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He wouldn’t say a word. He wouldn’t. But the voice from his nightmares followed him all the way to the pond and up the tree.

Miss Lillian had told him to talk to God when he was afraid.
“What time I am afraid, I will trust in
thee . . .”
She said it was from Psalms. But did talking to God count? Would the bad man find out? Wait, Miss Lillian said he could talk to God in his head and that God would understand. Then nobody would ever know.

God, I’m afraid. Please don’t let the
bad man come back. And please don’t let Miss
Lillian leave
.

He shivered and wrapped his little jacket around himself and Mr. Whiskers. Maybe he could sleep for a bit while he waited for Miss Lillian to find him.

“Woody!
Woody!!
” Mrs. Goodman’s voice echoed down the stairs.

The panic Woody heard in the older woman’s voice reminded him too much of that day . . . when Rebecca . . .

No. His thoughts couldn’t go there. He took the stairs two at a time. “Mrs. Goodman, where are you?”

“Jimmy’s room.”

He raced to his son’s room and found the woman crying by the bed.

But his son wasn’t there. What was going on? “Mrs. Goodman?”

“He’s gone. I’ve searched the entire upstairs. Every nook and cranny.” She pointed to the head of the bed. “Look. His pillowcase is gone from the pillow. And . . . Mr. Whiskers . . .”

The horror hit him like he’d been punched. The way Jimmy had wrestled out of his arms earlier. The look the boy had given him. His son had run away. But to where? It was pitch black out and a new moon.

Lillian. Lillian would know.

He raced down the stairs to her room and nearly crashed into the wall when he came around the corner so fast. He banged on her door.

“If you are here to tell me to hurry it up, I’m almost done, Mr. Colton.”

Exasperating woman. She was just as stubborn as he was. “I’m not here about that. Please let me in. It’s an emergency.”

He heard her shuffling around and then the door opened. Her red-rimmed eyes told him the true state of her emotions. “Yes?”

“It’s Jimmy. He’s run away.”

She grabbed her shawl without even waiting for him and wiped a hand down her face. “When?”

He sighed. “Right after I told you to pack your bags, I’m sorry to say. He gave me a look and raced to his room. I thought he was still there, but Mrs. Goodman went to check on him and he’s gone. With Mr. Whiskers.”

“Well, we’ve got to go after him, right now! He’s out there all alone and it’s dark and he’s so small—”

He grabbed her shoulders to cease her from working herself up any further. “I know. That’s why I came to you. I thought you might know where he would have gone.”

She bit her lip and her brow furrowed. Then her eyes widened. “The pond! He loves the pond. But that’s such a long ways!” She wiggled out of his grasp and ran back in her room. “I need my boots. Where are my boots?”

He hadn’t noticed that she was in her stocking feet. “I’m going to run out there. Please ask Mrs. Goodman to stay here, and if you could bring a lantern when you come, I would really appreciate it.”

She nodded and kept looking for her shoes.

Woody didn’t have time to lose. His son was so small. Anything could happen at night out on the farm. One of his workers had mentioned seeing mountain lion tracks only last week. What if that animal was around here now? Woody’s mind jumped from one horrible thought to another. What if Jimmy had fallen in the pond? He couldn’t swim yet. Then the worst of all came to mind. There had been a stranger lurking around—possibly the same man who’d killed Rebecca. What if he found Jimmy first? Woody thought about rounding up his crew to help look for the boy, but there just wasn’t time. Knowing Lillian, she would think of just such a thing. She had a way with figuring out all the necessary details.

As thoughts rampaged in his mind of everything that could possibly happen, Woody ran faster and faster. How could he have been so stupid? This was all his fault. And now his son was out there all alone.

His eyes gradually adjusted to the night, but without the light of the moon, it was difficult going. Twice he almost ran into a tree. “Jimmy! Jimmy! Where are you?”

With his son not speaking, Woody was afraid that even if he was near, he wouldn’t receive a response.

His lungs burned, but he had to press on. He had to find his son. He’d lost Rebecca; he couldn’t lose his precious son, too. It would be too much.
God, I can’t handle it. You know I can’t. I’m so
sorry for my anger and my treatment of Miss Porter.
I’m so sorry for all the doubt and worry and fear that drove me to it today. I’m
sorely lacking in my faith, Lord. Please strengthen me, and
please help me find my son.

How much time had passed since his little boy left? What if Lillian was wrong and he was searching in the wrong direction? Doubts raced through him again and he had to mentally push them aside. He couldn’t do that anymore.

The pond had to be getting close. He could smell the water, but with the trees on this side it was even darker and slower going.

Up ahead he heard the snap of branches.

Woody stopped and listened.

“Now, come on. It’s not safe.” Whose voice was that? Did someone have his son?

Woody pressed up against a tree and leaned around it, trying to get a look. In the darkness he could make out a dark moving form. A large man had ahold of a small boy and was dragging him by the arm. Jimmy! He bolted out from the tree. “Stop! Let go of my son!” Woody moved forward.

The man stopped and didn’t move. The smaller form, no doubt Jimmy, wiggled in the man’s grasp.

More scrambling sounded behind him. “Did you find him?” The voice was female and out of breath. The glow of lantern light revealed Lillian’s worried expression.

How did she get here so fast? That woman would never cease to amaze him.

“Shh. He’s over there. Some man has ahold of him.” Woody kept going. “Please let my son go. Don’t hurt him.”

Lillian followed him, holding the lantern high. The man moved and Jimmy kicked and squirmed.

“Stop! Please! He’s just a little boy.” Woody swallowed the tears threatening to choke him.

The man released Jimmy and took off running. Jimmy ran too, but instead of running toward his father, he ran a circle right around him.

“Jimmy! Harry!” Lillian cried.

“Jimmy!” Woody shouted at the same moment, wondering why his son would run away from him.

“You scared him.” Lillian ran off in the
other
direction, holding up the lantern. “Harry, wait! It’s all right, he didn’t know who you were. . . . Haaaaaarrrrrrryyyyy!” She grabbed her side and stopped. Great big huffs came from her, and the lantern bounced up and down. And then Jimmy plowed into her and held on for dear life.

Woody had never felt more confused or wounded in all of his days. Watching the two embrace, he wasn’t sure how to dig himself out of this hole.

Lillian held his son’s face between her two hands. “You all right?” She glanced over at Woody and grabbed Jimmy’s hand. “Let’s go talk to your papa, okay? He’s been mighty worried.”

Jimmy scowled at Woody and then looked back to where the man had run.

“We’ll find Harry tomorrow. Your father just scared him.”

And that made Woody feel about two inches tall. He took a step forward to meet them. “That was Harry?”

She nodded.

If ever he wished he could start a day over, it would be now. He met Lillian’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I saw him dragging Jimmy”—he looked at his boy—“and I thought he was hurting you.”

Jimmy stomped his foot.

“He wasn’t hurting you?”

His son crossed his arms and shook his head.

“Let me guess, he was bringing you back home?”

This time a nod and deep scowl accompanied the stomp.

“Ah . . . and you didn’t want to come because you were mad at me?” Woody crouched on one knee in front of his son and watched the anger flash across Jimmy’s face. “Look, I’m sorry. To you both . . . I never should have opened my mouth earlier. It was wrong.” He looked up at his former nanny, who would hopefully reconsider. “I don’t want you to go. I had a horrible day and took it out on you. We need you.”

Jimmy jumped into his arms and started crying. Woody held on tight. “You scared me, son. I love you so much, and I can’t bear to lose you. Don’t you ever run away again, all right?” He felt a nod. “I know you were upset that I told Miss Lillian to leave, but you need to promise me that instead of running next time, you’ll come to me and we’ll work it out.” Another nod. “I love you, Jimmy.”

His son squeezed his arms around him, but then he pulled back. Woody frowned as Jimmy began to squirm. He dropped his pillowcase as he struggled. But just as Woody feared the worst, Jimmy pulled Mr. Whiskers from inside his shirt. With a smile, Jimmy once again relaxed in his father’s arms.

“I’m certainly glad Mr. Whiskers came through all of this unscathed,” Lillian declared, picking up Jimmy’s pillowcase. She handed it back to the boy.

Woody stood, lifting his son and Mr. Whiskers. He looked at Lillian, hoping she would know how sorry he was for all he’d said. “Please forgive me, Miss Porter . . . Lillian. I am ashamed by my behavior. Will you please stay?” With his right arm wrapped around his son, he reached his left arm out to her.

She stood still for too long.

Oh, Lord. Please help me
not to have ruined everything
.

Jimmy sucked in a breath.

Lillian reached out toward him and placed her hand in his. “I’m sorry, too. I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.” She took a deep breath. “And to answer your question, yes, I’ll stay. However, be warned. I’ll probably speak my mind again—at one turn or another.”

Woody chuckled. “I like your spirit.” They started walking back to the house, and she didn’t remove her hand from his, even while holding the lantern out to light their way. Woody felt the warmth all the way up his arm, and it had nothing to do with the lamp.

“I hope that’s true, but I’ve held it in for so long, I’m afraid I probably don’t control it the way I should.” A long sigh escaped. “I haven’t been completely honest with you, Mr. Colton . . . Woody. I lashed out at you earlier and compared you to my grandfather, which was a horrid thing to do. I’m sorry.”

He had wondered about her family, but she’d been very distant about them. Mrs. Goodman told him that she received mail from Indiana but that Lillian would have to share the details when she felt the time was right. “Would you like to tell me about him?”

Another sigh. “It’s rather a long and sad story, but yes, I want you to know it all.”

As they walked Lillian shared the events of her life. Woody listened without interrupting, hoping she would feel free to talk about whatever came to mind. He found that suddenly he wanted to know everything about her. Every single detail.

“. . . and Grandfather disowned me when I announced that I was leaving. I’m sorry I hid that from you.”

“It’s all right. I understand—not why he disowned you, but why you kept it to yourself. That’s a very private matter.” He paused and swallowed, unwilling to break their connection,
but he had to ask, “So how are things with your grandfather now?”

“Unchanged, I’m sorry to say. Stanton—he’s my dear friend and Grandfather’s butler—and I write back and forth. But Grandfather refuses to even read any of my letters.”

He squeezed her hand again. “Give it time. Maybe that will change. You never know what the Lord can do in someone’s life.”

Lillian reached up to smooth Jimmy’s hair. “He’s asleep, isn’t he?”

Woody chuckled again. “Yes, he’s like a deadweight on this shoulder. I haven’t been able to feel my arm for a good while. I’m glad he thought to put Mr. Whiskers back in his shirt. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to him.”

“I think that’s something of a habit with you.”

He said nothing. What could he say? She was right. He hadn’t been able to forgive himself for not keeping Rebecca and Jimmy safe.

Her silence washed over him, and they continued their walk back. Words weren’t really necessary. But he was thankful that she had accepted his apology and would stay.

Several minutes passed where the only sounds were their boots on the crunchy grass. Woody tried not to think about how the drought would affect his crop. The olives were already showing signs of withering. He shook his head. Worry and doubt had gotten him into the horrible predicament today. He couldn’t afford to do that again. God was in control. He knew that and would have to rest in that.

The house came into view and Lillian removed her hand from his. “I think I’ll run on ahead to let Mrs. Goodman know that we found him. That way we can get a hot water bottle in his
bed and warm it up for him, and warm up Mr. Whiskers’s box, too.” Without waiting for a response, she took off at a fast pace.

Was she running from him? The last half hour had been wonderful and Woody felt whole again. Holding his son, listening to Lillian, and holding her hand. It had seemed . . . right.