What Once Was Lost (43 page)

Had Mr. Jonnson found the message Dresden promised to write? Not that Tommy really believed Dresden would leave one, but he had to hold on to hope no matter how useless. Miss Willems always said faith that wasn’t tested wasn’t real faith at all. He’d never quite understood it before, but now it made sense.
If a person only believed the easy things, it didn’t take much effort. Believing the things that were more unlikely—such as Dresden really writing a note for Mr. Jonnson—required some deep-down belief.

Tommy blew air slowly through the harmonica and listened to the warbling tone. His faith was wobbly, just like the note, but it was still there. He’d keep playing—he’d keep believing—until he didn’t have another breath left in him.

Chapter 42

Christina placed a rag, dripping wet with cold water from the well, over the knot on Hamilton Dresden’s head. The man hadn’t stirred when she, Ben, and Cora had carried him into the house and stretched him out on the parlor sofa. For the hour she’d sat beside him watching for signs of waking, he’d lain as still as a corpse. But he was breathing. The moment he opened his eyes, she’d make him tell her where he’d hidden Tommy even if she had to give him a dozen more knots on the head.

A hysterical giggle built in her throat. No doubt the result of weeks of stress and worry. In her mind’s eye she saw Benjamin Paul Edgar, attorney-at-law, barreling at Dresden while letting loose a cry fierce enough to frighten an Apache war chief. She never would have guessed the tall man capable of such undignified behavior. She stifled her humor, though, as she gazed upon Ham’s white, motionless face. Ben had certainly saved Cora, but his enthusiasm may have cost Ham his life. If Ham died, would Ben face charges of murder?

Yet another worry to add to a list already stretching far too long.

Releasing a sigh, Christina rose and crossed to the window. For more than a dozen years, she’d admired this view. Whether coated with snow, dotted with autumn leaves, or blooming with wildflowers, the rolling landscape meeting a seemingly endless sky had always inspired a sense of wonder in her. She and Papa had marveled at breathtaking sunsets, laughingly imagined cows or ducks in the clouds, and watched sheet lightning fill the sky and raindrops fall in a shimmering curtain. Wonderful memories, each and every one.

But today the landscape seemed tainted. Somewhere out there Tommy was lost, the victim of Hamilton Dresden’s strange revenge. Christina turned slowly and stared at the man, thinking of everything Cora had told her. She admitted something about him had made her uneasy, but his bold trickery—using
counterfeit equipment, misleading people into casting blame on an innocent person, hiding a helpless boy in a secret location—surpassed anything she would have expected. What made a man choose such harmful pathways?

Papa would probably quote the eighteenth verse from the seventh chapter of Romans to answer her question. The scripture crept through her memory, delivered in Papa’s patient, wise tone—
“For I know that in me … dwelleth no good thing: for to will is present with me; but how to perform that which is good I find not.”
Papa believed there was good in every person, but one’s sin nature too often took control.

In a burst of frustration, Christina threw open the window. She propped her palms against the sill, leaned out, and aimed her face at the sky. “Why did You allow Ham to tell lies about me? Why didn’t You protect Tommy?” Although addressed to God, the angry outburst couldn’t really be called a prayer. Prayer, her father had taught her, was offered in reverence, submission, and expectancy. But the words pouring from her lips held only disdain. “You’re supposed to be all-powerful—able to move mountains! So why didn’t You keep that fire from starting? Why did You separate me from the people who matter to me? Why did You take my home, my ministry, my very heart?”

My
home … 
my
ministry … 
my
heart … The words she shouted to God reverberated inside her head, awakening her to a humbling realization. In all the years she’d served with Papa, she’d never once heard him refer to his work as his own. All he possessed—all he held dear—was a gift bestowed by his Father God. When, at the tender age of eight, Christina had acknowledged Jesus as her personal Savior, Papa had embraced her and whispered through his tears, “You’re His now, my darling daughter, for all eternity.”

Another of Papa’s favorite scriptures winged through her memory—
“Whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.”
She dropped to her knees and rested her forehead on the windowsill as bitter tears rolled down her face. “Dear God, forgive me. This service, this ministry of caring for the destitute, wasn’t for Your glory. I’ve been doing it for me. So I would feel important … and
needed.” The breeze drifted across her head, tender as a father stroking his child’s hair. “I’m sorry, God. I’m sorry I ceased to trust You. I’m sorry I blamed You for choices made by sinful men. I’m sorry for serving myself rather than You. Help me change, Father. Guide me. I … I trust You to meet my needs in whatever way You deem best.”

Oh, such joy in placing herself in her Father’s hands and trusting He would keep His promise never to leave her or forsake her. She continued to weep and pray for several minutes, allowing her tears to wash away the deep resentment of the past weeks. When she finally rose, shaky yet refreshed, she added a final plea. “Dear Lord, please let the men find Tommy before it’s too late.”

Dusk had fallen. Although Levi could light a lantern and continue searching, he turned his feet in the direction of the poor farm. By now Mrs. Creeger probably had sandwiches waiting for them. The men could eat, rest a bit, compare the territory they’d covered, and then set out in new places.

His feet hurt, his back ached, and his throat was dry from calling Tommy’s name. But nothing pained him more than his heart. If Cora was right about Tommy being scared of something—and he suspected she was, based on the way Tommy had stayed close to him over the last couple of days—then Tommy hadn’t trusted him enough to divulge the source of his fear. And if fear had sent the boy off on his own and he met with harm, Levi would carry the guilt to his grave, the same way he carried guilt over Far.

A groan wrenched from his soul, and he slowed his pace. Mor’s voice from long ago eased through his mind, speaking not to him but to Far.
“Axel, where is your faith? You know our God has mighty strength. Lean on Him, Axel, instead of yourself. Give Him this burden you carry and find freedom.”

Far hadn’t let go, and eventually the burden of unforgiveness and resentment had killed him. Guilt and bitterness would not kill Levi’s body—this he knew—but it was a horrible thing to bear. It slowly devoured his soul.

Ahead, other men moved across the shadowy landscape and milled on the poor farm grass. Levi pushed aside his dismal thoughts and broke into a trot. Mrs. Creeger handed out sandwiches, fruit, and tin cups for water. As the men ate, they talked, sharing the areas they’d explored and their findings. The findings were all the same—no one had seen any sign of Tommy.

Levi drained a second cup of water, the cool liquid soothing his sore throat, and set the cup aside. He tucked a sandwich into his pocket—Tommy would be hungry when they found him—and then turned to the gathered crowd. He opened his mouth to call for their attention, but he found himself speechless for a moment.

So many men. Young men. Old men. Tired yet determined men. They’d all set aside their own duties and responsibilities to help seek one small, blind boy. Why now? In past months these same people had refused to harbor Tommy. They’d cast accusations at Miss Willems. Yet here they all were, ready to work together to bring Tommy back to safety. And he was working alongside them. A part of them.

Levi’s eyes began to sting. If one of them had offered a place of refuge to Tommy, he would never have brought the boy into his house or into his heart. If the townsfolk hadn’t turned on Miss Willems, he might never have recognized how much he cared for her. If Tommy hadn’t gotten lost, Levi wouldn’t have found his way into the center of this community. All the wrongs had guided him to one important right. He could never live off on his own again. He’d discovered the joy of reaching out, of being included.

He wanted to explore these strange and wondrous realizations stirring to life in his chest, but first they had to find Tommy. He cleared his throat and raised one hand. The murmurs ceased, and all faces turned toward him.

“We need to figure out where to look next—maybe take the wagons this time so we can go farther. Since it’s getting dark, let’s go in groups of two or three. It’ll be safer.” Men nodded in agreement and began pairing up. Levi called out the various directions, and men stepped up to claim the areas.

One man from the back of the group waved his hand. “Jonnson, there’s an
abandoned farmstead northwest o’ here—an old house, barn, an’ some outbuildings about to fall in. My brother an’ me will check it.”

The lawyer who’d been in town the past several days put his empty cup in the crate near Levi’s feet and turned to the man. “I believe that’s the same farmstead I explored earlier today. I saw no evidence that anyone had been on the property in quite some time.”

“So there’s no need to explore the farmstead? Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s correct.” The lawyer released a low chuckle. “Unless you’d like to satisfy my curiosity about a melody wafting from the trees. A very peculiar sound—haunting almost.”

One of the men snorted. “We got no ghosts in Brambleville.”

The lawyer—tall and lean with a black beard and top hat that made him look like Abraham Lincoln—shrugged. “I doubt a ghost would warble like a songbird.”

Warble? Levi’s pulse stuttered. “What exactly did you hear?”

The tall man stroked his goatee. “Shouldn’t we be searching for the boy rather than discussing mysterious melodies?”

Levi grabbed his arm. “What did you hear?”

“Very well.” The lawyer gently extracted his arm from Levi’s grip. “I heard a trembling note. And then another in a different pitch. Soft, yet distinct, and seemingly carrying from far away.”

Levi let out a whoop. “That was no ghost—that was Tommy’s harmonica!”

Mr. Creeger dashed forward. “Are you sure?” The crowd waited, all eyes pinned on Levi.

For a moment Levi’s certainty wavered. “Just in case I’m wrong, go ahead and spread out like we’d planned. But I’ll take Tall Abe here and go to that farmstead.”

The men nodded in agreement and headed for the wagons. Levi put his hand on the lawyer’s back and gave a gentle push. “My wagon’s over there. Let’s go.”

Chapter 43

Cora leaned on the wall and watched Miss Willems lay a fresh wet cloth on Ham Dresden’s head. Instead of putting it there and moving away, she stayed on her knees beside the man and held the cloth in place. There was a tenderness on Miss Willems’s face—a tenderness Cora couldn’t understand.

Almost uncomfortable witnessing the gentle ministrations, Cora turned her gaze to Ma Creeger, who knelt in the middle of the parlor floor, her head bent and hands clasped in prayer. She’d been praying for nearly half an hour already. Dresden was an admitted thief and kidnapper, but she was praying for him to wake up and be all right.

Cora eased herself down the wall until she sat on the floor. She crisscrossed her legs and rested her palms in the nest made by her skirt. Automatically, her hands formed a loose sling for the child growing inside of her. Puzzled, she looked from Ma Creeger to Miss Willems. How could they be kind to someone who’d wronged them so?

As she sat watching the two women who’d treated her kindly give the same attention to Hamilton Dresden, tears sprang into her eyes. Understanding dawned. They weren’t loving with their own love. They were loving with God’s love, which was so much bigger than a person could hold. That’s why they could embrace her—broken, sin-battered, unlovely her—instead of pushing her aside.

“I wanna be like them, God …” Cora whispered the prayer while warm tears dribbled down her cheeks. “I wanna love with Your love instead o’ mine. I’m gonna need it to raise up this baby the right way.” She drew in a sharp breath, something else becoming clear. She’d prayed for God to give this baby a family to love it, and He’d already answered. He’d brought her to Brambleville, to Miss Willems and to the Creegers, who treated her like their own.
This baby would have an aunt in Miss Willems and grandparents in Ma and Pa Creeger. And if she kept watching these two women, learning from them and copying them, she’d know how to be a loving mama to her baby.

Lowering her head, Cora allowed the tears to flow. Tears of deep gratitude. God
did
love her. Even in her sinfulness He’d provided for her. She had a family to call her own.