What Once Was Lost (18 page)

Tommy’s bright expression faded.

Levi drew in a deep breath, ready to give the boy his promised talking-to, but then he expelled the air in one big
whoosh
. “Let me gather up your things first. I’m taking you out of here.”

Chapter 17

Christina dipped her pen and recorded,
A new family in town, the Spencers, are now providing shelter for Joe and Florie. This is the children’s second placement. I am gravely concerned the children’s security has been shaken. Different homes mean different structure, which makes it difficult for children to adjust, especially children at the impressionable ages of Joe and Florie
. She paused and blew on the ink to dry it. Leaning forward tightened the thick wool sock wrapped around her neck, and she reached to remove it.

Across the table Cora gave a squawk. “No, ma’am! Rose said I was to make sure you kept that on all day! Said it’s sure to make your throat better.”

Although Christina’s fever was completely gone and she’d regained her strength, she still spoke with a raspy voice. Earlier that morning Rose had arrived with a gray sock soaked in some kind of potent mixture. Christina had nearly gagged from the smell, but Rose had insisted the mixture of herbs, garlic, and camphor would have Christina’s throat better in no time. She’d been wearing it for more than an hour, and, thankfully, her nose had adjusted to the unpleasant aroma, but she still sounded as if someone had run sandpaper over her vocal cords. So rather than replying to Cora’s reprimand, she merely nodded and turned her attention back to the letter on the table.

While Cora shelled peas and the calico cat dozed under the table between Christina’s feet, she read back through her entire missive to the mission board. She’d filled two pages, updating the board on her charges’ situations. Alice, Laura, and Francis all shared one small room, which was dreadfully uncomfortable for them. Wes continued to reside in a stable. After living in Brambleville for a half-dozen years, surely Herman and Harriet were pining away from loneliness in their new location. Cora always looked wan and tired—the work at the boardinghouse was too hard for her. Tommy was without a place
to stay. Louisa and Rose had no complaints about their present location, but they missed having a home for which to care and a garden to tend.

The garden! Before long they’d need to plant vegetables and put in their corn and hay crop for animal feed. She’d always been proud of how much money she saved by canning vegetables and gathering berries and nuts to feed the poor farm residents. Would the board delay repairing the house until it was too late for Wes and her to plant seeds for a good harvest? She picked up the pen once more and added a reminder about the importance of being settled in time to put in the garden. She supposed Mr. Regehr might find her request impertinent since he’d been adamant about not leaving her in charge. But even if she was forced to step aside—oh, how her heart ached at the thought!—the others would still need to be fed, so a garden was imperative.

Just as she prepared to sign her name, someone tapped on the back door. Cora set aside her bowl and crossed the floor to answer the knock. Mr. Jonnson, with Tommy in tow, stepped over the threshold. Christina’s heart fluttered at the sight of the tall, blond-haired man. Although she’d never been given to girlish infatuation, she recognized stirrings toward the mill owner. She gave herself a shake. Those kinds of thoughts had to be quashed. She had too many responsibilities to allow herself to become enamored with a man, no matter how strong and handsome.

She shifted her attention to Tommy. The boy remained just inside the door, his hands clasped before him and his head bobbing about in his typical manner of trying to gain an understanding of his surroundings. As she moved toward him, hands outstretched to deliver a hug, his face pursed into a horrible scowl.

“Something stinks!” He pinched his nose.

Christina came to an abrupt halt. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she touched the sock at her neck. “You can smell that?”

Mr. Jonnson burst out laughing. “Miss Willems, a skunk would be less noticeable.” He wrinkled his nose, his green-blue eyes dancing with merriment. She wished he’d stop looking so young and attractive. His appearance
was doing funny things to her middle. He angled his head away from her. “What is it you’ve got there?”

Christina cringed. “A concoction one of the poor farm residents stirred up to help my throat.”

He nodded but kept his distance. “I can tell you need something. You sound like rusted gears. But that smell … phew!”

Tommy inched backward until he collided with the closed door. “Miss Willems, you smell terrible.”

Christina shot the boy a disgruntled look, which was silly since he couldn’t see it.

“Now don’t get all ruffled up, ma’am,” Mr. Jonnson said, his eyes twinkling despite his stiff stance. “Usually you smell very nice.”

She did? She blinked at him, startled.

Pink streaks crept from his collar toward his clean-shaven jaw. He rubbed his finger under his nose, an embarrassed chuckle rumbling. “This just isn’t one of those days.”

Behind him Cora snickered. Then she giggled. And then a full-blown laugh—the first Christina had ever heard from the young woman—poured from her. Laughter doubled her over. Mr. Jonnson shot Cora a grin before joining in, and then Tommy began to laugh, too—the three of them creating a joyful trio of merriment. In spite of herself, Christina found herself unable to squelch her own laughter. She did stink. And in that moment it
was
funny.

Laughter rang for several seconds, and for a moment Christina’s troubles seemed to melt away. How good the unfettered laughter felt. How long had it been since she’d allowed herself such an expression? Too long …

Mrs. Beasley stormed into the kitchen from the hallway. The cat darted beneath Christina’s skirt, and Christina, Cora, and Mr. Jonnson fell silent. Tommy’s chortling gurgle rang loudly on its own for a few more seconds before he sucked in a big breath and stifled it.

Hands on hips, the boardinghouse owner glowered at the now-silent
circle. “What is the meaning of this ruckus?” She fixed a squint-eyed glare on Mr. Jonnson. “And what is he doing in my kitchen?”

Christina turned toward the aggravated woman. “I apologize for the noise, Mrs. Beasley. We—”

The woman backed away, her face crunching into an expression of horror. “You reek! It turns my stomach!” Waving both hands at Christina, she backed up. “Get rid of that before you stink up the whole house. We’ll discuss this later.” She escaped down the hallway.

Someone sniggered. Christina whirled around to see Cora covering her mouth with both hands. An apologetic look crept across her face. “I’m sorry, Miss Willems, but I’ve been trying to find a way to keep her from comin’ in here an’ hollerin’ at us. Reckon we just found one.”

Christina knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Well, from now on I’ll allow you to wear the sock. I believe I’ve had quite enough of this aroma for one day.” She removed the offensive length of gray wool and tossed it into their sleeping room. Then she pulled Tommy into a hug, kissing his wind-tousled hair. He smelled of springtime—a delightful scent—and she filled her senses with it. Her arm around Tommy, she looked at Mr. Jonnson. “As Mrs. Beasley asked, what are you doing here?”

The twinkle faded from his eyes, replaced by a deep concern. “I’m here about Tommy. I guess you could say I just kidnapped him.”

“You what?”

Mr. Jonnson turned to Cora. “Could you take Tommy somewhere for a few minutes? Maybe to that room”—he tilted his head toward the bedroom—“or to Mrs. Beasley’s parlor?”

Cora scowled. “We ain’t allowed in the parlor, an’ with that stinky sock in our room, I’m not goin’ in there.” She took Tommy’s hand and drew him away from Christina’s protective arm. “C’mon, Tommy. I ain’t seen the outside since last Sunday. Let’s go get us some sunshine.” She escorted the boy out the back door.

As soon as the pair departed, Mr. Jonnson gestured to the small worktable. “Could we sit for a minute? I need to talk to you.”

Each time over the past few weeks when she’d been invited to talk, the bearer had brought bad news. Christina’s stomach knotted. Instinctively, she reached for Papa’s watch and curled her fingers around the cool disk. Fortified, she gave a nod and preceded him to the table. The cat trotted along beside her and leaped into her lap the moment she sat.

A lopsided grin formed briefly on Mr. Jonnson’s face before he slid into the opposite chair. He pointed to the furry creature. “Found yourself a friend, huh?”

“Yes. She’s a sweet girl.” Christina ran her hands through the cat’s soft fur, finding comfort in the animal’s presence. “I’ll miss her when Cora and I return to the poor farm.”

“When do you think that’ll be?”

Christina frowned. “I wish I knew …”

“It needs to be soon.”

His somber tone chilled her. “Why?”

Mr. Jonnson rested his joined hands on the table’s worn top and leaned forward slightly. Sunlight streamed through the window and fell on his face, bringing out the lighter strands of honey in his hair and emphasizing the green flecks in his eyes. “Because you have to get Tommy back to his home. You should’ve seen him in the room at the Tatums’ house. I couldn’t leave him there.” The man blanched. “It’s not a good place for him.”

She ducked her head, guilt weighing her down.

“The sooner you get the poor farm house repaired, the sooner he’ll feel secure again.”

He wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know, but how could she do it on her own? She glanced at the letter she’d written, hoping the words would be enough to persuade the mission board to act swiftly.

“It’s been what now … nearly three weeks?”

Miserably, Christina nodded. Long, weary, sadness-laden weeks.

Mr. Jonnson continued, his gloomy tone becoming matter-of-fact. “The weather’s nicer now. Spring is a good time for building, if the house can be rebuilt.”

“It can be,” she injected.

He tipped his head, genuine concern glimmering in his eyes. “Then why haven’t you started?”

His insinuation that she had made no effort to repair the house or to see to the needs of the residents stung. “Mr. Jonnson, I cannot manufacture the funds required to take on a project of such magnitude. I rely on the mission board for financial support, and they are—” In her mind’s eye the disdainful faces of Mr. Regehr and Mr. Breneman chastised her anew. She couldn’t bear to tell Mr. Jonnson the mission board was unwilling to support her place of ministry. Somehow she would convince the members otherwise. She would!

Mr. Jonnson sat silently for several seconds before clearing his throat. “Are they lacking funds?”

Christina knew the board struggled to keep all its projects in operation. She nodded.

“What if I …” He leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment, as if arguing with himself. Then he gave a little jolt and fixed his unsmiling gaze on her once more. “What if I donated the lumber. Would it help?”

Christina clapped her hands to her face. Had she heard him correctly? Had he just offered to provide the lumber needed to repair her home—her place of service?

“I haven’t seen the house. I don’t know how much damage was done. But I could ride out today, take a look around, get an idea.”

Christina’s ears rang, but Mr. Jonnson’s steady voice somehow managed to penetrate the high-pitched whine inside her head.

“I’ve got some of last season’s lumber left over—knotty pine, all flitch cut, so there are different widths, but the depth is all the same. It would do for rebuilding the outside walls.”

Excitement created a flurry in Christina’s stomach. “Y-you’d give it to me?”

He offered a slow nod.

She searched his somber face, her desire to understand this man overriding every other emotion. “But why?”

His lips twisted into a wry grimace. “I … have my reasons.” And then he fell silent.

Christina fiddled with the letter she’d penned. If she added yet another paragraph, sharing Mr. Jonnson’s wonderful contribution with the mission board, would it be enough to convince them to reestablish the poor farm at its present location? Might they even credit her with acquiring such a generous donation and rethink their stance on her ability to lead? Her breath came in little spurts as she considered the mill owner’s offer. She couldn’t refuse. She didn’t dare refuse.

But before she accepted his offer, she needed him to know exactly how much lumber would be required. She set the letter aside. “Before you commit to this donation, Mr. Jonnson, it’s best you examine the house. Noon is still three hours away. If we hurry, we can be there and back before it’s time for Cora and me to serve lunch. Would that be acceptable to you?”

Chapter 18

Cora, one arm around Tommy and the other holding the quilt closed around them, jounced back and forth as Mr. Jonnson’s wagon rattled along the road on the way to the poor farm. Tommy was pressed so tightly against her side they moved as one in the wagon’s bed. She smiled down at him even though he couldn’t see it. It felt good
—right
—to have him nearby.

She’d been drawn to Tommy from her first moments at the poor farm. Any fool could tell he was hurting. Hurting from being shucked away, same as she’d been. Maybe he’d been able to sense her deep pain—he possessed an odd way of seeing with his heart since his eyes didn’t work anymore—because he’d seemed to attach himself to her. Seemed to like her more than the others at the poor farm. She chuckled, marveling. What a pair they were, him with his broken eyes and her with her broken spirit. And no hope for either of them to regain what they’d lost.

The wagon hit a rut, jarring the wagon. Tommy released a little yelp and flailed his arms. Cora gripped him tighter and turned to glance at the seat, where Mr. Jonnson and Miss Willems sat side by side in silence. “We almost there?”

Miss Willems stayed facing ahead, all hunkered in her coat with a lap robe pulled clear up to her hips, but she nodded. “I can see it now.”