What Once Was Lost (21 page)

Christina wanted to take hold of Tommy and pull him away from the mill owner. The boy’s expression—rapturous, as if he’d been delivered—raised a wave of envy. At one time the poor farm residents had looked to her the same way Tommy now looked to Mr. Jonnson. They’d trusted her, depended on her, giving her a sense of purpose. But not since they’d been scattered to the winds. Now uncertainty and an element of betrayal lingered on their faces when she spoke to them. And she couldn’t blame them. She’d failed them—all of them. Her sense of self was fading as surely as smoke dissipated from a fire.

She cupped both hands over the watch resting against her bodice and turned to Mrs. Beasley. “Ma’am, if Cora and I are to have lunch ready for the boarders, we need to get started. Can we continue this discussion later?”

Mrs. Beasley rolled her eyes and lifted her hands in a gesture of futility. Without a word she stomped out of the kitchen. Christina waited until the woman’s footsteps faded away before facing Mr. Jonnson. She angled her gaze away from Tommy’s firm grip on the man’s hands.

“About what did you need to speak to me, Mr. Jonnson?” She moved to the worktable and picked up an apple and a paring knife. On the other side of the kitchen, Cora began slicing carrots into a soup kettle.

Mr. Jonnson followed Christina to the table, Tommy moving beside him like a shadow. “I wanted to let you know Mr. Creeger posted a notice in the mercantile, asking men to help put up the walls and roof at the poor farm.”

Her hands stilled, a coil of red peel dangling from the apple. “He did? Why?”

Mr. Jonnson shrugged—a sheepish gesture. “I asked him to.”

She should appreciate Mr. Jonnson’s kindness, yet instead of gratitude, resentment filled her. She wanted—no, she
needed
—to be the one who set things to rights at the poor farm. The mission board would never view her as capable if someone else took charge. “But why?” Christina heard herself, recognized the recalcitrance in her tone, but couldn’t quite squelch it.

“Because you needed help.” Confusion colored his voice. He cocked his head. “You didn’t intend to put up those walls yourself, did you?”

She lowered the half-peeled apple to her lap. Of course she couldn’t put up the walls herself. But she could certainly make arrangements with those who could. She sought an explanation that wouldn’t make her seem churlish. “I planned to ask for volunteers after church services tomorrow.”

“That might not be necessary. I saw several women reading the notice as soon as Mr. Creeger tacked it to the doorjamb. It’s likely they’ll go home and tell their men about it. So the men will probably approach you about helping.”

Mercy sakes, he had the whole town taking care of her. Christina hung her head. Earlier that day she’d blessed him for his generosity. Now she wanted to tell him to stop interfering. She sat in silence, battling her raging emotions.

He stepped close to the table. “Miss Willems?” When she lifted her head, he smiled down at her. A soft smile. A sweet smile. A smile that could melt the hardest heart. She steeled herself against it. “You don’t have to thank me. It’s the least I can do to help you get settled again.”

He’d misinterpreted the reason for her speechlessness, but Christina couldn’t find the strength to correct his assumption. She sat, tongue-tied and unmoving, and gazed into his green-blue eyes. His intentions were honorable even if he had usurped her position. Papa would thank him. Papa would praise him. Papa would—

She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. She wasn’t Papa. If she were—if she were at the very least a man—she would already have the funds she needed to reestablish the poor farm and get everyone settled. But she wasn’t a
man, and somehow she had to prove to the mission board that she, a mere female, could operate the poor farm as well as any man. Even as well as her own father. Her future depended on it.

Drawing in a deep breath, Christina set the apple aside and rose. She looked squarely into Mr. Jonnson’s face. “I appreciate all you’ve done. Truly I do. But now I must ask that you cease any further assistance and allow me to proceed as I see fit.”

The warmth in his eyes faded.

“You see, Mr. Jonnson, the poor farm is my responsibility.” She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “Please allow me the privilege of making reparations.”

The muscles in his jaw clenched and unclenched. His Adam’s apple bobbed in a swallow. Very slowly he folded his arms across his chest. “All right, Miss Willems. If that’s the way you want it. But before I go, I’d like to make sure you’re handling one very important responsibility.” He glanced at Tommy, who stood nearby with his sightless gaze aimed in Mr. Jonnson’s direction. “What about him?”

She didn’t care for the challenge in his tone. “He’s staying here with me.”

“Not according to your landlady, he’s not.”

Christina narrowed her gaze. “Were you listening at the door?”

“I didn’t need to. I could hear her hollering before I came up the walk.”

Heat flooded Christina’s face. Who else might have heard Mrs. Beasley’s verbal barrage? She cleared her throat and spoke with more confidence than she felt. “Despite Mrs. Beasley’s claims to the contrary, Tommy will stay here with me until we can move back into the house at the poor farm.”

“Are you sure?” He angled his head, his expression stern. “Because I don’t want that boy returned to the Tatums.”

How dare he dictate to her! “Mr. Jonnson, I fail to understand why you find it your concern that—”

“You made it my concern when you brought him to my doorstep. He
made it my concern on a snowy day when he got lost trying to return to my place. It’s my concern because he ran away
to me
.” Although spoken softly, the emphasis on his final two words didn’t escape her notice. “And I want to be assured he won’t go traipsing across the countryside again.”

“He won’t!”

“Are you sure?”

Christina took Tommy by the arm. “Tommy, I know you’ve heard everything Mr. Jonnson and I have said. Promise him you’ll not run off again.”

Tommy clamped his lips together.

Christina gave his arm a little shake. “Tommy?”

Cora settled the lid on the pot of soup and crossed to Tommy. She wrung her hands, her brow furrowing into lines of worry. “You’re upsettin’ Miss Willems, Tommy. Promise her you won’t run off again.”

Tommy turned his face toward the floor.

Mr. Jonnson cupped his hands on Tommy’s shoulders, forcing Christina to relinquish her hold on his arm. “Tommy.” The single word carried authority. Tommy lifted his head. “What you did last Sunday, taking off without telling anybody where you were going, was dangerous. It caused a lot of people heartache, most especially Miss Willems. You were reckless and irresponsible, and we …”

He paused and glanced at Christina. Although she’d told him to allow her to proceed unaided, suddenly she welcomed his intrusion. Welcomed his use of the word
we
. Not since Papa’s death had she shared her burdens with a partner, and for a few brief seconds, a glorious feeling raced through her frame. She liked being part of a
we
, and the recognition both elated and frightened her.

Mr. Jonnson went on. “We expect better of you. I know you’re an honest boy, so when you promise not to do anything so foolhardy again, we can believe you.” He turned Tommy toward Christina. “Now make that promise to Miss Willems.”

A sullen expression crept across Tommy’s face.

Mr. Jonnson nudged the boy’s upper arm. “Go ahead. We’re waiting.”

The soup began to boil, rattling the cover. Tommy jerked at the sudden noise, but he remained stubbornly silent.

Mr. Jonnson let out an exasperated breath. “Tommy, if I were your father, I’d haul you to the woodshed right about now.”

The boy’s face lifted. Panic shone in his expression. “Don’t be mad at me!”

Mr. Jonnson met Christina’s gaze. The earlier frustration she’d glimpsed melted in light of Tommy’s distress. “I’m not mad, Tommy. I’m disappointed.”

Tommy’s chin quivered. “But I can’t make that promise, Mr. Jonnson, ’cause it’d be a lie. No matter where she puts me, I won’t stay. I won’t stay anywhere except with you.” He flung his arms around Mr. Jonnson’s middle and buried his face against the man’s shirt.

Christina’s wonderful feeling of kinship with Mr. Jonnson washed away on a wave of hurt. Looking at Tommy in the man’s embrace—Mr. Jonnson’s embrace rather than her own—she felt as though her heart had shattered. She’d done nothing but love the boy from the moment she’d helped him over the poor farm’s threshold. Why did he reject her now?

Chapter 21

Levi stood, arms at his side, chest aching. The boy’s skinny shoulders heaved with sobs. He should hug the boy—offer comfort. But something in Miss Willems’s expression froze him in place. Not anger. Not even disappointment. It went deeper than disappointment. Her face reflected anguish. An anguish that pierced him to the center of his soul. He battled a mighty urge to put one arm around the boy and the other around the woman. But he did neither.

Taking Tommy by the shoulders again, he set the boy aside. Deliberately positioned him so his arm brushed against Miss Willems. He expected her to immediately embrace the still-sobbing boy, but she didn’t. Instead, Cora bustled over and pulled Tommy into her arms. She rested her cheek on his hair and murmured to him. Miss Willems watched the pair, bright tears quivering on her thick lashes, but she made no move to take over the task of reassuring Tommy.

Levi touched Miss Willems’s arm with his fingertips. He waited until she shifted her gaze to meet his. “You know he’ll try it again—try to get to my place.”

She nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, I have no doubt …”

Levi pulled in a breath and blew it out in a noisy rush. He had to be as much a lunatic as folks said his father was, but he couldn’t risk Tommy getting lost again. Maybe falling into the river or encountering a wild creature. He forced the words past gritted teeth. “So let me just take him.”

Within the circle of Cora’s arms, Tommy’s sobs came to a shuddering halt. Miss Willems stared at the boy for several seconds, indecision playing across her pale face. While she stood in silent uncertainty, Levi went on.

“As you said, it won’t be for long.” It’d better not be. He couldn’t afford to get himself too firmly attached to the boy. “And it’ll help you keep peace between yourself and Mrs. Beasley.” If peace was possible with the irascible woman. “And if he’s with me, he won’t be running off anywhere. I’ll keep him safe.” He ran out of reasons for her to entrust the boy to his keeping. So he closed his mouth and let her think.

The multicolored cat sauntered from under the stove and bumped against Miss Willems’s legs. She leaned down and gave the animal a few idle strokes, almost as if she was unaware of the action. Then she straightened abruptly. The cat zipped back to its hiding spot, and Miss Willems turned a stern frown in his direction.

“Since I seem to have no other alternatives, I accept your offer to provide sanctuary to Tommy until we can return to the poor farm.”

A relieved grin formed on Tommy’s tear-stained face.

“But …” Her brows descended, an attempt to appear fierce that fell far short. A face as pretty as Miss Willems’s just didn’t have the ability to look harsh. “If you take him, I shall expect you to see to all his needs, including spiritual. I want him in Sunday worship services.”

Levi stifled a snort. She had no idea what she was asking of him. He hadn’t set foot in a church for more than thirteen years. Not since Far’s death. He’d made a vow to himself at his father’s grave that he’d never darken a church door again, and he expected to honor it until his own dying day. All those pews filled with self-righteous busybodies spouting “God is love” but turning their backs on his family when they needed help the most … He’d never join them.

“I don’t go to church.”

She frowned. “I understand that’s been your practice. Mrs. Tatum informed me of your lack of faith.” The frown changed from disapproving to disheartened. A hint of sympathy glowed in her blue eyes. “I won’t say I approve of your choice to refrain from worship, but I shan’t judge you for it. Each of us is responsible for our own decisions concerning faith. But Tommy is still
a boy who needs guidance. The Bible—God’s holy Word—is the best source of guidance. He should be in services.”

“And if I refuse, what then?”

She released a delicate sigh, turning her gaze on the boy. “I’ll keep him with me.”

Tommy opened his mouth, and Levi staved off the impending protest with a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Even though he’s pretty much promised to run off the first chance he gets?”

She continued gazing at Tommy. “Yes.”

Levi couldn’t imagine why attending worship was so important to her. In his experience all the lovely words flowing from the mouth of a preacher were just that—lovely words with no real meaning behind them. It seemed foolish, maybe even cruel, to force that drivel into the boy’s head. Someday he’d learn the truth and feel as betrayed as Levi had when his walls of faith had crumbled. But if that’s what it took to keep the boy safe with him, he’d take Tommy to church.

“All right.” He forced the concession through gritted teeth. “I’ll bring him in.”