Whispers of the Heart (18 page)

“Can't we go there, Autumn? Please?” Straining to see, he bumped his head into the pane.

“I'm sorry, Timmy. I—I think you'll have to wait
on your dad. He'll be back soon enough to take you around to see the encampment.”

In concession, she raised the window a few more inches, hoping to satisfy him with more distinct sound. Not enough for him to lean out; the windows had no bars. Even then, she kept a protective hand curled around the small shoulder in front of her.

They listened for a minute before Timmy lost interest and went back to his trucks just as her phone rang. She slid the window nearly closed and snatched up her cordless from the nearby desk.

“Spring,” she answered, glancing to be sure her young friend was happily resettled before she launched into conversation. “What's up? Ah, yes, I think I have it….”

She carried the phone into her bedroom to search her nightstand for an address Spring wanted. From the other side of her wall, she heard the puppies bark and decided Timmy must be playing with them. A few minutes later, she hung up, tossing her address book back into the drawer.

“Timmy, how about finger painting?” she suggested as she came around the corner.

The boy didn't answer. In their pen, the puppies were whining.

“Timmy?” Her glance flew from one corner to the other, her stomach beginning to clutch. The window remained open only the few inches she'd left it….

…But the door stood half-open.

A
utumn stood frozen for all of three seconds while her heart leapt into her throat. Again, she let her gaze frantically search her open space. Was he hiding?

There were very few places for him to hide where he'd remain completely unseen.

Oh, please let him only be hiding….

“Timmy, come out.” But she heard nothing, no mischievous giggle or excited wiggling.

And the half-opened door beckoned….

In agitation, Samson jumped against the pen netting, barking and whining to be set free. His little nose pointed toward the door. He turned to look at her with soulful eyes before he barked and jumped against the netting again. Buttons, set off by her brother, did the same.

Had Timmy left the apartment?

“Timmy!” she anguished, her voice reverberating against the confining walls. No! Surely he wouldn't!

Yet the evidence was irrefutable. Racing, she
snatched her keys from the hook against a kitchen cupboard and dashed out, taking a quick note that he wasn't in the miniature hallway before clattering down the stairs. “Timmy!”

When she reached the street, she stopped long enough to look up and down the sidewalk. No little boy figure met her gaze.

Several cars took up space along the curbs. She studied them, but saw no movement. Beyond her quieter street, traffic moved, but she saw no pedestrians.

Had he gone to his dad's office? She clutched at the hope. That would make sense. Timmy was very familiar with his dad's place of business; he would think nothing of going there, perhaps in search of Brent.

She ran across the street and into the building, shoving her way through the door to Hyatt Architectural Services with great force. Startled, Sheila glanced up from her computer.

“Hi, Autumn—”

“Sheila, did Timmy come over here?” Even as she spoke in abrupt tones, her gaze searched the open room and tried to see around large pieces of office furniture. The child was nowhere in sight. Brent's door was closed, his office dark.

Almost before Sheila answered, “No,” Autumn turned, ready to retrace her steps. John came out of his office.

“What's wrong?”

“Timmy's gone,” she said over her shoulder. She swallowed hard, pushing her panic back with more force than she'd ever faced before, hoping her churn
ing stomach would calm down in a moment. “I was on the phone only a few minutes….”

“That's kids for you,” Sheila said, shaking her head with disgust. “Well, I'm sure he's only hiding from you.”

“I don't think so,” Autumn answered, willing the knot in her throat not to swell. “The puppies let me know he'd gone out. My front door was open.”

“I'll help you look for him,” John said with sudden decision, his craggy face softening at the sight of her distress. He laid his papers down and came forward. “He's probably only in the parking lot, or this one, waiting for Brent. But why don't you backtrack and see if he hasn't returned to your place before we widen the search.”

“Yes…” she agreed, snatching at the hope the suggestion gave her. “He might've…Samson's there.” Surely Timmy wouldn't go far without Samson?

They left the building and she ran back toward her own while John turned toward the car lot next door. From a few yards down, she heard her name called. Swiftly glancing toward the speaker, she spotted Laureen with a couple of men walking toward her from the corner. She paused, brushing her bangs from her eyes as she asked, “Laureen, have you seen Timmy in the last few moments?”

“Timmy? You mean out here on the street?” Laureen's mouth pursed in disapproval, while her brows lifted. “Why, what would the child be doing out here without you?”

Autumn didn't wait to answer. She entered her building. For once her elevator was in the lobby, and
she took it up. Getting off, she instantly knew the child wasn't there; she'd pulled her door closed as she'd left, knowing the automatic lock would kick in. It remained tightly shut.

She returned to the street. John and Laureen huddled together on the step, her clients nearby. They turned her way as she came out.

“There you are, Autumn,” Laureen said, her tone outraged and accusing. “How could you have lost the child?”

“I—he, um,” she tried for words, for reasons. She wanted to scream that it wasn't her fault, but she knew it was. How could she have let Timmy out of her sight? “I don't know. He was playing with his trucks. But I guess he left the apartment while I was using the phone. I didn't hear him….”

“Have you called his father?” Laureen asked sharply, looking at her as though she were stupid.

“No, I—” Perhaps she was stupid, Autumn thought with agonizing self-accusation. Why hadn't she taken better care of the child? Why hadn't she taken time to call Brent?

“Well, I'm calling Brent! And John, I suggest you do the same. That way we can be sure he'll get the message and he'll return your call, surely. And the police. We should call the police.”

The police? Autumn's heart pounded like a sledge hammer.

Oh, God, is Timmy really lost? Where is he? Oh, please, God, please…take care of him…protect him… What should I do? Help me…please, help me find him….

From the marketplace, the Native American rhyth
mic chant began again, its mournful sounds traveling up her spine with eerie calling. Autumn suddenly realized the drums had been silent while she'd been on the street. And the certainty of where Timmy had gone hit her abruptly, as though a hurricane force had slammed into her head.

Oh, Lord, no…

She turned toward the market, staring as though she could see the distance and through the intervening buildings. Timmy had wanted to see the encampment. The native dancers.

From the corner of her eye, she realized Laureen and John had turned toward Brent's office, and were halfway across the street. Laureen's two clients followed in their wake; one glanced over his shoulder in pity, seeming to ask if she planned to join them. She paid him no mind and started along the sidewalk on shaky legs. She was alone….

Except for Spring, she'd been alone most of her life. Alone… She remembered another time she'd been alone, helpless, and so badly frightened she'd never quite gotten over it.

She was six. Separated from Spring and Mommy by a zillion people. A forest of human bodies. How had that happened? Mommy and Spring had been there one moment and gone the next. She got pushed along and shoved and stepped on. She tried to find them, tried not to cry, but they'd gone and left her behind. Hours and hours later, they found her against a corner wall, with a prickly surface which scratched her skin. Mommy scolded, and asked her where she'd been, and why she'd run away, and where she'd gotten the bruise on her face. She tried
to tell Mommy she hadn't run away, but it came out all jumbled. She didn't know, couldn't remember where she'd been.

And she'd thrown up. It took hours for her to calm down. She hadn't slept well for weeks afterward.

Autumn continued to stare ahead of her. But she didn't need to see it to know a huge crowd had invaded the old marketplace. The very vibration of thousands filled the air and thrummed along the earth and sidewalk to surround her, torment her.

Timmy is caught up in that mob. He'll be frightened….

Her stomach churned with a horrible, biting fear. She took another step, forcing herself to place one foot in front of another. Her hands were damp, and so was the rest of her.

…terrified…suffocated…

Behind her, she vaguely heard her name called. She had no energy to respond, no ability to answer while Timmy's image, small and helpless, rose before her. She had to reach him, had to find him before…

He'll be crushed…or maimed…or someone could…could…

Her legs, heavy and stiff, began to move into a clumsy run. Where was the speed she'd gained over the past few weeks? And the grace? Stumbling over a rock, she righted herself awkwardly, and pushed on.

Around the corner, down the sloping street. Ahead of her, the sounds of buzzing voices, drums and rattles, and the activity of a thousand bodies grew louder. She swallowed against the continually rising
nausea, and her fingers curled into fists. Sweat from her forehead rolled into her eyes. She wanted desperately to go back home, but she couldn't.

She couldn't stop. She couldn't go back. Little Timmy was caught up in that vast throng.

“Oh, Lord, I need you….” Her cry broke from her throat in a personal plea so intense it filled her head and surrounded her like a cloud. “I'm so afraid…alone.”

She crossed a street, her prayer still screaming through her mind. She reached the edge of the marketplace. Streams of people milled out into the street and jammed the inside of the market square; vegetable and fruit stands waited on customers three and four deep. The Indian encampment was completely surrounded. She'd never get through there. Her mind felt numb, her legs would barely move.

“Go, Autumn,” she mumbled, forcing herself to take another step. Air gasped into hurting lungs with shallow breaths. “This is for Timmy….”

If you're there, Lord, help me…

From somewhere, her churning mind began to settle into more clarity. A sense of peace drifted over her like a cloak.

You are not alone, Autumn. I'll never leave you or forsake you.
A voice came into her mind, gentle yet authoritative.
I am always with you….

Autumn crept forward, still trembling all over. Yet her tummy felt less troublesome. She paused long enough to gaze around her a moment. Someone bumped her, and she fell back, pulling in a harsh breath.

“Timmy!” she called in reckless abandon, even
knowing she couldn't be heard over the din. How could she find him in this mass of people? Her trepidation rose higher again. She thought her legs wouldn't obey her command to move.

I am with you…you are not alone….

Biting at her lips, Autumn found it easier to move forward, closer to the mob.

Shoulder against shoulder, heavy backs made an impenetrable barrier surrounding the native dancers. Autumn saw a few small children eagerly watching the drama, but none were Timmy. Each small body seemed attached to an adult. But how could she make her way through?

Fear not…I am with you…you can do this.

Her shaking limbs began to calm, her stomach felt less stress.

Autumn took a deep breath, muttering a firm “Excuse me,” along with a quieter, “Make me strong, Lord,” as she pushed through the crushing first layer of tall, overwhelming bodies. Each step became stronger. Making her shoulder into a wedge, she shoved through the next section, looking for Timmy as she wove her way to the right, then left.

The chanting and drums carried a stronger beat, and she stood on her toes to see over the heads in front of her. The woman next to her gave her a sour stare for her efforts, and she mumbled a “Sorry…” and pushed away.

She finally reached the front row, stumbling almost into the path of the dancers.

“Watch it, lady,” someone yelled.

She ignored it, and instead quickly glanced this way and that for Timmy. Then her breath caught as
she spied him. He sat with his legs folded beneath him, watching an older man display the fur of a small animal. She saw his eyes lift in pure wonder as he ran a hand down its soft texture.

Someone near her bumped against her back. She didn't look around. She went forward, making her way toward the child as straight as she could.

“Timmy.”

He looked up, and broke into a completely innocent smile. “Hi, Autumn.”

“Timmy, you've given me such a scare. I thought you were lost.”

“I'm not lost, Autumn. I'm here. I wanted to see the Indians.”

“But you…”

“And you found me, didn't you?”

“That's not it, Timmy. You left without telling anyone. Come on, let's go home now.”

“I don't want to go home, Autumn. I want to stay here and learn how to make a drum. See? There in that tent?”

“Timmy, I—I can't stay. Your dad may bring you back later, but we must leave now.”

“But Autumn…”

“Please, Tim.” She gazed around her, feeling her throat closing in as her emotions and fears rose once more. If she didn't get out of here soon, she thought, she'd begin to scream.

What could she do? How could she convince the boy to come along without more ado?

The old man sitting in the circle of children gazed at her with watchful eyes. Other children played with the furs, or wandered to other displays.

She glanced away. She couldn't stay. The overwhelming fear of being crushed still shook her from inside out. She hated being a coward, but she had to leave. Whatever self-confidence she'd been drawing upon was now about to run out.

Yet she couldn't leave Timmy. What should she do if he refused to come with her?

Lord, are you there?

Then a thought bloomed and she said, “Timmy, Samson is waiting for you at home. He thought you were lost, too, and he'll be worried. Shall we go home and show him you aren't?”

The boy gave her a moment's doubtful gaze, then got to his feet. “Okay.”

She held out her hand, and he placed his there. She wrapped her fingers around his small ones, sudden gratitude for his trust filling her all the way to the top and spilling over. The old man gave her a respectful nod, and they strolled away.

Timmy chatted eagerly, telling her about the drums and dancers, the tepees and the man with the furs. She answered in monosyllables. Halfway home, she stopped and wiped her face of sweat with the tail of her T-shirt.

The need to release her tensions and terror with cleansing tears rode her all the way back to her street, but she sternly held them in check. She'd found Timmy, after all. He was safe. Unharmed.