What Once Was Lost (20 page)

Chapter 19

Wagons crowded the street outside the Creeger Mercantile. Saturday was come-to-town day for the area farmers, but even so, Levi had never seen this many wagons here. He glanced up and down the street, puzzled. Was something special happening in town? He drove around the block and parked beside the bank on the opposite corner of the street. Hopefully, he’d be able to pull closer when it came time to cart out his supplies. With his lengthy list it would take several trips to load his wagon, and he didn’t look forward to trekking up and down the boardwalk, arms laden with crates.

The cowbell jangled as Levi entered the store. Its merry clang barely carried over the cackle and chatter of no less than a dozen female shoppers who clustered around a large table in the center of the room. Mrs. Creeger waved from her spot behind the sea of sunbonnets, a beaming smile lighting her face. “Good morning, Mr. Jonnson! Jay’s in the storeroom, but he’ll be right out to take care of you.”

Levi nodded in reply, then ducked between aisles to get out of the way of other customers. He listened to the mercantile owner’s wife chat with shoppers, calling each by name and inquiring after children, horses, and husbands. How the woman already knew everyone in town after only a few months in Brambleville, when Levi couldn’t call half a dozen residents by name after his years in the small town, confounded him.

People stepped around him, choosing items from the shelves. A few glanced in his direction—a couple of them even offered a brief, impersonal smile. But none attempted to engage him in conversation. Not like they did with each other or with Mr. and Mrs. Creeger. He was in their midst but somehow set apart. The same empty feeling that had captured him as he watched
Miss Willems and Tommy walk hand in hand to the boardinghouse swooped in again. What ailed him?

“Ah, Jonnson, there you are.” Jay Creeger marched up the aisle, brushing his palms over the bib of his starched white cobbler apron. He laughed, jabbing his thumb at the activity behind him. “Lost you in the throng. Running a special on dress goods today. I reckon every woman in town’ll be sportin’ a new dress by the end of the month!”

That explained it. He recalled his mother hurrying to the local mercantile when a shipment of calicoes and ginghams arrived, eager to choose a length for herself. A new dress, Mor always said, was a ritual of spring. Did Miss Willems have the funds to purchase a length of dress goods? He doubted it. For some reason the thought made him sad.

He dug his list out of his pocket and handed it to the mercantile owner. “Do you have time to fill this?”

“Oh, sure. Mary Ann’s seeing to the ladies, and they’re all so busy yakking I can take care of your order with nobody missing me.” Jay perused Levi’s lengthy list. He tapped the paper with one finger. “Got everything but this,” he said with a mild frown. “We stock coal oil, corn oil, an’ cottonseed oil but not linseed oil. I can check the catalog and order some for you, though, if you don’t mind waiting for it.”

Levi shrugged. “They probably have it at the Feed and Seed.” It meant another stop, but he’d need that oil to finish his buffet.

“If you want, you can head over to the Feed and Seed while I’m packing your things. You got quite a list here. Probably take me fifteen, maybe even twenty minutes to fill it.”

“That suits me. I’ll be back soon.” Levi sidestepped around the chattering throng and walked out onto the boardwalk. The happy voices of the shoppers faded behind him as he made his way to his wagon. Atop the seat, he heard only the crunch of wagon wheels and the steady
clop, clop
of the horses’ hoofs. In the past the familiar sounds had never seemed melancholy, but in the few
minutes it took him to reach the Feed and Seed on the far edge of town, loneliness descended with a heaviness that threatened to smother him.

For years he’d lived and worked alone with only his horses and his tools for companionship. And he’d been content. Alone had meant peaceful. Secluded. Secure. But now the cloak of solitude weighed on him like a rain-soaked wool blanket. In that mercantile, surrounded by people from the community he’d called home for a dozen years, he’d been out of place. A stranger.

He drew the team to a halt outside the Feed and Seed, hopped down, and entered the barnlike structure. A few men loitered in the corner around a barrel holding a checkerboard. The owner glanced over at Levi when he strolled past, but he didn’t offer a word of greeting. Levi made his way to the back wall where shelves held various jugs and tins. On the second shelf he found a gallon-sized tin of linseed oil. Not until he set it on the counter did the owner separate himself from the small group of men and join Levi.

The man squinted at a little paper square tied to the handle with a piece of string. “That’ll be thirty-two cents.”

Levi nearly snorted. No “Howdy.” No “How’s your day going?” Just a price. But why should he expect anything different? In all his times of visiting this store, had he ever started a conversation with the owner? Of course not. In fact, the few times someone had tried to draw him into their discussion, he’d made it clear he wanted to keep his distance. He deserved the aloof treatment he now received. But even so, it rankled.

He dug a quarter, nickel, and two pennies from his pocket and slid them across the counter. The owner plopped the coins into a wooden box and headed for the game without offering a word of thanks.

Levi stared at the man’s broad back. Something odd—something he couldn’t define—built inside his chest. He sucked in a breath and blurted, “Have a good day.”

In unison, each man at the checkerboard lifted his head and gawked at Levi. The owner gave a little jolt, stopped, and sent a puzzled frown over his
shoulder. Several seconds ticked by before the owner cleared his throat. “Yep. Thanks. You, too, Jonnson.”

Levi nodded, letting his gaze scan the checkers players and observers. Partly pleased with himself, partly embarrassed, Levi trotted out to his wagon. The short drive to the mercantile gave his erratic pulse time to calm. What had gotten into him, hollering out that way? Yet he couldn’t deny it had pleased him to speak and be spoken to in return.

No wagons had vacated their spots in front of the store, so he parked at the end of the block in front of the bank again. When he entered the mercantile, Mrs. Creeger offered a smile and then cupped her hands beside her mouth. “Jay! Mr. Jonnson is here!”

Mr. Creeger bustled from the storeroom, bending backward against the weight of a large crate in his arms. He smacked the crate onto the counter, wiped his brow, and shot a smile in Levi’s direction. “That’s the last of it. Lemme get you tallied up here, an’ then I’ll help you carry everything out.”

Levi leaned against the counter and observed the womenfolk while Mr. Creeger added up his bill. The ladies handled bolts of cloth the way he handled a piece of oak. They stroked the fabric as if checking for splinters. Traced their fingers along the fibers the way he followed the lines of grain. One flipped a bolt over several times and snapped the fabric across the table, peering down its length much the way Levi looked down a plank to be sure it was straight. The fabric was even light brown, like a piece of stained wood, but unlike wood it bore tiny clusters of blue flowers tied with pink ribbon.

The blue flowers matched the color of Miss Willems’s eyes, and the pink reminded him of the color that flooded her cheeks when she looked at him. Wouldn’t she be pretty as a picture in a dress sprigged all over with blue flowers? He waited to see if the woman admiring the fabric would ask Mrs. Creeger to cut a length. After several seconds of perusal, the woman shook her head, rewrapped the bolt, and slid it beneath some others on the table.

Levi quirked his finger at Mrs. Creeger.

She bustled over, her friendly face wreathed with a smile. “What can I do for you, Mr. Jonnson?”

He pointed at the tip of the bolt sticking out from the pile of colorful fabrics. “How much is that brown with the blue flowers?”

“All our calicoes are three cents a yard today. That’s only a half penny over wholesale.”

He’d overheard three other women request nine yards each, so he assumed Miss Willems would need a similar amount. He added quickly in his head—nine yards would cost twenty-seven cents. For Miss Willems, twenty-seven cents was probably a small fortune. But she needed another dress. She’d worn the same one—a plain, trim-fitting dress, solid green, the color of pine needles—every time he’d seen her for the past three weeks. But he couldn’t buy that fabric for her. Could he?

Mrs. Creeger said, “Did you want me to cut a length of that for you, Mr. Jonnson? It would make very nice curtains.”

“Well, actually …”

Two of the women at the table peeked over their shoulders at him, their heads tipped in his direction. They reminded him of a pair of robins listening for worms. He chewed the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t ask for that fabric now. As soon as they saw Miss Willems sporting a dress in the brown fabric with blue flowers, they’d surely put two and two together. And then add their own speculations and come up with five.

He shook his head. “Never mind.”

With a smile Mrs. Creeger returned to her other customers.

Levi turned his back on the table of fabrics, but an image of the soft brown cloth with blue flowers danced before his mind’s eye. He blinked twice, dispelling the vision, and focused on Mr. Creeger’s pencil scratching an amount at the end of a column of numbers. He had more than enough to buy without adding twenty-seven cents worth of dress goods to the list.

After paying his bill, Levi accepted Mr. Creeger’s offer to help carry everything to his wagon. Even with two pairs of hands, they made three trips before
they finished loading the crates of canned goods and sacks of flour and cornmeal. When they’d set down the last items, Levi lifted the back hatch into place.

Mr. Creeger offered a broad grin as Levi secured the hatch. “Anything else I can do for you, Mr. Jonnson?”

Levi started to tell him no, but a memory stopped him—Miss Willems’s hopeful expression as she’d questioned how long it would take to rebuild the kitchen walls at the poor farm. And Levi heard himself say, “As a matter of fact, Mr. Creeger, maybe there is something you can do.”

Chapter 20

“I’m tellin’ you, he can’t stay here.”

If Miss Willems hadn’t put her hand on his shoulder, Tommy would’ve jumped out of the chair and tried to escape. The boardinghouse lady’s voice—the same angry voice that had told Miss Willems she reeked—was high pitched and hateful. And she was talking about him.

“Mrs. Beasley …” Miss Willems sounded kind most of the time, but compared to the other lady, she sounded extra nice right then. Her fingers were warm and comforting on his shoulder. “I apologize for not asking permission to bring Tommy here, but I had little choice.”

Tommy ducked his head. Just once couldn’t someone say, “I want Tommy,” instead of “I have to take Tommy”? How would it feel to be wanted by somebody?

Miss Willems went on. “And it won’t be for long. Mr. Levi Jonnson is donating the lumber to rebuild the damaged walls at the poor farm. In no time at all, I’ll—”

“He ain’t stayin’ here.” Mrs. Beasley must’ve come closer, because she sounded even louder. “I only got the one room for hired help. You can’t put a boy his age in there with you two women. ’Specially a boy who ain’t even kin. It’s not proper!”

“It ain’t like he can see anything.” Cora sounded almost as angry as Mrs. Beasley. Tommy knew she meant to defend him, but her words pained him. Pained him bad. He covered his ears with his hands to try to block their words, but the voices still came through.

“Besides that, it takes more food to feed an extra mouth. That’s an expense. Anybody who stays here either has to pay or has to earn his keep.” A mighty huff exploded—Mrs. Beasley, Tommy was sure, because he’d never
heard either Miss Willems or Cora make a noise like that. “Just what’s that boy gonna do to pay his way around here?”

The hand on Tommy’s shoulder began to tremble. The fingers held on tight, the way he’d held to those ropes Mr. Jonnson had strung to guide him around his property. “I … I shall request funds from the mission board to cover Tommy’s expenses here.” Miss Willems sounded croaky from her sore throat. And maybe from trying not to cry.

Another mighty snort. “You been writing letters to that mission board pret’ near every day, an’ no money’s come through the mail yet, now has it?”

“Well, no, but—”

“I’m startin’ to think that mission board’s just a bunch of hooey an’ you’re playin’ everybody in this town for fools!”

Tommy’s breath came hard and fast. Miss Willems would never convince the boardinghouse lady to let him stay. Would he have to go back to the Tatums’ and sit in that room all by himself day after day for the rest of his life? Maybe he deserved to sit all alone, because if he’d told Miss Willems that he’d smelled Hamilton Dresden’s cigars, the poor farm house never would’ve gotten burned in the first place. Dresden’s warning rang through Tommy’s head:
“Tell anybody I was here, boy, an’ I’ll come back an’ lay into you like nobody’s ever done before. You an’ me got us a secret now, an’ you’d best keep it. You hear me, Tommy-boy?”
Fear overwhelmed him, and he whimpered.

Arms wrapped around him, and Cora’s scent filled his nostrils. Her voice blared next to his ear. “Mrs. Beasley, you just hush now. You’re scarin’ Tommy.”

“Yes, please,” Miss Willems added. “There’s no sense in upsetting him.”

“He ain’t the only one upset.”

The boardinghouse lady still talked real mad-like. She wasn’t a nice person at all, and he didn’t want to stay here. He opened his mouth to say so, but a knock on the back door stopped him. The boardinghouse lady let out another loud huff, and then feet pounded on the floor. Hinges squeaked, and Mrs. Beasley said, “What do
you
want?”

“I need to speak with Miss Willems. May I come in?”

Tommy gave a little gasp of recognition. He wriggled free of Cora’s embrace and pushed himself to his feet, reaching for the man. Callused hands caught his, and Tommy clung, smiling so big his cheeks hurt. “Mr. Jonnson … Mr. Jonnson …” He couldn’t find any other words to say.