"Oh, Seth," Frances said sadly, "why did you come after me?"
He came closer, one hand on the butt of the gun he had stuck into his belt. His face was hard, his mouth pressed into a thin, angry line as he glared at her. "I wanted you to know what it felt like to be tracked ... to be hunted, as if you were no better than an animal. I told you I'd find you, wherever you were, didn't I?"
Afraid of choosing the wrong words, Frances didn't answer.
Finally Seth said, "You turned in my brothers and me. I didn't think you'd do that. I never would have believed you could do a thing like that. You're going to have to pay, Frances."
Frances clutched the reins, pressing her trembling fingers into the folds of her skirt as she fought to stay calm. "You robbed those people on the train," she answered. "And you were going to rob a bank. You planned to steal money from innocent people. Some of them wouldn't be able to replace their savings."
Seth shrugged. "Why should I worry about people I don't even know? When I was in trouble did they do anythin' for me?"
"How could they?" Frances asked. *They had no control over what our armies did." Eddie squirmed, and Frances pressed one hand against his shoulder, warning him to be silent.
"Someone has to give instead of take. Someone has to care," Frances told Seth. "You want someone to care about you."
"Nobody car^s about me, except my brothers," Seth grumbled. "And that's the way I like it." His face twisted in pain. "I had hopes about you, but ..."
His eyes on Frances, Seth slowly pulled his gun from his belt. "You turned me in," he said. "You shouldn't have done it I got away, but my brothers are in jail."
Frances, terrified, tried not to stare at the gun. "Seth," she asked, "what good will it do to kill me?"
"You know," he said. "It's justice. It's my way of gettin' justice."
"Lawlessness isn't justice. Getting even doesn't solve anything."
Seth didn't answer, so Frances—desperately hoping that he'd listen to reason—went on. "You told me you wanted to get revenge for what happened to your parents. Suppose your mother and father were standing here with us. They loved you. They cared about you. Do you think they'd want to see you shoot me because of some mixed-up notion you have about making things come out even?"
"You've got no right to talk about my parents!" Seth shouted.
"Sometimes I think about my own parents and the hopes they might have had for me. You'll go to jail if you kill me. Your parents wouldn't have wanted to see you in jail. Your parents wouldn't have wanted
you to become a murderer just to get revenge," Frances told him.
"Be quiet," Seth ordered. But there was a catch in his voice.
"I know you were good to your mother, and she was proud of you. And your father respected your courage in going off to fight for what you believed in, and—"
Seth, his eyes wet with tears, jabbed his handgun into his belt and yelled, "I wish I'd never met you, Frances Kelly!"
He leaped onto his horse, jerked at the reins, and kicked with his spurs. The horse leaped forward, eyes rolling, and shot off through the trees.
As Seth disappeared from sight, Eddie leaned against Frances and said, "I thought we were done for."
"So did I," Frances admitted.
"Do you think he'll come back?"
"No," Frances said. "I don't think he wiU." She hugged Eddie in relief, then gave in to her tears as she shook with fear at what might have happened.
Finally Frances himted through the pockets of her skirt and came up with the wrinkled lace-trimmed handkerchief Mrs. Sebring had given her.
"You were great," Eddie told her. "You said Seth had courage, but so do you."
Frances thought about the children who had just been placed, who had walked away, hand in hand with strangers, to begin new lives. "So do we aM," she said, and managed to smile at Eddie.
Frances and Eddie walked rapidly the rest of the way to town, stopping first at the post office to buy a stamp and mail Frances's letter to Johnny. Frances
allowed a three-day wait until her arrival. That would give him time to think ... to decide. . . . Her letter had been short and to the point:
Dearest Johnny . . . Fm sorry for what I said and the hurt I caused you. Pve missed you terribly, I want to see you, and Fm hoping you'll want to see me, FU arrive by train in MaocviUe at two in the aftemoorCon Thursday, August tenth. . . .
With my love, Frances
Was Ma right? Would these be healing words?
Eddie tugged at her arm, pulling her back, as she attempted to step off the wooden sidewalk. "Miss Kelly!" he shouted. "Watch where you're going! You nearly stepped in front of that dray!"
Shaken, Frances said, "Fm sorry, Eddie. My mind's not on what Fm doing."
He nodded, solenm for a change. "You're worried about me, aren't you? Well, don't be. Whatever hs^)-pens to me, I can handle it I always have. I always wiU."
Frances rested a hand on his shoulder. "Don't look so unhappy. You'll have a home. Didn't I promise you?" she said. "Right now I want ybu to meet the Children's Aid Society agent, Andrew MacNair."
As soon as there was a break in the traffic, Frances said, "Come on, Eddie. Hurry!" She lifted her skirts from the dust and strode across the street, nimbly avoiding the horse and ox droppings. Once on the sidewalk she said, "Andrew has an office in the back of his wife's general store. We'll see if he's there."
Katherine MacNair had seen Frances coming and waited for her inside the store. Wrapped in Kather-ine's hug, Frances reveled in the mixed fragrances of
cinnamon sticks and peppermint, newly picked peaches piled in a display, and tart dill pickles, bobbing in a barrel of tangy brine.
Holding Frances at arm's length so that she could study her face, Katherine asked, "You're looking well Prettier than ever. How was the trip? Did the children behave? Did all of them find homes?"
Andrew MacNair stepped up behind his wife and laughed. "I'm the one to be asking those questions, Katherine. Frances came not just to see your smiling face, but to give me her report."
Frances turned to see Eddie wandering among the counters, studying the array of merchandise for sale. It was just as well he wasn't within earshot. Frances didn't like talking about children over their heads, as though they couldn't hear.
She handed a thick folder of papers to Andrew. All the children were taken, except one," she said. "Eddie—^the young man browsing two counters away. The one with the red hair. I'll call him over and introduce him in just a few minutes."
"My! That's a real mop of red," Katherine said with a smile. "It makes me think of Mike."
Frances nodded. "And, like Mike, Eddie has a lot of the roughness of the New York City streets in him."
Andrew frowned. "Then he'll be hard to place. Offhand, I don't know of anyone who—"
Frances sighed. "I'll find him a good home. He's a wonderful boy, so much like Mike was at his age. Eddie's funny and lovable and smart—"
Katherine interrupted with a laugh. "It sounds as though you're pretty much taken with him yourself."
Shaking her head, Frances said, "You don't need to remind me. No single-parent adoptions." She
glanced again at Eddie. "Until a home is found for Eddie, he can stay with Ma and her husband. "Will that be all right with you?"
"Of course," Andrew said. "But 111 need to know as soon as possible if you find a good home for Eddie."
Frances smiled. "Believe me, I'll rush to tell you."
E>ven though'Frances loved the time spent with Ma and Peg and Eddie and John Murphy, the days passed slowly. She couldn't help wondering if Johnny had got her letter, and if so, how he'd received it He'd been angry, and so had she. Maybe he wouldn't come. . . . Frances shook her head. She wouldn't allow herself to become frightened by what she had done.
But on the train ride to Maxville she couldn't fight the worry any longer. As she thought about arriving at the station, alone, without Johnny there to greet her, her neck and back ached, and the
palms of her hands grew damp and clammy.
When the train pulled into the station and came to a stop, Frances peered eagerly from the windows, but there was no sign of Johnny.
Wearily she picked up her carpetbag and carried it down the steps to the depot platform.
"Frances!"
Johnny spoke again from the shadows at the east side of the building. "Frances!"
She ran into his arms and, heedless of the undisguised interest of other passengers, threw her arms around his neck.
"1 brought you flowers," he said without loosening his hold, "rm afraid the nudday sun was hard on them, but they're from my heart"
*I love them/' Frances said. "Oh, Johnny, I love
youV
"And I love you."
She was reluctant to leave his embrace, but people were watching and smiling.
"The wagon's over here," Johnny said. He hoisted her carpetbag into the back and helped Frances climb to the wagon seat.
They were silent as they rode through town, but when they reached the open road toward the school-house, Frances said, "There's so much bottled up inside me. There's so much I need to say. To begin with, Tm sorry."
Johnny looked at her, surprised. "Sorry? For what?"
"For my temper, for not understanding," Frances said. She placed a hand on his arm. "I can understand much better now how you feel"
She launched into the story of the train trip, and meeting Seth, and how Eddie knew about the telegraph equipment so that the ConnaJly brothers could be stopped from robbing the bank.
"You're almost as bitter about what happened to you with the Confederates as Seth is about his treatment at the hands of the Union Army—" Frances said.
Johnny interrupted. "You talked about the bitterness before you left. At first your words made me angry, but I've given them a lot of thought and finally came to admit that you were right. But I still have moments of physical weakness . . . nightmares . . . sweats. . . ." His chin stiffened with stubbornness and embarrassment.
"A good wife can also be a good nurse," Frances said.
Johnny took her hand. "While you were gone I found out one very important thing," he said. "I can't live without you, Frances. Well work together as partners, just like you said, but until we have children old enough to share the chores. 111 hire help."
Frances laughed aloud as the idea hit her. Ma had said, "1 thought you would have figured out the answer." Even Katherine had seen how much she cared for Eddie. Why had they been able to see what she felt for Eddie when she herself hadn't?
Frances looked up at Johrmy and grinned. "How would you like an eleven-year-old son?"
Johnny nearly dropped the reins. "A what?"
"He's an orphan train rider named Eddie Marsh," Frances explained. "No one chose him, but he quickly became my favorite. I'd like to adopt him and give him a home as our son. When he's not in school, he can help with the family chores, as any son would." She paused. "You'll love Eddie, too. He's a tough little kid. He'U remind you of Mike when he was eleven. He needs you to be his father. 1 need you to be my husband."
For a moment Johnny just shook his head in wonder. Then he grinned at Frances, pulled the horses to a stop, and dropped the reins. "1 think, judging from all we've been talking about, it's time that I formally proposed marriage. Will you consent to be my wife, Frances Mary Kelly?"
"Yes, I will," Frances said.
"And you'll bring, as your dowry, an eleven-year-old son?"
Frances laughed with delight and threw her arms around Johrmy. "Yes, yes, yes!"
Johnny took a soft cloth from his pocket, unfolded it, and brought out a narrow gold ring. *This
was my grandmother's," he said. "My parents and I want you to have it" His eyes twinkled. "I told my parents what I was going to ask you. My mother said she'd pray you'd say yes,''
"You have wonderful parents," Frances said, "and they have a wonderful son." Heedless of what might be considered proper, ladylike behavior, she wrapped her arms around Johnny's neck and kissed him soimdly.
Grandma closed the journal and laid it on the wicker table.
"Oh, Grandma," Jennifer said. "Please don't teU us you've come to the end. There have to be more stories about the Kelly family."
"In any life there are always more stories," Grandma said. "In your own lives you yourselves will keep creating stories. And you will tell your stories to future generations."
Jeff shrugged and shook his head. "Stories about my life. I don't think so. What kind of stories could those be?"
Grandma pulled Jeff to his feet and hugged him. "That's entirely up to you," she said.
Jennifer jumped up, too. "Grandma, what about all those orphan train children? Will Aggie be happy?
166
Will Lucy have that little sister she wants so much? Will Adam and Harry ever get back together again? I want to know!"
"You will," Grandma said. "Each of those orphan train children came up against problems to conquer, and each has a story to tell. Just be patient, my loves, and you'll hear them."
Joan Lowery Nixon is the acclaimed author of more than a hundred books for young readers. She has served as president of the Mystery Writers of America and as regional vice-president for the Southwest Chapter of that society. She is the only four-time winner of the Edgar Allan Poe Best Juvenile Mystery Award given by the Mystery Writers of America She is also a two-time winner of the Golden Spur Award, given for A Family Apart and In the Face of Danger, the first and third books of the Orphan Train Adventures, which also include Caught in the Act, A Place to Belong, A Dangerous Promise, Keeping Secrets, and Circle of Love. The true experiences of the children on the nineteenth-century orphan trains moved her to research and write the Orphan Train Adventures, as well as the Orphan Train Children books, which include Lucy's Wish, Will's Choice, and Aggie's Home,
Joan Lowery Nixon and her husband live in Houston.
JOAN LOWERY NIXON is the acclaimed author of more than a hundred books for young readers. She has served as president of the Mystery Writers of America, and as regional vice-president for the Southwest Chapter of that society. She is the only four-time winner of the Edgar Allan Poe Best Juvenile Mystery Award given by the Mystery Writers of America. She is also a two-time winner of the Golden Spur Award, given for A Family Apart and In the Face of Danger, the first and third books of the Orphan Train Adventures, which also include Caught in the Act, A Place to Belong, A Dangerous Promise, Keeping Secrets, and Circle of Love. The true experiences of the children on the nineteenth-century orphan trains moved her to research and write the Orphan Train Adventures, as well as the first two Orphan Train Children books, Lucy's Wish and Will's Choice.
Joan Lowery Nixon and her husband live in Houston.
Circle of Love Page 13