The Heart's Charge

by Karen Witemeyer

  Rawley’s gaze flashed up to where Jonah walked. “You’re a Horseman?” For the first time, no trace of belligerence marred the young man’s face.

  Jonah didn’t bother turning around. “Yep.”

  “Then that settles it,” Eliza said, willing it to be the truth and not giving Rawley a chance to argue. “How many new boys should I expect for supper?”

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  Six?” Katherine was certain she’d heard incorrectly. But then Eliza nodded in confirmation of the number, and Kate’s stomach knotted.

  Six new boys? Tonight? That would more than double their occupancy.

  Lord, I know I’ve been praying for Harmony House to reach more hurting children, but so many all at once? I don’t know if I—

  “It’ll be fine,” Eliza said, her no-nonsense tone batting away Katherine’s rising anxiety as if it were no more significant than a gnat buzzing by her ear. She crossed the kitchen, grabbed a mixing bowl, and started dumping cups of flour inside. “These boys are used to sleeping in railcars. We don’t need beds. Pallets will do.”

  Katherine forced a calming breath into her lungs. “For now, yes, but if they decide to stay with us permanently, we’ll need to have beds made.” And how she would pay for that, she had no idea. But that was a problem for tomorrow, not today.

  She gave herself a mental shake and bent to open the door on the icebox. “‘My God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus.’” She murmured the beloved promise beneath her breath as she fetched the half-filled milk bottle and butter crock and set them on the worktable beside Eliza to aid in her biscuit-making.

  If it was God’s will for these poor motherless boys to find a home at Harmony House, the Lord would provide the beds. Trust and obey, Katherine. There’s no other way.

  Reaching back into the pie safe, she pulled out the ham she’d been saving for tomorrow’s breakfast and joined Eliza at the worktable, slicing it into thin strips. The leftover beef and potatoes they’d planned to eat wouldn’t stretch far enough. Ham, biscuits, and Eliza’s red-eye gravy might be rudimentary, but it was filling. And on hand. The most important factor at the moment.

  Eliza had returned barely twenty minutes ago and had left Mr. Brooks and a boy named Rawley in the barn with a washtub, a kettle of hot water, a cake of soap, and an order to clean up. Since then, she’d shared the few details she knew about Rawley’s near kidnapping and warned Katherine of the impending arrival of an army of boxcar boys. Dozens of additional questions begged to be answered, but they’d have to wait. A meal needed to be served in less than an hour to twice as many mouths as they’d originally anticipated.

  Katherine did a bit of mental calculation. Not all mouths were created equal. Since Mark and Mr. Brooks were staying, it would probably be wise to triple, not double, the amount of food. Eliza had invited the Horsemen to take up residence in the barn until they caught whoever was abducting children. A security measure Katherine fully supported. The children must be kept safe.

  Not to mention that housing the Horsemen offered the additional benefit of increased opportunities for her to see Mark and explore what was resurrecting between them. After spending several hours in his company today, her urge to explore had expanded to Lewis and Clark proportions.

  Once she finished slicing the ham, Katherine scraped it from the cutting board into a skillet and covered it. They’d fry it up later when their company arrived. Wiping her hands on her apron, she looked over at Eliza, who was flouring the worktable surface for biscuit kneading.

  “I’m going to collect blankets and pillows for our guests.”

  Eliza nodded, her attention focused on the sticky dough coating her fingers. “I’ll set extra water on to boil. Those boys will need a thorough scrubbing before laying their heads on our linens. Can’t allow lice or other vermin into the house.”

  Katherine hesitated in the kitchen doorway. “Will forcing a bath on them scare them away?” As much as she appreciated cleanliness, she also realized that feral boys were about as fond of bathing as feral cats.

  Eliza dropped the biscuit dough onto the floured surface and jabbed the heel of her hand into the middle of the lump. “They’ll follow where Rawley leads.” She glanced up and grinned. “I made Jonah promise to see the boy clean before coming up to the house. If Rawley is forced to bathe, he’ll make sure the others suffer the same indignity.”

  “You don’t think Mr. Brooks will sympathize with the boy and let him off the hook?”

  Eliza ducked her head and refocused on her kneading. “He’s not exactly the soft, sympathetic type. If he says he’ll see a job done, he’ll see it done.”

  The words painted a rather harsh picture, but the way Eliza spoke them made a smile tug at the corner of Katherine’s mouth. Eliza admired him. She might not admit it in so many words, but something had definitely shifted between her and Mr. Brooks during their excursion. Respect had blossomed, and Eliza didn’t give respect easily. One had to earn it.

  The tension in her friend’s shoulders revealed her wish for a change of subject, however, so Katherine obliged. “Would you prefer I set out the pallets in the front parlor or upstairs in the classroom?”

  “The classroom, I think.” Eliza pressed the dough into a uniform height with her fingertips. “Better to keep some distance between them and the front door. Just in case.”

  Katherine frowned, concerned for the new boys’ safety. She was tempted to arrange a seventh pallet so she could keep an eye on them, but stealing their privacy might goad them into an escape attempt, and she didn’t want that. Children needed a home. Love. Protection. But until she and Eliza could gain their trust, these boys would be more likely to value their independence over anything Harmony House offered. Life had taught them that freedom equaled survival. It would take time to show them that life had more to offer than mere survival. For tonight, she’d have to be satisfied with leaving her bedroom door ajar and trusting the Lord to wake her should a need arise.

  Perhaps Mark would have a recommendation. He’d been a boy once. She’d speak to him as soon as he returned from his interview with Althea Gordon. Katherine headed to the stairs, a swirl of anticipation eddying through her midsection at the thought of sharing her concerns with Mark. Seeking his perspective. Inviting him more deeply into her world. It was enough to make her a touch light-headed as she climbed the stairs. Gripping the railing, she pretended it was his arm and grinned all the way to the top.

  Mark fiddled with his hat as he stood in the hall outside Miss Gordon’s classroom. He’d been cooling his heels for about twenty minutes, waiting for her to finish a tutoring session with one of her students.

  The other teacher, Mrs. Williams, had been on her way out when he arrived and had graciously escorted him upstairs. He’d asked if she’d heard any rumors about missing children, and she’d seemed genuinely shocked by the idea. Kingsland was a close-knit community. If a child were to go missing, everyone would be called to action. Searches would be made until the child was found.

  The rising panic in her eyes reminded him that she had two young babes at home. Mark quickly reassured her that the local law had confirmed that no children had been reported missing in Kingsland. He also abandoned his original plan to ask her about unsavory characters lurking around Honey Creek. She didn’t need any more reason to fret. She made her excuses and left, no doubt hurrying home to check on the safety of her children. Mark made no effort to detain her. He simply leaned against the wall, hat in hand, and waited for Miss Gordon to conclude her lesson.

  Finally, the door clicked open, and a young girl emerged. “Thanks again, Miss Gordon.” The girl looked to be about ten. When she caught sight of Mark, she blushed and ducked her head.

  Mark smiled and nodded as she skittered by, and then he pushed away from the wall and stepped through the doorway. “Excuse me, Miss Gordon?”

  The woman standing at the blackboard paused her erasing to glance his way.
Green eyes widened at the sight of him, though more in curiosity than startlement. “Yes. Can I help you?”

  “I hope so.” Mark grinned and crossed the threshold. “My name’s Mark Wallace. I need to ask you a few questions.”

  She smiled, set down her erasing rag, and moved to the edge of the teacher’s desk. “Of course. Do you have a child to enroll in school?”

  “No, ma’am.” He chuckled lightly and shook his head. “’Fraid I’ve not been blessed with a wife and children.” Yet. Crossing paths with Kate again had put ideas in his head, though. Ideas regarding roots and proper soil. He needed to till things up a bit more, ensure the ground would prove fertile before he risked another planting, but early signs indicated promising possibilities.

  Mark didn’t miss the flare of interest that sparked in the teacher’s eyes at the mention of his bachelor status. Miss Gordon leaned a hip on the corner of the desk and twisted slightly to show off her figure to full advantage. Usually he welcomed such a response. It made his work easier, after all. Charming information out of ladies required the ladies to actually be charmed. But something about this situation felt different. Flirtation no longer seemed like a harmless means to an end. It felt . . . disloyal. To Kate. Not that they had an understanding between them, but a man considering a commitment to one woman should not behave in a way that could lead her to believe him fickle in his affections. Nor should he give another woman reason to believe his interest lay anywhere other than where it did.

  So even though past experience urged him to move closer, to capitalize on the flash of attraction he’d seen in the teacher’s eyes, Mark retained his position near the door. He retained his smile as well. Friendly was different than flirty.

  “I was told you were the one to talk to about rumors that might be circulating among the grade school crowd.”

  Althea Gordon’s brows lifted. “Oh? And what interest could a man with no family and no ties to the Kingsland community possibly have in childish gossip?”

  She was smart. Protective too. Excellent qualities in a teacher. Unfortunately, such qualities made extracting information a little more complicated.

  Mark pointed his hat at her and kept his voice light. “Fair question.” Using his most disarming grin, he took one step deeper into the room. “My partner and I have been hired to look into some rumors about area children who have gone missing.”

  His statement knocked Miss Gordon backward. She gripped the desk for support. “M-missing children?” Her posture started to crumple, but she restored her composure in quick order. Straightening her spine, she met his gaze. “I’ve not heard a word about such things. Neither in the classroom nor among any of my acquaintances in town.” She leaned away from the desk and stood to her full height, which was tall for a woman. Her head nearly stood level with his. “I don’t know who hired you, sir, but I can’t help wondering if it might have been under false pretenses.”

  Mark shrugged, hoping to put her at ease. “It’s possible. We’re still in the very early stages of our investigation. But I’m sure you’ll agree that if there is even a sliver of a chance that these rumors are based in truth, we need to pursue any leads we uncover.”

  “Of course.” Miss Gordon paced away from him, her fingers tracing the edge of her desk until she reached the far corner. When her fingertips ran out of real estate, she pivoted sharply to face him. “What can I do to help?”

  “Just listen for any talk among the children about kiddy-snatchers. That’s the terminology used in the rumors we’ve heard. Also, if you see any strange men hanging around the school or watching the kids, jot down a description and bring it to me over at Harmony House. I’m doing some repair work at the foundling home, so that will be the best place to find me. If I’m not there when you visit, you can leave a note with either Miss Palmer or Miss Southerland. They’ll see that I get it.”

  “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out,” Miss Gordon said, a thoughtful look coming over her face. “Harmony House. Is that where these rumors first surfaced?” She hesitated, but not long enough for him to insert an answer. “The children there come from rough, sometimes tragic circumstances. From my experience, children lacking a stable home environment are prone to seek adult attention in whatever way they can. Some strive for perfection in order to please their guardians, others act out, and some invent wild stories to elicit sympathy or reassurance.”

  Mark couldn’t argue with her observation, yet it riled him a bit to have her assume that the children of Harmony House would be the only ones to fall into such behavior patterns. He’d known plenty of rowdy boys back in Westfield who had acted out or made up wild stories despite being raised in traditional homes.

  “The one who brought this matter to our attention has no ties to Harmony House, ma’am, but we have spoken to the two proprietresses there about the matter, just as we’ve spoken to you and Mrs. Williams.”

  “Of course.” Althea Gordon’s tight smile showed her to be less than pleased.

  Did she resent not being the first teacher approached on the matter? Or had she picked up on the fact that he didn’t fully buy into her theory?

  “Who else do you plan to share your concerns with?” she asked, a touch of stridency tightening her voice. “I would hate to see the town thrown into a panic.”

  Mark lifted a conciliatory hand. “We are being very discreet, I assure you. My partner spoke to the deputy this morning, and by now, he and Miss Southerland have spoken with Mrs. Fieldman at the Negro school. We agree that it’s best to keep things as quiet as possible. If the rumors prove unfounded, we avoid unnecessary panic. And if there is something afoot, the fewer people who know, the slimmer the chance that someone will inadvertently tip off the guilty parties. So while we would appreciate your vigilance, Miss Gordon, we would also appreciate your silence.”

  She gave a stiff nod. “You have both, sir. Thank you for taking me into your confidence.” Her tone made it clear their conversation had come to an end.

  Mark dipped his chin and fit his hat onto his head. “Thank you for your time, ma’am. I’ll let you get back to your duties.”

  “Good day, Mr. Wallace.”

  “Good day, Miss Gordon.”

  Mark left the school and collected his horse, preparing to return to Harmony House for supper and an update on what Jonah and Eliza had learned from their meeting with Mrs. Fieldman. He’d just mounted and turned Cooper to the west when he caught sight of Jonah and Augustus approaching at a fast clip.

  Instincts on alert, Mark nudged his gray into a canter. As he and Jonah met, they each reined in their mounts.

  “Wart’s been taken,” Jonah said with no preamble.

  Mark’s stomach clenched as the unspoken fear he’d been carrying in the back of his mind ever since the boy failed to show at the livery that morning turned into harsh reality.

  “Sam’s friend Rawley was nearly snatched too. Managed to escape on his wits, but he’s injured. Eliza convinced him and the rest of his boys to hole up at the foundling home for a few days.” Jonah eyed him meaningfully. “We’re standin’ guard.”

  A hundred questions bubbled through Mark’s mind, but he stuffed them down. There’d be time later for explanations. Right now, they had a duty to perform.

  He turned Cooper in the direction that would take them to the Jackson place. “Let’s grab our gear and get back to Harmony House.”

  CHAPTER

  EIGHTEEN

  An hour later, Jonah had scouted out a spot in the barn loft and measured out the best lines of sight from the open hay door. He knew exactly where to position himself to have a clear shot to the foundling home’s back stoop. The path to the privy. The tree line to the east. Any position from which an enemy might advance from the rear. Wallace would guard Harmony House from the front, passing the night in a rocking chair on the porch, where he could monitor the road and the country lying southwest. Being on the ground would give Wallace the defensive advantage of speed in getting to the women and children
should the need arise. But the higher ground of the barn loft provided Jonah the offensive advantage. The gable end sat sixteen feet above the ground. A protected position. Not to save his own hide, but because a sniper was only as effective as his vantage point allowed.

  Jonah shouldered his rifle and sighted down the barrel, taking aim at the two windows that faced his direction. One from the kitchen. The other from the upstairs classroom where Rawley and his gang would be sleeping. Shooting into either room was out of the equation. Not with the women and children inside. Even with better-than-average night vision, he wouldn’t risk hitting a friendly target. So if the enemy made it into the house, he’d need a fast way inside. Wallace would be there, of course, but if more than one combatant breeched the house, or if one managed to take a hostage, things could turn ugly fast. Jonah would need to even the odds.

  Sticking his head out of the hay door, he eyed the hook used for loading hay into the loft. Lassoing a rope to the hook should work. He’d keep the rope coiled inside the loft. If the need arose for a quick exit, he could toss the coil out the opening, climb down, cross the yard, and be in the house in thirty seconds. Maybe less. Jonah frowned. It might be a good idea to do a few practice runs just to ensure there’d be no surprises.

  He stashed his rifle in the rafters, out of the reach of any curious young’uns. Boys were attracted to guns like mosquitoes to a swamp. Even with the loft declared off-limits, Jonah knew better than to assume those limits would be accepted without challenge. Rawley and his bunch were masters at skirting the law and doing as they pleased. Jonah wouldn’t underestimate their cageyness.

  After descending the loft ladder, Jonah crossed to the tack room and sorted through the lengths of rope available. The ladies didn’t keep much on hand, and what they did have was old and frayed. He tossed aside a length that failed to hold together when he wrapped it around his hand and shook his head in disgust. This stuff probably came with the house. Who knew how many years it had been sitting out here deteriorating? He didn’t trust any of it to hold his weight. Better to use his own. He strode over to where he and Mark had stowed their gear and unbuckled the rope strap on his saddle. He had just slid the coil free of its mooring when Augustus nickered in his stall.