What Once Was Lost (25 page)

“I don’t mind rain,” Christina said, leaning her head against the rolled back of the rocking chair. The chair sat so comfortably. If she closed her eyes, she might drift off to sleep. “I’m just discouraged by the timing.”

“Ahhh.” Mary Ann nodded. “The rebuilding was supposed to happen today.”

Christina sighed. “Yes.” She turned her head slightly to stare at the steady rainfall. “I was so hoping to be back in my own home by this evening.”

“Can’t say I blame you. Even though Jay and me are happy here in Brambleville, there are times I miss our old home something fierce. We loved it so.”

Christina didn’t mean to be nosy, but an underlying sadness in the woman’s voice stirred curiosity. “Then why did you leave it?”

Mary Ann set her rocking chair in motion. “I suppose you could say we needed a fresh start. Away from bad memories.”

Remorse stung Christina. She touched Mary Ann’s hand. “I’m sorry if I reminded you of something unpleasant.”

“Oh, now, don’t apologize.” A sad smile played at the corners of Mary Ann’s mouth. “You see, Jay and me have lost three babies in our years of marriage. After the third one the doctor told me I wasn’t meant to be a mother—my body just won’t carry a baby. He quoted the verse from the first chapter of Job: ‘The L
ORD
gave, and the L
ORD
hath taken away; blessed be the name of the L
ORD
.’ ” A soft, mirthless laugh left her throat. “I confess, it took me a while to accept we’d never have children and still be able to bless the Lord’s name, but after much prayer I’m at peace with it now. I have Jay, and he is content just to have me, so I am blessed.”

Christina couldn’t imagine the strength and faith it must have taken to overcome such a deep loss. She didn’t know what to say to her friend, so she sat in silence.

After a few minutes Mary Ann spoke again. “How’d you end up living on a poor farm, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I don’t mind.” Christina began to rock gently. “My parents were managing a poor farm in Iowa when I was born, so I grew up watching them minister to folks who weren’t able to provide for themselves.”

“Sounds rather dreary.”

Christina shook her head. “Far from it. It’s a blessing to reach out to others in need. I know you understand that. You reached out to me when I needed clothing and other articles for the residents after our fire.”

Mary Ann shrugged. “But we’ve been repaid for those things. Someone from the mission board—Mr. Regehr, I think he said his name was—came in last week and took care of the bill.”

“He did?” Why hadn’t the man come to see her while he was in town? Instead, he’d sneaked around, paying off the debt and then removing Joe
and Florie from her care. What else had the mission board done without her knowledge?

“Mm-hmm. Paid it in full. But”—Mary Ann frowned—“he said something curious. He said to close the poor farm account for good, to allow no more charging. They aren’t shutting down the poor farm, are they?”

Fear turned Christina’s mouth to cotton. It seemed that’s exactly what the board intended to do. And if they did, where would she go? “I …”—Christina gulped—“I hope not. It’s my home.” She blinked back tears. Holding Papa’s watch loosely in her hand, she shared, “My mother died when I was ten, and shortly after that the mission board asked my father if he’d be willing to establish a new poor farm in Kansas. Papa thought a change would be good for both of us, so he said yes, and he moved here to Brambleville while I attended a school for young women near Boston. When I’d finished my schooling, I came to help Papa by tutoring children who resided at the poor farm. I’ve been there ever since.”

“So it’s all you’ve ever known.” Mary Ann sounded pensive.

“I suppose it is.” Christina idly traced the etching on the watch’s face with one finger. “And I’m eager to return to it before I lose any more of my residents.”

“What do you mean?”

Christina explained the Schwartzes’ and Deatons’ departures, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell Mary Ann about the twins. In part, she saw no point in mentioning it because she intended to get them back. But mostly she felt it would be cruel to talk about the temporary loss of the children after learning of the Creegers’ permanent losses.

“So,” Mary Ann said, “people who move into the poor farm don’t necessarily stay there forever?”

Christina shook her head. “Not always. Sometimes—such as with elderly residents—they’re with us until they pass away. We have a small cemetery behind the house where some of our former residents have been laid to rest.” What would happen to the cemetery if the mission board closed the poor
farm? Who would care for the graves? “Younger people sometimes just need a place to stay until they finish school or recover from an illness or find employment. We never know how long we’ll minister to someone, but we try to be available for as long as we’re needed.”

The back door slammed, and moments later Jay Creeger stepped from the storage room at the back into the main part of the store. His hair was damp, and his boots dripped muddy water, but except for the bottom twelve inches of his trousers, his clothes were dry, proving the effectiveness of his slicker. He strode to the women and held out both hands to his wife. A smirk twitched on his bearded cheeks. “You see? I’m not made of sugar after all. I didn’t melt in the rain.”

Mary Ann laughed and pushed herself up from the rocking chair to shake her finger beneath her husband’s nose. “As if anyone would accuse you of being made of sugar. You’re pure vinegar, and we all know it!”

The pair shared a laugh that left Christina feeling like an interloper. She rose. “Mr. Creeger?”

“Yes?” He slipped his arm around his wife’s waist.

Heat flared in Christina’s face, and she shifted her gaze slightly to the right of the couple. Why did evidence of the Creegers’ loving relationship create such turmoil within her? “Since today’s rain made it impossible for the men to work at the poor farm, I wondered if I might prevail upon you to put up a new placard about working next Saturday instead.”

“Why, certainly! I’ll get one penned and put it on the window before the end of the day. And any man who comes in, I’ll be sure to point it out to him.” The man’s helpfulness knew no limits. How Christina appreciated this genial pair.

“Thank you so much.” Her voice quavered.

The man grinned. “It’s no trouble at all.”

“We’re glad to help you,” Mary Ann added.

Christina smiled, warmed by their kindness. “If there’s ever anything I can do for you, I trust you’ll let me know.”

The two glanced at each other as if communicating silently. Then Mr. Creeger turned a serious look on Christina. “Actually, there is something, if you’d give it some thought.”

Christina waited, ready to agree, no matter what his request was.

“Mary Ann and me, we’ve stayed busier here than in our former town. Probably because there we were one of four mercantiles, and here in Brambleville ours is the only one.” He scratched his chin. “Sometimes we’re so worn out at the end of the day we hardly have the energy to eat our supper before we fall into bed.”

Christina shook her head slightly, uncertain how she could help the Creegers get more sleep.

He drew in a big breath. “If you’d be kind enough to ask the ladies who’ve been living out at the poor farm if any of them would like to take on a job here, we’d be much obliged to have an extra pair of helping hands.”

Chapter 25

As Levi hitched the horse to his wagon, he squinted against the bright Sunday morning sun. The clear sky overhead gave no evidence of the recent rain. If it weren’t for the muddy ground beneath his feet, he might have thought yesterday’s gray gloom was just a dream. By the time he finished securing the rigging, he carried a half inch of goo on his boots. He scraped them as clean as possible on the edge of the porch stairs, then tromped to the door and stuck his head inside the house.

“Tommy? You ready?”

“Comin’!” The boy moved across the floor from the bedroom to the front door, hands wavering in front of him and head bobbing but picking up his feet rather than shuffling. He’d slicked down his hair with water and tucked in his shirt, which was buttoned all the way to the top. He’d even managed to tie a black ribbon, albeit a little crookedly, around his neck. He looked spit-shined and happy, and just seeing the cheerful expression on the boy’s face gave Levi’s heart a lift.

“Pretty muddy out here,” Levi said as Tommy stepped over the threshold onto the porch. “All that muck is bound to muss your boots and maybe even the hem of your britches. So here …” He took Tommy’s hand and placed it on his shoulder. “Let me piggyback you to the wagon.”

Tommy drew back. “You sure? I ain’t piggybacked on anybody since I was a kid.”

Levi swallowed a chuckle. Over the past week Tommy had frequently referred to himself as grown-up or a man. Not being cosseted by womenfolk had turned his thoughts around. Levi wouldn’t argue, but neither would he confirm Tommy’s claims to having left his childhood behind. Levi bent forward
slightly, bracing his hands on his knees. “We’d better keep your boots clean so you don’t muddy up the church floor. Just give a hop.”

With an embarrassed giggle Tommy caught hold of Levi’s shoulders. He bounced on his heels a few times before giving a nimble leap and straddling Levi’s hips. Levi looped his hands beneath the boy’s knees and carted him to the wagon with Tommy’s laughter huffing in his ears. He grinned as he set the boy’s behind on the wagon bed. Tommy scooted backward, using his heels to propel himself all the way to the front.

While Levi climbed aboard, Tommy scrambled over the seat’s back and settled himself, hands in his lap, chin angled high with a grin splitting his face. “That was fun. My pa, he used to gimme rides around the yard sometimes before—” His grin faded.

Levi took up the reins and released the brake. “Before …” He flicked the reins, and the horse strained forward, pulling the wagon toward the road.

Tommy hung his head, his shoulders slumping like a deflating balloon. He jostled with the wagon’s movement as though he lacked the strength to hold himself erect. “Before I got blind and burned. After that, Pa didn’t seem to like me much.” A huge sigh heaved from the boy’s lungs. “Most people didn’t like me much after that.”

Levi’s chest twisted painfully. He groped for something—anything—that might offer a whisper of comfort. “It seems to me you have quite a few friends: Cora and Wes and Miss Willems.” Instantly an image of the woman’s sweet face gazing tenderly at the boy filled his memory. Levi had scorned her for caring too much, but at least she hadn’t rejected Tommy.

Tommy raised one shoulder as if warding off Levi’s words. “Miss Willems is nice. And I guess she likes me, ’cause she keeps trying to take me back with her again. But … how come most people are so … so …”

“Distant?”

The boy nodded. “That’s a good word. Distant. They don’t want to talk to me or touch me or even be around me.” He fingered the puckered flesh on his cheek and jaw. “Is it ’cause I’m real ugly?”

Birdsong trilled from the brush lining the roadway. The sun beamed round and cheerful overhead, lighting the fresh, unfurling tree leaves and the little sprigs of green breaking across the earth. A cool breeze scented with moist earth and new growth teased Levi’s senses. A day like this should lift a man’s spirits, but heaviness weighted his heart instead. Why did this boy have to remind Levi of the most painful part of his own life?

Levi shifted the reins to one hand and curled the other arm around Tommy’s narrow shoulders. The boy needed to know someone was willing to touch him. “You aren’t ugly, Tommy.” Long-buried memories attacked, bringing with them the fresh sting of resentment. “People … they can be selfish. They keep their distance to protect themselves. Because”—awareness dawned, sending a chill from Levi’s scalp down his spine—“they’re scared.”

Tommy’s head turned in Levi’s direction. “Of me?”

“Well … sort of but not really.” Levi searched for an explanation Tommy would understand. An explanation that would help justify his own initial refusal to offer Tommy shelter. “When people are afraid of something, they … avoid it. Right? So maybe folks are just scared they’ll say the wrong thing—make you feel bad. Or maybe they don’t know how to talk to somebody who can’t see.” Or to someone who no longer seemed grounded in reality. Another chill attacked Levi’s flesh. He gave Tommy’s shoulder a squeeze and then returned his hand to the reins. He finished in a weak voice, speaking as much to himself as to the confused boy on the seat beside him. “So instead of taking a chance of doing the wrong thing, they just … stay away.”

Very slowly Tommy nodded. “I guess that makes sense.” Then he snorted and folded his arms over his chest. “Ain’t right, though. Seems to me that folks with scars an’ such, they’re the ones who really need somebody to treat ’em like there’s nothin’ wrong with ’em. Hard enough to
be
different without everybody treatin’ you different.” His stiff pose relaxed, his face shifting again as if peering into Levi’s face. “How come you talk to me like I’m just a regular boy with no scars?”

Levi’s hands involuntarily tightened on the reins. His throat grew tight,
and when he spoke, his voice sounded raw. “I know how it feels to be treated different because of scars.”

Tommy’s sightless eyes grew wide. “You have scars, too?”

Levi’s scars were internal rather than external, just as Far’s had been, but that didn’t make them any less real. “Yep.”

The boy stretched out one hand and placed it on Levi’s knee. He squeezed, the touch filled with compassion. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jonnson.”

Tears stung Levi’s eyes, and he couldn’t answer. So he held tight to the reins and guided the horse the remaining distance to the church, with sunshine warming his head through his suede hat and Tommy’s hand warming his knee. He drew the team to a halt as the church bell began to ring. Tommy’s hand slipped away, and the boy bobbed his head in the direction of the reverberating
bong, bong
. But he made no move to leave the seat.

Levi lightly bumped the boy with his elbow. “Go ahead. Get yourself down and follow the sound. You can do it.”