Carol Ritten Smith (33 page)

Judge Stone rose to leave first. “I think, Mr. Lanson, we ought to leave now. The Carvers have had a lot to deal with these last few days. I think they need some time to absorb this good news.”

The moment the door closed, Tom swung her around the kitchen again. Then abruptly her put her down and announced, “Let’s go tell Davy.”

“Yes. Right away.” They raced to the spare bedroom.

Their elation was short lived when they found an empty bed. Davy was gone.

“I don’t understand it,” she said, after having checked all around the house. Tom had just returned from checking the barn. “Where would he have gone?” she asked.

“He probably couldn’t sleep so he went to be with Bill at the livery,” he said casually, though the tense look on his face belied his calm manner.

Ten minutes later, they were inside the livery, waking up Bill.

Bill was immediately alarmed. “Davy wouldn’t run away.”

Tom took control of the situation. “Let’s not panic, here. He’s probably hiding somewhere. We need to take a good look around first before we jump to conclusions.”

Just the same, the first place they checked was the Whistle Creek’s boarding house where Mead stayed last night. The clerk told them that, not more than thirty minutes ago, Mr. Parkerson was led away by the authorities and Mr. Lanson and another gentleman were with him.

“Was Davy Patterson with them?”

“Little Davy?” the night clerk asked. “I didn’t see him.”

The morning sunrise was blocked by a heavy cloud, casting a gray pallor over the entire town. They checked the school, the smithy, and all the places he would most likely be, but found no trace of him.

“Tom, I’m scared,” Beth admitted.

He looked solemnly at her. “I guess we’d better get a search party out.”

Less than half an hour later, a large group of men and women gathered outside of Betner’s store. The town was sectioned off into quadrants.

“Check everywhere,” Earl instructed, taking charge. “Look in every building, barn, chicken coop. Check your root cellars, too. No telling where he might be hiding. Remember he’s small and he could fit in any tight space. If anyone finds him, bring him back to the church and ring the bell. All right, let’s go.”

Over an hour later, searchers straggled back to the church, having turned the small town upside down. Nothing. Several men volunteered to search the outskirts of town.

“Maybe he went to Gordie’s farm.” Beth spun to face Tom. “He stayed overnight there once before.”

“It’s a thought. Bill and I will check it out.”

“I’m coming, too,” Beth stated.

Tom didn’t waste precious time trying to deter her. “Fine.” They rushed to the barn.

“There’s no point in all of us going there,” Bill said, as he tightened the cinch of his saddle. “We should split up.”

“Right. You check Gordie’s. Beth and I will go the other way.”

“But the other way is the creek,” Beth said. “Davy knows he’s not supposed to go near there.”

“Honey, he also knows he’s not supposed to run away.” Tom gave her a boost into her saddle, then went around to his horse, thrust his foot in the stirrup and swung his leg up and over. “We’ll meet you back in town in … say a couple hours, if not sooner.”

Bill mounted his horse and took off at a hard gallop.

When Tom and Beth reached the creek, they reined in their horses well back from the jagged banks. The water, considerably higher than when they’d crossed it on the train the day before, glided swiftly past. Murky whirlpools swirled along the edges, while small rocks and mud trickled down into the water. The banks were dangerously undercut and gnarled roots were exposed to the elements.

Rain fell, at first in a fine mist, then in a continuous drizzle, soaking their clothing. Tom gave his hat to Beth. “Here, wear this.”

They road upstream along the bank’s edge, calling out Davy’s name, but the sound of rushing water drowned their voices. Often Tom would dismount, hand Beth his reins and walk along the craggy ridge, looking up and down the swollen creek, praying he wouldn’t find him in the water.

At every farm along the way, they stopped. The farmers, up about doing their morning chores, hadn’t seen any boy, but all promised to keep an eye out for him.

Disappointed and increasingly worried, they returned to the creek. Tom scoured the banks again. Then he saw something indistinguishable swirling in the eddy of a log jam.

“Wait there,” he ordered.

“What do you see?”

“Just wait there!”

Tom slid down the bank, grabbing at roots and shrubs, scraping his hands on the sharp wet rocks. Whatever it was, it was small and dark, twirling around and around in the whirlpool. Occasionally, the passing current would grab at it, threatening to carry it further downstream.

Wading out into the frigid thigh-deep water, Tom grabbed for the object. It was a shoe and, upon closer inspection, he read Davy’s name penned inside the heel. Staggering backwards, Tom fell against the bank, hugging the shoe to his chest. He groaned, fighting the pain in his heart as the drizzling rain ran icy runnels down his face.
Dear God,
he prayed.
Please, not Davy.

“Tom, did you find something?”

Hurriedly, Tom dumped the water from the shoe and stuffed it inside his coat. “No, nothing,” he hollered, and then scrambled up the slippery bank, glad for the rain which hid his tears.

“Maybe you should go back, Beth. It’s starting to rain harder.” He wanted to spare her the possible agony of finding Davy face down in some backwater.

“No! Two can search better than one.” Strands of wet hair slashed across her cheeks and water dripped from her nose and chin. “We’re wasting time. Let’s go.”

And time was important. Even now, the rain was turning to sleet. Spring snow storms could be surprisingly ugly.

“Lead my horse then,” Tom instructed. “I’m gonna walk along the edge some more.” As his eyes scanned the water and the banks, Tom told himself all he had found was just a shoe. It didn’t mean anything. Until he found Davy’s body, there was hope. There had to be hope.

Ahead, about a quarter mile upstream, loomed the train trestle, spanning the gully eroded deeper each spring by the rushing waters of Whistle Creek. Tom decided if he found nothing by the time they reached the trestle, he’d take Beth back and send some men to search downstream.

“Tom! I see him!”

“Where?” His heart stopped.
Please, not in the water.

“On the bank by the trestle.” Beth dropped the reins to his horse and spurred hers into a gallop.

He mounted and, from his higher position, saw Davy sitting on the bank, hugging his knees. “Thank you, God.”

Davy saw them coming, stood on one foot as if he were playing hopscotch, and waved.

Before her horse had come to a full stop, Beth dismounted and scooped Davy up into her arms, crying. “Oh Davy, thank God you’re all right. You gave us such a scare. What are you doing out here?”

“I was goin’ to Tannerville to see the judge, but I was too chicken to cross the trestle. And then I lost my shoe and I was too chicken to come back home without it in case you got mad at me.”

“Oh, Davy,” she sobbed, setting him down, running her hands up and down his arms as if to convince herself he was safe and whole. “I don’t care about a stupid shoe. I’m just so grateful you’re okay.”

“You’re not mad?”

Beth shook her head.

“Maybe she’s not, but I am,” Tom boomed, dismounting. “I’m mad enough to tan your scrawny hide. Don’t you ever pull a stunt like this again, you hear?”

“No, sir, I mean, yes, sir,” Davy replied, standing free of his sister to bravely face Tom.

“Well, good then … fine,” he said, his ire cooling off rapidly. “You had your sister beside herself with worry.” He didn’t dare admit how terrified he’d been.

He pulled the shoe out from his coat and handed it to Davy. “Here,” he offered gruffly, “I found this downstream.”

Davy took the shoe and put it on. When he stepped down on it, water oozed out around the sole.

Suddenly Tom’s hands began to shake uncontrollably, and he stuffed them deep in his coat pockets. “I … ah … I thought you had … ” He choked, unable to finish.

Beth went to him, touching his arm, and peered into his dark eyes. “He’s fine, Tom. He’s all right,” she said in soft, reassuring tones. “He’s just cold.”

Tom nodded. “Right, and it’s starting to snow. We’d better get him home where it’s warm. Into some dry clothes.” He lifted the shivering boy up into his saddle and then sung himself in behind. With a protective arm wrapped around the boy’s small waist, Tom pulled Davy hard against him.

They rode silently until Tom felt enough control to scold gently, “What were you thinking of, Davy, running away like that?”

“I wanted to see Judge Stone. I need to tell him something he doesn’t know.”

Tom glanced at Beth. “What doesn’t the judge know?” he asked.

“That I love you and so does Beth and that I want to stay here, and that it’s not right a stupid piece of paper can make Bill and me live with a mean old man.”

“We agree totally.” Beth smiled at Tom.

“And I want to tell him that all my friends are here and that Bill has a girlfriend. And, Tom, remember you were getting a puppy this spring and I was gonna help train it? It’s springtime now.”

“You’re right, it is, even if we’re likely to have several inches of snow before nightfall.”

“So you see?” Davy said confidently. “I’m sure if I talked to the judge, real polite-like, he’d let us stay. That’s why I need to get to Tannerville so bad. Before Uncle Mead comes to get us.”

Tom hugged Davy close. “You don’t need to worry about your Uncle Mead ever again.” While they rode back to Whistle Creek, Tom and Beth explained all about the deception.

“So we can be a family now?” Davy asked, squirming about in the saddle to face Tom.

“Yup!”

“Yippee!” Davy yelled.

Beth’s heart swelled with happy emotions and her hand went instinctively to cradle the tiny bulge of her tummy. Yes, they were a family.

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