She scrunched up her nose. “Well, not about the farm. But I do have a question about a young man.”
“A young man?”
“Yes, his name is Harry.” She flicked a bug away from her face. “Do you know him? Have you met him before?”
“No, I can’t say that I have.” Woody looked over at her. Her brow was furrowed. “Has he bothered you?”
“Oh, heavens, no.” She shook her head. “But I’ve been worried about him ever since we met him.”
“We?”
“Yes, Jimmy and I—we met him on our first picnic. Poor thing was half starved to death. He said that he’s twenty years old, but he’s just a child, really. I’ve met someone like him before—our minister had taken him in—back in Indianapolis. They’re not dumb by any means, but they never seem to really mature all the way. Harry seems to be on about the same level as Jimmy mentally. Back east they called them simpleminded, but I didn’t like that terminology at all.”
Her sympathy for the young man was clear. But after what had happened to Rebecca, Woody felt a pang of caution. “Did he have a weapon? Did he seem at all dangerous?”
She laughed and shook her head. “Goodness, Woody, no. Not at all. He was gentler than Mrs. Goodman. He might be large in stature, but that boy seems to have a heart of gold. I was just hoping you knew something about him. Maybe how we could help him. I can’t help wondering how he’s taking care of himself. He said he was all alone.”
“Still . . .” Woody frowned and tried not to sound too stern, considering he’d given her a bad first impression already. “You should be cautious just in case. We still don’t know who killed my wife.”
Lillian reached across from her horse and patted his arm. Her touch seemed to burn through the fabric. It’d been so long since anyone had touched him. “I’m so sorry, Woody, I wasn’t thinking. I understand where your fears come from, but there’s no way Harry could have hurt your wife. Why, the boy stepped on a flower and cried when he crushed it.” She shook her head. “The only thing that stopped his sobbing was Jimmy bringing him another one. And personally, I think he’s good for Jimmy and Jimmy’s good for him. Those two communicated that day like nothing I have ever seen or heard. Maybe Harry can help Jimmy heal.”
“But you don’t know where he lives?”
“No. That’s why I was asking you about him.”
“I’ll keep my eyes and ears open.”
“Thank you, Woody.” She sighed. “I just know the good Lord would want us to help Harry. And maybe in turn, Harry will help us.”
For a moment she was silent, but just when Woody figured all her concerns were addressed, she started in again. “There is one more thing. I hope you won’t think me too forward.”
“What is it?”
She looked away for a moment, and Woody thought she might have decided against posing her question. Finally she straightened and looked back at him. “I wondered if . . . if I might . . . play your piano.”
Woody hadn’t expected such a question and couldn’t keep the surprise from his face. Lillian waved a gloved hand. “If it’s too soon, I understand. It’s just that I love to play. Music has always been such a comfort to me, and Mrs. Goodman said that your wife had just started to teach Jimmy. I thought it might be a way to connect him with his memories of her in a good way. Of course, I do understand if that isn’t what you want and the memories of your wife are too difficult. I will respect your wishes, but—”
Now it was Woody’s turn to raise his hand as if in surrender. “If you’ll stop long enough to draw breath, I’ll give you an answer.”
She looked at him and blushed. “I do apologize.”
He forced a smile. First the flowers, now the piano. Why not just rip the scab right off his heart and let him bleed to death? But his own words betrayed him. “It’s quite all right. I would be happy for you to use the piano. I closed that room off not because I didn’t want to remember my wife, but because nobody else plays. I’m sure Jimmy would be glad for the opportunity to learn.”
He turned his horse back toward the house and this time didn’t wait for any other questions. Even though his chest felt like it was being crushed, he knew his answer was the best.
If he could survive it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Darwin swiped a hand down his clean-shaven face. He hadn’t been without a beard or mustache since he could grow facial hair. Ma wouldn’t even recognize him.
It was about time to head into Copperopolis. He needed supplies and liquor—and the only way to find out if his trick worked would be to hang out and keep his ear to the ground. Angels Camp would be too close, and there might be bounty hunters hanging around.
Saddling his horse, he looked around for Harry. Dagnabbit, that fool boy was never around. If he got them caught, Darwin would have to shoot the kid himself—promise or no promise to Ma. He was not his brother’s keeper.
Blast. A stream of curses flew out of his mouth. The boy must’ve wandered off explorin’ again. Well, Darwin would just have to give his kid brother a talkin’ to when he got back.
Kicking his horse into a gallop, Darwin could almost taste the whiskey waiting for him in town. It had been too long.
The long ride did nothing but sour his mood. He should be riding in style. Not eating dust and having to do his own dirty work. He ought to own his father’s property, but instead that Colton fellow did, and he’d planted olives. Olives of all things. Darwin couldn’t stand them.
By the time he reached the edge of Copperopolis, he was ready to beat somebody up. His blood boiled at the injustice of it all. Here he was. A man of means. With lots of gold. And someone else was standin’ in his way.
He flipped a coin to a kid at the livery and dismounted. “Clean him up for me. I got business in town.”
“Yes, sir.” The kid turned the coin over and over in his grubby hands.
Darwin sauntered into town in Saul’s duds. His disgusting cousin had always liked things a bit too fancy for Darwin’s taste, but if he wanted people to believe he was dead and his cousin still alive, he’d have to play the part.
He nodded his head to some ladies on the boardwalk and smiled at the children. See? He could be a good guy. Fit in. Just like everyone else. He just needed his gold.
Stopping in the general store, he watched the people around him. No one seemed to be scared of him or even recognize him. In fact, two women even batted their eyelashes at him as he held the door. Maybe he should’ve cleaned up years ago. Time to take the next step.
As he went farther down the street, he found a saloon. One of his favorite places to visit. Many times. He walked in and stood at the polished pine bar. Not a peep from the barkeep. Several men looked his way and then went right back to what they were doing.
Chuck, the regular barkeep, dried a glass and placed it in front of him. “What’ll ya have?”
“Whiskey.”
Chuck served it up and Darwin drank. The old-timer didn’t recognize him, either.
He stood there for a good thirty minutes just listening and drinking. He should’ve killed Saul a long time ago. This was too easy.
Curly Jones and Gus Parker entered from the back of the saloon. Gus hiked up his pants and then took his stance at the end of the bar. Curly wobbled his way over to join him. The two were always there—same place, same scowling expressions.
Now things would get interesting. If Darwin could fool these two, he could fool anyone.
Chuck poured them drinks and they lifted their glasses and looked straight at him. But neither one did anything other than nod and drink.
“I need another, Chuck.” Gus spoke a little too loudly. It was apparent he’d already had a start.
Curly just laughed as Chuck poured another round.
“Hey, Chuck, did you hear about the body they found on the way to Stockton?”
Darwin’s ears perked up at the conversation, but he kept his head focused on his drink. He hadn’t seen either of the men in year
s, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t figure out who he was.
“Nope. Can’t say that I have.” Chuck went back to washing and drying glasses. “One of your pals?”
“No pal to us.” Curly swigged another.
Gus chuckled. “Nope. No friend of ours. They think it’s that no-good Darwin Longstreet.”
“I heard he was wanted, but I always keep my mouth closed when it comes to the customers. Even mean ones like Longstreet.” Chuck’s towel circled the glass again. “He wasn’t my favorite customer, that’s for sure. And he had a nasty temper. Don’t surprise me at all that he finally got his comeuppance.” He set the glass down. “They sure it’s him?”
Gus squared his shoulders and pushed out his chest. Tucking his thumbs in his suspenders, he narrowed his eyes. “I just heard the marshal say they had incriminatin’ evidence on the body. But the body wasn’t recognizable no more. He’d been dead awhile.” He lifted his glass for more. “And beat up real bad before that.”
Chuck obliged and filled the glass again. “Well, I guess they’ll have to let his kin know, huh?”
“Yup. Not that his cousins and uncle are much better. I’ve always been glad they live over Manteca way. Keeps ’em from venturing over here too much.” Gus reached an arm over and clasped Curly’s shoulder. “You know, I didn’t much care for Darwin, but maybe we should drink to him.”
Curly guffawed. “Sure, Gus.” He raised his glass.
Darwin turned and threw a coin on the counter, headed for the door.
“To Darwin!”
“To Darwin.” Curly echoed. “Good riddance.”
“May he burn in the lowest pits of—”
The voices faded behind him. He didn’t need to hear the rest. Who cared what those drunks thought anyway? A smile stretched across his face.
His little trick had worked. Darwin Longstreet was dead.
Lillian dipped her pen once more and continued her lengthy letter to the staff at Fletcher Manor. So much had happened in such a short amount of time. Each week she wrote an update. She’d have to make sure she sent them soon. Her stack would definitely grow after tonight. Had she really been in California almost three weeks? What a thrill it was to share it with her friends back home. This letter would be fat indeed. Already seven pages! She glanced aside at the one-page missive she’d penned to her grandfather. Would he read it? No doubt Stanton would give it to him, but stubborn Adam Fletcher might very well throw it into the fire.
The thought saddened her. Here she was, following in her parents’ footsteps and finding what she’d discovered were her own dreams. She was making a difference and felt that God truly was using her service. It invigorated her each and every day. How had she lived so long and not experienced this true joy?
The lamp on her desk flickered and her thoughts traveled to Jimmy. The little boy captured her heart. He still wouldn’t speak, but she didn’t mind. He was eating and had become very curious and adventurous. Each day he worked on drawing letters and numbers on the slate with her. He seemed eager to learn and eager to please her. If she could teach him enough reading and writing, he’d finally be able to communicate with her—with all of them.
Tomorrow they would take another picnic to the pond and she would practice her fishing skills. The last trip had been a disaster. Jimmy laughed and laughed. All because she wouldn’t bait her own hook with the still wiggling and very-much-living worm. Well, she would have to show him tomorrow that she was made of sterner stuff. Secretly she hoped that Harry would show up again. After her talk with Woody, she was even more convinced that the boy needed help. And now that she’d finally gotten a taste of living a life that mattered, she longed to do more.
She laid her pages out to dry and extinguished the lamp. Tomorrow would be a glorious day.
The next morning, rain poured from the sky. Mrs. Goodman had already told Lillian that summer rains were rare, but given they were suffering drought, this was no doubt welcome relief. As Lillian entered the kitchen, she immediately spotted Jimmy by the screen door. Gone was the scrawny boy from a few weeks ago. He was still thin and small, but he finally had a healthier glow about him. But this morning, the sheen of tears in his eyes was almost Lillian’s undoing. Rain wasn’t a welcome relief for Jimmy.
She crouched next to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. “I’m betting the sun will come out in a few hours and we’ll still make our fishing trip. And we need to remember to be thankful for the rain. It’s been a very dry summer, and that’s not good for the olives.”
He sniffed and looked at her, a glint of hope in his eyes.
“I’m not even averse to trying my hand at fishing in the rain. I read in a book that the fish like to bite when it’s raining.” She winked at him. “So we’d better get to our breakfast and studies.”
Jimmy nodded, but his disappointment was clear that the weather had not cooperated with their plans. He turned toward her and put his arms around her neck.
Lillian felt her eyes grow wide, and she wrapped her arms around the boy. She looked up and caught Mrs. Goodman wiping a tear away. Lillian felt like crying herself.
It had been a tough couple of weeks. Woody had informed her that he would be working long hours and absent from Jimmy a lot. It was time for the table olives to come out of the brine, and they had to hand-wash all the barrels of olives multiple times and give them enough time in the fresh air to turn their lovely black color. Then the canning process would take place. He assured her that it would only be two to three weeks, but it had taken its toll on his son.
When Jimmy pulled back just a smidge, Lillian loosened her hold but kept her arms around him. What a delight this child was to her soul. Thank You, Lord, that I can be here for him. I know this has to be hard on both father and son.
Jimmy touched her locket with his fingers and then leaned his forehead against hers. He pulled back again and looked at her with questioning eyes.
“Yes, you may open it.” She nodded and smiled.
His little fingers fumbled with the clasp, but he got it open. For several moments, he just stared.
“It’s my mother and father. They died when I was very young.” She watched his expression, knowing the grief this poor boy experienced. “I miss them very much. But this way I carry them with me always, and I know they loved me, and I love them.” Lillian took a moment to look up at Mrs. Goodman again, wary of moving too fast. “Do you have your very own picture of your mother?”
Jimmy shook his head. A single tear slipped down his cheek.
“Would you like one?”
He nodded.
“Let me talk to your father and I’ll see what I can do, all right?”
A tiny smile lit his face.
“Your father told me that your mother used to play the piano.”
Jimmy nodded.
“And that she was teaching you to play.”
Again he nodded.
Lillian continued. “Well, it just so happens that I play, as well, and would love to teach you—if you like.”
Jimmy’s eyes widened, and he nodded with greater enthusiasm.
“Wonderful. We’ll have lots of fun with the pianoforte.”
Mrs. Goodman placed a huge plate of pancakes on the table.
“Yum. Do you smell that? Mrs. Goodman has made my favorite—pancakes! I’m starving, how about you?” She tickled his tummy.
He nodded and giggled.
Over her short time on the farm, she’d learned to interact with Jimmy and ask him questions that were easy for him to communicate an answer without speaking. If she tried to draw too much out of him, he got aggravated and would shut down. But if she asked mainly yes or no questions, he was very responsive. For whatever reason, Jimmy Colton refused to speak. Only time would tell if she could get to the root of the problem, but he didn’t need to feel pressured to speak, of that she was certain.
Having been uninformed of the extent of the situation before her arrival, Lillian had assumed that the boy was
in shock. But on her very first day when she’d heard him laugh, she began to puzzle over his condition. According to Woody and Mrs. Goodman, he hadn’t done much since his mother died. They had found him lethargic most of the time, and he would gaze at nothing. He preferred to be alone. After his initial burst of trust and openness with Lillian, she, too, found that there were a few times he reverted to an almost dreamlike state, where he just stared off into space and didn’t even move.
Mr. Whiskers was definitely beneficial, and Lillian found herself thanking God daily for the bunny. She didn’t know how the rabbit had come to be part of the family, but she was thankful that the animal seemed to be just what Jimmy needed. He not only needed to be nurtured, but he needed to nurture something in return.
By the time they were finishing their pancakes, Lillian was happy to see the sun poking through the clouds. “Looks like we better hurry up with our lessons so we can get to the pond.”
Jimmy nodded and hopped out of his chair. He handed his plate to Mrs. Goodman and went to Mr. Whiskers’s box to get him in his sling.
“Wash your hands first, please.” Lillian smiled around a bite of pancake. “We don’t want to get sticky syrup all over our slate.”
He raced to the basin and cleaned his hands and then went back to fetch the bunny. In record time he was in his chair in the dining room where they did their lessons.
After he’d drawn all twenty-six letters twice and the numbers one through ten twice, Lillian decided she couldn’t wait any longer and they should just head to the pond. The ground was sure to be wet, but then again, they’d had so little moisture, the ground might have soaked it all up already.
Her little student sat with his tongue hanging out one side of his mouth as he made another eight.
“Good job, Jimmy.” She took the chalk and drew a smiling face and a star. “But I think I hear the fishies calling my name. Are you ready to help me catch some dinner?”
He jumped up and smiled.
That was all the encouragement she needed. They put their things up on the shelf and headed to the kitchen. “Be ready, Mrs. Goodman. We’re planning on catching enough fish for dinner.”
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