The Gift of Twins

by Gabrielle Meyer

  “I’m not here to get money.” Ben glanced at his father who stood a respectable distance away, his eyes on the rolling prairie. Ben looked back at the lady. “I’m here because I believe the two boys in my home are Mal—Oscar’s children and they need a home. I thought it best to tell their father.”

  The baby in her arms fussed and she bounced, her threadbare dress sweeping the dusty floor with each movement. “How do you know them kids is his?” He suspected her look of disinterest veiled a deeper fear. “Was it a prostitute that made the claim?”

  Ben shook his head, his fears about Malachi Trask becoming more and more disconcerting with each statement. It wasn’t his place to tell this woman about her husband’s past, was it? Yet, he couldn’t leave her thinking the worst. “The boys were born to his wife, Clara—”

  “He has another wife?” Her voice was first surprised and then resigned. “I should have known.”

  “She died, three years ago, and her sister took them in. Recently, her sister brought them to me.”

  “Three years ago?” She snorted again. “Three years ago I already had this baby with Oscar,” she nodded at the little girl. “He never told me he had a wife and kids someplace else.”

  Ben rubbed the back of his neck. “Could you please tell me where I might find him?”

  “What does it matter?” she asked, more to herself than to Ben. “He’s probably at the saloon in Owatonna. Seems to spend more time there than he does here.”

  Ben nodded. “Thank you.”

  She started to close the door with no further comment, but Ben held up his hand to stop her. “I have a few things I’d like to leave with you, if I may.”

  “What kind of things?” Her eyes were narrowed again.

  “Here.” Ben walked to the horse and dug into his saddlebags for the food Mrs. Carver had sent with him. If he grew hungry, he could stop along the way home and find food at a restaurant or hotel. Ben handed her the cookies, bread, fried chicken and other tidbits Mrs. Carver had packed.

  The woman stared at his offerings as if he had presented her with a bomb. “I can’t take that.”

  “Why not?” he asked. “I have more than enough.”

  Big green eyes blinked up at him as the little girl gazed upon the food.

  “Take it.” He held it out to her. “For the children, if nothing else.”

  She finally took the food and closed the door without another word.

  Ben didn’t need a thank-you—just knowing the children would have a bit of food to fill their tummies for a couple of days was all the thanks he needed.

  They mounted their horses and headed back toward town. Ben’s prayers started to change from asking God to help him find Malachi, to asking for Malachi to give Ben the right to adopt Zeb and Levi.

  Before, Ben had been convinced he wasn’t a good fit for the boys—but then he realized that they were a good fit for him. Yes, he would have a lot of obstacles to overcome if he wanted to keep them, but it would be worth any price he would have to pay. If he could prevent their separation, he would do whatever it would take.

  They rode back toward Owatonna, the wind nipping at them the whole way.

  Finally, they arrived and located the only saloon in town. It was a two-story building with a wide front porch. The windows upstairs were shuttered tight.

  Ben dismounted, but Phillipe remained on his horse.

  “Are you coming inside?” Ben asked.

  Phillipe looked over the establishment and shook his head. “I gave up drinking twenty-five years ago and I make it a habit not to put myself in a position to be tempted. I’ll wait here.” He paused and studied Ben’s face. “Unless you need me.”

  Ben shook his head and walked up the steps to the saloon door. The place was open for business, though there were only three customers inside. The bartender stood behind a long counter, a piece of paper in one hand, a pencil in the other, taking inventory of the bottles behind the bar. Someone sat in the corner of the room at the piano, a lively tune echoing off the ivory keys, the other two men played poker.

  “Can I help you?” the bartender asked when he saw Ben.

  “I’m looking for Oscar Webb.”

  The barkeep nodded toward the corner of the room at the piano player.

  “That’s Mr. Webb?”

  “The one and only.”

  Ben walked across the room, feeling the gazes of the other two men on him.

  “Mr. Webb?”

  Oscar—Malachi—looked up at Ben, a ready smile in place. “That’s me.”

  Ben had anticipated an older-looking man with dingy hair, rotted teeth and threadbare clothes. This man wasn’t anything like Ben had expected. He had a youthful look about him, though the years had caused creases to wrinkle his forehead and the corners of his eyes. Ben supposed he was handsome, and from the quick smile, he suspected the man could easily charm anyone. His gaze was clear and cheerful, with no haze of alcohol lingering.

  Malachi stopped playing the piano, a frown of concern marring his brow. “Why the long face, mister? Someone die?”

  “Is there somewhere we could talk in private?” Ben asked.

  The boys’ father glanced around the bar. “This is as private as it gets. What’s on your mind? You look too serious for a man who just stepped into the bar—or is that why you came? You need to drink away your sorrows?” He chuckled as he watched Ben with curiosity.

  If he wanted to talk here, then here is where they would talk. “I have come on behalf of your sons, Levi and Zebulun Trask.”

  The good-humored smile fell from his face. “What was that?”

  “Your sons.”

  “You know where my boys are?”

  Ben nodded. “They’ve been with me for a couple months now. Their aunt dropped them off.”

  “Bertha. I should have known.” He shook his head. “Did she tell you where to find me?”

  “Your father told me where you might be living.”

  “My father?” Malachi’s frown deepened. “How do you know my father? More importantly, who are you?”

  “I’m Reverend Ben Lahaye. Clara’s sister dropped the boys off at the parsonage on her way through Little Falls. All she told me was the boys’ names. I’ve had to deduce the rest on my own.”

  Malachi’s shoulders drooped and his hands hung loose between his knees. A deep melancholy seemed to slip over his head and rest like a heavy garment around him. “I’ve wondered where those boys went.” He stared at a spot on the floor, the tenor of his voice changing at an alarming rate. “I suppose you’ve heard all about me.”

  “I’ve heard enough.” Ben wouldn’t sugarcoat what he’d heard.

  “Why are you here?” Malachi looked up at Ben, defeat in his gaze. “Do you want something from me?”

  This was the hardest part of his journey. The moment he’d been dreading for months. “I came to see if you’d like your sons back.”

  Again, Malachi stared at the floor, lost in his thoughts. “I’m not proud of who I am, Reverend Lahaye.” He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together. “I didn’t deserve Clara and when she left me, I didn’t follow her, because I knew she could do better. Instead, I continued to drink and I took up with Katrina.” He looked down at his limp hands. “Something’s broken inside and I don’t know how to fix it, Reverend. Sometimes I’m soaring with the birds, other times, I’m groveling with the pigs.” He was quiet for a long time. “When I heard Clara died, I did right by Katrina and the children and I married her—but that seems to be the only decent thing I’ve done for her.” Desperation filled his gaze. “I want to be a better man, truly, I do. But when the melancholy sets in, I can’t seem to crawl out of it for days. The only thing that relieves the darkness is playing this piano.” He motioned to the instrume
nt. “I come in here and spend my money on liquor, sitting at this wooden box for days until my mood lifts, then I go home to Katrina.”

  Ben took a seat across from Malachi. He’d met other men like him before. They swung between a pendulum of intense joy and penetrating sadness. Alcohol seemed to make it worse, but it also seemed to be the only thing that made it better. He’d seen men come out of it, too. Men who had been desperate enough to change their lives. Start over. Cling to Christ. Malachi wasn’t beyond saving.

  “Your life is not my business,” Ben said as kindly as he could, “but Zeb and Levi are.”

  “Zeb and Levi.” Malachi smiled and looked at Ben. “I knew Clara had twin boys, but I didn’t know what she named them.”

  “They’re Biblical names,” Ben said.

  “Strong names.” He hung his head again. “I’m sorry you were dragged into my pitiful life. You didn’t ask for any of this, and here you are, trying to make sense of me because you care about those boys.” The smile he gave Ben was genuine, if ashamed. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re like Clara. Good and honest and caring.”

  “I just want what’s best for Zeb and Levi.”

  “So do I, ironically.”

  “I don’t find it ironic.”

  Malachi straightened. “I’m ready to make a change, Reverend Lahaye. I know I can do it this time.” He squared his shoulders and looked Ben in the eye. “I’m going to do right by my sons.”

  Ben’s chest tightened. “What do you plan to do?”

  “I plan to go to Little Falls and get my boys, make a real family once and for all. Might come as a shock to Katrina, but she’s a strong woman. She can take on two more young’uns, and it’ll be good to have more help on the farm.”

  Disappointment rammed against Ben and took his breath away. Though he’d done what he thought was best, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just sentenced Levi and Zeb to a life of pain, bitterness and drudgery.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The snowstorm that overtook Ben and Phillippe on their way home from Owatonna was nothing like the tempest raging inside Ben’s heart. A week and a half after he left Little Falls, he finally arrived back home, weary, frustrated and heart sore.

  Everything in town was buried under a fresh layer of snow as they plodded through the street to the barn behind the parsonage. The storm was common for December, but they had been living with winter for two solid months and it was starting to wear on his mood.

  “I’ll rub Ginger down,” Phillippe said to Ben when they dismounted in the barn. “You go on inside and see those boys.”

  Ben was too tired to argue. In about two weeks, Malachi Trask would come for the boys. Ben had tried to convince him otherwise, telling Malachi that he would keep the boys, and that they would be happy and safe with him—but Malachi had become adamant that it was time he made something of his life. When he said he’d come immediately for them, Ben had at least convinced him to wait until Christmas Eve, so they could participate in the pageant at school the day before. Malachi had hesitantly agreed.

  The sky overhead was a brilliant blue and the sunshine was dazzling as it reflected off the snow. It was hard to believe that just yesterday Ben and Phillippe had been holed up in a run-down hotel in St. Cloud, waiting to be free of the storm.

  “Hello,” Ben called as he entered the kitchen through the back door. It was Saturday morning, which meant everyone should be home—so why was it so quiet?

  “Hello, dearie,” Mrs. Carver answered as she walked into the kitchen from the front room, a dust rag in hand. Concern lined her face and the dear old lady looked as if she had aged overnight. “What news do you bring?”

  “Are the boys here?”

  “They’re playing with the Cooper boys today. Mrs. Cooper came up here earlier and asked if they could go to her house. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “No, I don’t.” Ben took out a chair and rested his fatigued muscles. There was a small measure of relief knowing he could discuss the boys’ future with Emmy and Mrs. Carver without the boys hearing. “Is Emmy studying upstairs?”

  “Emmy?”

  Ben looked up at her. “Yes, Emmy.”

  His housekeeper walked to the stove and lifted a lid, then set it down absentmindedly, mumbling something under her breath.

  “Mrs. Carver?” Ben stood, hating the dread he felt in the pit of his stomach. “Where’s Emmy?”

  “Oh, dearie.” She turned and wrung her hands. “She moved to the Janners’ house two days after you left. She’s been there a week now.”

  “Moved?” Ben had never raised his voice inside his home before, but it ricocheted off the walls of the kitchen now. He didn’t intend to be so loud, but the shock of hearing that Emmy moved was too much on top of everything else. “Why did she move?”

  Mrs. Carver swallowed. “Mr. Samuelson found her a place and she had to move that day or she’d lose the opportunity. Mr. Russell was kind enough to take her out in his wagon—”

  “Mr. Russell?” Again, his voice was much louder than he intended, and Mrs. Carver flinched.

  He paced across the floor, his hand massaging the back of his neck.

  “I’m sorry,” Mrs. Carver said.

  Ben shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. None of this is your fault.”

  “People talk,” Mrs. Carver said slowly, “and they’re saying that Mr. Russell has gone out to visit Emmy several times since she moved...”

  Ben sat back in his chair and put his elbows on the table, his face in his hands. Adam Russell had been waiting for an opportune time, and he’d found it. But what about Emmy? Did she welcome Mr. Russell’s attention? When Ben had fallen in love with Charlotte, he’d hoped and prayed she would love him in return, but Abram had been a stronger contender. Was Adam the same? Did it even pay to go after Emmy and tell her how he felt about her?

  “Go, dearie,” Mrs. Carver said. “Go and tell her you love her.”

  “I don’t love her.” He couldn’t. The risk was far too great.

  “You do, and she needs to know.”

  “Why, so she can reject me?” He knew he sounded pathetic, because he felt pathetic.

  “Just go. Tell her the truth and then let the matter go into God’s hands. Pray for His will, and then pray for His grace, no matter the outcome.”

  It was something he preached all the time. Seeking God’s will and then walking it out in His grace. Shouldn’t he do what he told others to do?

  He took off his buffalo robe and went to his bedroom to change. If he was going to see Emmy, he was going with the intention to court, and a courting man always looked his best.

  Twenty minutes later, after Phillippe had brushed Ginger down and given her something to eat, Ben hooked her up to his sleigh and pulled out of the barn. He wanted her to have more rest, but his need to see Emmy made him push the horse. “I’m sorry, girl,” he said. “But I need a little more from you today.”

  It didn’t take long to get to the Janners’ place. Ben had been there before on church business. The oldest Janner daughters had been married the previous summer, one right after the other. The two youngest Janner children, boys, were students at the school, though they were a little older than most boys who attended. They were good people, but they held on to a strict set of ideals and were the only people in the congregation who Ben tried not to look at when he preached. Their stern faces usually made him squirm.

  The harness jingled as he pulled into the Janners’ property. A two-story house stood off in a neat yard, the white clapboard gleaming under the sunshine. A large barn was surrounded by dormant fields that produced some of the best wheat in the state.

  Ben exited the sleigh and tied Ginger’s lead rope to a hitching post out front. He didn’t plan to stay long, only long enough to ask Emmy to go riding. He n
eeded to tell her about his trip, and he didn’t want an audience.

  He walked up the path and knocked on the front door. It opened quickly, and he suspected that someone had seen his approach. Mrs. Janner stood on the other side of the door and ran a hand over her hair to smooth it back. She was a tall, skinny woman with a sharp nose and pale blue eyes. “Reverend Lahaye. To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?”

  “Is Miss Wilkes available?”

  “Why, yes, she’s in her room.” She lifted her eyebrows, as if in judgment. “My, but she gets her share of gentleman callers, doesn’t she?”

  He chose to ignore her statement, his chest tightening at the idea of Adam Russell visiting her. “May I speak to her?”

  “Of course. Won’t you come in and wait in the parlor?”

  Ben entered the home, but when she offered to take his hat and coat, he kindly refused. “This won’t take long,” he explained.

  She raised her eyebrows again and didn’t say anything as she disappeared.

  He sat on the sofa, but finding the need to pace, he rose and walked across Mrs. Janner’s parlor, looking at the curiosities on one of her shelves.

  “Ben?” Emmy entered the parlor, Mrs. Janner nowhere to be seen.

  The sight of her melted away all the angst and pain he’d felt since speaking with Malachi. He longed to go to her and pull her into his arms. There was nothing else in this world that he needed more at this very moment.

  “Hello, Em.”

  Her gaze was wary as she studied him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to tell you about my trip to Owatonna.”

  She nibbled on her bottom lip, her eyes filling with uneasiness. “I can tell it didn’t go well.”

  How could she tell? Just by looking at him? Did she know him so well?

  “Can we go for a drive?” he asked. “I have my sleigh waiting out front.”

  Again, she nibbled on her lip. “I don’t know, Ben.”

  “Emmy. I need to talk to you.”

  She nodded slowly. “All right. I’ll get my things.”