What Once Was Lost (23 page)

Louisa clicked her tongue on her teeth. “It’s too bad Joe and Florie didn’t get to come to the depot and say good-bye to Laura and Francis. They probably don’t even know their friends have gone.”

“Maybe we should go over to the school and tell them,” Rose suggested.

Since she hadn’t gotten to talk to the children on Sunday, Christina liked Rose’s idea. She turned to Wes. “We’re going to see Joe and Florie. Do you want to come along?”

“Nah.” Wes waved his hand toward the livery. “Gonna go out to the poor farm. Time for me to see to the critters out there.”

Christina bade Wes farewell, and then she and the two sisters-in-law made their way to the schoolyard. Children darted everywhere, loud and happy, but she didn’t spot a pair of matching curly-blond heads in the throng.

“Maybe they’re inside doing an assignment,” Louisa mused. “Should we go in and check?”

Christina hated to disturb them if they were working, but she also wanted to let the two know the Deatons had left. “Louisa, would you like to go in? Rose and I will stay out here so it’s less of an intrusion.”

Louisa nodded and hurried up the stairs. Christina and Rose waited beside the porch, staying out of the way of the rambunctious youngsters. Moments later Louisa emerged with a puzzled scowl on her face. She caught Christina’s
elbow and drew her toward the road. “The teacher says the Spencers came this morning and told her the children wouldn’t be in school anymore.”

With the children’s shouts filling her ears, she wasn’t certain she’d heard correctly. She sped her steps, Rose and Louisa scurrying along beside her, until they’d put some distance between themselves and the schoolyard. She stopped and took Louisa’s hand. “Did you say the Spencers withdrew the children from school?”

“That’s what the teacher said.” Louisa’s lined face pinched with concern. “Do you suppose the youngsters are ill?”

“I don’t know,” Christina said, “but I intend to find out.” She set off for the residential area of town with Rose and Louisa dogging her heels. They reached the Spencers’ pleasant clapboard house, but no one answered her knock on the door. Her worry mounting, Christina stepped off the porch and walked to the backyard. There, Mrs. Spencer was pinning shirts and britches to a wire strung between the house and a small shed. She paused with a wet shirt in her hands when she spotted Christina and the sisters-in-law approaching.

“Good morning, Miss Willems.” The woman greeted her cheerily. If something was amiss, she didn’t indicate it. “How are you today?”

Christina clasped her hands around her watch, willing her jumping stomach to settle down. “I’m fine, thank you. I wondered if I could speak to you about Joe and Florie.”

A sad smile appeared on Mrs. Spencer’s face. “Oh yes, it was awfully hard for us to tell them good-bye yesterday. We got rather attached to them in our short time together. We even considered adopting them. But we’ve been married such a short time, and”—a pretty blush stole across her cheeks—“of course, we plan to have our own youngsters someday. But we hope Joe and Florie’ll be happy in their new home.”

Christina shook her head, thoroughly confused. “Their new home? What new home?”

Mrs. Spencer dropped the shirt into a basket near her feet and stepped away from the line. “The Kansas Children’s Home, of course.”

Both Louisa and Rose gasped. Christina pressed the watch to her chest. “You … you sent them away?”

“Not me.” The woman edged even closer, confusion marring her brow. “A man came by here yesterday. He said he was to take the twins to the children’s home.”

Christina’s knees went weak. She staggered to the edge of the yard where a painted bench sat beneath a tall elm tree. As she sank onto the bench, Rose and Louisa scurried over and began patting her shoulders. Pressing her hands to her pounding temples, Christina stared at Mrs. Spencer, who slowly followed. “Did he say anything about Tommy?”

“The little blind boy? No.” Mrs. Spencer frowned. “But I can’t imagine an orphanage taking in a child who can’t see. With all the children in their care, they wouldn’t have time for one who needed extra attention.” Mrs. Spencer perched on the bench beside Christina. “I assumed you’d arranged it. He made it seem as though you wanted the twins in a different place—a place with other children. I’m so sorry. I thought you knew.”

The children … gone? Christina’s head spun. “The man who came … did he tell you his name?”

“Yes. He introduced himself as Mr. Silas Regehr.”

Mr. Regehr had indicated the mission board would arrange placements for the poor farm residents, but she hadn’t imagined him taking the children without her knowledge. And to an orphanage, where they would be lost among a veritable sea of other needy children? Joe and Florie wouldn’t receive the care and attention to which they’d grown accustomed during their year with Christina. Rose, especially, had doted on the pair.

Christina leaped up and charged across the yard toward the street, her watch bouncing. Mrs. Spencer called after her, but she ignored the woman and aimed herself for the train station. She pumped her arms, her skirts swirling around her ankles. Her pulse pounded in her temples.

Louisa and Rose puffed up beside her. “What are you going to do?” Rose asked.

Christina barely flicked a glance at the woman. “I’m going to get those children back.”

Rose clapped her hands together. “Praise be! An orphanage is no place for our Joe and Florie.”

“But how will you get them back?” Louisa’s fretful tone pierced Christina’s ears. “You don’t have money for a train ticket, do you?”

Rose added her concerns. “Three tickets … That will cost dear.”

Christina stopped as abruptly as if she’d encountered a stone wall. What was she thinking? She didn’t have travel money, not for herself or the twins. Even if she did, she might need to complete some sort of paperwork and receive approval before the children’s home director allowed her to take them. That could require days. Which would mean paying for meals and a hotel room.

She drew in deep breaths, bringing her galloping pulse under control, and forced herself to think rationally. Mr. Regehr had taken them away. She’d simply insist he bring them back. By next week the poor farm house would be repaired so she and the others could move in again. He’d have no reason to keep the children away from her once she could put a solid roof over their heads. It would be hard to wait—everything within her wanted to demand their immediate return—but the mission board would be more likely to heed her request if her house was ready for occupation.

“You’re right.” Christina reached out, and Rose and Louisa each took one of her hands. She clung hard, seeking comfort from their firm grips. “I can’t go chasing after them. But”—she gave each woman a determined look—“next week, when we’re all in our house again, those children will come back to us. You’ll see.”

Chapter 23

Levi smiled as he observed Tommy rubbing a rag over the breakfast dishes and then fingering the plate to be certain every bit of cornmeal mush was washed away. The boy groped for the drying towel, wiped the plate with it, then inched his way to the cupboard and clanked the plate into place.

Tommy’s face broke into a grin. “All done! Let’s get to work.”

No one would be able to deny the pride in his tone and in his erectly held shoulders. In the past week Levi had seen confidence bloom in the boy. And most of it came from the progress he was making in learning to cane. He wasn’t adept enough yet to tackle a chair seat or any other project, but his nimble fingers could form discernible patterns with canvas strips that Levi had cut to emulate cane. The canvas didn’t cut his fingers the way hemp had, but the boy had shown Levi his callused fingertips before bed last night and crowed, “Look! I’ve got working hands, just like you.” Something warm and welcome had flooded Levi’s chest at the comment, and the good feeling was with him still this morning.

He slapped an arm around Tommy’s shoulders. “Let’s go.”

They stepped from the porch to the yard and headed in the direction of the mill. They’d taken only a few strides before Tommy stopped and sniffed the air. “Smells like rain’s comin’.”

Levi searched the sky. Overhead it was mostly clear—just a few wispy streaks of white way up high—but in the north it appeared a thunderstorm was building. He shook his head in wonder. How had Tommy detected rain clouds from miles away? “I think you’re right, Tommy, but I bet it won’t hit until this evening.”

The boy scowled. “Miss Willems, she’s countin’ on gettin’ the house done so we can all move in again. If it starts rainin’, will the men be able to build those walls at the poor farm?”

Levi nudged Tommy’s elbow to get him moving again. A rainstorm could delay the rebuilding. Miss Willems had come out twice during the week to check on Tommy, and each time she’d assured him they’d be back in their own home soon. She seemed to need the assurance even more than Tommy did—the boy was content with Levi. And Levi had to admit he had come to enjoy having the boy around. But he didn’t mind Miss Willems showing up on his porch now and again either. What man wouldn’t enjoy looking at her comely face?

He choked out a startled cough, sending away the thoughts of Miss Willems. “Kansas storms blow through pretty quick. If it lets up by morning, they can probably still work. It’ll just be messy.”

Tommy offered a slow nod, but he didn’t smile. “Oh.”

Levi paused, stopping Tommy with a hand on his arm. “What’s the matter?”

“Once the house is fixed, I … I’ll have to leave.”

Levi’s chest tightened, but he forced a cheery tone. “Well, sure. But that’s a good thing, right? Don’t you miss Miss Willems and the others?”

“I guess so.” The boy’s thick lashes swept up and down a few times. “Miss Willems took good care of me. Cora an’ Wes an’ the others—they
all
took care of me.” A hard edge crept into his voice.

Levi put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “They love you, Tommy.” He knew it was true. He’d seen the way Miss Willems, Cora, and even the older residents from the poor farm looked at Tommy. Miss Willems’s tenderness toward the boy was motherly, protective. Maybe too protective, but he supposed that’s why God gave children both a mother and a father—a mother to be tender and a father to make the youngsters toe the mark. Leastwise, that’s how it had been in his house. Until Far stopped being a father. He cleared his throat. “Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

Tommy lowered his head. “I reckon not. Except …”

Levi cupped Tommy’s chin and lifted his head. “Don’t hang your head when you’re speaking, Tommy. Keep your head up and talk plain. Now, what’s troubling you?”

Tommy aimed his face at Levi’s. His eyes seemed to gaze right through him. “They take care of me like I’m a baby. But I’m not a baby.” His voice grew stronger. He angled his chin high. “I’m a man.”

Levi stifled the chuckle that threatened. Tommy might not be a baby, but he wasn’t a man. Not anywhere close yet. However, he wouldn’t squelch the boy. “I know you aren’t a baby, Tommy, and you do a fine job of taking care of yourself. I’m proud of all the things you’re learning. As you grow older, you’ll learn even more things. But you know something?”

“What?”

“Even a man needs to show appreciation to those who care for him.” Levi’s throat tried to close. For years he’d harbored resentment toward his mother for doing everything for his father. An equal measure of fury resided inside him for his father’s refusal to try to get better. The burden wore him down. He’d carry his grudges to the grave—after so many years they were a permanent part of him—but he’d do whatever he could to keep Tommy from picking up a similar burden. “Remember, they’re only doing what they think is best for you. Even if you can’t appreciate what they do, you can appreciate why they do it. Do you understand?”

Tommy’s lips pursed as if he’d tasted something unpleasant. “I think so, Mr. Jonnson.”

“All right then. Let’s get some work done before that storm blows in, huh?”

The boy cast off his frown. “Yes, sir!”

“Oh no …” Christina rested her fingers on the windowsill and looked at the dark clouds rolling in from the north.

Cora turned from the pie safe. “What’s wrong?” The weariness in her voice matched the defeated slump of her shoulders.

“A storm.” Christina closed her eyes, blocking views of the coming storm and Cora’s sad countenance.
Why now, Lord?
She supposed the area farmers were pleased to see rain clouds. A bountiful harvest relied upon adequate moisture. Thus far no spring rains had fallen. But couldn’t nature have waited one more week to bring its first storm of the season?

Cora carried two jars to the table and set them down. The
thud
of thick glass connecting with wood joined with the distant roll of thunder. “Never knew you to be scared of a storm, ma’am.” Cora removed the top from the closest jar and dumped the contents—pickled okra—into a bowl. She lifted one crisp pod and nibbled it.

Christina sent an impatient glance in the young woman’s direction. “The storm doesn’t frighten me.” Hurt crept across Cora’s features. Christina pushed aside her frustration and spoke more kindly. “If it rains, the men might not be able to work on the poor farm walls as they’d planned.”