What Once Was Lost

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  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 pr
opel 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.”

  Tommy folded his arms across his middle. “Huh-uh.”

  Townsfolk in their finest garb, Bibles cradled in their arms, moved up the stone-paved walkway to the church steps. The service would start soon. Levi set the brake and took hold of Tommy’s arm, giving him a little push to the edge of the seat. “Hurry up now. That bell won’t ring forever.”

  “Not goin’.” Tommy planted his feet against the floor and pressed himself against the seat back. His chin jutted—a defiant gesture that made Levi grit his teeth in aggravation.

  Miss Willems had specifically requested Tommy be delivered to church each Sunday, and Levi had promised to bring him. He might not have much use for church himself, but he didn’t want to go back on his word. “Now listen, Tommy—”

  “They don’t want me.” Belligerence faded, and pleading filled its place. “Can’t I just stay with you?”

  While the community worshiped together, Levi had planned to drive to the poor farm to see what kind of damage the rain had caused. If water had soaked wood inside the house, Miss Willems might need additional lumber. He could easily take Tommy with him, but it would upset Miss Willems. And he didn’t want to upset Miss Willems. And not because he was scared to face her wrath. Even all riled up, she was harmless as a kitten.

  He reminded the boy, “Miss Willems is expecting you.”

  Tommy’s chin quivered. “Please, Mr. Jonnson? I don’t wanna go in there where the preacher talks about how God wants us all to love each other but people don’t pay me any mind.”

  The lament too closely echoed Levi’s deeply held hurt. He wouldn’t force Tommy to sit in the church pew and be ignored by self-righteous hypocrites. He drew in a breath. “All right then. You can stay with me.” Remorse pinched. He hoped he could find the words to explain his decision to Miss Willems, because she’d surely ask why he hadn’t brought to Tommy to service.

  “ ‘And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.’ ”

  Cora listened as the minister read a verse from chapter 8 of Romans. Her heart gave a hopeful leap, and she allowed her mind to return to the conversation she’d shared with Miss Willems yesterday evening. The mercantile owners—people who’d been robbed of forming their own family—needed a helper. Miss Willems had told Cora to take the job if she wanted it. At first Cora had resisted. How could she work side by side with a woman whose womb couldn’t hold a child while her own belly swelled? It would be cruel—like mocking the childless woman.

  But the verse from the Bible sent Cora’s thoughts skittering in a new direction. Maybe … just maybe … her carrying this child could be good after all. Mr. and Mrs. Creeger sat on a bench across the aisle, Bibles open in their laps and faces turned attentively to the preacher. They were fine people—Miss Willems held them in high esteem. Surely they were the kind of people the preacher meant when he said “them who are the called.” They wanted a baby. And Cora carried a baby she didn’t want.

  Maybe God was going to let her help the Creegers with more than just clerking.

  Satisfied that the canvas someone had nailed around the doorway between the damaged kitchen and the poor farm’s dining room had offered sufficient protection from the rain, Levi headed across the grounds to the barn. When they’d arrived at
the poor farm, Levi had instructed Tommy to go in the barn and stay there while he checked the house. Tommy had eagerly entered the large rock structure, saying he’d get in the pen with the goats, so Levi clomped immediately to the goat pen in the far corner of the barn. But Tommy wasn’t there.

  Levi turned a slow circle, searching for signs of the boy. “Tommy?”

  “Over here.”

  The voice came from the stall where Levi had piled the lengths of lumber. Levi chuckled in mild self-deprecation. He’d been so lost in thought he’d walked right past Tommy. He headed back to the front of the barn and rounded the slatted wall defining the stall. “There you are. I thought—” Levi froze, disbelief bringing him to a stop.

  Tommy was kneeling beside a scattered tumble of splintered boards. The boy patted one board, his palm moving back and forth across its battered length. “The wood, it’s all messed up. I reckon the men won’t be able to use these to fix the house.” A grin twitched at his cheeks. “I guess that means it’ll be a while yet before Miss Willems can fix the poor farm house.”

  Chapter 26

  Levi drove from the poor farm to the Beasley Boardinghouse with regret resting heavily on his shoulders. The loss of the lumber hurt. Such a waste … But as much as it bothered him to see those boards destroyed, he was more concerned about how Miss Willems might be destroyed by the news. She’d poured her very soul into that poor farm. Whoever hacked the wood to pieces might as well have taken an ax to the woman’s heart.

  “You stay here,” he told Tommy when he drew the horse to a stop in front of the boardinghouse. He couldn’t help being a bit miffed by the boy’s reaction to the destruction. Didn’t Tommy care about anyone but himself? Somehow he needed to help the boy understand that thinking only of himself was a selfish way to live. That’ll be a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think? With a jolt, Levi shoved the internal taunt aside and hurried up the dirt pathway to the porch.