What Once Was Lost (34 page)

Dresden chuckled. He slipped the watch into his pocket and picked up his hat. “All right. If that’s what you want, I’ll go. But throwin’ me out the door don’t change nothin’. She’s still gone, seemingly with enough money for a lengthy time away. You reason it all out your own selves.”

“We will.” Pa Creeger ushered Dresden out the door and closed it behind him. He stood for a moment, staring out the glass. Then with an abrupt motion he turned the lock. Ma Creeger bustled up behind him and touched his arm. He held it out, and she snugged herself against his ribs, tucked up close, the way Dresden said women should be. Pa Creeger sighed. “Mary Ann, how do you suppose he got that watch?”

Ma Creeger rested her cheek on his shoulder. “I can’t believe it was from Christina. We need to see the sheriff.”

Cora gulped, relief flowing over her. With them focused on the watch and how Dresden had gotten it, they weren’t thinking about her and Louisa’s hand reaching for her swollen belly.

Chapter 33

Saturday morning Tommy inched his way to the edge of the porch. His seeking hands found a post, and he sank down, leaning his shoulder against the sturdy wood and stretching out his legs. The air was cool, still a little dewy, but heat from the sun soaked through his britches to his legs underneath. A bird sang from somewhere nearby. Wind whispered in the trees. The river added its song. The morning sounded beautiful.

Behind him the door latch clicked, and then boots clomped across the porch—Mr. Jonnson. He stopped, so close his pant leg brushed against Tommy’s arm. Tommy hugged the post.

A sigh, then the man spoke. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me? You’ve been alone quite a bit already this week.”

He’d sometimes been lonely, staying in the house by himself while Mr. Jonnson traveled upriver to retrieve logs for cutting. But being lonely was better than letting himself get attached to Mr. Jonnson again. Getting attached meant getting hurt all over again. He’d protect himself from now on. “I’m fine.”

“Well …” A slight creaking sound told Tommy the man had shifted in place on the porch boards—a sign he wasn’t certain what he should do.

“Just go on.” Tommy grabbed the porch post and pulled himself upright hand over hand. “I’ll use the rope and go to the mill—do some caning.” He jutted his chin. “I won’t bother nothin’ I shouldn’t.”

A hand descended on Tommy’s shoulder. The touch was gentle yet firm. “I trust you, Tommy.” Mr. Jonnson spoke kindly, but Tommy also heard some sadness in his tone. There’d been sadness in his voice a lot lately. Guilt tried to take hold, but Tommy refused the emotion. Mr. Jonnson might say he trusted
Tommy, but he wouldn’t if he knew the secret Tommy carried. And he didn’t dare tell, or something worse than a kitchen fire would happen.

Tommy pulled away from the man’s hand. “Then go. Leave me be.”

The bird kept singing. The wind kept whispering. The river kept flowing. But on the porch silence fell. Tommy sensed Mr. Jonnson staring hard at him. Maybe with his hands on his hips. Maybe with anger on his face. Or maybe more sadness. Tommy tipped his head this way and that way, wanting to see. But all the wanting in the world didn’t change the darkness.

Finally Mr. Jonnson cleared his throat. “All right. I shouldn’t be gone as long today. I’ll be back before noon for sure so we can have lunch together.”

As much as Tommy wanted to stay mad, he was pleased he wouldn’t have to sit at the table and eat a cold sandwich all alone. Even so, he set his lips in a firm line and didn’t answer.

Clomp, clomp, clomp …
Mr. Jonnson left the porch. Minutes later horses’ hoofs and wagon wheels crunching across hard ground signaled his departure. Tommy listened until he couldn’t hear the wagon any longer. Then he eased himself back to his perch, curled his arm around the porch post, and stared into nothingness.

Levi drew the horses to a stop outside the mercantile. The list in his pocket wasn’t as long as some weeks, but this time it contained items he wouldn’t ordinarily buy. Licorice whips. A boy-sized hat. And a harmonica. He’d caught Tommy humming while he worked. Maybe the boy would enjoy creating music on one of the pocket-size instruments. Bribes, every last one of them, but he’d run out of other ideas. Before he returned to the mill, he’d stop by the boardinghouse and talk to Miss Willems about Tommy.

As he’d noted on previous Saturdays, the mercantile buzzed with activity. Mr. and Mrs. Creeger and Cora were all helping other customers, so he snagged an empty crate from the supply near the storeroom door and ambled up and
down the aisles, seeing to his own needs. Snippets of conversation reached his ears as he added items to the crate.

“… still hasn’t come back. Think maybe she was the one who …”

“… out there working on those walls, but I have to wonder why since …”

“… lived at the poor farm for a while, so I reckon he’d know better’n most how …”

Levi had never been one to listen to gossip. Living out away from town, he didn’t have the opportunity to turn an ear to it. But mostly, having been hurt by gossip in the past, he’d made it a point not to involve himself in speculating about others’ lives. Today, however, the nervous whispers and half-fearful musings stirred his curiosity.

When he plunked his crate on the counter and Mr. Creeger approached to tally things up, Levi found himself asking, “What’s all this prattle?”

The mercantile owner scowled. “Oh, you know how folks get to chewing on a topic, and one thing leads to another. I don’t care how it looks. I don’t believe for a minute Miss Willems stole back her watch and emptied my cashbox.”

Levi jolted as if poleaxed. “What?”

Mr. Creeger began removing items from the crate and stacking them on the counter. He set them down with solid
thumps
, as if expelling irritation. “To accuse a good Christian woman like Miss Willems … Just because she decided to go to Kansas City, that’s no reason to—”

Levi shook his head hard, confusion making his ears ring. “I don’t follow anything you’re saying. What about Miss Willems emptying your cashbox? And what’s she doing in Kansas City?”

Understanding registered on the man’s face. “I’m sorry. I forgot you live out away from the town’s tittle-tattle.” He released a little
humph
. “Makes you a lucky man, to my way of thinking.” He pushed the crate aside. “Last weekend, most likely while we were all in church, somebody came into the mercantile and helped himself to the contents of my cashbox. He took every dollar I’d made the week before and a silver William Ellery watch I’d bought from Miss
Willems. Then on Monday, Miss Willems boarded a train for Topeka. She told everybody she was going to retrieve the twins who’d lived out at the poor farm with her, but she hasn’t come back yet. Folks are speculating she skedaddled to start a new life somewhere else.”

Levi tried to absorb everything Mr. Creeger had said. As he put the pieces together, fury writhed through his gut. Miss Willems wouldn’t steal—he knew that from the very depth of his being. He didn’t know why she’d stayed away so long, but she loved the poor farm and its residents too much to walk away from them without an explanation. He glanced around the store, examining the faces of people who’d lived beside Miss Willems for years. How could they turn on her so easily? He gritted his teeth.

Mr. Creeger continued, his voice taking on a hard edge. “Add to that, Mr. Hamilton Dresden is marching all over town, flashing that watch and speaking ill of Miss Willems, and you’ve got a mess that won’t be settled until Miss Willems comes back and sets everything straight.”

Levi whirled back to face the mercantile owner. “You said Hamilton Dresden has Miss Willems’s watch?”

Mr. Creeger nodded.

“Then it seems pretty plain to me he’s your thief.”

The man held out his hands in a helpless gesture. “I said as much to the sheriff. But until he talks to Miss Willems and can get both sides of the story and disprove what Dresden’s saying, he can’t arrest the man. He did tell Dresden not to leave town just yet.” He shook his head sadly. “If only Miss Willems would come back and explain where she’s been. Until she does, the rumors will keep flying. My wife’s half sick over it all.”

Levi gnawed the inside of his cheek. Unpleasant memories crowded his mind. He couldn’t let Miss Willems be hurt the way he’d been hurt. The scars inflicted by thoughtless tongues never completely heal. The protectiveness he felt toward the woman took him by surprise. Why did he care so much? He couldn’t explain it. He only knew the feelings were real and strong and sure. He slapped the counter so hard his palm stung. “She didn’t do it.”

“You don’t have to convince me,” Mr. Creeger said. He returned to tallying Levi’s purchases. “But if you’ve got some kind of evidence to support her, you might want to share it with the sheriff. He intends to have a long talk with her as soon as she gets back.”

Levi blew out a breath. “Mr. Creeger, do you mind if I leave these things here for a little while? I … I need to run another errand.”

“Why, sure. No problem at all.” The man hefted Levi’s crate off the counter and set it on the floor. “Take as much time as you need. It’ll be here when you return.”

“Thanks.” Levi spun and charged out onto the boardwalk. Fool people. Fool, gullible people believing the likes of Hamilton Dresden over a fine woman like Miss Christina Willems. By the time he finished with the sheriff, the town would be singing another tune.

The house always felt confining when Tommy was alone, so he’d followed the rope to the mill and spent the first hour of the morning twisting the lengths of canvas into the same pattern as the chair’s seat had. He couldn’t be completely sure it matched. The smooth cane and the rough canvas had such different textures. But he thought it was close. The overlapped bumps and tiny square open places felt the same. He’d have to ask Mr. Jonnson to be sure, though.

Defeat bowed his shoulders. He missed Mr. Jonnson. He missed talking with him. Laughing with him. Feeling at home with him. But all that good feeling had washed away when Mr. Jonnson claimed he was disappointed in Tommy. Which meant the man didn’t know him after all.

His stomach rumbled. He’d skipped breakfast, too restless to sit at the table and eat a bowl of mush with Mr. Jonnson. But the leftovers were probably still on the stove. It didn’t taste as good cold, but he knew better than to try to light the stove. If Mr. Jonnson had left the jug of sorghum on the table, Tommy could stir some into the pot and flavor the cold mush. At least it would satisfy his hunger.

Hands outstretched, he felt his way to the wide doorway and groped for the rope. His fingers swept across the bristly fibers, and he caught hold. He scuffed toward the house, his heels dragging and stirring up dust that tickled his nose. Caught up listening to his own feet, he almost missed the sound of horse hoofs clop-clopping. He stopped, lifting his head and keying in on the sound.

The clops, slow and steady, grew louder. Drew near. One horse, not two. And no wagon wheels crunched. So it wasn’t Mr. Jonnson coming back. Probably someone wanting to buy lumber. Tommy gripped the rope and waited until the horse and its rider stopped. Then he called out, “Mr. Jonnson’s not here right now. He went into town.”

“Already know that, Tommy-boy.”

Goose flesh broke out across his arms. Not again!

Dresden’s throaty chuckle rolled. “Your ears don’t ever hear wrongly, do they?”

A saddle squeaked, and a quick
thump, thump
spoke of boots hitting the ground. Tommy clutched the rope with both hands, his heart pounding, as footsteps neared. Then two fists grabbed his shirt front and yanked him to his toes. The odor of stale cigar smoke filled his nose. “You an’ me’s gonna have us a talk, boy. An’ those sharp ears o’ yours are gonna listen real good to what I say.”

Chapter 34

“Mr. Dunnigan, I appreciate your taking the time to escort me back to Brambleville.” Christina placed both hands against the green velvet seat to hold herself upright as the train rocked along the track. The man sat opposite her, his hat on the brass rack above his head swaying with the motion of the car. “But I regret how it must inconvenience you.”