answering. “Because Hannah told me. More or less.”
“Here we go again,” Tom muttered.
Ignoring her brother, Lacy asked Daniel what Hannah had said.
“That the man who didn’t want her to leave talked funny. At first I thought she meant he stuttered or had a defect of speech. But then she said the lady talked funny, too.” He looked down at her, his gray eyes glittering like polished silver in the slanting moonlight. “If they didn’t speak English, or had heavy accents, wouldn’t a six-year-old think they talked funny?”
“It’s possible.”
“But what would German Mennonites want with Hannah?” Tom asked.
“I don’t know. But maybe when we talk to the sergeant tomorrow, we’ll find out.”
***
It was long after midnight. Unable to sleep, Daniel had left Roscoe on the pallet by the fire and moved to the table, where he had spent the last hour whittling on a chunk of wood. Chips and slivers of fir wood piled up on the table as he worked, but the figure was slow to take shape. He wished he had his sanding block, or a better carving knife. He wished a lot of things.
“It would help if you gave me more information,” he muttered. “How can I find you if I don’t even know where to start looking?”
Hannah didn’t answer. He didn’t really expect her to. Stubborn like her mama, she would come to him when she felt like it. If ever.
Through the ceiling and floor joists overhead, he heard Jackson’s rumbling snore. But other than an occasional sigh from the hound, the music of the fire, and the snick of the blade cutting into the wood, the downstairs was as quiet as a church on Monday. Which is why he was so startled when he looked up and saw Lacy Ellis standing in the bedroom doorway. Sneakiness must run in the family.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked, pulling her canvas duster tighter around her shivering form. She was barefoot, toes showing beneath the hem of the flannel nightdress she wore under the duster, and her braided hair hung over her shoulder like a thick rope of gold.
“Come by the fire and get warm,” he offered once he’d gathered his thoughts. Leaning over, he pulled out the chair next to his. He would have gotten to his feet, but his trousers were unbuttoned, and he was afraid they would fall down. Luckily, his untucked shirt hid that. As well as his reaction to the way she looked. Even wrapped in a duster, the woman would test a saint.
With a deep sigh, she sank into the chair.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.
She shrugged and, wrapping her arms around her upraised knees, watched him work at the piece of wood. “What are you making?”
“A cat.”
“Hannah likes cats.”
He smiled. “I know.”
Blinking hard, she looked away. When she faced him again, her eyes were wet, but not brimming. “You think we’ll find her at the German settlement?”
“Maybe. If not, I’ll keep looking.”
Her nearness was an assault on his senses—the clean soap scent of her hair, the soft rush of her breathing, the heat of her body beside his. It was so distracting that Daniel was half afraid he would cut into his hand and not even notice.
“That looks more like a frog,” she said after a while.
“Frogs don’t have tails.”
“That doesn’t either.”
“It will. If I take my time and be patient and don’t rush it, it’ll all come out right. At least, that’s what I’m hoping.” He turned his head and looked at her, wondering if she caught the other meaning in his words.
She must have. A deep flush moved from her cheeks to the tips of her ears.
Here it comes,
he thought.
And sure enough..
.
“About what happened in the shelter this morning.”
“You were crying in your sleep,” he said when he saw she was struggling. “You needed comfort. I gave it. A simple thing.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
He stopped carving and looked at her.
“I heard what you said to Tom.”
Ah . . . there it is.
He had wondered how much she’d
“Here we go again,” Tom muttered.
Ignoring her brother, Lacy asked Daniel what Hannah had said.
“That the man who didn’t want her to leave talked funny. At first I thought she meant he stuttered or had a defect of speech. But then she said the lady talked funny, too.” He looked down at her, his gray eyes glittering like polished silver in the slanting moonlight. “If they didn’t speak English, or had heavy accents, wouldn’t a six-year-old think they talked funny?”
“It’s possible.”
“But what would German Mennonites want with Hannah?” Tom asked.
“I don’t know. But maybe when we talk to the sergeant tomorrow, we’ll find out.”
***
It was long after midnight. Unable to sleep, Daniel had left Roscoe on the pallet by the fire and moved to the table, where he had spent the last hour whittling on a chunk of wood. Chips and slivers of fir wood piled up on the table as he worked, but the figure was slow to take shape. He wished he had his sanding block, or a better carving knife. He wished a lot of things.
“It would help if you gave me more information,” he muttered. “How can I find you if I don’t even know where to start looking?”
Hannah didn’t answer. He didn’t really expect her to. Stubborn like her mama, she would come to him when she felt like it. If ever.
Through the ceiling and floor joists overhead, he heard Jackson’s rumbling snore. But other than an occasional sigh from the hound, the music of the fire, and the snick of the blade cutting into the wood, the downstairs was as quiet as a church on Monday. Which is why he was so startled when he looked up and saw Lacy Ellis standing in the bedroom doorway. Sneakiness must run in the family.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked, pulling her canvas duster tighter around her shivering form. She was barefoot, toes showing beneath the hem of the flannel nightdress she wore under the duster, and her braided hair hung over her shoulder like a thick rope of gold.
“Come by the fire and get warm,” he offered once he’d gathered his thoughts. Leaning over, he pulled out the chair next to his. He would have gotten to his feet, but his trousers were unbuttoned, and he was afraid they would fall down. Luckily, his untucked shirt hid that. As well as his reaction to the way she looked. Even wrapped in a duster, the woman would test a saint.
With a deep sigh, she sank into the chair.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.
She shrugged and, wrapping her arms around her upraised knees, watched him work at the piece of wood. “What are you making?”
“A cat.”
“Hannah likes cats.”
He smiled. “I know.”
Blinking hard, she looked away. When she faced him again, her eyes were wet, but not brimming. “You think we’ll find her at the German settlement?”
“Maybe. If not, I’ll keep looking.”
Her nearness was an assault on his senses—the clean soap scent of her hair, the soft rush of her breathing, the heat of her body beside his. It was so distracting that Daniel was half afraid he would cut into his hand and not even notice.
“That looks more like a frog,” she said after a while.
“Frogs don’t have tails.”
“That doesn’t either.”
“It will. If I take my time and be patient and don’t rush it, it’ll all come out right. At least, that’s what I’m hoping.” He turned his head and looked at her, wondering if she caught the other meaning in his words.
She must have. A deep flush moved from her cheeks to the tips of her ears.
Here it comes,
he thought.
And sure enough..
.
“About what happened in the shelter this morning.”
“You were crying in your sleep,” he said when he saw she was struggling. “You needed comfort. I gave it. A simple thing.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
He stopped carving and looked at her.
“I heard what you said to Tom.”
Ah . . . there it is.
He had wondered how much she’d
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