A Home for His Family. Jan Drexler
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Nate?” Olivia turned to Uncle James, and then looked at Sarah. “Will he be all right?”
Sarah smiled at her. “We’ll pray he will be.”
A dull ache spread across her forehead as she rolled out the dough and cut biscuits. Nate’s crooked smile swam in her memory. Was he warm enough? Would he be able to find the cabin? She didn’t have any choice but to trust God for his safety.
“What made your uncle decide to bring you to Deadwood?” Uncle James asked.
The two children exchanged glances.
“There were some ladies in our church who wanted us to go to the orphans’ home,” Olivia said. “Uncle Nate said he wouldn’t do that. He said he could take care of us.”
“They called the sheriff to arrest Uncle Nate.” Charley scooted closer to the fire.
“Charley, don’t exaggerate. They only said they might. They said will’s fare was at stake.” Olivia looked at Sarah. “What does that mean?”
Sarah laid the biscuits in the bottom of the Dutch oven. “I think they meant welfare. That your welfare was at stake. It sounds like they wanted what was best for you.”
“Yes, that’s it. That’s what they said. But Uncle Nate said they didn’t know the situation and he’d see what was what if they tried to take us away from him.”
Aunt Margaret cleared her throat and Sarah saw her exchange glances with Uncle James.
“What was your situation?” Uncle James leaned back in his chair, ready to hear the children’s version of the event.
“There was a fire...” Olivia bit her lip.
“Our house burned.” Charley picked up the story as Olivia fell silent. “Pa and Uncle Nate got the three of us out of the house and then went back in to get Mama.”
The children stared at the fireplace. Sarah set the Dutch oven in the coals and then sat next to Olivia with her arm around the girl’s shoulders.
“You don’t have to tell us the rest, if you don’t want to.”
Charley went on. “When Uncle Nate came out of the house, his clothes were on fire.” His voice was hollow, remembering.
Olivia hid her face in Sarah’s dress. “I could hear Mama,” she whispered. “She and Papa were still in the house.”
“But Uncle Nate,” Charley said, his voice strengthening, “he didn’t want to give up. He kept trying to go back inside, to save them, but the neighbors were there, and they wouldn’t let him. And then the roof fell down and everything was gone.”
“Uncle Nate was hurt awful bad.” Olivia sat up and took Charley’s hand. “He almost died, too.”
“That’s when the ladies at church said we should go to the home.” Charley wiped at his eyes. “But Uncle Nate just kept saying no.”
“It sounds like your uncle loves you very much.” James laid his hand on Charley’s shoulder.
Charley leaned against Uncle James’s knee. The children fell silent, looking into the fire.
Sarah watched Lucy. She didn’t look at her sister or brother, and she hadn’t seemed to hear what they had been talking about. She sat on the folded blanket, staring at the flames, lost in a world of her own. During their walk from the crippled wagon to the cabin, the little girl hadn’t made a sound, but had passively held Sarah’s hand as they walked.
At the time, Sarah had thought Lucy was cold and only wanted to get to the cabin. But now with the others talking and in the warm room, she was still closed into her own thoughts. Could it be that she was deaf? Or was something else wrong?
The biscuits baked quickly in the Dutch oven, and supper was soon ready. Everyone ate in front of the fire, and Sarah was glad to see how quickly the biscuits disappeared, except the ones Olivia had insisted they save for their uncle along with a portion of the stew.
After they were done eating, Lucy climbed into Sarah’s lap. The little one melted into her arms without a word, the ever-present thumb stuck in her mouth.
“You stay where you are,” Margaret said as Sarah started to put Lucy back on the floor so she could help clean up from the meal. “Her eyes are closing already.”
Sarah settled back in her chair, enjoying the soft sweetness of holding a child in her arms. These children had suffered so much, and their story brought memories of her own losses to the surface. How well she remembered the awful loneliness the day her parents had died, even though she had been much younger than Olivia and Charley. She had been about Lucy’s age when she had gone to the orphanage.
She laid her cheek on Lucy’s head, the girl’s curly hair tickling Sarah’s skin, pulling an old longing out from the corner where she had buried it long ago. The room blurred as she held Lucy tighter.
All those years in the orphanage, until Uncle James returned from the mission field when she was seventeen years old, she had never had the thought that she would marry and have children. She had changed enough diapers, cleaned enough dirty ears and soothed enough sore hearts to have been mother to a dozen families.
Marriage and children meant opening her heart to love, and she refused to consider that possibility. Loving someone meant only pain and heartache when they died. She wouldn’t willingly put herself through that misery again.
She still enjoyed children, but only when they belonged to someone else. Teaching filled that desire quite nicely.
Sarah hummed under her breath as Lucy relaxed into sleep. Charley and Olivia had settled on the floor in front of the fire, where they were setting up Uncle James’s checkers game.
Where was their uncle? She prayed again for his safety in the blowing storm.
* * *
Nate stood in the abandoned camp. His hastily built fire was already dying down, and the empty canvas flapped behind him. Snow swirled. Before too long any traces of where the children had gone would be covered.
The wind swung around to the north, bringing the smell of wood smoke. A fire. People. Friends? A mining camp?
Or an Indian encampment.
He needed to find the children. He had to take the risk.
Setting his face to the wind, he followed the smoke trail to a line of cottonwoods along Whitewood Creek. He had reached the outskirts of the mining camp, and the thin thread of smoke had turned into a heavy cloud hanging in the gulch. He paused on the creek bank. Ice lined the edges of the water. The children had either been taken away, or they had run off to hide. It wouldn’t take long for them to freeze to death on an evening like this one.
There. Hoofprints in the mud. Nate followed the trail up away from the creek until he came to a cabin sheltered among a few trees at the edge of the rimrock. A lean-to built against the steep hill behind the cabin was crowded with horses. Even in the fading light, he recognized Scout and Ginger. Pete’s and Dan’s bay rumps were next to them, and then the mule’s black flank.
Nate tried not to think of what kind of men he might find in this cabin. This was where the horses were, so horse thieves, most likely. But were they kidnappers? Murderers?
He pounded on the heavy wooden door and then stepped back, gripping his rifle.
The middle-aged man who cracked open the door wasn’t the rough outlaw he expected. The white shirt, wool vest and string tie would fit in back home in Michigan, but Nate hadn’t seen a man dressed this fancy since they left Chicago in March.
“Yes, can I help you?” The man poked his head out the door.
“I’m looking for some children.”
“Uncle Nate! That’s Uncle Nate out there!”
Charley’s voice. Relief washed over Nate, leaving his knees weak.