Although later she might regret it, she couldn’t stop herself. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him hard. His arms closed around her, and for several seconds they clung to each other, sharing a moment of discovery.
Then she pulled loose, catching his hands to remain connected with him. “He answered because He cares, Ollie. He loves you. And, yes, He is our Rescuer. He rescued us from sin and eternal separation from Him when He sent Jesus into the world to bear the penalty for our wrongdoings. The Bible says, ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.’ Saved, Ollie. Rescued. Saved to do His will and to walk with Him eternally.”
Tears stung, and she sniffed. Her eyes shut as she poured her secret thoughts to her Father. Lord, if You brought me to this man to help him find his way to You, then I accept Your will. But please comfort my selfish heart. I want to be so much more than the one who introduces him to his Savior.
Ollie’s fingers tightened on her hands, and she gazed at him. His sweet face was distorted by her veil of tears, but she still glimpsed his smile. “Thank you. I’m saved, Carrie—for all eternity.”
She fell into his embrace again, tears of joy flowing down her cheeks. Even if she’d failed in the mission Noble had sent her to do, she’d witnessed a beautiful rebirth in Ollie’s spirit. No mission, no matter how successful or satisfying, could ever be better than knowing Ollie’s soul was redeemed.
With a self-conscious giggle, she tugged free of his arms. “You’d better go if you intend to get to Wichita and back before tomorrow evening.”
He nodded, a hint of regret on his face. “You’re right.” Tenderness crept across his features. He took one step backward but kept his hand extended toward her. “I’ll be praying for the Holcomb children to be found.”
She planted her feet firmly to prevent them from dashing after him. Oh, how appealing she found this man. But her missions here—her Noble-given mission and her God-given mission—were nearing completion, and she’d soon have to tell him good-bye. She’d only make it harder for herself if she gave in to these desires. She forced a smile. “Safe travels, Ollie.”
“Thank you. Enjoy your rest, Carrie.”
She remained on the hotel stoop, watching him until he reached the corner. He paused, turned back, and waved again. Lifting her hand, she returned the farewell, her heart doing cartwheels. He rounded the corner, and with his departure she was free to see to her own errands.
With a determined stride, she retraced the path they’d taken to escape. She’d rest, but first she needed to regain the proof of Hightower’s fraudulence. She would either find those dropped pages, or she’d discover a way to take the entire books. Either way, she’d bring the truth to light.
Letta
Letta hunched over her Bible, underlining the words with her fingers as she painstakingly read aloud to Lank and Lesley. Mrs. Annamarie had read the story of Daniel in the lions’ den to them one night in the hotel, and Letta had decided to share it again in the hope the thoughts of lions would frighten the boys enough to keep them close at hand. But some of the words were harder than she’d realized. They’d nearly nodded off during her slow reciting of the tale.
She finished, “ ‘He delivereth and rescueth, and he worketh signs and wonders in heaven and in earth, who hath delivered Daniel from the power of the lions.’ ” She closed the Bible and found Lesley staring at her.
“Who’s ‘He’?”
Letta blinked twice. Hadn’t he been listening at all? “ ‘He’ is God.”
“What’s ‘deliveruff’?”
Letta sighed. “That’s just a fancy way of sayin’ delivered—means the same as rescued.”
“Ohhh.” Lesley nodded. He sat upright, perky as a prairie dog hopping out of its hole. “Can we go bee huntin’ now?”
“We’re not bee huntin’,” Letta said, shaking her finger at her brother. “We’re honey gatherin’. It’s not the same thing.”
Lesley shrugged, grinning. “But can we go?”
“Soon as Lank gets together everything we need.”
Lank unfolded his legs and rose, his smile bright. “Aw-aw-already got it. Luh-let’s go.”
Letta, her arms loaded with the empty tin cans and lunch bucket, trailed behind Lank and Lesley as they led her along the creek. Lank bent forward, burdened by the bundle of sticks on his back and the lumpy wad of cloth in his arms. But he didn’t voice a word of complaint. He talked, though—jabbering away with Lesley as if they were all going on some merry journey. Letta marveled at the changes she’d seen in Lank over the past days. He held his head high instead of cowering. His confidence grew hour by hour, and she was so glad she’d brought the boys out here away from town and everybody else. This was where they belonged.
Lesley pointed ahead. “See up there, Letta? See that old busted-up wagon and the plum bushes growing around it? The bee nest is just beyond it.”
Letta shook her head, battling the urge to scold. They’d sure ventured off too far for good sense. But she was with them this time, so they’d be all right.
As they neared the hive, the bees’ drone drifted to their ears. A few plump insects swirled outside the opening to their hive, which they’d built in the belly of an overturned piece of rusty farm equipment. The sight of that machine—either something meant to spread seeds or manure—brought Letta up short. If there was equipment lying around, then farmers had to be nearby. The reminder hacked away at the feeling of safety she’d built over the past couple of days.
She grabbed the sleeve of Lank’s jacket, making him stop. “You sure there’s no people around here?”
“Wuh-wuh-we looked,” Lank said, his eyes wide. “Nuh-nuh-nobody around.”
“It’s all right, Letta,” Lesley chimed in, shifting from foot to foot. “Don’t be scared. Lank an’ me’ll take care of ya.”
Letta swallowed a chuckle. Lesley wasn’t big enough to fight off a bee, but she wouldn’t tell him so. “You come on over here with me,” she said. “Lank can get that fire started on his own. He don’t need us in the way.”
Lesley made a sour face, but he followed her toward the creek. Letta called over her shoulder, “We’re gonna go to the other side, Lank. Soon as you get that fire goin’, you come, too, you hear?”
“I huh-hear.”
Letta caught Lesley’s hand. “C’mon.”
“I’m comin’, I’m comin’.” Lesley splashed alongside Letta, his lower lip poked out in a pout. Halfway across the creek, he suddenly stopped, and his body arched as if somebody had speared him. He screamed.
Letta clapped her hand over his mouth. “Lesley, what ails you? You wanna let the whole county know we’re here?”
He knocked her hand loose and screeched again, the piercing sound filled with both fear and pain. He bent over and tugged at his leg. And finally Letta saw what was wrong. A steel trap lay beneath the surface of the water. And Lesley’s ankle was clamped in its jaws.
Letta
Letta crouched in the cold water and clawed at the jagged steel jaws holding Lesley’s foot. His wails pierced her ears. Blood painted a line of red in the stream. She cried out, “God, God, please help me …”
Lank splashed into the creek, splattering her arms and Lesley’s pants. “Wuh-wuh-what happened?”
“Trap.” Her heart beat so hard it hurt. Her lungs lost their ability to hold air. Her chest pumped with the effort of breathing.
“Luh-let’s guh-guh-get him out!”
Letta’s shaking hands refused to cooperate, but Lank scooped Lesley into his arms. His face red, grunting with exertion, he lifted Lesley a few inches. A chain rattled. Lesley threw back his head and screamed again—the most agonizing cry yet.
Letta grabbed at him. “Let ’im go, Lank! You’re hurtin’ him worse!”
Lank released his hold, and Lesley fell against Letta, sobbing.
“Chain’s holdin’ the trap down somehow. We gotta get it off his foot.” Letta wrenched Lesley’s hands loose and crouched down agai
n. The icy water lapped at her, sending shivers across her body and making her tremble. But she ignored the cold and closed her fingers around the trap’s jaws arching away from the front of Lesley’s foot.
Lank dropped to his knees and took hold of the inches of steel behind Lesley’s heel. He met Letta’s gaze, his eyes fierce with determination, and nodded. Together, they yanked on the trap. Again and again they repeated the jerky motion, their muscles straining against the powerful clamp. But the metal didn’t budge.
With every movement Lesley’s screams become more piercing. He clutched at their shoulders, their heads, his icy fingers frantically seeking rescue. Letta rose and left Lank prying at the trap on his own. She wrapped Lesley in her arms. He sobbed harshly, bucking against her grip. She nudged Lank with her foot and snapped, “Hurry up!”
“Tuh-too tuh-tuh-tight. Cuh-cuh-can’t get it.” Lank leaped up and splashed his way to the bundle of sticks he’d dropped. He lifted one, then another, seeming to examine them by turn. Letta’d seen that same look of concentration on his face while trying to start a fire and holding a handmade spear in his hands. He had a plan.
Rubbing Lesley’s shuddering back, she said, “Hold on, Lesley. Lank’ll get you loose.”
Lank returned, holding one stick in his hands. He dropped into the water and jammed the stick in behind Lesley’s heel. Lesley screamed, and Letta muffled the sound by pressing his face to her chest. Lank, his lips crunched tightly together, pressed the stick sideways. The twig snapped, throwing Lank into the water. He came up spluttering, the shattered stick in his fist.
Hopelessness swept through Letta, making her legs weak. She trembled from head to toe as she held tight to her sobbing little brother and stared into Lank’s pale face. She was the oldest. She was supposed to take care of them all. But she couldn’t do anything for Lesley.
Water dripped from Lank’s clothes and hair. He shivered so hard his body went into spasms. “Guh-guh-gotta get huh-huh-help.”
Panic chased away the feeling of hopelessness. “We can’t! Nobody can know where we are!”
Lank shook his head, his expression turning stubborn. “Guh-guh-gotta!” He struggled toward the bank, his feet slogging through the water. He staggered free of the creek and shot a look of apology at Letta. “Uh-uh-I’ll be buhback soon as uh-uh-I cuh-cuh-can!” And then he took off running across the uneven ground.
“Lank!” Letta screamed his name over Lesley’s harsh sobs. “Lank, you come back here!”
He didn’t even pause.
Caroline
The mournful blast of a train’s whistle reached Caroline’s ears as she crept along the back wall of Dinsmore’s World-Famous Chocolates Factory. Was Ollie on the departing train? Loneliness smote her. She’d always worked alone and had never longed for anyone’s assistance. But in that moment she would have given anything to have Ollie at her side.
She shoved the wistful desire aside and focused on the task at hand. Her eyes skimming the ground, she searched the pathway they’d taken earlier when escaping the factory. Knowing how the wind could carry things away, she also peeked behind the trash cans, along the foundation of the building, and in the curb. But the pages were nowhere to be found.
Chances were she’d dropped them inside. And on Monday, when everyone returned to work, one of the employees was bound to discover them lying on the floor. If whoever found them looked at them, they’d surely turn the pages over to Hightower. She stamped her foot, frustration rising in her chest.
If only she were still on the day shift, she’d be able to arrive early and explore without garnering notice. She leaned against the damp bricks and chewed her lip. The first shift was the largest of the three rotations. Could she sneak in with the other workers? New employees joined the ranks virtually each day. Perhaps no one would question her moving through the hallways early tomorrow morning. She’d take the chance.
The decision made, she pushed off from the wall and started toward the street. But she’d taken two steps when a drawling voice drew her to a halt.
“Well, well, well. Miss Lang.”
Caroline turned slowly.
Gordon Hightower stood only a scant two yards behind her, a knowing grin on his face. “What brings you to the factory on a fine Sunday?”
She’d hardly call the day fine. Overcast with a chilly breeze, absent of Ollie’s companionship, and now faced with Hightower’s less-than-sunny appearance, the day became more dreary by the minute. She formed a smile and lifted her shoulders in a weak shrug. “Just taking a walk.”
His gaze narrowed. “You were taking something all right. But it wasn’t a walk, was it?”
Her heart hammered against her ribs. He knew! She forced a nervous laugh. “Is it so surprising that I’d be stretching my legs? Crating is a tedious job—not much opportunity to move around. So—”
In one great stride he reached her and curled his hand around her elbow. His fingers bit into her flesh. His snarling face hovered mere inches from hers. “Don’t lie to me. You were sneaking around here. Just like you have been since I hired you.” He shook her viciously, making her teeth rattle. Holding tight to her with one hand, he slipped his other hand into his pocket and withdrew a familiar wad of folded pages. He waved them beneath her nose. “Is this what you’re after?”
Unwilling to lie, yet unable to tell the truth, Caroline stood in silence.
He shook her again and plunged the pages back into his pocket. “How’d you get in earlier? Who gave you a key?”
Caroline’s mouth turned to cotton. Although fear roared through her, she refused to give it sway. Looking directly into Hightower’s snapping eyes, she spoke honestly. “No one gave me a key.” She then angled her head and furrowed her brow. “What are you doing here? The factory’s closed on Sunday.”
“I’m asking the questions!” He pushed her forward and began dragging her toward the building.
She clawed at his hand, but his grip proved amazingly strong. So she went limp, a tactic she’d learned from Noble. For a few seconds he lost his hold. She swung her arm, striking him hard on the side of the head, then scrambled for freedom. Curses exploded from his lips as he charged after her. This time he grabbed her around the middle. She struggled against him, clawing at his hands and stomping at his toes. He captured her wrists and twisted them painfully behind her, ending the fierce battle.
He laughed, the rollicking sound evil in its delivery. “Well, aren’t you the feisty one. That was fun.” Keeping his bruising grip on her wrists, he shoved her toward the factory. “We might have to try that wrestling again. But know you won’t best me. I’m well practiced at fighting, and I always win.”
He kicked the door closed behind them and released her. She scampered several feet away, then spun to face him, panting and rubbing her aching wrists. He set the lock, his leering gaze pinned to her face.
Snatches from Caroline’s years of training tripped through her mind, and she grabbed hold of a ploy to bide time—Keep him talking. “All right, Mr. Hightower, I confess I was here earlier. Ollie Moore let me in.”
Hightower snorted. “Big surprise.”
She blathered on. “He helped me examine the elevator. We didn’t want to get in anyone’s way, so we needed to do it while no one was working.”
Folding his arms over his chest, he nodded at her. “Continue.”
“You see, I wanted to verify that Harmon Bratcher’s death was an accident. So I needed to see how the elevator functioned. To see if it was possible for someone to accidentally fall down the shaft.”
His eyes narrowed. “And what did you determine?” She swallowed, then spoke in what she prayed was a convincing tone. “If someone, in a lapse of judgment, left the gate open, and no lights were burning, then a person could step into the shaft without realizing the elevator bed wasn’t there.”
He didn’t move. Not even a twitch of an eyelid. “So you’re satisfied Bratcher’s death was indeed an accident?”
Would he let her go if
she agreed? Heart pattering with hope, she nodded.
A slow smile crept up his cheeks. “I’m so glad you see the possibility. Because, Miss Lang, there will be another accident in the factory.”
Cold sweat broke out over her entire body. “You’d be foolish to do away with me, Mr. Hightower. I’ll be missed come Monday. Ollie Moore will miss me.”
Hightower laughed. “Come Monday, Ollie Moore will be shown your discharge papers. He’ll presume you left on your own.”
She gaped at him. “Discharge papers?”
“Yes. Fulton Dinsmore agreed with my decision that you should be released from duty here. He signed the papers Saturday afternoon before departing for Wichita.”
So Dinsmore’s talk about “unpleasant consequences” referred to her losing her job, not being physically harmed. Dinsmore might be indifferent and calculating, but the man truly was innocent of wrongdoing in Bratcher’s death. Despite the harrowing position in which she’d found herself, she couldn’t withhold a sigh of relief for Ollie’s sake.
“You don’t seem disappointed by the news.” Hightower’s words brought her back to the present.
She gave a stiff shrug. “I’m not. Now that I know Bratcher died from an accident, I don’t need to stay any longer. So I’ll just—” She headed for the door.
“You aren’t going anywhere.” He waylaid her with a firm grip on her arm. He leaned close, his voice turning to a snarl. “There’s still the issue of you snooping through my personal records. It was you, wasn’t it?”
Denying it would only prolong the inevitable, and confirming it might convince him to surrender. Caroline lifted her chin and fixed him with a steady look. “Yes. I saw the records. I tore out the pages. I showed them to Ollie Moore. He intends to tell Mr. Dinsmore about the discrepancies.”
Hightower’s face mottled with red. His fingers curled so tightly on her arm, Caroline’s fingers began to tingle.
Echoes of Mercy: A Novel Page 31