A happy boy would be more willing to steal. Always a silver lining.
“Had a good run at Lucky’s this week. Going home with my pockets twice as heavy, so no problem, regardless of the decision.”
Staring at his charred beef flank, Silas urged himself to ignore Richard for the rest of the meal.
But the prodding to talk to the man was still there. Maybe Richard would be his miraculous answer to prayer?
What would it hurt to try to talk him out of taking the boy? “I’m glad you’re concerned about Anthony’s happiness. I’m sure you can see he’s attached to Miss Dawson and would rather—”
“Who cares about her? He’s going home with you or me.”
“Right, but I happen to know why you want Anthony.” He gave the man a penetrating look.
Richard didn’t so much as shrug or look apologetic. “You mean, because he’s my son? You’re not planning to accuse me of something crazy at the hearing just for your gain, are you?”
“My gain would only be to have a boy to care for. I’ve never had family of my own.”
“Children don’t turn your life into some happy land filled with roses.”
“So, then, if children mean so little to you, what would encourage you to turn him over to me?”
Myrtle sidled in between them replacing Richard’s dirty dinner plate with dessert. Her big brown eyes were alert, looking between them both as if leery of a fight.
But there’d be no fight; hopefully the only thing that took a hit was his pocketbook.
Richard stared at him for a few seconds before stabbing his fork into his pie. “I think the judge will find it mighty interesting you’re trying to buy the boy as if he was some slave. What do you think, missy?”
Myrtle startled, a fork slipping off the plate she’d picked up. “That it ain’t none of my business—that’s what I think.” She scurried off and Richard huffed.
“I’d not be wasting any more of your breath on that bloke.” The man next to Silas, his head tucked behind a newspaper, had a deep roll of a Scottish accent. He glanced at Silas with tired eyes as he turned the page of his paper. “He’ll only turn your words against ya.”
Silas sighed, a hint of a headache coming on. Ignoring Richard’s lip-smacking proved harder than ignoring the late-night skitter of rodents within the flimsy walls of Mrs. Grindall’s lovely establishment.
Thankfully, within a space of a few minutes, Richard finished his food and wadded his napkin. “See you in an hour.”
A dull thudding throbbed against his temples as Silas forced himself to respond. “Do you want to take Anthony to the courthouse or shall I?”
“You’ll want to since it’ll be the last time you see him.”
Was Richard trying to be kind or just taking advantage of someone else getting the boy ready? “Thanks.”
Once Richard left, Silas picked up his fork and poked at his now cold meat. Maybe he could have Myrtle warm it. He glanced around the dining room but didn’t see her.
A man called for tea, but the swish of skirts and approaching footsteps barreling through the hallway didn’t sound like Myrtle.
“What’s with the hollering?” Mrs. Grindall came in, a severe frown weighing down her cheeks. “Where is that girl?” She stomped to the sideboard then thumped the pitcher down on the man’s table. “There.”
“I could’ve gotten the pitcher myself if that’s all you was going to do.”
“Then why didn’t you?” Mrs. Grindall glared at the man, then turned heel.
How did Lucy and Anthony last so long in this establishment? Pushing away his half-eaten meal, Silas blew out his breath and left.
At the top of the stairs, he knocked on Anthony’s door. “I’ll be back for you in an hour.”
After no answer, he glanced inside. The crates were haphazardly filled with lady’s clothing. Evidently the boy hadn’t been taught to fold. He glanced at Anthony curled under the covers and backed out quietly. Might as well let the boy sleep.
In his room, he ignored his growing headache and picked up the journals, carrying them downstairs to the vacated kitchen. Though Mrs. Grindall would surely chastise him if she found him in here, he opened the grate and fed the fire handfuls of ripped pages.
“Anthony it’s time.” After no answer, Silas pushed inside Lucy’s room. Her clothing was strewn about the place as before, but Anthony was no longer curled up on the bed.
Silas sat down and began folding the items they’d give to Myrtle. By the time the boy returned from the necessary, they’d have to leave.
Checking through all the drawers and under the furniture, he found another of Anthony’s stockings.
Wait. Where was Anthony’s traveling bag? His heartbeat accelerated.
He tossed aside the one dress still sprawled across the floor. The brown bag he’d bought Anthony yesterday was not there. He checked behind Kate’s things, under the bed, cot, and wardrobe—nothing. He ran across the hall to his room to see if Anthony was there.
No.
The boy couldn’t be as foolhardy as his mother.
He flew down the stairs. A muffled “Quit your stomping!” didn’t slow him. He slammed out the side door. Running to the necessary, he pounded hard enough the door bounced. The man inside assured him with colorful language that he was not Anthony.
Silas ran down one alley, looked both ways on Morning Glory, saw no hint of a child walking among the sparse street traffic, and then ran down the other alley. Back at the side door, he hollered, “Anthony!”
Nothing.
He called for the boy through the building on his way to the dining area. Deserted.
He poked his head into the kitchen, where Mrs. Grindall sat peeling potatoes. “Have you seen my boy?”
The proprietress only had time to shake her head before he raced back up the stairs.
Maybe Richard had changed his mind about taking the boy to the hearing without telling him.
Silas worked at calming his erratic breathing. He thumped on Richard’s door, and it swung inward with the force.
“Wha—!” The man frowned at him from where he was stuffing something into a trunk atop his bed.
“Where’s Anthony?”
“How am I supposed to know? You said you were taking him.”
He rubbed a hand down his face and turned back into the hallway. Perhaps he’d missed the boy returning from the necessary or saying good-bye to Myrtle or swiping a cookie . . .
In the hallway, something white lay wedged in a floorboard under his door, shivering in a draft. He snatched it up, hoping somehow a torn bit of Lucy’s journals had clung to his clothing earlier and dropped.
But the writing was definitely not her swirling, cramped penmanship—but a child’s.
Tell Miss Dawson not to worry about me and not to come after me. I can do just fine by myself.
Silas crumpled the note and groaned.
He slammed his fist against the wall, wincing at the splintering crack of wood and the pain shooting up his elbow. The boy couldn’t have gotten far. Silas ran to Richard’s room and thrust the note at the man. “Seems Anthony decided he didn’t want to attend the hearing.”
“What?” Richard took the paper from his hand and stared at it.
“I’m going to the school to make sure he isn’t with Miss Dawson. Then I’ll . . . I don’t know. I’ll rent a horse and go up and down the streets.”
“I’ll go to the courthouse to explain.” Richard stuffed the note into his pocket.
“Let’s meet at the schoolhouse after Miss Dawson dismisses class at three twenty. Hopefully one of us will have found him by then.”
At Richard’s nod, Silas raced down the hall, his heart thumping so hard it felt close to breaking his rib cage.
Lord, help me find him. You and I both know what dangers lie out there for a young boy alone.
Chapter 7
“Let’s erase that.” Kate picked up her student’s slate. “You can’t forget to carry the one,
no matter how many numbers are in your problem . . .”
The door behind Kate opened. Was the hearing already over? Was Anthony . . . ? Her heart crawled into her throat as she turned around.
Silas stood in the doorway—alone. A few of her students began whispering, and his appearance certainly warranted whispers. His shirt was barely tucked, the laces of one boot undone, his hair mussed to the side.
His gaze razed the room. “Has Anthony been here?”
“No.” Her throat went dry. She touched Arvilla’s poofy-sleeved shoulder and handed the little girl her chalk. “Try again, dear. I’ve got to talk to Mr. Jonesey.” She gave the children her teacher glare. “Back to work, boys and girls.”
Once half of them seemed to obey, she shooed Silas into the hall.
Outside the classroom, he leaned against the wall, letting his head tip back against the hard plaster. “He ran away.”
Her breathing quickened. “What do you mean, ‘ran away’?” She glanced at her timepiece. “The hearing can’t be over already. How could he have run away?”
“He ran before the hearing. I checked on him after lunch, and he’d started packing his mother’s things, but when I went back to take him to the judge . . .” Silas ran his hands through his hair, then huffed. “Surely he’d say good-bye to you first, right?”
Kate bit her lip, her insides as heavy as the weight bowing Silas’s shoulders. Anthony couldn’t be gone—not without her.
“Don’t play with me, Miss Dawson. If you’re hiding him—”
“I’m not.” Though she had thought of different ways to sneak off with him after the hearing, those plans involved an adult being with him, not him being alone. “I wouldn’t hide him from you.”
The pinched lines surrounding Silas’s mouth deepened.
“What about Richard? Do you know where he is?”
“He went to tell the judge Anthony’s missing.”
She hesitantly placed a hand on Silas’s arm. If only she could smooth away the furrows in his brow, but she felt her own worry lines pinching in around her eyes. “It’ll be all right. We’ll find him.”
He gazed up at her from his slumped posture, his green-hazel eyes drawing her into his worry. “So he didn’t come by?”
She swallowed and shook her head.
Silas pushed off the wall and paced. “But I wouldn’t have left without seeing you first.”
He wouldn’t have? Her hand crept up to her throat, where a sudden lump had stuck. He wouldn’t have left Missouri without saying good-bye to her?
Silas pivoted and walked back toward her, gesticulating. “I didn’t leave the orphanage without saying good-bye to Jonesey . . . of course I didn’t say anything he’d have interpreted as me running away either, just a good-bye of sorts.” He about-faced. “And you mean more to Anthony than Jonesey meant to me. . . .”
“I’m lost.” Who was this Jonesey, again? And why did it matter? “What does this have to do with anything?”
Silas stopped pacing and walked toward her. “You’re the person who matters most to Anthony—he’d not leave you in the dark.”
So Silas hadn’t meant he personally would miss her—just if he were in Anthony’s position, he would’ve stopped by. Her stomach sank lower, if that was even possible. And why did she even care about Silas missing her—or rather that he wouldn’t—when Anthony was in trouble?
“When I was in his place, I would’ve made sure I’d seen you at least once before I left for good. Surely he’d do the same.”
Left for good? She’d been girding herself for the last day she’d see Anthony, but to never know what became of him? Her knees grew weak. “But he hasn’t, so—”
“If he told you he was running away, you’d have stopped him, right?”
“Of course. He’s only a boy.” She looked at the wall clock at the end of the hallway. “When did you say you found him gone?”
“Right before we were to leave for the hearing. Last I saw him was lunchtime.”
How far could a boy have gotten in less than an hour? But if he’d hopped the train . . .
She glanced past Miss Jennings’s room. Mr. Tanner and Miss Leeright shouldn’t mind taking her students too much. “Let me get the children switched over so I can help—”
He caught her by the wrist. “No, don’t jeopardize your job. It’s not long until school’s over.”
She looked at her hand caught in Silas’s grasp. How could she continue teaching knowing Anthony had disappeared? “I could help you find him.”
“I’m hiring a horse so I can look around town.” He blew out a breath. “You stay here, and I’ll go wherever you think I should look first.”
“It’d be easier to show you.” She opened the door. “Class—”
“No.” He placed his hand on top of hers on the doorknob.
The heat of him trapped her against the door, and her breath momentarily disappeared. If it hadn’t been for the nightmarish information he’d just told her, she might let herself dream about him inching closer, his mouth descending—
Wait. She glanced to the side, and her whole body flushed. The eyes of half her students focused on them. “You need to step away from me,” she whispered.
His hand dropped, and he used it to rub his left eye. He blinked hard, shook his head a little, and backed up. He looked pained, maybe distracted. Hopefully distracted enough to miss that her face was likely bright pink. “I don’t want you to lose your job, Kate. You were close enough to that before Anthony did this.”
She stared at him, his face full of concern . . . and handsomer close up. Did he truly care what happened to her since it wouldn’t affect him or Anthony? “You’re right, I might get in trouble, but surely a boy’s life is more important than a job.”
Silas shook his head. “Please don’t get fired. Give me places to look, and if I haven’t found him by the time school’s over, you can give me more suggestions.”
Did he think she’d only give him suggestions? She’d be out looking the second her last student left. Staying now went against her every inclination, though Anthony’s well-being was soon going to be none of her concern.
No, Anthony would always be her concern, even if only in prayer.
“All right.” She closed her eyes to think since Silas was still close enough for her to see the dark green rim around his golden irises. “Check the shacks at the end of Fifth Street—they used to live in the one with the peeling green paint. And maybe the shops on Main? He likes to look in the windows, especially at the toy store, but I can’t imagine he’d just sit there waiting . . .”
“That’s enough to start.” Silas turned and left without even a wave.
A small hand wriggled into hers. Arvilla blinked her doll eyes up at her. “Can we pray for Anthony before school lets out?”
The sounds of children fidgeting in their seats reminded her how far away that was.
“Momma says we can always pray, even when we can’t do anything else.”
Kate nodded. “Your momma’s right.” As much as she wanted to look for Anthony right now, she had children to tend, a job to keep.
Oh, God, please let us find Anthony. I’m sorry I railed at you last night about taking him away from me. And I thought I knew where he was going then. This could be so much worse.
Silas rubbed at the ache behind his eyebrows. He threaded his way toward the school steps amidst a sea of exiting children, grabbed the swinging door, and turned down the hallway.
Kate flew out of her classroom, hat and umbrella in hand. She gave him a once-over, and her frown deepened. “You didn’t find him.” She barreled past him, pinning her hat on as she walked. “We’ve got no time to lose. The sun’ll be down before we know it.”
He reeled a bit, then gave chase. “We need to wait for Richard. He could’ve found him.”
Please, God, let him have Anthony. Even if I don’t get to keep him, at least he’d be safer with Richard than on his own, where who knows what kind of sl
imy men could take advantage of him.
Not that Richard isn’t slimy . . .
Kate’s heels tapped faster against the tile floor. “We can’t wait around and twiddle our thumbs. Every minute, he gets farther away—”
“You don’t even know where I’ve checked yet.”
“Doesn’t matter. Anthony might have hid from you both. He’d come out for me.” Her skirts swished against his shin when he caught up. “But go ahead and tell me where you’ve been, who you’ve talked to, where you’re planning to look now.”
“We need to see what Richard knows first—”
“I can look while you wait for him.”
She shouldn’t go looking alone. He’d tried to find the house she’d mentioned, which had been in a rather rough neighborhood. “You don’t like listening to reason, do you?”
“Reason?” She flung out her hands, her umbrella hitting the wastebasket beside her. “What does this have to do with reason? Anthony’s out there alone.”
“Your job—” He shook his head. “Don’t you think Mr. Kingfisher will care where you go without a—”
“I go where I please.” She planted the umbrella’s point in a crack of the tile and straightened.
“All right.” He hadn’t the time or brain power to fight with her. And who was he to tell her what to do anyway? “I couldn’t find the shack on Fifth you mentioned. Maybe they painted it? But I looked around that area, from First to Seventh and from Main to Cypress.”
“I’ll go to the house first, then.” She turned. And with that she was gone. Reckless woman.
He trudged out behind her into the cool fall air.
Richard moseyed up the road from the east, whereas Kate had turned to the west.
“Kate!” Silas hollered after her.
She kept going.
He whistled loudly.
She turned and glared at him, but at least she spotted Richard and came barreling back.
If only the man had Anthony in tow. Did the boy have enough know-how to survive on the streets? The pickpocketing skill might indicate he did, but still . . .
“I take it you know nothing more about Anthony’s whereabouts than we do?” Kate said as she marched toward Richard.
A Bride at Last Page 8