Bring it to the surface, Father, for the boys’ sakes.
She closed the door and turned, her gaze drifting from Buster to Dolan. What would happen to the boys? If she were twenty years younger and if Howard were still alive, she would take them to Newton with her and raise them as her own. But, of course, that wasn’t possible. She was fifty-nine already, too old to keep up with two young, active boys. She had a business to run, one she was committed to and that took her full concentration. The boys deserved more than she could give.
Dear Father, find a home for Dolan and Buster where they will be cherished and raised to honor You.
She’d done more praying in the past five days than in the former three months combined. Too often the demands of her business stole her focus and filled her hours. Although she hadn’t pushed God out of her life, she’d relegated her communication with Him to mealtime prayers and short requests sent up in moments of need. How sad that it had taken something so extreme to drive her to her knees and back into close fellowship with Him. When she finally left this dugout, she wouldn’t forget the joy she’d experienced in leaning fully into her Father’s arms for strength, peace, and comfort.
“Miz Bingham?” Dolan sidled up next to her, twisting his dirty fingers and looking hopefully into the crate. “Since Buster’s havin’ a little somethin’, can I—”
“May I,” she prompted with a smile.
The corners of his lips pulled up in an embarrassed half grin. “May I have one, too?”
She flipped the top layer of her skirt over her knee. “Yes, you may, but let me wipe it off first, hmm?” It seemed ridiculous to clean the apple and then place it in his filthy hands, but she’d cleaned Buster’s apple, so she would clean Dolan’s, too. She held it out and he took it eagerly. But he didn’t bite into it right away.
Rising on his tiptoes, he peered into the crate. A frown creased his face. He settled back on his heels and passed the apple from hand to hand. “Um, there ain’t no more.”
She already knew that. “Yes.”
“Well, then…” He slowly extended his hand to her. “You can have it.”
She grabbed him in a hug. One quick squeeze and a peck on his dirt-smeared cheek. Then she released him and smiled. “Thank you, dear one, but you go ahead. Enjoy it.”
The boy plopped down next to his brother and took a big bite.
Helena bit the end of her tongue to hold back tears. Oh, dear Lord, give these boys a worthy home.
Bill
A cow lowed from the barn, but no one answered Bill’s knock on the front door of the Nance house. He wandered to the back door and pounded on it. Waited. Still no answer. Were those boys hiding, or were they off somewhere else?
He took a slow walk toward the barn. Chickens pecked at the ground around their coop. Through the windows, he spotted eggs in the nests. Those should’ve been collected that morning. Just outside the barn, four pigs grunted in a pen, jamming their snouts against the ground. Their food trough was empty. He stood for a minute, looking into the pen at the rooting animals, an uneasy feeling in his gut.
The cow was bellowing for all it was worth. He entered the barn and crossed to the stall. “What’samatter with you, huh?” Then he got a look at her distended udder. The poor thing stood straddle legged and rolled its eyes. Another mournful low echoed from the rafters. Bill gave her neck a quick pat. “All right, all right, I’ll take care of ya.”
He located a stool and bucket and sat down. The cow’s complaints faded away as he emptied her milk sack. He filled the bucket to the brim, but he wasn’t sure what to do with it. He recalled the pigs and made a face.
“Pains me to feed this to critters, but there ain’t a soul around here, an’ there’ll be more milk by mornin’, so…”
Gritting his teeth, he emptied the bucket into the pigs’ trough. They dug in and slurped it up, tails whirling. Bill rested his arms on the top fence rail and watched the animals. If those boys were somewhere around, they’d have seen to the livestock. So they weren’t just hiding. They were gone.
Who might know where to find the boys? He slapped his thigh. The schoolmarm. Most schoolmarms knew as much about youngsters as their folks did. If he recollected rightly, Miss Alexander took a room above the Coats mercantile. He’d pay the teacher a visit. He pulled himself onto Patch’s back, groaning with the effort, and aimed the horse for town.
The mercantile owner’s missus fetched the schoolmarm for Bill, and the minute she rounded the corner from the stairs, he asked if she knew where to find the Nance boys.
Miss Alexander pinched her lips as if she’d tasted something spoiled. “Sheriff Thorn, I wish I could help you, but Dolan and Buster didn’t come to school yesterday. I don’t know where they’ve gone.”
Bill curled his hand around the stair rail and tried not to frown at the young schoolmarm. Wasn’t her fault the boys were missing, so he shouldn’t growl at her, but it was hard. He was near asleep on his feet. “Is it usual for ’em to not show up at school?”
She shook her head. “Oh, no, sir. Dolan and Buster are very faithful in attendance. Their mother wants the boys to learn to read, write, and cipher. It’s important to her.”
Bill started ciphering in his head. Something wasn’t adding up. “When’s the last time you talked to the boys’ ma?”
“Oh, my…Four, maybe five weeks ago? We encountered each other here in the mercantile on a Saturday morning and chatted a bit. She’s a shy woman who’s been sickly since Buster was born, but she’s always been very friendly with me.”
Bill fiddled with his mustache. “Um…you ain’t heard any rumors lately about Miz Nance, have you? ’Bout her maybe takin’ off an’ leavin’ her youngsters?”
“No, I haven’t, and I can’t imagine her doing such a thing. She’s a very devoted mother. But…” She folded her arms over her waist and shivered. “You know, I’ve been worried about the boys. The way they’ve looked lately…so disheveled, dirty, always sad and hungry. I wondered if their mother fell ill again. I thought about driving out to their house and checking on Mrs. Nance, but to be honest, their father scares me.” She hung her head. “I suppose that doesn’t sound very caring.”
Bill gave the woman a little pat on the shoulder. “Now, it’s clear you care about ’em. An’ as for that pa o’ theirs, you’re right smart to stay away from him.”
She offered a crooked smile. “Thank you. But what about the boys? Are you going to look in on them?”
“Yes’m, but before I go, mebbe you can help me with something.” Bill squinted, trying to find the best way to ask. “Have the boys ever mentioned a special spot they or their pa like to visit?”
She tapped her lips, rolling her eyes upward. She brightened. “You know, last year Dolan wrote an essay about a place he liked to go to be alone and think. I believe he called it his dugout.”
Tingles exploded across Bill’s scalp. “Dugout?”
“Yes, sir. I don’t have the essay anymore, of course, but I’m certain I’m remembering correctly.” She tilted her head, and her smile turned sad. “He added a little note at the bottom for me not to pin the essay on the class board. Quite often Dolan’s essays appear there—he really is a very intelligent boy. But he wanted his dugout kept secret.”
Bill backed up, easing toward the front door. He tipped his hat. “Thank you, ma’am. You’ve been a big help.”
She stepped onto the first riser, peering at him over her shoulder. “When you see the boys, please tell them I miss them at school.”
“Will do.” Bill left the store and trotted to Patch. He swung into the saddle and gave the horse’s sides a bump, his mind whirling.
Way back when folks first settled the land, lots of them cut cave-like hollows into the hills and built a single wall over the opening for shelter. He couldn’t think of anyone who still lived in a dugout, but folks used them to store grain
or as a place to duck in if they got caught out in the weather. If there was a dugout on the Nance property, it’d be a mighty fine place to stash a woman.
Excitement chased away his sleepiness. At the edge of town, Bill gave Patch his head and let the paint break into a canter. He’d search ’til he found that dugout. Then, no matter how he found Miz Bingham—dead or alive—he’d have answers.
Forty
Abigail
Abigail draped a clean wiping cloth over the tray holding a bowl of chicken and dumplings, a plate of biscuits, and a cup of milk. Balancing the tray on her palm, she headed for the front door of the restaurant. She reached for the doorknob, but the door opened before she could turn the knob. Mack stepped in, sweeping off his hat in the way she’d come to associate with a man bowing. She almost curtsied.
His gaze landed on her, and his familiar smile formed, lighting his blue eyes. He glanced at the tray. “What’s this? It’s a little chilly for a picnic.”
She smiled in reply, unable to help herself, even though a dozen diners were probably watching every move they made. The townsfolk had become very interested in observing her whenever Mack came near. After all the lecturing she’d done about not staring and about honoring other people’s privacy, she should be dismayed or disgruntled. But their inquisitiveness inspired fond affection instead.
“Mr. Ackley came in a few minutes ago and said the sheriff had gone off on an errand midmorning. No one’s seen him return, so Mr. Nance has been sitting in the jail all day without food. I thought someone should bring him something to eat.” If she’d known about the sheriff’s departure earlier, she would have taken lunch to the man. No one—not even Elmer Nance—should have to spend the day without a meal.
Mack settled his hat in place and took the plate from her hand. “I’ll see that he gets it. You stay here.”
“No.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, unwilling to give the curious group behind her fodder for gossip. “I appreciate your concern, but there’s something I need to tell him.”
He opened the door. “Then I’m going with you.”
There wasn’t any need. Mr. Nance was secure behind a wall of iron bars and she no longer worried about being accosted by any of the Spiveyville men. But she enjoyed Mack’s company. His protectiveness made her feel treasured. “All right.”
They moved from the boardwalk to the street because others were heading for the restaurant. She would have enjoyed conversation, but every townsperson they encountered greeted them by name, and it was impolite to ignore them. By the time they reached the sheriff’s office, she was eager to duck inside and be alone with Mack. Oh, such a shameless thought, but an honest one. She couldn’t deny it. She’d given her heart to Mack Cleveland.
He slid his finger underneath the windowsill and extracted a key, which he used to unlock the front door.
Abigail gazed at him in amazement. “The sheriff leaves a key outside?” She whispered lest any of the passersby overhear.
Mack grinned. “The whole town knows it’s there. He told us, in case somebody needed to get in while he’s away.” He slipped the key back into the little crack between the window frame and siding and opened the door for her. “Small towns’re a lot different than big ones.” Suddenly his tone seemed sad.
She wanted to ask what troubled him, but a clanging from the rear of the building sent him clomping across the floor. He opened a door centered on the wall and stepped through.
“Nance, quiet down.”
The man tossed the tin cup he’d been using to bang against the iron bars. “ ’Bout time somebody got here. Sheriff locked me in an’ took off. Haven’t had—” His steely-eyed glare landed on the tray Abigail held. He jammed his arms through the bars. “Give it here.”
He’d never draw the tray through the narrow gap, and she would not ask Mack to make use of the key to the cell. She glanced around, biting her lip. “Mack, bring that crate over here, please.”
Mack dragged a wooden crate from the corner and positioned it in front of the cell.
“Mr. Nance, if you’ll pull your cot up close, you can use it as a chair, then reach between the bars to eat your supper.”
To her surprise, he scurried to follow her directions, screeching the cot’s metal legs across the planked floor. She set the tray on the crate and whisked the towel aside. He grabbed the fork and stabbed into the dumplings as if he was starving. His greedy gulping betrayed every dining rule, but her heart hurt watching him. No one should suffer such hunger.
“If you’re still hungry when you’ve finished, I will bring you another bowl.”
He paused, his cheek bulging with a bite, and glared at her. “Why?”
“Why…what?”
He bobbed his head in a mighty swallow. “Why’re you feedin’ me after what I done?”
She gazed steadily into his resentful eyes. “Because there’s been enough unkindness. Someone has to, shall we say, turn the tide. Jesus instructed His followers to repay evil with good. I suppose I’m trying to do what He said. Besides…”
She inched forward, not yet within his reach but close enough to let him see the sincerity in her eyes. “I owe you a debt of gratitude for attempting to put out the fire in my clothing this morning. It was foolish of me to try to outrun it. I could have been badly injured had you not pushed me down and tried to extinguish the flames.”
Mack gaped at her as if realizing for the first time what Mr. Nance had done.
“You could have run instead, escaped while Sheriff Thorn, Mack, and Dr. Kettering fought the blaze, but you stayed and helped. You did the right thing, Mr. Nance, and I’m grateful.”
He stared at her through narrowed eyes for several seconds, his lower jaw working back and forth. Then he jammed the fork into the food and resumed eating.
Mack took Abigail by the elbow and guided her into the sheriff’s office. He closed the door, sealing off the jail, and gave her a dumbfounded look. “How did you know he wasn’t trying to hurt you when he threw you to the ground?”
She hung her head. “I didn’t at the time. I feared he was attacking me. But he didn’t strike me or…or otherwise hurt me. He rolled me against the ground and slapped at the flames.” She glanced at the door, remembering something she’d just seen. “Did you notice his hands? They’re burned. We should bring him an aloe plant.”
He threw back his head and burst into laughter.
And Abigail found herself laughing with him. Ah, such sweet music they made. Her heart caught. If only…
Bill
Bill buttoned his jacket. The air was getting cooler and the sun’s light dimmer. Seemed as though he’d been riding an ever-widening circle around the Nance property for years instead of hours. Weariness weighted him, and with evening getting swallowed up by night, sleep tugged hard. Another half hour and he wouldn’t be able to see well enough to know if he ran smack into a dugout. He wished he’d brought a bedroll, because it sure looked like he’d be staying out under the stars and waiting until morning to finish his search.
Patch nickered and Bill patted the animal’s splotchy neck. “I know, boy. Sure wasn’t usin’ my head when I set out. But if you an’ me snug up tight, we’ll make it through the night.” At least the horse could eat some grass. Bill’s stomach wouldn’t get filled until he made it back to Spiveyville.
He flicked a look at the sky. Stars were starting to twinkle, and the moon sat like a fat toad on the horizon. He wouldn’t waste one minute of light. He tapped his heels. “Come on, Patch, keep goin’. Take me to the dugout.”
He swallowed a snort. He talked like the horse knew what he was saying. Would he spend the rest of his life talking to a horse instead of a wife? Way back on her first day in Spiveyville, Mrs. Grant had asked him, “Might you be interested in securing a wife?” He’d scoffed at the notion then. But he wasn’t scoffing anymore. He was plumb tired of being alone. Of b
eing lonely. He might be too old to be bringing babies into the world, but he wasn’t too old to enjoy the company of a wife. Maybe he’d look into ordering up a bride after all.
Patch nickered again, bobbing his head. Then the horse snorted.
Bill pulled the reins. “What’s the matter with you, fella, huh?” He searched the graying landscape. Was there a coyote somewhere, laying low? Wily creatures—not prone to attack a horse, but they could sure make one nervous. He didn’t spot any eyes peering from the clumps of grass, but a rise in the land, growing higher than any others he’d encountered so far, caught his eye.
His scalp prickled. Maybe it was lack of sleep making that hill seem bigger. Maybe it was wishful thinking. But the height of the rise and Patch’s strange behavior gave Bill the first ray of hope he’d had since he left Nance’s house.
He angled Patch toward the rise and clicked his tongue on his teeth. “C’mon, let’s go see what’s there.” If nothing else, a hill that high would block the wind. It’d be a good place to bed down for the night.
Helena
Helena tucked the edge of the blanket under Buster’s chin. If the boys lay tummy to back on the edge of the mouse-eaten blanket, there was just enough flap remaining to wrap around and over them. She knelt on the hard ground and placed a kiss on each of their heads. “Sleep well, now.”
“We will. Good night, ma’am.” Dolan snuffled and closed his eyes.
Beneath a Prairie Moon Page 33
