Debra Holland

by Stormy Montana Sky

  “That’s settled then. Sometime this summer, we’ll pay you a visit again and bring clothes and shoes.”

  Ant nodded farewell and turned Shadow toward the path that led up the mountain.

  Harriet waved goodbye at everyone and had to smile at the enthusiastic way the girls echoed her. A surge of optimism flooded through her. Somehow, she knew the older children would be sitting in her schoolhouse when the next term began.

  As Ant passed her, his face impassive, Harriet caught a look of sadness in his eyes, and her good spirits dimmed. She’d gotten what she’d wanted—new pupils. But Ant hadn’t found his nephew.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ant rode up the path, his senses alert. He listened to the breeze through the trees, the sounds of birds, and an occasional chittering red squirrel that ran overhead, and then jumped from branch to branch. Most of all, he listened to the clip clop of the horse behind him, the rhythmic beat a reassurance that the schoolmarm was doing all right. From time to time he twisted to look back at her—just checking up. Each time he turned, she rewarded him with a sweet smile.

  That smile always tugged at him, but Ant tried not to let his thoughts dwell on her, instead focusing on his need to find his nephew. Were Lewis and David in this area, as he’d heard months ago?

  Ant had to contain the impatience urging him to go faster. Speed would only tire the horses, and perhaps stress his little schoolteacher. He took a deep breath of the pine-scented air. They’d get to the next place when they got there. Another hour, more or less, wouldn’t make a difference.

  After a while, they reached a clearing, where a snug log cabin with a narrow front porch nestled among the trees. Two hens pecked at the ground in front of the house. A boy looked out an open window, then pelted through the front door, scattering the chickens, and heading straight toward them.

  Reining in, Ant placed a steadying hand on Shadow’s neck. Miss Stanton pulled up next to him.

  The boy didn’t stop. Running to them, he grabbed Ant’s leg, a pleading expression on his face. “My Ma and Pa are real sick! So are some of the young ’uns. Will ya help us? Please!” Still holding on, anguish on his face, he looked back and forth between them.

  Harriet leaned over to touch the boy’s forehead, apparently to check for fever. “Of course we will. What’s your name?”

  “Jimmy, ma’am. Jimmy Crooks.”

  Ant studied the boy. Dirty brown hair, green eyes, freckles, a painfully thin body in worn out clothes. He’d be about David’s age, around nine or so. The thought of his nephew in such circumstances made his stomach clench, although something in his gut told him they’d not find David here.

  “Back up a bit, son, so we can get down.” He shot a look at Miss Stanton. “Don’t move until I can help you.”

  Ant swung down, handed the reins to Jimmy, and then reached up for the schoolteacher, spanning his hands around her waist. He helped her down, careful to lower her gently to the ground, where she landed on her good foot. He made sure she was steady before he released her.

  He dropped his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “You think you can water the horses, son? We’ll go on in the house.”

  Jimmy straightened his thin shoulders. “Yes, sir.”

  Ant crooked his arm for Miss Stanton. No matter what she’d said, he suspected that ankle wasn’t as sound as she claimed.

  She hesitated, then slipped her arm through his, leaning on him as she took her first tentative steps, slowly. “I’m a bit stiff,” she murmured.

  She probably didn’t have much chance to get out on a horse. “Take it slow,” he said.

  They climbed the steps to the porch. A long plank bench for sitting was propped against the house.

  “Mr. Crooks, Mrs. Crooks,” Harriet called. “We’ve come to help.”

  Ant stepped into the dim room lit only by the open door and a window. Harriet followed. Two beds were set against the far wall. One held the parents, and the other several children. All seemed to be sleeping. Even the open window and door couldn’t cut the stench of feces and vomit. “Oh, my,” Harriet whispered.

  Ant held his breath and ventured near the children’s bed. A quick scan told him that his nephew wasn’t there. He didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved.

  A little girl about hip high jumped down from the table where she’d been sitting, playing with a worn rag doll. She, too, was scrawny and dirty, but her big green eyes lit up, and she threw herself across the room and into Miss Stanton’s arms. “Hello, I’m Martha. Who are you?”

  Miss Stanton smoothed back the child’s tangled hair. “I’m Miss Stanton, the school teacher. And this is Mr. Gordon.”

  “Everyone’s sick but Jimmy and me. I’m hungry.”

  Miss Stanton gave him a glance that told him to go get the food out of the saddlebags.

  Ant nodded his understanding, thankful to escape the foul-smelling cabin into the fresh air. Once he’d moved away from the house, he took a deep breath, feeling compassion for the people inside and gratitude he was healthy. He’d had food poisoning a couple of times, and had been sicker than a dog. Made you just want to die and be out of your misery. Nope, wouldn’t want to be in their position. The family definitely needed a helping hand, though. Good thing he’d brought Miss Stanton along.

  He took stock of the situation. Jimmy had the horses near a trough, obviously just having watered them. Ant walked over, took their reins, and tied them to a tree that had some grass growing underneath, then opened his saddlebag. Good thing Miss Stanton had packed so much food. They’d need it all.

  Miss Stanton stepped out of the house, carrying a slop bucket with both hands, her face scrunched up. She looked around for the outhouse and then headed toward it, limping.

  Not a job he would relish. He took a few steps toward her. “Let me take that, Harriet.”

  She shook her head, a stubborn look on her face.

  He’d already learned to pick his battles when the schoolmarm wore that expression.

  Ant looked down at the boy. “Come on, Jimmy. We’ve brought food. Let’s get you and your sister washed up so you can have something to eat.”

  The worried expression vanished from Jimmy’s face, and his eyes got big.

  Ant had to laugh at his expression. “Miss Stanton brought sandwiches, lemonade, and cookies.” He took the heavy saddlebags off the horses.

  “Cookies!” The boy flashed him a big grin, then grabbed Ant’s hand and tugged him to the house.

  Miss Stanton had already gone back inside for the chamber pot near the parents’ bed and hauled it outside. Ant could only be grateful she’d taken care of those tasks right away. He put the food on the porch bench. Better they eat outside.

  “You have soap anywhere here, boy?”

  Jimmy nodded.

  “Fetch your sister then and wash up. Face and hands.”

  Ant strode inside. Already the place smelled better. Still bad, but better. But he opened the only other window to get more air in.

  There was a stir from the bed. The man propped himself up on an elbow and squinted at Ant.

  Ant moved a little closer. “I’m Anthony Gordon, Mr. Crooks. The schoolteacher, Miss Stanton, and I are here to help.”

  The man nodded, then rolled over to check on his wife, who continued to sleep. He felt her forehead, then, apparently satisfied, pushed back the covers and, clad in his union suit, set his feet on the floor. The act seemed to make him dizzy, and he put both hands on the bed to steady himself. “Much obliged,” he said in a rusty voice.

  Ant held up a hand to stop the man. “How ’bout you stay right there. Maybe sit up in bed for a while.”

  The man looked mulish, and then shook his head, obviously giving in. “I’m as weak as a babe.” He slid his legs back on the bed, plumped the pillow, set it behind him and leaned against the bed. “Was so sick I wanted to die. Wife, children, too. But I think the worst has passed. Haven’t heard no one throw up for a while.” He seemed to think. “Yah, a while.�
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  “You need me to ride for Doc Cameron?”

  Crooks shook his head. “Got no money for the doctor. He looked over at his children. I think the worst is over. They’re all alive, thank the Lord.”

  Miss Stanton came in, shaking her wet hands, followed by the children. “Soap, but no clean towels.” She lowered her voice. “Ant, we can’t leave them this way.”

  “We won’t. Checking out the other place can wait.”

  “Good. Can you pump some water and cut some firewood? I need to start cleaning them up. That is, after I feed Jimmy and Martha.”

  Thankful to be given the easier task, Ant walked out the door. He sent up a quick prayer that David wasn’t ill and neglected somewhere…that Lewis was taking good care of him.

  * * *

  After checking to see the children’s faces and hands were clean, Harriet handed them each a sandwich, telling them to take small bites and chew slowly. They bit ravenously into the sandwiches. “You’re gulping,” she reminded them. She let them take a second bite before asking, “When did you last eat?”

  Jimmy tilted his head at the hens in the yard. “Git an egg a day each. Boil it.” He took another bite, swallowed, and then looked anxious. “Ma said not to bother with feeding anyone who was sick. Wouldn’t keep it down anyway.”

  “You’ve just had one egg a day? For how long?”

  “Three days, ma’am.”

  “No wonder you’re so hungry. Well, we have plenty of sandwiches.” Harriet went into the house to look for glasses or cups. Three days without food. How awful! What would have happened if we hadn’t come here? She gave a quick prayer of thanks that Ant’s search had led them here.

  In a wooden cupboard nailed to the wall in the kitchen area, she found a stack of tin cups and took several of them outside with her. She poured the children some lemonade, and then watched the delight on their faces as they drank it. I wonder if they’ve ever had lemonade before. “Not too fast, now,” she warned. “I’m only giving you a little. I think we need to save the rest for your family.” She went back inside to tackle the next chore.

  Ant walked in, carrying the bucket from the pump. He took it to the stove and poured the water in a big pot on the stove. He opened up the stove and looked inside it. “I’ll bring wood in. More water, too.”

  After he left, Harriet leaned out the door to check on the children. They’d both finished their sandwiches and looked longingly at the bag of food. But neither had moved to take any.

  She stepped outside. Ant wasn’t in sight, but she could hear the sound of the axe splitting wood.

  “Can I have a cookie, Ma’am?” Martha piped. “Please?”

  “Yes, dear. Jimmy, do you want another sandwich first? Or at least a half?”

  The boy gave her several quick nods. “Yes’m. What about my family?”

  “I think it’s best to wait and see how they feel. I’ll make a little broth and see if they can keep it down. As for you, sandwich first, then a cookie.” She handed both to him, then gave a cookie to Martha.” When you’re finished, I’ll need your help inside.”

  Ant rounded the corner of the cabin, one arm full of wood, a bucket of water in his other hand. He eyed the children eating, and he gave them his crooked smile. “Guess you found the cookies.” He kept going into the house.

  Watching him made Harriet’s heart beat faster. There was something about the tall, dark man, she didn’t know what, which caught her attention and kept it in a way that only Nick had.

  To her surprise, Harriet realized that she hadn’t thought of Nick all day. Not once. She waited for the familiar pang of pain to hit her, but it didn’t. Well! She tucked that thought away to ponder later and followed Ant into the cabin.

  He’d already lit the fire in the stove and stacked the rest of the wood in the box next to it.

  “I’ll go see to the livestock. I noticed a shed round back. See what they have that needs tendin’.”

  The children wandered in.

  “I want to bathe your folks, change the bedding, and put them in clean nightclothes.” Please, please may they have a second set of everything. “Do you have other sheets and night clothes?”

  “The company sheets. Ma only brought them out when my grandma used to visit.” The boy pointed to a wooden chest, the nicest piece of furniture in the home. Probably Mrs. Crooks’ hope chest. She lifted the lid, relieved to find sheets and pillowcases, nicer ones, with tatting on the edges, another nightgown with lace on the collar and sleeves, and a clean union suit. There were also several child’s shifts and nightshirts. She lifted them all out, uncertain which would fit.

  The water on the stove started to boil. She had Jimmy bring a washtub outside, and she poured the water into it, before sending the boy to get another bucket of water. She straightened and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, took a deep breath, and headed back into the house. It was going to be a big chore to get everyone and everything clean. Not one she looked forward to.

  * * *

  At the end of the day, feeling weary in body and mind, Ant saddled up the horses, listening as the teacher called her final goodbyes to the children. He couldn’t help but feel some pride in all they’d accomplished today. They were leaving behind clean sheets and clothes, hanging on the clothesline. The animals were taken care of. The ill family members had managed to keep bread and some lemonade in their stomachs, and Martha and Jimmy had stuffed themselves to the gills on sandwich fillings and cookies. Everyone was scrubbed and sweet smelling, including Crooks. And darned if his little schoolmarm hadn’t convinced the parents to send the children to school.

  Harriet walked out the front door, a concerned look on her face. She limped over to him. The hard work she’d done today had obviously taken a toll on her ankle.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I hate to leave them, Ant.”

  “You could move in.”

  The corners of her lips turned up, but there was no humor in her smile. “Ant, they have no food. Mr. Crooks hasn’t been able to hunt. Only two chickens. What will they do? They won’t take more charity than we’ve given today. Why do they have to be so prideful?”

  “Sometimes for the poorest people, pride is all they have.”

  “And if their children starve?” Distress darkened her eyes.

  Ant couldn’t resist. He leaned over, way over, and dropped a light kiss on her lips. “I’ll find a way to help them. Don’t worry.”

  Harriet’s wide eyes, and the blush creeping into her cheeks, tickled his fancy, and he wanted to give her another kiss. A longer one this time. But mindful of his priorities, he pulled away. Jerking his head toward the horses, he said. “Up you go. We’ll be racing daylight as it is.”

  He helped her onto the saddle. Then he mounted Shadow and turned him downhill.

  Ant settled into the ride. One more day gone by without finding David. One more day where his nephew might be suffering—hungry, cold, beaten, or neglected. As good as he felt about helping the Crooks, and he felt mighty good about that indeed, his guilt and worry over David wouldn’t let up.

  Tomorrow, he’d check out the last cabin. Maybe by tomorrow the long search would be over. He could only hope.

  What will I do if he’s not there?

  CHAPTER SIX

  As Ant pushed open the unsecured door and walked into the entry of his sister’s house, the scent caught him first—the coppery smell of blood, familiar from his years as a reporter. His gut tightened. “Emily!”

  On the left side of the dark paneled entry was Lewis’ so-called library, on the other, the parlor. Following his nose, Ant strode into the parlor.

  He saw a crumpled heap in a blue dress lying half behind the settee, black button boots sprawled. “Em!” Ant rushed around the furniture, then halted.

  His sister lay in a pool of blood that soaked into the Aubusson carpet and spread onto the wooden floor. A diagonal slash ripped across her throat, and her eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling.<
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  I’m too late.

  Ant didn’t have to drop to his knees, feel for her pulse. He’d seen enough dead bodies. He forced down the emotion that wanted to boil out of his throat into a roar of grief and rage, and made himself study the scene like the reporter he was.

  The blood was dark, congealing. Two small footsteps scuffed the edges of the stain next to a big one.

  “David!” Ant whirled, studying the room. He pulled a chair aside to make sure his nephew wasn’t behind it.

  “David!” He raced up the staircase and down the hall to the boy’s room, and burst through the door. When he didn’t see a dead body on the unmade bed, his first feeling was relief. Then he realized the room had been ransacked. Drawers of the bureau pulled open, the clothes inside rumpled. A stocking dangled over one edge.

  In the corner, a sailboat propped against the wall reminded him of David’s last birthday. He’d given the boy the sailboat, then taken him to the park to try it out. Emily had written a poem about the day for David. Sadness choked Ant’s throat.

  He turned and hurried to the master of the house’s room. If he found Lewis, he’d strangle him. But even as the rage and fear propelled him down the hall, he knew what he’d find. Sure enough, the room bore evidence of a hurried departure.

  Just to be sure, he systematically searched the house, but couldn’t find his nephew. Lewis had killed his wife and taken his son. Now David was on the run with a murderer.

  But not for long, David, I promise. I’ll find you and revenge your mother. This I swear!

  Ant held out his hands as if squeezing the life out of Lewis, only to see them covered with blood. He could feel the stickiness on his skin.

  David called to him “Uncle Ant, help me!”

  “David? Where are you?”

  Ant woke with a gasp, his hands raised a few inches, pushing against the bedding. It took a few breaths before he realized he was in his room at Widow Murphy’s, not in Emily’s townhouse. Another nightmare.

  If it’s not Isabella haunting me, then it’s Emily.