Wilderness Courtship. Valerie Hansen
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little boy’s head nodded so hard his dark curls bounced.
“My, my,” the proprietress said, “looks like he just might. While this dough rises a bit I’ll run out to the spring house and fetch some cool milk.”
“I should do that for you,” Charity said.
“Not this morning. You’re needed here.” Annabelle’s gentle gaze rested on the child and she shook her head slowly, sadly. “Perhaps we’ll hear from our Emory soon and we can all relax. I’ve been prayin’ hard ever since he left.”
“So have I.” Laying her hand atop the boy’s head Charity stroked his silky hair. “I meant for Papa to find the sheriff and then come home but I should have known he’d want to stay and help in the search. I just worry about him, that’s all.”
“So do I,” the portly proprietress said.
To Charity’s amazement she thought she glimpsed moisture in Annabelle Montgomery’s eyes as the other woman wheeled and left the room.
Thorne returned with Emory several hours later. Charity had set aside biscuits, as well as extra servings of ham and a bowl of red-eye gravy, assuming they’d be famished when they finally came home.
She was seated in a rocker in the hotel parlor, Jacob asleep in her arms, when the two men walked in.
Thorne approached her while Emory headed upstairs.
“Did you find your brother?” she asked.
“No. The sheriff is still keeping an eye open but there was no sign of him in any of the usual places.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
“There are plates of food waiting for you and Papa in the warming oven over the stove,” she said, continuing her slow, steady rocking. “I’d get up and serve you but as you can see, I’m otherwise occupied.”
Thorne’s overall expression was weary, yet a slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Poor Jacob’s probably as tired as the rest of us,” he said, gazing fondly at the child. “I don’t know what we’re going to tell him about all this.”
“I wouldn’t say anything, for now,” Charity suggested. “He’s too young to understand the details and I don’t see any reason to upset him needlessly.”
“How’s Naomi?”
“The last time I looked in on her she was sleeping. She wore herself out last night.”
“Little wonder.” He had already removed his hat and he raked his fingers through his wavy, uncombed hair as he paced the sitting room. “I wish I knew what to do next.”
“Eat,” Charity said sensibly. “You have to keep up your strength for whatever trials are to come. Seems to me you’re the only member of your family capable of making wise decisions or taking any useful action.”
“I’m afraid you’re right, Miss Beal. Thank you for everything. I don’t know what Naomi or Jacob would have done without you.”
“You’re most welcome.”
Watching him leave the room she smiled knowingly. She hadn’t expected Thorne to include himself in the gracious compliment but she could tell that he was as in need of her assistance as the rest of his party. His self-confident nature wouldn’t let him admit as much, of course, but she was content with knowing it was true.
The child in her lap stirred, blinked up through sleepy eyes and snuggled closer.
Charity hugged him to her and began to pray silently for his future. The way things looked now he was going to have a rough road ahead and she wished mightily that she could do more than merely comfort and care for him for the time being.
She laid her cheek against the top of his head and whispered, “He’s yours, Father. Please bless and guide and watch over him.”
A solitary tear slid from her eye and dropped onto the boy’s hair. So young. So innocent. Oh, dear God, help him.
The ensuing days seemed to pass in a blur. Men of all kinds and all classes, including several of the hotel guests whom Thorne had originally deemed unfriendly, kept popping in to update him on the search. He had set up an office of sorts on the end of the counter behind which the desk clerk also stood so he could keep all the reports straight. It was his goal to speak personally with each and every searcher and thereby leave no stone unturned.
Upstairs, Naomi had taken to her bed and the doctor had diagnosed her condition as lingering hysteria. Thorne wasn’t sure that was all there was to it. He’d seen plenty of people overcome by grief and disaster but he’d never known one to lapse into a state of near helplessness the way his sister-in-law had.
Thorne thanked God that Charity Beal had so readily assumed the role of his nephew’s caretaker because he didn’t know how he’d have adequately looked after everyone else and managed to coordinate a systematic search for Aaron at the same time.
A week had passed and they’d fallen into a routine that varied little from hour to hour, day to day. That was why Thorne was so astonished to suddenly see Naomi descending the stairs. She was dressed to go out and acting as if nothing unusual had happened.
Wearing her favorite traveling dress, a matching, ostrich-plumed hat and white lace, fingerless gloves, she carried only her reticule. Instead of approaching and greeting Thorne as he’d expected, she headed straight for the front door.
“Naomi!” he called. “Where are you going?”
She turned a blank stare toward him, said nothing, then continued out onto the boarded walkway.
As Thorne prepared to follow her he was detained by one of the regular hotel residents. He made short work of the tall, thin man’s inane questions but by the time he reached the front door of the hotel, Naomi was already strolling away on another man’s arm as if nothing was amiss.
Thorne raced after them and shouted, “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” He was nearly upon the pair before he recognized Naomi’s beefy, reddish haired escort as one of the most recently arrived hotel guests.
The man paused and turned with a cynical expression. “The lady wanted to take a walk and I’m looking after her. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, under normal circumstances,” Thorne replied. “But in this case I must insist we all return to the hotel. Immediately.”
“No. I’m going home,” Naomi said as if in a fog.
Thorne had touched her free arm to stop her from proceeding and was glaring at the other man when Charity joined them, toting Jacob on one hip.
The boy’s enthusiastic squeal brought no visible reaction from his mother.
“What’s the matter with her?” Charity asked Thorne.
“I don’t know.” He continued to gently restrain Naomi and she made no effort to escape. She also didn’t seem to recognize her own son.
Ignoring the two men who appeared about to come to blows, Charity concentrated on Naomi and spoke gently. “Where are you going, dear?”
“To see my mama and papa.” She sounded as if she, herself, were a child.
“Why don’t we go inside and sit down to talk about it,” Charity said. “You’d like to tell me about your trip, wouldn’t you? I’d love to hear all about your parents. I know they’re wonderful people. Aren’t they missionaries to the Indians?”
“Yes,” Naomi said. Her determination seemed to be wavering, so Thorne exerted a gentle pressure on her arm, guiding her away from the other man and back the way they’d all come.
Following, Charity whispered to Jacob. “Mama’s still sick, dear. I know she loves you very much but