Room for Hope

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Charley aimed a solemn look at his sisters. “Hear that? She’s Aunt Neva.”

  Cassie glanced at Neva, a bashful smile curving her lips. “ ’Kay.”

  Charley tugged on Adeline’s hand. “You understand, Adeline? You call her Aunt Neva.”

  Adeline spoke around the fingers in her mouth. “Tant Neba.”

  Belle released a short, amused giggle.

  Neva’s lips twitched with the desire to smile, but she managed to squelch it. No sense in shaming the little girl. “Go on and get dressed now.”

  The children shuffled around the corner, and Neva turned to her daughter. “Since you’re staying home today, you can finish the dishes later. Please fetch your brother. We need to have a talk.”

  Bud

  “You better come. Momma’s pretty mad.”

  Bud remained in his unmade bed, hands behind his head and elbows pointed at the ceiling. “Don’t much feel like talking. You can tell Ma so for me.”

  Belle folded her arms over her skinny chest and scowled. No matter how hard she tried to be fierce, it never worked. She was too soft looking—wavy brown hair combed back and twisted into a long, thick braid, smooth cheeks, full rosy lips. The Randall boys said Belle was downright pretty, and even though he didn’t like Leon and Leroy talking about his sister, Bud silently agreed. But right now she didn’t look pretty to him. She looked as much a nuisance as those three little kids who’d shown up last night.

  “Get outta here, Belle.”

  She pressed her lips together good and tight and glared at him.

  He glared back.

  She let out a huff, whirled around, and hurried off, calling, “Momma! He won’t come out!”

  Bud held his breath and counted off the seconds. One, two, three, four, five—

  Ma stomped through the doorway with her hands on her hips. Ma was soft looking most times, too, but right then she looked almighty fierce. “Bernard Warren Shilling, if your father was here, you—”

  Bud sat up so fast the bed springs twanged. “If Pop was here I’d ask him why he wanted those snot-nosed kids. But he’s dead, so I can’t ask, and nobody else can tell me, so I don’t wanna talk about it.”

  Ma’s mouth stayed open but no words came out. She didn’t look fierce anymore. And while she was quiet, he might as well say everything on his mind.

  “I don’t want that kid sleeping in my room. I don’t want him wearing my hand-me-downs like he did last night. I don’t care if I’ve outgrown that nightshirt. It’s mine, not his, and he had no right to it.” He balled his hands into fists. His tense muscles made him quiver from head to toe, but his tongue worked just fine. “Pop said when he’s not here I’m the man of the house, and that means I’m in charge. So I’m telling you to send that kid somewhere else. Send him to…to the Dunnigan Asylum. They’ll take him just like they took you when you were a kid.”

  “I can’t send him to Dunnigan.”

  Bud scrunched his eyes to slits. “Why not? Trains run every week. They go right through Brambleville.” He’d been sassy a few times with Ma, especially in the last year, but he’d never been so outright disrespectful. Deep down, guilt nibbled at him. Especially when her chin wobbled like she was trying not to cry. He looked to the side so he didn’t have to see if tears came into her eyes.

  “Mr. Dunnigan died last year, Bud. The Jonnsons weren’t able to buy the property, so it was sold. The orphanage is closed.” Ma sounded sad.

  Sad because of the way he was treating her? Because Mr. Dunnigan had died? Or because she regretted not being able to send Charley away? No matter, her reaction softened him a bit. He eyed her again. “There are other orphanages. You don’t have to send him to Dunnigan.” He sucked in a big breath that puffed out his chest. “But he’s got to go, Ma. He can’t stay here.”

  She took two fast steps in his direction and caught him by the shoulders. He’d grown some in the past year. She hardly had to dip her head to look him in the eyes. “You listen to me, young man, and listen good. Charley, Cassie, and Adeline can stay here. They will stay here. The last thing your father said to anybody before he left this earth was for those children to come here to us. So we aren’t going to send them away.”

  “You can keep the girls if you want to.” They’d stay in Belle’s room. What did he care about the girls?

  Ma shook her head. “Think for a minute. How would you feel if someone came along and made you leave Belle?”

  Some days he thought he wouldn’t mind getting away from his sister, but be away from her forever? The reality of it didn’t sit so well. He gritted his teeth until his jaw hurt.

  Ma squeezed his shoulders. Not a “you better behave” squeeze like Pop used to give him, but a “please understand” squeeze. “Those children lost their folks.”

  He’d lost his father.

  “They’re with strangers, and they’re scared and confused.”

  Fear rolled through Bud’s chest. What would they do without Pop?

  “Remember the Scripture from Matthew when Jesus was teaching? He said whatever we do to the least of these, we’ve done it to Him.” Ma’s hands held tight, almost desperately, as if she needed him to keep herself steady. “Think about that, Bud, when you’re tempted to tell those children they aren’t welcome here. Would you say such a thing to Jesus?”

  The nibble of guilt became a gnaw. His stomach hurt and he felt trapped. He ducked away from his mother’s grip and turned his back on her. “I don’t feel so good.”

  “You’re probably hungry. Come to the kitchen and eat something.”

  He shook his head. Food wouldn’t help. Not at all.

  Ma sighed. Her warm breath eased past his ear, reminding him of the hundreds of good-night kisses she’d aimed at his temple. He wished he could throw himself against her and cry like he’d done when he was little. The big old lump of hurt and mad and sad needed to come out.

  The pat-pat of feet on hardwood told Bud that Ma was moving toward the door. “All right, suit yourself. I’ll be going down to the store soon, but you and Belle can stay home from school today.”

  He hadn’t intended to go anyway.

  “Crawl back under your covers and rest a bit. Then when you feel better…” Her voice changed from resigned to resolute. “Push your bed over against the wall and move your bureau next to the window.”

  Bud spun around and gawked at his mother.

  “You’ll need to make room for Charley in here.”

  Beloit, Kansas

  Jesse

  Jesse poured his third cup of coffee for the morning and lifted the thick mug to his mouth. He swallowed and made a face.

  Sheriff Abling looked up from the array of paperwork scattered across his desk and grinned. “What’s the matter, Caudel? Find a bug in the brew?”

  “Nope. It’s just stout.” Too stout. Gentry always put way too much ground beans in the pot. But Jesse took another long draw anyway. He needed something to keep him awake. While making the early rounds with the other day deputy, Rye Hamby, he’d yawned so big Hamby said he looked like a baby robin hoping for worms. When he was wide awake and alert, he didn’t appreciate Hamby’s penchant for joshing a fellow. He especially didn’t appreciate it when he was half-asleep and sluggish. Hopefully the coffee would not only perk him up, but it’d restore his good nature, or he might give Hamby a less than good-natured jab in the ribs with his elbow.

  “Well, slosh some water in it and then sit down for a minute. Need to talk to you about something.”

  Jesse disregarded the sheriff’s suggestion about watering down the coffee—foul tasting it might be, but full strength was better for him today—and crossed to the wooden chair facing the desk. “Everything all right?”

  “Oh, sure, sure. Just had a question or two about Buffalo Creek.” The man leaned back and ran his hand over his coarse gray hair. The wiry strands popped right back up as soon as he released them. Jesse had always thought Abling’s hair grew like prairie grass—toward the sun. Abli
ng locked his hands behind his head and rocked gently. “What did you think of the community?”

  Jesse scratched his cheek. “Kind of hard to say. I wasn’t there hardly long enough to form much of an opinion.”

  Abling chuckled. “Oh, come on, Jesse.”

  Jesse? Abling always called his deputies by their last names. The casual use of his given name put him on alert.

  “You’ve worked here…what? Six years now?”

  “Six and a half.”

  “Yep. Six and a half years. And I’ve got pretty familiar with your abilities. Observation is one of them.”

  Jesse couldn’t decide if he was more flattered or flustered by his boss’s statement. He forced a short laugh. “Guess all those hours I spent walking behind a horse and plow helped with that. You either focused on the horse’s hindquarters or busied your eyes elsewhere.”

  Abling laughed heartily. He smacked the desktop, sending a few papers sideways. “That’s another thing I’ve always liked about you—you don’t toot your own horn. In this line of work it’s easy to get self-important. Some men think the badge gives them the right to be bossy or condescending. I’ve never witnessed that attitude in you.”

  How had Abling moved from asking about Buffalo Creek to describing Jesse’s attributes? He set the now-cool mug of coffee aside. “Um…thank you.”

  The sheriff leaned forward. “So what did you observe about Buffalo Creek in your short time there?”

  Jesse replayed images of the town in his memory. “It’s a middle-sized community—smaller than Beloit but bigger than Cawker City or Tipton. Seems like a well-cared-for town. Clean streets, uncluttered yards.” The weeds were even trimmed in the alley he drove through. “Main Street has quite a few businesses. Mostly limestone, but a few are clapboard buildings with false fronts.” Including the mercantile. He shrugged. “No boarded-up windows that I noticed. So I’d say from the looks of things, they’re flourishing pretty well despite the hard times.”

  Abling nodded, his expression serious. “What about the residents?”

  He recalled people lifting a hand in greeting as he drove up the street in search of Shilling’s mercantile. “Townsfolk seemed friendly enough. Probably hardworking too, based on the appearance of the town in general.” And if they were all as bighearted as Neva Gaines, it’d be a dandy community to call home. Jesse angled his head. “Why’re you asking about Buffalo Creek?”

  “Lemme be square with you, Jesse.”

  Jesse again. He fought the urge to squirm.

  “You didn’t draw the short straw the other night. I rigged it.”

  Jesse drew back and frowned. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I wanted you to see the town. And I knew if I sent you, no matter the hour, you’d see it. Really see it.”

  The answer made no sense. “But why’d I need to see it?”

  “Because they’re looking for a sheriff, and I’d like to recommend you for the job.”

  Jesse stood. “Me?”

  “Yep. You.”

  Jesse took a backward step. “What about Hamby? Or Frager? They’ve both been here longer than me. And they’re older, too.”

  Abling rose and rounded the desk, talking as he came. “I know you’re young yet, but I wasn’t much older than you when I took over as sheriff here in Beloit. Hamby and Frager are good deputies, but they still rely too much on my feedback to make decisions.”

  He placed his hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “I’ve watched you. You’ve got a knack for dealing with folks—calming them when they’re rattled, sorting out the truth from a pack of lies, all without them even realizing you’re doing it. You’ve got the abilities to lead. I think you’d make a fine sheriff. The question is, do you want the job?”

  When he’d left his family’s Nebraska farm, Jesse hadn’t headed out with any greater ambition than to never stick a seed in the ground again. He pretty much stumbled into the position of deputy in Belleville, a town just over the Kansas border, and he thought it fine to have a job where he got to tell people what to do instead of being the one given orders. Over the years serving as a lawman in four different Kansas towns, he never once set his sights on sitting in the sheriff’s chair. Not the way Hamby or Gentry seemed to do. But the thought of stepping into such an important position intrigued him. And scared him, too.

  “You’ve got a little time to think about it. A week for sure, maybe two. The current sheriff over in Buffalo Creek—man name of Dodds Schlacter—is fixing to retire. By the end of October at the latest. He’d like somebody to step in a week or so ahead of him vacating the office to get comfortable with the town before he takes off his badge for good. Him and me have already talked, and he’s given your name to the city council. They said if I approved you, that was good enough for them.”

  Abling could have gotten smug about his fine reputation in Mitchell County, but not an ounce of arrogance colored his tone. Jesse admired the man for his levelheadedness. If Jesse took on the position of sheriff in Buffalo Creek, he’d hope to be half as good at keeping order while keeping a humble spirit as Gene Abling.

  The sheriff chuckled. “You’re awful quiet. What’re you thinking?”

  Jesse decided to be honest. “I’m wondering if I’m ready for that kind of responsibility.” Back on the farm, he’d carried responsibility—seeing to livestock, working the fields, watching over eight younger siblings. Ma and Pa had always trusted him. As a deputy, he’d had different kinds of responsibilities, and he couldn’t recall one time his supervisor had chided him for shirking his duties. Most folks would say he was a capable man. But a sheriff? Could he really be a sheriff?

  “Tell you what, how ’bout you drive over to Buffalo Creek and shadow Sheriff Schlacter for a day or two?” Abling’s eyes twinkled. “Nothing like sitting in the saddle to give you a real feel for the ride.”

  Buffalo Creek, Kansas

  Neva

  Neva turned the cardboard sign hanging on the front door to Closed, then pulled the shade, sealing herself away from the street. She rested her forehead against the yellowed shade and released a long sigh. Had any day ever stretched as long as this one? Over the years, she’d grown accustomed to seeing to the store by herself. But supervising five children between duties as well as carrying the heaviness of sorrow weighted her until she feared her frame would collapse.

  What she wouldn’t give to be able to take an hour-long soak in the claw-foot tub, up to her chin in Dreft bubbles, with Anna Karenina as her only companion. But those hours of leisure were gone now. Too many responsibilities awaited.

  Forcing her leaden legs into motion, she headed for the staircase. Although she’d intended to wait until Saturday to share the news of Warren’s passing with Reverend Savage, she needed her minister now. She climbed the stairs as slowly as a turtle climbing a mountain and scuffed into the apartment. Belle, along with Warren’s three children, sat in a circle on the parlor rug playing pick-up sticks.

  Neva touched Belle’s hair, and her daughter looked upward. “Will you be all right for a little while longer? I need to run an errand.”

  Belle nodded. “Do you want me to put supper on the table?”

  Beans and salt pork had been simmering on the stove since noon. It could stay there awhile yet, but the little ones would likely be hungry. “Yes, go ahead and eat. Fill a plate for me, and then put the leftovers in the icebox.”

  Belle’s eyes widened. “Not out in the lean-to?”

  Neva swallowed a knot of regret. With three extra mouths to feed, she wasn’t sure she should continue to take care of hobos. “Not this time.” She turned away from her daughter’s puzzled face and glanced around the room. “Where is Bud?”

  Belle grimaced. “In his room. He said he doesn’t like to play pick-up sticks.” Her tone turned knowing, and Neva understood the unspoken meaning. Bud had always enjoyed the game that required a steady hand and keen eye. He didn’t like playing with Charley, Cassie, and Adeline.

  Neva started
to ask if Bud had brought in the children’s clothing trunks from the barn, but she decided to ask Bud instead. When she peeked in his room, she discovered him curled in a ball, sound asleep. Despite her frustration with her son’s surly behavior earlier that day, mother-love washed over her. He looked so young, so helpless, so innocent. She couldn’t bear to disturb him. So she tenderly pulled the quilt over his sleeping form. As she turned to leave the room, she spotted the children’s trunk shoved in the corner. The lid was up, and the contents were all askew as if someone had been riffling through it.

  She cringed. If she didn’t refold things now, she’d be forced to iron out the wrinkles later. She tiptoed to the trunk, knelt, and busily began straightening the little dresses, shirts, and trousers. Every item was store bought—not one flour sack, hand-stitched garment in the entire trunk. Apparently Warren had been as adamant with Violet about purchasing quality clothing for the children as he’d been with Neva.

  “I don’t want any child of mine to feel shamed by what they have to wear.” Warren’s voice rose up from the past and growled in her memory. “I don’t care what it costs. They’ll be dressed in the best.”

  She held up one tiny frock made of ivory lace with a satin underslip and trimmed with pink satin rosettes. Her heart panged. He’d certainly chosen the best for little Adeline. A prettier child’s dress she’d never seen. Neva sighed and placed the folded dress in the trunk. As she pressed it gently on the stack, her knuckles bumped something sharp. Frowning, she pushed the clothing aside and encountered a scrolled gilt frame. Her hands began to tremble even before she gripped the frame’s edge and lifted it out.

  With the shade pulled on the window, only a minimal amount of light came through, but it was sufficient. She sat gazing down at a photograph of Warren and a lovely young woman. She whispered, “Violet.” Her chest tightened until taking a breath was torture, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the image. No wonder Warren had fancied her. With large eyes framed by thick lashes, delicate cheekbones, and a heart-shaped face, she could be a model for china dolls.