by Peterson, Tracie; Davis, Mary; Hake, Kelly Eileen; Stengl, Jill; Warren, Susan May
A boy glared at the paper from beneath the brim of his cap, hoping his prospective employer had not read it closely. Why did Gram have to make such a big deal about everything?
“You say you’re willing to work hard, kid? How old are you, anyway?”
“Eighteen. Ain’t got no family.” He struggled to sound illiterate yet mature enough to merit the two extra years he claimed.
“Kinda puny, ain’t ya?” The owner of the traveling circus chomped on his unlit cigar. “You’re in luck, Red. One of our fellas went down sick a week back, and we’ve been struggling since. It ain’t easy work, and the pay is peanuts, but you’ll get room and board, such as it is. Go see Parker in the animal tent and tell him I sent you.”
“Yes, Mr. Bonacelli. Thank you, Mr. Bonacelli.”
“You may not be thankin’ me when you find out what you’ll be doin’. What’s yer name, Red?”
“Myles Trent.” It was his name minus its third element. If he so much as mentioned “Van Huysen” the game would end for certain.
“Hmph. I’ll call ya Red.”
Visions of becoming an acrobat or animal trainer soon vanished from Myles’s head. During the next few months, he worked harder than he had ever worked in his life, cleaning animal pens. It was nasty and hazardous work at times, yet he enjoyed becoming friends with other circus employees. Whenever the circus picked up to move to the next town, everyone worked together, from the clowns to the trapeze artists to the bearded lady. It wasn’t long before Myles began to move up in the circus world.
Bonacelli’s Circus made its way south from New York, then west toward Ohio, playing in towns along the highways and railroads. During the coldest months, the caravans headed south along the Mississippi; spring found them headed north. Months passed into a year.
Lengthening his face to minimize creases, Myles wiped grease paint from his eyelids. Behind him, the tent flap was pulled aside. Someone came in. “Antonio?” he guessed.
“Hello, Myles.”
His eyes popped open. A handsome face smiled at him from his mirror.
Myles froze. His shoulders drooped. He turned on the stool. “Monte.”
The brothers stared at each other. Monte pulled up a chair and straddled it backward. “I caught today’s show. Never thought I’d see my musician brother doing flips onto a horse’s back. You’ve built muscle and calluses. Look healthier than I can remember.” There was grudging admiration in his voice.
“The acrobats and clowns taught me tricks.”
“I’ve been hanging around, asking questions. People like and respect you. Say you’re honest and hardworking.”
Myles’s eyes narrowed. “I love the circus, Monte. I like making people happy.”
“You’re a performer. It’s in your blood.”
Myles turned to his mirror and rubbed blindly at the paint. “Why so pleasant all of a sudden?”
Monte ignored the question. “Gram wants you back. She’s already spent too much on detectives. I’ll write and tell her I found you before she fritters away our fortune.”
“I’m not going back.”
“I didn’t ask you to. The old lady sent me to keep an eye on you. She never said I had to go back…at least not right away.” One of Monte’s brows lifted, and he gave Myles his most charming smile. “The Van Huysen Soap Company and fortune will wait for me. No reason to waste my youth in a stuffy office, learning business from a fat family friend. I think I’d rather be a circus star like my runny-nosed kid brother.”
“You’ve seen me. Now get lost.” Hope faded from Myles’s eyes. “You’ll spoil everything.”
“Believe it or not, I do understand. That was no life for a kid. I’ve often wondered how you endured it as long as you did. Getting out of that Long Island goldfish bowl is a relief. Always someone watching, moralizing, planning your life—whew! You had the right idea. I could hardly believe my luck when Gram sent me after you.”
“She trusted you,” Myles observed dryly. “What are you planning to do?”
“Does this circus need more workers? I’m serious. This looks like the life for me.”
Myles huffed. “Nobody needs a worker like you, Monte. Why don’t you go find yourself a gaming hall and forget you ever had a brother?”
“Gram would never forgive me if I returned without you.”
“You could tell her I’m dead.”
Monte pondered the idea in mock gravity, dark eyes twinkling. “Tempting, but impossible. Family honor and all that. You’d show up someday, then I’d look the dolt at best, the knave at worst. Part of the family fortune is yours, you know. I wouldn’t try to filch it from you. I’m not as rotten as you think, little brother. I do feel some responsibility for my nitwit prodigy sibling.”
The next morning when Monte left his borrowed bunk, Myles was gone. No one had seen him leave. Running a big hand down his face, Monte swore. “Gotta find that crazy kid!”
“Are you here with good news or bad, George Poole?” the old lady grumbled from her seat in a faded armchair. A few coals glowed upon the hearth near her feet. “I trust you have disturbed my afternoon rest for good reason.”
“Yes, Mrs. Van Huysen. You may see for yourself.” He thrust a newspaper into her hands and pointed at a paragraph near the bottom of the page. “An associate of mine in Milwaukee—that’s a town in Wisconsin—heard of my quest, spotted this article, and mailed the paper to me.”
“Kind of him,” Mrs. Van Huysen said, fumbling to put on her glasses. Holding the folded-back paper near her face, she blinked. “For what am I looking?”
“This, madam. The article concerns a small-town farmer who, years ago, served a prison sentence for robbery and murder. Last summer, new evidence was discovered and the man’s name was cleared of the crimes. Judging by the article’s tone, this Obadiah Watson appears to be a fine Christian man. It is a pleasure when justice is served, is it not?”
“Yes, yes, but what has this to do with my grandsons?” Virginia Van Huysen struggled to keep her patience.
“Let me find the line…ah, right here. You see? The article mentions a certain Myles Trent, hired laborer on Watson’s farm.” Poole’s eyes scanned his client’s face.
“I fail to see the significance, Mr. Poole. You raised my hopes for this?”
“Don’t you see, madam? Your grandson’s name is Myles Trent Van Huysen. Oftentimes a man in hiding will use a pseudonym, and what could be easier to recall than one’s own given name?”
“Have you any proof that this man is my Myles? And what of Monte? There is no word of him in this article. The last I heard from the boys, they were together in Texas. Isn’t Wisconsin way up north somewhere? Why ever would Myles be there?” Pulling a lacy handkerchief from her cuff, Virginia dabbed at her eyes. “In Monte’s last letter he told me that he had surrendered his life to the Lord. Why, then, did he stop writing to me? I don’t understand it.”
Poole tugged his muttonchop whiskers. “I cannot say, dear madam. The particular region of Texas described in your grandson’s most recent letters is a veritable wasteland. Our efforts there were vain; my people discovered no information about your grandsons. It was as if they had dropped from the face of the earth.”
“Except for the note your partner sent me about the game hunter in Wyoming.” Virginia’s tone was inquisitive.
“An unfortunate mistake on Mr. Wynter’s part. He should have waited until he had obtained more solid information before consulting you. Be that as it may, madam, unless this Myles Trent proves to be your relation, I fear I must persuade you to give up this quest. I dislike taking your money for naught.”
“Naught?” Virginia lifted her pince-nez to give him a quelling look.
Poole nodded. “We at Poole, Poole, and Wynter are ever reluctant to admit defeat, yet I fear we may be brought to that unfortunate pass. It has been nine years since Myles disappeared and nearly six since Monte’s last letter reached you. If your grandsons are yet living, they are twenty-five and twenty
-eight now.”
“I can do simple addition, Mr. Poole,” Virginia said. “Have you given up entirely on that hunter?”
“The fellow disappeared. He was probably an outlaw who became nervous when Wynter started asking questions. You must keep in mind that your grandsons are no longer children to be brought home and disciplined. They are men and entitled to live the lives they choose. I fear Myles’s concert career will never resume.”
Virginia clenched her jaw and lifted a defiant chin. “I would spend my last cent to find my boys. Look into this, Mr. Poole, and may the Lord be with you.”
Chapter 1
Shall not God search this out?
for he knoweth the secrets of the heart.
PSALM 44:21
Summer 1881
Move over, Marigold.”
The Jersey cow munched on her breakfast, eyes half-closed. When Myles pushed on her side, she shifted in the stall, giving him room for his milking stool and bucket. Settling on the stool, he rested his forehead on Marigold’s flank, grasped her teats, and gently kneaded her udder while squeezing. His hands were already warm since she was the sixth cow he had milked that morning. Marigold let down her milk, and the warm liquid streamed into the bucket. Myles had learned that it paid to be patient with the cows; they rewarded his kindness with their cooperation.
“Meow!” A furry body twined around his ankle, rumbling a purr that reminded Myles of a passing freight train. Other cats peered at Myles from all sides—from the hayloft, around the stall walls, from the top of Marigold’s stanchion. Their eyes seldom blinked.
The plump gray and white cat had perfected her technique. She bumped her face against Myles’s knee, reached a velvet paw to touch his elbow, and blinked sweetly.
“Nice try, you pushy cat, but you’ve got to wait your turn. I’ll give a saucer to all of you when I’m finished.”
“Why do you reward them for begging? It only makes them worse.” A deep voice spoke from the next stall where Al Moore was milking another cow.
“Guess I like cats.”
“I…um, Myles, I’ve got to tell you that I’ll be heading over to Cousin Buck’s farm after dinner. I’ve got to talk with Beulah today…you know, about my letter.”
“I’ll be there, too. I’m working in Buck’s barn this afternoon—mending harnesses and such.”
“Things have changed since Cousin Buck married Violet Fairfield last year and took over her farm, Fairfield’s Folly,” Al commented sadly. “I mean, in the old days he kept up with every detail about our farm, but he’s too busy being a husband and papa these days.”
“He doesn’t miss much. Must be hard work, running the two farms.” Myles defended his friend.
“I run this place myself,” Al protested. After a moment’s silence he added, “You’re right; I shouldn’t complain. I just miss the old days; that’s all. Anyway, to give Cousin Buck credit, being Beulah’s stepfather must be a job in itself, and now with Buck and Violet’s new baby…” His voice trailed away. “Buck has made major improvements at the Folly farm this past year. Guess that’s no surprise to you.”
“I do have firsthand knowledge of those improvements,” Myles acknowledged. “Working at both farms keeps me hopping, but I don’t mind. I’m glad Buck is happily married. I’ve never worked for better people than you and your cousin.”
“Since I’m taking the afternoon off, I’ll handle the milking this evening. How’s that?” Al asked. “Don’t want you to think I’m shirking.”
Myles smiled to himself. “Don’t feel obligated, Boss. You always do your share of the work. Be good for you to take a few hours to play.”
“But you never do. Wish you’d relax some; then I wouldn’t feel guilty.”
“Maybe you and I could toss a baseball around with Samuel this afternoon.” The prospect lifted Myles’s spirits. He liked nothing better than to spend time with Obadiah “Buck” Watson’s three stepchildren. The retired cowboy preferred to be called “Obie,” but Myles had known him for years as “Buck” and found it impossible to address or even think of his boss by any other name.
“That would be great!” Al sounded like an overgrown schoolboy.
Myles stripped the last drops from Marigold’s teats. Rising, he patted the cow’s bony rump. “You’re a good girl, Goldie.” He nearly tripped over the pushy gray cat as he left the stall. With a trill of expectation, it trotted ahead of him toward the milk cans, where several other felines had already congregated.
Myles found the chipped saucer beneath a bench. Sliding it to the open floor with one foot, he tipped the bucket and poured a stream of milk—on top of a gray and white head. Myles smiled as the cat retreated under the bench, shaking her head and licking as much of her white ruff as she could reach. Another cat began to assist her, removing the milk from the back of her head. “Pushy cat, Pushy cat, where have you been?” Myles crooned.
He filled the saucer until it overflowed; yet it was polished clean within seconds. A few cats had to content themselves with licking drops from the floor or from their companions. Myles tried to count the swarming animals but lost track at twelve.
“Too many cats,” Al remarked, emptying his bucket into a can.
“They keep down the rodent population,” Myles said.
“I know, but the barn’s getting overcrowded. There were a lot of kittens born in the spring, but most of them are gone. I don’t know if they just died or if something killed them.”
Myles squatted and Pushy cat hopped into his lap, kneading his thigh with her paws and blinking her yellow eyes. She seemed to enjoy rubbing her face against his beard. He stroked her smooth back and enjoyed that rumbling purr. Myles knew Al was right, but neither man had an answer for the problem.
“Say, Myles, what if…I mean, are you…do you have any plans to move on? Might you be willing to stay on here over the winter and…I’m not sure how to say this.” Al ran long fingers through his hair, staring at the barn floor.
Myles rubbed the cat and waited for Al to find the words. He had a fair idea what was coming.
“I’m hoping to marry Beulah and take her to California with me—to meet my parents, you know. We would probably be gone for close to a year, and I can’t leave Cousin Buck to run both this place and Fairfield’s Folly alone. I would take it kindly if you would…well, run my farm as if it were yours, just while I’m away, you understand. I would make it worth your while. You don’t need to answer me now; take your time to think it over.”
Myles nodded. In spite of his determination to keep his own counsel, one question escaped. “Have you asked her yet?”
“Asked Beulah? Not yet.” Al’s boots shifted on the floorboards. “That’s the other thing that worries me. She’s…uh…I don’t know that she’ll take to the idea of a quick wedding. We’ve never discussed marriage…but she must know I plan to marry her. Everyone knows.”
Myles glanced at his young boss’s face. “Will you go if she refuses?”
Al looked uncertain. “I could marry her when I get back, but I hate to leave things hanging. Another man could come along and steal her away from me. Maybe I could ask her to wait.” He collapsed on the bench, propped his elbows on his spread knees, and rested his chin on one fist. “She’s really not a flirt, but I can’t seem to pin her down. Every time I try to be serious, she changes the subject. What should I do, Myles?”
Myles rose to his feet and began to rub his flat stomach with one hand. “You’re asking an old bachelor for courtship advice?” He hoped the irony in his voice escaped Al’s notice. “I’ve got no experience with women.”
“No experience at all?” Al’s face colored. “I mean…uh…Sorry.”
Myles shrugged. “No offense taken. I left home at sixteen and bummed around the country for years.”
“What did you do to keep alive?”
“Any work I could find. No time or opportunity to meet a decent woman and had enough sense to avoid the other kind. When I drifted farther west it was th
e same. You don’t see a lot of women wandering the wilderness.”
“So where are you from?”
“Anywhere and everywhere.” His lips twitched into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “When your cousin hired me and brought me here to Longtree, that was the first time I’d been around women since I was a kid. Guess I don’t know how to behave around females.”
“I didn’t know you were afraid of women. Is that why you almost never go to church or socials?”
Myles lifted a brow. “I didn’t say I was afraid of them. More like they’re afraid of me.”
“If you’d smile and use sentences of more than one syllable, they might discover you’re a decent fellow.”
This prompted a genuine smile. “I’ll try it. Any other advice?”
Al cocked his head and grinned. “That depends on which female has caught your eye. Want to confide in old Al?”
“I’d better cast about first and see if any female will have me,” Myles evaded.
Al chuckled. “Too late. I know about you and Marva Obermeier.”
“About me and…whom?”
“Don’t look so surprised. Since the barn raising at the Obermeiers’ when you and she talked for an hour, everyone in town knows. She’s a nice lady. If you want a little extra to hold and like a woman who’ll do all the talking, Marva is for you.”
“But that was—” Myles began to protest.
“Things aren’t progressing the way you want, eh? You ought to spend evenings getting to know her family, getting comfortable in the home. Try teasing her and see what happens. Nice teasing, I mean. Women enjoy that kind of attention from a man.”
“They do?”
A collie burst through the open barn door. Panicked cats scattered. Both men chuckled. “Good work, Treat.”
Treat grinned and wagged half her body along with her tail, eager to herd the cows to pasture. “Cats are beneath your notice, eh, girl?” Al said, ruffling her ears.
Al carried the milk cans to the dairy. Myles untied the cows and directed Treat to gather them and start them ambling along the path.