Next Stop: Home

After a catastrophe strands a train—and eight orphaned children—near Evans Grove, Nebraska, schoolteacher Holly Sanders sees hope in the chaos. These children are the new start her community needs. And Holly is stubbornly determined to give the townspeople, the children…and even gruff sheriff Mason Wright…the happy families they deserve.

How can anyone so petite have so much gumption? Watching Holly rally her young charges wins Mason’s admiration—and reminds him of his own failures. No matter what Holly or the orphan boy Liam think, Mason’s no hero and he doesn’t merit a second chance. Can Holly’s faith, Liam’s trust and God’s grace open Mason’s heart to love’s greatest lesson?

The way he’d figured her, Miss Sanders should be as undone as the pretty blonde crying over there. Where’d a woman so quiet and tiny get such a core of steel?

Mason’s eyebrow shot up as Miss Sanders got the children’s attention and gathered them into a group.

“It’s time to be calm and quiet. We’re safe, and things will be all right from here. Everyone have all their fingers and toes?” The voice was sensible and cheerful, as if it didn’t belong to the same woman who’d just stood over Arlington’s body. “My town is just over that hill, and you’ll all get to visit tonight. You’ll get some supper, too. But we’ve lots to do to make that happen, so I’ll need everyone’s help.”

As Mason stood watching this small woman accomplish this very large feat, the train conductor came up with an equally stunned look on his face.

“Who is that?” he asked Mason as both men stared.

“That,” Mason said, not bothering to hide the respect in his voice, “is Holly Sanders.”

ALLIE PLEITER

Enthusiastic but slightly untidy mother of two, RITA® Award finalist Allie Pleiter writes both fiction and nonfiction. An avid knitter and unreformed chocoholic, she spends her days writing books, drinking coffee and finding new ways to avoid housework. Allie grew up in Connecticut, holds a B.S. in speech from Northwestern University and spent fifteen years in the field of professional fund-raising. She lives with her husband, children and a Havanese dog named Bella in the suburbs of Chicago, Illinois.

Family Lessons

Allie Pleiter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Allie Pleiter for her contribution to the Orphan Train miniseries.

Blessed are those whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered. Blessed is the one whose sin the Lord will never count against them.

—Romans 4:7–8

To Angie, because when she claps, children really do listen

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Chapter One

Nebraska, April 1875

Holly Sanders now knew two things for sure.

She knew that she was smart enough to convince the Prairie Trust Bank of Nebraska to loan rebuilding funds to her flood-stricken hometown. That was a fine victory.

She also knew that any such victory could be wiped out in the split second it took the man behind her to cock the hammer of his pistol.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” sneered the greasy-haired bandit, his breath hot on Holly’s neck. “Seems to me a smart gal like yourself ought to know you’d best do exactly as we say right now.” He addressed the entire railroad car in which Holly currently stood. “Y’all shush up and no one will get hurt.”

The woman in front of Holly, the pretty one who had just introduced herself as Rebecca Sterling, let out a terrified whimper. The girl sitting beside Miss Sterling—one of the several orphans Miss Sterling had said she was escorting to nearby Greenville—started to cry. For a moment, the schoolteacher in Holly was mortified. Children shouldn’t have to witness the man’s threats. It seemed an oddly logical thought for someone with a gun barrel poked into their shoulder blade, but then again, Holly had always been the sensible type.

The grimy man stepped up and glared at Holly with a look that made her skin crawl. “Where’s that man?” She’d never heard a voice so sinister. Where had he come from? Had he been hiding in wait on the back railing of the car this whole time?

He couldn’t possibly be asking about Curtis Brooks, the bank representative who had insisted on escorting her and the bank’s loan of two thousand dollars’ worth of gold back to Evans Grove. How could this thief know about the banker, or the loan? It took her a second or two to find her voice. “What man?”

The bandit leered over her, close and foul. “The one what was with you back in Newfield. Mr. Fancypants Banker.” He nudged her with the tip of his gun, pushing Holly down into her seat.

Her brain scrambled to assemble the facts, to get a grip on what couldn’t possibly be happening. He knew who she was and what she had. Dear Lord, save me! “He’s not here.”

This clearly wasn’t the answer the bandit wanted. “I know he ain’t here!” He nodded to his partner—a second man Holly hadn’t even seen until just now—who dashed down the train aisle to peer through the door to the next car. The first bandit leaned in closer to Holly. “Where is he? He went for it, didn’t he?”

There would be no victory. Her town’s future, the precious funds she’d labored to secure, the funds to rebuild Evans Grove after a storm and flood had nearly wiped it out—all was being thieved right out from underneath her. She’d return to Evans Grove empty-handed—if she returned at all. These men looked like the kind who wouldn’t think twice to kill for whatever they wanted.

Too frightened to lie, she grappled for the safest truth: “He said he had...business in another car, so he took one of the antsier boys with him.” Mr. Brooks had told Miss Sterling’s partner agent that he was going up to the express car “to check on something,” and had invited him and a boy named Liam as a diversion to the long ride. Of course, Holly knew he’d gone up to check on the safe where the gold was stored, but she wouldn’t tell that to these horrible men.

“Business, hmm? As if you don’t know what kind of business.” The bandit grabbed her arm with one hand while he brandished the gun around, sending the orphan boys in the car ducking into their seats, and the little girls into tears. “Where is he? Which car?”

“There are children aboard!” Holly pleaded as he wrenched her arm.

A second little girl across from Holly began to sob. “The mail car!” one boy yelped, pointing to the door Mr. Brooks, the other orphan escort called Mr. Arlington and Liam had gone through. At that moment, two more men burst into the car behind the first bandit. Mercy, how many of them were there?

“Go get him, boys!” shouted the leader, nodding his head in the direction the boy had pointed. “And don’t forget to mention how many precious little lives are at stake.”

“You wouldn’t!” Miss Sterling suddenly found her voice.

The bandit’s glare silenced her. “Don’t try me, missy.”

Just then, the train slowed with a shuddering lurch, wheels squealing. Someone had thrown the brake, and bags and boxes flew from seats and shelves as the train slowed far too quickly. Shouts rose up from the cars ahead. Holly startled as the sharp sound of pistol fire split the warm afternoon, feeling as if the breath had been ripped from her lungs. Miss Sterling yelped and even the boys now looked close to tears.

“What’s going on?” an old woman from the far end of the railcar cried. A storm of falling and tumbling belongings raged as the car lurched, surged forward, and then lurched again. Holly was held firmly in place by the bandit’s iron grip. Once the car finally stopped—which seemed to take forever—whimpers and groans filled the air. Still, none of the passengers dared to move, even to pick up the things that had fallen.

“Is anyone hurt?” Holly said as calmly as she could manage with the bandit’s glare so close. While everyone was frightened and upset, she was glad no one replied that they were injured.

“I am an agent of the Orphan Salvation Society, sir. May I stand and see to the children?” Miss Sterling asked.

“No.” The bandit’s voice was low and cruel. “Everyone just said they’s fine, didn’t they?”

“We are, ma’am,” came one of the boys’ voices. The attempted calm in the poor lad’s tone twisted Holly’s heart. “But I don’t know about Liam.”

This sent one of the girls into crying again. “Where’s Liam?”

“He went with Mr. Arlington and that other man,” Miss Sterling whispered. “Just hush up now.”

A second later the far door pushed open and a burly hand shoved Liam and Mr. Arlington into the car. The older agent looked roughed up while Liam had a nasty bruise above his left eye. “Keep this feisty one outta my way while the banker man gets the safe opened.”

“Why’d we stop?” The bandit next to Holly squeezed her arm so tight she winced.

“This little rat.” The second bandit nodded at Liam. “He ran to the engine car and told ’em to pull the brake.”

“We ain’t at Evans Grove yet.” The leader’s comment made Holly look out the window, trying to judge where they were.

“We’re close enough,” the second man said, and Holly guessed him to be right. Their awareness made Holly’s stomach drop. Usually, no one paid much mind to tiny Evans Grove. It wasn’t even large enough to have a rail station. Today’s train was only “whistle-stopping” there at the request of Curtis Brooks. The bandits couldn’t know that—unless they’d seen the wire she sent this morning telling of her change in travel plans. Holly’s stomach dropped further.

“If we’re close enough, then stick to the plan,” came the leader’s voice, now pitched with frustration. “Why ain’t it open yet?”

“We cain’t get it open.”

The safe. Of course.

The leader cursed, making Miss Sterling cover the ears of the little girl in her lap. “It takes two seconds to open one of those, and he must have the key so don’t you let him tell you otherwise.” He turned to peer at Holly. “Unlessen you have a key, too?”

Holly wasn’t used to people paying her any mind. Small and “mousy” as Mama used to say, she mostly went unnoticed. Would that she’d gone unnoticed today, instead of finding herself at the center of a crime. A crime in front of children, no less. “I don’t know anything.”

The bandit cocked his gun again, demonstrating his disbelief. Holly flinched and fought for breath.

“Stop threatening her!” Mr. Arlington, a rather bookish gentleman in his fifties from the looks of it, was attempting to sound commanding but failed miserably.

The bandit all but ignored him, still looking straight at Holly. “You know how much gold is in there. You know what kind of ‘business’ he has, and how much. That ain’t hard to figure.”

Holly shut her eyes, wrestling the panic that threatened to swallow her. “There’s two thousand dollars. It’s a loan for my town. To rebuild after the flood.”

“Ain’t that sweet.” His voice taunted. “Y’all will have to find another way.”

The thought of everything this man was stealing—money, hope, a chance to rebuild—burned the fear in Holly’s chest into a growing anger. He knew exactly what he was taking from good people, and seemed to enjoy it. Any jury in the county would send him to the gallows for such crimes, and all her good Christian charity wouldn’t give her enough compassion to object.

A second bandit ducked his head into the car. “Boss, we still can’t get it open.”

“What do you mean you can’t get it open? It’s a safe, he has the key, you have the gun. Make him open it.”

The new bandit, obviously the muscle of the operation rather than the brains, scratched his chin. “Something fell against the safe. A big crate hit the lever and twisted it.”

“So move the big crate. It’s a safe, Earl. You can’t break a safe.” He looked around again. “Why ain’t we there yet?”

Liam pulled away from the two men. “Not too smart, these two. I reckon your gold isn’t going anywhere.” Holly had only been in the boy’s company half an hour and Liam had already proven to have a mouth that often ran ahead of his sense.

The ill-timed insult sent the leader off Holly’s arm to lunge at the boy. Before she could get out a warning, the man backhanded Liam so hard he fell against Mr. Arlington. “You,” the bandit barked, “need to shut your yap or die yelping.” He looked as if his anger would boil over any second, his fingers working the hammer of his gun with an irritated twitch. “Get over there with her.” He pointed back to Holly. “You keep him in line.”

Liam pulled himself up out of the seat and came to sit next to Holly. His lip was already swelling and his face burned as crimson as his red scraggly hair. He breathed hard, and Holly placed a calming palm over his fisted hands, praying he’d know enough to keep quiet from here on in.

“You,” said the leader, pointing to the beefy man who’d shoved Liam into the car, “stay here and make sure no one gets any ideas. I’m going up to the express car to see if I cain’t—” he cocked the pistol again

“—hurry up the fetchin’.”

“We’re finished,” Miss Sterling moaned, gathering the children around her. “Stranded in the middle of nowhere at the hands of bandits.”

“They’re not very smart bandits, ma’am,” Liam whispered. “I watched ’em up in the express car. We’re not so finished as you think.” He looked out the window, making Holly wonder what kind of life the orphan boy had known to stay so remarkably calm and cocky under such rough treatment. “Where are we?”

Holly looked out the window again. Evans Grove had nothing more than a sad little platform built alongside the spot in the tracks where the train occasionally stopped. She could see that sad platform just beyond the next outcropping of rocks. They were very nearly at Evans Grove. Someone small and fast could get to town and bring help.

“Liam,” Holly whispered with her eye on their enormous captor, “how fast can you run?”

* * *

“Sheriff! Sheriff Wright, did you hear what I just said?”

Mason Wright pinched the bridge of his nose and longed for patience. When he envisioned breaking up feuds and brawls in the tiny town of Evans Grove, he hadn’t pictured the combatants wearing bonnets.

“Yes, I heard you clear.” He glanced over at the door of his office, still swinging open from Beatrice Ward’s blustering entrance, and thought it might be time to make up a “Closed” sign to hang in the window. “But, Miss Ward, I don’t have to tell you times are tight all over these parts. I don’t see how requiring curtains is going to solve much of anything. People have more important places to put their time and money.”

Miss Ward puffed herself up like a fussing hen. The way that woman clucked, it wasn’t hard to draw the connection. “Ephraim always said, ‘appearance is everything.’” Beatrice was forever quoting “wisdom” Mason had never seen the spinster’s late brother display. “If we look respectable and civilized, why then we behave respectable and civilized.”

Mason didn’t see much he’d call respectable and civilized in the “basic privacy of curtains” battle Beatrice Ward had launched at this week’s town meeting. He’d seen less contentious hound fights. Honestly, the woman had been on a righteous tirade ever since the storm took the roof off her house. Always proud of her fussy little cottage on Second Street—or what she liked to call “the high side of town”—Miss Ward took her home’s destruction as a personal insult, as if no one else in town had ever lost their home or kin. Truth was, far too many had lost homes and kin when the storm burst a nearby dam last month. Most especially the Widow Evans, Beatrice’s current opponent in the room. He offered Pauline Evans a sympathetic glance before saying, “I have to agree with Mayor Evans. I can’t enforce this.”

“Acting Mayor Evans,” Beatrice corrected, casting a derisive glance at the other woman. Some days Beatrice treated Pauline Evans as if she had stolen the title off her late husband’s still-warm body instead of the sad inheritance it was.

Robert Evans had been a fine man and a huge loss to the town, and Mason had to give Pauline credit for setting aside her grief to uphold her husband’s office. If the widow never did anything else for Evans Grove, her decision to step in kept Beatrice Ward from declaring herself mayor. Beatrice always acted as if chairing the Evans Grove Ladies’ Society—which merely consisted of eight grandmothers who met weekly in the church parlor for tea and criticism—gave her supreme authority.

“We’ve sent off for funds as it is, Beatrice.” Mayor Evans—Mason refused to think of her or address her as “acting mayor” no matter what Miss Ward insisted—squared her shoulders and jutted her chin in defiance. “We need to rebuild, not redecorate.”

“One fuels the other,” Miss Ward preached. “Who’d want to invest in a drab little town?”

“The Prairie Trust Bank of Nebraska, if you both remember. Miss Sanders wired yesterday to say she’d be on this morning’s train to Greenfield and taking the stage back here this afternoon.”

“Why on earth doesn’t the train stop here regularly? We have a station,” the spinster declared with undue pride.

“We only have a platform, and you know we can always get a whistle-stop if we ask a day ahead of time,” Mason felt compelled to correct. “What matters is that Miss Sanders will be on that stage from Greenfield today with important promissory papers, and I intend to be waiting to meet her. But before then, I got a pile of paperwork to tend to, a bag of government mail left over from the flood and two complaints about Vern Hicks out yelling down by the saloon again last night. Can you see that I might have more important things to tend to at the moment?”

Mason had hoped that the mention of Vern Hicks, who spent far more time with a bottle than his wife, might throw righteous Miss Ward off her present course. It only seemed to deepen the woman’s ever-present scowl.

Truth to tell, Mason felt a little like scowling himself. Miss Sanders was a sensible sort, but he didn’t like the idea of her traveling alone on the train. He would have been much more satisfied with Miss Sanders on yesterday’s train with an Evans Grove whistle-stop, but she’d wired to say the meetings took longer than expected. Mason wasn’t much for changing plans last minute with so much at stake, but who was he to tell a banker how long it takes to get business done? No one asked him if it was wiser to wait one more day so they could request a whistle-stop right here in Evans Grove. No, that banker had gone right ahead and put her on today’s train that went on through to Greenfield. It may get her home today, but he liked the idea of a woman alone on an open stagecoach from Greenfield even less than a train.

“Do you think Miss Sanders is traveling with any funds right away?” Mayor Evans asked, evidently glad for a change of subject.

“We won’t know. The bank could send a small start-up fund, but I told her not to make any mention of it if they did. If she’s traveling with any gold at all, the fewer people who hear about it, the better. No offense, but I’d hope the Prairie Trust Bank would know better than to send even one brick of gold with a tiny little thing like Holly Sanders.”

“Well, I should hope—” Miss Ward’s declaration was cut off by the sound of yelling in the street.

“Sheriff!” Shouts and the sound of galloping horse hooves sent Mason to the door in a flash. Ned Minor was coming up the street at full speed yelling “Sheriff Wright!” as his horse kicked up a cloud of dust. The young hotel clerk was a dozen yards away when a scraggly boy lunged off the back of the horse to run full tilt at Mason.

“It’s the train,” the boy yelped, pointing back toward the tracks. “Gunmen. Miss Sanders had Miss Sterling fake the vapors so I could...sneak off and get help.”

Holly Sanders? Here? Now?

Ned pulled up his horse behind the boy. “Robbers!” Mason was already untying his horse. “The train Miss Sanders is on is stopped just down the tracks. Bandits...”

Mason had one foot in the stirrup and the safety off his gun. Turning his horse south, Mason barked to Ned, “Get every man you can and meet me at Whitson’s Rock. Get Bucky Wyler first—he’s a good shot.” He’d swallowed a bad feeling in his gut all yesterday, a twist that had been there ever since the wire from Holly Sanders. I had a hunch and I ignored it. Tamping down the chill such thoughts sent down his spine, Mason reached down to the lad and hoisted him into the saddle behind him. “Tell me everything you know while we ride.” Looking to Ned, he called, “Be fast and quiet.” The thought of tiny Holly Sanders under the gun of some lawless bandit drove Mason’s boot heels into Ace’s flanks and his gut down through the soles of his feet. If any harm came to her, he’d feel even more doomed than he already did.

Chapter Two

“Mercy!” Miss Sterling fanned herself, clutching her chest as she draped herself against a rock. “I believe I was going to faint without some air.”

Holly mused that the woman could have had a career in the theater. Miss Sterling was a stunning beauty, and had quite the gift for producing a fit of the vapors on command. It had only helped matters when one of the little girls yelped out a need to “use the necessary.” Within minutes all the children “needed” to get off the train and relieve themselves, giving Holly—and Liam—the perfect opportunity.

“Just get them kiddies done with their business and get back on the train, lady.” Their beefy captor was annoyed but clearly in no mood to deal with the mess ignoring the children would have brought.

“This is the last one,” Holly called to him, holding the hand of a little girl named Lizzie while Mr. Arlington pretended to be watching over Liam’s ministrations. He had led the boys as a group to the edge of the clearing on the pretense of tending to their needs. Rebecca was to send up just enough of a fuss to keep the robbers from counting heads as the children filed back into the passenger car. Trying not to stare at the scraggly bush behind which Liam disappeared, Holly said a desperate prayer. Father, let him reach town in time. Guide his steps along the directions I gave. Send help. Save us from these men!

Holly caught the eyes of Rebecca and Mr. Arlington as they filed back into the car as casually as possible. How awful and odd to be so close to home and in such a spot. When the brutal storm hit Evans Grove last month, she’d thought that the low point. When the subsequent flood washed mercilessly through the low parts of town, she’d thought then that things had looked their worst. As Holly stood on the rocky soil, casting a worried gaze toward the express car where the banging noises had now stopped, she couldn’t help but wonder if the worst was still to come. Had they gotten the safe open? What of Mr. Brooks? Even if he should be all right, the funds were surely gone by now. If the bank wouldn’t replace them, Holly worried Evans Grove wouldn’t survive this final blow.

A volley of sharp yells echoed across the clearing. After a loud clang, Holly saw the doors of the express car slide open and a pair of hands push Mr. Brooks down out of the car. He’d barely regained his footing from the leap when a large black box crashed to the ground at his feet. He was nearly crushed by the metal cabinet, which made a strange, chinging sound as it tumbled to settle heavily onto the ground. The safe. Mr. Brooks’s jacket was off. He looked as if he’d been roughed up, but he was remarkably calm.

“I told you it wouldn’t work!” The bandit leader’s voice pitched in frustration as he followed Mr. Brooks out of the express car, gun trained on the banker. “More n’ likely you’ve busted up the mechanism and we’ll never get it open now.”

The third and fourth bandits climbed from the car. “Do we go get the horses now? Time to take the safe and run?”

Holly was tempted to point out that one does not just take a safe and run, but kept her mouth shut in remembrance of the backhanding Liam had endured. Short of a wagon or a stick of dynamite, that safe was not going anywhere. Nor did it look as if it would open. Taking a step toward Mr. Brooks, Holly scanned the area and tried to think of where she would hide horses nearby.

“Time,” sneered the leader as he raised the gun to Mr. Brooks’s temple, “to up the ante. You’re making me wonder, bankerman, if you ain’t hiding the real key.”

“Stop it!” Holly cried before she could think better of interfering. “Give him our money, Mr. Brooks. Nothing is worth a life.”

“I assure you, Miss Sanders,” Mr. Brooks said, his voice winding tighter with every passing second, “I am doing my level best to do just that.” He held the key up to his captor. “Look at the numbers on this key.” He was trying to make the bandit see reason, but it only seemed to anger the man. “They match the markings on the safe. This is the right key, but it won’t work. Have sense, man. All your gun pointing can’t change the fact that this key will not unlock a damaged mechanism.”

Holly heard Mr. Arlington’s voice behind her. She turned to find him holding out a hat filled with watches, wallets and the fine beaded reticule she’d seen on Miss Sterling. “Take what we’ve got and let us be. There are children here, for goodness’ sake. We’ve no way to pursue you. Why don’t you just leave?”

Holly heard a horse’s whinny off to her right. Was it the robbers’ accomplice or had Liam been even faster than she’d hoped? Father, protect us!

The leader turned to Mr. Arlington, eyes blazing in fury. “Howsabout you just shut your mouth?” he yelled loudly. Then to Holly’s great horror, the bandit raised his pistol and fired.

She heard the terrible sound. She saw the dust rise up as the hat full of loot hit the ground. She felt the impact as if it sucked the air from her lungs. Someone screamed. A woman, a child, or perhaps it was both. It couldn’t have been her—she had no voice, no breath. The entire world boiled down to the smell of gunpowder and the red stain blossoming under Mr. Arlington’s hand as he clutched his chest. The look of shock in his eyes as he tilted forward turned Holly’s heart to ice.

Nothing. They’d shot him for nothing. Who would they shoot next and for what?

* * *

The sound of the gunshot pounded in Mason’s chest, and he urged Ace faster toward the spot on the railway line just east of town Liam had described. The boy had told him enough to chill his blood. If they were the clever kind, who knew what these men were capable of, what lengths they would go to succeed? “Give me a dim-witted thief any day,” he said to himself as he swung down off his saddle, glad to see townsfolk coming a half mile behind him.

“You might get your wish,” Liam commented as he slid off the saddle and they scrambled up the rock outcropping that gave both of them a view down onto the track clearing. “They didn’t seem too smart to— Oh, no!” Liam gasped, covering his mouth in horror as he saw what Mason saw: Holly Sanders and two other people crouched in panic over a bleeding man. “They shot Mr. Arlington!” His voice was a whispered yell, full of shock and fear. He looked up to Mason with panicked eyes. “How could they have shot Mr. Arlington like that? Mr. Brooks had the key to the safe. Mr. Arlington didn’t know nothin’!”

Mason didn’t know what to say. His brain was churning through options, working furiously to find some way out of this. One thing was clear from the chaos below: these men weren’t killing by plan, they were killing by panic. Panic was far more dangerous than clever, and from the looks of the safe dumped out on the packed earth just a few yards away, and the yelling going on between the bandits, things had gotten out of hand.

Within minutes, Bucky Wyler came up crouching behind Mason, rifle ready in his hand. “Aw criminey,” he muttered as he took in the scene, “what now?”

“Act fast. Too much longer, and things will go from bad to worse.” Mason looked over his shoulder at the four other men coming up the path, motioning for them to come closer but to keep down.

“Worse already, if you’re asking me.” Bucky settled onto his stomach and pulled his rifle up to rest on the rock. “What do we do? There’s too many of ’em down there to shoot.”

“You can’t shoot.” Mason grabbed Bucky’s arm. “There’s young’uns down there.”

Bucky palmed his hat off his head. “Kids?”

“Orphans. Handful of ’em. That’s one of the agents on the ground.”

“Mr. Arlington’s not dead, is he? We gotta get down there.” Liam looked as if he’d burst down into the clearing in two seconds if Mason didn’t do something. He scanned the scene again, grasping for any tactic.

“Bucky, can you shoot the safe?”

The man squinted through his gunsight. “Yep, but it’s not likely to do much.”

“It’ll be distraction enough.”

Just then, in the worst possible timing, the children came piling out of the car. There was an old woman trying to hold them back from the gruesome scene, but the orphans were too wild with panic for one old woman to keep them corralled. Mason swore under his breath. Even Bucky’s sharpshooting was too much of a risk with all those youngsters about.

“Get back in the car!” The woman with Holly Sanders stood up and waved the children off. When the youngsters only rushed at her, she moved as quickly as she could away from the injured man. Thankfully, they followed, putting a bit of distance between themselves and the bickering robbers, who were now circled around the safe.

It didn’t take long to figure out who was in charge. The other three were clearly muscle; only one of them seemed to be shouting commands. “There’s our man,” Mason said as he pointed to the leader. “If we could take him out...A shot in the leg ought to do the trick.”

Bucky settled in to line up his shot, following Mason’s thinking. “Then we can pick off the rest.”

“Just do something! Mr. Arlington’s bleeding bad.” Liam was growing frantic.

Mason was out of options. He looked at Bucky and gestured back toward the now dozen armed men behind them. “Give each of them a target—wounding only, no killing in front of those youngsters. Understood?”

As Mason started to move, Liam grabbed his leg. “What about me?”

“You stay here. You’ve been brave enough already.”

“No!”

Mason couldn’t say he was surprised, and he didn’t have time to argue. “Are you good at sneaking?”

“The best.”

Mason pointed to the most likely spot for some accomplice to be hiding horses. “Head on over there and look for horses.” He tossed the lad the bosun’s whistle from his vest pocket. He used it for shooing away stray dogs, and the thing always made Ace crazy. Maybe it would rile up the bandits’ horses if they had any. “Blow this all around to spook them and then run back here but be careful. Someone’s bound to be guarding them.”

The boy caught the whistle with one hand. “Got it.”

Mason picked his way down between the rocks toward the rail line, still unsure how he was going to draw the men. He was almost in range when the biggest of them said, “How about I go get the horses and we haul that safe outta here?”

Not a lot of brains there, Mason thought to himself as he imagined the robbers attempting a getaway while dragging a heavy safe through the Nebraska countryside. Their lack of speed would be compounded by the obvious tracks.

The leader surprised him by consenting. “Just go get the horses. Jake,” he shouted, pointing at another man, “get that hat full of loot, and fer Pete’s sake get Miss Prissy and them brats back in the car.”

Mason waited until the last possible moment, weighing every stride the big man took toward the horses—and Liam—with every child who stepped back onto the train. Bucky must have followed his thinking, for just as Mason cocked his pistol Bucky’s shot rang out, pinging loudly against the safe to ricochet into the woods over Mason’s left shoulder. From behind him the

bosun’s whistle sounded; Liam had found the horses. Run, kid. Mason sent him a mental message as shouts went up from all corners of the clearing and from other passengers who’d had enough sense to stay inside the railcars. The leader turned in the direction of the shot long enough for Mason to burst from behind the rock cropping, shouting himself.

In the two seconds it took the leader to turn, Mason fired. The bullet tore into the man’s pant leg just above the knee, sending him to the ground. Half a dozen shots came from the ridge above, sending the place into a frenzy. Hoping Bucky was as good a shot as usual, Mason sprinted across the clearing to grab Holly Sanders by the waist and nearly haul her into the railcar behind the other woman and children. The fallen robbers managed a small volley of return fire, but even a sharpshooter would have a hard time hitting the men hid up in the rocks. When the bosun’s whistle echoed again from the safety of the rock outcropping, Mason let out the breath he’d been holding for the boy.

There was a moment of stunned stillness. The robbers had used up their ammunition. Bucky and the others were surely trained on each of the fallen men, ready to fire if one of them made a move. Mason left Miss Sanders at the railcar with the children—most of whom were screaming by now along with half the passengers—and rushed to crouch at the still body of Mr. Arlington.

One hand on the man’s bloody chest told Mason nothing could be done. “Rest in peace, Arlington.”

* * *

Holly watched in horror as Sheriff Wright took off his jacket and laid it carefully over Mr. Arlington’s face. The man was dead. Shot for the crime of trying to let the bandits go, for trying to save the children from harm. The cruelty of it seemed to pummel Holly’s lungs, and her steps wobbled as she made her way toward the sheriff.

“Lord have mercy on poor Mr. Arlington. Lord have mercy on all of us.” Even as she felt relief that the gunfight was over, sorrow made her tears hard to fight back.

One of the things Holly most admired about Sheriff Wright was his quiet passion for justice and safety. Today held no justice and precious little safety. She would not have thought it possible for Mason Wright to look more stoic, but he straightened from the body with such a weary, pained effort that she felt it constrict her heart. He felt the crime—the murder—as sharply as she, even though neither of them knew the slain man.

There was a selfish corner of her heart that insisted this could have been prevented if Mason Wright had accompanied her to Newfield. He’d raised a lukewarm objection, saying he wasn’t in favor of her going at all, but eventually consented to letting her travel alone. That hurt. A childish part of her wanted to think today wouldn’t have happened if Mason Wright had been her protector.

But today had happened, and while she heard the old woman and several others flutter in panicked concern over a crying Miss Sterling behind her, no one steadied her as she stood over the body. Now, as always, she was the last one anyone thought to protect. Quiet, competent, invisible—even in this. All yesterday’s sense of accomplishment evaporated just as quietly as Mr. Arlington’s blood seeped into the sod. No comfort would be coming her way. That meant that it was time—as usual—for her to look past herself and see to comforting others.

“You saved us,” she said, as she moved toward Sheriff Wright. Holly needed to keep speaking, to hear her voice fight the sense that she was evaporating into the sod herself.

He looked at her, his blue eyes brittle and hollow. She so rarely viewed those eyes—downcast as they often were or hidden in the shadow of his hat brim—that they never ceased to startle her when he stared. “No.” He raised the single syllable like a knight’s shield.

“But it is true.” The sheriff seemed so very tall as she ventured another step toward him. Mason Wright was the kind of man who would take Arlington’s loss as a personal failure, ignoring all the lives—including hers—he had just saved, and she hated that. Hated that she’d fail in this attempt just as she failed in every attempt to make him see his worth because he never looked at her long enough to notice.

He held her gaze just then, doubt icing his eyes until Holly felt a shiver run down her back. “No,” he repeated, but only a little softer. Holly hadn’t even realized she’d been holding her breath until Sheriff Wright broke his stare and looked down at the body shrouded in his own coat. Her practical nature wondered if his coat would be stained beyond repair, or if he would even care.

The shift in Sheriff Wright’s attitude was physically visible. Whatever emotion had bubbled to the surface was resolutely put down with a deep breath and squared shoulders. His attention spread out beyond her and the body to take in the whole of the clearing and the larger crisis at hand. Everything about him said “enough of that, now to business,” and Holly wondered if she would see that side of him up close ever again.

Even his voice changed. “Is she the other agent?” He nodded toward Rebecca Sterling and the upset children, now surrounded by the few other railcar passengers. “Liam mentioned a Miss...”

“Sterling, yes, that’s her. Liam!” Holly suddenly remembered the brave boy who’d run off to get help. “Is Liam all right?”

“Shaken, but fine. Clever boy.”

“I was so worried, sending him off.” She scanned the clearing for signs of his red hair. “How foolish of me to gamble dangerously with a boy’s life like that.”

“Not at all.” He looked at her again, this time with something she could almost fool herself into thinking was admiration. “It was quick and clever. If anyone saved the day here, it was you.”

Holly blinked. From Mason Wright, that was akin to a complimentary gush. “It was the only thing I could think of to do.” A murderous crisis was no time to get flustered, but she felt her blood rush to her cheeks just the same. She hadn’t realized just how much she needed someone to affirm she’d done the right thing. The relief threatened a new wave of tears, and she fought them off with a deep breath.

A child’s cry turned them both toward the bedlam surrounding Miss Sterling. The children were understandably out of control with fear and shock, and Miss Sterling didn’t seem to be in any shape to take things in hand. Who would be in such a situation?

She would, that’s who. Holly was an excellent teacher with a full bag of tricks at her disposal to wrangle unruly children. With one more deep breath, she strode off to save the day a second time.

* * *

Mason wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Usually, when Holly Sanders’s eyes tripped him up, he kept his mouth shut and steered clear. Sure, he’d worried about her in Newfield, but he’d worried more about how her wide eyes and meek smile would force him to get all close and protective of her if he went along on the trip. Mason always fought an urge to protect the tiny schoolteacher, and that urge could not be allowed. Ordinarily, Miss Sanders kept to the sideline of things, so it was easier to fight the urge, to not let himself be drawn in by her admiration. Staying away from Holly Sanders ensured he’d never again risk the kind of failure he’d already known.

Only that strategy had blown up in his face, for today she’d been stronger than he knew. Far stronger, and that truth was mighty hard to swallow. As a matter of fact, the shock of her strength had turned him stupid. If anyone saved the day here it was you? What kind of fool remark was that? He’d lost his control. Only for a moment, but land sakes that was enough, wasn’t it?

The way he’d figured her, Miss Sanders should be as undone as the pretty blonde crying on the rocks over there. And he had seen tears come up behind her eyes—despite doing his best to ignore them. So how was it she was trotting across the clearing with her hands on her hips, all teacher in command? Where’d a woman so quiet and tiny get such a core of steel?

His eyebrow shot up as Miss Sanders began to clap softly as she walked toward the children. She stopped about six yards out, speaking just soft enough to be heard. “Clap once if you can hear me.”

He thought the tactic crazy until one little girl’s eyes widened and looked up. Miss Sanders repeated herself, still clapping. “That’s right, clap once if you can hear me.” Startled out of her crying fit, the little girl clapped. A second girl next to her also looked up, sniffled, and clapped. Mason scratched his head, amazed.

“There you go. Now come over here and clap twice if you can hear me.” By now all three of the little girls were clapping and moving toward Holly. Even a few of the adults looked up from tending to Miss Sterling, their attention drawn by the change in the children.

“Clap three times if you can hear me,” Holly went on, garnering the attention of the two youngest boys. “Now four.” Miss Sanders’s voice steadied with every call, so that now she sounded as if this had been an ordinary school day. “Now five.” The whole clearing was looking at her as the children quietly gathered around her and she kneeled down to their level. Mason realized his mouth was open, and shut it promptly, his own hands on his hips. He’d never seen anything so oddly effective in all his days.

“It’s time to be calm and quiet. We’re safe, and things will be all right from here. Everyone have all their fingers and toes?” The voice was sensible and cheerful, as if it didn’t belong to the same woman who’d just stood over Arlington’s body. The smallest girl—a tot of four or five from the looks of it—actually bent down to inspect her shoes, no doubt wiggling her toes inside.

“Da,” the little girl said, dark braids bobbing. One of the older boys laughed, and a sliver of tension left the small sets of shoulders. Mason shook his head, befuddled.

“We’re going to walk over here,” Miss Sanders instructed, pointing to a spot that would shield the children from both Miss Sterling and the shrouded body of Mr. Arlington. “We’ll sit down by age. Can you do that for me?” She pointed to the second largest boy, placing him in charge of the task. “And you,” she said, pointing to the largest, “will go into the railcar and get everyone’s bags so we can make sure everyone has what they need. My town is just over that hill and you’ll all get to visit tonight. You’ll get some supper, too. But we’ve lots to do to make that happen so I’ll need everyone’s help.”

As Mason stood watching this small woman accomplish this very large feat, the train conductor came up with an equally stunned look on his face.

“Who is that?” he asked Mason as both men stared.

“That,” Mason said, not bothering to hide the respect in his voice, “is Holly Sanders.”

Chapter Three

Holly had walked the four miles from the railroad track to town hundreds of times, but none so tiresome as the trek felt today. As the slanted afternoon sun spread heat across the scrubby spring landscape, home and safety felt far away. She couldn’t tell if she was too shaken to feel the long walk, or too numb to feel anything but her feet inside her tight, pinching boots.

The many small feet making the journey beside her surely lengthened the miles. Some of the children wore their trauma outright, crying and clutching to Miss Sterling and herself. Others, like Liam, were so silent Holly couldn’t help but worry. Bucky and the other townsmen had taken the wounded bandits back to the Evans Grove jail while Mason laid Mr. Arlington’s body over his own horse after seeing the train back on its route. None of that changed the awful truth that no child should have to witness men gunned down.

Certainly not orphans. Why add this to the burden of their lives, Lord? Holly understood the charitable sentiment of the Orphan Salvation Society. Better lives awaited these children out here than the parentless squalor they knew in eastern cities. Still, to be hauled out of the place one knew, plunked onto a train and displayed before prospective families in town after town for placement—how could that be anything but traumatic? Even if many of them found spots in loving homes, her heart ached for the grueling process, the rejection of being “passed over.” Some of them were so heartbreakingly small and the train had made so many stops already.

“I’m glad you’re staying,” Holly offered to Miss Sterling. The woman had said next to nothing as she carried Galina, one of the smaller orphan girls, against her hip while holding the hand of a shy girl named Heidi. Miss Sterling had introduced each of the children on the train, and Holly was struggling against her fatigue to remember all their names. The three other boys—Tom, Patrick and some other German-sounding name she couldn’t recall at the moment—had been boisterous and quiet by turns, unsure how to handle the experience. Who could blame them? Holly herself was anxious one minute, exhausted the next. Heidi, the very quiet girl who had sat next to Miss Sterling on the train, hadn’t said a word since the shooting. Even though she mostly hid in the agent’s skirts, Holly had spied gruesome scars on the girl’s face. How cruel for a girl to have known so much pain so young. “I think the children couldn’t go on, and, Miss Sterling, nor should you.”

“Please call me Rebecca. We’ll have to stay. I’ll need to make...arrangements.” Her voice caught on the word. “I’ve no idea how to proceed under the circumstances. I’ve...” Her voice fell off in a wobbly sigh.

“Call me Holly. Try not to think about that. I’ll help you send some wires when we get into town. We’ll sort it all out in the morning.”

“You were awful brave, ma’am,” Liam offered to Rebecca. “You, too, Miss Sanders.” It was the first time Liam had spoken of his own accord, only piping up to answer questions before this.

His attempt at morale boosting warmed Holly’s heart. “As were you. I’d have been afraid to sneak off to where those robbers hid their horses, but Sheriff Wright says you were a right clever deputy today.”

“Me, a deputy.” The thought brought the first smile to Liam’s face since the incident.

“How long ’til that man gets here?” whined young Lizzie in Holly’s arms, fussing with her shirt collar.

Tom, a thin, sickly-looking lad, coughed and wiped his forehead. “Why didn’t we get to ride the horses? Those robbers should’a been the ones that had to walk!”

“Sheriff Wright will be back with the wagons soon,” Holly replied. “The robbers can’t walk because we hurt them.”

“Bobbins isn’t hurt, but I am,” Lizzie offered, nodding toward the raggedy bunny doll in one hand while holding up her other hand to Holly. “I gots an ow right here.”

Holly dutifully offered a medicinal kiss to the pudgy pink thumb. “Which is exactly why I’m carrying both of you.” She caught Rebecca’s tight, drawn face out of the corner of her eye. All of us hurt today.

Liam stepped up to walk beside Heidi, taking her hand from Rebecca’s. He pointed toward town with his other hand. “One wagon will go back to the train and get our things. And the banker, and the safe, too. The other wagon’s comin’ to fetch us. We won’t have to walk much farther. I been there and back already, remember?”

As if on cue, two wagons pulled into view half a minute later. Ned Minor was driving the wagon from Gavin’s General Store while Mason Wright brought up one with crates lined up as seats along either side.

“If you’re the sheriff, why aren’t you with the robbers?” the boy named Patrick called as Ned’s wagon went on by toward the rail line, and Sheriff Wright pulled up to the weary band of travelers.

“Doc Simpson’s tending to their wounds while Bucky keeps watch. Besides, with wounds in their legs and their arms tied up, they’re not much trouble to anyone at the moment. I’m more worried about your lot than those sorry souls, anyhow.” He climbed down off the driver’s bench and motioned toward the wagon’s payload. “Nothing fancy, but it sure beats walking the rest of the way into town.”

“By a mile,” Tom wheezed, climbing in. He called out to Miss Sterling. “Here, ma’am, this corner seat oughta be for you.”

Holly frowned. “Surely Miss Sterling ought to sit up front.”

“In truth,” sighed Rebecca, “I think back here with all the children would be best.” As Sheriff Wright helped Rebecca into the wagon bed, Holly found she couldn’t argue the request, even knowing the ride was far bumpier in back. Having been through what they all witnessed, wouldn’t she want to surround herself with the hugs of children? As she handed little Lizzie and Bobbins up into the wagon, Holly’s thoughts cast back to so many of her own students. Fright made one crave the familiar.

Cargo in place, the sheriff swung into the driver’s seat and extended a hand to help Holly step up beside him. “My.” Her own sigh was almost as large as Rebecca’s. “What a blessing it is to be able to sit down and ride. I feel as if these boots have grown teeth.”

Sheriff Wright picked up the reins and gave them a snap. As the cart lurched into motion, he glanced down at Holly’s feet. “Fancy footwear there.”

Fancy? By Evans Grove standards, perhaps, but not compared to what she’d seen in Newfield. “I had hoped to make a fine impression on the bank.” She had, until she’d seen how her homespun look measured up to all those frocked ladies and brocade waistcoated bankers. Holly felt the top of her head, unsurprised to find her best hat gone. “I wasn’t planning on braving a gunfight in my Sunday best.” Holly’s “Sunday best” compared poorly to Rebecca’s finely cut traveling clothes. Why, even the children seemed in better clothes than she—though she knew that orphans on such trains were deliberately well-dressed in order to impress prospective families. Holly was neat and tidy, but certainly no sight to catch any eye.

Surely not Mason Wright’s eye, although a surprising smile did cross his serious face. “You did right fine, considering.” The smile quickly evaporated. “Although I’m never one for changing plans at the last minute like that. Too much risk.”

She’d wondered how long it would take his initial concern for her safety to yield to his annoyance that she’d been allowed to go at all. “And just how do you suppose I could refuse Mr. Brooks’s offer to get the funds so quickly? I did wire back word this morning. As I see it, arranging a stop in Evans Grove seemed far safer than going all the way to Greenville and taking the stage back.”

He gave her what Holly had come to call his “book look.” “That’s all fine,” he nearly muttered, “...in theory.” Truly, the only time Mason Wright ever seemed to give her any attention was to exercise his obvious opinion that “book learning” didn’t do one a whole heap of good in the real world. “Only that wire never came and I was saddling up to ride off toward Greenville.” Some days it felt like he viewed her as a dull, dry textbook best ignored. “Five more minutes and I’d have been gone when Liam came into town.” His brows furrowed. “I’d have been miles out of town with no way to help you all if...”

Today of all days she wasn’t going to let him get away with it. “If,” she finished for him, “I hadn’t found a clever way to send Liam off for help.” She stared at him until he lifted his gaze from the reins and returned her stare. “You did say I saved the day, did you not?”

That was a fool thing to say, for a look of regret washed across his features. She should have known he didn’t really mean it. “Perhaps I ought to deputize you.”

It was the first time he’d ever paid enough attention to her to tease her, and she felt that unwelcome girlish fluster return. “Don’t talk such nonsense.” Still, a tiny new spark of confidence refused to be extinguished. She had been brave, even though she felt more fear than she could ever remember. She’d made a difference today, hadn’t she? A real difference. “I prayed as hard as I ever have and, well, I had some very clever help.”

He tipped his hat. “Nice to be appreciated.”

“And what if I was talking about Liam?” She’d teased him right back. She’d never done that, never even had enough of a conversation to have the chance. All these clever words didn’t change the fact that she knew—deep down knew—Sheriff Wright had walked into the line of fire for her life. There were a million serious words to be said about that, but she could find none of them in this moment. Still, she couldn’t leave it at a joke, a levity over something so solemn as a life—lives—saved. Finding that same pool of courage that had shown itself on the train, Holly extended her hand to touch the sheriff’s arm for the briefest of moments. With all the solemnity she could muster, she said, “Thank you.”

They’d never touched before today. Not even to shake hands. Today, when he’d grabbed her at the railroad clearing and hauled her away from Mr. Arlington’s dying body, she’d felt his grasp for the first time. She’d noticed how he steered clear of her at church picnics and town meetings and such. He spoke to her only when necessary or when she sought him out. He’d never paid her much mind.

And she just touched him. Every sensible bone in her body told her to regret it, but she found she couldn’t.

To her delight—or her horror, she truthfully couldn’t say which—Sheriff Wright held her eyes for a long moment before guiding the horse around a turn. “I was doing my job.” He’d closed up the moment so neatly and completely, Holly wasn’t even sure it had happened at all.

But today has happened, her frayed spirit wanted to yell. We can’t go back from it. “Mr. Arlington was just doing his job, and now he’s...gone.” The memory of his blood seeping into the ground produced a shiver. We can’t go back.

“Best not to dwell on that.” He cocked his head toward the back of the wagon. “Not with all those little ones about.” After a short pause, he asked, “I think it was smart not to send them on, but have you got any ideas how we’re going to manage it?”

She did. The plan fell solid into her head as if God had sent it by telegraph. “I asked Ned to get Miss Ward to round up the ladies’ society and see to supper. When I get in, I can ask Reverend Turner to meet with them while they eat. He’ll know how to ease their minds and such. While he does that, Charlotte Miller and I can make up pallets so we can sleep them all in the schoolhouse. I’d let Miss Sterling have my bed in the house next door and offer to sleep with the children, but I don’t think she’d accept.” Holly cast a glance back to see Rebecca’s cheek resting on the head of a little girl. “I imagine it’s hit her hardest of all, poor soul.”

“And you?”

She was startled he asked. Such surprise did little to dismiss the black knot of fear that hadn’t left her stomach since her first glimpse of the bandit’s eyes. Like peering right into evil, it was. “I’ll be fine.”

Sheriff Wright shook his head. “Your hands are still shaking.” Holly tucked her hands into the folds of her skirt. “See to yourself is all I’m saying.” His voice sounded uncomfortable with the words, as though letting them out by force rather than concern. He straightened his hat and shifted in his seat. “You’ve been through just as much as they have. Sleeping with a gaggle of fussy youngsters doesn’t sound too sensible to me.”

Sensible? There were days when Holly felt like hearing that word once more would drown her in dullness. Nothing about today—nothing about how she currently felt, or who was in the back of this wagon, or what body would be lying in the back of Doc Simpson’s office—felt sensible.

And as for sleep, Holly didn’t think sleep would visit her tonight. Not when the clamoring silence of Mr. Arlington’s lifeless body echoed every time she closed her eyes.

* * *

When the wagon pulled up on Second Street and the church steeple came into view, Mason finally let down his guard. He’d barely been able to speak after she’d said “Thank you” with all that frailty in her eyes, and the spot where she touched him fairly burned from the memory. The impulse to grab her up and pull her from harm’s way had been a primal reaction, one his body hadn’t yet released. Holly Sanders always made him jittery ten ways ’til Sunday, and today hadn’t helped.

“Oh, thank You, Jesus!” Her sigh echoed far too close to his shoulder. “I don’t know when I’ve ever been so glad to be home.” Mason was sure he could hear her big blue eyes flutter.

There were good reasons he sat far away from those eyes during church services—on the rare occasions he even darkened the church door. It wasn’t disinterest that kept Mason away from Holly Sanders’s endless classroom projects. He resisted the pull of that woman with every protective bone in his body, knowing her book-and-fairy-tale world had no room for someone with the dark tale his life told. He wasn’t blind to her admiration—he’d caught too many of her stares not to see she fancied him—but that was only because Holly Sanders didn’t know the full story. If he told her, it’d put an end to her admiration, surely. Only, some part of him liked that regard as much as the other part of him resisted it. Seeing her in danger today had jumbled up his insides too much to think clearly. “I’m glad to have everyone safe back in town,” he admitted, meaning far more than the words conveyed on their polite surface.

Evans Grove was a small town, laid out in a tidy little grid around the town square they were just passing. As the wagon rumbled past Victory Street where the church was, he saw Miss Sanders’s nose wrinkle up in thought. “Speaking of safe,” she asked, “what will you do with the safe? Doesn’t it belong to the railroad?”

“I’ve been thinking on that.” He had. That safe contained more gold than Evans Grove had seen in a good long while, and while he knew from Curtis Brooks that there weren’t other railroad passengers’ funds or valuables in there, others did not. “It’s not the kind of thing we can leave unprotected. As for the rail line, I filed a report with the conductor, but with that kind of damage, I doubt they’ll want it back. It’ll spend the night with me in the sheriff’s office and then we’ll get Charlie Miller to open it in the morning.” Mason felt sure the village smithy—husband of the same Charlotte Miss Sanders just spoke of recruiting to help with the children—would be able to work that damaged door off its hinges.

“And then what?”

He allowed himself the luxury of watching her face’s peculiar vitality when working out a problem. All scrunched up and amusing, it was. It must be what made her the type to be a good teacher. Not him. Mason would rather deal with bandits than herd youngsters any day. The whining from the back of the wagon this afternoon had just about done him in, even though it didn’t seem to faze her one bit.

“The ‘then what’ is best kept between just a few, if you don’t mind.” He did not care to venture into a detailed discussion about anything with her, and keeping that gold hidden and secure was his top priority. Far too much depended on it.

“I’m sure you and Mr. Brooks will work something out.” She turned, looking behind her down the street for the other wagon.

“They’ll be another hour, I expect.”

“Are you sure they’re safe?”

He’d already gone over the tactic twice with Curtis Brooks. “I wouldn’t be here if they weren’t. You just worry about—”

“Look at that!” came a small voice from behind them on the wagon as they drove past Gavin’s General Store, which happened to have an unfortunate display of hard candies out in the window. “I’m hungry!”

“Me, too,” came another, followed by two more. Mason’s own stomach grumbled in sympathy.

“Goodness.” Miss Sanders’s hand went to her stomach. “I don’t think I’ve eaten since breakfast. I do hope Beatrice got to the ladies’ society.”

“You know Beatrice,” Mason chuckled. “She gets to everybody.”

As the town square came into view, Mason pointed to the collection of tables now set in the grove of Hackberry trees that gave the town its name. A gaggle of women chattered and scurried around Beatrice Ward, dashing here and there under the spinster’s barked commands. Flowers, tablecloths and other frills made the last-minute meal seem as if it had been planned for weeks.

“What a welcome for those tired folk!” Miss Sanders placed her hands on her chest. “God bless Beatrice Ward and the ladies’ society.”

Now there’s a thought I’d never have, Mason pondered as he pulled the wagon onto Liberty Street and headed for the town hall.

It was a matter of minutes before the wagon was surrounded by the good people of Evans Grove, and Miss Ward was giving a long, too-formal welcome speech. Impromptu as it was, the cobbled-together spread and Miss Ward’s grandiose gestures could make a person think they had stumbled into the annual town picnic. Had Miss Sterling taken note of the many buildings that were still in bad shape? Would Mr. Brooks realize how many lives had been washed away a month ago? Hope was wearing mighty thin in Evans Grove, but at least it was still alive.

“Come, Rebecca, sit down and have a glass of water. I’ll tend to the children.” Mason watched Holly Sanders guide Miss Sterling to a seat. How did the teacher manage such a cheerful and upbeat tone like that? He felt as if he’d lived a month in the last five hours. She must feel as bad, if not worse. He got his answer when he saw her put her hand to her forehead and straighten up far too slowly from helping that tiniest of girls. He wasn’t the only one hiding wounds today in Evans Grove.

Mason told himself to look away, but when her gaze met his, he found he could not. A shadow crossed her pale blue eyes; he could see it even from this distance across the shady clearing. His mind pulled up the unwelcome memory of the desperate grip she’d given him over Mr. Arlington’s dead body. He recalled the hesitant touch she’d given him in the wagon. The day had done something to her, to be sure. Taken something from her, although he couldn’t say what just yet.

Then again he wasn’t sure just what the day had stripped from him, either. He only knew something under his ribs was out of place, and it wasn’t the sort of thing Doc Simpson could put right.

He needed to get out of here, away from the jumble her eyes made of his thoughts. He forced her touch out of his mind, tamping it down the way he tamped down all those sorts of things anymore. He had a foursome of criminals, a broken safe full of gold and a body to tend to. He had no time for picnics. Ignoring the look Beatrice Ward gave him when he snatched a pair of rolls from the buffet table, Mason turned back toward the wagon and the duties still awaiting him.

Life wasn’t going to allow him such an easy out, for Holly Sanders caught up with him just as he was about to swing up into the seat. “You should eat.” Her tone of voice was...what? Complicated was the only word that came to mind—half request, half scolding, and weighted with the combined gains and losses of the day.

He held up the pair of rolls as his answer, unsure of what words to use given the set of her eyes.

“More than that.” Her hands parked on her hips while her voice wove a combination of lecture and teasing. Did she realize what that half-playful tone did to him, or was that just a cruel trick of circumstance?

“Too much yet to do.” He shrugged. “I’ve got...things...to attend to that can’t wait for supper.” He saw her shoulders sag and knew he hadn’t hidden the weight of his tasks behind an innocent word like “things.” She’d tried to re-pin her hair during the ride, but wayward strands of her chestnut-colored locks still eluded that tight bun she always wore. The lace on one of her sleeves had torn, and he realized the brown smear on the hem of her pretty skirt was blood.

It bothered him that her gaze followed his, that she knew what his eyes registered. She worried her hands together, delicate fingers rubbing each other as if it would erase the taint of the day. “Where is...he?” He knew she was speaking of Arlington’s body, but her eyes looked up from her skirt to fix on Liam. The boy sat quietly on a bench running his fingers around the rim of a glass of lemonade. All the children were a heartbreaking mix of fidgety, tired and afraid.

“He’s at Doc Simpson’s, I suppose. He’s got no kin here to lay him out.”

Her sigh pressed against the hollow spot opening in his chest. “He has a wife...had a wife. And a daughter, according to Miss Sterling. We should wire—”

“No point until the morning, really. It’s kinder that way, anyhow.” Mason tried not to think of the story she should never know, the story of his own worst night. He’d barely survived the endless, excruciating hours after coming home to the body of his wife. To the loss of the child who in two months’ time would have come into the world as his firstborn. No, he thought, bad news is best saved for daylight.

She straightened her shoulders—almost by sheer will this time, not hiding her wince. It was the worst kind of torture that she’d shown a new side of herself to him today. He hadn’t counted on Holly Sanders’s gumption, thinking she had smarts enough but no strength. Her bravery at the rail line had shown that a lie. A man with his history could recognize a glossed-over wound a mile off. “Miss Sanders, you all right?” The words tumbled out of him, odd and over-fussy.

“Why yes, of course I am,” she replied too quickly, her voice pitched too high for calm.

“Surely that can’t have been the first time you’ve seen a man dead?” It was a fool thing to ask. Evans Grove had lost so many in the flood, nearly everyone had kin or friends now gone, and this was the last kind of conversation he should be having with Holly Sanders.

“No.” She looked him in the eye, her expression fierce and kind and hurt all at once with a dozen other things besides. “But it is the first time a man’s been killed right in front of me.” Her hands fisted against that pretty skirt. “And I hate the way it feels. When I think of what it must feel like for Rebecca or any of those sweet children, I...” She bit off the end of her thought, jaw working to hold her composure steady. “I’d better go tend to the beds. We’d best get those exhausted children washed and trundled off right after supper.”

How well Mason knew that impulse, that “stay busy or it’ll swamp up over me” drive. It had been his constant companion in the months after Phoebe’s death. Phoebe’s murder.

“You should eat.” Without thinking, he offered one of his rolls with her own earlier command. It was a pointless gesture—the woman was perfectly capable of fixing herself a plate—but he found himself unwilling to go so far as to voice the “take care of yourself, too” he was thinking.

The message got through, anyway, for she managed to open her hand and take the roll. With a half a smile, she took a reluctantly obedient bite, straightened her shoulders one last time, and turned toward the schoolhouse.

Mason was still pondering the image of that half smile when he fell asleep at his desk in the sheriff’s office three hours later.

Chapter Four

It took longer than Holly guessed for her and Charlotte Miller to get things in order. The simple task of gathering up bedding and getting the nine pallets laid out on the schoolroom floor felt endless. Still, she reminded herself all of Evans Grove was pitching in to help. Pauline Evans and Beatrice Ward had consented to partner up to get Mr. Brooks settled at the Creekside Hotel, although Holly wasn’t sure Mr. Brooks would survive that team. His importance surely ensured a warm welcome and attentive hosting, but none of that would change the wounds of the day. Even friendly, attentive strangers were still strangers.

“Goodness, I think that’s the last of them,” said Charlotte as she folded the facecloth of the last washed child. “Why don’t you take Miss Sterling across the yard to your house to wash up,” Charlotte suggested, making Holly think she and Rebecca now looked as bedraggled as she felt. “I’ll mind the little ones until you get back.” A few years older than Holly but with just as much energy, Charlotte rubbed her neck but smiled at the row of clean faces peeking out from under blankets and afghans. “The ones who aren’t asleep already won’t stay awake for long.”

When Rebecca hesitated, Holly took her by the arm. “I’m sure Charlotte will send for us if any of the children need you. You need rest, and tomorrow’s tasks will come soon enough.” She was sorry to have mentioned tomorrow’s sad tasks, for she saw Rebecca’s eyes well up. The poor woman had been holding back tears all day. Holly felt like crying herself, still feeling the pull of nerves wound tight.

Rebecca looked back at the schoolhouse twice during the walk across the yard, but allowed Holly to bring her into the tidy frame teacherage that sat across the school yard from the classroom. Home had never felt more wonderful. Holly loved her home, took comfort in the familiarity of her things. She’d always felt the house’s contents gave her a measure of strength and stability after venturing out into the prairie to help meet the need for frontier teachers. The teapot and the pretty china cups that had been her grandmother’s, the rows of precious books, all these things seemed to offer a welcome embrace as she pulled the door shut. The house was warm and cozy, for she had remembered to duck in and start the stove—not to mention start some water warming—just after supper on the square. “I think some tea and a wash up will do wonders, don’t you?”

Rebecca gave a silent nod. She clutched a handkerchief in a white-knuckled fist, rosy lips set thin and tight. Hanging on by the thinnest of threads, she was. Holly couldn’t blame her one bit—out here in the middle of nowhere, alone to face such a daunting task. Holly’s big trip to Newfield had felt so large and important yesterday; now it felt small and inconsequential. She laid her hand over the woman’s delicate fist. “It will be all right.”

“How?” It was more a hopeless groan than a question. Rebecca’s eyes overflowed, and tears slid silently down each of her flawless cheeks. Holly felt the lump in her own throat grow larger and thought about how the horrible gray morning after the flood had seemed to snatch away every good thing in Evans Grove. She’d stood that morning and watched the sun fail to rise over Fourth Street, fail to part the gray that cloaked the battered homes. Houses of folks she knew and loved looked like piles of strewn kindling. Soaked and bone tired, Holly had asked the same question of Reverend Turner.

Holly now gave Rebecca the same answer the Reverend had given her. “That’s not ours to know tonight. Let’s hand it over to the Almighty for a while so we can sleep.”

Rebecca shook her head. “Lord only knows what will happen to those children.” She dabbed her eyes. “I’ve lain awake praying that God would find them homes even before Newfield. Nothing’s come of it. These children have been passed over stop after stop. I’ve been delighted to see so many of the children we set out with find spots in good homes, but I never expected these last ones to pull on my heart so much. The whole point of the Orphan Salvation Society is to take these boys and girls out of the grime of the city and give them a hopeful future. I know a foster family isn’t the same as an adoption, but it’s close. Only we haven’t come close for these children at all. Greenville is our last stop. If they’re not placed, I’ll have to take them back to New York unplaced...” She clenched her jaw to stop a sob. The desperation in her voice told Holly that whatever waited in New York wasn’t good.

“Shush now. All of that can wait for daylight.” Holly pulled up one of her mama’s favorite sayings from memory. “God hasn’t closed his eyes, but you ought to.” She checked the kettle. “Evans Grove is full of good people who’ll help you get over this rough patch, you wait and see.” Her mind cast back to the ragtag handful of children. They were neither strong nor pretty; surely not the kind to be caught up by families at first sight. Still, the teacher in her could already see bits of character and personality that made them special—even if they didn’t know it themselves. All God’s children were worthwhile, were deserving of love and security. “God’s watched over them today, hasn’t He?”

Rebecca voiced the thought that came immediately to Holly’s mind. “And how has God watched over Stuart Arlington today? I can’t see the point in something so senseless. Those men had no reason to shoot Mr. Arlington. None at all.” She began to cry harder. “So much has been lost.”

Holly put an arm around the poor woman. “Now don’t go thinking such things. We just can’t know the Lord’s hand in something like this. He’s mightier than those horrid men, even if it’s hard to see at the moment.” She was talking to herself as much as Miss Sterling. “Sheriff Wright will see that justice is done. He saw to our safety, even risked his own life to do so. Why, he even got back your bag and jewelry, didn’t he?” It seemed a poor consolation, but Holly was grasping for any silver lining.

“Baubles,” Rebecca said bitterly. “Trinkets.”

The kettle whistled, and Holly turned to tend to tea, taking comfort from the warm scent of the brew as it filled the home. “A good meal and a cup of tea. Some of the best medicine for a heavy heart I know, short of prayer.”

Rebecca laid her chin in her hand. “I fear I’m plum prayed out.”

Holly set a cup in front of each of them and sat down. “Of course you are. I’m down to just groaning toward heaven now. Still, God hears every groan. I like to think He hears the groans especially. Sugar?”

“Thank you, yes.” The woman’s elegant fingers traced the china handle. “They are lovely teacups.”

There, for just a moment, was the refined lady Holly had admired on the train. “They belonged to my Grannie Hollyn. I’m named after her. She loved pretty things like this.”

Rebecca’s blue eyes looked straight into Holly’s. “You are so kind.”

Holly’s conscience pinched at the way she’d envied Rebecca on the train. I’m not proud of that. Forgive my unkind spirit, Lord. I was so very wrong. “They’re dear children, the lot of them. They deserve a happy ending, and we’ll just have to find one in all this. Now finish your tea and let’s get you cleaned up. I expect you’ll fall asleep as fast as the rest of them.”

Rebecca smiled and drank her tea, but Holly knew it was more likely that neither of them would sleep soundly. Tired as she was, too many things piled into her memory every time she closed her eyes. It would be hard for sleep to befriend her tonight.

* * *

An hour later, Grandpa’s clock on Holly’s mantel chimed ten as Holly slipped under the familiar coverlet and felt her body sink into the mattress. Every inch felt tied in knots; every joint seemed to groan. Dickens, her shy calico who’d stayed hidden under the bed during Rebecca’s visit as he always did on the rare occasion Holly had company, jumped up to curl against her side. “What a day, hmm, Dickens? Mama was right; one should never pray for excitement.”

Dickens offered only a low purr in reply. Holly stroked the black and brown patches that covered his back, seeking solace in his large yellow eyes. “I’m safe,” she said to the both of them, aloud so she’d believe it. “I’m safe, thank heaven.”

You’re safe. Those had been the words Mason Wright had said to her as he led her away from the spot where Stuart Arlington’s body lay bleeding into the Nebraska soil. She didn’t feel it yet—she mostly felt alone and lifeless. Help me, Lord, she prayed as she stroked the cat and waited for sleep to wipe the day from her bones. I want to trust You, but it’s hard to see how You’d want any of this. Rebecca and Mr. Arlington were trying to do right by those children. Those men were only out for greed. I know you still brought our funds to Evans Grove, and You brought them more quickly than we’d dared to hope, but this? Why such pain when we’ve already known so much loss?

Her eyes grew heavy enough so that even the specter of Mr. Arlington’s lifeless eyes could not fight off their closing. “Now I lay me down to sleep,” she recited the childhood prayer, somehow needing the peace of her youth, “I pray the Lord my soul to keep.”

She left off the final couplet. The Lord had taken enough souls today.

* * *

“You’re serious.” Reverend Turner looked shocked—but not unpleasantly so—when Holly knocked on his door far too early the next morning. She was unable to wait one minute longer to tell him of her idea.

Holly pulled her shawl closer against the morning drizzle. “I shot up out of bed wide awake sometime near four. The whole thing came to me just that quick. Just that strong.”

Poor Reverend. Holly had been dressed before dawn, had bolted out of the schoolhouse the minute Charlotte and Amelia Hicks had come to tend to the children’s breakfast. She’d barely been able to keep her idea from Rebecca, knowing Reverend Turner was the first person she must tell. Still, the children’s waking faces sealed her determination, as if the idea was doubling in size and strength every moment she delayed. She’d practically run through the fine morning rain to the Reverend’s house to knock down his door with her plan.

Holly grabbed his arm. “Reverend Turner, I don’t see how that could be anything other than the work of the Spirit, don’t you?”

He stifled a yawn. “It very well could be.”

Holly reined in her exasperation. “Of course it can, Reverend. It must. These children could so easily stay here, find homes here among our families.”

“It’s possible.”

Reverend Turner’s wife, Mary, called from behind him. “For goodness’ sake, James, don’t make Holly stand in the doorway like some kind of stranger.” Mary affectionately nudged her husband out of the way to pull Holly into the warm room. “How are you, dear? Such a horrid episode. Curdles the blood to think what you all went through and those poor, poor children.”

“Holly has had an idea about those young ones.” Reverend Turner shut the door and adjusted the suspenders he’d thrown on in a hurry. “She thinks they ought to stay.”

“So I couldn’t help but hear.” Mary’s eyes narrowed as she turned the thought over in her mind. After what seemed like a decade, the minister’s wife looked up at her husband. “Why not?”

“Well,” Reverend Turner said, tucking his hands in the suspenders he’d just adjusted, “there might be very complicated reasons why not. I’ve no idea how these things with such agencies work.”

Holly knew better. The minute the idea pulled her head up from the pillow, she knew it was the right thing. Knew like she’d never known anything else. A truth even harder than fact, if such a thing were possible. “It won’t be complicated,” she asserted without any such facts to back it up whatsoever. “It’s the simplest thing, I’m sure of it. Miss Sterling said she’s been praying these children find a home, and Greenville was their last chance. They won’t need a last chance in Greenville if we give them homes here. Can’t you see? We’re the answer to those prayers.” Holly had to stop herself from grabbing the Reverend’s arm again and shaking it.

Mary came up beside her husband. “James, didn’t you tell me just last night Evans Grove needed something to spark hope back into it?” The love of Mary’s twelve grandchildren—most of whom lived in Denver and Iowa now and only came in for holidays—played across the woman’s face. “What’s more hopeful than children?”

“I’ve said prayers over far too many graves this past month,” the Reverend admitted as he turned from them to pace his front room floor with pastoral seriousness. Mrs. Turner laid an encouraging hand on Holly’s arm and smiled her agreement. Still, the Reverend pondered Holly’s proposition for what seemed like a century. Finally, he turned back to the women. “Well...” he said, eyes narrowed and face so unreadable it made Holly want to burst.

“Well what?” Holly nearly yelled. She’d left her patience and good manners back in the teacherage. The moment she knocked on the Reverend’s door, some bit of her heart resolved she would not leave without his consent. This was to be and it was hers to make it so.

“Well, I think I ought to thank God for answering my prayer through you. I don’t know if it can be arranged, but if God wills it, I think these children should find homes in Evans Grove.”

“He does!” Holly proclaimed, grabbing the Reverend’s arm.

“So quick to presume the Lord’s perfect intent, are you?” His words were scolding, but his eyes twinkled in amusement.

“I believe He does,” Holly corrected. “Truly. I tell you I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” All the strain and sorrow of yesterday had evaporated in the brilliant light of this idea. It seemed no surprise at all that the sun was peeking out through the gray clouds as she pulled open the Reverend’s door. “I’ll go tell Rebecca—Miss Sterling—right away. Surely she knows what needs to happen in order for the children to stay here.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Reverend Turner said. “I’ll go talk to Mayor Evans and Miss Ward. They’ll need to be in on this if it’s to be successful. Why don’t you talk further with Miss Sterling and we’ll meet back at eleven? We’ll see how it goes from there.”

Holly stepped out into the brightening morning and dashed down the block to the schoolhouse. She didn’t bother to step around puddles or even care about whether her wrap stayed straight.

She didn’t bother to look around at all. This was why she went to Newfield. This was why yesterday’s horrors could be laid at God’s feet. This was why Stuart Arlington could rest in peace. Holly didn’t have to see “how it would go from here.” She already knew.

* * *

Mason was just stepping off the green onto Second Street when Holly Sanders slammed into him. “Whoa, there!” Short as she was, it surprised him she could muster enough force to knock him off balance. Had he not looked up the moment he did, they both would have found themselves smack in a mud puddle. As it was, he had to grab her and hang on for dear life to keep the pair of them upright.

“Oh, my!” She was nearly giddy, and he found he couldn’t quite summon the impulse to release her tiny waist. “I’d have surely fallen. Oh, my.” Her fluster amused him too much to be sour at the jolt. “Good morning!” She looked up at him with doe eyes.

“Morning,” he managed, still a bit stunned. He’d had a terrible night, filled with dark dreams when he wasn’t kept awake by the incessant complaining of his wounded prisoners. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world to make his eyes as wide and glowing as hers currently were. Here the sun was just barely creeping into the sky, and Holly Sanders looked as if someone had just handed her a birthday cake. “What’s gotten into you?” He didn’t mean it to sound gruff, but he wasn’t in the habit of recovering from such early morning assaults—not the ones that wore bonnets and smelled like vanilla, anyway. He instructed his hands to let go of her.

She got a determined look on her face, one of those “anyway” looks he saw on her during tiring town meetings. A pouting set of her chin that said “I will do this or that anyway, no matter how you object or complain.” He waited for her hands to plant on her hips in exasperation—what she usually did in meetings—but they flew to her chest.

“The most wonderful, perfect idea. That’s what’s gotten into me.”

Now he was even more curious. “And what is that?”

“I believe God wants the orphans to stay here.”

She said it like fact. An indisputable truth like Tuesday follows Monday or two plus two equals four.

“God wants the orphans to stay here.” Mason repeated slowly, thinking it sounded more like two plus two equals seventeen.

“Yes, I truly believe that.” She straightened her shawl. “They need us, and we need them.”

Mason scratched his chin. Now he really needed more coffee. “Not too many folks around here would argue for more mouths to feed. Some folks don’t even have a roof over their head to host their own kin, much less take in an orphan.”

“And some folks have lost far too much and have buried too many of their own kin. Before yesterday, all I could see when I looked at my class was the empty seats. They weren’t even my own blood, but their loss...” Her voice caught on the word. He’d never realized how much care she had for her students. “Well, it was all I could see. All the loss, everywhere.” She gestured to the town square behind him. “Didn’t you see what happened last night? How people behaved? The way they acted like...like the world was starting to turn the right way again?” She started walking toward the schoolhouse with swift, purposeful steps. For a tiny thing, that woman could move fast. “They’re supposed to be here. They’re God’s gift to us.”

Chapter Five

“I hardly think these urchins are a gift from God.” Beatrice Ward’s scowl had started with Miss Sanders’s first word and hadn’t let up for the entire meeting. “They’re a burden.” The old woman mopped her brow with a handkerchief as if the eight children made her physically ill. “Evans Grove has borne enough burdens already; why on earth would we add more?”

“God calls us to bear each other’s burdens, Miss Ward,” said Reverend Turner. Mason had wondered how long it would take before the pastor regretted including Beatrice. Still, Mason recognized what the Reverend already surrendered to; The only thing worse than Beatrice Ward in a meeting was her vengeance for being left out of one.

“I must say I agree with Holly.” Pauline Evans steepled her hands as they sat around the reverend’s dining table. “I can’t ignore how this town looked and acted last night. We pulled together.”

“We’ve been pulling together for weeks. Some of us don’t even have a roof over our head.” Beatrice mopped her brow again. That bitter old biddy never, ever missed a chance to point out that her home had been damaged beyond occupancy. It wouldn’t surprise Mason if Beatrice didn’t think her loss was as bad or worse than Pauline’s, who had lost the love of her life to the flood’s raging waters.

He’d had enough of her raining all over Miss Sanders’s optimism and couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “Mayor Evans is right. Things felt like the old Evans Grove last night. Considering the day we’d just had, that ought to count for something.”

“What I’m counting,” Beatrice said as she tucked her handkerchief back into her pocket and narrowed her eyes at Mason, “is how many criminals we have housed in our jail at the moment.”

Oh, no you don’t. Mason went right on as if he hadn’t heard her, addressing his point to the Reverend and mayor, instead. “If Miss Sterling is agreeable to it—”

“And she is,” cut in Holly. “She most definitely is. She said all we need is a selection committee to place the orphans with families, and I’m sure I can get folks to serve on that.”

A committee. He knew enough to steer clear of committees. He’d see Miss Sanders’s idea safely launched and keep out of the way. She needed something to do, to heal, and this seemed like a good fit that thankfully wouldn’t include him. “Then I can’t see what harm would come of asking the good people of Evans Grove if they’ve a mind to take these youngsters in. Miss Sterling and I are wiring New York about the late Mr. Arlington as soon as I’m done here.”

“Oh, that’s just so sad,” Pauline Evans said quietly. “I’ll say a prayer for his poor wife.”

“In that same wire, Miss Sterling can inform her organization that they won’t be going on to Greenville for the moment, and hopefully won’t go to Greenville at all. It might take a day or two to get a response, so we’ve got time to see what people think.”

“I know what they’ll think,” Holly declared.

“I know what I think,” Beatrice snapped.

Mason refused to swallow his sour grin. “Never been any question of that.”

“I believe we are in agreement.” Pauline stood, hoping to cut off Beatrice’s reply. “I don’t see why we can’t hold the Selection Committee meeting at two-thirty and announce a town placement meeting tomorrow at noon.” Mason made a mental list of places he needed to be this afternoon in case anyone had the fool notion of asking him to be on any committee.

“I don’t see the point in rushing this,” Beatrice grumbled as she stood.

The mayor met Miss Ward’s scowl. “I see every reason for urgency. It’s a kindness. These poor children have been through enough. The sooner they’re surrounded by caring families, the better.” Pauline ignored Beatrice’s derisive sniff and turned directly to Mason. “I trust all here will serve on the committee?”

He immediately put up his hand. “I don’t think I’m your man.”

“I couldn’t disagree more,” Mayor Evans said.

“Nor I,” added Miss Sanders with an enthusiasm that burrowed under his skin.

Even Miss Ward joined the campaign. “I have to insist you serve, Sheriff. We have no idea what kind of element we may be bringing into this town with these children.”

Did she think he could spot a future bank robber in a ten-year-old boy? Glory, he hated how she was itching to see the worst in everyone. “I highly doubt there’s any danger.”

Miss Sanders gave him a look that told him she’d need an ally to hold off Beatrice, and she was dearly hoping it was him. Hang her, she somehow yanked the words out of him before he could stop the mistake. “All right.”

“Thank you.” Her smile made him regret it already.

“I do appreciate it, Sheriff,” Mayor Evans said with an equal smile before turning toward Miss Sanders. “Before you go, Holly, could you stop by town hall with me a moment?”

As Miss Sanders and Mayor Evans headed toward the door, Mason turned toward the Reverend. “Have you got a minute to talk with me about Arlington before I take Miss Sterling over to the wire office?” In truth, he had no reason to discuss the agent with Turner at all, but he surely didn’t want to have one more word of discussion with Beatrice Ward. Ill-acquainted with God as Mason was, even the Reverend was better company than a Beatrice who hadn’t gotten her way.

Or had she?

* * *

As she walked out with Pauline into the bright noonday sun, Holly saw the town in a new light. Yes, buildings were still stained and damaged from the flood. Everything still had the gray-brown tinge of mud crusted in its corners, but it felt as if April had finally poked its head through the trials of March. Evans Grove had turned a corner; she could feel it. The funds were here to help pay for repairs and now eight children would call Evans Grove their new home. Funds. Here it was noon and she hadn’t even thought to ask a vital question: “Pauline, were Sheriff Wright and Mr. Brooks able to get the safe open this morning?”

“It took a bit of doing, but Charlie Miller came over with some tools and they were able to pry the safe door off its hinges. According to Mr. Brooks, everything is bumped up a bit, but intact. We transferred all the gold coins to the town hall safe so all is in its proper place.” Pauline adjusted her wrap. “Which brings me to my point. How does Mr. Brooks strike you?”

At first Holly was going to retort that she hardly knew the man, but they had been through a great deal together, so it was a sensible question for Pauline to ask. She thought for a moment before replying, “He seems genuinely interested in helping the town. Of course, he’s very refined, but not in a bad way. How he kept so calm with those bandits threatening him is beyond me.” She paused when she noticed Pauline’s troubled expression. “And of course, he sent the money more quickly than any of us hoped. Why do you ask?”

Pauline crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s exactly that. He sent the funds so quickly and came here personally.” She gestured around the square. “I have trouble seeing why we merit such interest from a big Newfield bank. Naturally, I’m glad...but a tad suspicious. I was hoping you’d have a solid impression of him one way or another.”

“Mr. Brooks hasn’t done anything that would make me doubt him or his motives.” She thought of his fine brocade vest that had torn during the robbery, and the monogrammed handkerchief he’d handed little Lizzie without hesitation when she’d gotten a bloody nose. “I’d argue Evans Grove is a bit...rustic for his tastes, but if you’re asking my opinion, I find him trustworthy.”

Pauline stopped and turned to face Holly directly. “Do you think he trusts us? I can’t help but think he insisted on coming with you because he’s concerned the money won’t be handled well.”

This was why Pauline made such a good mayor. Holly would have never considered such a thing. “I don’t know,” she confessed.

Pauline sighed looking up and down the numbered streets than ran north-south through town. Evans Grove had a total of eight streets, but Pauline was proud of them all. “I don’t, either.”

“He seemed to be thinking of a long stay, if his bags were any indication. It looked like he brought at least a week’s worth of clothes.”

They reached the front steps of town hall. “That sounds to me like a man ready to scrutinize.”

She sounded as if she were personally under scrutiny. Holly put her hand on Pauline’s arm. “You’ve done such a fine job under such dreadful circumstances. Even if he is here to watch over things, all he’s going to watch over is how well you handle that money. Let him look all he wants. He’ll only find out what a wonderful place this is.”

Pauline’s eyes widened. “That’s a perfectly brilliant idea, Holly.”

“What is?”

“Let him look all he wants. Let’s ask Mr. Brooks if he will serve on the Selection Committee. We can tell him he’s a needed objective viewpoint. He’ll meet everyone and see how well we handle challenges.”

Holly gave Pauline’s arm an encouraging grasp. “You do make a fine, fine mayor. I think it’s an ideal plan, but I won’t take one bit of credit for it. I think you, Mayor Evans, should extend a formal invitation to our new friend Mr. Brooks as soon as possible.”

Pauline turned and went back down the town hall steps. “No time like the present. I think I’ll head over to the hotel right now. Are you headed back to the schoolhouse, then?”

Holly peered down across the square to where she could see Rebecca coming out of the wire office with Sheriff Wright. She looked upset. Who wouldn’t be after having to wire such tragic news? “Charlotte and Amelia are tending to the children this morning. I think I’d best see to Miss Sterling. I’ll need to find out how the placement meetings are run, and she looks as if it’s been hard to send that wire.”

Pauline’s expression tightened. “Of course it’s hard. She’ll need a friend.” She turned to Holly. “Good thing she found one on the train.”

Holly smiled. “She did, didn’t she? Maybe some good can come out of this yet.”

“If you ask me, it already has.”

* * *

Rebecca dabbed her eyes as she and Holly walked toward the schoolhouse. “I knew that wire would be difficult to send, but I’d hoped to handle it better.”

“You’ve been through a tremendous shock. And you’re far from home. No one faults you for grieving Mr. Arlington’s loss. It’s the worst kind of news to have to wire home.” Holly took hold of both of Rebecca’s hands. “And now you’ll have the best kind of news.”

The OSS agent shook her head. “I still can’t believe they agreed.”

“How could they not? The Selection Committee will be formed this afternoon. Of course, you’ll need to be there to help us set up all the specifics.” She gave Rebecca’s hands a stronger squeeze. “Tomorrow at noon, your children will find their new homes right here in Evans Grove.”

“I don’t know what to say. I feel as if my insides have been untangled and re-tangled a dozen times over. To think two days ago I was packing them up to leave Newfield thinking we were nearly done. Or done for. Really, I was so worried that this lot would never be placed.” She put a gloved hand to her forehead. “We’ve so much to do. I don’t even know if they all have clean clothes.”

Holly swept a hand around the muddy grime that still permeated far too much of Evans Grove’s buildings and streets. “We’re quite used to looking at patches of mud in these parts. A washed face, some combed hair and an eager smile should do just fine. Should you go tell them now?”

“I want you to come, too. It was your idea after all.”

“Oh,” said Holly, fingering her cross necklace. Mama had given it to her for her sixteenth birthday, and she’d not taken it off since, loving it even more when Mama passed three years ago. “I don’t think it was my idea. Given to me, maybe, but not mine.”

“A good idea is only as good as the person who sees it through.”

“Well, then,” Holly said as she pushed open the schoolroom door, “what do you say we see this through together?”

“I couldn’t be more—” Rebecca’s consent was cut short by a high shriek and a flying stuffed rabbit that landed square onto her shoulder.

“Give that back!” came a girl’s voice.

“Make me!” came a deeper reply.

The sound of a squabble—and something large falling over—filled Holly’s ears as tiny Lizzie plowed straight into Rebecca and bawled into her skirts.

“Charlotte?” called Holly at the same moment Rebecca shouted, “Children!” She scooped up Lizzie and handed her the toy rabbit. The child buried her face into the poppet and continued crying frantic sobs.

Heidi, the young girl with the burn scars, walked up with eyes narrowed in disgust. “Patrick’s mean.”

Stepping into the schoolroom, Holly found poor Charlotte outnumbered and overwhelmed. Two of the desks were turned over, half the books were out of their shelves, and what meager belongings the children had were strewn everywhere. “What’s happened in here?”

“Amelia took sick and had to go lie down. They were doing fine until—”

“Patrick t-t-took Bobbins!” Lizzie howled.

“Did not!” countered Patrick as Rebecca put Lizzie down and stalked toward the dark-haired boy. “I found him, that’s what I did.”

“And then you kept him away from Lizzie,” Liam chimed in. “Just to be mean.”

“I thought he was g-g-gone.” Hugging Bobbins fiercely against her chest, Lizzie wiped a runny nose on her sleeve. “All gone and gone and gone.”

“Well, now, I can plainly see he’s not gone at all,” Holly offered in a cheerier tone, pulling Lizzie toward the bookcases. “Do you think he can help you and me and Heidi put these books back on the shelves?”

“You will all help set this room to rights,” Rebecca commanded, “most especially Patrick who will also sweep the room...”

A collection of groans and even a “nyah-nyah” filled the schoolhouse.

“And you will do so in fifteen minutes or less because I have a very important announcement, which I will not share until all is done.” To punctuate her point, Miss Sterling pulled out a filigree pendant watch and peered dramatically at its face.

“I’ll go get Mr. Patrick his broom,” Charlotte said, giving the boy a sour glare. “And Tom should be right behind him with the dustbin, since the two of them partnered up against poor Lizzie.”

Tom, as if it might improve his case, began a spontaneous coughing fit and sat down in one of the desk chairs.

“Thomas White,” Rebecca scolded, “I’d thought better of you. You’ll indeed be right behind Patrick with that dustbin and I expect Miss Sanders to find her floor the cleanest it’s been in years. Friedrich, line those desks back up where they belong. Liam, take Galina and Sasha out to the pump and wash whatever that is off their hands and come straight back.”

“I’ll take care of those hands,” Charlotte offered. “Liam can get the broom and dustbin from the closet in back and help the boys sweep.”

Liam bolted upright at the injustice. “What’d I do?”

“Did you do anything to stop this when it happened?” Holly asked.

Liam rolled his eyes. “Who can stop those two when they get somethin’ into their thick heads?”

“Qui tacet consentire videtur,” Holly quoted, pointing to the small narrow cupboard at the back of the schoolroom.

“Huh?” Liam’s mouth hung open.

“It’s Latin for ‘he who is silent seems to consent.’ A quote from Sir Thomas Moore.” Holly gathered up a stack of slates and handed them to Heidi. “These go up in that red box over there.”

“I didn’t con or sent to nothin’ those two did.” Liam yanked the cupboard door open and nearly speared Patrick with the broom. “I been trying to keep the peace all morning,” he muttered as he handed the dustbin to Tom. “But with nothin’ to do, it’s been mighty hard.”

* * *

Fourteen minutes of grumbling labor later, Holly and Rebecca sat the children at the lines of desks in the now tidied room.

“Thank you for showing Miss Sanders how you can respect her hospitality,” Rebecca began, her hands folded neatly in front of her as she stood before the children. “Yesterday was very difficult for all of us, and I know we’re all very sad about Mr. Arlington. We must all be brave and try to make the best of things.”

“I’m bored,” said Patrick as if boredom were akin to bravery.

“I’m thirsty,” said Tom, managing another cough for emphasis.

“It’s cold in here,” Galina whispered quietly to Holly.

Rebecca held up a silencing hand. “Enough! You’ll have other things to think about if you all will just listen to what I’m trying to tell you. Actually, to what Miss Sanders has to tell you.” She gestured toward Holly.

“The truth of the matter is that everyone in Evans Grove is glad we were able to help you yesterday. As you can probably guess, we’ve had some rough patches of our own since a big storm, and it feels good to do something nice for someone else, doesn’t it?”

Lizzie nodded in agreement, but for the most part the other children didn’t respond.

Holly rubbed her hands together, suddenly failing for the words to convey the right welcome. “Everyone is sad about yesterday, but we do have to make the best of things, and we...we think the best thing may just be for all of you to stay here.”

Tom slumped in his chair. “Who wants to live in a schoolhouse?”

Holly pursed her lips. Why was it suddenly so hard to say what she could barely refrain from shouting to Reverend Turner and the others? “When I say ‘stay here,’ I mean more than in the schoolhouse. I mean really stay. In homes, with families, as a part of Evans Grove. Everyone thinks you should live here and be part of us.”

Liam’s eyes held a tightly checked wonder, as if he wasn’t quite ready to believe what he thought he’d just heard. “You mean live here? For good?”

There was something in his tone, a tender disbelief, that clutched at Holly’s chest. “Yes, Liam, that’s exactly what I mean.”

“What Miss Sanders is saying,” Rebecca added, “is that you all are invited to a placement meeting here, rather than in Greenville, so that families right here can take you in. You wouldn’t have to go any farther.”

Galina ran her hand along the desk. Holly had seen her do the same thing to the bookshelves in what passed for a library along the classroom’s west wall. She guessed the little girl would have her nose forever in a book once she mastered reading, and the craving to help her do so was like a physical itch Holly could already feel. The girl’s huge dark eyes lit with a cautious excitement. “It’s nice here.”

Patrick crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s kinda small. What if Greenville’s better?”

“What if it’s worse?” Tom moaned.

Lizzie sat up straight in her chair and raised her hand, making Holly wonder where a girl in her circumstances learned such classroom behavior. “Yes, Lizzie,” Holly called on her, nearly laughing at the tot’s seriousness.

“Bobbins wants to stay.”

The smile Holly felt spread across her face seemed to radiate up from a glowing patch under her ribs. She couldn’t remember when anything had felt so right, when she’d ever been so sure of how God had put her world in order. Which was odd, considering everything that had happened. This surely was the “peace that passes all understanding” the Bible spoke of, for she ought to be worried about a thousand details, but wasn’t. “We want Bobbins to stay. You are all welcome to stay if we can find enough families to take you in. I’d be very happy if you all were placed right here in Evans Grove and came to school.”

“Now,” Rebecca said as she planted her hands on her hips, “you all know how this works. I’ll meet with the Selection Committee this afternoon. Tomorrow will be the placement meeting where you’ll meet with families. Miss Sanders, Mrs. Miller and some other nice people will come in this afternoon to help you get washed and dressed and ready to look your best.” She caught Holly’s glance out of the corner of her eye. “By God’s grace, this terrible event has brought you to your new home, and I hope you’ll all show our gratitude.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, as if the children still weren’t sure it was all happening. Then Lizzie parked her elbows on the desk with an enormous pout. “I want to wear my blue dress but it’s dirty.”

Patrick, scratching as if the soap had already found him, moaned. “Am I gonna have to take a bath?”

And so it began. Holly walked across the school yard to start the first of many pots of hot water as the schoolhouse behind her seemed to buzz from the flurry of activity inside. Her smile was steadfast and satisfied; this was how it was supposed to be. This was God’s plan for these children and for Evans Grove. His plan for her.

Chapter Six

Holly wasn’t half surprised when a knock came on her door while tending to the fourth pot of hot water. She pulled open the door to Charlotte Miller’s wide, hopeful eyes. “Is it true? Are we really going to place the children here?”

Holly had seen how the woman had fixed on Sasha Petrov, the little Russian tot with black braids and enormous blue eyes. “Don’t you think Sasha could find a good home somewhere in Evans Grove? Surely you must have some idea of a family that would welcome her.” She placed a hand on Charlotte’s arm and smiled. “I know I have a very good idea where Sasha would be happiest.” When the woman only smiled broadly in admission, Holly asked, “Have you asked Charles?”

“He’s agreeable, if a little worried. Children can be a handful.”

“Nonsense. I’ve seen the way you look at her, and how she takes to you. Sasha coming into your home was my first thought when I realized the children ought to stay here.”

Charlotte hugged the pile of linens she was holding as if hugging the child. “I know this is a foster placement, not an adoption—at least not yet—but she’s found her way into my heart already. How is that possible?”

With God, all things were possible. “Children can do that.” She ushered Charlotte in, motioning for her to add the towels to the pile collected on her table.

“How does it work?’ Charlotte asked as she put down the linens.

“I’m not sure of the details, but Charlotte, I don’t think there’s a soul in Evans Grove who would stand in the way of you and Charles taking in Sasha. God couldn’t choose better folks to watch over that little sweetheart.” Holly tested the water and then added another log to her stove. In ten minutes they’d have enough for yet another bath. “She’s taken to you, too.”

Charlotte’s sweet smile lit a stronger glow in Holly’s heart. “She has, hasn’t she?”

“Sasha will be the first child placed if I have my say. With you and Charles.” Holly pulled a towel and facecloth from the pile on the counter and set it on the stool next to the tub that sat in the middle of her floor. The girls were washing up here while Reverend. Turner had taken the boys into his home to clean up. “Sheriff Wright asked me to come talk to him for a moment. Would you like to give Sasha her bath here? She’s next in line.”

Holly told herself to remember the sparkle in Charlotte’s eyes if Miss Ward gave anyone trouble—and she surely would—in this afternoon’s Selection Committee meeting. No doubt about it—whether for now as foster placements or forever as adoptees—these children belonged in Evans Grove.

* * *

“Mercy,” Mason heard Miss Sanders exclaim as she peered into the office fronting the two small cells that served as Evans Grove’s jail, “is there room?” Small as the space was with four bandits, Bucky Wyler and Doc Simpson packed inside, the walls felt as if they would burst out any second.

“You quit your hollering now,” Bucky was shouting at one of the louder criminals over Mason’s shoulder. “What Doc Simpson’s got for you is bound to be better than what might be waiting for you tomorrow in Greenville.”

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