A Western Romance: Nathaniel Yancey: Taking the High Road (Book 6) (Taking the High Road series)

by Morris Fenris

  VII

  “We’ve got a lotta good local talent in this town,” announced Nathaniel, apropos of nothing in particular, at a mid-morning break from paying bills and writing sermons.

  Oh, Lord, he’s off on another wild hare again.

  “Uh-huh,” Delilah cautiously agreed from the stove. A delicious aroma had filled the kitchen from her cinnamon rolls baking in the oven; and the scent had literally pulled Nathaniel, mouth watering, out of his desk chair and down the hall.

  “Yeah, I found that out with the girls. A good ridin’ instructor for Emmie, thanks t’ Buck at the station, and a good art instructor for Linnie, thanks t’ Smith at his General Store. So, I was thinkin’…”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She had set the enormous pan of rolls on the counter, to cool, but he couldn’t wait. Slipping over beside her, he snatched one out and then tossed it from hand to hand until he could chomp down on a piece, like some determined snapping turtle. “Ouch, ouch, ouch,” he grumbled, after a quick swallow.

  “Well, you mighta known you’d get burnt,” she told him grumpily.

  He aimed a sunny smile in her direction, grabbed another, and resumed his seat. “Worth every hot spot, Miss Trubody. Nobody can make cinnamon rolls like you can.”

  “Hmmph.” Mollified, she poured a glass of milk for him to go with the second roll. Or maybe it was the third by now. “So what about talent?”

  “Got two littlers taken care of, but nothin’ yet for Hollie. So, here’s my idea. There’s a dance studio been set up next t’ the post office. I stopped there t’ find out about classes and such. Whatdya think, Delilah? Would that work for her?”

  She leaned back against the counter, considering. “Dance school, huh? Y’ mean ballet, with those fancy costumes, and the slippers, all in pink?”

  Nathaniel grinned and picked up his glass. “It’s her favorite color.”

  “It’d prob’ly mean goin’ t’ special events, like recitals, that kinda thing.”

  “Ahuh. Reckon we could all manage that.”

  “What if she hated it? What if she wanted t’ drop out after a coupla weeks?”

  He shrugged, unconcerned. “What if she did? Then she’d drop out. Nothin’ t’ say she’d have t’ stay. But what if she liked it, Delilah? What if she really loved it?”

  “Parson, sir.” She moved around to pat his shoulder. “You are nothin’ so much as a fairy godfather ’round here.”

  As it turned out, when Nathaniel went to explain his plan to Hollie, she was gone.

  The littlers came in for dinner a while later, ravenous as always and growling like bear cubs for food. But there were only two. Not three. Two.

  “Go wash your filthy hands,” Delilah directed automatically. “Where’s Hollie?”

  “I dunno. Thought she was with you.”

  “Now, why would she be with me, when you two were out playin’ as usual? You ain’t seen her?”

  “Uh-uh,” said Linnie. “You got mashed ’taters for dinner, Delilah? I like mashed ’taters.”

  “Go wash,” ordered Delilah again. A small curl of apprehension had snaked into her middle, gradually unfolding to grow larger and more intense. Hurrying away, she knocked at the Reverend’s study door and burst inside without waiting for a response.

  “Gone?” repeated Nathaniel blankly. “Whatdya mean, gone?”

  “Not with the littlers. They thought she was with me. And I just checked—she isn’t with none of the older girls, neither. Parson, sir, I don’t know where she is. And I’m worried.”

  He shoved back from his desk. “Me, too, Delilah. But we’ll find her. C’mon. Let’s round up the troops.”

  An hour passed by, then another. Tina stayed behind with the two remaining children, to feed them dinner and keep them reasonably calm and unaffected by the hullabaloo going on around them.

  Nathaniel and Caroline set off in one direction, checking in all of Hollie’s favorite hiding and playing places; Delilah and Portia scoured the house, through cupboards and closets and the dark, rarely used cellar, and then headed for the church. Just in case.

  Nothing. No one. No sign of her anywhere.

  By then it was time to call in the sheriff.

  In an agony of fear and misgiving, the women stayed behind, brewing up pots of coffee that no one could drink and piling together sandwiches that no one could eat. A few words here and there; a lot of pacing and checking at windows.

  Nathaniel had loped off to file a report with Sheriff Carter Novak and very shortly loped back, with the Sheriff and several deputies in tow.

  “Ma’am,” said Novak, tipping his hat respectfully to Delilah. “I’m sorry that the little girl is missin’. But we’ll set up a search team, and spread out, and we should find her real soon.”

  Despite her teeth being gritted and every muscle set hard with tension, Delilah was trembling like a leaf in the wind. “Thank you, Sheriff,” she managed to get out. “I hope so. She’s only f-f-four…”

  He glanced around, caught sight of Caroline, and snagged her attention. “Miss Winthrop, you might wanna get this lady some coffee and have her sit down a while. She’s not lookin’ so good.”

  Word had started circulating about the youngest Winthrop girl having disappeared and rippled out to the farthest reaches of town. Immediately, a delegation set up shop in the church, with three or four members to begin with, and more arriving every few minutes. Stores were closed, and businesses shut up. Virginia City protected its own, and the good citizens drew together for whatever might come along. Josh was there, and Andy, doing what they could; and even Luke showed up to offer his services.

  Search parties went out, casting their net far and wide for the location of a beloved little girl. No clues were found, no evidence of any passage. The Sheriff sent for his son, who owned a bloodhound named Thumper. They, too, in tandem, traced over every step taken thus far. No luck.

  “Oh, my God; oh, my God; oh, my God,” whispered Delilah, sunk into the depths of the kitchen rocker and her own misery. Whether the words were a prayer or a condemnation was anyone’s guess.

  The afternoon dragged on, into evening, twilight, and full dark. Lights blazed at every window of the parsonage, and the church as activity continued: neighbors and congregants out on the hunt, then returning to report or take sustenance before setting off again.

  Portia and Tina had taken charge of the little girls, to keep them out of the line of fire with everything going on. Meanwhile, a frantic Nathaniel had joined the teams, with Caroline right behind him.

  What had happened to the child? Gone, all these hours—taken? Stolen away? That flossy little head, those great china-blue eyes, the quick and easy tears designed to melt any cold heart, the trust and innocence of those spindly arms, lifted, waiting to be picked up…

  Each time that thought flashed across his mind, something seemed to hit Nathaniel hard in the chest, clenching and squeezing until he rasped for breath.

  “Don’t give up,” Caroline exhorted him fiercely. “Don’t give up! We’ll find her, Nate. We’ve got to find her.”

  “I’m prayin’ with every step,” he answered as they trudged along. Swinging lanterns, calling her name, desperate for any mark, any tip, any giveaway. “But this—Carrie, if some event were t’ be liable for causin’ a crisis of faith, it would be—this one…”

  As the night hours drew on, with no success, Nathaniel became more and more sure of just one thing: once this precious little girl was located, he would tell Carrie how he felt. Forget Luke Dundall; that smug banker would never care for his dear Miss Winthrop as he did. He needed to at least take that chance. He couldn’t risk losing any of these family members who had come to own his whole being.

  Tiredness first, then fatigue, then utter exhaustion, as black skies began to lighten and the dawn of a new day approached.

  With all hope gone.

  VIII

  “What on earth is all this commotion about?”

  Nathaniel, plopp
ed in overwhelming anguish in a chair on the front porch, raised his weary head and his bleary gaze to see Parris Porter mincing up the walk. Dressed as usual in her finest blue silk morning suit with a hat to match, even at this ungodly hour, she paused upon the top step to stare at the bearded, disheveled leader of her church.

  “You look positively ghastly, Reverend,” she told him flatly. “Have you been ill?”

  “I reckon you—you might say that.”

  “So much noise. And all these lights, and people coming and going. I barely got a wink of sleep all night long! Surely, Reverend, you and your—um—crowd might show a little more respect for your neighbor.”

  He straightened his aching body. Physical ache, mental ache, emotional ache. And saw no hope, at this point, for anything ever being any different. He would go through the rest of his life with this giant hole in his chest, where something had ripped out his heart and thrown it away.

  “Hollie’s missin’,” he croaked.

  “Missing? What do you mean, missing?”

  “Gone. Since yesterday, late mornin’. Can’t find her anywhere.”

  Casting about from one side to the other, where activity had slowed but not abated, Parris nodded. “Oh, that explains the fuss. Well, she should be fine.”

  “Fine? Why—why should she be fine? She’s missin’, I tell you.”

  Parris brushed a speck of lint from the lapel of her jacket and smoothed down the shimmering silk of her skirt. “Of course she isn’t missing. She’s over there, in that field to the back of your house.”

  Nathaniel whirled, as if expecting the little girl to miraculously appear at his elbow. “The field? Of course she isn’t in the field. We’ve all been searchin’ there, and everywhere else, all night long.”

  By now, a small crowd, hearing voices, had emerged from the house to gather behind him in silent support. Caroline, at one shoulder; Delilah, eyes red-rimmed and brimming; Portia and Andy, waiting for more.

  “Well, you should be able to see her easily enough. She’s probably just pouting, as she always does. In the field is where I left her, yesterday.”

  “Left her? Whatdya mean, left her?” Standing tall and taut, he gave the impression of strength held tightly-leashed but close to snapping, like a coiled spring. Somehow, he managed not to reach out and lay hold of her to shake the truth free. “What happened yesterday?”

  “Now, Reverend, you know how naughty those children are. They misbehave at every turn, they refuse to listen to orders, they deliberately try to—”

  “What happened yesterday?” he roared.

  With the outburst, he took on the appearance of a Mephistopheles, huge, brooding, shadowy. And dangerous. Very dangerous.

  Enough so that even the redoubtable Parris Porter took a step backward.

  “Why, Reverend, what kind of way is that to talk to me?” she demanded, drawing herself up proudly and piously. “I’m only trying to help.”

  Furious at the delay and prevarication, Caroline stepped forward into the fray. “Speak out, you nasty woman, or I’ll deal with you myself.”

  “Of all the nerve—!”

  “Parris.” Nathaniel closed his eyes, too overwrought any more for good manners. “Please.”

  “She was picking flowers out of my garden, bold as brass,” Parris answered sullenly. “Just walked right on over and helped herself. When I demanded to know what she thought she was doing, she hummed a little and said she was making a bouquet. Really, Reverend, I don’t think that child is right in the head. To think that—”

  “What else?” with a great display of forced patience.

  “So I jerked her out to the field, and told her to pick the wildflowers there and leave my garden alone. Just to let her know I meant It, I slapped her, and then—”

  “You what?” Another roar.

  This one had their neighbor cringing away. Not in fear, but in revulsion.

  Delilah forced her way forward. “You hit her? You hit my little honeybee, and then you left her alone, out there in the field?”

  “She’s only four, Parris,” Caroline reminded her with force. “Four years old. Hardly out of babyhood. How could you?”

  “Oh, pooh. You all make too much of her. I told you before, Reverend, discipline. Those children need discipline.”

  “You harpy!” cried Delilah, almost beside herself with fury. “Discipline, my ass! Discipline this!”

  And before anyone could make a move to restrain her, the housekeeper had doubled up her fist and slugged Parris Porter smack into the middle of her silk-covered gut. With a whoosh of breath, she fell back against the porch pillar and slid slowly to the ground in a pile of loose bones and blue flounces.

  No one lingered to help her up or to check the state of her health.

  Everyone fled, with a pounding of heels, to the back field. A quick explanation to the Sheriff, who was still searching with his men and the church volunteers, and their quest continued with renewed vigor.

  It took the team another two hours of crawling on hands and knees before anything was discovered, far off almost to Four-Square Wood. And then it was actually Jezebel who found the opening into the earth that had swallowed up little Hollie. The cat had dashed hither and yon, getting underfoot and in the way, until she rummaged through the grass to one particular area and refused to move. Her braying cry called Nathaniel to investigate.

  Part of a tunnel into an old mine shaft had collapsed with the child’s weight. There she lay, unconscious and unaware, several feet below.

  When Nathaniel emerged from the hole, with the limp little body in his arms, a wild cheer went up from all those would-be rescuers who had worked so valiantly through the night. Then it was left only for her to be carried carefully to her home and tucked into the spare room bed.

  While the doctor spent some time with her, Nathaniel and his whole family stood on the front porch to thank everyone for their help.

  “Words will never be enough t’ express our appreciation for all you’ve done for us,” he spoke humbly but gratefully, his voice cracking with emotion, to those gathered around. The early morning sun cast blinding light into his eyes; that must be the reason for this annoying mist that kept him from seeing clearly. “Please go on home now, and get some rest, and know what your help has meant. And please keep our little Hollie in your prayers, as she tries to recover.”

  Dimly he heard shouts of “You got it, Reverend!” and “Our best t’ you and all the girls!” and “We’ll be checkin’ back later t’ see how the little one is!” as the crowd slowly dispersed.

  “A sorrier, more pathetic collection of human bein’s I have never seen,” Nathaniel found some reserve of strength left to chuckle at the group collapsed in the parlor.

  Only because that room held the most comfortable furniture. Only because it required too much energy to put one foot in front of the other and climb the stairs.

  Caroline managed a weary smile. “Sit down, Nate, before you fall over.”

  Andy and Portia were twined together in the loveseat, with her head resting against his shoulder while she slept. At another time, Nathaniel might have chided them for a rather unfitting position. Not now. Not when his heart had been miraculously restored to his chest, to beat again, fully and satisfyingly. His little Hollie wasn’t out of the woods yet, not by a long shot. But she was home, at least, where she belonged. By God, she was home!

  From a chair in the corner, Delilah looked up with a mixture of shame and defensiveness. “Sorry, Parson, sir. Reckon I shouldn’ta done what I did, but—”

  “Delilah Trubody, our champion lightweight boxer.” He touched her shoulder. “Don’t apologize, Delilah. If you hadn’ta hit her, I prob’ly would’ve.”

  “Well.” The housekeeper still rumbled a bit. “She’s an evil one, that woman. Hmmph. Wonder what happened t’ her.”

  Caroline’s eyes crinkled with amusement, in the way Nathaniel had come to notice and love. “Luke took pity on her, and walked her home. I hear
d her complaining all the way about how desperately she needed a doctor, but the only one in town was here, dealing with the bratty child that no one can stand…and on and on.”

  Sighing heavily, Nathaniel sank down onto an upholstered chair. He was surprised to find how exhausted he was, and how his legs would suddenly no longer support his weight. “Reckon she never took a single one of my sermons t’ heart,” he mourned. “And after I worked so hard on ’em, too.”

  Since his chair was next to hers, Caroline felt comfortable in twining her fingers over his outspread hand. The clasp was warm, consoling, and very much enjoyed. “Don’t you worry, Nate. You’ll have plenty more chances in the future to ply your magic. We have lots of wickedness in this town to deal with.”

  “Reckon I’ll head on home now,” Josh told his betrothed. With the little peck on her cheek deemed as suitable in company, he climbed to his feet and bid farewell to the Winthrops. For the present. There was always tomorrow.

  “All right, then. Tina, wake your sister and you two go on t’ bed,” directed Nathaniel from a deep well of fatigue. “Yeah, I know, it’s full daylight and everything is topsy-turvy. But try t’ rest for a few hours, anyway. Delilah, you, too. Don’t even think about gettin’ up for a while. C’mon, Andy, stir your bones, man. You got a home of your own.”

  The two remaining littlers had, despite the ruckus and hubbub, slept through most of the night. They would be awake soon, demanding food and attention. The Reverend wondered if he could muster up enough stamina to answer their needs.

  And then he looked over at Caroline, so near. He wouldn’t have to take care of them on his own. Carrie was there to help.

  IX

  “What do you think, Dr. Stanley?” Caroline asked bravely a short time later. “Will she be all right?”

  Everyone else had, upon Nathaniel’s direct order, gone to bed; and, surprisingly, Emmie and Linnie had not yet stirred. But Caroline had volunteered—no, she hadn’t even questioned the necessity of staying up and being as alert as possible. She had simply remained with him, as if they belonged together, to face any crisis or weather any storm. He was immeasurably warmed by her presence.