A Place Called Home (4 page)

She tortured herself with thoughts of a man named Mr. Franklin whom she never knew but might have died because of her. The finality of death weighed upon her as she thought of never seeing her grandfather again. Mrs. Hall, her home, and Vince Jeffers all crowded into her thoughts. Each time the conductor came by for her ticket she paid him to ride to the next stop. Unaware and uncaring of how many miles she had traveled, her mind was closed to everything around her.

“Reedsburg! This is Reedsburg, folks. Next stop is Baxter. All out for Reedsburg. Next town is Baxter.”

Reedsburg! The fog began to clear as she said the word to herself. She remembered slowly that her grandfather had business dealings several years back with a man in Reedsburg. The man had wanted her grandfather to come down, but he was reluctant to travel the 200 miles in winter.

She was over 200 miles from home! She was getting off at the next stop, not caring where it was or if she knew anyone. She just had to get off this train before it took her any further from home. Her bag was in her hand and she was ready to go when the conductor called Baxter as the next stop. Christine was sure she had never heard of it before.

She was the only one to get off in Baxter, and her eyes took in the small, near-empty platform. Her feet were on solid ground only a few minutes when she heard the conductor call “All Aboard!” She took a few steps away from the train and turned to watch it move down the tracks. There was a finality about it that scared her a little.

Turning back toward the train station, Christine noticed for the first time that evening was falling. Her eyes went to the sign posted on the side of the ticket office: Baxter, Population 396. She took a deep breath and remembered again how hungry and tired she was. Well, she was in Baxter for at least tonight. She set off for what appeared to be the downtown section of Baxter, intent on finding a place to stay and something to eat.

Back in Spooner, Mrs. Hall hurried to answer the knock at the front door. “Oh, Mr. Jeffers, it's you. I so hoped it would be the sheriff with some news.”

Vince Jeffers spoke as he stepped inside. “What news, Mrs. Hall? What's happened?”

“Oh, haven't you heard? Christine is missing. She wasn't in her room this morning and no one has seen her since yesterday.” The old woman wrung her hands and tears filled her eyes.

Mrs. Hall did not see the angry clenching of Vince Jeffers' jaw as he fought to regain control of his emotions. With effort his voice came out calmly. “You did the right thing in calling the sheriff, Mrs. Hall. I'll go around now and see him to offer my help. If he's heard anything I'll come back and tell you.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Jeffers; I've been so worried.”

The polite mask falling from his face, he nodded to the woman and stepped out into the evening. Standing with his fists clenched, he trembled with anger at this change in his plans. He stood for some minutes getting control of himself before stepping off the porch with a determined stride, a new plan already forming in his mind.

Christine moved around the back of the train station. There were barrels and crates stacked against the building. A lone wagon was parked nearby. There was little activity with the darkness coming, but as she came around the corner of the building she heard music playing. Looking across at what appeared to be a vacant lot, she decided to ask for help over there.

The backs of the other buildings she passed were as quiet as the train station had been. They had an ominous look, and she walked slowly and squinted into the darkness as she moved closer to the music.

As she arrived at the building it occurred to her for the first time that it was probably a saloon. She hesitated before starting up the alley toward the street and front door. Hating the thought of entering a saloon, she nevertheless had to find a place to stay for the night and a meal. She would have to swallow her fear and ask inside.

Halfway up the alley a voice spoke out of the shadows.

“Where you headed, boy?”

Christine gasped and backed away until she came up against the side of the building. A man then came out of the shadows. He didn't look very tall, but his upper body seemed massive in the dim light of the alley. If there was going to be a fight, there was little doubt in Christine's mind who would win.

“What's in your bag? A little cash, maybe?” His voice was deep and gravelly. “I've got me a thirst, boy, and no money. Maybe your bag there can help.”

Christine moved the bag in front of her and grasped the handle with both hands.

“Now, listen boy, I don't want to hurt you. Just hand over the bag so I can see it.”

Christine felt like a trapped animal. Her eyes searched for an escape route, but he was too close. Her eyes came back to the man who was slowly approaching her. The injustice of it all began to weigh upon her. The last 24 hours were crowding in. She was tired and hungry and her hat was too tight. Without the money in her bag she couldn't even get home. Home! At this point she could barely remember where that was.

The man was almost within arm's reach when he stopped and held out his hand. “Just give me the bag, boy, and you can be on your way.”

“No!” Christine could hardly believe she had said that.

Before she could draw another breath the man moved. In an instant he held a large knife toward her. Christine's breath lodged in her throat.

“Now, boy, I'll say it one more time. Hand over the bag.”

Christine acted before she thought. Still clutching the bag with both hands, she brought it up hard under the man's extended arm. His arm went up but he didn't lose the knife. Christine leaped away from him, but he was fast and she just barely missed being stabbed. Her fear turned to anger and new strength. She swung her bag again, but he grabbed it with his free hand. She saw him raise the knife and stood in stunned horror, knowing she was about to die. She heard a long, high-pitched scream, never realizing it was her own. She felt the bag wrenched away as a searing pain shot through her chest.
She felt her knees buckle. Blackness engulfed her, and she knew no more.

Christine felt weary at having relived in her mind the events leading up to being in this room. Her weariness led to loneliness as she thought of how alone and far from home she was. What would become of her now?

Carrying a food tray, Maggie reentered the room at that moment. She reminded Christine so much of Mrs. Hall that tears flooded her eyes. Maggie set the food tray down and turned to smile at Christine with such tender understanding that, try as she might, she could not stem the flow of tears beginning to pour down her cheeks. Without a word, Maggie sat down and gently embraced the crying young woman. Wrapped in the loving arms of Maggie, Christine gave way to the healing tears that were to signal a change in her life that she could never have imagined.

When Christine awoke again it was to the pressure of a hand on her brow. The room was shadowed, dim, and easier on her eyes. She focused on the owner of the hand. A tall, handsome man with deep blue eyes was smiling at her.

“Welcome back. How do you feel?”

“Thirsty.” Christine's voice was a hoarse whisper.

The man helped her drink and then settle back on the pillows before he spoke again.

“You were asleep each time I checked on you today. Maggie tells me your name is Christine Bennett.” She nodded and he went on. “I'm Dr. Mark Cameron. I brought you here from the alley. What were you doing in the alley after dark?”

As he spoke, his hands were moving. He held her wrist for a minute and then checked her shoulder. He paused in his movements to meet her eyes, telling her plainly he was waiting for an answer.

“I was looking for something to eat and a place to stay for the night.” She had been raised to tell the truth. She would not answer if it meant lying.

“You're not from Baxter?” He knew what her answer would be.

“No.”

“Did you come in on the train?”

“Yes.”

“You rode the train dressed as a boy?”

He watched her lips compress and an angry sparkle enter her eyes. He knew she was pulling away from him. He placed his hands gently on Christine's upper arms and said in a quiet but firm voice, “Christine, don't close me out. I realize you don't know me, but I want to help you if I can.” He paused and watched her face intently for signs of softening. “Whatever it is that made you dress up like a boy and leave your home is not going to go away just because you ran from it.”

“You don't know how wrong you are!” she cried in a desperate voice. “I had to get out of Spooner.”

Spooner! Mark carefully masked his surprise at how far she was from home. Then a thought came to him.

“Christine, you were stabbed in the alley. Was it someone you knew? Did you have something someone wanted?”

“I didn't know the man in the alley. He said he needed a drink and wanted my bag. He got it too—I mean, I think he did. You didn't find it in the alley, did you?”

“No, I'm afraid not.”

She looked so young and vulnerable. Mark's heart went out to her. He decided to try one more time. “Talk to me, Christine. Let me help you.”

To her utter horror and embarrassment her eyes filled with tears, and in an effort to keep from crying she began to talk. This man, stranger that he was, was so compassionate. She could not stem the flow of her words as the entire story came spilling out.

Outside of a question here and there, or a word of encouragement, Mark said nothing. His mind raced as he tried to sort through all the facts she was telling him. He agreed that she had no choice but to leave Spooner. He reassured her when she began to fret about the money in the bag, telling her everything was going to work out.

Once through talking, she was exhausted from the strain and terror of remembering. He helped her with another drink, this one mixed with a sedative she never noticed. She whispered a thank you as her eyes closed in sleep.

Not until Christine's breathing had evened out in deep sleep did Mark turn his attention to the third occupant of the room, whom Christine hadn't noticed. Susanne sat quietly near the door, where she had been during the entire exchange. Mark was sure the concern and sympathy he saw in his wife's eyes mirrored his own.