What Once Was Lost

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  When she’d finally run dry and cleaned up her face by using three of the handkerchiefs—it seemed a shame to sully such bright, crisp squares of white—Cora wadded the sodden cotton in her lap and sighed. Head low, she rasped, “I’m sorry, Ma Creeger, for not telling you the truth sooner. An’ I’ll understand if you send me away. But would’ja …”—she braved a quick glance at the woman’s face—“would’ja wait ’til after I have my babe? ’Cause I wanna give it to you an’ Pa Creeger. For you to raise.”

  Ma Creeger slipped out of the rocker and knelt before Cora. She cupped Cora’s chin in her hand and lifted her face. Cora’s sore eyes stung with new tears at what she saw in Ma Creeger’s eyes. Something she’d never seen aimed at her before. Love. “A child is a gift. You’re growing life inside your womb, Cora.” She spoke so soft and sweet that Cora’s chest ached. “Do you really want to give it away?”

  Cora gripped the mound where life blossomed. Something pushed against her palm—a little hand or a foot? Longing washed through her to nurture this babe, to raise it with the love she’d always wanted from her own mother. She cried, “But I have to!”

  “Why?”

  “ ’Cause I don’t know how to be a ma. An’ I got nobody to help me.”

  Ma Creeger gave Cora’s cheek a gentle pat and then took her hand. “Of course you do. God will help you.”

  Cora hung her head. “God doesn’t want nothin’ to do with the likes of me.”

  “Why?”

  Cora gawked at the woman. “You know what I done! I laid with a man, an’ we weren’t wed. Now I’m carryin’ a babe who’s gonna grow up bein’ called every kind o’ bad name. I shamed my ma, an’ I made a mess of my life an’ this poor little baby’s life, too. I can’t fix none of that!”

  Ma Creeger smiled. “You still haven’t answered my question, Cora. Why wouldn’t God want anything to do with you?”

  Cora pushed out of the chair and paced back and forth, frustration making her restless. “I’m dirty, don’tcha see? When the preacher talks about sinners, he might as well be pointin’ right at me!”

  Ma Creeger rose and followed Cora. “When the preacher talks about sinners, he’s talking about every person sitting on a bench in the church. He’s even talking about himself.” She plucked a Bible from the shelf of books and flipped through several pages. Then she turned it toward Cora. “Look here. See what it says in Romans, the third chapter? ‘As it is written, There is none righteous, no, not one.’ We’re all sinners—every last person ever born.”

  “Not you.”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Not as bad as me.”

  “Of course I am.”

  “But you”—Cora gulped—“you didn’t do … what I done.”

  Ma Creeger let out a soft chuckle. “Maybe not, but in God’s eyes sin is sin. My getting impatient with a customer, or repeating a word of gossip, or turning my back on a person in need—none of those things honors God. That makes them sins.”

  Cora raised her chin. “None o’ those’re as bad as mine …”

  A tender smile crossed Ma Creeger’s face. “What you have to understand, Cora, is what it says here in verse twenty-three: ‘For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.’ All. Every last one of us is in need of a Savior. And when we accept Jesus as our Savior—when we ask Him to take away our sins—He throws that sin so far away it can never be found again. Then when He looks at us, He doesn’t see the ugly stain of the things we’ve done wrong. He sees His child—holy and spotless and blameless.”

  Cora hugged herself. If only it were true! “I’ll never be blameless. Not as long as folks know I had a baby without bein’ wed. As far as folks are concerned, I ain’t worth nothin’.”

  Ma Creeger set the Bible aside and stood staring at it, her shoulders slumped forward as if someone had piled bricks on her back. “Unfortunately, some people will treat you unkindly because of what you did. Some people like to make themselves feel better by pointing at others who’ve made mistakes. Some people forget how God forgives and try to sit in judgment. As long as we’re living among people, there’ll be unpleasantness, because people aren’t perfect.”

  She straightened and faced Cora. “But you can’t let people’s behavior convince you you’re not worth anything. That’s wrong. You’re worth so much that God sent His very Son into this world to die on a cross—the most shameful way a person could die—and take on every sin committed by every man and woman born before, during, and after Jesus’s time here on earth. That means your sins, too. But He can’t take them unless you’re willing to let go of them.” Ma Creeger took Cora’s hands. Tears glittered in her eyes. “Are you willing, Cora?”

  Cora filled her lungs with a shaky breath. “Will askin’ Jesus to take on my sins make this baby go away?”

  Very slowly Ma Creeger shook her head. “No. Sin carries consequences, and the choice you made to lie with a man can’t be erased. But the shameful way you feel? He can send that far away, Cora, and He’ll remember it no more.”

  Cora so much wanted to be free of the burden of shame. It sat like a boulder on her heart. Could Jesus really take it away and leave her all fresh and clean as if she’d never let Emmet Wade touch her? She wanted to know. She reached for Ma Creeger’s hands. “I wanna try. Will you tell me how?”

  Chapter 37

  After keeping Christina holed up in the little cell at the back of his office for two days—he wouldn’t risk having her leave town again while he investigated her claims of innocence—Sheriff Garner let her go. But even as she stepped onto the boardwalk, he cautioned, “We still have to get this mess ironed out. I might not have enough evidence to bring in a judge yet, but that doesn’t mean I won’t. I’ve told Dresden to stay put in town until I have a chance to get to the truth, and I’m telling you the same thing.” His brows descended, giving him an ominous appearance. “Running will look pretty suspicious, so don’t leave town again.”

  She brushed the cobwebs from the skirt of the beautiful saffron silk dress Mrs. Dunnigan had given her and lifted her chin. “I have no reason to run, Sheriff, as I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  He gave a mirthless chuckle, shaking his head. “So says that fancy schmancy lawyer who demanded I either show solid proof or let you go.”

  Christina’s heart skipped a beat. Not once had she been allowed a visitor. The sheriff claimed he couldn’t have her concocting tales with somebody. Who would have hired a lawyer to speak on her behalf? She started to ask, but the sheriff sighed and continued.

  “To be frank, Miss Willems, I’d rather think you didn’t steal that money and watch from the Creegers. Your pa had a good reputation, and I don’t want to see it tarnished. But I just can’t ignore all the strange coincidences. A poor farm burned, money missing, you gone from town for a long time, and—” He stopped abruptly, leaving Christina wondering what he’d intended to say. He finished gruffly, “I gotta investigate. It’s my job.”

  Christina’s chest tightened in protest, but respect for his position held her silent.

  He waved his hand as if dismissing her. “Well, do as I say, then. I’ll get to the truth eventually.” He closed the door behind her.

  She stood on the boardwalk, blinking against the bright sunlight and breathing in great drafts of the fresh air. Even though the breeze stirred dust, the scent was heavenly after her days of breathing the stale air in the damp, closed cell. Ah, freedom … She would never take it lightly again.

  Lifting the hem of her rumpled, dirty skirt, she crossed the street and went directly to the boardinghouse. Just as she’d always done, she followed the rock pathway to the back door and reached for the door handle. But after her lengthy time away, she suddenly felt self-conscious about walking in without notice. So she tapped lightly on the glass with her knuckles.

  Within seconds the door swung wide, and Louisa stood in the opening and gaped at her. “Why, Christina! What … When …”

  Christina stepped forward and embraced
the woman, tears stinging. “The sheriff let me go. He said he didn’t have enough evidence to hold me.”

  “Well, of course he didn’t.” Louisa patted Christina’s back and then released her to close the door. The patchwork cat padded across the floor and wound itself around Christina’s ankles, purring loudly. Louisa flapped her hands at the animal. “You little pest, skedaddle before you trip her! Here …” The cat darted for the pantry, and Louisa guided Christina to the worktable. She pulled out a chair and gave Christina a little push. “You just sit right there and let me pour you a cup of tea. After your ordeal you can surely use one.”

  She bustled to the stove and shifted the teakettle to the back burner, jabbering on as she prepared a cup with tea leaves. “The sheriff made me show him that beautiful dress from your satchel, but I told him just what the man from Kansas City—Mr. Dunnigan—told me.” Raising one brow, she nodded at Christina. “Right nice of his wife to buy it for you. Did she buy the one you’re wearing, too?”

  Christina smoothed the skirt. “Yes. The Dunnigans are kind people. They’ll be wonderful parents for Joe and Florie.”

  Leaving the cup behind, Louisa hurried to the table and sank into the opposite chair. “I could scarce believe it when he said he and his missus were adopting the twins. When they could’ve adopted a baby! Why, with Joe and Florie as big as they are already, I never would’ve thought it possible. They sure are a pair of lucky ones.”

  A soft smile formed on Christina’s face. “Indeed, they are.”

  “But that Rose!” Louisa let out an unladylike snort. “How could she go and do this to me without saying a word? After all our years together!”

  Christina took Louisa’s hand and gave her a comforting squeeze. “She loves the twins, but it doesn’t mean she loves you any less. I suppose she just felt the twins needed her more.”

  “I suppose …” Louisa sighed, gave Christina’s hand a pat, and then returned to the stove to pour hot water into the waiting cup. “Her taking on the position as governess for Joe and Florie helped me make a decision.” Slowly she turned toward Christina, a slight grimace on her face. “Mrs. Beasley asked me to stay on permanent-like and do the cooking for her boarders, and I … I want to do it.”

  Christina drew back, stunned. “You want to work here?”

  Louisa shrugged and fiddled with the teacup’s curled handle. “Maybe it seems silly, but I like being in charge of a kitchen again. Deciding what to cook. Seeing folks’ smiles when they enjoy what I’ve prepared. At first Mrs. Beasley near drove me to leap off a cliff. She can sure be snappish! But once I lost my patience and snapped back at her, she settled right down and now is as meek as a lamb.”

  Christina wondered if Louisa might be stretching the truth. Mrs. Beasley meek? But a more important question came to mind. “Are we to work together here, then?”

  Louisa’s thin face turned bold red. “I didn’t want to be the one to tell you. I’d hoped Mrs. Beasley would talk to you first, but …” She lifted the cup meant for Christina and took a gulp. “All the talk going around town has got Mrs. Beasley in a real dither. She’s scared she’ll lose boarders if she lets you stay, what with Hamilton Dresden telling everybody how it was likely your carelessness that got the poor farm house burned.”

  Guilt raised its ugly head again. Was Ham right about the fire?

  “And then folks got to wondering if you stole the money from the mercantile since it came up missing at the same time you left town.” Louisa took another slurp of the tea, then clunked the cup onto the dry sink. “If only you’d come back right away, Christina, instead of staying gone so long without an explanation. You and that money disappearing at the same time, then you coming back with brand-new clothes.” Louisa glanced from Christina’s neckline to the hem. “Expensive clothes … I don’t believe one word anybody’s saying, but I can see why people are asking questions.”

  For long seconds Louisa gazed to the side, working her lips between her teeth. At last she sighed and pinned a sorry look on Christina. “I believe you stayed away to help get the twins settled. I believe the Dunnigans bought you these fine clothes. But there’s one thing I don’t understand.”

  Christina tipped her head, tiredness draining the remaining strength from her body. “What’s that?”

  “Why Tommy claimed he got the stolen money from you.”

  Christina’s heart skipped a beat. Tommy had accused her of thievery? No wonder the sheriff had questioned her. Her chest ached so badly she could hardly draw a breath.

  Louisa went on, her brow furrowed with confusion. “Why would he say such a thing?”

  “I … I don’t know.” Deeply stung, Christina rose. “I should gather my things and go …” Where? She had nowhere to go.

  Louisa scuttled toward her, wadding her apron skirt in her hands. “I’m so sorry, Christina. You and your father have been so kind to Rose and me. I don’t want to think poorly of you. But it … it all just looks so bad for you.”

  “Were the situation reversed, I suppose I might question your innocence as well.” Despite her best efforts to stifle it, bitterness marked her tone. She entered the little sleeping room she’d shared with Cora. Louisa scrounged an empty burlap sack. Dust and a few dried onion stems lay in its bottom, but Christina shook it out as best she could and then placed her belongings in it. Tossing it over her shoulder like a pack, she headed for the back door.

  Just before she stepped through, Louisa enveloped Christina in a hug. “I’m sorry for all the troubles following you of late. You’ll be in my prayers.”

  Christina gave Louisa’s bony shoulder a few pats. “Thank you, Louisa.” She pulled loose and made her way to the street. But once she reached the corner, she stopped and looked up and down the block. Where should she go? She had money left from selling her watch, so she could pay for a hotel room for a few days. But then how would she pay for plaster and materials to repair the poor farm house?

  After dropping her pack, she sank down and sat on the dusty edge of the raised boardwalk. “You’ll be in my prayers,” Louisa had said. She buried her face in her hands and battled tears. She hoped Louisa was praying right now for a home to make itself available, or she might end up sleeping in an alley or a barn somewhere.

  “Excuse me, miss.”

  Christina gave a start. A middle-aged man wearing a mink-brown three-piece suit and a satin top hat stood on the boardwalk beside her. From her hunkered position, he appeared at least eight feet tall. She bolted upright, but he still towered over her—an imposing figure with a midnight-black goatee and thick, arched brows above piercing eyes so dark they seemed ebony.

  He peered down at her. “Might you provide me some assistance? I need to locate the Beasley Boardinghouse.”

  Christina gathered her wits. Salesmen traveling through the area often preferred to stay at Mrs. Beasley’s rather than the hotel. She pointed down the block. “Of course. The boardinghouse is on the opposite corner—the white two-story home with green trim. You can’t miss it.”

  “Thank you. I was given to understand that Miss Christina Willems resides at the boardinghouse. Can you confirm if this is accurate information?”

  She blinked in surprise. “I—” Her voice cracked. She swallowed. “I’m Miss Christina Willems.”

  A smile broke across his face. “Miss Willems! Delighted to make your acquaintance.”

  Confusion clouded her brain. Who was this man, and what did he want with her? She stood staring at him in stunned silence, her hands clasped in front of her.

  He said cheerily, “Of course the circumstances could be better, but the Good Book tells us, ‘As thy days, so shall thy strength be.’ The two of us will simply lean on His very adequate strength and trust that we will emerge triumphant, yes?”

  Christina shook her head hard. “I’m so sorry, but … who are you?”

  An apology glimmered in his dark eyes. “I’ve befuddled you.” He held out his hand. “Miss Willems, I am Mr. Benjamin Paul Edgar from Edga
r, Edgar, and Lofton, Attorneys-at-Law in Kansas City, but I much prefer being addressed as Ben. I’m here at Maxwell Dunnigan’s request to ensure your previously pristine reputation is restored.”

  Frustration tied Levi’s stomach into knots. Where was Miss Willems? Louisa said she’d taken her belongings and left the boardinghouse. Cora at the mercantile said she hadn’t seen her. Neither had Wes. The only other place he knew to look was at the poor farm, so instead of retrieving the load of logs surely waiting upriver, he aimed his team for the poor farm. The irony didn’t escape him. He, who’d sworn off involving himself in anyone else’s life, ever, was rumbling across the countryside in search of a woman.

  Tommy sat beside him on the wagon seat, blowing sour notes through his harmonica. At least the boy had seemed to cast off his worry when the sheriff admitted he’d been forced to release Miss Willems from the jail. Levi envied his lack of concern. But Tommy didn’t know Miss Willems had all but disappeared. And Levi wouldn’t tell him. He’d let the boy enjoy a light heart for as long as it would last.

  Suddenly Tommy jerked the harmonica from his lips. He twisted his head left and then right. “Why ain’t we goin’ back to your place?”

  “What makes you think we’re not?”

  “I oughta be smellin’ the cedar trees that grow along the river. Besides that, wind’s still blowin’ in my face instead of hittin’ me on the back, so we didn’t turn around.”

  Levi couldn’t suppress a grin. The boy had a better grip on his surroundings than some sighted people he knew. “Well, you’re right. I decided to drive out to the poor farm.”

  “Oh.” Tommy placed the harmonica to his mouth again and blew. A warbling melody escaped. After a few more discordant blasts, he slipped the instrument into his shirt pocket. “What’cha gonna do out there?”