Room for Hope

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Jesse

  Thank goodness Halloween came only once a year. It took nearly thirty minutes of cajoling before Matt Oakes calmed down enough to let Jesse take the fire-starting teens out of the hotel’s laundry. After giving the boys a stern lecture about the hazards of playing with matches, he delivered them into their parents’ hands. Then he aimed his truck for the farm where the wool tufts had been found.

  On his way out of town, he encountered two kids, one of whom carried a dead raccoon by its tail. His badge compelled him to stop and ask what they intended to do with the stiff creature. After several minutes of hemming and hawing, they reluctantly confessed they were going to put it on Miss Neff’s front porch. Jesse didn’t figure the spinster teacher would appreciate finding a raccoon—dead or alive—on her porch, so he told the kids to toss it in the back of his truck and go home. The raccoon landed with a dull thud, and the boys trotted off in the opposite direction. Jesse could only hope they were going home.

  As he put his truck in gear, he shook his head. Kids…Why did they find such pleasure in stirring up havoc? The boys Matt Oakes collared could have burned down the whole hotel with their stunt. These two with their raccoon could have given poor Miss Neff apoplexy. And Bud’s shenanigans would give his mother gray hair. The same way Jesse’s thoughtless behavior had been responsible for more than half the gray hairs on Norma Caudel’s head.

  His truck rolled over a rut in the road, bouncing him in the cab. He appreciated the jolt, because it sent his thoughts of Ma and the farm in Nebraska from his mind. Turning his focus to the area illuminated by his headlights, he pushed on the gas, eager to reach the Deering place and snoop around.

  An old rattletrap of a pickup lurched into Jesse’s path and stalled. Jesse let out a yelp of surprise, swerved, and slammed on his brakes. His engine died, but to his relief he’d missed the pickup. Fury quickly replaced the relief. Probably more kids out stirring up trouble.

  He leaped out of his cab and stormed to the driver’s side. “What are you doing driving around in the dark with your headlights off? Up to no good, huh?”

  Instead of a sheepish teenager, farmer Deering sat behind the wheel. The man glared at Jesse. “My headlights ain’t worked in more than a year. As for somebody being up to no good, that’s true enough, but it isn’t me. I was coming to get you.”

  Jesse blew out a breath. Would this night never end?

  “Somebody’s out at my place hollering like a peacock and keeping me and my missus from resting.”

  “Hollering like a peacock?”

  The farmer grunted. “Yes. You know how a peacock yells. Heeelp! Heeelp!” His eyebrows formed a V. “Whoever it is won’t shut up, an’ he’s hidin’ so good I can’t find him. You’d better come put a stop to it.”

  Awareness struck as hard as a fist in his gut. Jesse curled his hands over Deering’s windowsill. “Mr. Deering, I’ll go to your place, but I need a favor from you.”

  The V got even tighter. “What’s that?”

  “Drive on to town. Go to Reverend Savage’s place. He lives in the little clapboard house behind the chapel at—”

  “Third and Main. I know, I know.”

  “That’s right. I need you to—”

  “Me and the missus sit in on the preacher’s sermons at least once a month.”

  Jesse resisted clamping his hand over the man’s mouth to keep him quiet. “Would you tell Reverend Savage to round up as many men with flashlights as he can? Tell him to get everybody out to your place.”

  The farmer’s eyebrows shot upward. “You putting together a posse to catch some ornery youngster playing a Halloween prank? You take your job mighty serious, don’t you?”

  A grin threatened, but Jesse managed to squelch it. “Yes, sir, I do. Now hurry. We don’t want to lose track of your prankster.”

  “You got it, Sheriff. I’ll send ’em. You can bet I will.”

  Neva

  While Belle and Charley ate leftover sandwiches from the lunch basket, Neva supervised Cassie and Adeline’s bath. When they were clean and dry and smelled sweetly of lavender from the soap, she helped them dress in flannel nightgowns and combed their silky hair into pin curls. Although outwardly she smiled, inwardly she battled tears the entire time. Taking care of the little girls brought back precious memories of Belle’s toddlerhood. When the doctor removed Neva’s womb from her body, she’d mourned the lost opportunity for more little ones to raise. Why had she held herself aloof from these two for so long?

  Adeline stood trustingly between Neva’s knees, and Cassie sat on the edge of the bed, watching Neva form the little swirls of hair and pin them in place. Cassie didn’t say a word, but her big blue eyes held myriad questions.

  Neva paused now and then to offer the six-year-old an assuring smile, hoping the child would understand what Neva’s actions intended to say—she would take care of them. She would love them.

  As she finished Adeline’s last curl, someone pounded on the mercantile door. Neva set Adeline aside and hurried up the hallway. She met Belle, who came from the kitchen.

  “Do you think it’s Bud come back?” Belle sounded breathless.

  Neva paused long enough to touch Belle’s cheek. “I don’t know. Pray, Daughter.”

  Charley trotted up to Belle, and the two of them followed Neva down the stairs and through the lit mercantile. Hope multiplied with every patter of Neva’s soles against the floor. But Reverend Savage stood outside. She swallowed her disappointment and opened the door.

  The minister remained on the sidewalk. He shot an uncertain glance across Belle and Charley. “Mrs. Shilling, could I speak to you privately?”

  Horrible thoughts filled Neva’s mind. If he’d brought bad news, Belle and Charley shouldn’t hear it. She shooed the children toward the stairs, then gestured for Reverend Savage to step inside. She hugged herself, silently praying for strength. “What is it?”

  “It might be nothing, but…” The man gripped her upper arm, his warm hand offering the strength she’d requested. “Sheriff Caudel asked for help out at the Deering farm—the closest farm to the windbreak where Mr. Hood found those little bits of wool. Deering said he and his wife heard somebody hollering for help, and Jesse—that is, Sheriff Caudel—told Deering to round up a ‘posse.’ I’m pretty sure the sheriff thinks it’s Bud calling for help.”

  Neva gasped.

  He gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything until we knew for sure, but you asked me to keep you apprised of any new information.”

  “I’ll get my coat.”

  “Now, Mrs. Shilling, there’s no sense in you going out in the cold. It could just be someone playing a prank. It is Halloween, after all.”

  She couldn’t stay in the apartment if her son was in the cold dark calling for help. “It will only take me a minute. Will you drive me out?”

  An understanding smile creased the man’s face. “Of course I will. Why don’t you gather up blankets, a jug of water, maybe a sandwich or two. While you do that, I’ll make sure my flashlight is in working order. We’ll probably need it.”

  “I’ll be ready when you return.”

  The minister left, and Neva hurried for the staircase. She rounded the corner and found Belle on the first riser, Charley a few steps higher. She frowned at the pair. “You listened in?”

  Belle nodded. She clasped her hands together beneath her chin in a prayerful pose. “Momma, do you really think it might be Bud calling for help?”

  Reverend Savage’s warning spilled from Neva’s mouth. “It could be someone playing a Halloween trick. But just in case, I’m going out.”

  “I want to go, too.”

  “No, honey. It’s too cold. Besides, someone has to stay here with the younger ones.”

  Belle hung her head. “Yes, Momma.”

  Charley thumped down the stairs to Neva’s side. “I wanna go with you.”

  Neva shook her head. “It’s too late for you to be out.”

 
“I don’t care. I gotta go. I made Bud run away.”

  “You didn’t make Bud run away. It was his choice to go.”

  Charley poked out his lower lip. “He was trying to get away from me.”

  Neva couldn’t argue. She’d be sharing falsehoods. She sought a way to reassure the child.

  “Let me go with you, Aunt Neva. I wanna help find him.” All obstinacy faded, and such yearning filled the boy’s face Neva couldn’t turn away. He whispered, “Please?”

  Neva touched Charley’s shoulder. “All right. Put on your heaviest coat and your hat and gloves. Get Bud’s hat and gloves from your closet, too, and bring them along. He’ll likely need them when we find him.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” He raced up the stairs.

  Belle tipped her head. Both curiosity and approval shimmered in her eyes. “Why’d you say yes to him, Momma?”

  Neva gathered her thoughts. “I suppose I’m finally seeing Charley as a real little boy with real feelings and wants and needs. I can’t—I won’t—ignore him anymore.” She looped arms with Belle and started up the stairs. “Now help me put together a pack of things Bud might need when we find him, hmm? Then pray Charley and I get to bring your brother home.”

  Jesse

  Reverend Savage sent a dozen men to the Deering farm, and Jesse didn’t end up needing any of them. At least, not to find the mysterious caller.

  The instant he leaped from his truck cab, he heard the sound Deering had claimed sounded like a peacock. Even though the full moon smiled down in silent amusement, even though it was Halloween and he’d already dealt with tricksters, even though the voice calling for help was weak and wavering and ghostly, Jesse knew —he knew—this was no prank. The caller might not be Bud Shilling, but whoever it was needed rescuing.

  He cupped his hands beside his mouth and bellowed across the landscape. “Keep calling! I hear you!” Within seconds the call came again, and Jesse gave a whoop. “That’s right! Holler! Holler!” He snapped on his flashlight and trekked across the ground in the direction from which the sound seemed to come.

  Sweeping the light from side to side, he searched for anything out of the ordinary. Every few steps he encouraged the stricken person to keep yelling, and the voice rewarded him with a stream of “help, help, help, help.”

  Jesse paused, trying to make sense of what he heard. The continuing cries were raspy, even weak, but they seemed to be getting louder. That should mean he was getting closer. But no matter where he turned his flashlight’s beam, all he saw was uneven ground studded with dried stalks of what might have been corn, some wild grasses, and a lot of shriveled weeds. No sign of a person.

  He stayed rooted in place and hollered, “Who are you?”

  “Bud. Bud Shilling.”

  Jesse’s heart launched into his throat. It didn’t sound like Bud—more like an old man who’d smoked cigars his whole life. But he decided to believe him anyway. He waved the flashlight beam around in frantic jerks. “Bud, it’s me—Jesse Caudel. Tell me where you are.”

  “I’m here. I’m here!”

  Jesse frowned. Why did the boy’s voice seem to carry from a distance? He lifted the flashlight, sending the beam farther out. But Bud didn’t appear in its path. “Where, Bud? Walk toward my flashlight.”

  “I—I can’t. I’m stuck in a hole.”

  A hole…Underground? Jesse jammed the light directly in front of his feet. “Call out, Bud! Don’t stop!”

  “Help me! Help!”

  Jesse inched forward, holding the flashlight the way a water witcher held a divining rod. He’d traveled fewer than a dozen steps when the light skimmed a circular opening perhaps eighteen inches across. He knelt beside it and aimed the flashlight into the cavity. The beam fell on a boy’s dirty, pale face.

  Eyes closed, hands curled above his head, Bud continued to grate through chapped, bleeding lips, “Help. Help. Help.”

  “I see you, Bud!”

  Bud released a long, shuddering sigh. Then he fell silent with his mouth still drooping open.

  “Bud?”

  No movement. Not even a flicker of an eyelid. Worry slammed through Jesse’s chest. Had he arrived too late?

  Headlights pierced the darkness—townsmen arriving. He propped his flashlight next to the hole, then leaped up. “Bud, help’s coming. Hold on. We’re gonna get you out of there. Just hold on, Bud, all right?”

  The boy didn’t answer.

  Jesse turned his face to the sky. “If You’re up there, heed Bud’s words. Help him, God.” He swallowed. “Help me help him.”

  Neva

  Reverend Savage’s car lagged at the end of the procession of vehicles. Neva bit her fingernails to the quick, willing him to hurry, hurry. It seemed an eternity passed before he pulled his car up at the edge of the road. Even before the engine rattled into silence, she grabbed the door handle and leaped out.

  A group of men, flashlights in hand, gathered around the sheriff’s pickup. Jesse Caudel’s voice rose from the center of the group. “Do any of you have shovels with you?”

  “I do, Sheriff!”

  “Me, too.”

  “Get ’em. I’ve got rope and—”

  The two men darted off, and Neva pushed her way through the throng. She grabbed Mr. Caudel’s arm. “You found him?”

  He didn’t look happy to see her. “I did.” His gaze lifted, seeming to search the faces of the men. He waved Reverend Savage forward. “Ernie, stay here with Mrs. Shilling.”

  “Take me to him!” Neva yanked the sheriff’s arm. “Take me to him now!”

  He took hold of her shoulders. “Mrs. Shilling, where he is…” His face was white, his eyes blazing in the harsh light from the dozen flashlights aimed toward them. “You don’t want to see him that way.”

  Reverend Savage, holding Charley by the hand, leaned close and lowered his voice to a deep rumble. “Jesse, I don’t want to tell you your job, but it seems to me Bud needs to see his ma as much as she needs to see him. Let’s all go.”

  Mr. Caudel blew out a breath and stepped away from Neva. “Fine. We’re wasting time here.” He turned to the men and raised his hand. “Come on—out there where I left my flashlight. He’s in the bottom of a narrow shaft. I think it’s an old well.”

  They all swarmed toward the dim beam of light pointing at the sky.

  Stiff grasses snagged Neva’s stockings, and the cold breeze made her ears ache, but she moved as quickly as she could at the head of the group, taking two steps for every one of Mr. Caudel’s. Reverend Savage held to her elbow, helping her navigate the rough terrain. She kept her gaze pinned to the flashlight’s beam, her heart pounding out prayers of both praise and petition.

  When they reached Mr. Caudel’s flashlight, she broke free of the reverend’s grasp, dropped to her knees, and planted her hands on either side of the hole. “Bud?” The dirt beneath her knees broke loose and bounced into the opening.

  Mr. Caudel grabbed her and pulled her away. “Be careful! We don’t want to bury him alive.”

  Neva gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, her imagination conjuring horrendous pictures.

  When he spoke again, he gentled his tone. “It’s a very narrow shaft, Mrs. Shilling. We don’t want it to close. Please stay back.” He entrusted her to Reverend Savage and then returned to the dark opening.

  Mr. Hood and Mr. Geary stooped over on opposite sides of the hole, each holding flashlights and peering downward. Hood asked, “How’re we gonna do this, Sheriff?”

  “I’ll drop a rope to the boy, tell him to hold on. We’ll pull him out.”

  Geary shook his head. “He looks awfully weak. Maybe one of us should go down with the rope—bring him out.”

  Hood gawked at the gas station owner. “What’re you thinking, Geary? That hole’s not big enough for any of us. We’d end up stuck on top of him, and then two people would need rescuing.”

  Geary balled one hand into a fist. “Then what do you suggest?”

  “Digging a second
hole and tunneling across. It’s gonna take space to carry that boy up and out.”

  If Reverend Savage wasn’t in her way, she’d snatch up the rope or a shovel and rescue Bud herself. When would they stop talking and start doing?

  Hood scanned the circle of men. “Where’s Deering?”

  Geary snorted. “He went to his house, said he was going to bed.”

  “We might want to get him out here. He’ll know if this is a dried-up water well or a shaft for an oil derrick. I can’t remember if he’s one of the fellows who bought into that rumor of an oil boom out here in the twenties.”

  Geary spun on the man. “What difference does it make?”

  Hood shrugged. “If that’s a shaft for a derrick, and if they found petroleum down there, it could still be leaking gas. We’d need to get that boy out fast. Even with several of us digging, it’ll take the rest of the night to dig down far enough to get below him and then make a tunnel to connect the two holes. If there’s gas down there, then—”

  “It’s a dried-up well,” Geary said with a sneer, “not an oil-derrick shaft. Deering probably pulled the pump when the water source went dry.”

  Neva couldn’t stay silent. She bounded forward and took Mr. Caudel by the arm. “Enough talk! Get my son out of that hole!”

  A moan carried from the bottom of the well.

  Every man yanked his gaze toward the opening.

  Neva’s pulse scampered into double beats. She gripped Mr. Caudel’s arm with every ounce of strength she possessed. “Please. You’ve got to hurry.”

  The sheriff grabbed the coil of rope he’d pulled from the back of his truck and marched to the hole. As he tied the rope into a loop, he called, “Bud? Bud, can you hear me?”

  Another moan rose. Neva pressed her fingers to her mouth, blinking back tears. He sounded so weak, so ill. She closed her eyes and prayed as Mr. Caudel called directions to Bud.

  “All right, listen to me.”

  Hear me, God. Save my son.