Home to Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 3) (7 page)

Chapter Nineteen

    
 
L
illian Griffin wrapped her threadbare shawl around her shoulders and stepped wearily from the porch at her boarding house. Though no snow fell, the air had a brisk chill and a thick layer of frost lay on the lawn. She tried to tell herself that she was aggravated with those boys for not showing up and paying their rent for the week, but her mind was more troubled than that. The woman had seen them come in many mornings smelling of liquor, but they always returned by the next day. Lillian was beginning to think alarming thoughts and she turned the doorknob to the lumber office.

      “They have not returned at all?” Ben stood up from behind his desk and rubbed his chin.

      “I think you ought to pay a visit to the sheriff, Ben.” Lillian wheezed. “Those boys were getting liquor somewhere. You might want to wire that Elgerson boy’s father too.”

      “I’ll take care of it, Lillian. Thanks for letting me know,” Ben Neilson sighed, unhappy with having to cause worry when it was likely just irresponsibility on the boys’ part.

      “They were working on Friday,” Ben explained to the deputy in the Barite sheriff’s station.

      “You haven’t seen them since Friday?” The sheriff stepped from his office where he had been listening to the man give his report.

      “Lillian Griffin, at the boarding house, tells me they’ve been drinking somewhere,” Ben explained.

      “How old are these boys?” The sheriff frowned.

      “About eighteen, or maybe twenty.”

      Sheriff John Mason slid from his horse at the stables and the owner strolled out to greet him, wiping his hands on a filthy rag.

      “They came by several Friday nights. One time they had been robbed, I think, and I had to have one of them stay here while the other kid went to get money to pay me. They took the horses out last Friday and both animals were back here Saturday morning, but they haven’t paid me yet.”

     “Did they leave the horses tied up, or could they have come back on their own?”

      “I suppose they could have wandered back.” The stableman scratched his head.

      “Any idea where they were going?” the sheriff asked.

      “My guess would be up into the hills. To see someone with a still maybe.”

      Sheriff Mason gazed off into the distance and shook his head. Anyone venturing into the hills anymore didn’t make out well. He thanked the stableman and headed out to find Ben Neilson.

      “I’m going out looking for them now, but I think you ought to consider wiring that boy’s father. He is your business partner and he is likely to want to know,” the sheriff recommended.

      “Just take a ride up there, would ya, John? If you find them up there passed out somewhere I’d hate to have their parents worrying over nothing all the way in Minnesota.”

      John Mason furrowed his brow and nodded to the man. “I’ll take a couple of men up. I’ll let you know how we make out.”

      The small search party of three men ascended the mountain trail in the late morning. The sheriff knew of a couple of stills up in the woodland. He didn’t bother with them much usually, as long as they kept to themselves and he didn’t see their moonshine coming into town. There were a couple of McHerlongs that would try and bring the stuff around occasionally, but mostly they stayed up in the hills. Sheriff Mason preferred to leave both them and the Catslips to themselves. They had been feuding for years, over that girl’s death and over the war before that. There always seemed to be an excuse for a fight or a killing. The boys he was looking for had no business being up around either clan.

      The men followed the trail for several miles, finding a shack, but it appeared to be long abandoned.

      “We’ll ride out north for a bit, until we hit the farms. Maybe they got lost up there.” The sheriff thought about how cold the last two nights had been. The men split up and continued north.

      The rifle shot cracked loudly in the crisp air and the sheriff stopped his mount suddenly, listening. He could hear his deputy calling out in the distance and the lawman kicked his horse into the underbrush towards the sound.

      When he reached the clearing his two deputies had dismounted and stood facing away from one another, their faces drawn. As he approached he saw the body on the forest floor. He walked up to see a sandy haired young man, pale and dead on the ground and he shook his head, swallowing hard.

      “Just the one?” was all he said to his men.

      “I didn’t see another one,” one deputy replied.

      “Ride down and get Jim and let that timber fellow know. We’ll keep looking for the other boy.” The kid was so young, John Mason thought. “What a waste,” he mumbled under his breath.

Chapter Twenty

    
 
R
oland hurried up the path up towards Stavewood at a near run with the telegram in his hand. The snow was deep and he struggled to maintain his footing along the untrammeled path.

     “Tim?” he called out as he entered the kitchen door.

      “Roland.” Timothy looked up from his paperwork in his den.

      “You’re going to want to take a look at this.” He handed the telegram to the big man.

To: Elgerson Mill Station, Minnesota.

Timothy Elgerson

From: Barite, Missouri.

Benjamin Neilson

Boys had an accident. Son is missing. Please come soon.

      Timothy Elgerson sat back down in his chair, his face pale.

      “Missing?” His voice shook.

      “That’s all there is, Tim. It just came in.”

      Timothy stood at the mill station. After having sent out a dozen questioning telegraphs in reply and receiving no response, he had given up and was now packed and waiting for the train.

      Everyone had decided that Roland would remain behind and Timothy would travel alone. Rebecca was completely distraught and Emma stood with her arm around her shoulder. She tucked her wrap around her protectively at the station while the four of them waited for the train.

      “I will wire with any information,” Timothy promised repeatedly, resolving to maintain his composure. “Roland will be here if you need anything at all,” he assured his wife, her face pale and her lip quivering.

      “I’ll bring him home,” he nodded firmly.

      The train pulled noisily into the station and Rebecca smoothed her skirt and dried her eyes.

      “You be careful.” She kissed her husband hard and choked back her tears. “I’m serious now. Take care of yourself. I’m sure you’ll find him and he’ll be fine.”

      “I love you,” he whispered as he kissed her and stepped onto the train.

      The locomotive pulled out and Roland caught Rebecca around the waist as she fell into a faint. He lifted her into his arms and he and Emma took her home.

      Emma pressed the damp cloth against Rebecca’s lips and whispered to her softly.

      Rebecca’s eyes fluttered open and she looked around the room in confusion.

      “What happened?”

      “You fainted at the station.” Emma smiled at her cousin reassuringly.

      “How did I get home?” Rebecca struggled to sit up on the bed.

      “Roland. He carried you back.”

      “Oh, my.” Rebecca put her fingers to her lips. “I’m sorry. Please tell him I’m sorry. He didn’t need to do that.”

      “How are you feeling?”

      Rebecca rubbed her forehead. “I’ve been feeling so lightheaded. Oh, Emmy, what if something really has happened to those boys?”

      “Timothy will be there in just a couple of days. There’s no better person to go get him. We’ll just have to wait.”

      Rebecca sighed and lay back on the pillows.

      Roland returned to the station, but no responses to Timothy’s wires ever arrived. How someone could send such a message and never follow it up with any more information only posed more questions to him. The answers that he imagined did not soothe his fear.

      He walked out onto the station platform and trudged back toward Stavewood. He stopped on the way and took a deep breath before reaching the opening to the yard. He knew the women were consumed with worry, and both of them were expecting. He had the responsibility of keeping them both calm while they waited for word from Tim. Until that happened there was nothing more anyone could do.

   Timothy Elgerson tried resting his head back against the seat of the train and putting his hat over his face. He sat up again and pulled the telegram from his shirt pocket. He reread it as if perhaps the words had changed, or there were something in the phrasing he had missed before. There was nothing more there. He tried to plan what he would do when he arrived in Barite, but there were so many unanswered questions. No details about the accident had been mentioned. Were they hurt? How could Mark or maybe both of them be missing?

      His mind traveled back to his brief visit with Sam’s parents. Nils had nearly died in a shooting during the train robbery a few years back, and although he lived, he was never the same. He had wanted so badly to accompany Timothy, but both men knew the trip would be too much for him. Timothy could see Sam’s mother, Catherine, was sick with worry.

      Timothy looked out the window at the landscape rushing by, but the speeding train was not fast enough to calm his state of mind. The big man wrung his hands.

      Rebecca had wanted to come as well, but he had seen she was not feeling well recently. She had not had the morning sickness with either Louisa or little Phillip, but with this child she was not eating well. Although she had not complained, he knew she spent time suffering with a stomach ailment. It might have been comforting to have her beside him but he did not know what he was facing. Timothy scowled and watched the land rolling away yet another mile.

Chapter Twenty-One

    
 
C
olleen unhitched the milk cart and led the horse into his stall. Her apron was stained and streaked with cloudy streaks of drying milk. She tucked several stray tendrils of hair into her snood and trudged from the barn.

      She knew her father was exhausted as well and had left him dozing beside the fire in his chair. She filled her pail with a good portion of fresh milk and honey and crossed the yard to check her patient in the old barn.

      Colleen rolled open the heavy door and pulled it closed behind her despairingly. There was still much to be done in her day and her body ached from the cold. She gathered an armful of fresh straw and walked towards the back of the barn.

      She looked up and realized that his eyes were open and he was silently watching her. She scowled nervously, set down her pail and cautiously walked towards him. She said nothing as she knelt down beside him and guardedly touched the back of her hand against his forehead.

      “Hello,” she ventured.

      He studied her face. Her complexion was fair and her upturned nose was delicate beneath a spray of golden freckles. Colleen’s eyes, a deep shade of aquamarine, blinked nervously and she sat back on her heels.

      “I found you here. I don’t know what happened to you, but I was afraid that whoever shot you might be looking for you. No one knows you are here but me,” she said. “Can you talk?”

      Mark opened his mouth and whispered.

      “How long?” he moaned.

      “Since Saturday morning. This is Wednesday.”

      “Five days,” he sighed. “There are people who will be looking for me.” He looked up into the rafters.

      “I know.” She sat up. “The hill people shot you, I think. They may still be out there.” She could not tell for certain, but his accent seemed unusual. “I was afraid they would come here to finish trying to kill you.”

      “Can you go for the sheriff?” he asked in a raspy voice.

      “Oh, no, I can’t.” She held her fingers to her face. “If my father were to find you in here he would surely turn you out. They’re feuding in the hills there and if they know you’re here they could kill us all. My father would not want them here, or you either. I can’t get help.”

      Mark remembered the pale body of Swallow lying beside the creek bed. Whoever had killed her could kill him and this girl just as easily.

      “I had a friend, he was with me…” His voice trailed off and he swallowed hard.

      “Here,” Colleen bent to him and lifted his head onto her lap gently. “I put some honey in the milk. It might help your throat and give you some strength. You have a terrible wound on your neck and I think in your throat as well.” She held his head up slightly and carefully poured the milk into his mouth.

       Mark felt as if his gullet was on fire, but the milk was cool and soothing and he drank down several gulps. Colleen wiped his face softly with the towel and he looked up at her. He realized that the angel he had seen was this girl.

      She settled him, fluffing the straw beneath him and he lay back exhausted.

      “I never saw anyone else. I’m sorry,” she sighed. She looked at him with such genuine concern that he had to smile at her sweet face.

      “What’s your name?” he whispered.

      “Colleen,” she smiled, blushing.

      “Colleen,” he repeated. “Mark Elgerson.”

      “I took some of your clothing to wash. Those are my father’s things. Are you warm enough? Are you hungry? I made a good mutton stew, I-I could bring you some.” Colleen was so thankful that he was awake she stammered in her excitement and relief.

      “I am hungry,” he realized.

      “I’ll be right back!” She jumped to her feet and hurried from his side.

      “Colleen,” he croaked.

      “Yes,” she hurried back and waited anxiously.

      “Thank you,” he smiled weakly.

      He was so handsome she thought, and she smiled back broadly, her eyes filling with tears of relief.

      When she returned she carried a tray of steaming hot food and the enticing aroma filled the cold barn.

       She sat Mark up and balanced him for a moment and then shoved a pitchfork in the ground behind him and he watched her curiously. She draped a heavy folded blanket against the fork and gently leaned him back. Mark was surprised how comfortable it was.

      “I have a good stew and rolls. The potatoes are few, but good, and there’s fresh butter.” She buttered the rolls and laid a cloth across his lap and began to ladle food into an earthenware bowl.

      Mark tried to move his left arm to support the bowl but could not lift it. “I can’t move my arm,” he scowled.

      “You were very hurt. Maybe it needs time.” She scooted up next to him and held the bowl on his lap and handed him a large spoon. He took the spoon in his right hand and tasted the stew.

      “This is delicious,” his voice was deep and raspy. He set down the spoon and tasted the roll. “This butter is unusual,” he remarked. He looked at her again and suddenly realized that she was the girl he had seen for that moment in the restaurant kitchen.

      “I churn the herbs into it,” she smiled.

      “They have this at the restaurant in town,” he whispered.

      “Oh, yes,” she smiled proudly, sitting close at his side. “Do you like it?”

      “Very much.” He took another bite.

      “I need to find my friend,” he whispered as she laid him back. “And my family. Someone needs to get in touch with my family.”

      “Please rest. I don’t know how but I’ll find a way to get you safely out of here. You need to rest now.” She spooned a warm chamomile tea into him as he lay quietly. When he slept soundly she began to gather up the dishes and she stopped and knelt beside him, studying his face.

      When he had smiled at her she felt so comfortable with him, but now, even though he slept, he made her a bit nervous. His face was fine and handsome and she imagined kissing him, softly on the lips, and she blushed profusely. He looked like all of those princes in those fairy tales, she thought, nice and kind, his soft hair lying across the blanket.

      Colleen picked up her tray and hurried back to the house.