by Tricia Goyer
“Yeah, sure.”
“Have you told her about your move to Nebraska from San Diego?”
“No, it really hasn’t come up yet.”
“You should. I think it could help.”
Mrs. Lorenz put her glasses back on and then returned her focus to her work.
The books weighed on Emily’s arms as she hurried to the library, but her heart felt lighter. It did feel good to befriend the foreign-exchange student. She was a nice girl. And for the first time Emily realized that maybe all her challenges over the last year and a half could help someone else too.
“Hey, Em.” It was Sam’s voice.
Emily paused. She hadn’t see Sam and that girl Kendall until she had nearly passed them. They were sitting on the floor, tucked into a small alcove, their backs against the door of the art room.
“Oh, man. I totally forgot I needed to find you.” The girl was looking up at Emily with curiosity, and Emily shuffled from side to side. “I need to make some photocopies. Is it going to be a problem to hang out for another thirty minutes or so?”
“No, no problem.” Sam leaned closer to Kendall and refocused on the screen of the digital camera that she was holding up.
“Where did you take this?”
“Oh, at the car show in Harding last fall. Is that a sweet ride or what?”
“I’d love to have a car like that.” Sam’s voice was full of enthusiasm.
Emily turned, wondering if Kendall really liked cars, or if she just took photos of them to get the attention of guys.
Even though Emily didn’t know Kendall that well, she had an uneasy feeling about her.
“Don’t worry, Sam, I’ll hurry,” she called over her shoulder.
“No need. Just come get me when you’re done.”
Emily paused, turning to look at them again. They were still sitting too close for Emily’s comfort, staring at the tiny screen of the camera. “Should I go find Christopher?”
“I already talked to him. He’s going over to Dylan’s house. Then he’s getting a ride home.”
“Uh, okay.”
Emily hurried down the hall, but her mind was no longer on the books.
Who is this girl? And what has she done to my brother?
Chapter Seven
Bob was standing by the kitchen sink when Charlotte hurried inside. “Hey there.” A smile lit his face. “Whatcha got there?”
Charlotte held up the shoe box that Anita had given her. “Oh, remember that mystery concerning my Granddaddy Elijah? Anita Wilson gave me some letters she thought could help me figure out what happened.”
Bob’s eyes widened, and he ran a hand down his face, brushing the gray stubble on his chin. “You’re really set on getting to the bottom of this story, aren’t you?”
“Well, it seems this has fallen in my lap, and now I feel like I have to at least try to find some answers,” Charlotte admitted.
“Okay, Char. You do what you need to do,” Bob said as he sauntered to his recliner and flipped on the television. “Let me know if you find anything interesting.”
“I will,” Charlotte mumbled. “I can tell you’re so intrigued.”
She reheated a cup of coffee in the microwave and sat down at the table with the box.
Gingerly, she opened the first letter and began to read.
104 Franklin Ave.
Boston
March 3, 1879
Dearest Wilma,
Our first day of spring! It was feeling as if winter was never to release its grasp, but dear me, how mild and warm the afternoon turned out to be.
Yesterday I had an entirely interesting afternoon in the library reading reports of the recent treatment of the Indians in the West. I still get shivers in my spine when I remember the words of your last letter: “Sometimes I believe I heard the sounds of Indian drums on the wind.” Maybe it is indeed the drums or maybe it’s simply your imagination of the olden days. Do you believe it is possible?
I think I told you there is a chance that I will get my own apartment here. It would be delightful to have a place of my own to call home. And no, please do not again try to encourage me to move your direction and claim a settlement. I know it’s possible, it’s just not proper. Do you wish me to remain an old maid forever? That would surely do it!
I do want to congratulate you on your new home—your church home, that is! I can’t imagine how you’ve been meeting in a barn for the past year. I’m sure you can’t wish for that train full of supplies to come soon enough. Friday is the day!
Your mother is expecting a letter these days. It probably is on the way. She is quite put out when she sees you’ve written me again and have written her nothing. Say hello to your neighbors for me. You soon will be completely Nebraskan.
Your loving Peggy
“Interesting.” Charlotte turned to tell Bob about the woman’s comments about the church, but he’d already fallen asleep in front of the TV. Charlotte moved to the next letter.
104 Franklin Ave.
Boston
April 1, 1879
Dearest Wilma,
I was saddened to get your last note and read the inscription on the exterior of the envelope that the train hadn’t arrived after all. It will be there soon enough, sister.
I am looking day after day with “hope deferred” of news that you are ready for me to come to visit. I understand your desire for me to wait until the church is built, since everyone will be putting every extra minute into its completion. Please write again and tell me of the latest news. I feel as if I know every member of the community through your letters and feel their excitement over a church of their own.
So you haven’t told me yet—is it confirmed you are in the family way? Please write back quickly and tell me. I wish nothing more than to welcome a new member into our family.
You must write our parents as often as you write me! You are my own dear sister, as you have always been, and I am your always devoted, faithful, affectionate sister.
Oh, I must finish and seal the envelope. The postman shall be here any minute.
Your loving Peggy
Charlotte spread the letter on the table and couldn’t help but smile. The care of the sisters for each other was evident. Charlotte wondered why her kids had never cared for each other that way. She thought about Emily and Christopher too, wondering if they would write or at least e-mail Sam when he went away to college, if he went away to college.
She scanned the letter and thought back to the conversation her older family members used to have about Granddaddy. She tried to remember if they had ever talked about the train being late on the day the building supplies were to be delivered. She made a mental note of the fact and wondered if it had anything to do with the missing money. Was Elijah there waiting with the money only to have the train never show up? What did he do with it afterward?
Charlotte took a sip of her now-lukewarm coffee and turned her attention to the next letter in the stack.
104 Franklin Ave.
Boston
April 17, 1879
Dearest Wilma,
Please tell me it is not so! It is with tears in my eyes that I have read your letter for the third time. First, I am sorry to hear that a baby is not coming as you thought. Please care for yourself. I worry you work too hard on your land and in your home. Is it possible for Woodrow to hire extra help for you? Second, I cannot imagine your heartache when the train pulled away from the station with all the supplies on board. If only the train had not been delayed that first day! If it had come at the correct time all of this trouble—and the rumors of thievery—could have been avoided.
What I do not understand is how a bag with mail and money could have disappeared in such a manner. And to answer your question, no I never received the letter that describes your visit with Mrs. Jackson—the one you say was in that missing mailbag.
To be fully honest I don’t believe it ever will arrive. Surely if a thief has stolen the bag, as is suspected, he woul
dn’t keep the money and mail the letters, would he? That would be a very fine and considerate crook. I also don’t understand why the money was in the mailbag. Is this common? It seems things work differently out west.
I have done now, I believe, the most important thing, which is to bring this matter in prayer before our Lord. I have prayed for those in your community. And, as you’ve requested, I’ve prayed for Elijah Coleman. I have to say that praying for him is harder than I expected for one reason: Sister, do you honestly believe he is as innocent as he says? If he was the last man seen with the bag, and it was in his care alone, how do we not know that he has hidden away the money for his own uses? You say he is a trustworthy man, and I would like to believe you. And why was Mr. Coleman in charge of these funds? It seems it would be the business of the preacher. I hope that my distrust is unfounded.
Tomorrow our dairy man is moving out west, and so we will have a new one. Mrs. Maudry passed away, and Rose Baxter is engaged to Ivan Smith. Can you believe it?
Yours sadly about all the troubles of the day, Peggy
“Grandma, I’m home.” It was Christopher’s voice.
She glanced up and realized she’d been so engrossed in the letter that she hadn’t even heard the door open. Cold wind blew in, ruffling the letters now spread out on the table. Toby rushed to Christopher, wagging her tail.
“Hey girl, you missed me, didn’t you?” Christopher squatted down and gave Toby a quick hug.
“Hey there.” Charlotte placed the letter on the table and realized her heart was pounding. The letters were exactly what she had been looking for—information about the events from that time period. This was much more reliable than her failed memory of conversations between uninformed family members who were now all gone.
“Where are Sam and Emily?” Charlotte asked, shuffling the letters into a safe pile.
“I don’t know. I was over at Dylan’s house, remember? His mom just dropped me off.” Christopher took off his tennis shoes and put on his muck boots.
Charlotte glanced at the clock. It was time to start making dinner. She should start browning hamburger for sloppy joes. She tried to remember if either Sam or Emily had mentioned anything happening after school, but nothing came to mind.
Christopher moved his backpack next to the laundry room door and then changed out of his school coat, putting on his work jacket.
“Heading out to do chores?”
“Yup.”
Charlotte considered calling Sam’s cell phone to see where the kids were.
Just one more letter …
104 Franklin Ave.
Boston
April 30, 1879
Dearest Wilma,
Thank you for giving me an education on the workings of a small community like Bedford. It was interesting to note that the post office was the second building in “town” after the train depot. I did not know that the postmaster also serves as the local banker, since he is the only one who has a safe. Of course, in the matters your community is now facing, the safe did not provide much security. A saddening fact. I now also understand why the money was in the mailbag. You are correct, it only makes sense that he would use that means to carry the funds. Still, it is strange that no one saw it again after that day at the train. Where did he go after leaving the depot? What did he do? I’m sure he retraced his steps a thousand times.
Yesterday I was walking through the park …
Charlotte skimmed the rest of the letter. Peggy went on and on about some handsome guy in the park. Any other time she would have enjoyed reading about the man who had caught this young woman’s attention, but all Charlotte could think about now was reading the rest of the letters and finding out more about Elijah Coleman.
Charlotte opened the next letter and was surprised to see that it was dated 1880 rather than 1879. She quickly read through some of the other letters, and it became clear why Anita hadn’t put them on the top of the stack. They were very long—pages and pages of Peggy’s story of her romance with a Mr. Gregory R. Strickle. Charlotte giggled as she skimmed through the lengthy descriptions of proper dinners, nights at the opera, and walks through the park. Only every so often was there a question about the church or a request of news about the trial.
“Oh, bother,” Charlotte mumbled to herself. “It’s a fine time to fall in love, Peggy. Talk about a distraction!”
Seeing that these letters were going nowhere except closer to Peggy’s walking down the aisle, Charlotte turned back to the last letter Anita had put in the “important” stack.
104 Franklin Ave.
Boston
March 9, 1880
Dearest Wilma,
The wedding is in three weeks, and I am saddened you will not be here. Yet dear Gregory has promised that sometime next spring we will make a trip to your territory and cast our gazes on the land you love so much. Gregory doesn’t seem like the homesteader type, but perhaps there is a business opportunity in town that will catch his fancy.
But enough about that. Tears welled in my eyes as I read about the conviction of Mr. Elijah Coleman. I suppose you are right when you said that when there was no other proof of someone else taking the money they had no other choice.
My voice trembled as I read that part of the letter to Gregory. He has been following the saga too, and he listens as I read each post you send.
You can also imagine my utter joy when I read about how the men in the town gathered around their friend! I can picture the surprise on the sheriff’s face when man after man lined up, asking to be locked up in order to help Mr. Coleman fulfill his sentence sooner, but my question is, why did the sheriff allow it? Perhaps he too had doubts about Elijah’s guilt?
I’m sure those on the train and other visitors in town weren’t amused when most of the stores—and even the depot—were shut down. They must have believed the men would have stayed longer had the ruling not been overturned! If men will come together and express such compassion I have no doubt the church WILL go up this summer as everyone hopes. May the Lord be gracious to provide you all that you need.
Yours,
Peggy
Charlotte hurriedly moved to the next letter.
104 Franklin Ave.
Boston
June 19, 1880
Dearest Sister,
Mother and Father told me to write and tell you that they will be sending you a letter all their own. They have news about all their neighbors, as they always do, but I didn’t want to waste my words because I have news of my own!
Gregory and I decided we will be moving to Nebraska! We do not need to view the area before we decide. The character of those in your community was enough to convince us.
Father and Mother, of course, are put out. They do not know how they will go on with both of us so far away. I encouraged them to move with us, and that is a possibility. Just think, before long there will be no need for letters because we will see each other and take walks on the old buffalo trails that you love. But I will not waste time writing here because soon I will see you with my own eyes.
Blessings until we meet again soon. Gregory and I wish that you may keep your health and live contented.
Mrs. Gregory Strickle
Charlotte placed a hand over her heart pounding in her chest and suddenly felt as if her limbs were tied to a thousand balloons and she might lift from the chair any second. What Anita had said was true. The men in the town had stood up for their friend—had offered to serve part of his sentence for him. She folded up the letter and placed it in the envelope, wondering if Anita would allow her to make copies. Reading them had meant so much.
Bless those who mistreat you …. A scripture verse suddenly popped into her mind.
If anyone had been mistreated, it was those simple settlers who’d left home and family, who’d sacrificed all they had to tame the wild Nebraska land. All they desired was a place of their own to worship, yet they did not hold a grudge against the one accused of depriving them of that. They loved
even someone who was charged with taking not only their money but also their dreams.
She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and lifted her head as she heard the sound of Sam parking in the driveway. With one quick movement she put the letters away and then hummed her favorite worship tune as she grabbed the ground hamburger from the fridge. Thankfulness filled her heart—for her family, for her community, and for the fact that even if she hadn’t discovered what happened to the money, she had learned that folks had gathered around her Granddaddy, just as God told us we all should.
Chapter Eight
The filling for the sloppy joes was simmering on the stovetop, and the table was set with a large salad and homemade buns. Sam and Emily had joined Christopher in doing their chores, and Bob was still snoozing in his chair.
Seeing that she had time before dinner, Charlotte hurried to the desk. In the second drawer she found what she was looking for—a clean notebook. She grabbed a pen and sat down in the desk chair. On the inside cover of the notebook she wrote her name. She thought about writing “Clue Book” underneath it but then changed her mind.
“Who do you think you are, Nancy Drew?” she mumbled to herself.
She tapped her finger on her lips and then jotted down what she’d learned so far, including where she had found the information:
• As postmaster, Elijah also served as banker. (Peggy’s letter)
• He was in charge of the funds for the church. (newspaper)
• The money was going to build Bedford Community Church. (newspaper)
• Elijah was set to meet the train and pay a man delivering the building supplies, and he put the money in the mailbag and took it to the train. (Peggy’s letter)
