A sweet smile tipped the corners of his lips. “Consider it done. Is there anything else I can do?”
Very gently she twisted her arm and stepped from his touch. “Yes. Yes, there is.” She drew a deep breath. “You can pray that they’re found quickly and returned safely.”
Oliver
Dismay flooded Oliver, making his knees feel weak. Two opposite desires warred within him—to refuse or to receive her challenge to pray. The strange longing that gripped him whenever someone mentioned God took hold with such pressure that he found it difficult to draw a breath.
Carrie stood expectantly before him, waiting for his reply.
“Carrie, I’ll—” He started to say of course he’d pray. The words had stumbled from his tongue in the past even though he hadn’t known how to honor them. But this time they wouldn’t come forth. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth, determined to speak. To his surprise, instead of a confirmation, a question spilled out. “Are you sure prayer does any good?”
She gawked at him. “Of course it does. Prayer does much good.”
He couldn’t deny the conviction in her voice and in her expression, but he still held doubts. “I prayed for Mr. Holcomb. I prayed for him to recover. So did you and Kesia and Letta. But he died. If prayer does any good, why didn’t the man live?”
“Oh, Ollie.” The sorrow in her tone cut Oliver as deeply as if she’d picked up a knife and plunged it into his stomach. “Mr. Holcomb was very, very ill. The Bible says, ‘To every thing there is a season … A time to be born, and a time to die.’ Perhaps it was Mr. Holcomb’s time.”
An unsatisfactory answer. “Then why pray at all? If the outcome is already decided, what difference does it make if we pray?”
Tears winked in her eyes. Regret smote him. He was distressing her. She was already worried about the children, and he’d made things worse with his questions. Lifting one hand, he shook his head. “Never mind. It isn’t important. I’ll be sure to have Father contact our friends in law enforcement to—”
She reached toward him, capturing his hand. She held it between both of hers, looking up at him with such deep affection that whatever he’d intended to say fled. “Ollie, it is important. Prayer is very important, because it’s part of developing a personal relationship with God. Do you know God?”
Of course he knew of God. Who didn’t? He started to say so, but something in her expression held his tongue. He sensed her question went much deeper than simple head knowledge. The longing attacked again, stronger than ever. Unable to speak, he shook his head.
A slow smile grew on her face. She squeezed his hands, her eyes slipping closed, and she murmured, “Yes, now I know. Now I know.” He sensed she wasn’t speaking to him, so he remained silent.
Giving his hands one more squeeze, she released him and stepped back. She wriggled in place, almost giddy. “Ollie, when our shift ends, I’m to meet Noble and Annamarie at Kesia’s for breakfast. Will you join us?”
He tipped his head to the side, examining her eager face. “Does your invitation have anything to do with prayer … and God?”
She nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
“Then I’ll be there.”
Letta
Icy shivers crawled up and down Letta’s spine, awakening her. Her eyes slid open. A dim band of sunlight flowed at an angle through a wide-open door across from her spot on the floor. She blinked several times, confusion striking as hard as a stout wind. This wasn’t the hotel room she’d been sharing with her brothers. She glanced left and right. Panic sent her pulse galloping. Where were Lank and Lesley?
She bolted upright and staggered toward the open door, cobwebs and grit and whatever else cluttered the floor falling from her clothing as she went. She scanned the area in all directions. Not a sign of the boys. Where could they have gone? Her body quivered in eagerness to pursue them, but uncertainty about which direction to search left her rooted in place. Fear turned her mouth to cotton.
Cupping her hands beside her mouth, she hollered, “Lank! Lesley! You’d better come here right now!”
In reply she heard giggles, then Lesley’s cheerful crow. “He got ’im, Letta! He got ’im!”
The call came from somewhere ahead. Letta inched forward and finally noticed a trampled path in the grass leading over a nearby rise. She took off at a clumsy trot and met the boys coming from the opposite direction. Fear gave way to anger in one rush. She planted her fists on her hips. “What’re you doin’ out here? You want somebody to see you?”
Lesley shrugged, his smile undimmed. “Nobody around to see us. We was careful. But look what Lank caught!”
Lank held up a stick with a plump catfish speared on its end.
Letta forgot about being angry. She stepped past Lesley and stared in amazement at Lank. “How’d you do that?”
Lank grinned, shrugging. Lesley piped up, “There’s a creek just over yonder. Lotsa fish in it. Lank hopped out on a rock an’ waited for one to swim by. He missed the first couple of times, but he sure got this one!”
Letta examined the stick, noting its sharpened point. “Did you make this?”
Lank nodded. He reached into his pocket and withdrew his penknife, one of the few gifts Pa had bestowed on him. Lank always carried it. She’d never seen him do anything more than whittle with it, though. She hadn’t known he could be so clever.
Her mind whirling, Letta put her hand on Lank’s shoulder. “Do you think you could catch another fish?”
“Shuh-shuh-sure!” Lank pulled the fish from the stick, plopped it in Letta’s hands, then trotted off with Lesley scampering along beside him. Letta followed, holding the dead fish by its limp tail at arm’s length. She watched Lank give a nimble leap onto the flat surface of a rock a few feet from the creek’s edge. He crouched and scanned the water, his face serious and his arm holding the stick like a spear. Then, quick as a cat, he jammed the stick into the rippling stream. He held it aloft, a grin lighting his face and a wriggling fish flopping on the end of the stick.
Lesley jumped up and down. “You done it! You done it!”
Letta wanted to jump in excitement, too, but instead she called, “Toss that one over here, Lank, an’ then stab some more. Many as you can. All right?”
Lank bobbed his head, making his thick hair bounce.
Letta dropped the fish Lank had given her onto the creek bank by Lesley’s feet. “Lesley, you stay here with Lank. I’m gonna go get the lunch bucket. We can use it for water.” It was small, but it was better than no bucket at all. “I’ll scrounge around that shack, see if there’s anything in it we can use.”
Lesley rocked in place, his bright face tipped upward. “We gonna stay here for a while?”
Letta scurried off and didn’t answer. She needed to prowl the area a little more—make sure others weren’t living close enough to notice them coming and going. But if things worked out the way she hoped, they might not have to go on to Wichita after all. Food and shelter—that’s all they needed. And it looked like they just might have found it.
Caroline
All through the night shift, Caroline had wavered between walking to the café with Ollie and leaving ahead of him to catch a few words with Noble and Annamarie before breakfast. In the end she decided she needed the time with her dear friends more than she needed the time with Ollie. Being alone with the man made it difficult to think clearly. This morning she needed to have full control of her faculties, so when the shift buzzer blared, she tossed her tool belt into her cubby and took off at a trot for Kesia’s, trusting that Ollie would soon follow.
Panting with exertion from her run through the morning chill, she dashed into the café, already crowded with early-morning diners. Kesia greeted her with a broad smile and held a pot and tin cup high. “C’mon in here, honey, an’ set yourself at the counter there next to Noble an’ Annamarie. I’ll pour you a cup.”
Caroline glanced down the length of the counter. Kesia had apparently saved three stools
in a row for her and the Dempseys, but the next three stools were already occupied by other patrons. Ollie wouldn’t have a place to sit with them. Removing her scarf, she crossed to Kesia and whispered, “Ollie’s joining us. Do you think …”
Kesia’s head bounced in one quick nod. Turning to the men seated at the counter, she bellowed, “All right, fellas, I need one more seat there at the end, so everybody shift one stool to your right.”
“Aw, Kesia,” the one closest to the Dempseys griped. “I’m in the middle o’ eatin’.”
Kesia shook her head in mock exasperation. “Did I tell you to leave your plate behind, Luther? Take it with you, you chowderhead. C’mon, now, everybody shift.”
The men muttered, but they followed Kesia’s directions, and within a few seconds they’d all gathered at the opposite end of the counter. Kesia beamed her approval. “Thank ya, fellas. God’ll reward you for your kindness.”
“Rather have a bowl o’ your peach cobbler free o’ charge, Miz Kesia,” one of them joked, and she laughed. She clunked the cup on the counter in front of Caroline and sloshed aromatic brew to the brim.
“Thank you, Kesia,” Caroline said, grateful for the coffee and for Kesia moving everyone to accommodate Ollie. “He and I need to have an important discussion, and I hope Noble and Annamarie will help.” She smiled at the pair, who raised their eyebrows in silent queries. Caroline reached across the counter and captured Kesia’s hand before the woman could scurry away. “I’d like your involvement, too.”
Kesia nodded somberly. “You know I’ll do whatever I can for you an’ Ollie.” She leaned in, her eyes glinting. “Are you wantin’ some advice on romance? Been a few years, but I reckon I can recall enough to help you some.”
“No!”
Annamarie chuckled, and Noble coughed into his hand. They both grinned at Caroline.
Her face became an inferno. She pulled her brows into a scowl. “This has nothing to do with romance.”
Kesia’s face fell. “Oh … Well, I just figured, seein’ how the sparks fly every time you two—”
“Sparks do not fly between us, Kesia,” Caroline said firmly.
Kesia raised one eyebrow and pursed her lips. She couldn’t have voiced her disagreement more eloquently.
Eager for a distraction, Caroline snatched up her cup and took a gulp. The hot liquid scalded her tongue. Slapping the cup back on the counter, she stated, “Ollie and I have only one thing in common—the Holcomb children.”
Kesia chuckled and swished her hand across the counter, sending a flurry of leftover crumbs to the floor. “I’ve seen romances start between folks with less in common than that.” Then she turned serious again. “Any word on them youngsters yet? Spent so much time prayin’ for them I almost didn’t sleep last night.”
Noble said, “Nothing as of early this morning. As soon as we’ve finished breakfast and Carrie goes to her apartment to sleep, Annamarie and I intend to park ourselves at the police station and remain there until we’re given a complete report of all the areas searched thus far.” He cupped his hand over Caroline’s. “We won’t quit until we locate them.”
“Neither will I.”
Ollie’s voice, from right behind her shoulder, gave Caroline a jolt. She spun on the stool and found him so close her toes brushed his pant leg. The heat that had flooded her face earlier returned.
“You took off without me.” Not an accusation, only curiosity.
“Yes. I … I wanted to tell.” With Kesia’s chatter about romance, she hadn’t had a chance to prepare her friends about the subject she wished to address. But why worry? Noble and Annamarie, and even Kesia, were so comfortable with their faith they’d have no difficulty sharing with Ollie. She hopped off her stool and flapped her hand at it. “Here. Sit. Between Noble and me. It’ll make it easier for all of us to … talk.”
Ollie, his hands twisting his little hat into a pretzel, didn’t move. He looked pointedly at the stool she intended to claim. Understanding dawned. Releasing a nervous titter, she clambered onto the stool. Did he have to be such a gentleman? With each encounter he became harder to resist. But at least now she understood why God had allowed their paths to cross. He needed what she had—faith. Part of her regretted it couldn’t be more, but she recognized the selfishness of the thought. Nothing—including any human relationship, no matter how close and loving—could carry more value than knowing God on a personal level.
Ollie slipped onto the stool and placed his hat over his knee. He glanced first at Noble and then Caroline, a boyish grin twitching at his cheek. He shrugged. “So … who’s going to start?”
Letta
“You gonna be able to get a fire started, Letta?”
She glanced at Lesley, who hunkered on the opposite side of the rock circle she’d formed in a bare spot near the creek. While Lank had cleaned the fish—a repulsive chore—Lesley had gathered small twigs and dried leaves, as well as a pair of small rocks, which Letta now banged together in the hopes of igniting a spark. “Pa started our fire in the stove this way. So it oughta work.”
Lank peered over Letta’s shoulder. “Puh-Puh-Pa’s rock was fuh-fuh-fuh—”
“Flint,” Lesley said.
“Flint,” Lank repeated. He tapped Letta’s shoulder and held out his hands.
She set the rocks in his hands and watched him turn them between his fingers, face all scrunched up in thought. Finally he nudged her aside, placed the rocks together just so, and snapped his hands as if tearing a piece of paper in half. A tiny spark flared.
Lesley whooped. “Do it again, Lank!”
Lank did it again, and again, and again, and finally on the fifth try one of the brittle leaves caught fire. Letta watched, amazed, as Lank gently blew and layered more leaves and eventually little twigs over the tiny flame until it multiplied into several dancing tongues. He grinned. “Guh-guh-got firewuh-wuh-wuh-wood?”
Lesley scrambled for the sizable branch Letta had dragged over earlier, and he and Letta began snapping it into pieces. It took some doing to break apart the bigger sections, but one by one they fed Lank the lengths of wood. Soon a good-sized fire blazed in the middle of the rock circle.
They each poked chunks of pink flesh with sticks and held the meat over the flames. As the fish cooked, the smell nearly turned Letta’s stomach inside out with hunger. When the flesh was white and starting to fall from the sticks, they sat back on their bottoms and feasted on fresh-cooked fish—the best-tasting meal Letta could ever remember eating.
“This’s good,” Lesley said around a huge bite. “You’re a good cook, Lank.”
Lank hunched his shoulders, grinning as his face blazed red. Tears stung Letta’s eyes. Lank looked so proud. And she was proud of him. So she told him so. He went into a deeper crouch, almost disappearing inside his jacket, but he peeked at her from the corner of his eye, and she read the gratitude shining there.
When they’d finished eating, Lank tossed handfuls of dirt over the fire until not even one ember remained. Then they headed toward the little shack, their tummies full. Lesley caught Letta’s hand and swung it, humming as they walked.
Lank sidled up next to Letta, the handmade spears bobbing on his shoulder. “Wuh-wuh-we goin’ to Wuh-Wuh-Wuh-Wichita now?”
Letta slowed to an amble. Despite the chill breeze pushing at her back, peacefulness settled over her. Even though she missed Miss Carrie, Mr. Noble, Mrs. Annamarie, and Miss Kesia, she liked it out here away from everyone, with only Lank and Lesley for company. She glanced at Lesley, who went on humming as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Then she looked at Lank. His eyes seemed to beg her for … something.
All at once she understood. This morning she’d seen him do things she didn’t even know he could do. Maybe he hadn’t known he could do them, either. She’d never seen such pride in her brother’s face. Usually he hung his head in shame, afraid to talk. For as long as she could remember, folks—including Pa—had called him names. Dummy. Imbecile. Village idiot. Mushmouth. Me
an, hurtful names. But out here he wasn’t any of those things. He was Lank the fisherman. Lank the fire maker. Lank the able.
She stopped, drawing the boys to a halt with her. Lesley’s tuneless hum ceased. Letta clung to Lesley’s hand and looked Lank straight in the face. “Do you wanna go to Wichita?”
Lank shook his head, his lips pressed into a firm line.
Letta turned to Lesley. “How ’bout you? You wanna go or stay?”
Lesley jerked her hand as he danced in place. “Stay!”
Letta blew out a happy breath. “All right, then. But it’ll take work.” She sent a warning frown across to both grinning boys. “That shack’s a wreck. We’re gonna have to do a heap o’ cleanin’—all of us workin’ together.”
“We can do it,” Lesley claimed.
Lank bobbed his head with enthusiasm. “Wuh-wuh-we can.”
She looked full in Lank’s face. “I believe you could do it all by yourself, Lank. But you won’t have to. ’Cause you got me an’ Lesley, too.” She slung her arm around Lank’s shoulders and aimed the boys toward their new home.
Oliver
Oliver leaned both arms on the counter and gave Noble Dempsey his full attention. At their first meeting he hadn’t cared much for Noble, but over the past hour he’d developed a grudging respect for the man. Even-tempered, wise, patient. Maybe a little dogmatic but balanced with tact. He had many of the same characteristics Oliver admired in his father. But Noble also seemed to possess something more—a deep, peaceful assurance that stirred a longing in the center of Oliver’s soul. “So you’re telling me all prayers are answered but some are answered no?”
Noble nodded, his thick white beard bobbing against the V neck of his black-and-white-checked vest. “That’s exactly right.”
Oliver frowned. “But that doesn’t make sense. According to what the chapel minister told me awhile back and what Carrie said earlier.” He sent a quick glance in her direction and found her gazing at him with unwavering focus. She looked so sweet he had to quickly turn away before he gave in to temptation and placed a kiss on the end of her freckle-dotted nose. “God wants us to talk to Him because it draws us closer to Him. But wouldn’t a no answer drive us away?” He’d ceased any attempts to pray following Mr. Holcomb’s death, feeling as though he’d been ignored.
Echoes of Mercy: A Novel Page 25