“Oh, really, now.” The older lady placed her hands on her hips. “Well, I’d just love me some fish, so you better catch a bunch.” She tapped Jimmy on the nose and he giggled.
They grabbed their poles and the picnic basket. Lillian had prepared for the day by wearing her oldest dress and boots. She had no doubt that they would return to the house filthy and smelling of fish, but it would be worth it. If it put Jimmy at ease and made him happy, it might make it possible for him to speak. Lillian would skewer worms on hooks all day if it brought about those results.
As they half walked, half ran to the pond, Lillian prayed the whole way that not only would she be able to murder a worm by squishing it onto the hook, but that Harry would show up. She wasn’t above asking for divine intervention even in the smallest things.
When they crested the last hill before the pond, she knew at least one part of her prayer had been answered affirmatively because Harry sat on the opposite hill. It was apparent he had spotted them because he waved and then skipped his way down the bluff toward them.
The rest of the morning flew by in a flurry of what Harry termed “fish, fish, fish.” Not only did she become an expert at threading her worm onto the hook, but she caught eight of their twenty fish.
Harry babbled all morning to Jimmy about Mr. Whiskers and flowers and catching fish. Lillian rather enjoyed listening and watching. But when she pulled out the picnic basket for their lunch, she hoped it was the right time to ask some questions.
“So, Harry, where do you live?”
He sighed. “Way, way, way over there.” He pointed to the direction he’d come down the hill.
Bother. That didn’t help her much. “Did it take you a long time to walk over here? Because if it didn’t, we’d love to see you more often.”
“It’s a good long ways, but I don’t mind walking. I’ve walked a couple times all the way to the big trees all by myself.”
The big trees? “You mean the redwoods? The giant trees?”
He nodded, never taking his eyes off the last sandwich in his hand. “They’re so big, you could build a house inside them.”
Jimmy’s eyes grew wide.
“I mean it. It took me fifty big steps to walk around one of them, and I’ve got big feet.” Harry took a bite and kept nodding to Jimmy.
“I’ve always wanted to see the redwoods, but they’re a long ways from here. That must have been quite a walk.” Lillian couldn’t believe this young man had gone all that way.
“Yep. Ma told me about them a long, long, long time ago. When she died, I went to see them. It gave me a happy memory of her. She said God grew them big and strong like me.”
What innocence and beauty. Simpleminded indeed. How many people missed out on knowing kind souls because someone else labeled them as simpleminded? She frowned. Or unsafe, as they had labeled Woody.
Lillian shook her head at the thought. What a sad world they lived in. Harry was one of the sweetest human beings she’d ever met, and Woody had a gentleness to him that made her ever more convinced that he could never hurt anyone.
“There’s all kinds of neat explorin’ things to do around here. There’s lots of forests and places to climb, and water—lots of water falling from the mountains. It’s real pretty. But sometimes I get lost or go too far. It takes me a while to get back home.”
“It’s not safe to go off by yourself, Harry. There are all kinds of dangers out there.” She had read of the new national park, Yosemite, being established just the year before. It wasn’t all that far from Angels Camp, but it was noted for having high cliffs and perilous settings.
“It’s not dangerous. It’s just a long way to walk.”
“From the sounds of it you must be describing Yosemite National Park. I’ve read about it, and it does sound quite beautiful.”
Harry nodded. “It’s my special place.”
Lillian wondered exactly how far away it was and how Harry could ever manage on his own. He was a strong young man, but she feared there might come a danger that he couldn’t surmount. She’d have to encourage him to stick closer to the farm for his own good.
“. . . Hey, Jimmy, have you ever seen a gold mine? There’s lots of them around here ’cause we’re in gold country. Isn’t it wonderful that God grows gold in the ground?”
Lillian gasped and realized she hadn’t been listening like she should.
Harry continued on for several more sentences without taking a breath.
“Harry!” She finally got a word in edgewise. “I think it’s fascinating that you know so much about gold mines, but those are not safe places to be.”
“Oh, but I live in one, Miss Lillian. I explore them all the time and never have problems.”
Oh, goodness. How could she get out of this one? Jimmy’s eyes were glued to Harry, eating up every word he said about gold and mines and quartz. And to find out that the poor young man was living in a mine! Glory be. Time to change the subject. She’d have to address this later. “Harry, why don’t we have a little contest to see who can catch the most fish this afternoon?” She reached into her pocket. “I happen to have a shiny new penny that will go to the winner.”
Both boys jumped up and scrambled to the pond.
Her shoulders shook for a moment. Harry lived in a mine. Alone. The ramifications of his situation hit her in the stomach as if someone had physically struck her. It was a good thing she found out about it now. Maybe there was something she could do.
First things first. She’d have to take the long way home with Jimmy so she could explain to him that mines were dangerous places and that he should never go into a mine. Never.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Jimmy stared at the ceiling and wondered how Mr. Whiskers was doing by the stove. Papa told him that once his bunny got a little bigger, he could bring the box upstairs to his room. He couldn’t wait for that day. Then maybe he wouldn’t feel so alone and scared at night. Maybe the nightmares would go away for good.
Miss Lillian didn’t know how bad the nightmares were. Papa was still the one to come comfort him, which he liked. But he really liked Miss Lillian, too. She seemed to understand. And he trusted her.
She was nice, pretty, and smart. She made him laugh. Especially the funny face she made when she put a worm on her fishing hook.
Jimmy fidgeted with the edge of his blanket. But what was really special about her was that she was new. She didn’t carry around the sadness and the memories of Mama. But she did know what sadness was. She’d lost her own Ma and Pa a long time ago.
He wanted to talk to her. But the ugly face of the bad man came back to his mind. No. He wouldn’t do it. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to. At least she understood.
Maybe the bad man was gone. He could’ve done something else real bad and got himself killed.
If that had happened, then Jimmy knew he could talk again. But how would he find out? He’d just have to wait. His stomach swirled. The bad man was still out there. He knew it. And he often felt like those mean black eyes were watching him. All the time.
Jimmy shivered and pulled the blankets up higher. Time to think of something else. He needed good thoughts or he’d never be able to go to sleep. Maybe he could go climb into Papa’s bed. He always felt safe there.
Papa. He’d been working so hard lately. Jimmy missed seeing him. But Miss Lillian had been teaching him all about their olive farm. And she promised that as soon as the canning process was over, they would be able to help more often.
Jimmy wanted to help. His father loved this farm, and his mother had loved it, too. So he’d decided when Miss Lillian came that he would grow big and strong and help out with the olives. Even if he never spoke again, he wanted to work at his pa’s side.
Maybe that way he could keep the bad man from ever coming back and hurting the people he loved.
Every bone and muscle in Woody’s body ached, but the canning process was complete. Finally. He dusted off his pants with his hat as he walked in the ba
ck door and then took off his boots. God sent Miss Porter at just the right time. Otherwise, poor Jimmy would be even worse off now. Woody knew his absence was hard on the boy. Rebecca had died and immediately there was all the trouble with the law and people’s accusations. Time was consumed by having to answer to those allegations. Time that took him away from Jimmy. Then even after the judge cleared him, there was the farm to contend with and workers who were apprehensive about what had happened. Consequently, Woody neglected Jimmy, leaving him in Mrs. Goodman’s care. A part of him hated doing so, feeling that he was abandoning Jimmy at a time when he needed his father most. Another part of him couldn’t bear to see what had happened to his son. Jimmy’s silence was just one more painful reminder of the loss they endured.
Woody’s stomach growled as he got a whiff of his dinner plate warming on the stove. Removing the towel, he prayed on the way to the chair so he could dig in as soon as he sat down. Sorry, Lord. His abbreviated prayer made him all the more mindful of the way he’d neglected his walk with God.
When Rebecca had been alive they had a complete list of goals they’d hoped to accomplish. The olive farm, a large family, and enough money to help anyone in need at any given time. Those were the physical—tangible—goals. There had been spiritual ones, as well. Both he and Rebecca were determined to know God better and to raise their family to fear the Lord. They attended church, read their Bibles, and prayed together. He smiled at the memory of teaching Jimmy how to pray.
“Why do we put our hands together when we pray?” Jimmy had asked him. The question surprised Woody, and he had no real answer.
“I guess,” he’d told Jimmy, “because we were taught to do it that way by other folks.”
“But God will listen to us even if we don’t put our hands together, won’t he?” Jimmy pressed to understand.
“Of course,” Woody replied. “God will listen to us always, no matter where our hands are. He doesn’t really look at the outward appearance, but at the heart. He wants our hearts to be fixed on Him.” It seemed so simple back then.
“I’ve done a poor job of that, Lord.” Woody shook his head at the realization. He tried to maintain a strong faith, but his pain always seemed to get in the way. “I want to do better. I will do better. Show me what it is I need to do.”
By the time he was halfway done with his plate, his hunger had abated and he realized that Mrs. Goodman and Lillian were nowhere to be seen. Surely they hadn’t retired so early, had they? He’d fully expected his son to be asleep, but not the ladies. They seemed to enjoy each other’s company in the evenings. He started to reach for the latest copy of the Mountain Echo newspaper from Angels Camp, but the silence of the house stirred concern. What if something had happened to them? What if something had happened to Jimmy? Thoughts of finding Rebecca dead and Jimmy terror stricken flooded his mind, and Woody jumped to his feet, newspaper still in hand. The need to find them took precedence over his exhaustion.
He pushed the swinging door into the dining room and came to an abrupt halt. Mrs. Goodman and Miss Porter were sitting at the dining room table, both with their heads buried in their Bibles. Several other books lay open at their fingertips.
The sight caught him by surprise, but it also made him breathe a sigh of relief. After several moments he realized they hadn’t heard him come in, so he cleared his throat and rattled the newspaper.
Lillian looked up at him. “Well, good evening, Woody.” Her smile did something unusual to his insides.
“Evening. What are you two fine ladies up to tonight?”
Mrs. Goodman finally looked up from her reading. Peering over the edge of her spectacles, she laughed and pointed at her table mate. “This here young woman thought we needed to be doing some studying together, seeing as how we aren’t in church right now. But heavens, I didn’t think she’d start with the last book in the Bible. I know I’m ornery, but there’s a reason I’ve left this one alone all this time.” She leaned back in her chair and shook her head. “I’m completely perplexed.”
Woody laughed and smiled at Lillian. “You chose to start with Revelation? That’s mighty ambitious.” He took a seat across from her.
Her brow furrowed as her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink. “Pardon me for being blunt, Woody, but I’m tired of being told that certain books of the Bible are too ‘ambitious’ or too ‘difficult’ for me. Isn’t God’s Word for all of us?”
He’d embarrassed her rather than encouraging her. What a dolt. He prayed for the Lord to give him the right words so he could smooth it over. “Forgive me, Lillian, that’s not at all what I meant. I admire the fact that you want to study Revelation. I was just thinking it was ambitious because of all the men I’ve heard argue about its meaning.”
Mrs. Goodman nodded. “He’s right. About ten years ago, our pastor had several men riled up about it. It was a disaster, and the church split.”
“Goodness. I wasn’t trying to incite any quarrels.” Lillian laid her hand on the book she’d been writing in and bit her lip.
Mrs. Goodman reached across the table and patted Lillian’s hand. “It’s all right, dearie. It’s been a while, but there were many years that Woody spent poring over the Word. If I remember correctly, he loves to study.” The older woman winked at him. “I think he’d be willing to share his knowledge with you.”
Woody chuckled. Leave it to Mrs. Goodman to make sure he got the hint. He’d been admonished and praised all at the same time. “I’d love to help.”
Lillian sat up straighter and beamed at him. “Really?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He set the newspaper down and leaned his arms on the table. “Now that the canning is done, I’ll be back home earlier in the evenings. I don’t like being away from Jimmy that long anyway, and to be honest, I’ve been longing to get back into the Word, as well. I’ve”—he reached back and rubbed his neck—“had a . . . difficult time since Rebecca died, but the good Lord showed me a while back that it’s time to move past it.” But where was he to move on to?
“So will you study with us?” Lillian’s smile could light up a room. He noticed how very pretty Miss Porter was. Her green dress set off her green eyes, which sparkled with delight as she waited for his answer.
“I’d love to.”
“And is it all right if I have a lot of questions?”
“Of course.”
“Truly? You don’t mind?”
“Not at all. But I can’t guarantee I’ll have the correct answer. That’s what we’ll have to ask the Lord to show us as we study.”
Lillian jumped from her chair, and before he knew it, she’d leaned over the back of his chair and hugged him. The physical touch was a healing balm, but she pulled back immediately and went to hug his housekeeper. He was certain she didn’t mean anything improper by it, but the remembrance of her arms around his neck would stay with him.
Mrs. Goodman rubbed her hands together. “I think I’m almost as excited as she is.” She hooked her thumb toward Lillian.
“Me too.” Woody laughed. And he was. Excited to dig back into the Word and excited that his heart no longer felt broken in two. Show me what it is I need to do, he’d prayed only moments ago. This was one time God had certainly answered quickly.
Later that night after the house was quiet and everyone was asleep, Woody went to his desk in the library and sank into the padded chair. He pulled open a drawer on the left and pulled out a leather-bound journal. Opening the book, he thumbed through the few pieces of newsprint and then looked over the pages of notes he’d written there.
This was his account of Rebecca’s murder and all that had happened to him afterward, as well as all that he had done to try to find the real killer. He’d listed every clue, every detail of that day and the days that followed in the hope of helping the law enforcement people find the murderer. But Sheriff Stanley Hobart wouldn’t even consider his findings. Hobart had been convinced, as had many of the other people in town, that Woody was the true culprit.
> “If you wouldn’t have been so blinded by your certainty that I killed Rebecca, we might have found her killer by now.” He shook his head and turned another page in the book.
He’d written down the time he and Mrs. Goodman had discovered the murder, as well as the temperature and weather of the day. He’d noted the clothes worn not only by Rebecca and Jimmy, but also the ones he and Mrs. Goodman had worn. He’d noted who was working for him and lengthy details about each man—their families—their habits and reputations.
Woody tried his best to figure out anything that would point him in the right direction. At one point, after the judge had cleared him, Woody left Jimmy with Mrs. Goodman so he could try to investigate what few clues he did have. That had turned out to be a waste of time. There just wasn’t enough information, and the only physical evidence available to him was a dead wife and mute son.
He closed the journal and started to put it back in the drawer when he spied something shiny. Dropping the book back atop his desk, he picked up the brass button. This was the only other physical evidence. A button. A single brass-colored button. It wasn’t anything special, but Woody knew immediately that it belonged to the killer. First of all, it didn’t match anything owned by the family or Mrs. Goodman. It didn’t even match anything his crew wore. Second, it had been tightly grasped in Rebecca’s right hand. She’d obviously pulled it off her killer’s coat.
He’d looked everywhere for a man wearing a coat with just such buttons. No matter where he went, his eyes were open to that detail. But he never saw anything even remotely similar.
Turning the button in his hand, Woody clenched his jaw. His only connection to the killer. The one tangible thing he had to identify the man. Even holding it now brought up an anger inside that Woody knew was best left buried.
He threw the button back into the drawer and slammed the journal in on top of it. Maybe it was all just a waste of time. The sheriff would never consider his evidence, and Woody would probably never know who killed his wife and forever changed his life.
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