Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 1) (22 page)

Chapter Thirty-Five

    
 
R
ebecca
checked the progress on the map once again, finding that the man she had left in charge was quite competent and she climbed the stairs in exhaustion to check on Timothy.

      She found him sitting on the bed, head in his hands when she walked into the room.

      “Any news?” He looked up at her, his face drawn and haggard and overcome with fatigue.

      “Not yet,” she whispered, as he pulled a sheet across his bare lap.

      “Who undressed me?” He looked at her with one brow lifted.

      “You needed some sleep.”

      Rebecca searched the room for clean clothing and prepared a bath.

      “This will help you feel better.” She led him to the room and helped him lower his tortured body into the steaming water.

      “I don’t know where he could have gone,” he choked as she rinsed his limp arm. “Where could he possibly be?”

      “They’ll find him, Tim. I’m sure. He ran off. Boys do that sometimes. They’ll find him just fine.” Her reassurances did nothing to help her alleviate her own fears, but seemed to calm Timothy’s agony somewhat.

      “Lay your head back,” she whispered and lathered his thick mane thoroughly.

      He felt her gentle, kind touch and thanked her softly as she rinsed him carefully and began to dry him slowly.

      “I’m alright,” he said taking the towel from her and Rebecca left him to dress.

      Bathing the distraught man left her feeling drained and weak and she went to her room, but could not bring herself to lie on the bed. Too exhausted to pace any longer she sat beside the window and looked around the room. She heard his heavy footsteps as Timothy passed her door and descended the stairs. She absently reached to move the basket of yarn that she had left too close to the rocker, spilling the skeins of yarn, a small puff of dust landing on her shoe.

      She leapt to her feet suddenly.

      “The attic!”

      She ran from her room to the back staircase and scrambled up the stairs frantically.

      Racing down the hall she threw open the door to the attic and stopped immediately. Her footsteps from her previous visit remained, faint in the pale dust, and another pair lie beside them.

      She called out, but decided it was best to check the attic before going for help. The footprints were everywhere and she spun frantically, trying to discern where they led, calling the boy hysterically.

      A single set of footsteps ended beside a massive trunk and Rebecca rushed to it and fought open the heavy lid.

      There, amid the soft folds of stored clothing, the boy lay in a tight ball. His face was bright red and Rebecca found that the lid would not stay open without her support. Terrified that closing the lid might worsen his obviously poor condition, she struggled out of her shoe and, using one foot, pushed it into the trunk’s hinge. She tested to see that it had propped up one side, wriggled out of the other shoe wildly and shoved it into the other side.

      It was impossible for her to lift the boy from the trunk. She reached inside and felt his face, his body temperature was perilously high, and she ran down the hall, calling for help and throwing open rooms until she found one with an adjoining bath and turned on the faucet.

      For a moment she heard only air and prayed that the faucet was connected as it spat a rush of cold water. She soaked the linens, carried them dripping to the trunk and placed them around the boy, under his limp arms and across his forehead. She pulled his boots and stockings off hastily and slapped the soles of his feet.

      When she saw him stir she patted his cheek firmly, calling his name and begging him to respond.

      “Rebecca?” he whispered, barely opening his eyes.

      She held him to her, flooded with relief, and pushed the wet hair from his face. She continued in vain to call for help, afraid to leave the boy in the precariously propped trunk as tears ran down her cheeks.

Chapter Thirty-Six

    
 
T
imothy
reached the foot of the immense staircase and stood outside the kitchen door listening. He could hear the men discussing the search and was overcome with grief. They had searched what they agreed was a large area. Beginning to fear the worst, he turned and walked to the study.

      He wracked his brain, trying to imagine what else he could possibly do. They had searched everywhere, and yet had not found the boy. He had known there was a threat and it had never considered to him that Mark was in any danger. But, if he had run away it had to be because of his conversation with Rebecca about her leaving. Either way, Timothy felt he was responsible.

      He climbed the stairs to go over the conversation she had had with the boy, but found her room vacant.

      On the floor, in a perfectly orderly room, the yarn lay spilled out beside the overturned basket.

      Timothy Elgerson sprinted for the third floor.

      As he reached the top of the stairs he heard her cries, begging frantically for help and he dashed toward the open attic doorway. Rebecca recognized his approaching steps and called louder.

      Timothy bounded up the stairs and rushed to the chest, lifting the boy out quickly and squatting to the floor, the boy sagging in his arms.

      Mark opened his eyes and whispered, “I wanted to be near Mom.”

      Timothy and Rebecca sat speechless, and Elgerson carried the boy, dripping wet, but alive, down the back stairs to the kitchen. As he entered the room through the most direct route in the house, the crowd in the kitchen rushed to help. Rebecca sent two men to get the doctor as Timothy took the boy up the main staircase to the second floor.

      Several men rode out to gather the search parties and Rebecca grabbed a pitcher of cool water on her way to follow Timothy.

      As the boy’s temperature began to normalize he became more coherent and Timothy and Rebecca changed the boy into dry pajamas. When he complained that Rebecca was in the room as he was being changed, both Timothy and Rebecca laughed in relief.

      Rebecca dried her tears and covered her eyes while Timothy finished helping the boy change.

      “Were you looking?” Mark asked weakly.

      “If you are so concerned that I was peeking,” she remarked, “then you must be fine.”

      Timothy Elgerson walked out into the hall as Birget arrived, hugging the boy ferociously. Rebecca followed Timothy silently, and stood beside him. He turned to her solemnly and pulled her to him, clinging to her fiercely.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

    
 
W
ith
a clean bill of health from the doctor, and Rebecca’s discovery of the large mouse hole in the attic trunk that had allowed air into the big chest and spared the boy’s life, Stavewood settled down that evening.

      Rebecca thanked each volunteer profusely while Timothy talked to the men in the yard. She noticed through the large front windows that he thanked Bess Rival genuinely and walked her to her carriage. Although the boy had been in the house all along, Rebecca felt that the support Timothy had received from his friends and neighbors made the search for the boy bearable, and she marveled at how well he must be liked for everyone to show such profound concern.

      When David had died the circumstances were terrible, yet only Emmy had come to share Rebecca’s grief. She was glad that Timothy had such a large group to support him. Rebecca wondered however, what had become of Octavia.

      After Rebecca and Birget had fed Mark a hearty supper, Ben Carson arrived, and Timothy and the sheriff met in the study. They closed the door behind them, leaving Rebecca concerned over their conversation and she went up to her room for a hot bath.

      She dressed for bed and shook the dust from the yarn out the window into the night air and began to cast stitches rhythmically onto the needles. Too overwrought to consider sleeping just yet, and worried about the reason for Timothy’s meeting with Ben, she hoped a few rows would relax her so that she could get some needed rest.

      Timothy had turned to her, without reservation, to pour out his relief once the boy was found, and Rebecca could not ignore the feelings from the emotional exchange.

      Her conscience nagged at her and she realized that, had she been honest with the man and admitted her reason for coming to the territory, none of this might have happened. If they had all known who she was, instead of being here now she would have returned straight away to England and perhaps the boy would have been less distraught. It was her presence here that had caused so much heartbreak. Timothy and Mark deserved to know the truth.

      After knitting several rows, working steadily in the round, she decided that, first thing in the morning, she would tell Timothy the truth, unless, of course, he was finding it out right now.

      “I hate to bring this to you after the day you’ve had Tim, but it just can’t wait.” The sheriff stood facing the fireplace.

      Timothy sat exhausted in the leather chair hearing the man out, certain that sleep would elude him even if he were to try to rest.

      “While we were out looking for your boy today we came across Finn Morgan.” Ben Carson cleared his throat.

      “What did he say about Rebecca?” Elgerson rose from his chair and approached the man.

      “Finn won’t be saying much anymore, Tim. We found him up past the old mills with his throat cut from ear to ear.”

      Timothy stepped back in shock and disbelief.

      “Who would do such a thing? First the horse and then this? But why?” His nerves frazzled, Timothy paced the room running his hands through his hair.

      “That’s not all, Tim. I think you ought to have a look at this. Maybe you can help me sort this out.”

      He handed Timothy a crumpled bundle of papers and Elgerson spread them on the desk and braced himself against the desktop.

      There were receipts for train tickets, ship’s passage, and one for the coach from St. Paul. There were first class tickets that were stamped
returned
, with receipts for third class tickets bearing the same time and date. The more costly tickets were purchased by T. Elgerson. The cheaper tickets had been purchased by F. Morgan. All of them were issued to R. Fagan.

      “Tim, where did you send these tickets? It looks like Morgan cashed them in for cheaper ones and pocketed the difference, I guess.”

      Elgerson’s shoulders sank.

      “I posted an ad for a mail order bride, Ben,” Timothy admitted. “I got it in my head that, if I could get a woman out here to take care of Mark, it’d make him happier somehow. I thought that the women who answered those types of ads might be down on their luck. I can easily take care of someone, and she could possibly be a mother to the boy. It seemed like a reasonable idea at the time. I bought the tickets at the Hawk Bend Station from Finn.”

      Ben Carson sighed. The thought had crossed his mind that his friend had sent for someone, possibly a woman, but he could not fathom any reason Tim would do such a thing.

      “What became of her, Tim?”

      “I have no idea, Ben. I haven’t heard from her,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “I checked the stop in Billington, but she never arrived. I suppose she might have been late, and I sent an awful lot of cash with those tickets. Maybe Finn took that as well. For all I know she never left. That’s a hell of a long trip to make without plenty of money.”

      Ben Carson stroked his jaw, considering what fate might have befallen a woman traveling alone, especially in light of the recent developments. “It just doesn’t sit right with me that Morgan would exchange these tickets, Tim. I’ve known that fella since he was just a kid. Sure, he wasn’t the brightest of men but, I don’t think he was a thief.”

      Timothy gathered himself and faced the sheriff.

      “I do have an idea who might have exchanged the tickets and maybe a reason why,” Ben continued. “You know, Tim, that Dianna had been pushing that girl of hers on you for years. Maybe she got it in her fool head that she’d exchange the tickets, hold back the travel money, and maybe keep the woman from coming. I was out at the house the other day and the place looks mighty run down. Maybe she could have used the money too. Do you think it’s possible that somehow she was up at Hawk Bend the night Rebecca got off the train and figured that Rebecca was your mail order bride because of her accent?”

      Timothy looked at the man’s face and considered the possibility. Dianna Weintraub was a rough woman, and she liked control of anything and everyone around her. There was only one thing she wanted above everything else, and that was to marry off her spoiled daughter.

      The woman honestly believed that Octavia, though as big as a farm mule, was a rare beauty and would make a great catch someday. Octavia had put on a massive amount of weight, and was quickly passing marrying age. Maybe Dianna was feeling desperate. Timothy found it hard to accept she would attack Rebecca so brutally, but it would explain many things.

      “I know she wanted to marry Octavia off pretty badly, but this sounds pretty desperate, even for Dianna. I know she never had any patience with her brother, but to kill him? It seems outrageous.” Timothy didn’t much like the woman, but this was an awful lot to suppose.

      “Does it, Tim? You’ve seen Octavia the last year. I’d think marrying her off might be near impossible these days. Dianna’s one of the most bull-headed people I’ve ever met. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. It’s the only reason I can come up with that she’d go after the girl that way.”

      “Ben, she left her for dead. I’m certain of that. Do you really think that Dianna is capable of doing all these things, just to marry off Octavia?” Timothy could not accept the horrifying theory.

      “Well, there’s something funny there too. When I talked to Octavia she seemed fine, you know, bored like she can be with everything. But, as soon as the subject of the Hawk Bend station came up, she showed an awful lot of interest. I think that Octavia knew something had happened up there. I don’t think she knew it was Rebecca though, until I brought it up.”

      “Why kill the horse, Ben?”

      “Well, Tim, I’m still working on that one. I know that you’ve had dealings with Dianna and have known her for years. One of the things I’ve learned while being sheriff around here is that folks you’d never imagine are sometimes capable of unpredictable things. It’d explain an awful lot, Tim. Just think about it.

      “Listen, you’ve had a hell of a day. Get yourself some rest and I’ll stop by tomorrow. I just didn’t want you to hear about Finn before we talked. You take care, and keep that boy and Rebecca close, until we figure all this out.”

      Ben Carson gathered up his hat and, concerned with his friend’s haggard appearance, patted Timothy on the shoulder and then let himself out.