When she was no longer able to see into the thick woodland she made her way back to the house, stopping along the way to catch her breath and hoarsely call out for Mark.
Lacking any more ideas of how she could possibly find him, she returned to the house and inspected every room and under every piece of furniture again. She spoke to Mark throughout her search, begging him to appear, pleading that, if he were merely hiding, he might emerge.
Birget stood at the bottom of the stairs, listening to Rebecca’s wretched pleas and crying into her apron, sick with worry.
Hours passed as Rebecca went between calling raspingly out into the yard and beseeching the boy all through the house until the staff thought they could no longer bear her desolate calls. Rebecca collapsed in the hall, begging for him to show himself, but no answer came from the missing child.
Birget begged her to try to eat something, but Rebecca refused and went out to search the stables again.
As morning dawned, a jagged chill in the air, Rebecca drug herself back to the house, having searched every crevice and building surrounding Stavewood. She collapsed into the kitchen chair.
Birget stood behind the devastated girl and held her shoulders while Rebecca wept with worry and exhaustion. The cook put a plate of steaming soup before her, but she only looked past it, trying to think of someplace she had overlooked.
Regular knocks could be heard at the main door, right after sunrise, as news of the missing boy spread throughout the territory and volunteers arrived to help search for Mark. At noon Octavia arrived, nervous and behaving oddly and wanted only to see Timothy. The butler sent her to the parlor in the rush of the arrival of concerned neighbors and friends.
Rebecca busied herself in the kitchen where she found it easier to be distracted working with the swarm of concerned neighbors. She retrieved a large map from the wall in the study and spread it out over the kitchen table, examining it carefully and marking out the surrounding property. It had become apparent to her that it would be pointless for all of the volunteers to search for the boy without direction, possibly missing him in the confusion, and she began dispatching each group to cover a particular area.
In the chaotic kitchen Rebecca made sure Birget prepared gallons of coffee to warm the returning search parties and saw to it that each departing group knew exactly which area had not yet been searched.
Each time a band of men returned with no news her heart fell, and, as the covered areas began to expand on the map, her fear increased.
The sun set too quickly, allowing the temperature to fall still further and whispers of concern over the threat of frost began among the men gathered outside.
When Timothy arrived he passed the neighbors in the yard shaking his head in silent despair. He stood in the kitchen doorway, watching Rebecca, her face filthy and exhausted, as she directed the next search party to an area to cover.
She looked up as she was dispatching the men and met his tortured gaze. His face was pale and ragged and his shoulders were slumped in pain. He approached her and studied the map beside her, leaning to support himself on the counter at the realization of how massive an area had been covered with no results.
Rebecca grasped his arm firmly, directing a man beside her to take over and led Elgerson, senseless with exhaustion, to the study. She poured a liberal amount of brandy in a large goblet and handed it to him.
“Drink it, Timothy,” she instructed him firmly. “You have a lot of friends doing everything that can be done. They’ll find him, I’m sure.”
He looked up at her, deep circles beneath his tortured eyes and his cheeks hollow and ashen.
“Rebecca,” he whispered huskily. He drained the brandy in one deep gulp and buried his head in his hands.
She stood in front of him, her heart breaking, and took the glass from him. Silently she refilled it and set it beside him.
Octavia entered the room from across the foyer, impatient with being left alone in the parlor, and stood in the doorway watching them.
Timothy grabbed Rebecca by her hips and began to sob violently and the girl bent and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, silently sharing his fear.
Octavia Weintraub turned abruptly and strode out to her carriage, whipping her horses to a swift gallop. She had a suspicion where her mother might be and rushed to find the woman.
Chapter Thirty-Four
After delicate prodding and a bit more brandy, Rebecca was able to direct Timothy up the stairs and laid him out on the bed, removing his heavy boots and riding clothes. In the dark of the previous night together she had never seen the man disrobed and could not help noticing his muscular, rugged physique. She covered him warmly and, after checking the procedures in the kitchen, instructed the butler to add wood to the fireplace in Timothy’s room.
She returned to her own room, bathed quickly and changed into a clean dress. She hoped the bath would revive her, and that a break might supply her with a new plan. Back in the kitchen, a volunteer’s knock was unheard by the busy staff and Rebecca pulled open the entry.
A brightly dressed woman, her bonnet flushing with feathers stood nervously on the porch.
“I was wondering if there was something I could do. I heard about the boy disappearing and thought that if I could help in any way at all.” The woman, however striking, was obviously quite uneasy, and she looked from side to side past Rebecca apprehensively before addressing her directly.
“Please excuse me.” She offered a silken-gloved hand as Rebecca invited her in.
“I know you may not want me here, but I just felt that I had to try.”
Rebecca appreciated anyone who was kind enough to help them locate Mark. She thanked the woman, grasping her hand warmly.
“Hello, I’m Rebecca. Timothy is finally getting a moment of rest and I’m sure there’s something you can do.”
“Oh, thank you. I want so badly to do something to help. My name is Bess Rival. It certainly is a pleasure to meet you!” Bess shook Rebecca’s hand vigorously.
Rebecca led Bess to the kitchen, thinking that the woman certainly looked capable enough to take over the coffee preparation so that Birget might have a break.
As the kitchen door swung open and she led Bess Rival into the room all conversations fell silent. A few of the men cleared their throats and Birget gasped loudly.
Rebecca directed Bess through the hushed kitchen, unsure of exactly how to address the obviously concerned crowd. She instructed Birget to allow Miss Rival to take over, and then to take a much needed break.
Birget grabbed Rebecca by the hand and pulled her to the pantry.
“What on earth is going on here?” Rebecca had no patience for the indifferent greeting Birget had given the woman.
“Rebecca, how dare you bring that woman into the house!” Birget was frantic.
“Who is she?” Rebecca asked impatiently.
“Why she’s the Madam!” Birget gasped.
“The Madam? Whatever are you talking about?”
“The Madam. She runs the saloon in Billington.”
“Well then I expect if she runs a saloon she certainly is capable of making coffee.”
“No, no.” Birget looked back over her shoulder. “It’s got whores!”
Enlightened, Rebecca understood the group’s behavior, but suspected the men’s reaction meant something very different than Birget’s had, especially since Bess Rival was a very stunning woman. She didn’t know much about the woman’s profession but decided that Bess had seemed genuine in her offer to help and any offer of assistance should be accepted.
“I understand your concern, Birget, and perhaps at any other time this might be a problem, but this is not the time. If Bess Rival wants to help us find Mark, I will not refuse her kindness. If there’s even a chance that one thing can help us find the boy, how can I refuse her offer? We’re all exhausted with worry. Birget please help the woman find what she needs and try to get a little rest.”
The plump woman listened a
nd reluctantly agreed, although uncomfortable with the situation. She returned to the kitchen and instructed the Madam before making her way quietly upstairs.
Bess Rival’s presence in the kitchen seemed much more easily accepted by the men once they saw Rebecca’s practical approach to the Madam and the serving of coffee resumed.
Bess watched Rebecca move with command among the turmoil, directing men easily twice her size, despite her obvious fatigue and worry. Bess had heard talk of Rebecca’s presence at Timothy’s and the rumors of her beauty. Rebecca certainly was stunning, and Bess admitted to herself, probably perfect for Timothy Elgerson. Rebecca’s attempts to stop at nothing to find Timothy’s boy only illustrated further that she belonged here. Bess Rival sighed in resignation, her bright gown behind a white apron, in the kitchen at Stavewood, filling cups. There was no question in her mind that, however it had come about, Timothy Elgerson had the woman he had long needed right under his nose.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Rebecca checked the progress on the map once again, finding that the man she had left in charge was quite competent and she climbed the stairs in exhaustion to check on Timothy.
She found him sitting on the bed, head in his hands when she walked into the room.
“Any news?” He looked up at her, his face drawn and haggard and overcome with fatigue.
“Not yet,” she whispered, as he pulled a sheet across his bare lap.
“Who undressed me?” He looked at her with one brow lifted.
“You needed some sleep.”
Rebecca searched the room for clean clothing and prepared a bath.
“This will help you feel better.” She led him to the room and helped him lower his tortured body into the steaming water.
“I don’t know where he could have gone,” he choked as she rinsed his limp arm. “Where could he possibly be?”
“They’ll find him, Tim. I’m sure. He ran off. Boys do that sometimes. They’ll find him just fine.” Her reassurances did nothing to help her alleviate her own fears, but seemed to calm Timothy’s agony somewhat.
“Lay your head back,” she whispered and lathered his thick mane thoroughly.
He felt her gentle, kind touch and thanked her softly as she rinsed him carefully and began to dry him slowly.
“I’m alright,” he said taking the towel from her and Rebecca left him to dress.
Bathing the distraught man left her feeling drained and weak and she went to her room, but could not bring herself to lie on the bed. Too exhausted to pace any longer she sat beside the window and looked around the room. She heard his heavy footsteps as Timothy passed her door and descended the stairs. She absently reached to move the basket of yarn that she had left too close to the rocker, spilling the skeins of yarn, a small puff of dust landing on her shoe.
She leapt to her feet suddenly.
“The attic!”
She ran from her room to the back staircase and scrambled up the stairs frantically.
Racing down the hall she threw open the door to the attic and stopped immediately. Her footsteps from her previous visit remained, faint in the pale dust, and another pair lie beside them.
She called out, but decided it was best to check the attic before going for help. The footprints were everywhere and she spun frantically, trying to discern where they led, calling the boy hysterically.
A single set of footsteps ended beside a massive trunk and Rebecca rushed to it and fought open the heavy lid.
There, amid the soft folds of stored clothing, the boy lay in a tight ball. His face was bright red and Rebecca found that the lid would not stay open without her support. Terrified that closing the lid might worsen his obviously poor condition, she struggled out of her shoe and, using one foot, pushed it into the trunk’s hinge. She tested to see that it had propped up one side, wriggled out of the other shoe wildly and shoved it into the other side.
It was impossible for her to lift the boy from the trunk. She reached inside and felt his face, his body temperature was perilously high, and she ran down the hall, calling for help and throwing open rooms until she found one with an adjoining bath and turned on the faucet.
For a moment she heard only air and prayed that the faucet was connected as it spat a rush of cold water. She soaked the linens, carried them dripping to the trunk and placed them around the boy, under his limp arms and across his forehead. She pulled his boots and stockings off hastily and slapped the soles of his feet.
When she saw him stir she patted his cheek firmly, calling his name and begging him to respond.
“Rebecca?” he whispered, barely opening his eyes.
She held him to her, flooded with relief, and pushed the wet hair from his face. She continued in vain to call for help, afraid to leave the boy in the precariously propped trunk as tears ran down her cheeks.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Timothy reached the foot of the immense staircase and stood outside the kitchen door listening. He could hear the men discussing the search and was overcome with grief. They had searched what they agreed was a large area. Beginning to fear the worst, he turned and walked to the study.
He wracked his brain, trying to imagine what else he could possibly do. They had searched everywhere, and yet had not found the boy. He had known there was a threat and it had never considered to him that Mark was in any danger. But, if he had run away it had to be because of his conversation with Rebecca about her leaving. Either way, Timothy felt he was responsible.
He climbed the stairs to go over the conversation she had had with the boy, but found her room vacant.
On the floor, in a perfectly orderly room, the yarn lay spilled out beside the overturned basket.
Timothy Elgerson sprinted for the third floor.
As he reached the top of the stairs he heard her cries, begging frantically for help and he dashed toward the open attic doorway. Rebecca recognized his approaching steps and called louder.
Timothy bounded up the stairs and rushed to the chest, lifting the boy out quickly and squatting to the floor, the boy sagging in his arms.
Mark opened his eyes and whispered, “I wanted to be near Mom.”
Timothy and Rebecca sat speechless, and Elgerson carried the boy, dripping wet, but alive, down the back stairs to the kitchen. As he entered the room through the most direct route in the house, the crowd in the kitchen rushed to help. Rebecca sent two men to get the doctor as Timothy took the boy up the main staircase to the second floor.
Several men rode out to gather the search parties and Rebecca grabbed a pitcher of cool water on her way to follow Timothy.
As the boy’s temperature began to normalize he became more coherent and Timothy and Rebecca changed the boy into dry pajamas. When he complained that Rebecca was in the room as he was being changed, both Timothy and Rebecca laughed in relief.
Rebecca dried her tears and covered her eyes while Timothy finished helping the boy change.
“Were you looking?” Mark asked weakly.
“If you are so concerned that I was peeking,” she remarked, “then you must be fine.”
Timothy Elgerson walked out into the hall as Birget arrived, hugging the boy ferociously. Rebecca followed Timothy silently, and stood beside him. He turned to her solemnly and pulled her to him, clinging to her fiercely.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
With a clean bill of health from the doctor, and Rebecca’s discovery of the large mouse hole in the attic trunk that had allowed air into the big chest and spared the boy’s life, Stavewood settled down that evening.
Rebecca thanked each volunteer profusely while Timothy talked to the men in the yard. She noticed through the large front windows that he thanked Bess Rival genuinely and walked her to her carriage. Although the boy had been in the house all along, Rebecca felt that the support Timothy had received from his friends and neighbors made the search for the boy bearable, and she marveled at how well he must be liked for everyone to show such profound concern.
; When David had died the circumstances were terrible, yet only Emmy had come to share Rebecca’s grief. She was glad that Timothy had such a large group to support him. Rebecca wondered however, what had become of Octavia.
After Rebecca and Birget had fed Mark a hearty supper, Ben Carson arrived, and Timothy and the sheriff met in the study. They closed the door behind them, leaving Rebecca concerned over their conversation and she went up to her room for a hot bath.
She dressed for bed and shook the dust from the yarn out the window into the night air and began to cast stitches rhythmically onto the needles. Too overwrought to consider sleeping just yet, and worried about the reason for Timothy’s meeting with Ben, she hoped a few rows would relax her so that she could get some needed rest.
Timothy had turned to her, without reservation, to pour out his relief once the boy was found, and Rebecca could not ignore the feelings from the emotional exchange.
Her conscience nagged at her and she realized that, had she been honest with the man and admitted her reason for coming to the territory, none of this might have happened. If they had all known who she was, instead of being here now she would have returned straight away to England and perhaps the boy would have been less distraught. It was her presence here that had caused so much heartbreak. Timothy and Mark deserved to know the truth.
After knitting several rows, working steadily in the round, she decided that, first thing in the morning, she would tell Timothy the truth, unless, of course, he was finding it out right now.
“I hate to bring this to you after the day you’ve had Tim, but it just can’t wait.” The sheriff stood facing the fireplace.
Timothy sat exhausted in the leather chair hearing the man out, certain that sleep would elude him even if he were to try to rest.
Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 1) Page 20
