What Once Was Lost (40 page)

Tucker’s eyes grew round. “Would you forget about that much money?”

Levi chuckled. “No. But then I’ve never been rich.”

Grover knelt and plunged his hand through the opening. He grunted as he worked to bring the rock back into place. Tucker stood watching, his tongue caught in the corner of his lips as if hungering for something.

After several minutes Grover managed to wedge the rock back into its spot. His fingertips were bleeding, and he wiped them on his dusty pant legs as he straightened.

“Well, that’s that, then.” Tucker seemed disappointed. Levi understood. Holding it had spurred ideas of all the things he could do with such an amount. But it wasn’t his. It now belonged to the new owner, who’d purchased the property lock, stock, and barrel. The man sighed. “Guess we’ll just forget we saw it.”

Grover stared at the rock, which sat loosely in the opening. “Kinda hard to forget a thing like that.”

“Don’t forget,” Levi said. “You’ll want to tell Dunnigan about it. And …” Concern pricked. If these two men had located the secret stash, someone else might stumble upon it, too. He gave the pair a serious look. “Keep an eye on it. You see anybody nosing around here, chase them off.”

Tucker looked right and left, his body tense. “Whew. Knowin’ it’s there makes me edgy. How many times does a fella come upon a real fortune? Almost feel like one o’ them leprechauns that found a pot o’ gold.” He danced a little jig.

Grover guffawed and smacked Tucker on the back.

Levi shook his head, grinning at the pair. “Just be sure to let Dunnigan know it’s there. He can decide what to do with it.”

“You betcha, mister. Bye now.”

Tucker and Grover returned to work, and Levi headed for his wagon. He’d spent enough time out here. Wasted time, since Miss Willems wasn’t here and never would be. Sadness bowed his head, and he scuffed up clumps of grass as he crossed the grounds. He rounded the barn and lifted his gaze to apologize to Tommy for taking so long. But to his shock the seat was empty. Tommy was gone.

Chapter 39

Cora hummed as she swept the walkway in front of the mercantile. Only another hour until closing. She could hardly wait. Not because she was tired of working, but because she’d get to sit down with Ma and Pa Creeger for some Bible reading and prayer. After she’d told Jesus she wanted Him to take away her sins, Ma Creeger said she’d need to grow in her faith. The best way to do that, she’d claimed, was to study His Word.

Dust and bits of dried grass deposited by people’s feet scooted from the broom’s straws. Cora chased every bit of grime clear into the street as she pondered her newly discovered delight in studying. She’d never been much of a scholar. Book learning was something to be borne rather than enjoyed, but learning from the Bible was different. Exciting. Pa Creeger taught so patiently, explaining the portions she found hard to understand, and she could ask as many questions as she wanted without him ever getting aggravated.

She paused, considering how Pa and Ma Creeger would be the best parents ever for a child. But they’d both said no. They insisted Cora would regret giving up her child. She put one hand to her lower spine and arched backward, easing a stitch that caught at her side. Maybe they were right, but—

“Cora …”

The single word held condemnation and startled Cora out of her daydreams. She turned to find Mrs. Tatum on the edge of the boardwalk, staring straight at Cora’s belly. Instinctively, Cora dropped the broom and folded her arms over her swollen middle.

The woman’s astounded gaze lifted and bored into Cora’s face. “You’re with child!” Her voice quivered with indignation.

Ma Creeger had warned Cora that folks might start noticing. Pa and Ma Creeger had both been praying for Cora to be strong if anyone was unkind.
But even though they’d prayed and she’d braced herself, this first arrow plunged deep.

She trembled, but she held herself erect. “Yes, ma’am. I am.”

Mrs. Tatum came closer. “Do the Creegers know?”

“Yes’m.”

“And they still allow you to … to serve decent folks?”

A familiar ball of shame began rolling in Cora’s chest. Ma Creeger had said Jesus took the shame away and she shouldn’t let people give it back to her. She swallowed and answered bravely. “Yes’m. I made a mistake. An’ I’m gonna have to”—she searched for Ma Creeger’s exact words—“bear the consequences, but I don’t hafta hang my head in shame ’cause Jesus forgave me.”

Mrs. Tatum’s mouth dropped open so wide she looked like a big old bass gasping for air. If things hadn’t been so tense, Cora might’ve laughed. Mrs. Tatum finally found her voice. “I’m appalled. Completely appalled!” She barged past Cora into the mercantile, slamming the screen door against the wall and making the cowbell clang angrily. “Mr. Creeger! Mrs. Creeger!” Her screech was even more raucous than the bell.

Cora snatched up the broom and scurried in after the woman. She clutched the broom in both fists, ready to give Mrs. Tatum a good whack if she said anything hurtful to Ma or Pa Creeger.

Ma Creeger rounded the counter as Pa Creeger hurried in from the storeroom. Mrs. Tatum charged up to them, placed her fists on her hips, and let loose. “This girl you’ve hired to serve customers is an abomination to every Christian woman who comes through your door! How can you possibly allow her to stay here, knowing she’s a … a—”

“Sinner saved by grace?” Ma Creeger cut in. She put her arm around Cora’s shoulders. Cora took strength from the woman’s comforting touch.

“She’s a sinner, all right, and her sin is ever before her!” Mrs. Tatum waved her hands toward Cora’s stomach and then covered her eyes with both palms. “Why, it’s offensive to me even to rest my eyes on the evidence of her wrongdoing!”

“Then don’t look,” Pa Creeger said, a hint of impishness in his expression.

Mrs. Tatum lowered her hands and exposed a wide-eyed look of shock. “Wh-what did you say?”

“Don’t look at her,” Pa Creeger repeated in the same dry tone. “If it offends you, turn your eyes somewhere else. But”—he scratched his chin, rolling his gaze toward the ceiling—“I reckon you’ll be hard-pressed to find a direction that doesn’t expose somebody’s wrongdoing, seeing as how every last one of us is walking around in imperfection.”

Mrs. Tatum’s round eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you insinuating—”

“I’m saying the Bible I read tells me, ‘There is none righteous, no, not one.’ That includes Cora, my wife here, me, and even you.”

Cora thought Mrs. Tatum might burst, her face turned so red. She held her breath, waiting for the explosion.

“Of all the impertinent statements! Don’t you dare preach to me when you stand there deliberately supporting a wanton girl!”

“A wanton girl …”
Cora’s ma had said the same thing. Shame reached for a hold on Cora’s heart. She sent a silent prayer heavenward.
Don’t let me grab onto it, God
.

Ma Creeger released Cora and stepped forward. “Mrs. Tatum, when Jesus came upon a crowd accusing a woman of immoral behavior, He said something worth considering. Do you remember what He said?”

Mrs. Tatum’s chin quivered. She balled her hands into fists and glared at Ma Creeger, but she didn’t answer.

Ma Creeger went on quietly, gently, the same way she talked to Cora. “He said, ‘He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.’ Now, I’m not going to cast any stones here, but I think we’d all be wise to examine our own lives before we go pointing out the wrongs other folks’ve done.”

The banker’s wife raised one hand and pointed at Ma Creeger. Cora gripped her broom, ready to swing away if needed. The woman spoke between gritted teeth. “You’ve clearly made your choice, and now I’m making mine. I will not do one more penny’s worth of business here until
she
”—she jammed
her finger in Cora’s direction—“is sent elsewhere.” Then she whirled and stormed out, leaving the bell once again clanging in her wake.

Cora twisted the broom handle the way she wanted to wring Mrs. Tatum’s neck. “What’re we gonna do?”

Pa Creeger looked at Ma Creeger. She looked back. In unison they shrugged. Pa Creeger said, “I’m going to go finish unloading those bags of pinto beans.”

Ma Creeger said, “I’m going to finish dusting. Cora, did you get the walk all swept? Yes? Well, then perhaps you could straighten the cloth bolts. Someone left them all askew.”

Cora gawked at the pair of them. “But”—she waved the broom toward the door—“you heard Miz Tatum. She ain’t gonna shop here anymore! An’ she’ll probably go around tellin’ others to stay away, too! Don’t that worry you?”

Pa Creeger crossed to Cora and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Cora, standing up for what’s right sometimes brings trouble. But God promises to be with us in times of trouble. So instead of worrying about what Mrs. Tatum and her ilk might do, I’m going to keep doing what God’s called me to—running an honest business and ministering to those in need.”

Tears stung Cora’s eyes. “But ministerin’ to me is gonna cost you so dear. Maybe I oughta—”

“Absolutely not!” Ma Creeger scurried over and took Cora’s face in her hands. “You aren’t going to skulk away somewhere and hide. We love you, Cora, and we want you with us.”

Cora sniffed hard and rubbed her nose. “I—I love you, too. Both of you. But I feel bad, causin’ you trouble.” She sighed. “Seems like there’s an awful lot wrong right now, what with the poor farm house gettin’ burned, an’ somebody stealin’ from you, an’ Miss Willems bein’ accused of doin’ wrong. I’m glad God’s with us, ’cause we’ve got plenty of troubles in need of fixin’.” Shaking her head, she added, “Sure hope nothin’ else bad happens ’cause—”

The door burst open, the cowbell clanging. Cora turned, expecting to find Mrs. Tatum followed by a mob of angry supporters. Instead, Mr. Jonnson
strode across the floor with a worried look on his face. “Creeger, I need your help.”

Pa Creeger separated himself from Cora and his wife and moved toward Mr. Jonnson. “What is it?”

“Tommy Kilgore—the blind boy who stays with me …” The man gritted his teeth. “He’s wandered off, and I can’t find him.”

Why’d he let Dresden sneak up on him that way? Tommy berated himself. If he hadn’t been facing the wind, he’d have smelled Dresden’s cigar smoke. If he hadn’t been playing on his harmonica, he’d have heard the man’s feet on the grass. But he hadn’t paid attention, and Dresden had managed to sneak up on him.

His lips still stung from being pressed so hard against his teeth. Dresden had held his mouth closed until Tommy promised not to holler. How could he risk yelling with the man threatening to take his gun and shoot anybody who came running to help? So he’d kept quiet and let Dresden drag him off … somewhere. Tommy couldn’t be sure where he now sat. Maybe a cellar, considering they’d used a ladder to get down into it. The moldy smell and dampness reminded him of a place underground. It was quiet, too, like a cellar, but it didn’t seem to be the one under the poor farm kitchen because he couldn’t detect the odors of apples or onions or sauerkraut. This place only smelled old and neglected.

“Sorry to do this to you, Tommy-boy.” Dresden’s voice echoed as if it came from far away. “But I can’t have you losin’ your senses an’ spewin’ everything you know to that snoopy lawyer before I’ve had a chance to get out of town. ’Sides, I needed everybody away from that house. If they’re all out ahuntin’ you, they won’t be payin’ me any mind.” He laughed, and the sound bounced around Tommy’s ears.

Tommy twisted his head, willing his ears or nose to capture something that would help him understand where he was so he could get out. “Where you goin’?”

Another laugh rolled, and it seemed to come from above Tommy’s head. “None o’ your affair, Tommy-boy. But you can bet it’ll be far away.”

Scraping noises came from overhead. Was he taking the ladder? Panic struck. “But wait! What about me? You can’t just … just leave me!”

“Oh, now, Tommy-boy, you’ll be all right.” Dresden sounded impatient. “I’m gonna write a note an’ put it where your friend Mr. Jonnson’ll find it. He’ll come get you out.”

Tommy dug his fingers into the slimy dirt supporting his weight and angled his head upward. “How do I know you ain’t lyin’? You been lyin’ about everything else.”

A grunt exploded. “I’m a lot o’ things, but I ain’t a murderer. Not gonna face no hangman’s noose, not even for five thousand dollars.”

Tommy gulped. “F-five thousand dollars? Where you gonna get five thousand dollars?”

“Didn’t I say none o’ this is your business?” Dresden’s tone moved from impatient to angry. “Now you just sit still like a good boy an’ wait for somebody to find you. Long as you sit tight, no harm’ll come to you. Bye now, Tommy-boy.” A muffled
thud
reverberated from above, and the air turned still and dead.

“Mr. Dresden!” Tommy scrambled to his feet, clawing the area in front of him. His hands collided with the ladder. He grabbed hold and clambered upward as quickly as he could. His head connected with something hard, and the jolt knocked him down a couple of rungs. His head ringing, he hung on the ladder for a few seconds until he gathered his senses again. Then he inched his way back up, slower this time, and explored with his hand. Splinters poked into his flesh, but he ran his hand as far as it would go in every direction. Wood planks stretched from side to side. No opening anywhere.