’ there so late my man’ll be thinkin’ I ain’t comin’ home at all. Probably leave me stranded in town for the night.”

  Caroline forced a reasonable tone. “Does Baldwin City have a hotel? Perhaps you can stay there for the night and contact your husband in the morning.”

  The woman whirled on her, glaring. “You think I got money for a hotel room, too, young lady? You might have dollars to spare, but we’re humble folk. We just barely git by. An’ now those little brats o’ my brothe
r’ve cost me plenty. Well, I—”

  Caroline charged toward her, ready to deliver a tongue-lashing.

  Noble rose from the bench, where he’d sat with Annamarie and silently observed Mrs. O’Malley’s tromping back and forth, and stepped between the two women. He withdrew his coin purse and snapped it open. “What do you think this trip has cost you, Mrs. O’Malley?”

  She stood with her mouth gaping, her gaze glued on the little purse. Greed brightened her eyes. “Well, there’s the six bits for my train fare—both comin’ an’ goin’, mind you. Then the telegrams—them were ten cents apiece. ’Course if I gotta stay at a hotel when I get home, that’ll be another four bits for sure.”

  Noble reached into his purse.

  “An’ tomorrow’s breakfast. Doubt my man’ll come get me ’til well after the sun’s up, an’ I’m gonna need to eat somethin’ in the café.”

  Caroline stared in amazement. Had she ever met a more shameless person?

  Noble drew out a shiny ten-dollar gold piece. “Will this recompense you for your trouble?”

  Mrs. O’Malley’s hand shot out like a striking snake. She pocketed the coin and then lifted her fuzzy chin and sniffed. “Reckon so.” She began her pacing again without a word of thanks to Noble.

  He moved back to the bench and helped Annamarie rise. He tucked his wife’s hand into the bend of his elbow and turned to Caroline. “I suggest we allow Mrs. O’Malley to wait for the ten o’clock train without us. If we stay here until the train arrives, you’ll be late for work.”

  Caroline gaped at him. “I’m not going in to work tonight.”

  Noble raised one eyebrow. He caught her arm and guided her from the walkway. “Of course you are.”

  “Noble! How can I go to work when Letta, Lank, and Lesley are lost somewhere?”

  “You can’t do anything more than the police are already doing,” he said, his calm demeanor failing to ease her worry, “so go to the factory. Do your job, Caroline.”

  She didn’t miss the gentle emphasis on her reason for being in Sinclair. She knew Noble was right. Running willy-nilly through the night wouldn’t solve the mystery of Harmon Bratcher’s death. But that didn’t mean it was easy for her to leave the search to others.

  Tears filled her eyes, making the light from the street lamps waver. “I’m just so worried about them, Noble.”

  Annamarie reached past Noble to touch Caroline’s arm. “We’re worried, too, but we must put our faith in the police officers who are diligently searching. Even more than that, we must put our faith in God. He knows where they are right now, and He can keep them safe.”

  Chastened, Caroline hung her head. Hadn’t she learned anything from her years living beneath the Dempseys’ roof? They’d steadfastly modeled faith before her, guiding her to her own belief. “I’m sorry, Annamarie. Of course I can trust God to watch over Letta, Lank, and Lesley.” She lifted her head, offering Noble an apology with her eyes. “I’ll do my job. I won’t let you down.”

  Noble kissed her forehead. “You aren’t capable of letting me down. Now go on to the factory. Annamarie and I will stop by the police station on our way to the hotel. If there are updates on the children’s whereabouts, I’ll send a messenger to the factory. All right?”

  Caroline thanked him and received hugs from both Noble and Annamarie, and then they parted ways. She hurried through the streets, guided by the glow of street lamps. As she walked, she prayed that wherever the children were, they were warm, safe, and happy. By the time she reached the factory, her time speaking with her heavenly Father had eased the deep worry and replaced it with a glimmer of peace.

  She reached the crating area and looked across the floor at the boxes. Instantly an image of Ollie standing and waiting for her the night before filled her memory. Ollie. He’d want to know the children were missing. Strapping her tool belt into place as she went, she hurried toward the janitor’s closet, certain she’d find him gathering whatever items he needed to begin his nighttime duties. As she’d expected, he was inside the closet, filling a basket with cleaning supplies.

  For a moment she stood in the doorway, simply observing him. The bruises on his face had faded to a greenish-yellow mottled patch—an unattractive hue. Yet he was still infinitely handsome, and her heart fluttered at the sight of him. If only they’d met under other circumstances. If only she were just a woman instead of an investigator with a personal interest in ending child labor and he were just a man instead of the son of a factory owner who hired children to labor at his machines. There could be no future for them, and she had to put the whimsical imaginings from her mind.

  All her inner confusion emerged in a simple, single-word utterance. “Ollie?”

  He turned toward her. Apprehension tinged his features. “Carrie.” His simple response held a tangle of confused emotions as well.

  Caroline swallowed. “May I speak with you for a moment?”

  He hesitated briefly, then gave a brusque nod. “Of course.” He stepped to the doorway and stood, feet widespread, as if bracing himself. “What is it?”

  “The Holcomb children …” She gulped, tears threatening. Hadn’t she placed them in God’s keeping? She must dispel this worry. She sniffed, squared her shoulders, and stated flatly, “They’ve run away.”

  Ollie sagged against the doorframe, his stiff bearing dissolving in an instant. “Not again.”

  She nodded.

  “I guess that’s why you weren’t at Kesia’s for supper tonight, hmm? I looked for you.”

  He had? She pushed aside the bubble of joy that rose with his words. “Yes. First we checked their house. Since that’s where they’d gone last time, we were hopeful. But we saw no sign they’d been there. So after searching on our own, we went to the police station and alerted the authorities.”

  “We.” Ollie’s expression changed. Hardened. “Meaning you and Dempsey?”

  “Noble, Annamarie, Mrs. O’Malley, and me.”

  Ollie frowned. “Who are Annamarie and Mrs. O’Malley?”

  “Noble’s wife and the children’s aunt.” Caroline blew out a frustrated breath. “You should have heard their aunt, Ollie. She—”

  Ollie stood upright. “Wait. Noble’s wife?”

  “Yes, Annamarie is one of the finest people I’ve ever known. She’s been like a mother to me.”

  Ollie gawked at her for several seconds with his mouth hanging open, reminding her of a fish tossed onto a bank. Then he threw back his head and laughed uproariously. He caught her shoulders. “Noble’s wife?” He laughed again, bouncing her with his merriment. “And she’s like a mother to you, which would mean Noble …” He gasped, laughter stealing his ability to speak. “Noble is like a father?”

  Caroline extracted herself from his grip. Had he lost touch with reality? She found nothing amusing in their conversation. “Of course he is. They took me in when I was eleven years old. They raised me. I couldn’t love them more if they were my real parents.” She loved them much more than the ones who’d birthed her.

  Ollie brought himself under control, and he reached for her again. “Forgive me, Carrie. It’s just that I thought—” He placed his hand over his face, his shoulders shaking in a silent chuckle. When he removed his hand, all humor had fled. “Never mind what I thought. I’m so glad you have them. They obviously mean a great deal to you.”

  “Yes, they do.” She observed him for a few seconds to be certain he wouldn’t break into another fit of unbridled, unwarranted mirth. “They came to Sinclair specifically to help me locate a suitable temporary placement for Letta, Lank, and Lesley while their father was so ill. Then they chose to stay and help find a permanent home for them. I don’t know what I would have done today if they hadn’t been here. When I went to school and discovered the children were gone, I—” A sob cut off her words.

  Compassion flooded his face. His hands curled around her shoulders, and she found herself drawn into a snug, comforting embrace. Noble had held her just this way on many occas
ions, but the feelings that exploded through her were far different from any she’d known before. Within the circle of Ollie’s strong arms, her cheek pressed to his firm chest while his heart thrummed beneath her ear, she experienced a sense of being cherished. As if she belonged totally and completely to someone.

  She coiled her arms around his torso and clung, eyes closed, reveling. She allowed herself the glorious escape for the span of a dozen heartbeats. And then reality crashed around her. What was she doing hugging Ollie Dinsmore? What must he think of the brazen way she’d melted against him?

  Jolting free of his arms, she skittered backward several steps.

  He looked at her in confusion. “Have I done something wrong?”

  No, he’d done nothing wrong. He’d merely offered comfort—something she’d desperately needed. But in her heart she’d taken the embrace to levels where it shouldn’t have been. She slapped at her skirt, feigning great interest in removing a few specks of sawdust that had transferred from his trousers. “No. No, of course not.” She spoke briskly. Even tartly. Holding her head high, she went on. “Now that you know about Letta, Lank, and Lesley, I …” She swallowed. Must he look at her that way—as if she’d somehow pierced him? “I have work to do.”

  She turned to flee, but his hand caught her arm, sealing her in place. She looked away, her pulse pounding with such ferocity she feared he would feel it beneath his grasp.

  “Carrie.” His voice rumbled near her ear, low and full of compassion. “I care about those children, too. I have connections. Father’s money opens doors to which some don’t have access. If I can help find them, you know I will. All you have to do is ask.”

  Slowly she shifted her face until she met his gaze. She read concern in his eyes. He cared. Yes, he cared. But his statement about his father’s wealth had just solidified the vast differences between them. Why, God, did You allow these feelings for Ollie to grow when there’s no hope for us?

  Still caught in his grasp, she bobbed her head in a shaky nod. “If you want to engage your … your contacts in searching for the children, I would be indebted to you.”