by Janette Oke
Then she gathered her letter box and carried it to its cupboard. “Grace, did you borrow my blotting paper?”
Her sister’s answer echoed through the house, coming from the stairwell. “Yes, I’m sorry. I must have left it in the dining room.”
Lillian moved down the short hall in search of the missing item. Grace had been busy with writing of her own before she’d gone upstairs to tidy. Several pages lay spread out on the table. Lillian reached for her blotting paper and stopped short. The topmost letter began Dearest Rolly . . .
With all her heart Lillian wanted to read the letter, wanted to know the meaning of such familiarity. She forced herself to turn away.
Grace appeared in the doorway. “I’m sorry. I . . . I . . .”
Lillian kept her gaze held low, toward the blotting paper in her hands. “I found it.”
Grace opened her mouth to speak but closed it again. “Thank you for letting me use it.”
Suddenly it wasn’t enough to walk away from Grace while wondering if she had her own private world with secret attachments.
“I saw the letter,” Lillian blurted. “I didn’t read it, but I saw it. Is there anything you’d like to share with me?”
Grace lifted the back of one hand to her forehead, as if trying to wipe away the tension of the difficult conversation. “I wasn’t sure how to tell you. I wanted to discuss it with you, but I wasn’t sure how.”
“Do you—do you love him?”
A long, heavy silence. “I’m not sure. I’ve known him so long. He’s truly my oldest friend—like a big brother for years.”
Suddenly Lillian remembered where she’d heard his name before, why it had sounded so familiar. “He was the other boy—the one who moved out of the orphanage in Calgary with you—the one whose paperwork helped us find Willard Everett.”
Grace merely nodded, her eyes studying Lillian’s reaction.
“No wonder.” It was an indictment, though even Lillian had no idea what she was imputing to Grace. Lillian straightened and drew a deep breath. “Please let me know when you decide. I’d hate to have to find out anything more by accident.”
She marched out of the room and upstairs. For several moments she paced back and forth in her parents’ bedroom, made up her mind to go down and confront Grace, but then stopped and turned away at the last minute. Why am I so angry? Why does it seem everything is unraveling all at once? But it wasn’t easy to set her concerns aside. There were extensive implications to the whole household. Is this what Grace felt about Walter—this hollow worry? This anxious ache in her heart?
CHAPTER 19
Thief
Boys, I’m going to let each of you have a chance to use this rifle. This is not like the .22 long rifle you used before. This one is intended for larger game. But I’ll warn you, it has a bigger kick when you fire it.” Mr. Thompson demonstrated how to hold the gun firmly against their shoulders, how to brace their feet in preparation for the recoil.
Lemuel could feel his heart pounding as he mentally checked his body’s position. His eye sighted down the barrel toward the target Mr. Thompson had set up in front of a hillside. And then . . . Boom! The explosion wrenched his shoulder back. The echoes from over the wooded foothills followed in decreasing increments: boom, boom, boom. Lemuel grinned.
“Okay, Harrison’s turn.”
Lemuel passed him the gun, studiously aware of which direction he was pointing the barrel, just as Mr. Thompson had trained them. “It’s not bad. Just keep it pressed hard against your shoulder.” He had become an instant expert.
They tramped through the woods together for a while, found an appropriate place to hide. Mr. Thompson showed them how to locate a good tree with a branch large enough to hold their weight, high enough to see in all directions but well hidden amid the branches. He pointed out the trail nearby that deer might be traveling on through the woods. The boys took turns shimmying up and perching among the boughs. They waited noiselessly, hoping deer would pass by. At last they heard a tree branch snap, but Mr. Thompson raised his arm and walked out into the clearing in response. They understood by his movement that it wasn’t game that had made the noise.
“Danit’ada.”
From nearby the greeting was returned. “Danit’ada. Hello, Thompson.”
“Raymond, hello!”
The boy approached, this time followed behind by a smaller boy.
“Oh, it’s good to see you, John. How are you feeling? Much better, I hope.”
“He’s still unwell. Grandfather thought the fresh air would help.”
Mr. Thompson came closer, put a hand on the boy’s cheeks. “Yes, he looks a little off still. What other symptoms does he have?”
“He says his stomach hurts him. But the herbs have not seemed to help.”
Mr. Thompson frowned. “Raymond, would you be willing to come to my farm with me? I can have the doctor in town meet us there to look at John. It would make me feel better to know he’s getting the best medicine available from both our people.”
Raymond smiled. “I would like to see your horses again. They are very fine animals.”
It was settled. Mr. Thompson led the way back to where his car waited. Hunting plans were abandoned as the four boys packed in together for the drive out of the woods, back toward the sprawling valley and town. Once they arrived at the Thompsons’ again, Jesse took the car into town to fetch the doctor while Mrs. Thompson fed all the boys a snack at her kitchen table.
“I don’t like the glassiness of his eyes.” Her small, practiced hand went from forehead to cheeks and back again. “I’m glad you brought him home, Arthur. He does look sickly.”
Dr. Shepherd arrived soon and immediately agreed. He took John into the parlor for a quick examination.
“Mr. Thompson, think Lemmy and me could go outside with Raymond?” Harrison asked.
“Just stay out of the barns, boys. You know the rules.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lemuel fought the urge to pester Raymond with questions about his home and his people. Harrison was far more interested in hearing stories of his personal hunting exploits. Raymond was good at sharing stories. They stood in a row at the fence overlooking the back pasture and chatted for some time, until Mrs. Thompson called them back inside.
Dr. Shepherd reappeared with Mr. Thompson. He reported his conclusions to Raymond. “I don’t see anything that I find particularly concerning. I think he just needs a little more time for this to pass. It’s possible that John may be a little deficient in certain minerals. So I’m sending a tonic home with you.”
Mr. Thompson added, “Be sure to show it to Running Fox first. Explain to him that we have given nothing to John, that we would never do such a thing without his permission. But tell him that our doctor thought a few drops of this each day might make him well more quickly.”
“Thank you, Thompson. I will tell him all that you ask.”
Turning to Lemuel and Harrison, Mr. Thompson added, “You boys should probably head home. I’m going to take Raymond and John back, but there’s no reason for you to do that long drive again. And I’m sure you can make yourself useful back home.”
Their answer came with great effort. “Yes, sir.” It was disappointing not to spend more time with their new friend. Lemuel found Raymond fascinating.
“And I’m sorry we didn’t finish our hunting trip either. I hope you understand.”
“Of course, sir,” Lemuel answered for them both. “We want John to feel better soon too.”
“Good men.”
It was a slow walk home. Harrison kicked at a large stone, sending it gliding down the road ahead of him time and time again. “It ain’t fair. I don’t wanna go back.”
“Me neither, but we don’t have a choice.”
“Lemmy, can I tell you what I been thinkin’?” The rock skittered out ahead again.
“Might as well.”
“I been thinkin’, why don’t Mr. Thompson just adopt us? Both of us. ’Cause ’e
lets us come over, and ’e spends time with us. I think ’e likes us. An’ if we did . . .” The rock clattered forward, lost itself in the silence of the tall grass. “We could be there to ’elp with the ’orses all the time—not just every other day.”
Lemuel held his breath. What should I say to Harrison?
“Wouldn’cha like that, Lemmy?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Should we ask ’im? Think that’d be proper?”
Lemuel picked a stone for himself and flung it at a tree. “I’m going to tell you something. You have to promise not to tell anyone I did.”
“Promise.”
“It’s just, I heard Miss Grace and Miss Lillian talking. And the Thompsons, they do want to adopt us—”
“I knew it!” Harrison pumped up a victory thumb.
“Just wait. I’m not done. I guess they ain’t got enough money though.”
“We don’t cost much money, do we?”
“I don’t know. Maybe so. But if they don’t get enough money, they can’t.”
Harrison dragged his boots along, deliberately moving through a puddle. “They don’t gotta pay us anymore, if they adopt us. Think they know that?”
“’Course they do.”
Silence. A light icy rain began to fall from the gray sky above them. Lemuel hoped that Raymond and John would be home before the weather worsened.
“I’m gonna tell you one more thing, but you have to give your best, most solemn promise.”
“Lemmy, you can trust me.”
“I think he might sell Marisol to get enough money.”
“What?” Harrison’s fists clenched. He shoved them hard straight down toward the ground. “No, ’e can’t do it. We can’t let ’im.”
Lemuel began walking again. “Don’t think there’s much we can say.”
“No!” Harrison hadn’t moved. He stood still, a determined expression on his face. “We can’t let that ’appen, Lemmy. We can’t.”
“Come on. It doesn’t help to carry on about it. We’ll have to wait and see. We don’t get to decide. We just do as we’re told.”
Lillian pushed aside the covers, pulled her housecoat around her shivering shoulders, and hurried to straighten Mother’s side of the bed again. Without bothering to light a lamp, she hurried down the stairs to where Miss Tilly’s fire had already warmed the kitchen. Looking out the window, she saw there was a thick veil of white camouflaging the familiar yard. A beautiful November snow, crisp and unspoiled. The weekend’s icy rain had become snow during the night.
“The snow is so pretty, but I hate to think about trudging through it to get into town.”
Stirring a pot of oatmeal, Miss Tilly added, “’Specially for them twins. They’re so little. Wish we had a wagon to bear ’em to school.”
“Really?” Lillian answered through chattering teeth. “Because I wish it were Saturday instead of Monday. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all just stay here at home, cozy by the fire?”
“Wishin’ is fine and dandy, but it’s work what brings a profit.”
Lillian smiled. “I’m sure you’re right.”
The sound of stamping feet in the back entry announced that Lemuel was back from the barn, shaking off as much snow as he was able. Still, his hat and shoulders were dusted with the large fluffy flakes. “Can she stay?” he pleaded and produced the lanky Miss Puss from inside his jacket.
“Oh, gracious, of course—at least till she’s warmed through. But it’s probably more comfortable outside for her now with this blanket of snow than it was yesterday with that frightful wind.”
After breakfast and chores, the children assembled in the foyer and dressed for their dreary walk. Lillian surveyed them carefully. “Oh, Hazel, you’re going to freeze. The boys are all going to wear long trousers today. What if we put you in a pair of George’s, just until you reach school?”
A look of panic, then disbelief. “Miss Lillian, girls don’t wear pants.”
“But your legs, dear. You’ll freeze in just your stockings.”
She paused, looked out the window. “I know what. I’ll put on two pairs of woolies.” And she hurried back up to her room.
“Lemuel, be sure to walk slowly enough for the twins. This might be as deep as your shins, but for them it’s over their knees. So they’ll be slower than normal.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll carry ’em on my back one at a time if need be.”
There was a loud knock on the door followed by the whinny of a horse close to the porch. Grace reached the knob first. Mr. Thompson stood in front of them. His son Jesse held the reins of two horses just behind. “Can I talk to the boys?” Mr. Thompson asked.
“Please come in.” Grace scooted the children aside in order to make room.
“I’m sorry to barge in. It’s just that the filly has gone missing, and I wasn’t sure if the boys could remember anything about Saturday. Now, I’m not accusing you, but did you open any gates? Did you go into the barn at all where you might not have fully closed a door?”
“No, sir.” Lemuel shook his head hard. “We stayed where you told us to stay. We didn’t even open one gate. I’m sorry, Mr. Thompson, she’s missing? From this morning?”
“Yes, son, I went out to feed the stock and she was just—gone. No sign of how or why.”
Lillian reached an arm around Harrison. “Is there anything we can do? Can we send the boys over to help you look?”
“Jesse and I have looked all over, as best we can until the sun’s fully up. But I’m going into town to make a report before I head to the school. I know she was in her stall when I went to bed last night. It had already started to snow, and she isn’t used to it. So I brought her in and tied up the door carefully. I’m afraid . . . I don’t even want to say it, but I’m afraid she was stolen.”
“Oh no!” Lemuel’s face paled.
“Again, I’m sorry to trouble you.”
“Not at all. We’ll be anxious to hear more.”
He was gone again, the sound of his horses disappearing at the end of the drive. A hush had fallen over the children.
“Oh, Lemuel, I’m so sorry. Harrison, you must both be upset,” Grace said.
“I just don’t know how . . .” Lemuel wrapped his scarf around his neck, tucked the ends into his coat. “Can’t I go too, Miss Grace? I can help them look.”
“I’m sorry, you’ll all need to go to school.” She paused to pull her thoughts together. “But I will allow you to walk to the police station at lunch if Mr. Thompson hasn’t returned to school by then. I’m as anxious as you to . . . no, that’s not right. But I’m very concerned and I’d like to know what happens.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Lillian looked down at Harrison. He didn’t look sad. He didn’t look worried. He looked positively ill. “Oh dear, Harrison, you should sit down.”
“I’m fine.” He wriggled away from her grasp. “Let’s get goin’. We gotta get ta school.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, I’d rather just start walkin’.”
Before closing the door, Lillian expressed her concern again. “Look out for them, Lemuel, will you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Lillian gave up. She felt as if she’d been holding her breath all morning while waiting for word about the filly. When she realized that classes would be at recess for lunch in half an hour, she gave in to her worries. “I’m going to walk into town.”
Grace had been timing a spelling test for George. “What?”
“It’s not ridiculous. I’ve walked in worse weather than this. I just need to know what’s happening and I want to see it for myself.”
“I understand. I wish I could go with you.”
“Sure you can,” George offered. “We can all go.”
“Hush, son. Get back to work.”
Lillian wrapped up carefully, wishing she were brave enough to wear a pair of trousers under her own dress—or even to use a second pair of wool stockings like Hazel. S
he pulled her boots on and steeled herself against the cold snow she knew would soon sneak inside over the tops of her boots and stick obstinately to her stockings in clumps. It didn’t matter. She wanted to know what was going on.
By the time she made it to the street leading into town, she discovered that there were already paths through the snow. She followed along, hurrying as quickly as she was able. She would stop first at the school to pick up Lemuel, and they could go to the police station together. She tested a solitary prayer.
God, You know I don’t have as much faith as the others. But this prayer isn’t for me. It’s for the boys—and the horse—and the Thompsons. Will You please, please keep the filly safe until help can arrive? Will You please, please help them find her? Amen.
She met Lemuel in the front lobby of the school building as he was preparing to leave. He seemed glad to see that she’d come too.
“Any word at school?”
“No. But lots of the dads went to help look.” His face was grim.
“Maybe that will make a difference.”
“Maybe.”
Horses were tied to posts and trees all around the police station. It seemed that Lemuel was correct that plenty of men had come to help. They walked inside and Lillian got her bearings. Three officers in red jackets stood near the door, another Mountie behind the desk. There were clusters of townsfolk, even women, standing around the large room, chatting and drinking coffee. Lillian overheard a nearby man declare, “They should hang horse thieves. Shootin’s too good for ’em.”
She hurried Lemuel across the room toward the front desk. But her eyes met Walter’s and she changed course.
“Lillian, I’m surprised to see you here. You didn’t walk into town, did you?”
“Yes, I just couldn’t wait any longer. I’ve been so worried.”
“There’s no news. If it hadn’t been for the snowfall last night, we’d likely have been able to track her, but there’s no way to pick up her trail. It’s all covered over by now.”
“That’s too bad. What are they doing?”
“Goin’ out in crews, lookin’ in wider and wider circles. Thompson’s worried she won’t last long on her own. . . .” He looked down into Lemuel’s grieving eyes. “But no doubt they’ll find her. She can’t have gone very far.”