Belonging

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  Sincerely,

  Felicia

  She laid aside the pen and read the letter one more time. It wasn’t a warm letter, to be sure, but no less so than Gunnar’s letters to her. For all the world, she couldn’t understand why he wanted her for a daughter-in-law. He didn’t like her the least little bit. And Rolf? If he felt anything for her, it was lust, and she couldn’t be sure of even that.

  She shuddered as she always did when she imagined herself joined in marriage to Rolf Kristoffersen.

  “I’m not lonely,” she whispered. “I’m not alone. The Lord is with me. I have my work, which satisfies me. I am educated and intelligent and able to take care of myself. If I am ever to marry, it will only be for love. Never for convenience or to satisfy convention. Never for that.”

  Drawing a deep breath, she folded the letter and slipped it into an envelope, which she quickly addressed and sealed. “Hi, Miss K!”

  She looked in the direction of Charity Murphy’s voice and saw the girl and her father walking toward the rear entrance to their living quarters. But Charity promptly changed directions and ran over to Felicia. A moment later, Colin did the same, though at a slower pace.

  As if to taunt her, her words of moments before repeated in her mind: If I am ever to marry, it will only be for love.

  Her insides seemed to tumble, causing her to grip the arms of her chair.

  Colin removed his hat. “Good afternoon.”

  She hadn’t spoken to him at church that morning, although she’d seen him there, seated with his daughter several rows behind her. Now she was keenly aware of how handsome he looked in his dark Sunday suit. He was, without a doubt, one of the handsomest men of her acquaintance. Certainly more so than any of her Kristoffersen “cousins.”

  Again that strange tumbling sensation.

  “We ate Sunday dinner at the Summervilles,” Charity said.

  “How nice.” Felicia smiled at the girl and prayed her face revealed none of her inner turmoil.

  “The food’s always good,” Colin said.

  Something in his tone told Felicia he hadn’t enjoyed the afternoon. Did Helen Summerville dislike him too? That was difficult to believe.

  “Mr. Bryant said he should have promised me one of Goldie’s pups for my birthday.” Charity glanced over her shoulder at her father. “Maybe I could have one even though my birthday’s over?”

  Colin’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “We can discuss that later. And we need to get inside and change out of our Sunday clothes. Besides, we’re intruding on Miss Kristoffersen’s letter writing.”

  I don’t mind. I’m finished writing. Although she didn’t speak the words aloud, she felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. She could only pray that her eyes didn’t reveal her wish for the two of them to remain and talk to her a little longer.

  Colin placed his right hand on Charity’s shoulder. “I’m sure your family will be glad to hear from you.” With a nod of his head, he turned, drawing his daughter with him, and the two of them strode toward their home.

  “I’m sure your family will be glad to hear from you.”

  She looked down at the envelope on the table. Gunnar wasn’t her family. Yes, she addressed him as “cousin,” but that was a designation of habit, not fact. He was no blood relation whatsoever.

  But she did have a family. Somewhere.

  Try again, her heart seemed to say. Don’t give up.

  It had been sixteen years since she and Hugh and Diana had left Chicago, and seven or eight years since she’d last tried to discover the whereabouts of her brother and sister. What were the chances that anyone could help her find them after such a long time?

  Try again. Don’t give up.

  She reached for the pen and another sheet of stationery and began to write.

  Dr. Cray’s Asylum for Little Wanderers

  Chicago, Illinois

  Dear Sir,

  My name is Felicia Brennan Kristoffersen. In the summer of 1881, your organization placed me with a married couple who lived on a farm near Laramie, Wyoming. Their names were Lars and Britta Kristoffersen, and they called me Felicia Kristoffersen from that time forward. In fact, I believed they adopted me until it was revealed otherwise after their deaths earlier this year.

  I have an older brother and a younger sister, Hugh and Diana Brennan, who were also placed with families in the summer of 1881, but I cannot say for sure where those families lived. I know only that my brother and sister left the train before Laramie.

  It is my desire to locate my siblings. Can you help me?

  Sincerely,

  Felicia Brennan Kristoffersen

  Frenchman’s Bluff, Idaho

  As she folded the stationery, she whispered a prayer that this time God would send an answer. Still, she knew finding them would take a miracle.

  SIXTEEN

  The wall maps arrived at the mercantile on Tuesday afternoon, not long after school let out for the day. Colin knew Felicia would be eager to have them, so he left the store under Jimmy’s watchful eye and carried the maps to the school.

  When he entered the classroom a short while later, he found Felicia seated at her desk, grading papers, while a boy of about ten—judging by his height alone, for Colin couldn’t see his face—cleaned the blackboards behind her.

  Colin cleared his throat, and Felicia looked up.

  “I have something for you,” he said.

  Her face brightened. “Our maps.” She dropped the pencil on her desk and stood. “How wonderful!”

  “Where do you want me to hang them? I brought a hammer and some nails with me.”

  Felicia pointed to the east wall. “Right there, next to the window.”

  Colin followed her to the designated spot.

  “Keith,” Felicia called to the boy at the blackboards. “Come and see what Mr. Murphy brought for us.”

  Keith? Colin couldn’t place the kid, and he knew every family within fifteen to twenty miles in any direction of Frenchman’s Bluff.

  “Mr. Murphy, this is Keith Watkins, one of my new students. Keith and his brother live with the Carpenters.”

  Oh, that’s why he didn’t recognize the boy. He was one of the orphan kids from back East.

  “Keith,” Felicia continued, her hand on the boy’s shoulder, “these are the new maps of the world for us to use when we study history and geography.”

  The boy’s expression said it all: Unimpressed. Bored speechless. He’d rather be anyplace else than where he was at that moment.

  It was Felicia’s turn to clear her throat. “I think those blackboards are clean enough. You may go home now.”

  “Thanks, Miss K.” Grinning, he darted for the exit.

  “See you tomorrow,” she called after him. Then she faced Colin again. “I suppose it was asking a lot for him to be as excited as I am about a set of maps.”

  “I reckon.”

  But to be honest, her excitement was contagious. The way she twisted her hands and paced back and forth on the platform while Colin hung the black case holding the seven pull-down, oil-colored maps made him want to pace with anticipation too. It made no sense. They were just drawings of the world that made it look flat and showed one country pink and another yellow and another green. No more exciting than any other teaching tool in the schoolroom.

  When the case was fastened to the wall, Colin stepped aside, motioning with his hand. “Be my guest, Miss K.”

  The smile she sent in his direction did more than brighten her face. It seemed to brighten the entire room. Colin had to take another step backward and remind himself to breathe.

  “It’s wonderful,” she said after revealing the first map. Then she spun around and hurried to the desk farthest away. She slid onto the seat, folding her hands on the desktop. “Absolutely wonderful. The children will love it.”

  To Colin, she looked more like a student than the teacher. Fresh, innocent, wide-eyed. Enthusiastic and untouched by the sorrows of life. What he wouldn’t giv
e to feel the way she felt, to look at the world the way she saw it now.

  Her smile faded, and the joy vanished from her eyes.

  He swallowed, realizing the longing that had gripped him as he stared at her. Heaven help him.

  Felicia tried to draw a deep breath but couldn’t. The air around her felt thick and uncomfortable. And that strange look in Colin Murphy’s eyes made her weak and a little afraid, although she couldn’t say why.

  “I should get back to the store,” he said.

  She rose from the desk. “It was thoughtless of me to keep you so long. I should have tried to hang them myself.”

  “No.” He moved toward the exit. Toward her. “I wanted to help.”

  She feared he must hear the rapid beating of her heart.

  “I’ll send the bill for the maps to Walter.”

  “Yes.” She swallowed. “To Mr. Swanson. He’ll be expecting it.”

  He stopped a short distance from her, and for one thrillingly frightful moment, she thought he might reach out and touch her. Instead, he bent the brim of his hat—a gesture already so familiar to her—and said, “Good day, Miss Kristoffersen.”

  “Good day.” She remained standing until he was out of sight. Then she dropped onto the seat, her knees unable to keep her upright any longer.

  What just happened?

  She forced herself to take a slow, deep breath.

  I’m being ridiculous. Nothing happened. He was being neighborly. That’s all. He delivered the maps; he hung them for me—what any gentleman would do. What any good tradesman would do.

  Not every tradesman, however, would look at her the way Colin had moments before—as if he could see into her mind and read her thoughts.

  But he couldn’t read her thoughts. That was pure silliness on her part. Colin could no more see into her mind than she could see into his. And neither of them would want—

  “Felicia?”

  She started, surprised by the sound of Kathleen’s voice, and felt unprepared to face anyone. But what choice did she have? She could only hope she didn’t look as confused as she felt. Drawing another deep breath, she rose and turned.

  Kathleen stood in the doorway, and right behind her was her mother-in-law.

  Felicia forced a smile of greeting. “Kathleen. Mrs. Summerville. It’s good to see you.”

  “We’re glad we found you still here,” Kathleen said.

  “I … I’m usually here until four thirty.” Did she appear flustered or uncertain? She hoped not.

  Helen Summerville looked as if she’d been sucking on a lemon. “Was that Mr. Murphy we saw leaving just now?” Her tone dripped with disapproval.

  “Yes.” She motioned to the opposite side of the classroom. “He brought the new maps we ordered.”

  “We?” Helen said softly, then sniffed.

  Kathleen moved forward. “As you know, Jane and Lewis Carpenter have taken in a couple of orphan children.”

  “Yes. They’re fine boys.” When Daniel wasn’t misbehaving, anyway. “I enjoy having them in my class.” True, despite Daniel’s resisting her authority.

  “Well, the placement came up rather suddenly, and they don’t have many of the kinds of things I’m sure they could use. You know, extra bedding, clothes for growing boys, balls and bats, and whatnot.” Kathleen gave a little shrug. “I want to organize the women of our community to do something for them that might help with their new family.”

  “I’d be happy to participate.”

  “I knew you would. Could you come to my … to our home on Saturday morning at nine?”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “Good. We’ll see you then.” Kathleen turned around. “All right, Mother Summerville. We can go home now. I told you it wouldn’t take long.” As they moved toward the exit, she glanced over her shoulder. “See you Saturday.”

  Kathleen’s parting smile was a balm on Felicia’s rattled nerves. God was good to have given her the friend she’d hoped and prayed for. It strengthened her knowing she had someone she could confide in, a friendship she was sure would grow even stronger with time.

  But what would Kathleen think of Felicia’s odd reactions to Colin?

  She inhaled deeply. What rubbish! She was imagining the look in his eyes and her breathless response. Neither were of any importance and certainly nothing she would share with a friend.

  The supper dishes had been washed, dried, and put away before Felicia arrived for her tutoring session with Charity. When the familiar knock sounded at the back door, Charity went at once to answer it.

  Colin had been surprised by his daughter’s eagerness to spend extra time studying with her teacher. Knowing that she struggled with reading, he’d expected her to resent the evening sessions, time taken away from more pleasurable activities. Instead, she seemed glad for them.

  Not that he expected the tutoring to bear much fruit. As far as he could tell, listening from the parlor each evening, teacher and student weren’t accomplishing much. Nothing that sounded like schoolwork, at any rate.

  As Charity returned to the kitchen, her teacher right behind her, she said, “Papa says the new maps came today.”

  “Yes. He hung them on the wall so they’ll be ready to use tomorrow.” Felicia stopped just inside the doorway and her eyes lifted to meet his. “Good evening, Mr. Murphy.”

  “Evening.”

  “Am I too early?” A touch of pink colored the apple of her cheeks.

  He shook his head. “Nope. Right on time. So I’ll leave you two alone.” He turned on his heel and strode into the small parlor, where he sat in a comfortable wing-backed chair that Margaret had brought with them from Ohio. He took the weekly newspaper from the side table near his left elbow and placed it on his lap. But he didn’t look at it. Instead, he listened to the voices drifting to him from the kitchen.

  “Twinkle, twinkle, little star,” Felicia said. “How I wonder what you are! Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky!”

  Silence, and then his daughter repeated the words, slower, with less confidence, sometimes stumbling, finally stopping before she’d reached the end.

  “Sound it out, Charity.”

  “Di-”

  He strained with her.

  “-a-”

  He tried to picture the word in his head but couldn’t.

  “-mond.”

  “Very good. Diamond. And where is that diamond?”

  “In the sky!”

  Laughter—the deeper tones of a woman, the lighter tones of a child—mingled together. He wished he could see their faces. He wished he could laugh with them.

  “Now once more, together this time. ‘Twinkle, twinkle, little star. How I wonder what you are …’”

  Colin put the newspaper back on the table and rose from the chair, making his way to the front entrance of their living quarters. He opened the door and moved to stand near the porch steps, leaning his shoulder against the post.

  Frenchman’s Bluff was quiet this time of evening. With the exception of the saloon on the west end of town and the restaurant to the east of the mercantile, the businesses that lined Main Street were closed, the workers gone home to be with their families. Already the shadows had grown long.

  He shook his head. How quickly the seasons came and went. It didn’t seem all that many years ago since he and Margaret had come to Idaho as newlyweds. How could he have foreseen that in little more than a decade he would be a widowed father, managing the mercantile on his own?

  He heard another burst of laughter from inside the house.

  Maybe he shouldn’t be doing it on his own. Not managing the mercantile. Not raising his daughter. Maybe trying to protect both himself and Charity from pain, loss, or disaster wasn’t the best way to live. For either of them.

  But what was the best way?

  His eyes lifted to the sky, where cotton-ball clouds on the eastern horizon had been brushed with shades of peach and lavender. He remembered Felicia’s prayer beside the river, and he found
himself wishing he could pray like that. He wished he could ask the Almighty what plans He had for Charity’s future, for his future. Other people seemed to pray so easily. They seemed to trust in a good God without question.

  I’d like to trust You again, Lord. I’d like to find my way back. Is that possible? Or is it already too late?

  He almost laughed aloud, realizing that he’d just wished he could pray easily and then had found himself, indeed, praying.

  Maybe it wasn’t too late after all.

  SEVENTEEN

  Felicia adored hats. Straw hats with ribbons to match a dress. Velvet bonnets with ostrich plumes that fluttered in the breeze. Felt hats sporting a cluster of roses. Surely a woman could never own enough hats.

  And that belief was one reason Felicia had stayed away from Jane Carpenter’s millinery shop in the weeks since she arrived in Frenchman’s Bluff. With her funds in short supply, she shouldn’t go where she would be tempted.

  But there was no avoiding the shop or the temptation today.

  At 4:15 on Thursday afternoon, Keith Watkins ran on ahead of Felicia and his older brother, opening the door into his new mother’s shop and shouting, “Ma! Miss K’s here to see you.”

  By the time Felicia and Daniel stepped into the store, Jane had emerged from the back room, a half-decorated bonnet in her left hand, a concerned expression on her face. “Is something wrong, Miss Kristoffersen?”

  “I’d like to speak with you. Alone, if I may.”

  “Of course.” Jane looked at the boys. “You two get along home. Your pa will be waiting for you to help with the chores. Tell him I’ll be home directly.”

  Before he turned to leave, Daniel cast a sullen glance in Felicia’s direction. She made certain not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

  As the door closed behind the brothers, Jane said, “Daniel’s giving you trouble in class, isn’t he?” She motioned toward the workroom. “There’s a couple of chairs in the back. Let’s go sit down. Would you like some tea? It wouldn’t take long to heat the water.”