0764214101

by Tracie Peterson

  Woody’s heart warmed for a moment, then guilt and a little anger surged through him. His life should be so different from the way it was, but instead he had to worry about someone watching them and damaging his goods for whatever reason. He had to isolate himself out here on his property to avoid the townspeople, who were certain he was a killer. Nothing was going the way he’d planned it to. And added to this, he’d missed time with his son tonight. All because of this mess. His relationship with Jimmy was a mess, his olive grove was a mess. He was a mess.

  Mrs. Goodman entered. “Woody! Well, I’m so glad you made it in. I’ve got a plate warmin’ on the stove for you. Let me get it.” She went back toward the swinging door.

  “Don’t bother. I’ll take care of it myself,” he grumbled. Not meaning for his words to sound so harsh, he softened his tone. “I need to wash up anyway, so I’ll grab it while I’m in there.”

  His housekeeper raised her eyebrows but didn’t say a word as she headed to a chair next to Lillian.

  All eyes were on him as he went to the kitchen, no doubt wondering what had gotten into him. He took his time washing up and said a little prayer to help him not be such a disagreeable grouch. There was something going on inside him that Woody needed to figure out. He knew he needed to spend more time with Jimmy. Again the regret and guilt threatened to eat him alive. It was true enough that he had work to do and that such work took time away from his son. It had taken time away from him and Rebecca as well. Reality hit him hard. Rebecca had been killed because he was away, busy with the olives.

  But a silent reminder rebuked him. Rebecca died because a madman beat her and threw her down the stairs. It had nothing to do with the trees or Woody’s busy schedule. So then, why did he feel so guilty? So angry? And furthermore, how did it all relate to his listening for God’s voice?

  When he made it back to the dining room with his food, he was resolved to put such thoughts behind him. He could always ponder these things later—when he was alone. He sat down at the table and found the ladies in a lively discussion. He forced a smile, silently prayed, and then dug into the food. He felt half starved after this day.

  “But don’t you think it’s time to go back?” Lillian still held his son. The boy looked asleep on her shoulder as she rubbed his back.

  Mrs. Goodman flashed a look at him. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, dearie.”

  “What’s not a good idea?” Woody took another bite.

  His nanny shifted her weight and turned toward him. “We’ve had such a wonderful time studying the Bible together, I was wondering why we couldn’t go to church.”

  “Miss Porter . . .” The frustration rose in a huge wave—so much for not being a grouch. “I’ve already told you that we will not be returning to church. The answer is no. Those people—”

  “Woody, I know they’ve hurt you. I know you haven’t been in a while. But the Good Book tells us not to forsake the gathering together and fellowship with other believers.” She offered him a smile. “I just thought—”

  “I said the answer is no.” He felt the heat rise in his neck.

  She fell silent, and for a moment Woody thought that would be the end of it.

  “Well, I am asking you to reconsider and discuss this with me.”

  She looked at him with such hope that Woody felt all the more guilty. But instead of trying to explain, he just put up his defenses. “You are quite pushy, aren’t you?” Those words definitely came out harsher than he intended, but she deserved it. She had no idea what he’d been through today. “There will be no discussion.”

  Her face registered a bit of hurt and then shock. She straightened her back and narrowed her eyes. “No wonder people in this town are so suspicious of you.” She stood with Jimmy in her arms. “Maybe I shouldn’t have . . .” She snapped her mouth closed.

  “Shouldn’t have what?” Woody stood, his anger in full force now. “Go ahead. Finish what you were about to say.”

  Mrs. Goodman picked up his plate, no doubt trying to get his attention off the discussion at hand. “I’m going to go wash this up. Would you like anything else?”

  “Please excuse us, Mrs. Goodman.”

  The older woman nodded but gave him a pointed stare.

  He saw the warning but didn’t take heed. He wasn’t going to be reprimanded like a child. Not in his own house. Not in front of his son.

  Lillian shook her head as tears pooled at the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think before I spoke.”

  “You’re right. You didn’t. You have no idea, Miss Porter, what this family has endured from the people of Angels Camp. No idea. And just because you had one opportunity, one afternoon, to listen to their gossip and lies doesn’t make you an expert on what it feels like to be ostracized. What it feels like to lose everything.”

  She stood her ground. “But you didn’t lose everything, Woody. You are still here. Your precious son is still here. Your farm is still here. God’s got this under control.”

  “Like He did the day Rebecca died?” His anger only increased. “Do not presume to tell me how I should feel or choose my words for me.” He stalked around the table. “We are in a drought. We had one disaster after another today, and I’ve had just about enough.”

  She stepped back, her hand on Jimmy’s head. “I was just asking about going to church, Woody. We don’t even go into town. I don’t know anyone.” She was so calm.

  Which only angered him more. And why, he didn’t know. “The answer is no.”

  “You know what?” A new spark lit in her eyes. “I think you’re afraid. And you know what else? I think I will go to church by myself. And I will go to town by myself. Why? Because I’m tired of people telling me what I can and cannot do and keeping me locked up like a prisoner.”

  “You feel like a prisoner?” he roared. “Fine. Then why don’t you just pack your bags. You are free to go, Miss Porter.” He yanked his sleeping son out of her arms, which roused the boy.

  Her mouth dropped open. Tears streaked down her cheeks. Her hands fisted at her sides. “You want me to leave. Fine, I’ll leave. If you aren’t too caught up in your rancorous attitude, you might remember that you haven’t ever paid me my wages. I’ll need that money to buy a stage ticket.” She turned, but then whipped right back around and pointed her finger. “You’re going to turn out just like my grandfather. Bitter, angry, and all alone.” She whirled back around and left him standing there.

  Jimmy wiggled out of his arms. When his feet reached the floor, he gave Woody a sad, teary-eyed look. And then ran out of the room and up the stairs.

  Mrs. Goodman returned and crossed her arms.

  “Don’t say it.”

  “Don’t say what? I wasn’t going to say anything.” She started to leave and threw over her shoulder, “But I will go check on Jimmy, if you have no objections.” She shook her head. “No, I don’t even care if you have objections.”

  Woody was left standing in his dining room assessing the damage. What had he just done?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Jimmy ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Why would Papa be so mean to Miss Lillian? He yelled at her just like that bad man had yelled at Mama. Jimmy burst into his room. Fear built up inside him. He looked frantically around the room. He didn’t want to see his papa act that way. He loved Papa. But now, he was also afraid of him.

  He grabbed his pillow and yanked off the pillowcase. Miss Lillian was a good person. Jimmy liked her. A lot. But Papa told her to go pack her bags. That meant she was leaving.

  It didn’t make sense.

  Papa liked Miss Lillian. Said she did a good job. When he tucked Jimmy in at night, he often talked about how she was good for them.

  Jimmy shook his head. He couldn’t understand why they had to fight. He didn’t want to see them fight ever again, and he didn’t want Miss Lillian to go. Tears threatened to spill as he grabbed his slingshot, some toy soldiers, and his comb. Mama had always told him to comb his hair
first thing every morning. Last of all, he grabbed Mr. Whiskers. Jimmy didn’t have time to secure the sling around his neck, so he tucked Mr. Whiskers inside his shirt.

  He was certain if he ran away, Miss Lillian would stay. She’d be worried about him. Jimmy was sure of it. She’d be worried, and she’d come to find him. Jimmy slipped down the back stairs, stopping to listen in case Mrs. Goodman was in the kitchen. She wasn’t. He hurried out the back door and only then realized it was dark. He hated the dark. Clutching the pillowcase to his chest, Jimmy wondered if maybe this was a bad idea. What if that bad man was out there somewhere? He hesitated, wondering what he should do. And then it came to him. He’d go to the pond. Miss Lillian knew he loved it there, and there was a big tree where he could climb up and sleep if they didn’t find him until morning.

  Maybe Harry would come to the pond tomorrow, and then they could all fish together and go back to how things were before Papa got mad.

  Jimmy hurried past the barn and along the path to the garden. The glow of the house light faded more and more the farther he went. Past the garden it got more difficult to see. He tripped and fell over a tree root. It had gotten really dark. He worried that he might have hurt Mr. Whiskers and made a quick assessment. The rabbit seemed fine, so Jimmy tucked him back inside the shirt.

  A noise to his right made him stop. Was it a wild animal? Was it the bad man?

  Fear spurred his little legs into action. He ran blindly through the trees, hoping that he’d soon reach the pond. Hoping that if the bad man was out there, he wouldn’t know where to find him.

  The killer’s voice sounded in his head. “You better not say a word about me to anyone, you hear me? I’ll kill your pa and your little housekeeper, and I’ll kill everyone in town if you say one word.”

  He wouldn’t say a word. He wouldn’t. But the voice from his nightmares followed him all the way to the pond and up the tree.

  Miss Lillian had told him to talk to God when he was afraid. “What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee . . .” She said it was from Psalms. But did talking to God count? Would the bad man find out? Wait, Miss Lillian said he could talk to God in his head and that God would understand. Then nobody would ever know.

  God, I’m afraid. Please don’t let the bad man come back. And please don’t let Miss Lillian leave.

  He shivered and wrapped his little jacket around himself and Mr. Whiskers. Maybe he could sleep for a bit while he waited for Miss Lillian to find him.

  “Woody! Woody!!” Mrs. Goodman’s voice echoed down the stairs.

  The panic Woody heard in the older woman’s voice reminded him too much of that day . . . when Rebecca . . .

  No. His thoughts couldn’t go there. He took the stairs two at a time. “Mrs. Goodman, where are you?”

  “Jimmy’s room.”

  He raced to his son’s room and found the woman crying by the bed.

  But his son wasn’t there. What was going on? “Mrs. Goodman?”

  “He’s gone. I’ve searched the entire upstairs. Every nook and cranny.” She pointed to the head of the bed. “Look. His pillowcase is gone from the pillow. And . . . Mr. Whiskers . . .”

  The horror hit him like he’d been punched. The way Jimmy had wrestled out of his arms earlier. The look the boy had given him. His son had run away. But to where? It was pitch black out and a new moon.

  Lillian. Lillian would know.

  He raced down the stairs to her room and nearly crashed into the wall when he came around the corner so fast. He banged on her door.

  “If you are here to tell me to hurry it up, I’m almost done, Mr. Colton.”

  Exasperating woman. She was just as stubborn as he was. “I’m not here about that. Please let me in. It’s an emergency.”

  He heard her shuffling around and then the door opened. Her red-rimmed eyes told him the true state of her emotions. “Yes?”

  “It’s Jimmy. He’s run away.”

  She grabbed her shawl without even waiting for him and wiped a hand down her face. “When?”

  He sighed. “Right after I told you to pack your bags, I’m sorry to say. He gave me a look and raced to his room. I thought he was still there, but Mrs. Goodman went to check on him and he’s gone. With Mr. Whiskers.”

  “Well, we’ve got to go after him, right now! He’s out there all alone and it’s dark and he’s so small—”

  He grabbed her shoulders to cease her from working herself up any further. “I know. That’s why I came to you. I thought you might know where he would have gone.”

  She bit her lip and her brow furrowed. Then her eyes widened. “The pond! He loves the pond. But that’s such a long ways!” She wiggled out of his grasp and ran back in her room. “I need my boots. Where are my boots?”

  He hadn’t noticed that she was in her stocking feet. “I’m going to run out there. Please ask Mrs. Goodman to stay here, and if you could bring a lantern when you come, I would really appreciate it.”

  She nodded and kept looking for her shoes.

  Woody didn’t have time to lose. His son was so small. Anything could happen at night out on the farm. One of his workers had mentioned seeing mountain lion tracks only last week. What if that animal was around here now? Woody’s mind jumped from one horrible thought to another. What if Jimmy had fallen in the pond? He couldn’t swim yet. Then the worst of all came to mind. There had been a stranger lurking around—possibly the same man who’d killed Rebecca. What if he found Jimmy first? Woody thought about rounding up his crew to help look for the boy, but there just wasn’t time. Knowing Lillian, she would think of just such a thing. She had a way with figuring out all the necessary details.

  As thoughts rampaged in his mind of everything that could possibly happen, Woody ran faster and faster. How could he have been so stupid? This was all his fault. And now his son was out there all alone.

  His eyes gradually adjusted to the night, but without the light of the moon, it was difficult going. Twice he almost ran into a tree. “Jimmy! Jimmy! Where are you?”

  With his son not speaking, Woody was afraid that even if he was near, he wouldn’t receive a response.

  His lungs burned, but he had to press on. He had to find his son. He’d lost Rebecca; he couldn’t lose his precious son, too. It would be too much. God, I can’t handle it. You know I can’t. I’m so sorry for my anger and my treatment of Miss Porter. I’m so sorry for all the doubt and worry and fear that drove me to it today. I’m sorely lacking in my faith, Lord. Please strengthen me, and please help me find my son.

  How much time had passed since his little boy left? What if Lillian was wrong and he was searching in the wrong direction? Doubts raced through him again and he had to mentally push them aside. He couldn’t do that anymore.

  The pond had to be getting close. He could smell the water, but with the trees on this side it was even darker and slower going.

  Up ahead he heard the snap of branches.

  Woody stopped and listened.

  “Now, come on. It’s not safe.” Whose voice was that? Did someone have his son?

  Woody pressed up against a tree and leaned around it, trying to get a look. In the darkness he could make out a dark moving form. A large man had ahold of a small boy and was dragging him by the arm. Jimmy! He bolted out from the tree. “Stop! Let go of my son!” Woody moved forward.

  The man stopped and didn’t move. The smaller form, no doubt Jimmy, wiggled in the man’s grasp.

  More scrambling sounded behind him. “Did you find him?” The voice was female and out of breath. The glow of lantern light revealed Lillian’s worried expression.

  How did she get here so fast? That woman would never cease to amaze him.

  “Shh. He’s over there. Some man has ahold of him.” Woody kept going. “Please let my son go. Don’t hurt him.”

  Lillian followed him, holding the lantern high. The man moved and Jimmy kicked and squirmed.

  “Stop! Please! He’s just a little boy.” Woody swallowed the tears th
reatening to choke him.

  The man released Jimmy and took off running. Jimmy ran too, but instead of running toward his father, he ran a circle right around him.

  “Jimmy! Harry!” Lillian cried.

  “Jimmy!” Woody shouted at the same moment, wondering why his son would run away from him.

  “You scared him.” Lillian ran off in the other direction, holding up the lantern. “Harry, wait! It’s all right, he didn’t know who you were. . . . Haaaaaarrrrrrryyyyy!” She grabbed her side and stopped. Great big huffs came from her, and the lantern bounced up and down. And then Jimmy plowed into her and held on for dear life.

  Woody had never felt more confused or wounded in all of his days. Watching the two embrace, he wasn’t sure how to dig himself out of this hole.

  Lillian held his son’s face between her two hands. “You all right?” She glanced over at Woody and grabbed Jimmy’s hand. “Let’s go talk to your papa, okay? He’s been mighty worried.”

  Jimmy scowled at Woody and then looked back to where the man had run.

  “We’ll find Harry tomorrow. Your father just scared him.”

  And that made Woody feel about two inches tall. He took a step forward to meet them. “That was Harry?”

  She nodded.

  If ever he wished he could start a day over, it would be now. He met Lillian’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I saw him dragging Jimmy”—he looked at his boy—“and I thought he was hurting you.”

  Jimmy stomped his foot.

  “He wasn’t hurting you?”

  His son crossed his arms and shook his head.

  “Let me guess, he was bringing you back home?”

  This time a nod and deep scowl accompanied the stomp.

  “Ah . . . and you didn’t want to come because you were mad at me?” Woody crouched on one knee in front of his son and watched the anger flash across Jimmy’s face. “Look, I’m sorry. To you both . . . I never should have opened my mouth earlier. It was wrong.” He looked up at his former nanny, who would hopefully reconsider. “I don’t want you to go. I had a horrible day and took it out on you. We need you.”