What Once Was Lost (30 page)

And he’d be happy. He
would
.

Christina scurried out the back door Sunday morning, her Bible in hand, as the church bells rang their invitation. Late … She disliked being late for service, but doing all the cleanup on her own took much longer than it had when she and Cora shared the responsibilities. Still, she wouldn’t bring Cora back to the boardinghouse even if she could. Clearly the young woman was flourishing in her new position with the Creegers as her mentors.

Jealousy coupled with regret stabbed, but she resolutely pushed the unwelcome emotions aside. Soon she’d be too busy to miss the residents who’d found other places to live. The mission board would allow her to return to the poor farm as its director. She refused to entertain any other idea. And in time new people would move in and rely on her for shelter and encouragement. As
she’d learned over her years of serving with her father, there was always someone in need.

A striped lizard dashed from the rocks beside the path and nearly ran across her toes. Christina released a little shriek of surprise. At once a familiar voice called, “Are you all right?”

She whirled to find Mr. Jonnson’s wagon rolling toward her. Tommy sat beside the man on the seat. Elation and apprehension struck with equal force. She hadn’t seen either of them since last Sunday, when Mr. Jonnson had told her about Tommy’s reaction to the damaged wood. Although she’d intended to drive the poor farm wagon to the mill and discuss the situation with both of them, Mrs. Beasley hadn’t allowed her the time to do so.

Two quick strides brought her to the edge of the street, where Mr. Jonnson drew the wagon to a stop. “I’m fine,” she said in response to his question. “A lizard startled me, and—” The brim of her borrowed bonnet shielded the sun from her eyes as she peered upward at the pair of somber faces. “I believe I should ask you the same thing. Are you all right?”

Tommy stared straight ahead as if caught in a trance. Mr. Jonnson rested his elbows on his knees and sighed. “To be honest, Miss Willems, we’re not. Can you climb up on the seat? I need to talk to you.”

Christina looked toward town where the church’s steeple poked above the greening treetops and beckoned to her. She hadn’t missed a Sunday service for anything other than illness for as long as she could remember. What would Papa think? She turned to Mr. Jonnson, prepared to ask him to wait until the service was over, but something in his expression—a desperation—brought a different response. “Of course.”

He gave Tommy a little nudge. “Climb in the back, Tommy, so Miss Willems can come up.” Tommy, his lips set in a grim line, did as Mr. Jonnson had asked while the man hopped out of the wagon and trotted around the back to offer Miss Willems his hand. She found herself trembling as she placed her palm in his. From worry about whatever he wanted to discuss with her or a
reaction to his nearness? She couldn’t be sure. She only knew the unfamiliar fluttery sensation within her breast left her breathless.

As soon as she’d settled herself on the seat, he climbed up behind her. She tucked her skirts back as he stepped over her feet and plopped down next to her. The seat bounced, and she grabbed the edge to keep from tipping against him. He offered a brief, apologetic look, then released the brake and took up the reins.

They rolled slowly toward the church, and Mr. Jonnson cleared his throat. “Miss Willems, I think it best if Tommy comes back to town to stay with you.”

She shot a look into the back, where Tommy sat with his arms folded over his chest. His gaze seemed aimed at the wagon’s bed. As she watched, he blinked, his thick eyelashes sweeping up and down so slowly his eyelids appeared weighted. Something was dreadfully wrong with the boy.

“Early next week I’ll start retrieving logs from the mouth of the Kansas River, and I won’t be able to take him with me. Nor can I leave him alone.”

Mr. Jonnson did nothing to soften his voice, which meant Tommy had heard everything. Yet he reacted not a bit. Christina’s worry increased with every word from Mr. Jonnson’s lips and every creak of the wagon wheels on the dirt street.

“Besides, he’s … not happy with me.” For the first time the man faltered. He gave a sharp yank on the reins, stopping the wagon a block short of the church. “He won’t talk. Hardly eats.”

Tommy’s chin began to quiver. The boy set his jaw, and the quivering stopped.

Mr. Jonnson went on. “I don’t know what to do for him.” He swallowed and looked into the back, where sunlight glistened on Tommy’s ruffled hair. “You take him before …” Lowering his head, he ran his hand over his face in slow, jerky increments as if he were erasing something unpleasant. Then he sighed. “Just take him.”

Christina leaned across the seat’s back and placed her hand on Tommy’s
head. The boy gave a start, his shoulders stiffening, and then he scooted out of her reach. She pulled back her hand as abruptly as if he’d slapped her. With effort she maintained an even tone. “Tommy, I know you heard Mr. Jonnson say you aren’t happy with him. Is that correct?”

Tommy’s lips twitched briefly.

“You were happy before.” The boy had done everything in his power to make his way to Mr. Jonnson’s mill. “What’s changed, Tommy?”

Catching his lower lip between his teeth, Tommy angled his face away from Christina.

Mr. Jonnson touched Christina’s arm and shifted sideways in the seat, pinning her with a haunted look. “He says he hates me.” He grimaced. “And I believe him.”

Christina jerked her attention back to Tommy. His emotionless appearance baffled her as much as it worried her. What had happened to bring about such a change? She wouldn’t hear it from Tommy—at least not in Mr. Jonnson’s presence. Perhaps when she got him alone, he’d find the courage to share whatever troubled him.

But she couldn’t take him now. She’d already purchased train tickets—one for her, one for Rose—for tomorrow’s early departure to Topeka. Mrs. Beasley had made it clear Tommy couldn’t stay at the boardinghouse, even though Christina was certain Louisa would be willing to look after him for a few days. No one else had been willing to harbor the boy.

“Mr. Jonnson, of course I want to take Tommy if he’s unhappy with you, but—”

“Not goin’ with you, Miss Willems.”

At the sullen outburst Christina and Mr. Jonnson exchanged a startled look. In unison they peered at Tommy.

The boy raised his chin high, anger emanating from his trembling frame. “Won’t stay with you neither, so no sense in takin’ me.”

A rumbling chuckle intruded from nearby. Mr. Jonnson looked past
Christina’s shoulder, a frown marring his brow. Christina turned, and her breath caught in her throat. What was
he
doing here?

She gripped her Bible with both hands in an attempt to garner strength. “Can we assist you with something, Mr. Dresden?”

From the wagon bed Tommy emitted a sharp gasp.

Before Christina could respond to it, Hamilton Dresden sauntered to the edge of the wagon and peeked into the back. He waggled his brows. “Well, looky there. I thought that was Tommy’s voice I heard.” Another chuckle rolled. “How you doin’, boy?”

Tommy sat upright, eyes wide and palms planted on the worn planks of the bed. His head bobbed this way and that as if seeking an escape route.

“He’s fine.” Christina answered for Tommy.

“Oh, I can see that. I can see that he’s right as rain.” Dresden inched his way around the wagon as he talked. Tommy inched in the opposite direction at the same time. “What’samatter with you, boy? Cat got your tongue?” He laughed.

Mr. Jonnson stood. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re obviously upsetting Tommy. I’d like you to leave.”

Ham aimed a cocky grin at the mill owner and held his hands wide. “Why, now, mister, I ain’t intendin’ to upset the boy. Just bein’ friendly. An’ this here’s a public street. I reckon I got as much right as anybody to be standin’ on it.”

Mr. Jonnson balled his hands into fists.

Christina caught hold of one of his fists. With her eyes she begged him not to start a fracas. She knew all too well how unpredictable Ham could be, and she didn’t want Tommy caught in the middle of a ruckus. To her relief Mr. Jonnson seemed to recognize her silent plea, because he eased back onto the seat. But he kept his steely gaze pinned on the man.

Ham laughed again, lowering his hands to rest on the wagon’s high edge. His eyes aimed at Christina, he addressed Tommy. “These folks don’t seem to
cotton to me, Tommy-boy, so I reckon I’ll just mosey on for now. I’m stayin’ in the Brambleville Hotel for a while, bidin’ my time between business deals.”

Christina wanted to ask with which business he had become associated, but she feared it might be something unscrupulous, so she held her question inside.

“Maybe we’ll see each oth …” He paused, scratched his chin, and released another chuckle. “Well, better find a different way o’ saying that. Hmm. How ’bout ‘maybe our paths’ll cross sometime soon, an’ we’ll have us a chance to talk an’ get all caught up’? Would you like that, Tommy-boy?”

Tommy scuttled on his toes and hands like a crab to the front of the wagon, where he cowered against the back of the seat. His breath came in little puffs, his face white. When she put her hand on his shoulder, this time he didn’t pull away.

“Mr. Dresden, I think it best if you move on.” Mr. Jonnson spoke firmly.

Ham gave a slow nod, his grin intact. “Why, sure, mister. Got better things to do than lallygag here on the street with you folks anyhow.” He tipped his hat. “Bye now, Miss Willems. You, too, Tommy. Have yourselves a good day, ya hear?”

He kicked up dust with his shoes as he ambled around the wagon and headed toward the center of town.

As soon as he was far enough away to be out of earshot, Christina squeezed Tommy’s shoulder. “Are you all right? I’m sorry he frightened you so.” She didn’t care for Hamilton Dresden either—the man made her skin crawl. But Tommy’s fear seemed extreme. Did the boy sense some kind of evil in the man?

Tommy panted, his chest rising and falling. “Wanna go back to the mill.”

Christina gave a start. “But I thought—”

“Wanna go back to the mill.” He pawed the air until he found Mr. Jonnson’s hand, which rested on the seat back. “Take me there now, Mr. Jonnson.”

“Tommy, I—”

“Take me back!” The boy’s voice rose with panic. “I can find my way
around the mill—all I gotta do is follow the ropes. You can go get your logs an’ not fuss over me. I’ll stay outta your way, I promise.”

Christina stroked Tommy’s hair, cringing when the boy jerked away from her gentle touch. “Tommy, won’t you please tell us what has you so upset?”

Tommy hunkered down, his head bouncing here and there as if seeking something no one else could see. “No. Don’t wanna talk. Just wanna go to the mill. Take me back!”

Mr. Jonnson looked at her, silent questions filling the air between them. She gazed back, captured by the depth of emotion in his eyes. As much as she longed to keep the boy in town where she could explore his unexpected fear-stimulated rebellion, she now wondered if it was better to distance him from Ham Dresden. Tommy harbored an irrational but very real aversion to the man. But she wouldn’t tell Mr. Jonnson what to do. She’d trust him to make the best decision for Tommy and for himself.

With his gaze locked on hers, he drew a slow breath and turned his face slightly toward Tommy. Even then, his eyes bored into hers as if reluctant to release her from his sights. “All right, Tommy. We’ll go back to the mill.”

Chapter 30

Cora took another subtle peek over her shoulder as the congregation settled into the benches following the hymn singing. Time for the sermon to start, and still no sign of Miss Willems. An image of the woman’s heartbroken appearance after she’d sold her papa’s watch haunted Cora. Her own pa had disappeared when Ma was carrying her fourth child, and he hadn’t left anything of value behind. But if Cora had something from her pa as special as that watch, she wouldn’t want to give it up. Might even make her sick to do it. Her heart twisted. Maybe Miss Willems was too sorrowful even to get out of bed.

Worrisome ideas kept her from listening to the sermon. She gazed at the squares of stained glass forming a frame around the clear, rectangular pane on her left. The rippled panes in red, yellow, green, and blue were so bold and pretty compared to her dark thoughts. Was Miss Willems sick? Was she too tired to come to church, working all by herself for that persnickety Mrs. Beasley? Had she given up all hope because the mission board wouldn’t help her get the poor farm going again?

The final thought scared her the most. She tried to remember the last time she’d heard Miss Willems pray. Really pray, like she and God were close friends. But the last prayers Cora could recall were ones said over their vittles—mindless prayers lacking feeling. Cora didn’t know how it felt to be close to God, but she’d envied Miss Willems’s strong faith. What must it be like to be so certain that God was there, that He cared, and that He’d help folks who asked Him to? But things sure didn’t seem to be going right for Miss Willems, so maybe God wasn’t really there after all. Maybe Miss Willems had figured it out and had given up on church, the way Mr. Jonnson had.