Nine

Em woke before the sun was up. She knew it was too early to start her day. She was restless, though, and could not sleep. Afraid she would wake the girls, Em lay in her bed for what felt like several hours. Finally, when she could wait no longer, she rose and quietly walked to the window. The stars were just beginning to fade. Soon the house would wake. She could busy herself and the minutes would go faster.

When Em was a small girl and her pa was still alive, her mother had promised to teach her to read. Her father’s death and her mother’s long hours changed everything. After she arrived home from her full day as a maid, her mother was always so tired. So tired that Em stopped asking for lessons. But in her heart the desire to read never diminished. Often she’d seen letters and had wanted to understand them. Oh, how she hated feeling left out, that everyone knew what the words said and meant and she did not. Now today she would have her first lesson.

Mae stirred in her bed, the sheets rustling about her. The movement caused Milly to rouse, and soon both girls were slowly opening their eyes. Milly sat up and reached her arms high above her, stretching for the sky. Em walked over to them. “Good morning, girls.”

“I was dreaming about the social. I wish it were tonight,” Milly said while rubbing sleep from her eyes.

Em brushed the hair from her little friend’s face. “Four nights is not long to wait.”

“But it will seem like a very long time,” Milly said. “When I’m excited, time goes so slow.”

“That is a feeling I do understand,” Em said, thinking of the much-anticipated reading lesson.

“Are you very excited too?” Mae asked. “Will it be hard for you to wait?”

Em wrinkled her nose. “Actually, I don’t dance. I’m not nearly as excited as the both of you. Come along, you two, and get up. The time will pass quicker if we do not sit around feeling sorry that today is not the social.” Em reached for little Mae’s hands and pulled her up.

“Ah, Em, let me sleep a little more.”

“I will not.” She tickled the sleepy child, making her laugh. Her infectious giggles spread to her sister. Soon Em and the girls were all laughing as she pulled them from the bed. Each time she pried a girl off the mattress, the other crawled back in. Em ran around the bed as quickly as she could, pulling them up, then running around for the other girl. They giggled more—even Em, who was surprised by the newfound energy her healthy body possessed, laughed as she darted around the room.

Falling onto the bed herself, she declared, “I give up. I will send up your mama. She’ll know how to get you two sleepyheads out of this bed.” Em rose and marched for the door. Her dramatic steps brought about more laughter. Soon the girls were by her side.

“We’re up. Don’t make Mama come get us,” Milly said.

Em helped them dress and make their bed. Satisfied that they had left the room presentable, they all went to join the family downstairs. Only breakfast stood between her and her lesson; she was so close. Walking past a sampler, Em looked at the letters. Soon she would read it and so many other words.

“Abigail, what can I do to help you this morning?” Em asked.

“Good morning, Em. Getting those two girls up and going is always a big help.”

“I did have to work extra hard to get them up this morning.”

“I thought I heard some commotion above us. Are you ready for your new position? I do worry about you working yourself too hard.” Abigail stirred a pot with a wooden spoon while she spoke. “You will be careful?”

Em nodded, grateful for Abigail’s concern.

“What time do you need to be there?” she asked, her hand never ceasing its stirring.

“Caleb would like me to meet him at eight. I work at twelve. But if you need me here, I can send a message to Caleb and stay.”

“I have Mae and Milly to help me. You keep your plans with Caleb.” Abigail’s dimple appeared in her cheek. “He is a nice man, isn’t he?”

Em didn’t answer right away. She began setting the table, happy to be busy so she did not have to look into Abigail’s eyes. If Abigail saw her face, she would know how much Caleb’s friendship meant to her. “He is very good to help me and worry so much about my being safe.”

“Indeed. It’s very good of him to care about your safety. This is ready—let’s gather everyone to the table.”

The breakfast conversation was congenial. Abraham always asked how everyone slept and what the girls were going to do during the day. Em loved the shared meal and friendly faces.

“Em, do you need to do anything else before you leave?” Abigail asked.

“I thought you didn’t work until twelve,” Eliza said before Em could answer.

“Em has a meeting with Caleb this morning at eight. She will be going to work right after that.” Directing her attention back to Em, Abigail said, “While you finish getting ready, I’ll pack you an afternoon meal.”

“You needn’t do that.” Em, uncomfortable taking additional charity, squirmed in her seat. Already she was unsure how she would ever repay them for their kindness. Eliza’s cold expression wasn’t making things any easier.

“I won’t take no for an answer,” Abigail said.

Abraham set down his fork. “I’ve seen her like this before. When my Abigail has made up her mind, there is no changing it. Best to just admit defeat.”

“Very well. I appreciate it. Thank you both for all you’ve done.” Em rose from the table and started gathering empty dishes. “You’ve been so good to me.”

With her hand fisted, Em knocked on the jailhouse door.

“Em, you’re here. Come in,” Caleb said, his eyes flashing with excitement as he grabbed her hand and pulled her inside. “I dug through the box more after leaving yesterday. Hurry in, I want to show you.”

Em wished she could read now so she could share in the discovery. From across the desk, he pushed a paper toward her. “I can’t read it.” She started to push it back, but then realized it was a wanted poster. Taking a closer look at the old, yellowed paper, she was startled to see the face of the red-haired man. He was visibly younger, but it was him. The infamous Alroy.

“This is him. The red-haired man who killed George. What does it say?”

“Says WANTED FOR ROBBERY. There’s no name. My guess is they only had a description to go off of at the time. I think George was looking for Alroy. The money in the bag has to be from the robberies. I’m not sure how George came by it. There are still missing pieces, but it seems like a clue to me.”

Caleb took the poster back and shuffled through the other papers. He found the one he was looking for and pulled it from the stack. “Look here, it’s a clipping from a newspaper. It’s about a string of robberies from several years ago. I read it last night and the only thing anyone knew was that one of the men had red hair. I think George was keeping up on the crimes. Tracking him.”

Em looked again at the picture. “All those years when he would leave, maybe he was really off looking for Alroy. He never said a word about him. Not even once. He wasn’t much of a talker, though, and I wasn’t big on asking him questions. George left often, and I never believed his story about checking traps. What else did you find in the box?”

“Most of the papers are just legal papers. The properties he has owned and sold. There was his marriage license, the papers from the Aid Society about Alroy. I checked the date. His was from 1862. Other than that, there are a few other newspaper clippings.” He pulled out one other paper. “This one doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the case . . .”

Em picked it up. “What is it?”

“I’ll read it to you,” he said, taking it back from her. “The top part says THE CHILDREN’S AID SOCIETY OF NEW YORK. Then here it says that this paper certifies that Em Cooper has been placed in the care of George Oliver. He signed that he would care and provide for you, look after your safety. Things like that. It’s dated 1874.”

Staring at the paper, she tried to remember him signing it. No memory of the paper came, but other details did. The day was a blur, a whirlwind of emotion. At the time her mind and heart were in Beckford with Lucy. She’d all but given up on a family wanting her, and with Lucy gone, she didn’t care what happened to her. When George came and asked after her, none of it felt real.

“I suppose he would have filled out the paperwork on me.” Em stared at the letters on the page. “Living here with the Howells, it almost seems like a different life.”

Caleb took the packet of papers that were hers and set them before her. “I didn’t look in here. I wanted to, but they’re yours.”

Em took them and held them tight against her chest. “Thank you.”

“Let’s get reading. Then we can see what’s in there. Hopefully you’re a quick learner. I’ve never been very patient when it comes to a mystery.” His eyes twinkled. Nothing belittling or demeaning. She had been afraid he would make her feel inferior, lesser because of her ignorance.

For the next hour Caleb went over the sounds the letters made. Em tried to commit it all to memory. She stumbled a few times when he asked her what a letter said. “No, Em. That’s a D, not a B. I told you that a minute ago.”

Embarrassed but determined, she pressed on. Again she mixed the letters up. “I’m sorry, Caleb. I had hoped to be so good at this.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s not you I’m frustrated with. It just seems so unfair that I had years of schooling and you had none. That’s what frustrates me.” He pointed again to the letters. “Try again. I know you can learn it. I guess I’m just eager for you to be able to read.”

She continued, doing much better now that his voice was calmer. Then he took out a stack of papers from the desk drawer. On the back of one of them, he wrote out the letters of the alphabet. “These are old posters. We don’t need them anymore. When you have time, practice writing the letters on the back. Try and write them like the ones I wrote out. Soon we will be putting them together. And then you’ll be able to write a letter to anyone you choose and read those papers you are holding so carefully.”

Her eyes jumped to his when he said she would be able to write soon. He must have seen it. The longing she felt must have been visible to him. “I wish you would tell me who you want to write to,” he said.

She remembered his plea from before that she just answer a question without him having to pry. “I want to write to my sister. I want to read a train ticket and signs and find my way to her. Her name is Lucy.”

“You have a sister?” Caleb leaned in closer to her.

“I do. I haven’t seen her in seven years, but I’ve thought of her every day since.” Em felt emotion building within her. “Every day. Every single day.” She fought against the tears that threatened to spill, but a few desperate ones crept from deep inside her. Shaking her head, she battled to regain control. Seven years she had held back these tears. Why did they have to betray her now?

Caleb came around the desk and knelt beside her. “Cry if you need to. Talk. Yell if it’ll help.” He reached a hand up and, using his calloused thumb, wiped a tear from her cheek. His tender touch only brought more tears.

Through the storm of emotion, she said, “I . . . I never cry.”

“You ought to. I know I cried buckets of tears when I heard about my brothers. There’s no shame in it.”

Sniffling, she said, “We were on the same train. I thought we would be together. That a family would want us both.” Em’s voice grew stronger, less shaky, as she spoke. “There were so many children. We never even stood on a train platform until Beckford. When they finally lined us up for everyone to see they pinned numbers on us and separated us. The little children were at one end and the older ones at the opposite side. Lucy was seven and far down the line from me. She was crying, but even with tears on her face she was perfect. Everyone must have known it and wanted her.”

Em stood, unable to hold still as she talked about the bitter memory. “People started coming, walking across the stage inspecting us like we were cattle. A big man stood in front of me. He asked me to open my mouth so he could see my teeth. I wouldn’t do it. My stupid, stubborn pride. It has always plagued me.” Pausing to take a deep breath, she looked at Caleb through her tears. “Some of the women from the Aid Society came up to me, trying to get me to comply. Finally I opened my mouth and let the man look me over. He never really wanted me. He was just having a good time harassing us all. Blasted man finally left the platform—he didn’t take a child with him. He didn’t want me or anyone else.”

“What happened to Lucy?” Caleb asked as he stood up.

Em’s hands were in tight fists by her sides and every muscle in her body was tense as she recalled the rest of that fateful day. “I don’t know. She was off the stage and gone by the time the man stopped blocking my view. I ran off the platform looking for her, screaming her name and crying. A couple of the men came and carried me back on the train. I fought them the best I could, but they were too strong. I tried asking after her when we left Beckford. The women just told me that the records were confidential. All I know is she left the train in Beckford. And I have to get there. I have to.” She wasn’t sure how many times she had repeated her need to go. Caleb stood by her, listening to her mourn, waiting until she was ready to say more.

“For seven years I’ve thought of little other than how I could get there. It’s what I lived for. Having no money, no ability to read, and no idea where I was living kept me from getting there sooner. I would have gone for her. I would have if I could have.” Em braced herself against the back of the wooden chair she had been sitting in. “I wanted to find her. I really did.”

“I believe you,” he said softly. “It’s not your fault.”

“I have a job now, and once I’ve earned enough to repay the Howells and can get on a train, I’m going to find her. I thought of writing first, but I don’t know who has her.” With her story told, she let her shoulders stoop forward. The weight of her words pressed against her.

“Did the train stop often? How did you end up so much farther across Iowa than her?”

She faced him. “Look at me, Caleb. Look at me! I’m plain. I’m scarred.” She pointed to her burn. Normally she did all she could to conceal it, but today was different. “Not to mention that I was twelve, angry, and broken. I stood with my number pinned on me at every station from Beckford to the one George picked me up at. No one wanted me.” A painful laugh came then. “They wanted the others. Little boys and girls found homes at each stop. More children were separated, friendships torn apart. But they were wanted. Not me—no one wanted me. I’d accepted the fact that I’d be living on the streets again as soon as the train returned. Then at the end, when there was no one else to take, George took me and it was over. I failed. I failed Lucy. And now I have to find her. I have to fix it.”

Caleb ran his hands through his hair. Then he looked hard at her and shook his head. “How did you fail? None of this was your fault. None of it. You were a child.”

“I’d been taking care of Lucy her whole life. While my ma worked as a maid, I cared for her. Before my ma died, she told me to look after Lucy. I tried, but I didn’t know how.” The mood was dark, the despair palpable in the air. “I failed. The only person who needed me and wanted me was taken, and I’ve not been able to find her.”

“How long were you on the streets? Let it be my second question if you must,” Caleb said.

Em took a deep breath and then gave him a weak smile. “Very well. My ma died after I had turned eleven and Lucy was six. We were no longer welcome in the tenement because we had no money to pay our share of the rent. We found an abandoned building and moved in there. For a couple months we lived off of food we found and what I could buy with the money we made selling newspapers and doing odd jobs.”

“Even then you were clever,” Caleb said.

“I tried, and yet there were certain things I refused to do. I saw them though. Other girls who lived on the streets told me how they made money. I even ventured over to where they did business while Lucy was sleeping one night. I knew then what my ma had warned me against, and I ran back the entire way to Lucy. I picked her up in my arms and held her that whole night. I knew somehow I had to find another way to survive. I had to take care of her, but I was too afraid to sell myself. I wonder now if I made the right choice.” Em couldn’t meet Caleb’s eyes as she continued.

“The next day I stole. I never had before. And as good as the bread tasted, I hated myself for taking it. But Lucy seemed stronger that night, more alive. The food had been good for her. I hadn’t noticed until then just how thin she’d become. I pushed my guilt away and began stealing more often. I never liked it, but I didn’t know what else to do. Everything went along all right for a couple more weeks. Lucy turned seven and we spent a happy day together, just playing, pretending life was not such a heavy burden. We made dolls from sticks. Like the ones you found. It was all I could give her. I wanted so much to give her more. I wanted her to be happy like the little girls I saw playing outside with their families. Like Mae and Milly are.”

Em hesitated. She needed to finish her tale, but it was hard putting the past into words and hearing them out loud. “On the way back to our shelter, we saw a public hanging. I covered Lucy’s eyes and distracted her, but I watched. The boy who was swinging looked so young. I asked a man what had happened. He said the boy was twelve and old enough to know stealing was wrong. That night I imagined Lucy living on her own and me swinging from the gallows. The image was so real that I emptied my stomach because I felt so sick. And so afraid.”

Caleb was near her, his hand on her shoulder. Had it been there long? Em was not sure. “We went to the Aid Society the next day. We’d heard of their trains and decided it was best. We spent a night there, only to have someone tell us there was a chance no one would take us together. We snuck off the next day because we were unwilling to risk losing each other. One more night was all we spent in our abandoned building. Everything was against us—the building caught fire in the night. Lucy’s dress went up in flames. I put it out and pulled her from the building. When we were safe, I looked at my arm. It was mangled and raw.” Em ran her hand along the gruesome scar. “I’d seen what could happen when injuries were left to fester. I was not so afraid of dying as I was of leaving Lucy all alone.”

Caleb reached a hand down and touched the scar. His fingertips brushed across it. “Does it hurt you?”

“It did hurt, but now it’s not so bad. It gets stiff and it’s ugly. The memory hurts worse than the arm.” Continuing her tale, she said, “I could think of no other way to protect Lucy. We went back to the Society and agreed to take their train. They told us there was one leaving soon. We spent only a couple of weeks at the home before we boarded the train and headed to Iowa. My arm festered and ached the entire time. But nothing hurt like being torn from Lucy.”

They stood in silence. Caleb still rested a hand on her shoulder. Part of her welcomed his touch while the other part wanted to run and hide. Never had she imagined sharing her tragedy. What must he think of her now? Did he think she’d done right or did he blame her like she blamed herself?

She stepped away from his hand and moved for the door.

“Wait. You don’t begin work for two more hours—where will you go?”

“I don’t know. I’ll just walk and try to lock it all back up. It’s hard having a past like mine.” Pressing a hand to her heart, she said, “It hurts, more than any burn. More than the pain of being hungry. More than being unwanted. I miss her. Every single day I miss her.”

“But now I know, and you don’t have to lock me out. I’ll carry it with you.” He stepped toward her. “Let me walk with you. Fresh air will do us both good.”

“Your job is sheriff. You don’t have to fix this. Even if you wanted to, you could not.” Em opened the door and walked out.

Caleb followed.

Others were around them now. They walked in silence, away from the town and the people. The farther they got, the more alone they were—trees and shrubs their company. A trickling brook sounded in the distance while birds celebrated the day, naive to all pain, and a squirrel jumped from limb to limb. All so carefree.

Caleb was the first to speak. “When I was a boy, I wanted to live on a big spread of land. Big enough that I could look in any direction and not see anyone else. I wanted a big old tree growing in my yard and a brook. Being outside in the open, that was always my favorite.” He was doing it again, using his words to make peace.

“I didn’t know there were such wide-open spaces when I was a child,” Em said. “I did love the time we lived in a room with only our family. And I liked going to the little parks with Lucy. She always said the grass under her feet felt like a carpet rolled out for a princess.” Em smiled. It was the first time in a very long time she’d smiled at a memory of Lucy.

“What else did Lucy do?” His eyes looked deep into her own. She believed that he really wanted to know.

“Well, she loved to sing. She would sing to herself little made-up songs. She also loved stories. Just like Mae and Milly. The three of them would have gotten along well. Each night she begged me to tell her stories. Even when she was small she liked them. I remember telling her tales before she could talk and it would soothe her to sleep.” Em stopped walking when they reached the brook. “She would have loved this. I know she would. I remember her splashing her feet in the puddles after the rain. This water is so clean—she would have been thrilled.”

Caleb sat on a log and started taking his shoes off. “Let’s go in. For Lucy. Let’s go in for my brothers too.”

Em felt a moment of hesitancy, then she thought again of Lucy and her puddles. She nodded in understanding. “For Lucy and your brothers,” she said as she sat down next to him and unlaced her secondhand boots. “But I can only get my feet wet. I have work today.”

He didn’t respond, just gave her that same crooked smile she’d come to love. With her shoes off, she stood, ready to dip her feet in. Before she knew what was happening, big arms came around her—one around her waist, the other beneath her legs. She was in Caleb’s arms. His grip firm. “Would Lucy want you getting only your feet wet?”

Not waiting for an answer, he spun in a quick circle, making her laugh despite her melancholy. He ran for the brook and then jumped in, their combined weight causing water to splash up over them. Em could feel drops of water on everything—even her nose. Caleb proceeded to stomp around in the brook with Em in his arms. Clinging to his neck, she laughed and laughed. He laughed too—a big, deep laugh that made his chest shake. He marched about in the creek, shouting proclamations such as, “This is for you, Lucy. This is for you, Reggie.”

And then, for no reason at all, she cried. Laughter and tears were a strange combination. Burying her head in his neck, she tried to muffle the sound and sight of her emotion. Rather than let her down, he pulled her tighter. His marching slowed.

Soon it stopped completely. Caleb stood still—an island in the brook, holding her as she sobbed. Seven years’ worth of tears rushed from her like a thrashing river.

When she finally lifted her face, their eyes met and she saw tears on his cheeks too. Unlike her, he did not hide them. Instead, he spun one last time, pulled her tight to him, and kissed her on the forehead. He held her for a brief moment longer before stepping out of the brook and setting her back on the log.

Bending his long legs, he sat beside her. He rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. She wanted to reach out and comfort him or ask what he was thinking, but she feared his response. Was he thinking of his brothers? Of Lucy? Was he regretting the kiss?

They sat silently, letting the warm sun dry their clothes. Em lost in thought. Where Caleb was, she was not sure.

At last Caleb lifted his head and looked up at the sun. “I think it’s nearing twelve. Let’s get back so Mrs. Anders isn’t kept waiting.”