Brides of Iowa (61 page)

Da halted his steps and turned to face her. “Why in heaven’s name not?”

She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t think he owns one, but that’s not important now. Da, he’s out there tramping around in the dark, unarmed, in an area where a wolf was sighted.”

Da’s lips thinned into a grim line, and he cast a hard squint toward the woods. “Fetch me a lantern, daughter. Is Finnigan still here?”

Tillie shook her head. “He left about fifteen minutes before you came in.” She pointed in the direction the man headed when he left. “He went that way.”

Her father blew out a stiff breath and crossed the yard where two other men with lanterns were preparing to head back out. Tillie scurried to the makeshift table to do her father’s bidding. Her hands shook as she tilted the can to pour coal oil into the lantern reservoir, and she spilled some on the table. The acrid odor of the lantern fuel burned her nose, but it was the image in her mind of Everett encountering a wolf in the dark that brought tears to her eyes.

The image in Everett’s mind of Tillie’s wide green eyes the last time he saw her accompanied him as he tramped through the dark with little Susan in his arms. The moon continued to play hide-and-seek, at times casting the hillside in brightness, sometimes shedding just enough light for him to take a few steps, and sometimes slipping behind a cloud, encasing him in blackness.

He paused, waiting for the nocturnal light to make its appearance again. Susan whimpered against his shoulder and tightened her grip around his neck. He patted her back.

“It’s all right. The moon is just playing a game with us. It will peek out again in a minute.” To soothe the child, he started to sing.

“Rock of Ages, cleft for me; let me hide myself in Thee.” The words spilled comfort over him, reminding him once again of the only hiding place he ever wanted to seek for the rest of his life. When he couldn’t remember all the words to the hymn, he hummed the melody.

Susan raised her head off his shoulder. “Ever, where’s my mama?”

Despite their precarious situation, Everett smiled. “She’s probably at the church waiting for us, honey.” He patted her again, and she laid her head back down.

He continued humming. A moment later the moon reemerged, spilling pocketfuls of pale radiance across the meadow. The trees at the edge of the woods had mostly lost their leaves, casting grotesque shadows like dancing skeletons. Everett peeked down at Susan and was glad to see her head faced away from the spooky patterns.

“Rock of Ages, cleft for me; let me hide myself in Thee. Hmm-mm, hmm-mm.”

The wind picked up again, raising gooseflesh on his arms and across the back of his neck. Everett couldn’t be sure of the time. He hadn’t bothered to wear his watch and chain when he dressed for the picnic, not that he could have dug it out of his pocket without disturbing Susan anyway. How long had it been since the sun had set? Two hours? Three? Curious how being far from town and enveloped in darkness skewed one’s judgment of the passing of time. As chilled as he was, it felt like he’d been walking all night.

Using the edge of the woods as his guide, he pressed forward, praying he was heading in the right direction. What if he was headed away from town?

Please, Lord, lead me home.

Weariness made his feet feel like they were wading through a snowbank. His stomach growled, reminding him he’d not eaten for hours. How much longer had it been since Susan had eaten? His arms tightened around the little girl. She wasn’t complaining. Of course, he guessed she was more tired than hungry. His own fatigue was beginning to toy with his sense of direction, not to mention his ability to think straight. Even the sounds of the night teased him into imagining things, like the eerie howl he thought he heard a moment ago. Nonsense. It was just the wind.

The rifle shot he’d heard—how long ago had that been?—seemed to echo through the woods. It was impossible to tell from which direction it had come. Was it the darkness or exhaustion that made him so disoriented?

He took a step, and the ground beneath his foot gave way. His ankle turned, shooting pain up his leg as his balance faltered. He stiffened his back to keep from falling. Steadying himself with his left foot, he pulled the right one free of the gaping burrow—probably a gopher hole. He gritted his teeth and took several deep breaths, waiting for the throbbing to recede. After a few minutes he tried putting weight on the injured foot. Sharp spasms wrapped around his ankle, but he managed to walk. His uneven gait jostled Susan, but she didn’t protest.

His body cried out for rest. When he’d first gathered Susan into his arms and snuggled her onto his shoulder to keep her warm, she had been light as a feather. Now she felt like some of the crates he hauled on and off the freight wagon every day. How could one small girl weigh so much? His back ached, and the scars on his shoulder burned as they stretched under his precious burden.

Just put one foot in front of the other.

Susan stirred in his arms, and he peeked down at her. “Are you all right, Susan?”

No response.

“Susan?” He angled his head and tried to see if her eyes were closed, but judging by her limp form, she’d fallen asleep. Good. At least if she was asleep, she wouldn’t be frightened. Hopefully, the next time she opened her eyes, he would be handing her to her mother.

The moon disappeared behind a cloud again, forcing him to stop. He needed to rest his ankle anyway. He tugged the collar of his shirt up a little higher around Susan’s neck. While he waited for the cloud to ride across the sky and reveal the moon again, he tried to train his eyes to pierce through the darkness. A tiny pinpoint of light floated across his bleary vision. A firefly? He fixed his stare on the friendly insect.

“How nice of you to keep us company in the middle of the night,” he said. But not only did this firefly stay in one place; its glow also didn’t fade. Everett frowned. Fireflies were plentiful in the warm months of summer, but in late September in the brisk autumn temperatures? The firefly still didn’t move.

“That’s not a firefly.” His pulse picked up. Was he so drained of strength he was seeing things? He glanced at the sky and was rewarded with a glimpse of the moon’s glow at the edge of the cloud. In a few moments he could proceed again.

A flash of panic struck him. He’d taken his eyes off the firefly—or whatever it was—to search for the moon. He jerked his eyes forward again. There it was. His breath deepened with a stirring of hope.

Thin moonlight once again splashed softly across the hillside. The pinpoint of light shone like a beacon through the edge of the woods. He set his course straight in its direction, like a ship toward a lighthouse. Periodically the firefly disappeared as he picked his way through the trees, but it always reappeared. Underbrush snagged his trouser legs and threatened to trip him, but he limped on.

Two fireflies now winked ahead of him. His heart accelerated. It had to be the town. His ankle ached with every step, and Susan still lay like deadweight on his shoulder, stretching the scarred tissue, but the discomfort no longer mattered. Fresh determination propelled him through the woods.

Two lights became three, peeking in and out of the brush. He became vaguely aware that he was panting. He stubbed his foot against something hard and unforgiving. A rock? Without shifting Susan, he extended his leg, poking the obstacle with his foot. A fallen tree.

Not wishing to lose sight of the lights, he slid his left leg over the tree trunk, but doing so meant putting all his weight on his painful right ankle. He clamped his teeth and bit back the groan that tried to escape. Lowering his torso to straddle the tree, he carefully swung the other leg over and rose. Susan remained slumped against him. As he stood, his eyes searched through the woods for the lights to anchor his position. Was it his imagination, or did he smell coffee?

His throbbing ankle begged him to stop, but the flickering lights drew him. They grew and danced between the trees. A soft glow outlined a rooftop and a steeple. He’d found the church. A joy-filled shout gathered deep within his chest, but his throat constricted, preventing the expression of exultation from escaping. It was just as well. He didn’t want to frighten Susan. He limped past the edge of the woods and came to the feathery cedar trees that lined the churchyard—the same cedars he’d used as a hiding place countless times. With a prayer of thanksgiving on his lips, he stepped beyond the refuge of the cedars and into the torch and lantern light.

T
illie tipped the can of coal oil to extract the last few drops into the reservoir of the lantern. Her brother Phillip stood a few paces away, blowing on a cup of coffee and taking tentative sips. All the men who’d straggled in throughout the evening looked just the way Phillip did, bedraggled and discouraged, hungry and tired.

“Can I get something to eat, Tillie? I’m starved.”

If she hadn’t felt so emotionally battered, she’d have grinned. Phillip was always starved.

“All the picnic leftovers are gone. The women made sandwiches until we ran out of ham, chicken, and bread.” She set the coal oil can aside. “Mr. Kyle at the hotel said we could use the hotel kitchen to prepare food for everyone. As soon as I’m finished filling these lanterns—”

Her words were drowned out by a shout that rang through the still night air. In her distracted state, Tillie wasn’t sure she’d heard the words correctly, but she could have sworn it sounded like the person was praising God. She looked up and saw several people running. Another shout, then another. A jolt shot through her.

“Mercy, what’s happened?” She and Phillip both spun in the direction the folks were running. A jubilant chorus split the air. The sight that greeted her buckled her knees. When she opened her mouth, she couldn’t push out a single syllable, but her lips formed one silent word.
Everett.

She was afraid to blink. Indescribable joy welled up within her and could not be contained. Grateful tears and pure laughter blended like a fine tapestry in her soul.

All the shouting awakened the sleeping child snuggled in Everett’s arms, and, apparently startled, Susan shrank closer and clung to him as he crossed the yard to the church steps. Tessa rose, her expression a mixture of elation and solace, gratitude and relief. Tears poured down her face as she reached out to receive her child.

Tillie slipped her hand up to cover her mouth, holding in the sobs as Everett placed Susan in her mother’s arms. Was that Everett’s shirt wrapped around the tyke? Unchecked tears seeped through her fingers as she witnessed the reunion for which they’d so fervently prayed. Instead of doing what she longed to do—running and throwing her arms around Everett’s neck—she stood nailed in place, watching others thump him on the back and pump his hand. Some of the ladies squeezed his arm, and Pearl stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

Susan wiggled and pulled back from her mother’s tight hug and pointed at Everett. “Look, Mama. God sended me a angel. His name is Ever.”

Amid the chuckles, Tessa stepped over to Everett with grateful tears in her eyes. “How can I thank you? You gave me my little girl back. You
are
an angel.” Susan, now cocooned in the old quilt that had earlier draped Tessa’s shoulders, sent Everett a sleepy smile.

Someone leaped up the church steps and began pulling on the bell rope, sending peals of jubilation ringing through the town and surrounding hills and calling in the searchers. Each happy clang of the bell resounded with good news. Across the countryside, trios of rifle shots echoed in response, proclaiming to everyone within hearing radius that God had answered their prayers.

Pastor Witherspoon climbed the steps and called for everyone’s attention. He led the gathering in a prayer of praise and thanksgiving for Susan’s safe return. As soon as everyone whooped, “Amen!” he raised both hands.

“I think I speak for all of us when I express how grateful we are to Everett Behr, and to all the folks who helped search for little Susan. Everett, you’re a bona fide hero.” More “amens” rose among those gathered, along with shouts of affirmation.

Tillie couldn’t take her eyes off Everett. Normally he ducked his head or covered his face and fled from the presence of a large group like this. But he was hemmed in by the townsfolk and couldn’t escape even if he wanted to. The public praise brought a flush to his cheeks, but there was something else—something normally absent from his face: a smile. Her heart accelerated. Her hungry eyes took in every plane of his dear countenance.

Pastor Witherspoon continued, “I think you’ll agree we’re all too tired for a barn dance.” A few murmurs and groans of concurrence resonated. “So if it’s all right with everyone, and if it’s all right with Dan Miller, whose barn we planned to use, we’ll hold the harvest dance next Saturday night.” More nods and hums of agreement rippled through the group.

A few pairs of searchers came galloping in, among them Gideon Maxwell, who leaped off his horse and ran to embrace his wife and daughter. Tillie wrapped her arms around herself to contain the happy shiver dancing in her chest, and enjoyed the scene as Gideon added his thanks to Everett.