Abner finally looked at Mark. “She chose me, Mr. Wallace. Even though she got nothing in return. She chose me.”
“She’s a remarkable woman,” Mark said, his voice thickened by the emotion he couldn’t quite contain. Pride in a woman who would trust God to provide for her calling instead of bending to the demands of prejudiced wealth. Triumph for a hurting kid who’d found a love that would change his life. And just the smallest twinge of jealousy that he couldn’t yet make the same claim Abner had.
She chose me.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Jonah held the railing steady while Mark nailed in the last makeshift spindle. Jonah had arrived at the foundling home about an hour ago and joined Mark in his work. Not wanting to bring up their investigation so close to the house, where an open window or ill-timed visit around the corner could lead to one of the kids overhearing, he’d held his tongue and focused on helping Wallace with the repair work instead.
They’d found a handful of dowel rods in the barn to serve as substitute spindles. Jonah had cut them down, whittled the ends, and sanded them smooth while Mark straightened and refastened the spindles he’d deemed salvageable. The new rods might not match the rest of the balustrade, but they’d hold the railing secure.
After Mark hammered the final rod in place, Jonah signaled with a tip of his head for them to take a walk across the yard. Once at the barn, Jonah moved inside and braced his back against the nearest stall, choosing a position that allowed him to keep an eye on the door.
Mark dropped his hammer onto the workbench, then massaged his right shoulder, rotating his arm in a wide circle to loosen the tightness in the joint. Wallace had regained full mobility in his arm after taking a bullet last year, but the old wound still pained him from time to time. Especially after heavy use. Jonah didn’t insult him by asking about it, though.
“What’d you learn from the deputy this morning?” Mark winced slightly as he made one final rotation with the shoulder.
“I learned he’s young.” Jonah had been less than impressed with Deputy Bronson. He seemed like one of those kids who got the job because he knew the right people, not because he had any particular aptitude for the post. “He answered my questions, but I got the impression he wouldn’t make a move on anything without the sheriff’s say-so.”
Mark raised a brow. “The sheriff in Llano?”
“Yep. Name’s Porter. If I take that axle in for repair tomorrow, I’ll stop by his office and have a word. I doubt he’ll have any more to offer than Bronson, though.” Which had been precious little.
Jonah reached into his trouser pocket and closed his fingers around his father’s pocket compass. The feel of the smooth brass casing never failed to focus and orient him when he lacked direction. This compass had led his father north to freedom when all he’d known was slavery. With it, his father had taught him how to gain one’s bearing in unfamiliar territory and how to find his way home in the dark after long days of hunting. With it, his father had taught him about the unchanging nature of God. How his presence was always ready to guide those who sought him.
This one’s murky, Lord. If you could see your way to pointin’ the needle in the right direction, I sure would appreciate it.
“So what did Deputy Bronson offer?” Mark asked.
Jonah released his hold on the compass and brought his hand up to rub at an itchy spot at the back of his neck. “Said no one had reported any missing children.”
Mark frowned. “So either no children are truly missing . . .”
“Or children are missing, but no one has reported it,” Jonah finished.
Mark scowled and pushed away from the workbench, agitation sending him pacing across the barn floor. “Who wouldn’t report a missing child?”
“Not all kids have family, Wallace. And of those who do, not all would trust a lawman.”
Mark ceased his pacing. “You’re right.” He blew out a breath. “Just this morning Abner told me the story of how he came to be here. His mother worked in a saloon. Abner was an . . . unintended consequence of her profession. She never wanted him. Treated him abominably. Drank so much she probably wouldn’t have noticed for days if he went missing. I’m thinking it’s a blessing she abandoned him so he could find a home here. Something tells me Kate and Eliza would tear the town apart if one of their flock went missing.”
A flash of lavender skirt at the edge of Jonah’s vision had him straightening away from the wall and standing at attention in a heartbeat. But it wasn’t soon enough.
“Who’s missing?” Eliza Southerland swept into the barn, her eyes piercing his with all the ferocity of a tigress preparing to fight for her cubs.
Mark spun to face the headmistress of Harmony House, but for once his smooth tongue failed him. Of course, it wasn’t Mark she was looking to for answers. No, her gaze had locked on Jonah, pinning him to the stall wall as effectively as a javelin.
Eliza marched into the barn on a mission. Katherine might have sent her to call their uninvited handymen to lunch, but the moment Eliza heard Mr. Wallace mention Abner’s name, her objective changed. Halting just outside the door, she’d shamelessly eavesdropped, determined to learn as much as she could about why these men were truly here. Wallace might have courting on his mind, but Mr. Brooks?
A little tickle stirred in her belly, but she eradicated it with ruthless force. She was far too headstrong to attract a man. Friends and family had been expressing that opinion for years, hoping she’d take a softer stance, she supposed. Not that it had the desired effect. She didn’t have time to worry about attracting a man. Not when there were needy children to care for. And if there were children in danger here in Kingsland, no man was going to keep her in the dark.
Without slowing, she bypassed Mr. Wallace with his half-open mouth and strode straight to Mr. Brooks. “Explain.”
The irritating man just stood there, his stoic face giving nothing away, his uncooperative tongue frustratingly still.
Well, two could play the stubborn game. Widening her stance, she crossed her arms over her chest and jutted her chin. She’d stand here as long as it took. Stare him down. He was the interloper here, not her. This was her barn, her property. And the children of Kingsland were her responsibility. She wouldn’t let him go until he told her everything he knew.
The silence grew heavy. Tense. One minute passed. Then another. The urge to repeat her demand for an explanation became harder to ignore. She shifted her weight. The man in front of her shifted his mouth. Into an incredibly annoying half-smile. As if he knew her struggle and found it amusing. Which only made holding her tongue more difficult, as the desire to flay him with it nearly overwhelmed her.
“Hey, Wallace,” the obnoxious man finally said, breaking the silence as well as their eye contact as he glanced at his companion. “Why don’t you fetch Miss Palmer? Might as well fill them both in at the same time.”
“The children—” Eliza began to protest.
“Will be just fine,” Mr. Brooks finished for her. “Abner can be in charge while they finish their lunch. He seems more than capable.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Abner was a born leader, one the other children idolized. She and Katherine had depended on him more than once to tend the younger ones when their attention was required elsewhere.
The scuff of shoe leather on hard-packed dirt echoed behind her. She didn’t turn to look, preferring to continue glaring at the man in front of her.
“Be right back,” Mr. Wallace said as his footsteps retreated.
Once his partner was gone, Mr. Brooks straightened away from the wall, making him taller and . . . closer. Eliza swallowed.
“It’s not polite to listen at doorways, you know.” His voice was low, almost intimate. Her pulse fluttered in response.
Eliza frowned. Her pulse never fluttered. She didn’t have time for fluttering.
“Yes, well, it might not be polite, but it is certainly informative.” Her gaze darted away from
his, but she ordered it back to the front line. Embarrassment had no place here. She lifted her chin. “When one has neither the privilege of being white nor the privilege of being male, she must find other ways to balance the playing field.”
“Did your mother teach you that? Or your father?”
“What difference does it make? The lesson was learned.” And she’d really rather not share personal details of her upbringing with a man she’d just met. One just passing through.
“It makes a difference.” The statement was so simple, yet the depth ringing inside it rocked her back on her heels. “Lessons taught from love bring wisdom. Lessons spawned from fear and pain often come with cynicism and bitterness attached, which can cloud the truth.”
“And you’re the all-wise seer of truth, are you?” she snapped, not liking the way his words made her skin itch.
Something changed in his deep brown eyes as he gave a small wag of his head. “Nope. Just someone who’s spent a lot of years expecting the worst instead of looking for the best. It’s kept me alive, but sometimes I wonder if it’s also kept me alone.”
Eliza rubbed her arms, a stone or two shaking loose from her defensive wall. “What about your fellow Horsemen? Aren’t you close with them?”
From what she’d heard, only one Buffalo Soldier rode among the four. Mr. Brooks didn’t seem the type to ride with a group who didn’t respect him, but respect of a man’s skill and respect of the man himself were two different things. She’d been fighting for both types her entire life.
“They’re my brothers,” he said, his tone adamant. “But a man don’t live with his brothers forever.” Something in his gaze shifted. Warmed. Made her belly tighten. “Captain Hanger married Dr. Jo a few months back. Hung up the Horsemen’s spurs and took on a partnership with Miss Josephine’s daddy. Matt gave us all jobs at Gringolet, puttin’ our horse know-how to work. But seein’ him settle down, realizin’ there’ll be little Hangers running around afore long, the rest of us read the writing on the wall. The time’s comin’ for us to set up lives of our own. We’ll always be brothers, but we gotta be our own men too.”
“I can’t imagine anyone who is more his own man than you.”
It wasn’t until his lips tipped up at one end that Eliza realized she’d spoken the thought aloud. Heat rose to her cheeks, but she refused to look away like some foolish schoolgirl caught in a flirtation. She would not pretend to be anything other than who she was. Not for the father who had treated her like a daughter in private and a servant in public. Not for professors who warned she’d be too white to teach in black schools and too black to teach in white. Not for the wealthy donors who disliked the lack of segregation in her foundling home. She owned her thoughts, her beliefs, her principles, and she would not hide.
The longer she held his gaze, the more his smile widened. Yet the light in his eyes was not amusement. It almost looked like . . . admiration. Unsure what to do with that, Eliza fidgeted with the fabric covering her elbows until approaching footsteps signaled the blessed end of her torture.
“Eliza?”
She turned at Katherine’s voice and moved to clasp her friend’s hand even as she noted Mr. Wallace’s palm at the small of her back. Unbidden, thoughts of sisterhood and Jonah’s comment about how one didn’t live with siblings forever flooded her mind. Ever since she and Katherine made a pact to run Harmony House together, she’d envisioned this being their life’s work. The two of them ministering to children until their hair turned gray. But what if Katherine’s old flame rekindled their romance? What would happen to Harmony House? Katherine wasn’t the type to back out of her commitments, yet Eliza couldn’t expect her to continue serving at the same level if she started having children of her own.
A squeeze of her hand brought Eliza out of her thoughts. “Is it that bad?” Katherine whispered, her brows raised and her face growing pale. “Mark wouldn’t tell me anything beyond the fact that they needed to talk to us about some children who might be in trouble.”
Eliza patted Katherine’s hand and forced a smile onto her face. “Mr. Brooks told me nothing either. I just got caught up in my imagination for a minute. Sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
Some of the color returned to Katherine’s cheeks. “I am well acquainted with the dangers of an unhindered imagination.” She slanted an accusing look over her shoulder at Mr. Wallace and raised her voice. “So let’s end this subterfuge and get down to the facts. Who is in trouble, and how can we help?”
Mr. Wallace stepped deeper into the barn, but instead of starting the explanations, he gestured to his friend to take the lead.
Mr. Brooks glanced at Katherine momentarily, but his attention fixed on Eliza. “Yesterday when we stopped at Miss Georgia’s home, Sam and I had a chat.”
Eliza frowned. “Samuel Harris? Georgia’s grandson?”
“Yep. Seems he’s heard tales about kids going missing in the area. Miss Georgia is of the opinion that the source of the tales can’t be trusted, since the stories come from a gang of rail-riding boys, but I promised Sam I’d look into it.”
Rare for a grown man to take a child’s concerns seriously, especially when adults more acquainted with the child discounted those concerns. Eliza peered more closely at the man in front of her, a man who just might be worth heeding.
“I talked to Deputy Bronson in Kingsland this mornin’,” he continued. “No missing kids have been reported, but he did mention that cattle thieves and outlaws have been known to hide out in the hills by Honey Creek. He said if anyone was up to mischief, it probably came from that quarter.”
Eliza nodded. “I’ve heard the same rumors, but what would rustlers or outlaws want with children?”
“Dunno. Sam told me only young boys have been taken. Boys around his age.” Jonah shrugged. “Miss Georgia could be right. It could be nothin’ but a tall tale made up by a group of troublemakers to scare young boys.”
“Or it could be true.”
He nodded.
Katherine leaned forward. “If it is true, that would mean whoever is taking children is targeting those who wouldn’t be missed.”
“Like the boxcar boys,” Mr. Wallace added.
Eliza’s mind spun. “The villain would have to be familiar with the families in Kingsland to know who belonged to who.” A rather unsettling prospect to think that someone she passed in the mercantile could secretly be kidnapping children.
“Mark is going to chat up the local teacher this afternoon,” Jonah said. “See if she’s heard any rumors among her students.”
Eliza turned to Mr. Wallace. “Peggy Williams has been teaching here for years. She and her husband are good people. They live out by Honey Creek too, so she might have some insight into any unsavory element inhabiting that area. But if you want to know what the children are saying, you’ll probably want to talk to Miss Gordon. After Peggy had her second baby last year, they decided to bring in another teacher to help manage the workload. Althea Gordon works with the younger children. She’ll be the one on duty at the schoolhouse this afternoon.”
Mr. Wallace nodded, a thoughtful look transforming his usually carefree countenance into one befitting a scholar. Perhaps there were greater depths to him than she’d originally postulated. “What can you tell me about her?” he asked.
“Not much, unfortunately. Her specialty is local history. I heard she took the children out to Packsaddle Mountain a few weeks ago to teach them about the last major battle between the settlers and the Apache back in ’73, when the three Moss brothers and five other local men defeated a band of twenty-one Indians who had stolen their horses and cattle. The kids in town were talking about it for days afterward.”
“I see her at church sometimes,” Katherine added. “She travels to Llano a couple weekends a month, I think. Something about a sick father? She made a point to visit Harmony House after she started teaching. Introduced herself to the children and asked Eliza about her schoolroom. Even donated a set of old history books to o
ur limited collection. It’ll be a few years before Abner and Ruby are old enough to read them, but it was a thoughtful gesture.”
“That’s helpful,” Mr. Wallace said. “Thank you.”
Eliza looked at Katherine. “I can speak to Mrs. Fieldman at church on Sunday. See if she’s heard anything.” She shifted her gaze to Jonah. “Mrs. Fieldman teaches the Negro school out by Miss Georgia’s homestead. If Samuel has heard tales, there’s a good chance other children from that community have as well.” Feeling a sudden sense of urgency rise in her spirit, Eliza amended her offer. “On second thought, I think I’ll drive out this afternoon. Meet her when school lets out.”
Mr. Brooks shook his head. “Not in that hunk of rotted boards you call a wagon, you won’t.”
Eliza bristled at his audacity. “It’s not your place to dictate to me, sir. I’ll go where I choose, when I choose, and in whatever conveyance I choose.”
He moved only one thing, his eyebrow, yet he might as well have been lowering the barrel of a pistol at her for the level of challenge the gesture delivered. “I ain’t stoppin’ you from going anywhere, Miss Southerland. Shoot, I’ll even give you a ride there myself. You just ain’t takin’ the wagon. It’s not safe.”
And to think she’d almost thought him pleasant a few minutes ago.
Eliza planted her hands on her hips and glared at the overbearing soldier who thought he could order her about. “She’s tougher than she looks.”
Mr. Brooks advanced a single step. “Stubborn ain’t the same as durable.”
Why did she get the feeling he was talking about her more than the wagon?
The two eyed each other, neither giving an inch.
Until Katherine’s conciliatory voice interrupted the strained silence. “They’ve offered to have the wagon repaired for us, Eliza.” Her hand came to rest lightly on Eliza’s arm. “You know how much we need that. I fret every Sunday when you take Ted and the twins to church that something will happen. I know you don’t like to ride, but if Mr. Brooks is willing to take you up on his horse, you can still visit Mrs. Fieldman today without worry of being stranded or injured.”
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