Deborah Camp (2 page)

It had been the same at every stop, Elise observed. One by one, the orphans had been given
away like parcels instead of people. The whole process sickened her, and she wished she could magically whisk her sister and brother back to their home by the shore.

Elise noticed a clutch of women whispering behind their hands and studying the Indian surreptitiously. She glanced at him again, intrigued by his city shirt and trousers, in contrast to his teak-colored skin, jutting cheekbones and deeply set eyes. He looked at the train cars with an edgy alertness, as if he were ready to spring into action. What was he doing here? Who or what was he meeting on this train? He wasn’t going to rob it, was he?

Fear stabbed her, then eased up when she noticed that he carried no weapon. So what business did he have here?

With a grand flourish, Mrs. Gadstone unfolded the paper from which she would read off numbers to match children with the adults holding the corresponding numerals.

Elise’s heart constricted painfully when her brother, Adam, hopped down the train steps, then turned to lift their younger sister, Penny, from the car to the platform.

They’re so young, so innocent! Elise thought, chewing on her lower lip to keep from crying out to them. How could her grandparents stand by and allow this to happen to their own flesh and blood!

Her thirteen-year-old brother tried to look brave, but Elise noticed the tight set of his mouth and knew he was on the verge of tears. His dark red hair, so like her own, shone in the sunlight. Freckles generously dusted his nose and cheeks. He was of average height for his age, but thin. He’d lost
weight since their parents had died and the joy had been snuffed out of their lives.

Eight-year-old Penny’s hair was fire-engine red and she bore the same crop of freckles. Her curly hair had been gathered into a topknot and tied with a blue ribbon that matched her gingham dress. She essayed a gap-toothed grin when she spied Elise and waved a dimpled hand.

Suddenly one of the other orphans—a boy of ten or eleven—bolted from the boxcar and dashed through the crowd amid squeals and shouts. Elise snapped her attention back to Adam, saw the flash of rebellion in his eyes and shook her head firmly.
Don’t even think about it,
she thought as she mouthed, “No,” to him and shook her head again. He wouldn’t get far and would only make a bad impression on the people who were here to adopt him. Penny pointed a finger and tugged on Adam’s sleeve.

“Look, Adam! A weel Injun!”

The lone Indian had snagged the maverick boy by the shirt collar. The lad squirmed, trying his best to break away, but the Indian held him fast. He lifted one large brown hand and with infinite tenderness stroked the boy’s blond hair. The boy looked up into the bronze-colored face and, instead of squealing in terror, stopped struggling altogether as fascination overcame his panic.

Elise heard snatches of conversations around her, the words underlined with excitement and censure.

“Lonewolf … Oh, my word, that’s Lonewolf … I heard he’d gone back to the reservation … What’s he doing here? … Wild as a March hare, I hear.”

“I say there!” Mr. Charles raised a warning finger at the Indian. Elise noticed that the finger trembled
and that Mr. Charles’s voice had climbed to a near shriek. “Unhand that child!”

Lonewolf
. Elise turned the name over in her mind, finding it odd yet fittingly romantic. She supposed she should be scared, but he appeared to be civilized. She certainly hoped so! A man of his brute strength could do some damage among the timid, colorless people of Crossroads, Missouri!

Elise gleaned curiosity and fascination in the faces around her, but not fear. He certainly had stirred up some interest. She smiled, watching as he straightened the orphan’s clothing and patted his shoulder reassuringly.

He captured one of the boy’s hands and led him toward Mr. Charles. For all his size, his movements were fluid and lanky. He moved like an animal, at home in his body and confident of his place in the world. He walked slowly so that the lad could keep up with him. Handing the boy over to Mrs. Gadstone, Lonewolf afforded the youngster a quick, warm smile that was genuinely returned.

“Freddie, get back on the train,” Mr. Charles said, giving the boy a push. “You get off at Joplin … and not before!”

Freddie dashed into the boxcar again, to the nervous laughter and whispers of the other orphans. Elise saw something akin to compassion flicker in Lonewolf’s eyes as he stared at the train. She looked, too, and her throat clogged with pity at the sight of small faces pressed against the train windows.

She turned back around and her heart skipped a beat when she found that Lonewolf was looking at her. His dark-eyed gaze wandered over her stylish clothes, her plucky hat. One brow lifted as his eyes moved up to find hers. Elise felt as if her breath
had deserted her. When he finally redirected his attention to the children lined up behind Mr. Charles, Elise gathered in a gulp of air. What had he been thinking while looking at her? she wondered. She was no stranger to masculine attention, but she couldn’t read the messages in Lonewolf’s eyes.

“Number twenty-seven!” Mrs. Gadstone called out, waving a yellow strip of paper. “Who has number twenty-seven?”

Elise slammed her eyes shut as her heart seemed to turn to stone in her chest. Number twenty-seven … oh, how could she stand this … how was she expected to bear it? When she opened her eyes, tears blurred her vision.

“Here, right here!” An older gentleman came forward, buggy whip in hand. A slender young woman trailed him.

Mr. Charles checked the number on the paper the man presented, then nodded. “Very good, sir. Let’s see now … which is it?”

“Adam,” Mrs. Gadstone said, and Elise whispered the name with her. The Society escort snagged Adam by the forearm and hauled him forward. “He’s number twenty-seven. See?” She indicated the number pinned to the back of Adam’s white shirt.

Elise’s chest tightened and her heart almost stopped beating. She forced herself to smile when she caught Adam’s eye, and blew him a kiss. Then the older man clamped a hand on Adam’s shoulder, staking his claim. It took everything in Elise not to snatch her brother away and run—but to where? Even Baltimore was no longer home to them.

“Come along, boy,” the man said in a boisterous
voice. He was dressed in a black suit and wore a string tie. His snowy white hair lay in waves on his head and curled under at his shoulders. In contrast, his brows and mustache were as black as coal. He turned Adam around and around for a quick inspection, then grunted his approval. “Looks like I got the pick of the litter, doesn’t it, Harriet?”

The dour-faced young woman hardly acknowledged Adam. “He looks fit.”

Elise pressed her lips together to keep from sobbing aloud. She’d prayed that Adam’s new parents would extend loving arms and warm kisses. This old man acted as if he’d bought himself a mule! Maybe he’d just come to fetch Adam and there was a loving family waiting back at the homestead. This might be his new grandfather, and the woman called Harriet might be his new older sister. She prayed for this scenario.

“Don’t forget to sign the adoption papers and leave a set for us. Just hand them to me or Mrs. Gadstone,” Mr. Charles instructed.

“That’s all there is to it?” the man asked, taking Adam by the arm.

“Yes, sir. Congratulations.” Mr. Charles patted Adam on the back. “You be a good boy. You’re lucky to have a new home. Remember that.”

Elise edged around a post to watch the man and woman lead her brother away. Adam glanced back several times, each longing look tearing chunks out of Elise’s heart.

“Where’s he going?” Penny asked, her voice rising with anxiety. “Adam! Adam! Take me, too!”

Mrs. Gadstone tried to quiet Penny by offering her a sucker, but Penny continued to whimper and cry out for her brother, her high-pitched voice sending shudders of agony through Elise. Unable
to stop herself, Elise reached out a hand to Adam, her fingers trembling, tears spilling onto her cheeks. But she stood rooted to the spot when another number rang out.

“Twenty-eight,” Mrs. Gadstone announced.

Penny! Oh, sweet Jesus! Not little Penny! Elise covered her mouth with her fingers, trapping a sob that quivered in her throat. Oh, the pain! She’d never known such agony, not since that terrible day when Papa and Mama had died. This was worse, though. This was the last of her family, and they were being parceled off like rations. She must stop them! If she had to kidnap her own kin, then so be it!

But the brave plan crumbled. She had no way to feed her brother and sister, no roof to spread over their heads, no money to buy clothes for them. She’d be lucky to make her own way without having to resort to selling herself in an upstairs room of some liquor palace.

“Number twenty-eight! I believe … yes, it’s this little girl here.”

Penny sniffed, wiped her eyes and stuck the sucker in her mouth, oblivious of what awful fate might lie ahead of her. Her innocence wrenched at Elise’s heart and brought a new wash of tears to her eyes.

“Who has number twenty-eight?” Mr. Charles asked. “Speak up, please!”

Yes, yes, speak up! Elise thought. Get this over with. Don’t prolong this torture. Her fingers and toes grew cold and she wondered if she might be slowly dying.

As if in a dream, Elise watched the tall Indian called Lonewolf stride forward, a sheet of parchment clutched in his hand. No, it couldn’t be! Not
him! She cringed, thinking of her little sister being raised by a savage. He must have been sent by someone … maybe he was a manservant to a rich farm family!

Mr. Charles glanced disdainfully at him. Elise clutched at the garnet material covering her heart even as the Indian parted his lips to speak.

Dear God, not him!

His voice emerged deep and booming, like thunder on the plains. “She belongs to me.”

For an instant, blackness swam before Elise’s eyes. Only her stubborn will kept her upright, although the train platform seemed to rock beneath her feet.

“You?” Mr. Charles aimed the tip of his sharp nose at the Indian. “Who sent you here?”

“No one sent me. This child is mine.”

Elise stumbled forward to grasp a support post. She held onto it, her fingernails digging into the wood. Suddenly she wished that she and her siblings had died right along with their mother and father. Death would be better than this living hell. Being separated, sent to the ends of the earth, raised by cold old men and red-skinned savages—it was barbaric!

Lonewolf extended the paper he held. “It says so here. I am to have number twenty-eight. A girl child of eight years.”

Elise could see the fancy crest of the Society at the top of the parchment as Mr. Charles snatched it from Lonewolf to study it for himself before giving it back. Meanwhile, Penny inched closer to the Indian and slipped two fingers across one of his wide palms. Elise gritted her teeth and edged forward. She’d grab Penny and run, she thought.
Maybe they’d stop her; maybe she’d get away. She had to try …

The Indian looked at Penny and tender emotion warmed his brown eyes. Elise paused, her fear eased by the big man’s gentleness.

“Are you a weel Injun?” Penny asked.

“Yes.” Lonewolf’s smile was wide and heart-winning. “I’m part Apache.”

Apache! Elise edged closer, determined to make a grab for Penny. She couldn’t leave her poor, innocent sister in the hands of an Apache warrior! She’d read about them. How could the Society allow this man to take an innocent child?

Mr. Charles craned his neck to look around Lonewolf. “I don’t see your wife, sir. Didn’t she come along to welcome this little angel into your family?”

“My wife is dead.”

No wife
. The words swam in Elise’s head. Her sweet sister living alone with this Indian! She opened her mouth to protest, but Mr. Charles stole the words from her.

“I’m sorry. You can’t have this child.” The pinch-faced escort snagged the bow at the waist of Penny’s dress and pulled her backward and behind him, shielding her from Lonewolf.

“But I have the papers. I paid the money.” Lonewolf waved the parchment in Mr. Charles’s face. “She’s mine.”

“No, sir. These children are to go to husbands and wives, not to bachelors and old maids. The contract you signed states this in no uncertain terms.” Mr. Charles peered at him through his thick glasses. “You can read, can’t you? English, that is.”

Lonewolf’s withering scowl stifled some of Mr. Charles’s
testiness, but the escort kept Penny anchored behind him.

“Shall I place her back on the train, Mr. Charles?” Mrs. Gadstone asked.

“Yes, unless …” Mr. Charles glanced around at the dozen or so people still milling around. “Anyone want to take this child? You can pay the money today and I’ll draw up the correct papers. Anyone? She’s a pretty thing.”

Elise held her breath, her gaze flitting from one bland face to the next. No one came forward. No one cared about a little girl from Baltimore. But if no one adopted Penny in Crossroads, then where would she be taken to? Maybe to the next whistle-stop. That wouldn’t be so bad. Elise could still visit Penny and Adam, as long as the distance wasn’t too great.

“Very well, back on the train she goes.” Mr. Charles flinched from the anger radiating from the Apache half-breed. “I’m sorry for your loss …”

Lonewolf glared at the small man. It was obvious he was barely holding himself in check. “I
will
take the child. I promised my wife I’d give her a good home.”

“Yes, yes, but that’s quite impossible now, isn’t it?” Mr. Charles glanced behind him at Penny, who had begun to struggle and weep.

Elise placed a finger to her lips, motioning for Penny to calm down. The redheaded child sniffed pitifully, but stopped slapping at Mrs. Gadstone’s hands.

Poor angel doesn’t understand that this is a blessing, Elise thought, relieved that her sister wouldn’t be placed in the care of the imposing Indian. There was still hope for Penny to have a solid, loving home where Elise could visit her and keep
the family ties strong. She’d be near Adam, too. They’d all be together as much as possible.