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Harry clapped his hands together. “Mrs. Rolleri is famous for her ravioli, and she made them herself just a little bit ago.” He reached into his bag. “And here’s a note on how to fix ’em and her special sauce, too.”

Words seemed stuck in her throat as emotion welled up. “But how did you . . . ? Did you walk all this way?”

He looked down at the ground and put his hands behind his back. Toeing the dirt with his boot, he peered up through his hair in the front and then looked back down. “Oh, it was nothin’, Miss Lillian. I got up real early and walked to town and then Mr. Stickle gave me a ride in his wagon for most of the way out here.”

“Come on with us up to the house, Harry. You must be ready for a rest. What time did you leave this morning?”

“A couple hours afore the sun came up.”

And here it was almost noon. Lillian blinked back the tears. What an amazing young man. But she didn’t want to embarrass him, so she acted like everything was normal.

“I have a favor to ask.” Harry stopped and dug around in his bag.

“Of course, what can I do?”

“Could you read me this note?” His hand shook as he held out a crumpled piece of paper.

Lillian smiled up at him. “Sure.” She took the paper. “It reads: ‘Harry, you are a good man. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise. George Stickle.’” She wanted to cry. Someone else had seen the beauty inside this young man. If George
Stickle was in front of her right now, she’d give him a kiss on the cheek.

Harry beamed and held out his hand for the note. He closed his eyes and tried to repeat the note. “Harry, you are a good man. Don’t ever let no one tell you otherwise.”

“Anyone,” she inserted.

“Anyone,” he repeated. “Thank you. Ya think you could teach me how ta read, Miss Lillian? My ma used to help me make letters and numbers.”

“I’d love to! And maybe you could teach us about flowers.” She looked down at Jimmy. “We could work on some lessons together, couldn’t we?”

Jimmy’s little head bobbed as he smiled up at Harry and reached for his hand.

“It’s time for our noon meal. Why don’t we eat some of this yummy ravioli Harry brought us?” She took hold of Jimmy’s other hand. “Wasn’t that a wonderful surprise?” Lillian felt like she could float to the house.

“Wait, wait, wait, Miss Lillian.” Harry stopped and dug in his bag again. “I almost forgot. I’ve got more surprises.” He pulled out a brown package and handed it to Jimmy. “You’ll have to open it together, since Mr. Stickle wrapped it together. I wanted to bring presents to my nice new friends.”

If her heart could have melted any more for him, it would have in that instant. “Harry, your friendship is present enough.”

He beamed. “I like being your friend.”

“We like being yours.” They reached the steps of the porch and she set the bucket down.

Jimmy stared up at her.

“Go ahead. You untie it.” She placed her hands under the brown paper just to make sure nothing fell out.

Jimmy gasped and ran over to hug his older friend, a sugar stick in one hand and the whistle in the other.

Lillian couldn’t help the tears this time and allowed them to slip down her cheeks. He’d bought her ribbons. Green ribbons. She walked over and joined the hug.

“What’ve we got here?” Mrs. Goodman’s voice came from the porch. “Can I get in on that hug?”

The two boys walked up the steps and hugged the older woman.

“Mrs. Goodman, I’d like to introduce you to Harry. Harry, this is Mrs. Goodman.”

The housekeeper received another hug and then patted her hair. “Well, land sakes, dearie. I figured this was our Harry I’ve heard so much about. Welcome.” She smiled at their guest.

Jimmy picked up the large bucket and tried to hold it aloft for Mrs. Goodman’s inspection.

“What’s this?” She peeked under the towel. “Do I smell Olivia’s famous ravioli?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, yes, yes. All for us.”

She inhaled deep and closed her eyes. “She makes the best, and that will definitely beat the sandwiches I was going to make. Let’s get to it, then. I’m practically starved.”

Lillian stood back and watched the trio walk inside, her heart bursting at the seams. She started in after them, then remembered her book. She turned to pick up the volume, but then a tingling chill raced up her spine. For a moment she froze. She clutched the book close and drew a deep breath. Was someone watching her? She glanced around the front yard and beyond to some of the outbuildings. Perhaps it was just Woody passing by, but surely he would have called out in greeting.

Laughter erupted from inside the house, and she shook her
head. Must be her wild imagination. But movement beyond the large oak tree at the end of the lane made her look back a second time. Someone
was
there.

And they’d been watching.

Darwin watched the farmhouse from behind a large oak, certain that no one would spot him. When the pretty lady came out on the porch, he’d moved a little closer to get a better look. Had that Mr. Colton taken another wife?

He froze in place. The woman looked straight at him. Could she see him? Darwin didn’t so much as breathe. He supposed if she called out to him, he could make a run for it. But he sure didn’t want to create a scene and stir up trouble for himself. It was bad enough that he’d seen someone going into the house who looked an awful lot like Harry. But that was silly. Harry knew better than to come back here. He’d warned him enough times, and Harry was generally obedient.

The woman went back into the house, and Darwin let out the breath he’d been holding. He needed to figure out how he could go snooping around the place without getting caught. He’d been watching to see what kind of routine they kept, but it seemed no one, save Mr. Colton, did things on a regular basis. They didn’t even go to church on Sunday, which was pretty unusual. Of course, Darwin had heard rumors about Colton being blamed for his wife’s death. That thought made him smile. It was nice to see somebody else get blamed for bad things besides himself.

He moved off in the brush and trees and skirted around the property until he had a clear sightline to some of the outbuildings. From his perch he could see there were four or five men
working to load and unload barrels and crates. From time to time he’d catch sight of Colton himself.

“It oughta be me running that place, not you,” he muttered.

He thought of what Harry had said about relocating the gold. Stupid kid thought he was doing the right thing, but Darwin felt certain no one would have found the gold he’d hidden. Of course, Harry had found it, but he’d no doubt been watching Darwin bury it.

Darwin squatted down and picked a long blade of grass. In time Harry would remember, but time was something Darwin didn’t have a lot of. If he couldn’t get Harry to tell him soon, it was going to be too late, and Darwin wasn’t about to let all of that gold slip through his fingers. Even if it cost that pretty lady her life—he would get his gold.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

A
fter a trip up to Stockton, Darwin was even more convinced that his trick had worked. They declared the body of Saul Longstreet to be Darwin Longstreet, buried him in a pitiful grave behind the jail, and said they’d send someone to notify the next of kin.

That should give him a few weeks—maybe even a month or two—to help Harry remember where he hid the bags, go get them, and hightail it outta town before Uncle John got suspicious.

He rubbed his hands together by his campfire. If he could find a home for his simpleminded brother, he’d pay to make sure the dumb boy was taken care of—and fulfill his promise to Ma. Then he’d be free to do whatever he wanted. Mexico still had a nice ring to it. Once Uncle John figured out Saul wasn’t coming back, he might suspect what Darwin had done. Hopefully he’d just think that Darwin had killed Saul and then someone else had killed Darwin. It seemed reasonable to him. After all, the body was long buried by now. Even if Uncle John
realized what Darwin had done, he wouldn’t be able to find him in Mexico. Not even the law could come get him in another country. At least he didn’t think so. Things were looking up. And he wouldn’t lose this time. Not ever again.

Once he got back, he’d watch Pa’s old place on a regular basis. He had to figure out when he could search, and he’d have to make sure that Colton kid didn’t see him. On the other hand, he might be as blind as everyone else to Darwin’s true identity. It might be possible Darwin could just waltz in there on some pretense—maybe ask for a job. He’d heard that Colton often hired workers to help with the olives. If Darwin could get himself hired, it might allow him to look around in his free time. Still, there was Harry to consider, and also the risk that the Colton brat would recognize him. He could ruin everything for sure.

But then Darwin remembered his threat. The kid was scared. And he wasn’t talking. All of Angels Camp knew the kid hadn’t spoken since his ma died.

He sneered. He’d only figured to scare the boy into saying nothing about the death of his mother. Darwin hadn’t imagined it possible for a child to stop speaking altogether. Harry sure never shut up. Of course, Harry was too stupid to know if he should be afraid. Jimmy Colton had no trouble realizing the dangers that saying too much could bring. Still, if the boy needed a little encouragement to keep his mouth shut, Darwin could supply it in spades.

That gold was calling his name.

Lillian finished setting the table in the dining room and pulled out her Bible and the letter she’d tucked in it from Stanton.
Mrs. Goodman had given it to her earlier, but she wanted to read it in private, hoping there would be something from her grandfather inside, but dreading the words all at the same time. Perhaps after their evening Bible study, she would share with them all if it was good news.

Since Jimmy was occupied practicing his piano lesson, Lillian decided to slip away to her room to read the letter. Surely she had a few minutes to herself, and she couldn’t wait any longer. As she slid her finger under the flap of the envelope, she breathed a prayer.

The envelope held six pages neatly penned in Stanton’s elegant script. But nothing from Grandfather.

With a sigh, she sat on her bed. At least she had news from home. Grandfather was probably just being his ornery, stubborn self. And she’d resigned herself to being cut off for good.

But she wouldn’t let that discourage her. She had this letter here and now and it acted like a balm to her wounded heart. It didn’t take long to read through the missive, and after sharing all the news regarding the staff, Stanton finally mentioned her grandfather.

I’m sad to report that your grandfather refuses to read your letters, but I fear his health is not good. He won’t admit to it, but his summer cold last week has caused him to decline. I’m praying he will come to his senses soon enough. Rest assured, we are all praying for him to reconcile with you. Maybe the good Lord above has afflicted him to get his attention. You asked me to be honest with you, and I am dedicated to it, Miss Lillian. Please be in prayer for your grandfather. We greatly anticipate your next collection of letters.

All will be well, as our Lord is in control. We greet you with love and prayers,

Stanton

Folding the letter, Lillian prayed for Adam Fletcher. She loved the old man so dearly. Only God could get ahold of him now and do a mighty work in him. She sighed. There had been a time when her grandfather faithfully sought God’s guidance. How could the loss of a spouse cause a man to so completely put God aside? An image of Woody came to mind. Even though Woody was much kinder and gentler than Grandfather, the same grief and anguish was in his eyes. Apparently such things were not unusual. Mrs. Goodman had told her that Woody had been faithful to attend church and read his Bible before his wife was killed. Did Grandfather and Woody blame God for their losses? Was their diminished faith a sort of punishment they were meting out to the Almighty? Or was it to punish themselves for not having been able to save their loved ones from death?