“I don’t know.” Elise looked up with a worried frown. “That’s what I was trying to tell you.”
Maggie gave her a loving pat on the leg. “Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll return any minute.” Despite her confident tone, she shot an anxious glance to the back of the church, craning her neck to see around the tall feathered hats blocking her view. The doors were closed and an usher stood on either side.
Toby had probably left to use the facilities. No reason for alarm. Still, she worried. Garrett trusted her with his children’s care, and she felt responsible for their well-being.
Reverend Holly launched into his sermon, his voice rising and falling as easily as the tide. Minutes passed and still no sign of Toby. Where was he? During the five years she was an operative, she had tracked down some of the most difficult outlaws. And here she was having trouble keeping track of one young boy.
Elise grew increasingly restless, and Maggie couldn’t blame her. The minister seemed to think that God’s eternal words required an everlasting sermon. Anyone taking note of the number of nodding heads might surmise that the congregation was in total assent. The heavyset man seated next to her began to snore.
“God spoke to Moses, and He speaks to us,” Reverend Holly said, switching to a quiet monotone voice more conducive to putting babies to sleep than inspiring a spiritual awakening. “Show us a sign, God. Show us a sign.”
“Stay here,” Maggie whispered in Elise’s ear. But before she could leave her seat, a gasp swept through the church and a woman cried out.
Maggie glanced at the front of the church and her mouth dropped open. Unless she was seeing things, the cross on the wall behind the organ was swinging from side to side like a pendulum.
“A sign from God!” someone yelled.
The man next to her awoke with a start. “Lord, have mercy.”
“Hallelujah!” shouted an older woman who jumped to her feet then fainted dead away.
Reverend Holly looked startled, but apparently thinking his message was the inspiration behind the congregation’s sudden outbursts, decided to make the most of it. Lifting his voice, he raised his arms and looked like a raven about to take flight.
“Speak to us, O mighty God!” he cried, and the worshippers went wild.
Eyes rounded in fear, Elise grabbed hold of Maggie’s arm and had a coughing fit.
“Don’t be afraid.” Maggie pulled her onto her lap to comfort. “Let’s go and find you a drink of water.”
She was just about to carry Elise up the aisle when she caught a movement behind the organ, just to the left of the cross. Blinking she sat forward. That couldn’t be… Please don’t let it be—
Toby!
With Elise in her arms, Maggie rose to her feet for a better look. It was hard to see much behind the waving arms and swaying bodies in front.
The cross was no longer moving, but the congregants continued to plead for mercy and forgiveness. Aunt Hetty tossed her cane away and flung her arms around one of the church elders—an older man with stooped shoulders and muttonchop whiskers.
The worshipper sitting next to Maggie recited his sins, making it necessary to cover Elise’s tender young ears. Another man was pulling money out of his pocket and flinging it in the air.
Elise held her arms tight around Maggie’s neck. “Are… are we gonna die and go to heaven?”
Maggie glanced at the pandemonium around her, looking for a way to escape. How would she ever explain Toby’s behavior to Garrett?
“I’m afraid not, pumpkin. I’m afraid not.”
Garrett looked up from the chessboard, his face a mask of disbelief. “Toby did what?”
Hands on her hips, Elise harnessed all the righteous mortification a five-year-old could muster. “He tried to steal the cross.”
Garrett shot to his feet. Chess pieces flew to the floor, startling Whitewash and sending him scampering from the room. “Is this true?” he asked, facing his son. “Did you try to steal the church’s cross?”
Feeling a maternal need to protect the boy, Maggie hastened to intervene. “He didn’t mean any harm.”
Ignoring her, Garrett stared at his son. “Answer me!” he thundered. Toby flinched.
“I only wanted to borrow it,” Toby said. He looked close to tears, and Maggie felt bad for him. Fortunately, she managed to drag the children away from church before anyone discovered the “miracle” was a fraud.
Garrett drew back. “You wanted to borrow the cross?” He looked incredulous. “Why?”
“For my slingshot.”
Garrett’s eyebrows shot up. “What in the name of Sam Hill were you thinking? Don’t you know that the cross is sacred? You can’t just take it and do with it as you please.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “What did Reverend Holly say?”
“He started shouting,” Elise said. “And a lady died.”
“She didn’t die,” Maggie hastened to explain. “She merely fainted.” Suddenly, the affair struck her as funny, and laughter bubbled out of her like water from a well.
Garrett turned to her, his forehead creased. “May I ask what you find so amusing?”
“It’s just that—” She covered her mouth and gazed at him over her fingertips. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen so much ardor and reverence in church.”
He tilted his head. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” She had to control her mirth before she could continue. “One man swore off alcohol for good, and another promised to give up gambling. And you won’t believe this, but your aunt tossed her cane away.”
His eyebrows rose. “Aunt Hetty did that?”
“Oh, Garrett. I wish you could have been there. When the congregation saw the moving cross they thought it was a sign from God.” Despite the stern look on his face, she burst into another peal of laughter. “Reverend Holly called it a miracle.”
Garrett rubbed the back of his neck, and a shadow of indecision flitted across his face. “Drat, Maggie. Now I don’t know if I should praise the boy or punish him.”
She afforded him a beseeching look. “He didn’t mean any harm and might have done some good.”
Hands behind his back, Garrett paced the room, stopping once to eye the scattered chess pieces. Finally, he faced his son. “I’ll give you a pass this time, but if anything like this happens again, you won’t get off so easy.”
Relief crossed Toby’s face as he backed across the room. “Thank you, Pa.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank Miss Taylor.”
“Thank you, Miss Taylor,” Toby called as he turned and ran from the room, Elise at his heels.
Maggie waited until the children were out of earshot. It was hard to judge by Garrett’s stoic face what he was thinking. “You made a wise decision,” she said, hands folded primly in front.
“We’ll see.” He picked the chess pieces off the floor and rearranged them on the board. “From now on I’ll accompany you to church. That way I can keep an eye on Toby myself and save you the trouble.”
Knowing how he felt about organized religion, the offer surprised her. It also delighted her. Attending church with their father was one more memory the children could hold on to after his arrest.
“As you wish.”
He looked up with knitted eyebrows. “I agreed to attend Sunday worship, but that doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind about church. So you needn’t look so pleased.”
“I’m trying not to,” she replied. “Look pleased, that is.”
“Well, try harder.”
Chapter 15
That Monday, she was about to leave for town to mail her report when suddenly the front door burst open and Garrett stormed into the house with Elise in his arms.
“The school sent someone to fetch me.” He hurried past her and raced down the hall to the child’s bedroom, calling over his shoulder, “She’s burning up with fever.”
Alarmed, Maggie ran to the kitchen and quickly pumped water into a basin. Grabbing a washcloth from the hall cupboard, she hu
rried to Elise’s room. By the time she reached the bedroom Garrett had already pulled Elise’s shoes and stockings off and had undressed her down to her petticoat.
Maggie set the bowl on the bedside table. Dipping the cloth into the basin she squeezed out the excess water and ever so gently dabbed Elise’s heated face with the cool, wet cloth. It wasn’t the fever that worried her as much as Elise’s labored breathing.
She had seemed perfectly healthy that morning, except for a slight cough. It was hard to believe that a few short hours later she could be so desperately ill.
“We need the doctor.”
“I sent Panhandle to fetch him,” he said, pacing the floor like an expectant father. “He should be here soon.”
She ran the wet cloth down Elise’s arms and legs. “She’ll be all right,” she whispered. She had no way of knowing that for sure, but he looked so worried she had to say something to relieve his mind.
His gaze met hers for an instant before returning to his daughter’s flushed face. “I hope to God you’re right.”
It was almost an hour before Whitewash’s frantic barks announced the doctor’s arrival.
Maggie left Elise’s room to let the doctor in. An older man with white shoulder-length hair and neatly trimmed beard, he carried a black leather bag.
“I’m Dr. Coldwell,” he said by way of introduction.
“Thank you for coming, Doctor,” she said. “This way.” He pulled off his top hat and followed her.
Garrett greeted him with a handshake and stood aside so the doctor could examine Elise.
Dr. Coldwell set his bag and hat on a chair and leaned over the bed. He thumped on Elise’s chest, cocking his head intently. “Pneumonia,” he said grimly.
The very word struck terror in Maggie. Many at the orphanage had died from the illness, including her best friend, Alice.
“Boil water and get some steam in here,” Coldwell said. “It’ll help her breathe.”
She glanced at Garrett’s tight expression, and she ached inside—not for the man, but the father. She turned to the doctor. “Is she going to be all right?”
“We won’t know that until the fever breaks. Right now all we can do is make her comfortable.” He prescribed a flaxseed poultice and strong tea. “As much as you can get her to drink.”
After the doctor left, Maggie hurried to the kitchen. She ground the flaxseed, added hot water, and stirred until it was a fine paste. She then carried the bowl into Elise’s room. While Garrett applied the poultice to Elise’s chest, Maggie returned to the kitchen to make tea and refill the basin with hot water.
Elise’s labored breathing could be heard even before Maggie reached the room. Her respiratory difficulties now racked her small body and tinged her lips blue.
Garrett left to wash his hands and then returned to hold Elise upright while Maggie spooned tea down her throat.
Elise turned her head away. “Come on, pumpkin, just a little bit more,” Maggie said. “This will make you feel better.”
Working together, they finally got the rest of the tea down Elise’s throat. Garrett sat on a chair next to his daughter’s side, his face drawn. Maggie knelt on the floor next to him.
“She’s going to be all right,” she whispered. God, please make it so.
He raised his hands to cover his face. “We don’t know that.”
“That’s what we must believe,” she said. “Hope is the anchor God sends down whenever we need it, and that’s what we have to hold on to.”
He lowered his hands, and she thought she saw a flicker of optimism in his eyes. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking on her part.
Elise coughed, and her slight body shook the bed.
Garrett leaned over her. Talking softly, he stroked his daughter’s head until she grew still again.
They took turns sponging Elise’s face, rubbing her back, soothing her coughs, applying the poultice, and forcing liquids into her. Hardly a word passed between them; there was no need to speak. They worked in perfect harmony, each seeming to know what to do and when.
Maggie had just finished filling the bowl with boiling water when Garrett surprised her by talking about his time in prison.
“We lost a lot of men in Andersonville from pneumonia.” His voice sounded distant, as if coming from a source buried deep within. “Hundreds.”
“This isn’t the same, Garrett. Those men lived in terrible conditions.” She never knew how bad those rebel prisons were until reading his journal. “Elise is a healthy child.”
“If anything happens to her—” His voice broke.
She laid a hand on his arm. She knew how he felt about church, but did he have similar feelings about God?
“Garrett, would you pray with me?”
He pulled back from the bed as if it had burst into flames. “Pray?”
She nodded. “It might help.”
His jaw tightened. “I prayed over many sick soldiers in prison and never once saw a prayer answered.”
She was all too familiar with unanswered prayers. She couldn’t begin to count the times she’d asked God to save her father. Even after her father hung from the gallows, she continued to pray for his soul and had no way of knowing if even that prayer had been answered.
“I don’t know why God answers some prayers and not others,” she said softly. The minister who worked at the orphanage had told her that even when God didn’t answer prayers, He worked through them to change lives. “All I know is that we have to keep praying.”
She heard his intake of breath. “The entire time I was in the stockades not one Christian church showed us prisoners any mercy or care.”
“It was war,” she said. “You were the enemy.”
“That didn’t stop the Southern Masons from sending provisions to Northern Mason prisoners. Should, God forbid, there ever be another war, my advice to soldiers would be to forget the church and join the Masonic lodge.”
“The church isn’t perfect,” she said. “It was never meant to be perfect, and yet, God works through it, just as He works through our imperfections.”
She might not have survived those turbulent years with her family had God not worked through her obsessive need to save face.
Garrett said nothing, and they sat in waiting silence, deep in their own thoughts. She didn’t want to think about the past, but once the door had been opened, there was no stopping the memories.
Her family fled to the United Province of Canada during the war, along with thousands of American draft dodgers. Running away from conflict was not much different than running away from the law, so the move hardly affected her. It wasn’t until after returning to America and her father’s death that the full impact of the War between the States become evident. By then she had joined the ranks of war-orphaned children.
She soon learned that wartime losses were socially acceptable; hangings were not, so she invented a new past. She told everyone she lost her family in the North—South conflict. It was the only way she knew to fit in with the hundreds of other orphans. The only way she knew how to preserve any sort of dignity.
Her pretense provided ample training for her job as an undercover detective. Making up a good cover story was the least of it. An operative had to live the deception, and the only way to do that was by repetition. State a lie enough times and soon even the most outrageous falsehoods seemed like the truth.
No longer wishing to dwell on the past, she leaned over and pressed her hand gently on Elise’s forehead. She still felt hot to the touch. Maggie ran her knuckles along the child’s flushed face.
“Our Father,” she whispered, and the words fell from her lips as if of their own volition. “Who art in heaven.” Heal this precious child. “Hallowed be Thy name.” Protect her and make her strong. “Thy Kingdom come.” Help her to grow in her faith even when it seems like You have deserted her. “Thy will be done.” Help her to follow Your plan for her. “On earth as it is in heaven.”
“Give us this day, our daily
bread.”
Her eyes flickered open at the sound of Garrett’s voice. She waited for him to say the next line, but when he didn’t, she said it for him. “Forgive us our failings as we forgive those who fail us.” They finished the prayer in tandem, after which there was nothing left to do but wait.
But as they kept vigil, something happened in that room; something changed. The very air around them seemed to move more freely. At times, in the past, they had acted cautiously with each other. Wary, even. But not now. Their concern for Elise was the bond that united them in a way no pretense ever could.
Maggie studied his profile as he leaned over his sleeping daughter. He would have made a wonderful physician. She shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts but couldn’t seem to help herself.
“Why did you choose to become a tinker?” she asked. That was a long way from his original desire to pursue a medical career.
“Actually, I didn’t,” he said quickly, openly, without his usual circumspection. “The profession chose me.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “There were no utensils, plates, or even cups in prison. Someone gave us rice, but we had nothing to cook it in.” He reached into the basin of water for a washcloth and squeezed it out before continuing.
“I was able to make a pan from my canteen. From there, I learned how to make spoons from brass buttons and cups from wood. Eventually I traded what I made for extra rations. That helped keep me alive.”
“It must have been hard,” she whispered.
“Hard doesn’t even begin to describe it.”
He talked about the war, his imprisonment, and the difficulty of adjusting to civilian life. The scar on his face was the result of trying to break up a prison fight. It was as if his daughter’s illness had uncorked memories that had long been bottled up inside.
“The town greeted me like a hero when I got home,” he said. “But I sure didn’t feel like one.” He pressed the cloth on Elise’s forehead, and Maggie heard his intake of breath. “She’s so little.”
“Yes, but she’s strong,” Maggie said.
“It’s odd but some of the biggest and the strongest men in prison were the first to die. Scrawny men were the most likely to survive.”
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