Rebecca voiced the thought that came immediately to Holly’s mind. “And how has God watched over Stuart Arlington today? I can’t see the point in something so senseless. Those men had no reason to shoot Mr. Arlington. None at all.” She began to cry harder. “So much has been lost.”
Holly put an arm around the poor woman. “Now don’t go thinking such things. We just can’t know the Lord’s hand in something like this. He’s mightier than those horrid men, even if it’s hard to see at the moment.” She was talking to herself as much as Miss Sterling. “Sheriff Wright will see that justice is done. He saw to our safety, even risked his own life to do so. Why, he even got back your bag and jewelry, didn’t he?” It seemed a poor consolation, but Holly was grasping for any silver lining.
“Baubles,” Rebecca said bitterly. “Trinkets.”
The kettle whistled, and Holly turned to tend to tea, taking comfort from the warm scent of the brew as it filled the home. “A good meal and a cup of tea. Some of the best medicine for a heavy heart I know, short of prayer.”
Rebecca laid her chin in her hand. “I fear I’m plum prayed out.”
Holly set a cup in front of each of them and sat down. “Of course you are. I’m down to just groaning toward heaven now. Still, God hears every groan. I like to think He hears the groans especially. Sugar?”
“Thank you, yes.” The woman’s elegant fingers traced the china handle. “They are lovely teacups.”
There, for just a moment, was the refined lady Holly had admired on the train. “They belonged to my Grannie Hollyn. I’m named after her. She loved pretty things like this.”
Rebecca’s blue eyes looked straight into Holly’s. “You are so kind.”
Holly’s conscience pinched at the way she’d envied Rebecca on the train. I’m not proud of that. Forgive my unkind spirit, Lord. I was so very wrong. “They’re dear children, the lot of them. They deserve a happy ending, and we’ll just have to find one in all this. Now finish your tea and let’s get you cleaned up. I expect you’ll fall asleep as fast as the rest of them.”
Rebecca smiled and drank her tea, but Holly knew it was more likely that neither of them would sleep soundly. Tired as she was, too many things piled into her memory every time she closed her eyes. It would be hard for sleep to befriend her tonight.
* * *
An hour later, Grandpa’s clock on Holly’s mantel chimed ten as Holly slipped under the familiar coverlet and felt her body sink into the mattress. Every inch felt tied in knots; every joint seemed to groan. Dickens, her shy calico who’d stayed hidden under the bed during Rebecca’s visit as he always did on the rare occasion Holly had company, jumped up to curl against her side. “What a day, hmm, Dickens? Mama was right; one should never pray for excitement.”
Dickens offered only a low purr in reply. Holly stroked the black and brown patches that covered his back, seeking solace in his large yellow eyes. “I’m safe,” she said to the both of them, aloud so she’d believe it. “I’m safe, thank heaven.”
You’re safe. Those had been the words Mason Wright had said to her as he led her away from the spot where Stuart Arlington’s body lay bleeding into the Nebraska soil. She didn’t feel it yet—she mostly felt alone and lifeless. Help me, Lord, she prayed as she stroked the cat and waited for sleep to wipe the day from her bones. I want to trust You, but it’s hard to see how You’d want any of this. Rebecca and Mr. Arlington were trying to do right by those children. Those men were only out for greed. I know you still brought our funds to Evans Grove, and You brought them more quickly than we’d dared to hope, but this? Why such pain when we’ve already known so much loss?
Her eyes grew heavy enough so that even the specter of Mr. Arlington’s lifeless eyes could not fight off their closing. “Now I lay me down to sleep,” she recited the childhood prayer, somehow needing the peace of her youth, “I pray the Lord my soul to keep.”
She left off the final couplet. The Lord had taken enough souls today.
* * *
“You’re serious.” Reverend Turner looked shocked—but not unpleasantly so—when Holly knocked on his door far too early the next morning. She was unable to wait one minute longer to tell him of her idea.
Holly pulled her shawl closer against the morning drizzle. “I shot up out of bed wide awake sometime near four. The whole thing came to me just that quick. Just that strong.”
Poor Reverend. Holly had been dressed before dawn, had bolted out of the schoolhouse the minute Charlotte and Amelia Hicks had come to tend to the children’s breakfast. She’d barely been able to keep her idea from Rebecca, knowing Reverend Turner was the first person she must tell. Still, the children’s waking faces sealed her determination, as if the idea was doubling in size and strength every moment she delayed. She’d practically run through the fine morning rain to the Reverend’s house to knock down his door with her plan.
Holly grabbed his arm. “Reverend Turner, I don’t see how that could be anything other than the work of the Spirit, don’t you?”
He stifled a yawn. “It very well could be.”
Holly reined in her exasperation. “Of course it can, Reverend. It must. These children could so easily stay here, find homes here among our families.”
“It’s possible.”
Reverend Turner’s wife, Mary, called from behind him. “For goodness’ sake, James, don’t make Holly stand in the doorway like some kind of stranger.” Mary affectionately nudged her husband out of the way to pull Holly into the warm room. “How are you, dear? Such a horrid episode. Curdles the blood to think what you all went through and those poor, poor children.”
“Holly has had an idea about those young ones.” Reverend Turner shut the door and adjusted the suspenders he’d thrown on in a hurry. “She thinks they ought to stay.”
“So I couldn’t help but hear.” Mary’s eyes narrowed as she turned the thought over in her mind. After what seemed like a decade, the minister’s wife looked up at her husband. “Why not?”
“Well,” Reverend Turner said, tucking his hands in the suspenders he’d just adjusted, “there might be very complicated reasons why not. I’ve no idea how these things with such agencies work.”
Holly knew better. The minute the idea pulled her head up from the pillow, she knew it was the right thing. Knew like she’d never known anything else. A truth even harder than fact, if such a thing were possible. “It won’t be complicated,” she asserted without any such facts to back it up whatsoever. “It’s the simplest thing, I’m sure of it. Miss Sterling said she’s been praying these children find a home, and Greenville was their last chance. They won’t need a last chance in Greenville if we give them homes here. Can’t you see? We’re the answer to those prayers.” Holly had to stop herself from grabbing the Reverend’s arm again and shaking it.
Mary came up beside her husband. “James, didn’t you tell me just last night Evans Grove needed something to spark hope back into it?” The love of Mary’s twelve grandchildren—most of whom lived in Denver and Iowa now and only came in for holidays—played across the woman’s face. “What’s more hopeful than children?”
“I’ve said prayers over far too many graves this past month,” the Reverend admitted as he turned from them to pace his front room floor with pastoral seriousness. Mrs. Turner laid an encouraging hand on Holly’s arm and smiled her agreement. Still, the Reverend pondered Holly’s proposition for what seemed like a century. Finally, he turned back to the women. “Well...” he said, eyes narrowed and face so unreadable it made Holly want to burst.
“Well what?” Holly nearly yelled. She’d left her patience and good manners back in the teacherage. The moment she knocked on the Reverend’s door, some bit of her heart resolved she would not leave without his consent. This was to be and it was hers to make it so.
“Well, I think I ought to thank God for answering my prayer through you. I don’t know if it can be arranged, but if God wills it, I think these children should find homes in Evans Grove.”
“He does!” Holly proclaimed, grabbing the Reverend’s arm.
“So quick to presume the Lord’s perfect intent, are you?” His words were scolding, but his eyes twinkled in amusement.
“I believe He does,” Holly corrected. “Truly. I tell you I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” All the strain and sorrow of yesterday had evaporated in the brilliant light of this idea. It seemed no surprise at all that the sun was peeking out through the gray clouds as she pulled open the Reverend’s door. “I’ll go tell Rebecca—Miss Sterling—right away. Surely she knows what needs to happen in order for the children to stay here.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Reverend Turner said. “I’ll go talk to Mayor Evans and Miss Ward. They’ll need to be in on this if it’s to be successful. Why don’t you talk further with Miss Sterling and we’ll meet back at eleven? We’ll see how it goes from there.”
Holly stepped out into the brightening morning and dashed down the block to the schoolhouse. She didn’t bother to step around puddles or even care about whether her wrap stayed straight.
She didn’t bother to look around at all. This was why she went to Newfield. This was why yesterday’s horrors could be laid at God’s feet. This was why Stuart Arlington could rest in peace. Holly didn’t have to see “how it would go from here.” She already knew.
* * *
Mason was just stepping off the green onto Second Street when Holly Sanders slammed into him. “Whoa, there!” Short as she was, it surprised him she could muster enough force to knock him off balance. Had he not looked up the moment he did, they both would have found themselves smack in a mud puddle. As it was, he had to grab her and hang on for dear life to keep the pair of them upright.
“Oh, my!” She was nearly giddy, and he found he couldn’t quite summon the impulse to release her tiny waist. “I’d have surely fallen. Oh, my.” Her fluster amused him too much to be sour at the jolt. “Good morning!” She looked up at him with doe eyes.
“Morning,” he managed, still a bit stunned. He’d had a terrible night, filled with dark dreams when he wasn’t kept awake by the incessant complaining of his wounded prisoners. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world to make his eyes as wide and glowing as hers currently were. Here the sun was just barely creeping into the sky, and Holly Sanders looked as if someone had just handed her a birthday cake. “What’s gotten into you?” He didn’t mean it to sound gruff, but he wasn’t in the habit of recovering from such early morning assaults—not the ones that wore bonnets and smelled like vanilla, anyway. He instructed his hands to let go of her.
She got a determined look on her face, one of those “anyway” looks he saw on her during tiring town meetings. A pouting set of her chin that said “I will do this or that anyway, no matter how you object or complain.” He waited for her hands to plant on her hips in exasperation—what she usually did in meetings—but they flew to her chest.
“The most wonderful, perfect idea. That’s what’s gotten into me.”
Now he was even more curious. “And what is that?”
“I believe God wants the orphans to stay here.”
She said it like fact. An indisputable truth like Tuesday follows Monday or two plus two equals four.
“God wants the orphans to stay here.” Mason repeated slowly, thinking it sounded more like two plus two equals seventeen.
“Yes, I truly believe that.” She straightened her shawl. “They need us, and we need them.”
Mason scratched his chin. Now he really needed more coffee. “Not too many folks around here would argue for more mouths to feed. Some folks don’t even have a roof over their head to host their own kin, much less take in an orphan.”
“And some folks have lost far too much and have buried too many of their own kin. Before yesterday, all I could see when I looked at my class was the empty seats. They weren’t even my own blood, but their loss...” Her voice caught on the word. He’d never realized how much care she had for her students. “Well, it was all I could see. All the loss, everywhere.” She gestured to the town square behind him. “Didn’t you see what happened last night? How people behaved? The way they acted like...like the world was starting to turn the right way again?” She started walking toward the schoolhouse with swift, purposeful steps. For a tiny thing, that woman could move fast. “They’re supposed to be here. They’re God’s gift to us.”
Chapter Five
“I hardly think these urchins are a gift from God.” Beatrice Ward’s scowl had started with Miss Sanders’s first word and hadn’t let up for the entire meeting. “They’re a burden.” The old woman mopped her brow with a handkerchief as if the eight children made her physically ill. “Evans Grove has borne enough burdens already; why on earth would we add more?”
“God calls us to bear each other’s burdens, Miss Ward,” said Reverend Turner. Mason had wondered how long it would take before the pastor regretted including Beatrice. Still, Mason recognized what the Reverend already surrendered to; The only thing worse than Beatrice Ward in a meeting was her vengeance for being left out of one.
“I must say I agree with Holly.” Pauline Evans steepled her hands as they sat around the reverend’s dining table. “I can’t ignore how this town looked and acted last night. We pulled together.”
“We’ve been pulling together for weeks. Some of us don’t even have a roof over our head.” Beatrice mopped her brow again. That bitter old biddy never, ever missed a chance to point out that her home had been damaged beyond occupancy. It wouldn’t surprise Mason if Beatrice didn’t think her loss was as bad or worse than Pauline’s, who had lost the love of her life to the flood’s raging waters.
He’d had enough of her raining all over Miss Sanders’s optimism and couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “Mayor Evans is right. Things felt like the old Evans Grove last night. Considering the day we’d just had, that ought to count for something.”
“What I’m counting,” Beatrice said as she tucked her handkerchief back into her pocket and narrowed her eyes at Mason, “is how many criminals we have housed in our jail at the moment.”
Oh, no you don’t. Mason went right on as if he hadn’t heard her, addressing his point to the Reverend and mayor, instead. “If Miss Sterling is agreeable to it—”
“And she is,” cut in Holly. “She most definitely is. She said all we need is a selection committee to place the orphans with families, and I’m sure I can get folks to serve on that.”
A committee. He knew enough to steer clear of committees. He’d see Miss Sanders’s idea safely launched and keep out of the way. She needed something to do, to heal, and this seemed like a good fit that thankfully wouldn’t include him. “Then I can’t see what harm would come of asking the good people of Evans Grove if they’ve a mind to take these youngsters in. Miss Sterling and I are wiring New York about the late Mr. Arlington as soon as I’m done here.”
“Oh, that’s just so sad,” Pauline Evans said quietly. “I’ll say a prayer for his poor wife.”
“In that same wire, Miss Sterling can inform her organization that they won’t be going on to Greenville for the moment, and hopefully won’t go to Greenville at all. It might take a day or two to get a response, so we’ve got time to see what people think.”
“I know what they’ll think,” Holly declared.
“I know what I think,” Beatrice snapped.
Mason refused to swallow his sour grin. “Never been any question of that.”
“I believe we are in agreement.” Pauline stood, hoping to cut off Beatrice’s reply. “I don’t see why we can’t hold the Selection Committee meeting at two-thirty and announce a town placement meeting tomorrow at noon.” Mason made a mental list of places he needed to be this afternoon in case anyone had the fool notion of asking him to be on any committee.
“I don’t see the point in rushing this,” Beatrice grumbled as she stood.
The mayor met Miss Ward’s scowl. “I see every reason for urgency. It’s a k
indness. These poor children have been through enough. The sooner they’re surrounded by caring families, the better.” Pauline ignored Beatrice’s derisive sniff and turned directly to Mason. “I trust all here will serve on the committee?”
He immediately put up his hand. “I don’t think I’m your man.”
“I couldn’t disagree more,” Mayor Evans said.
“Nor I,” added Miss Sanders with an enthusiasm that burrowed under his skin.
Even Miss Ward joined the campaign. “I have to insist you serve, Sheriff. We have no idea what kind of element we may be bringing into this town with these children.”
Did she think he could spot a future bank robber in a ten-year-old boy? Glory, he hated how she was itching to see the worst in everyone. “I highly doubt there’s any danger.”
Miss Sanders gave him a look that told him she’d need an ally to hold off Beatrice, and she was dearly hoping it was him. Hang her, she somehow yanked the words out of him before he could stop the mistake. “All right.”
“Thank you.” Her smile made him regret it already.
“I do appreciate it, Sheriff,” Mayor Evans said with an equal smile before turning toward Miss Sanders. “Before you go, Holly, could you stop by town hall with me a moment?”
As Miss Sanders and Mayor Evans headed toward the door, Mason turned toward the Reverend. “Have you got a minute to talk with me about Arlington before I take Miss Sterling over to the wire office?” In truth, he had no reason to discuss the agent with Turner at all, but he surely didn’t want to have one more word of discussion with Beatrice Ward. Ill-acquainted with God as Mason was, even the Reverend was better company than a Beatrice who hadn’t gotten her way.
Family Lessons Page 5
