Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3) (26 page)

Emma smiled. "I can see that."

Without further ado, the lad wandered over to the
"wanted" posters, as most children were prone to do. She
supposed it was fascinating reading to some, although she
herself had never spent any time poring over the seedy looking characters who'd managed to dodge the law.

"Nice to see you, Miss Browning. Any word on the
preacher yet?"

"Not that I know of," Emma replied, trying to put the
matter out of her mind. The more she dwelt on the idea of
Jon Atkins going missing, the deeper her heart sank.

"What about the preacher?" George asked.

"You ain't heard?" Mrs. Bergen asked, mouth agape.
"He's niissin'."

George frowned. "Missin' what?"

Iris looked perturbed. "He's missing, silly! Here I thought
you kept abreast of all the news. How'd you miss out on that
tidbit?"

"Nobody tol' nie nothin'. He get waylaid in this
storm?"

"No one seems to know," she answered. "There's a bunch
of men out lookin' for 'im now."

George Garner scratched his head and looked genuinely
concerned. "Well, I'll be. I hope he's all right. A feller can't go
long without food and water."

Did he have to mention that? Emma's stomach turned
over as she made her way to the door, mail tucked away in
her pocket.

"Good day, Miss Emma," George called.

Without turning, she waved and walked out into the
soggy air.

Jon's craving for water grew with every minute. He'd managed to stick his hand through a tiny opening to get a bit of
moisture, but had skinned his wrist badly in the process. Only
glimpses of light shone through the cave's opening, the massive tree trunk completely covering the mouth, leafy branches
protruding through the hole, making it impossible to see
out. Hoping to find moisture on some leaves, he'd spent the
morning breaking off branches, but his efforts had gotten him
nowhere. Even the floor of the cave had dried up, and what
hadn't, had turned to niud.

Throughout the course of the morning and early afternoon he'd taken to hollering, "Help!" thankful that the earlier
dizziness had subsided, but then realized it was a waste of
precious energy. Outside, the only sounds lie heard were the
persistent drizzle of rain and a light breeze. He'd called and
whistled for Jupiter but had gotten nothing in response. The
silence had hint worried that his horse had been injured in the
storm, might even be lying dead or suffering beneath the tree
to which he'd been tied. For the umpteenth time lie berated
himself for his actions. The creature would have fared much
better had he let hint go free. Of course, lie hadn't expected
to spend the night in this bleak and barren hole in the side of
a cliff.

Propped against a wall, Jon stretched stiff, unyielding
muscles and heard an unexpected groan escape his mouth
when lie felt pain in muscles lie didn't know lie had. He'd
always considered himself a strong man. Despite the fact that
lie wasn't a farmer, and wasn't accustomed to excessive labor,
for the most part lie kept himself busy and active. However,
this predicament had hire doubting his own strength.

"Lord," lie prayed, "I've never confronted anything quite
like this and, frankly, I'm baffled. Please give ine wisdom as to what my next steps should be." Waiting for an instant answer
from the heavens, he slumped back in frustration when it
didn't come. What did he expect? That God would roll the
trunk away from the opening just as He'd removed the stone
from Jesus' tomb? Plainly put, he was at God's mercy.

He had spent a good share of his young life teaching
others about learning to trust in a loving God despite their
circumstances and obeying His call no matter where it led.
Now here he was stuck in a cave, helpless to do a thing about
it, and beginning to fear for his life. He felt his trust dwindling, his faith crumbling like a dried-up cookie. What if no
one came? It would be easy for anyone to see that lightning
had struck the tree, causing it to fall, but who could possibly
know it blocked the entrance to a tiny cave? There were so
many of these little holes in the side of a steep, rocky bluff.
Few would suspect one was right behind a huge, fallen tree.
Oh, he had no doubt folks would eventually locate him, but
would it be his decaying body they came across or, worse, his
skeleton?

In retrospect, it had been foolish to take refuge in the
cleft of a rock. He should have pressed on to the Jarvis farm
regardless of the lightning and holed up there till the storm
let up. Bill would have fed and watered Jupiter and put him in
his barn for the night. Flora would have offered him a warm
supper and a spare bed. Though he wasn't accustomed to putting folks out, or accepting any kind of charity, for that matter,
this might very well have been the exception. In short, he had
no one to blame but his own cowardly self.

For reasons he couldn't explain, he thought about the
time his father had caught him hiding out in the barn, avoiding certain punishment for failing to finish his chores before
the supper hour.

"What you doin' hidin' behind that hay bale, boy, like you was
some kind of gutless, yellow-bellied turkey? Come out here and face
me like a man!"

Face him like a man? But he was only ten. Shoot, he still had
trouble stretching tall enough to heave one bale onto the wagon, let
alone a dozen or more. His muscles ached, his back and shoulders
pained him, and his throat was parched. He'd only stopped for a
minute's break. Was that so bad?

In his hand, Luther Atkins held a bottle of whiskey. He always
had his ale close by. Jon shook like a leaf. He was a coward when it
came to facing his father, and he hated that facet of his personality.
Someday he would be big enough to stand up to him-and then he
would tell him!

`Ain't I tot' you to get them bales loaded on that wagon?" Pa
railed. "Why you draggin' yore feet? You been daydreamin'?"

"N-no, sir," he replied, feeling sheepish.

When Jon didn't move, his father reached down and yanked him
up by the sleeve, ripping it free of its seam so that a gaping tear in
the fabric exposed his arm to the chilly air. He flinched and shivered,
gasping in pain when his father snagged hold of his arm as if trying
to squeeze the blood from it.

"Don't hurt the boy," his mother said from the barn door. "He
ain't done nothin' wrong." Despite her frail demeanor, his ma had
always done her best to defend her only child, even though it did little
good.

"No? What's he done right?" Luther laughed at his own words,
thinking them funny, and spit on the dirt floor. His breath reeked of
alcohol. Jon turned his head to avoid the worst of the stench, but he
feared trying to wrench himself free of his pa's firm hold.

When his mother approached, Jon spoke up. "Ma, go back in the
house. He'll hurt you."

"Better me than you, son," she said.

At this, his father spat and laughed again. "You askin'fer trouble, woman?" To him it was a game, a sick sport, this constant battle
for control.

"Ma,"Jon begged.

"Let 'im go," she pressed.

The closer she came, the louder Jon's heart pounded. He could
handle this, he told himself. He didn't need his mother getting hurt
on his behalf, and all because he'd grown lazy and decided to sit a
spell.

Oh, if only he were stronger, taller, older-braver.

It felt good to have the pressure on his arm released when his
father flung him aside, but seeing his mother hit the wall and slide
to the floor from one solid blow turned his relief into instant rage.
Oh, he wanted to jump on his pa's back and beat him with something
hard and sharp and heavy, but instead, he watched the man saunter
out of the barn, an evil smile of victory on his face, as if he'd just
accomplished a major feat.

And it wasn't until his father disappeared from sight that Jon
finally ran to his mother's side.

Jon closed his eyes against the senseless, irrelevantnieniory;
he thought he even imagined a certain wetness building up
behind his eyelids. Where had the childhood reminiscence
cone from-and why did it pop out at him now?

Shoot, Lord, I can't even think straight anymore.

!fter supper, Emma seated herself in a wicker chair on
the front porch, waiting for her first glimpse of the
search party. How long could it take a band of capable men to
locate one nian gone missing? Frustration made her junip to
her feet to pace the length of the sprawling porch.

"Yer as fidgety as a pack o' cats in a gunny sack," said
Gideon. "Yer niakin' me nervous."

He, Harland, and Charley all sat smoking their cigarettes,
Harland on the top step, Charley in the swing, and Gideon
reclining in the ancient rocker. As soon as someone's cigarette
smoked itself out, he rolled another. The porch was becoming
a regular chimney, but since everyone's nerves were on edge,
Emma bit back the itch to complain.

Billy Wonder pushed open the screen door, walked over
to the chair Emma had vacated, and plopped himself into it.
Apparently, he planned to use the guest room another night
despite the orange sky in the west that promised a clear night.
Emma decided to let the matter slide for now. "Any sign of
them?"

"Nothin'," said Harland, blowing out a smoke ring then
pulling a hand down his haggard face.

"Shouldn't be long now," Billy replied, his voice too chipper in Emma's opinion. "I still say he's visitin' someone, maybe
not even acquaintances of the church. Could be hiding out in
somebody's barn for all we know."

Gideon heaved an indignant sigh. "If that were the case, he'd be home by now. Look at the sky, Wonder. Matter of fact,
weather's clearin' real nice like."

Billy looked out at the still soggy treetops, gave his head
a tiny shake, and remarked, "Anybody go out to that new
family's house, the Claytons? Might be the minister decided
to pay a call on that pretty young lady and wound up stayin'
a spell."

For no reason she could think of, Eninia's neck stiffened.
"When the sheriff rode back with a report this afternoon,
he said they'd checked with every parishioner, including the
Claytons. No one's seen him," she replied, trying for all she
was worth to keep the tartness out of her tone.

In the swing, Charley Connors pushed off with one foot
and said, "Toni Averly discovered the reverend's horse out
at his place. Went straight back to his old homestead, that
horse did, a big ole branch draggin' behind him stuck to his
bridle. Guess he was bearin' a few scratch marks, too. Makes
one wonder if the preacher ain't throwed off somewheres in a
ditch. I swear that thunder was loud enough to spook a stiff
corpse in a bone yard. Plenty o' trees got struck by lightnin'
out there is what I hear. I 'spect he could be lyin' under one
of 'em."

The more the nien speculated the sicker Emma felt. What
was she doing listening to them when everything was gloom
and doom? It was her porch. She had half a mind to send
then all off to the saloon to drink their cares away. Instead,
she turned to go inside. Her hand was on the doorknob when
Harland stood and gazed down Main Street.