To Find Her Place

by Susan Anne Mason

  On a deep inhale, Jane opened the front door and went inside. Please let Mama be all right.

  She removed her coat and boots and walked into the living room. Mama sat asleep in her chair, an afghan pulled over her. She’d likely stayed awake all night worrying about her.

  Jane glanced at the clock on the mantel. Eight thirty. The whole trip back, including the stop at the garage, took a lot longer than she realized. She should have been at Donald’s apartment by now so he could catch the bus and be to work at nine. But first things first.

  “Mama.” Jane gently touched her mother’s shoulder. “I’m home.”

  Her eyes flew open. “Oh, Janey. I was so worried.”

  “I would have called if I could. We had a bit of trouble with the car and—”

  “Your head!” Horror filled Mama’s eyes.

  “It’s just a bump. Nothing to worry about.” Jane smiled to reassure her. “How are you doing?”

  Mama pressed a hand to her throat. “I had a bad night. Barely slept at all. But I’m fine now that I know you’re home.”

  “I’m so sorry I worried you.” Jane reached over to hug her. “It was a long night, and we still haven’t found Martin. A police officer drove us home. He’s going to send out some men to search for him. I only hope Martin found somewhere to wait out the storm.”

  “I’m sure the good Lord is looking out for him.” Mama gave a tired smile.

  A rush of guilt filled Jane’s chest. She’d been neglecting her mother lately. All the time spent with little Patrick had taken most of her focus and energy. By the time Donald got back in the evenings and Jane caught the bus home, it was too late to start making dinner, so Mama had even started to cook for them during the week.

  “I’m sorry I’ve neglected you lately, Mama. Would you like me to get you something before I leave for Donald’s? Or would you like to lie down?”

  Mama just smiled and laid her hand against Jane’s cheek. “You worry too much, Janey. I’m stronger than you think. It’s been a nice change these last couple of weeks to help care for you. It gives me something to focus on besides being ill.”

  “Really?” Jane couldn’t imagine that being the case. But other than looking tired, Mama did seem more like herself than she had in a long time.

  “I know you think you have to do everything for me, but maybe it’s not the best thing,” Mama said gently. “Maybe it’s time I started being a little more independent. Help you around here for a change so I won’t be such a burden.”

  Jane grasped her mother’s hand. “Oh, Mama. You’ve never been a burden. I just want you around for as long as possible.”

  “There’s no need to worry about that.” She gave a serene smile. “God’s already got it all worked out.”

  The telephone rang, and Jane jumped. “That’s probably Donald.” She swallowed and picked up the receiver.

  “Jane! Where are you? You were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago. Mrs. Hedley has already left for the train station so there’s no one to stay with Patrick.” Donald’s strident tone jarred her already-frayed nerves.

  “I was about to call you. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Garrett and I were in a small accident last night, and I—”

  “An accident? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. I’ll tell you the story later. Right now, I need to call a cab.”

  She hung up before he could even say good-bye.

  37

  Garrett waved to the tow truck driver to indicate that the car was working fine. Other than a dent in the passenger door and another in the right front fender, the rest of the vehicle appeared intact. After checking the fender, the tow truck driver had said it wouldn’t scrape against the tire, and with the engine starting on the first try, Garrett was ready to continue the search.

  He’d used the telephone at the mechanic’s to contact the Blackwoods, who hadn’t learned anything new about Martin’s whereabouts. They’d sounded upset that the police hadn’t taken it more seriously. It wasn’t until just after midnight that the department had finally sent out a patrol car. Garrett assured the couple that he’d keep looking for Martin and would let them know the minute he had any news.

  Now, despite his eyes being heavy from lack of sleep, Garrett set off on the route he and Jane had been following. He only prayed Martin had found shelter somewhere and hadn’t been out all night in the elements.

  Half an hour later, he arrived at his parents’ house, having seen no sign of the boy or a bike along the way. His last-ditch hope was that Martin had somehow made it all the way to the farm.

  The front door opened before Garrett had even shut off the engine. His mother came out onto the porch, her brow pinched. “Garrett? What on earth are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

  His spirits plummeted as he trudged up the stairs to kiss her cheek. “I’m looking for Martin. He ran away from his foster home yesterday, and I thought he might have headed here to see Blackie.”

  Her mouth tightened. “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen him. And Blackie’s been inside all night.” She peered across the still-frosty grass to the barn. “Do you think he could be hiding somewhere on the property?”

  “It’s possible, though I think it would be a miracle if he made it this far in that sleet. I’ll go check the barn and the other outbuildings. Then I wouldn’t mind a cup of your coffee.” He managed a faint smile. “It’s been a rough night.”

  “I’ll make a fresh pot.” She pulled her cardigan more firmly around her and disappeared back inside.

  Garrett made a thorough search of the barn, the sheds, even under the porch, anywhere he thought a child might fit. But, as he suspected, there was no sign of the boy.

  Discouraged, irritable, and dirty, he strode back to the house, looking forward to a cup of coffee and something to eat.

  His mom poured him a mug and set it on the table. “No luck, I take it.”

  He shook his head. “After I eat and shower, I’ll head back to the city. Figure out what to do next.”

  Jett got up from his place on the mat beside Blackie and ambled over, his nails clicking on the wood floor. He laid his head on Garrett’s knee, and Garrett rubbed the dog’s ears. “You always know when I’m upset, don’t you, boy?”

  His mother set a plate of toast and scrambled eggs down, then stood, staring at him. “I feel like this whole thing is our fault. If we hadn’t made Martin leave . . .” Her voice broke and she turned back to the sink.

  “Mom, no. If this is anyone’s fault it’s mine. Jane tried to warn me the Blackwoods might not be a good fit for Martin. That another family was better suited.” He speared his fork into the eggs. “I should have trusted her expertise instead of forcing my opinion on everyone.” He chewed a large bite of toast and some egg, then took a long drink of the black coffee. “If anything’s happened to him, I’ll never forgive myself. Never be able to face Jane again.” He set down his mug with a thunk. “She’s considering remarrying her ex-husband just so she can adopt him. That’s how much she loves Martin.” His appetite waning, he got up and paced to the window, where he leaned his forehead against the glass, hoping the coolness would ease the headache brewing there.

  Silence pulsed in the room for several beats, until at last, he exhaled, his breath fogging the window. A warm hand rubbed his back.

  “I know how much you care for Jane, Garrett. This must be killing you.”

  Tension rippled through his muscles. “Yeah, it is. But I can’t be selfish, Mom. I can’t make her any promises when I don’t know what my future holds.”

  “No one does, honey. Only God knows the number of our days.”

  Slowly, he turned to face her. “That’s so strange. Jane said almost the exact same thing to me yesterday.”

  His mother’s blue eyes twinkled. “I knew I liked that girl.”

  A strangled laugh escaped him, and then he quickly sobered. “You should know I finally called the specialist and put my name on the waiting list for an appointm
ent.”

  She raised a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Garrett. That’s wonderful.”

  He pointed a finger at her. “I don’t want you getting your hopes up. Chances are nothing can be done. But you’re right. I need to know. One way or the other.”

  The telephone on the kitchen wall rang.

  “I’ll get it.” His mother whirled around, dabbing at her eyes. “Hello?” A small frown appeared between her brows. “Yes, he’s here. One moment, please.” She held out the receiver to him.

  He walked over to take it. “Garrett Wilder.”

  “Mr. Wilder, this is Officer Samuels. I hope it’s all right that I tracked you down.”

  “It’s fine. What’s going on? Have you found Martin?”

  “We think so. We just received a call from a farmer not far from where I found you this morning. He reported a break-in to a shed on his property. He also found an abandoned bicycle nearby. We’re on our way there now.”

  “Give me the address and I’ll meet you there.” Garrett reached for a pencil and paper on the counter.

  After the officer rattled off the rural address, Garrett thanked him and hung up.

  “Is there news?” His mother hovered near his elbow.

  “They might have a lead. I have to go.” He bent to kiss her cheek.

  “I’ll be praying you find him and that he’s all right. Be careful.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

  As Garrett sped along the road back toward Toronto, he did his best to keep from accelerating too much. The rising warmth of the day had melted most of the ice on the pavement, so at least he didn’t have to worry about sliding off the road again, but he should be mindful.

  He’d thought about having his mother contact Jane, but until Garrett was sure Martin was safe, he didn’t want to get her hopes up. As soon as he had anything tangible to report, he’d call her himself. That way, he could hopefully tell her Martin was all right and be able to make sure she wasn’t any the worse for wear after the accident and their night in the cold barn.

  Twenty minutes later, as he slowed onto the country road, two police cars came into view, parked near a lane leading to a farmhouse.

  Please, Lord, let Martin be safe. And give me the words to reassure him that everything will be all right.

  Garrett parked behind the second police car and jumped out. The faint sound of voices met his ears, and he followed the noise to the rear of the house. Not far from a wooden shed, a small group of people, likely neighbors, stood huddled at the base of a tree, staring up at the brownish leaves still clinging stubbornly to the branches.

  A German shepherd stood with its front paws on the gnarled trunk. They must have used the dog to track Martin’s scent. Garrett strode over to where Officer Samuels watched from the edge of the group.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Mr. Wilder. Glad you’re here. They flushed the boy out of the shed, but he climbed the tree and won’t come down. The owner of the property has gone for a ladder.”

  Garrett craned his neck to peer up into the leaves, and his gut clenched. The tree had to be more than thirty feet high.

  “Come on down from there, son,” another officer called. “Do as we say, and you won’t get in any more trouble.”

  Garrett rolled his eyes. That wasn’t going to entice the boy to cooperate.

  “Martin?” he yelled up. “It’s Mr. Wilder. Are you all right?”

  The tree rustled, but there was no other response.

  “You must be hungry,” Garrett continued. “Come on down, and I’ll get you something to eat. I promise you’re not in any trouble.”

  He waited a few seconds, but there was still no response.

  Garrett turned to Samuels. “Is it really necessary to have so many people here? I think I’d have better luck talking to him alone.”

  The officer shot him a disgruntled look, then nodded. “All right. I need to radio in to headquarters anyway.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Call off the dog,” Officer Samuels ordered. “And everyone move back.”

  One of the men whistled, and the shepherd instantly backed down. The man led the animal away while the rest of the group reluctantly retreated.

  Garrett offered a silent prayer as he approached the base of the tree, lamenting once again the pieces of shrapnel that prevented him from climbing up to rescue the boy himself.

  “Martin,” he called. “It’s just you and me now. Can you show me where you are? Move some leaves or something?”

  He held his breath and waited, peering up.

  Finally, a faint rustling shook some of the decaying foliage. Garrett swallowed hard. Martin was incredibly close to the top of the tree. What possessed him to go so high? He scanned the distance from the bare trunk to the leaves. The boy would still have to come a fair way on his own. The ladder would only reach so far. “The farmer’s getting a ladder. Can you start moving down? Very slowly?”

  “I-I’ll try.” Martin’s voice quavered as much as the leaves.

  He sounded in rough shape. Likely cold, hungry, and possibly dehydrated. Please, Lord, don’t let him have a seizure now. That would be disastrous.

  Garrett rubbed a hand against his chest, but it did nothing to ease the pressure building there. “Take your time. Make sure the branch is sturdy before you put your weight on it.”

  “Okay.”

  The leaves swished and swayed, but Garrett couldn’t see much except the odd flash of color. Seconds ticked by like hours as he waited, clenching and unclenching his fists in helpless frustration. He tried not to think about the fact that the storm might have weakened some of the limbs.

  Suddenly, all movement stopped.

  “The branches are too wet.” Martin’s tremulous voice drifted down. “I’m afraid I’ll slip.”

  “It’s all right. Take your time.” By Garrett’s calculations, the boy was more than halfway down.

  The farmer appeared then, carrying a long wooden ladder under one arm, the rear being held by another man. The two leaned the ladder against the trunk, checking that the feet were secure. The farmer tipped his cap at Garrett. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “I will. Thank you.” Garrett focused back on the tree. “All right, Martin. The ladder’s here. You don’t have much farther to go until you reach it.”

  The boy didn’t respond, though Garrett thought he heard sniffling.

  “Mr. Wilder, can you come up and help me?”

  Garrett’s insides twisted at the plaintive question. The poor kid was terrified. How could he possibly refuse to help? “I’ll start climbing up while you come down a few more branches. I’ll be waiting for you when you reach the ladder.” Garrett glanced back at the farmer, who stood not far away. “Would you mind holding this for me?”

  The man nodded, and then once he was in place, Garrett swallowed his trepidation and started up. Despite the frigid air, his back and palms slicked with sweat. The leaves above him rustled again as Martin began to move slowly downward. Finally, Garrett could see him through the thinning foliage. Martin’s shoes were splattered with mud and his pants had a huge tear in one knee. “Almost there, buddy. You’re doing great.”

  Garrett stretched one hand up toward him, anticipating the moment when he could wrap his arm around him and know he was safe. Just then, a loud splintering sound ripped through the air. The limb Martin was standing on cracked beneath him. The boy cried out, his arms flailing.

  Garrett made a desperate grab to catch hold of the boy’s jacket, just making contact when the ladder swayed beneath him. Panic clawed up his throat. The farmer’s shouts from below barely registered as Garrett plummeted downward faster than a plunging roller coaster.

  A thousand disjointed thoughts raced through his mind. Please, Lord, don’t let Martin be harmed. Please bless Jane and comfort her. Please forgive me . . .

  He landed on the rigid ground with a sickening thud that knocked the air from his lungs. Almost im
mediately, Martin’s weight crashed down on his chest, sending a fiery pain shooting through his spine.

  Garrett’s eyes flew open. He struggled for air, willing his lungs to function as he stared helplessly at the angry gray sky above him.

  Then blackness overtook him.

  38

  Jane rocked little Patrick in the living room of Donald’s apartment, fighting to keep her own eyes open. Finally, after a valiant struggle, the little boy drifted off. She rose, crossed the hallway to the boy’s bedroom, and laid him gently in the crib. When satisfied he wouldn’t awaken, she inched her way out of the room and softly closed the door.

  At last, she could indulge in a cup of tea and relax for a few minutes. In the tiny kitchen, she put the kettle on the stove, her worried thoughts instantly turning to Martin. Had anyone found him yet? Why hadn’t she heard anything? She glanced at the clock on the wall. Though it was only three o’clock, the day seemed interminable. After very little sleep in the barn last night, then arriving late to face Donald’s silent rebuke, her nerves were chafing her very skin. She could use some good news right about now.

  A few minutes later, she carried her cup to the living room and set it on the table. The shrill ring of the telephone broke the silence. Jane dove to grab the receiver before the noise woke the baby. “Linder residence.”

  “Jane? It’s Mama.”

  Adrenaline flooded her body. “Mama. Is everything all right?”

  “Sarah Wilder just called. There’s news.”

  Why did Mama sound so nervous? And why was Sarah calling instead of Garrett?

  “What is it?” Jane’s voice cracked.

  “They’ve found Martin.”

  Her heart thudded heavily. “Is he okay?”

  “He is, yes. But . . .”

  “But what?” A chill slid down her neck, and her legs began to shake.

  “Garrett was hurt. He’s been taken to the hospital.”

  Jane gripped the phone, a loud roar filling her ears. “W-what happened?”

  “He was trying to help Martin down from a tree, and somehow they both fell.”

  Jane’s knees buckled, and she sank into a boneless heap on the sofa. Dear Lord, no. A jolt like that could cause the shrapnel to shift into his spine. Or, worse yet, into his heart.