The Gift of Twins

by Gabrielle Meyer

  “Miss Wilkes, I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Lizzie, and our daughters, Virginia and Georgia.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Emmy said to Mrs. Allen.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Wilkes. Ben has told us so much about you.”

  She hated that her cheeks warmed at the mention of Ben.

  Mr. Allen reached over and took one of the sleeping infants from his wife. “Lizzie would be a much better contender for the spelling contest.”

  “And who will mind the babies?” Mrs. Allen asked playfully.

  “They’ll sleep through the whole thing,” Mr. Allen answered, just as playfully.

  “I’d like to see that happen.” Mrs. Allen bounced slightly as she looked down at her daughter fondly. “They like to take turns waking me up in the middle of the night.”

  Longing filled Emmy’s heart at seeing those precious babies in their parents’ arms. Thoughts of William came unbidden, and with them, the same sense of loss and regret that she would never have what these people had. She had dealt with years of bitterness and disillusionment after he died. She had buried more than her fiancé five years ago. With him she had buried her hopes and dreams for a family and a home.

  She forced herself to focus on why she had come. “If you’re worried about the words,” Emmy said to Mr. Allen, “I can assure you they are fairly simple.” She smiled at Mrs. Allen. “I don’t want to knock out my contestants too early.”

  Mrs. Allen laughed and the sound made her husband smile.

  “All right,” he said. “You’ve convinced me—or rather, you’ve convinced my wife, so I guess there’s no use fighting you now.”

  Emmy grinned. “Thank you. I promise I’ll be kind to you.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Mrs. Allen said. “If I know anything, I know my husband can handle a little difficulty now and again.”

  Emmy smiled with the Allens. “I should take my leave. I need to find seven other participants before the day is through.”

  “Have you been by the bank?” Mr. Allen asked. “Mr. Russell is new to town and he’s eager to meet all the families. I think he’d be a good sport.”

  “And Mr. Hall, the attorney,” Mrs. Allen said. “And there’s always Timothy Hubbard and Mr. Fadling, the grocer, or Dr. Jodan. I’m sure if you ask around you won’t have any trouble filling all ten places.”

  “Thank you for the suggestions.” Emmy nodded goodbye and opened the door. “It was nice to meet you.”

  “And you, too,” Mrs. Allen called as Emmy stepped outside.

  The sunshine felt good on Emmy’s skin and the warmth in the air reminded her of spring, though it was the end of October. She looked around town and read each sign making a mental note of the grocer, the lawyer, the doctor and the banker. She hated to think about returning to the Hubbards’ boardinghouse to speak to Mr. Hubbard, but she would if she needed to.

  Emmy stepped off the porch of the Northern Hotel and crossed the road to enter the bank. It sat on the opposite corner from the hotel, its large plate-glass windows and ornate door indicating its status in town.

  She pushed open the door and wasn’t disappointed with the plush furnishings. A caged area lined the back wall and a clerk stood there helping a patron. Emmy waited in line, admiring the leather furniture and walnut tables.

  “May I help you?” A gentleman exited an office to her right and stood in the lobby with a smile on his face.

  “Are you Mr. Russell?”

  “I am. Won’t you step into my office?”

  Emmy crossed the lobby and passed by the handsome young man. His office smelled of ink and leather and was neat and orderly. A large walnut desk took up most of the space with shelves lining one full wall.

  He left the door open and came around the desk. “Have a seat, Miss...”

  “Wilkes, the new schoolteacher.”

  His smile was quick and warm, not at all what she had expected from the banker. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “And you.” She pulled out one of her posters and handed it to him.

  His eyes lit up as he read it. “I’ve only just arrived in town and I’ve been looking for ways to meet everyone.” He looked at her, his green eyes filled with appreciation. “I’ll be there.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at him. He seemed eager to please and genuinely happy to make a connection. “Our first event will be an adult spelling contest and I’m looking for prominent members of the community to—”

  “I’ll do it.”

  She laughed. “You don’t know what I’m asking.”

  “Whatever you need, I’ll be happy to do.”

  Her cheeks grew warm at the declaration. “Thank you.”

  “I’m assuming you’d like me to be one of the spelling contestants?”

  “Yes.” She fumbled to pull the list of words from her bag. “Here are the four hundred words you’ll need to study.”

  He reached for them and glanced at them quickly before looking back at her. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”

  “I don’t believe so.” She stood and he followed. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

  “Must you leave so soon?”

  “I’m afraid so. I need to speak to several other people before I go home.”

  “And where is home?” He looked embarrassed for a moment, glancing down at the poster before looking up at her again. “I’m sorry. That was a bit too forward. I simply asked because I was wondering where I might call on you, if you’ll allow me to escort you to the spelling contest.”

  She shook her head and took a step back. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Then you already have an escort?”

  She didn’t have one officially, but surely Ben and the boys would walk with her to the school. “I do, thank you.” She took another step toward the door.

  “I look forward to seeing you again, Miss Wilkes.”

  “And you, Mr. Russell.”

  “Here. I’ll walk you out—unless you have an escort for that, as well.” He chuckled as he came around his desk and motioned toward the door. “Ladies first.”

  She hardly needed an escort to leave the building, but he walked her across the lobby and opened the front door.

  “If there’s anything else I can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask,” he said.

  Emmy nodded as she passed by him on her way out, though she couldn’t quite find her tongue to answer before he closed the door.

  She took a steadying breath and turned her focus on the grocer, Mr. Fadling, trying to forget the gregarious banker.

  Hopefully her spelling contest would be a success and Mr. Samuelson would have one less reason to get rid of her.

  Chapter Seven

  Ben paused his mare Ginger at the top of a hill and surveyed the countryside about thirty miles west of Little Falls. At the bottom of the hill, a tarpaper shack sat puffing black smoke into the clear blue sky. Not a cloud marred the expanse overheard, giving Ben a good look at the home of Reginald Trask, the man Abram believed was the boys’ grandfather.

  A soft wind blew across the snow-covered prairie and Ben pulled his coat tighter around his neck to prevent the chill from seeping inside. He nudged his mare into motion and followed the road down the hill, past a fence in need of repair and around a pile of discarded wood.

  Knowing Levi and Zeb were tucked away safely at the school with Emmy, learning their numbers and letters, gave him the nudge he needed to approach this stranger.

  His horse whinnied and he leaned down and patted her neck. “Feels good to be out again, doesn’t it, Ginger?” Their days of circuit riding were over for now, but Ben would never give up on the idea of returning all together. He knew he was where he needed to be for the time being, but he was
always willing to do what the Lord called him to do.

  Right now, He was calling Ben to find the boys’ kin.

  A dog barked at Ben’s arrival and the door to the shack opened. An older man stood at the open door in his stained long underwear and dirty socks. His stringy gray hair was in need of a cut and his whiskered face looked as if it hadn’t seen a razor in months. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Reverend Benjamin Lahaye.” Ben stopped Ginger and dismounted. He held her reins and walked the rest of the way to the house. “Are you Mr. Trask?”

  “I don’t got no need for a preacher.” He started to close the door.

  “Please,” Ben said quickly. “I’m here to ask about your son, Malachi Trask, and tell you about your grandsons.”

  Mr. Trask paused, his eyes narrowing. “My son?”

  “Are you Reginald Trask?”

  “How do you know who I am?”

  Ben tried to be patient. “I have your grandsons in my care. Their mother died, leaving them with her sister who recently brought them to me.”

  “How do you know Clara?”

  “Clara?”

  “My son’s wife.”

  “I didn’t know Clara. Her sister brought the boys.”

  “Clara’s dead?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Mr. Trask looked beyond Ben for a second. “It’s a pity. She was the only good thing that ever happened to Malachi.”

  Ben gave the man a moment to absorb all the information and then he continued. “Do you know where your son might be?”

  Mr. Trask’s attention came back to Ben and anger filled his face. “No, and good riddance. That boy was nothing but trouble from the moment his mama told me he was on his way. Took her life when he was born and hasn’t done nothing respectable since—except marry Clara. I haven’t seen him in six or seven years, not since he turned me out of his house when he was drunk and I tried to defend his wife.”

  “Did you know he and Clara had a set of twin boys?”

  Mr. Trask studied Ben. “Who’d you say you were?”

  “Reverend Ben Lahaye, of Little Falls.”

  Mr. Trask paused again and then said, “Care to get out of the wind, Reverend?”

  “I’d like that.” Ben tied Ginger’s reins to the porch railing, hoping the mare wouldn’t try to bolt. The lopsided porch looked like it could be pulled down with little effort.

  Ben followed Mr. Trask into his home. The rotten stench of filth made Ben’s eyes water. A small stove stood in one corner of the room, with dirty pots and pans stacked around it. In the other corner, a cot was held up by several logs and a pile of soiled blankets lay haphazardly on top.

  Mr. Trask didn’t seem to pay any of this too much attention as he pointed to a rickety bench against a wall. “Have yourself a seat. Can I get you some coffee?”

  “No, thank you.” Ben moved aside a pile of old newspapers to find a place to sit.

  “Suit yourself.” Mr. Trask sat on a rocking chair near the stove, scratching his whiskers. “What’s this you say about Clara having twins?”

  “They are five years old. Their names are Levi and Zebulun. I’ve been trying to locate their next of kin. I learned about you through a friend who recalled doing business with you a while back. He said I’d find you here.”

  Mr. Trask rocked his chair. “And what do you want from me?”

  “I’d like to find their father. The boys need a permanent home and I was hoping it could be with him.”

  The old man shook his head. “If Malachi’s the same as before, the children are better off with someone else.”

  Ben glanced around the man’s shack. If Reginald Trask made a claim on the boys, he’d have the right to take them from Ben—but Ben couldn’t imagine them living in such squalid conditions. But what if their father was worse? The debate tore at Ben’s conscience. He felt obligated to find the boys’ father, yet worried that he wouldn’t be fit to raise them. Malachi Trask needed to at least know where his boys were, didn’t he?

  “Do you know where I might locate your son?” Ben asked.

  Mr. Trask continued to study Ben. “If I was you, I wouldn’t go poking a rattlesnake and getting him all stirred up. Leave well enough alone and keep those boys as far away from their father as possible.”

  If it was that simple, Ben would agree—but it wasn’t. Something compelled him to find Malachi. His voice became serious. “Do you know where he is, Mr. Trask?”

  “You’re wasting your time here, Reverend Lahaye.”

  Ben didn’t say anything for a moment, and then he stood. “If you’d like to meet the boys, please come and see us sometime. I live at the parsonage next to the church.”

  Mr. Trask didn’t bother to stand. “They’re better off not meeting me, either. I’m not proud of my life and I wouldn’t want to saddle those children with my baggage.”

  “My door is always open to you,” Ben said. “Our church is full of sinners saved by grace. Not one of us is perfect or without sin.”

  “The only Christian I ever liked was Clara—and God saw fit to take her away from us. I figure He’s like that. Takin’ the good ones and leaving the bad ones here to cause heartache for everyone else.”

  Ben was disappointed that he felt that way, but he could see by the look in Mr. Trask’s eyes that he had made up his mind and it wouldn’t easily be changed. “Maybe one day I’ll prove that theory wrong, Mr. Trask.”

  The man scowled and didn’t meet Ben’s gaze.

  “Good day and thank you for your time.”

  His only response was a grunt.

  Ben put on his hat and walked out of the shack. Ginger hadn’t moved from her spot and Ben patted her shoulder when he reached her. “Sure wish I had more time to talk to him,” he said to his mare as he stepped into the saddle. “If I was still on my circuit, I’d be sure to stop in and see him every chance I could get.”

  Ginger tossed her head and whinnied as if to agree.

  Ben led her out of the Trask yard and pointed her toward home.

  Frustration sat heavy on his chest. He was nowhere closer to finding the boys’ father than when he had begun—yet, the revelation was bittersweet. From all accounts, Malachi Trask wasn’t a good man, but Ben couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to know where his sons were.

  Maybe, it was because Ben’s father had never come looking for him. Ben had lain awake as a child, hoping and praying his father would one day return for him. When he had left the mission at Pokegama, he feared his father would never find him at Belle Prairie. He begged the missionaries to write to his father and tell him that he had moved, but his father never responded to the letters.

  “Lord.” Ben looked up into the clear blue sky. “You know the end from the beginning. You knew those boys would come into my home, and You know when they’ll leave. Help me do Your will in this and all things. Amen.”

  He nudged Ginger into a gallop, eager to be home.

  * * *

  That evening, Emmy sat at her desk, a lantern offering a soft glow for her to read by. She had spent so much of her week planning the Friday Frolic, she had gotten behind on her personal studies. But tonight she feared she wouldn’t get any studying done, either. She couldn’t stay focused on A Pictorial History of the United States because her mind continued to wander to Ben and how quiet he had been earlier that evening.

  It wasn’t her practice to intrude on people’s private thoughts, so she hadn’t asked him what was wrong. But it still troubled her to see him so unsettled.

  The door creaked open and Emmy turned to find Mrs. Carver entering the room. “I hate to bother you, dearie, but I have a sick headache and I need to lie down.”

  Emmy stood quickly. “Oh, it’s no trouble at all. I wasn’t able to concentrate tonight, anyway.”
She walked across the room. “Do you need help getting ready for bed?”

  Mrs. Carver patted her hand. “Thank you, but no. I’ve had more sick headaches than I care to recount, and I know what I need is a dark, quiet room, and lots of sleep.”

  “Then I’ll go and not bother you.”

  Mrs. Carver was already unbuttoning her blouse in preparation for her nightgown. “Thank you, dearie.”

  Emmy picked up her book and left the room, tiptoeing along the hall so she wouldn’t disturb the boys who had already gone to sleep. Maybe she could get in some studying in the front room.

  A lantern was glowing as she came to the foot of the stairs. Was Ben still awake? The thought of having a few moments alone with him was more appealing than she would have suspected. They hadn’t been alone since that first day when she arrived by mistake.

  She walked into the front room and found him sitting in a rocking chair near the fireplace, a book in his lap—but he wasn’t reading. Instead, his gaze was lost in the flames.

  He looked up at her approach, a genuine smile of pleasure tilting his lips. “Emmy.”

  Her heart filled with warmth at the familiarity in his greeting. “Do you mind if I join you?”

  “Here, have my rocker.” He stood, but she shook her head.

  “You stay there. I’ll pull up a chair.”

  “I insist.” He turned the rocker toward her and offered such a welcoming smile, she couldn’t refuse. She sat on his favorite chair and watched as he pulled another chair from the corner of the room.

  The fireplace put off a gentle heat and filled the space with a warm light. It was a cozy room with a large rug, comfortable chairs and several stacks of books. The rocker looked well-worn and she couldn’t stop herself from running her hand along the smooth armrests, wondering how many hours Ben had sat quietly in this room, passing the long evenings alone. It still puzzled her that a man as handsome and kind as Ben wasn’t married—but then, there were so many unmarried men in town, it shouldn’t be all that surprising. Yet, it was hard to believe that he hadn’t caught someone’s eye long before now.