Brides of Iowa (58 page)

“Wolves?” One of the men sounded as though he didn’t believe the report. “Why, there ain’t been any wolves sighted around here for more’n a decade.”

The rider nodded his head vehemently. “It was wolves all right. No mistakin’ those tracks.”

N
oo!”
Tessa’s mournful wail pierced the air.
“Susan…”

Tillie wrapped her arms around her rib cage and swallowed back the nausea that rose in her throat. She watched helplessly as Gideon crushed his wife to his chest for a long moment before leading her out of earshot of all the talk of wolves. A cold chill ran through Tillie. An image of horror tried to manifest itself in her mind, and she slammed the door on it, refusing to allow such ghastly thoughts.

Several of the men listening to the rider’s report expressed skepticism. The young man’s boss squinted at his employee. “You’re sure it was wolves?”

The ranch hand nodded. “Yes sir, I’m sure. The tracks resemble those of a dog, but about twice as big. Couldn’t tell for certain, but I’m figurin’ there were at least three or four, maybe more. You want to send some riders out to track them?”

The owner of the ranch scowled and told his employee about the missing child, instructing him to send the other hands out to search.

The murmur of voices around Tillie grew to a rumble as the level of urgency built. She tore her eyes away from the man who had delivered the grim news and turned around to look for Tessa and Gideon. They stood on the far side of the church, Tessa weeping against Gideon’s shoulder. She hurried over and put her arm around Tessa, giving her shoulders a squeeze. Together, she and Tessa watched as Gideon strode to their wagon and pulled a rifle out from under the seat.

Old Cully stamped up the church steps and yanked on the bell rope. He cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered. “Some o’ you men came to the picnic with your wagon and team. Iffen you need a saddle horse for searchin’, come by the livery, and I’ll loan you a mount. No charge.”

“Matilda.”

Tillie turned to find Da beside her. “I’m taking your ma and the younger ones home. Then I’m headin’ out to search the area between our place and town. Phillip is partnerin’ with Hubert Behr. Are you comin’ home?”

Tillie gave Da a quick hug. “No, Da. I want to do what I can to help.”

“How will ye be gettin’ home?”

Tillie glanced from left to right and took her da’s arm, stepping away from Tessa for a moment. “I’m sure I can find a ride from someone, but I might stay in town with the Witherspoons. I want to be close by, in case…”

Da patted her shoulder. “All right, daughter.” He strode off, calling to her younger siblings to get in the wagon.

Ben Kiefer joined with Fletcher Hamilton, the owner of the sheep ranch, and headed south of the creek. A few of the other men paired up, and others set out alone, but all shared a common goal.

Gideon returned, rifle in hand. Tillie stepped back while he embraced Tessa. “We’re going to find her. Hold on to that thought.”

Tillie cast her gaze across the churchyard, squinting in the afternoon sun, seeking Everett. She located him standing by her family’s wagon, talking with Da. Everett gestured to the northwest, and Da pointed toward the woods and then swept his hand in a southwesterly direction. Da gave Everett a nod and clapped him on the back before climbing into the wagon to drive his family home.

When Everett turned and his eyes met hers, she saw a tapestry of fear, compassion, and raw determination. A fleeting instinct told her his expression reflected the same emotions he’d felt before he entered the burning boardinghouse. He appeared to have forgotten about hiding his face.

She watched as Everett sent a pointed stare at Tessa, who wept in her husband’s arms, as though he was trying to set in his mind the picture of this heart-sore mother. Gideon kissed his wife and set off at a run toward the livery.

Tillie closed the distance between her and Everett. He met her halfway and snagged her hand. “It’s good she has a friend like you by her side while she waits for word. Keep telling her that we won’t quit until we find her daughter.”

Tillie drew her forehead into pinched furrows. When Everett released her hand, she caught his sleeve. “I’m going with you.”

His eyes widened, and then a scowl darkened his expression. He grabbed her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Oh no you’re not.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he laid his finger over her lips. His voice strengthened, and it was clear he would brook no argument. “You absolutely will not go out there. You will stay here—do you hear me?”

She’d never before witnessed in Everett the fervor she now saw in him. She stiffened her jaw and pressed her lips into a tight line. “Now you listen to me. Tessa is my best friend. I owe it to her to do everything I can to help find Susan. Standing around here twiddling my thumbs isn’t going to find that little girl.”

A flicker of something foreign flashed through Everett’s eyes. It didn’t stay there long enough for her to put a name on it, but if she had to guess, she’d have to call it a glimmer of panic.

He dropped his hands from her shoulders and took a step backward. Running his hand through his hair, he nailed her in place with his unblinking stare. He lowered the volume of his voice but not the resolute intensity. “Tillie, I don’t have time to explain all the reasons it’s so important that you remain here. But please listen to me. I need to be 100 percent focused on finding Susan, not worrying about your safety. I can’t force you to stay, but I am imploring you. Please, Tillie.” His voice cracked. “Please stay here so I’ll know you’re safe.”

It was the first time he’d ever asked anything of her. All the times they’d walked in the shadow of the willows, not once had he stepped beyond the refuge of the defensive wall he’d erected. She’d gotten the impression he felt that allowing vulnerability was unthinkable. Yet here he stood, pleading with her to comply with his request. Held captive by the heartfelt ring in his voice and the depth of his mahogany eyes, Tillie tried to remember how to draw a breath. She gave him a slight nod.

His chest fell with a relieved sigh, and his voice took on a gentler pitch. “Take care of Tessa. Maybe you and a couple of the other ladies could put some of the picnic leftovers together for the men if they return hungry. We’ll need lots of coffee.” He glanced toward the west. “There’s probably about three hours of daylight left. If we don’t find Susan by sunset, we’re going to need lanterns.” He caught her hand and gave it a squeeze. “And I need you to pray.”

Tillie nodded numbly. The ache in her heart for Tessa and Gideon, and the foreboding she felt over Susan’s disappearance, paled for an instant. Making sure Everett knew he could depend on her became primary in her mind.

“I will—you can be sure of that.”

A shadow of a smile relaxed some of the hard lines of Everett’s face. “Thank you.” He scanned the wooded hills to the north and west. “She’s such a little girl. It doesn’t seem possible she could have gone farther than we’ve already looked.” He returned his gaze to Tillie. “You don’t suppose she’s hiding, do you? Might she think this is a game, like hide-and-seek?”

Tillie’s chest tightened, and she shook her head. “She can sometimes be a stubborn little thing, but she wouldn’t hide for this long.”

Everett blew out a hard breath. “Ring the bell if there’s any news.” He pulled his shoulders straight and tugged on the brim of his hat. He sent her a look she dared not interpret and headed into the woods.

Tillie followed him with her eyes until the sun-dappled autumn foliage swallowed him. She longed to be beside him, tramping through the woods, partnering with him. But this was no leisurely stroll. The mission before him, before all the searchers, could end in either joy or sorrow.

“Please, dear Lord, protect Susan wherever she is, and lead one of the men to her.” She wiped away a tear. “And keep Everett from harm, Lord. Bring him back—” She started to ask God to bring him safely back to her, but reality insisted that he wasn’t hers. Biting back the words wouldn’t fool God. Her heavenly Father already knew her heart. “I love him, Lord. Please keep him safe.”

Everett paused beside the same small stream he’d found last Sunday morning when he’d hiked through the wooded hills. Scooping a few handfuls of water to his lips, he relished the coldness as the moisture soothed his throat. He cast another glance at the position of the sun and whispered a prayer that they’d find the child soon.

Instead of following the stream, he pushed deeper into the woods. The underbrush was thicker than he’d anticipated, slowing his progress. Every fifty yards or so, he called out Susan’s name and paused briefly to listen.

“It’s simply not possible for a child of her age to have come this far.” Or was it? What if she was following something, like a dog or a butterfly? How far would she go before she couldn’t find her way back to the church? His limited knowledge of small children and their tendencies was a hindrance, but not if he trusted God to direct his steps.

“Lead me, Lord. Where is she?” A recollection prodded him. Hadn’t he prayed a similar prayer as he crawled through the burning boardinghouse trying to find his father and Pearl? God had answered that prayer. Surely He’d answer this one.

Cupping his hands around his mouth, he called again, “Susan.”

He plodded on, continuing to call her name and praying he would hear either the church bell echoing in the distance or three gunshots. The only sound accompanying him on his trek was the breeze rustling the leaves. If he found the little girl, he’d not be able to alert the others. He didn’t own a gun, and looking for one to borrow would have taken precious time he didn’t want to waste. Now he questioned the wisdom of hiking through the woods unarmed with the report of wolves in the area, but it was too late to turn back now.

Thorny brush snagged his pant legs and tore a hole in his sleeve as he pushed through a thick patch of blackberry canes. No berries remained on the vines this late in the season, reminding Everett that little Susan would likely be hungry and thirsty by now. But he guessed the first thing she’d want would be her mama.

“That’s it!” He thrust out one hand, palm upturned. “I have to try to think like a three-year-old. What would she be looking for? She had to have a reason for wandering off.”

He leaned against a birch tree and rested for a minute, rolling the questions over in his mind. What would be so fascinating to a three-year-old that it could entice her to leave her mother?

Daylight was slipping away. Through the trees he could see a slice of the sun sinking lower toward the western hills. This was the time of day he’d watched out the office window, waiting for the sun to hide its face so he could venture out. He’d gotten good at estimating the amount of daylight that remained. How many evenings had he impatiently wished the sun would hurry and disappear? Now he wished he could pray like Joshua did in the Old Testament for the sun to stand still. The fiery yellow sphere continued its downward slide. Once the sun set, finding the child would be nearly impossible, humanly speaking. Everett rejected that idea. Nothing was impossible when God moved in His miraculous way.

“Susan!” He pushed away from the tree trunk and pressed on. “Help me, Lord. Lead me. I don’t know if making the sun stand still is in Your plans, but Lord, we need a miracle to find that little girl.”

A fat squirrel chattered at him from a cottonwood tree. Everett barely gave the creature a passing glance, but something seemed to tug at him. Just what, he couldn’t be sure, but he changed course and followed his instinct. The squirrel continued to scold him, and he wondered if Susan might find a squirrel intriguing enough to be lured into the woods. Most children loved animals, didn’t they?

Think like a three-year-old.
A thought grabbed hold of him. When Tillie was comforting Tessa, the child’s mother had said something about…

“Lambs. She wanted to go see the baby lambs.” He turned a slow, full circle. What direction would the child go if she thought she could find the lambs? The three-year-old wouldn’t know how to find the ranch, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try. She’d probably pick the easiest terrain—flat instead of hilly, grass instead of thick underbrush. If she’d been to the ranch before, would she remember if there were trees or grassy hills along the way? He altered directions toward the edge of the woods.

Just as he started forward again, a rifle shot, fired some distance away, echoed. Everett held his breath, waiting for the second and third shots.
Please, God.
No accompanying shots sounded. A single gunshot. Whoever had fired it was likely shooting
at
something.

“Susan!” His throat was nearly raw from yelling. “Lord, please show me what direction she took.” He tramped another fifty yards through the brush and saplings, his eyes scanning from left to right and his ears inclined, listening for a child’s voice.

Jagged, splintered wood stuck out of a stump from a fallen tree to his right. Something clinging to one of the spearlike shafts of broken bole caught his eye. At first he thought it to be a common yellow butterfly. But this butterfly was very still. He climbed over the trunk of the tree lying in the midst of the underbrush. When he got closer, he saw it wasn’t a butterfly at all. It was a small bit of yellow cloth.