What Once Was Lost (14 page)

Christina crossed her ankles and offered a weak smile. “Not well, I’m afraid. The mission board is reluctant to spend the funds to repair the damage.”

The reverend’s eyebrows rose. “I assumed they’d want to get started as quickly as possible so you folks could get settled again.”

Although he’d used the term
you folks
, setting the poor farm residents apart from others in the community, Christina sensed no animosity. A man of God would be compassionate rather than having the mind-set that being
destitute equated with being lazy. The only lazy person she’d encountered in all her years serving with her parents was Ham Dresden. But she didn’t want to think about Ham.

Folding her hands in her lap, she said, “That is still my goal, of course. But …” She’d come fully intending to share her concerns about how the fire started, but she found herself tongue-tied. How could she admit she might be responsible for upsetting so many lives? Even the reverend, a man trained to offer support and encouragement, would view her as a failure if he knew.

She stood. “I’m sorry, Reverend Huntley. I shouldn’t have troubled you.” She turned toward the door.

He rose and extended his hand across the desk. “Miss Willems, please don’t go.”

She hesitated, two desires—to escape and to unburden herself—warring within her soul.

“You must have a reason for asking to see me.” He spoke gently. Much the way Papa used to speak to her when she was frightened or upset. “Won’t you trust me with whatever is bothering you?”

The kindness in his voice, the warmth in his eyes drew Christina to the chair. She sat, and he slipped back into his chair. She sighed, and the concern that had weighted her since her meeting with the mission board representatives spilled from her lips. “Reverend Huntley, do you find it … unreasonable for a woman to be the director of a poor farm?”

The minister leaned back, propping up his chin with one hand. “What’s required?”

“Organizing residents into work groups, interviewing possible new residents, preparing food, keeping the books …”

“And you feel inadequate in those tasks?”

“Absolutely not.” Frustration welled. Christina held her hands outward. “I grew up assisting my parents in their ministries, which have always been positions of service. Between my upbringing and the schooling I received, I believe
I am more than capable of performing the necessary tasks. But I’ve been told that, given my gender, it isn’t proper for me to be in a position of leadership.”

The minister plucked a book from one of the shelves behind him and flopped it open on his desk. He flicked several pages, scanning the text. Then he turned the book so it faced Christina. “Read this.”

She leaned foward and recited the lines indicated by his square-tipped finger. “ ‘Let your women keep silence in the churches: for it is not permitted unto them to speak; but they are commanded to be under obedience, as also saith the law. And if they will learn any thing, let them ask their husbands at home: for it is a shame for women to speak in the church.’ ” The words seem to spear her with accusation. She swallowed. “So you agree … a woman has no place in a ministry position?”

“On the contrary.”

Christina shot the minister a puzzled look. “But that says—”

“I imagine this is the scripture used as evidence by whoever has discouraged you. I’ve heard it used in like manner before.” A soft smile played on the man’s face. “Many Bible scholars believe that when Paul wrote this warning to the Corinthians, some women were trying to take over the church, creating conflict. They needed to be reprimanded. But I don’t believe every woman has been ordered to silence. If God has placed in your heart a burning desire to serve, then He intends for you to serve.”

A burning desire …
She considered his choice of words. Did she possess a burning desire to serve? She gave herself a little shake. Of course she did. She found fulfillment and happiness in serving. From her earliest memories she’d been taught to reach out to the poor and downtrodden, just as Jesus had. Apparently Reverend Huntley saw no reason why her status as a woman should prevent her from continuing in service. But he didn’t know everything yet.

She yearned for release from the heavy burden of guilt. Had she started the fire? She filled her lungs, gathering courage. “Reverend Huntley, there’s something else.”

He tipped his head. “Yes?”

“You see, I—”

The door flew open, banging the back of Christina’s chair. Mrs. Huntley dashed to the edge of the desk. “Willard, I’m sorry to disturb you, but you must come at once.”

A frown creasing his face, the minister rose and rounded the desk. “What is it, Abigail?”

She glanced at Christina, her eyes wild, then turned to her husband. Although she spoke in a rasping whisper, Christina heard every word. “Mrs. Tatum is here, quite distraught. It’s the boys. She can’t find them anywhere.”

Chapter 14

A fear so intense it threatened to smother Christina propelled her from her chair. “What do you mean she can’t find them? They’ve got to be there somewhere!”

Mrs. Tatum stepped into the doorway and began to blubber. “I’ve looked everywhere—every room, every closet, the outbuildings …” She turned a pitiful look on Christina. “Oh, Miss Willems, we had such a delightful lunch. Joe and Florie charmed the Spencers, and we lingered at the table for nearly an hour. Neither Joe nor Tommy seemed unhappy. I don’t understand why they would leave.” She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

Reverend Huntley patted the woman’s back. “When did you last see them?”

“After the Spencers left, I sent the boys to their room while Florie and I saw to the cleanup. Later when Florie went to the room, she found it empty.”

Christina scrambled into her coat. Her shaking hands struggled with the buttons. “We need to organize a search party. I’ll go to the livery and fetch Wes with our wagon. Reverend, will some of the men from the church help look?”

“Of course, Miss Willems. I’ll have everyone meet at the livery so we can each choose a direction to search.” He placed his hand on Christina’s shoulder and offered an assuring smile. “Don’t fret now. Two small boys—one of whom can’t see—surely couldn’t go far. We’ll find them.”

Christina bit her lower lip to keep from crying. What if Tommy had run off because she’d ignored his plea to talk? Perhaps if she’d taken the time to listen to him, he and Joe would be safe, snug, and warm at the Tatums’ house right now. Guilt ate away at the fringes of her confidence. No matter what Reverend Huntley had said about God wanting her to serve, she feared Mr. Regehr might be right. She wasn’t fit to be in leadership.

“How m-much farther, T-T-Tommy?” Joe’s teeth clacking together sounded like the tips of tree branches tapping together in the wind.

Tommy hugged himself. “Not sure. When I went before, I rode in a wagon.”

Joe’s hand gripped Tommy’s elbow so hard it hurt. He kept them moving forward, their feet stumbling over tree roots and rocks and their clothes catching on prickly branches. “How long a r-ride?”

In constant darkness Tommy couldn’t always determine the passing of time. He shrugged. “Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes.”

“We been walkin’ a l-lot longer’n th-that.”

Although Tommy couldn’t determine how long they’d been trying to make their way to the Jonnson mill, he knew it’d been a while. The wind was a lot colder than when he and Joe had sneaked out the front door, so the sun must be going down. “I know. But horses can walk faster’n people.”

“Wish we h-had a h-horse right now. My feet’re tired.”

“Wanna rest a minute?”

“Uh-huh.”

Joe’s hand tugged on Tommy’s arm, and Tommy dropped onto the ground. Now that they weren’t thrashing through brush, something—a gentle sound—reached his ears. His heart leaped in anticipation. He felt the area around him with both hands. The soil was damp and covered by thick grasses. The dry blades pricked his palms, but he didn’t care.

“Joe, are we by the river?”

“If you stick your feet out too far, they’ll be on ice. Water’s all froze along the bank.”

Elation filled Tommy’s chest. They’d done it! They’d reached the river! The mill was on the river—Mr. Jonnson had worried Tommy might fall into the water, so he’d put up ropes. If they’d found the river, they’d find the mill.

He pressed his hands between his knees and rocked in place, excitement
coursing through him. “Look up an’ down the river, Joe. Do you see a building with a waterwheel on its side?” When he was little, his pa had taken him to a gristmill on the river. Tommy had watched the half-submerged wheel go round and round, mesmerized. He wished he could see it in his head now, but the images were all erased.

Scuffling sounds let Tommy know Joe was standing up, looking. Then a disgruntled
huff
sounded next to Tommy’s ear. “I don’t see no such thing. River winds around. All I see is bushes an’ trees an’ water.” Joe snugged up to Tommy, his head bumping against Tommy’s shoulder. “We ain’t gonna be able to get there by ourselves, Tommy. Let’s go back to the Tatums’, huh? I’m cold an’ hungry.”

Hurt tightened Tommy’s chest as he thought about sitting in the kitchen by himself while laughter and happy chatter carried from the dining room. Mrs. Tatum had been real nice while she scooted him up to the table at noon, telling him to enjoy his dinner and even putting the spoon in his hand. But then she’d said to stay put because
“the Spencers are new in town, Tommy dear. Mr. Tatum and I must make a good impression. As soon as they’ve left, I’ll have Joe come fetch you.”

“Fetch you.”
Like a dog.

Tommy clenched his fists. “You go on if you want to, but I’m not goin’ back to the Tatums’ place.”

“It’s gettin’ close to dark, Tommy. You can’t stay out here!”

Tommy clawed at Joe and caught hold of his jacket. He held tight even though the younger boy squirmed. “You said you’d help me. We found the river, an’ the mill’s on the river. We gotta be close.”

Joe pried Tommy’s hand loose. “If it gets dark, I won’t be able to see it any better’n you can.”

Desperation welled, turning his voice into a whine. “Please, Joe. If we follow the river, we’ll find it. I know we will.”

“Which way, Tommy? Which way do we go?”

Tommy nibbled his lower lip. He tasted blood. The wind must’ve dried his lips out good. “I … I ain’t sure, but—”

“Then I’m goin’ back to town.”

A memory clubbed Tommy. “Wait!” He reached out and captured Joe’s arm. Joe grunted, but he plopped down beside Tommy. “The mill … it’ll be built where the river flows
at
it. So if we follow the river against the flow, we’ll find the mill!”

“You sure?” Joe sounded doubtful.

Tommy nodded his head so hard his ears rang. “I’m sure. C’mon, Joe. You can get us there. I know you can.”

“B-but it’s cold, Tommy. An’ I’m real hungry.”

“Mr. Jonnson’s house’ll be warm. An’ he’ll give us somethin’ to eat.” He’d let both boys sit at the table with him, too. Tommy shook Joe’s arm. “Let’s go. If we get movin’, we’ll warm up some.”

Joe grumbled, but he rose and pulled Tommy up with him.

“Thank you, Joe.”

“Let’s just hurry, huh? It’s gettin’ dark.”

“Won’t be long before it’ll be too dark to see anything.”

Christina acknowledged Wes’s somber statement with a worried nod. She sat on the edge of the wagon seat, one hand curled over the front board and one holding tight to Papa’s watch like a talisman. For hours they’d been searching with no sign of either boy. She’d called Tommy’s and Joe’s names so many times her throat ached, and she sounded hoarse. But she ignored the discomfort and called again, “Tommy? Joe? Tommy!” No answer.

Wes kept the horse moving at a slow, steady
clop, clop, clop
. Everything within her wanted to rush the russet-colored mare, to force it into a thunderous run that would bring her quickly to the boys. But a snail’s pace allowed time to scan both sides of the road. She and Wes had covered perhaps a mile and a half—a great distance for two little boys on foot in the cold.

Reverend Huntley had gathered a dozen men, who spread out in every direction. The minister had instructed them to return to the church and ring the bell if they found the children. While squinting through the gloaming for a glimpse of Tommy’s blond head or Joe’s blue jacket, she listened for the clang of the steeple bell. But so far only the clop of the horse’s hoofs, the occasional chatter of a squirrel, and the whistle of the gusting wind through the trees had greeted her ears. Her chest constricted in fear, hindering her breathing. Where could those boys be?