Hunter's Prize (19 page)

Pearson gaped after her, speechless. She couldn’t really believe whatshe’d just said. He didn’t know much about Mississippi women, but if they went to these lengths to discourage a suitor, he’d stick with Texas girls.

Angry with herself for her threatening tears, Addie charged up the stairs.

Only moments before, when her drowsy lids closed on the pages of
Villette
, her mind had replayed the events of the day. She’d finally concluded that if her employer and Reverend Stroud vouched for Mr. Foster, then she must be mistaken about him. She would defer to their good instincts and put all her suspicions aside. How foolish Addie felt now to consider trusting him. All the man could find to talk about was her beautiful mother.

Outside Ceddy’s room, Addie paused to compose herself. As sensitive as he was to change, he would notice her distress right away. She didn’t want to upset him. Wiping her eyes and smoothing her skirt, she put a smile on her face and opened the door.

On the threshold, she frowned. Ceddy wasn’t sitting in the window seat, his favorite spot, or sprawled on the floor surrounded by rocks. His bed, where she’d left him huddled under the quilt, was empty. His shoes and stockings, always the first things off when he entered his room, were no longer scattered across the rug.

Spinning, she rushed along the hall calling his name and checking every room and closet. Finding nothing, she hurtled down the stairs and bolted for the kitchen, praying she’d discover him tracing planks on the kitchen floor.

She recruited Delilah, and together they searched the bottom floor. Addie peeked discreetly inside the parlor, smiled and backed out again when Priscilla glanced up.

Hurrying upstairs in a panic, she went over the top floor again while Delilah scoured the yard. Her heart pulsing in her throat, she met Delilah on the bottom landing and questioned her with frantic eyes.

Trembling, Delilah shook her head and pulled Addie into her arms. “It’s time, honey,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You can’t put it off no mo’.”

Cringing, she nodded. Breaking free of Delilah’s comforting arms, Addie marched woodenly toward the parlor, praying for the strength to tell Priscilla that Ceddy was gone.

H
is head whirling, Pearson pushed out of the swing and opened the door. Spotting Theo striding toward him, he pointed over his shoulder. “You won’t believe what just happened.”

He bit back the rest when Reverend Stroud rounded the corner, white-faced and shaken.

Theo clutched his shoulder. “Pearson, the little boy is missing.”

Pearson looked past Theo into the hall, half expecting to see Ceddy crouched at the foot of the stairs. “Are you sure?”

“The women have searched every inch of the house,” the reverend said, “and called until they’re hoarse.”

Spinning, Pearson stared toward the garden. “I saw the maid running over the grounds, but I never imagined …” He firmed his jaw. “The boy’s got to be here somewhere. He couldn’t get far on foot.”

A tearful Miss Whitfield pushed past the reverend and Theo, wringing her hands. “Ceddy’s simply gone. We’ve looked everywhere. In the pantries, closets, and storerooms. The bedrooms, sitting rooms, and his late grandfather’s den.” She shuddered. “Even the abandoned servants’ quarters. There’s no sign of him.”

“Has he ever done this before?”

She shook her head emphatically. “Never. He’s a slave to routine and seldom varies his actions. This time of day he’s always in his room, napping then playing with his rock collection.” Her hand twistingintensified. “Poor Addie. She’s distraught. Blames herself for leaving him alone for so long.”

Guilt twisted Pearson’s stomach. She’d tried to go to the boy, but he’d held her. “Don’t fret, ma’am. We’ll find him.” Spurred into action, Pearson directed the reverend to search the front of the estate and Theo to scour the thick woods to the right of the property. “I’ll take the garden slope and the stand of trees to the left.”

“I suggest double duty, gentlemen,” the reverend said.

“How’s that?” Theo asked.

He set his mouth in a grim line. “Pray while you look.”

Pearson nodded then vaulted past Addie’s daffodil beds into the grassy yard. With the onset of dusk, the serenity of the well-laid garden became a shadowy, ominous maze. Meticulous in his method, he crisscrossed the yard, checking the limbs of every tree and the base of every hedge. Topping the slope, he trudged downhill to the property line then cut along the picket fence and ducked into the trees, calling Ceddy’s name. Theo’s voice, and the reverend’s, echoed back to him in the distance.

For the second time that day, he said a prayer.
God, please watch over Ceddy. Help us find him
.

The first stole into his mind that morning in church, the sermon washing over him in waves of healing oil, the scriptures in his ears like soothing balm. Taken by surprise at how he’d missed God’s house and the fellowship with believers, tears had threatened and a plea rose unbidden.
Help me to forgive You
. It seemed a forward, sinful prayer, but it came from the depths of his wounded soul.

Show me the way back to Your side
. Would God honor such a prayer? Pearson hoped so, because without help he’d never find his way through all the pain.

Exhaustion and thirst, more than the closing darkness, drove him toward the house. They’d wasted enough time. They’d have to go for help.

Theo and Reverend Stroud stood in the foyer speaking in low tones as he walked in. They spun with questioning eyes.

Pearson shook his head, and they slumped in disappointment. “Sir, can you round up a search party from your congregation?”

He nodded. “We’re of like minds. I was just telling young Theo the same.”

“Then we’d best go get them. It’s getting dark and cold out there. We may be running out of time.”

Delilah appeared, running halfway down the stairs, her heels loud on the steps. “Miss Priscilla,” she shrieked, “you best come quick.”

The woman burst from the parlor with a startled glance then ran up the staircase faster than Pearson thought possible for a woman her age.

Tight on her heels, they spun into the boy’s room.

“Thank you, merciful God!” she shouted.

Addie sat on the floor, holding the sobbing boy close to her breast, rocking him gently. He appeared drained, his head drooping, his arms hanging limp.

“Is he hurt?” Priscilla asked.

Tears shining in her eyes, Addie released a breath. “I don’t think so. He was under his bed the whole time, cowering in fear.”

“How could that be?” Miss Whitfield asked, as if she couldn’t make sense of the words.

“On impulse, I lifted the quilt and found him rolled into a shivering ball. Something has frightened him half out of his wits.”

Pearson knelt beside her. “Do you want us to go for a doctor?”

“That might be a good idea.”

Miss Whitfield shook her head. “There’s no need, Pearson. I’ll send my carriage.”

Ceddy’s hand fell open, and a large white rock slipped from his fingers, rattling across the floor. He whimpered and stirred.

Glancing up, Addie sought Pearson’s eyes. “Will you get it for him, please?”

Pearson picked up the milky white stone, surprised by its weight, and offered it to the boy.

His small fingers closed around it possessively, his breath catching on a sob.

Miss Whitfield motioned toward the door. “Leave us alone with him, gentlemen, if you please? I’d like for Addie to dress him for bed.”

“Of course,” Pearson said, pushing off the floor. Realizing Addie couldn’t rise with the boy in her arms, he bent to gather the frail, still body to his chest. Cradling Ceddy’s head, he gently carried him to the bed and laid him down. On impulse, he smoothed the hair off his forehead then patted his cheek. “Rest well, little fellow.”

“Oh my,” Miss Whitfield whispered, her fingers working the lacecollar at her throat. “He won’t usually allow strangers to touch him. You must be very good with children.”

He gave her a tight smile. “I had a brother his age.”

She touched his arm. “Had?”

“I lost him five years ago. In the Galveston storm.”

Miss Whitfield tightened her hand. “I’m so very sorry, dear.”

Ceddy stirred, almost asleep, winding his arms above his pillow and lolling his head to the side.

Addie gasped and rushed to the bed. “What on earth is this?”

“What is it, dear?” Miss Whitfield scurried to join her.

When she gasped, too, Pearson and the others crowded close to see. From ear to ear, an angry red line marred the skin of his neck. Droplets of blood had oozed and dried in tiny pearls along the ugly scratch.

Grabbing the lantern off the table, Miss Whitfield held it over him then groaned as if in pain. Ugly bruises covered his cheeks like black and blue fingers stretched over his mouth. She lifted his shirt, revealing more bruising on his stomach and along his sides.

Addie gently probed the wound on Ceddy’s neck, and he moaned in his sleep. “What could have done this?” she demanded.

“You mean who,” Reverend Stroud said. “Was he playing with anyone at the social? A ruffian or bully perhaps?”

Miss Whitfield glanced over her shoulder. “Oh Reverend, another child couldn’t have done this.”

He shrugged. “You’d be surprised.”

“It wasn’t here before we got home,” Addie insisted. “I would’ve seen it.”

“Not necessarily,” Theo said. “Not with the cut tucked under his chin like that. And it takes awhile for bruises to show.”

“That’s why he ‘fraid,” Delilah announced from the doorway. “Some fool been hurtin’ him.”

The circle of people gazed around at each other.

Straightening, Miss Whitfield clenched her fists at her sides. “I don’t know who did it, but when I find out—and I will get to the bottom of this—there will be swift reckoning.” The rage burning in her eyes left no doubt of her sincerity.

“I’m relieved we found him, at least,” the reverend said. “Poor little mite.”

“Do you really think this happened at the church?” Pearson asked.

The man shrugged. “Anything is possible these days, and if you don’t mind my saying, it would be preferable to the alternative.” “Which is?”

Reverend Stroud’s throat worked furiously before he spoke. “That someone in our midst is the culprit.”

Addie opened Ceddy’s door and stole another look. By the light of the lamp she’d left burning, she watched him sleep. His long lashes fluttered occasionally, and his rosy mouth puckered. A beautiful boy awake, he seemed angelic at rest.

Backing from the room, she pulled the door closed and leaned her head against it. What had happened to him that day? How could she have allowed it? She should have watched him more closely instead of Mr. Foster. “If only I could go back and change it,” she whispered.

“Wishing won’t make it so, dear.”

Startled by the voice behind her, Addie jumped.

“Forgive me,” Priscilla said, drawing her dressing gown tight. “I couldn’t rest either. Is he all right?”

“He seems to be.”

“Good.” She stretched, twisting her head back and forth, as if working out the kinks. “It’s not your fault, Addie. I don’t want you thinking so.”

“Of course it is. He’s my charge.”

“A lot took place today, most of it out of his normal routine. You can’t be prepared all the time. I neglected to watch him, too.” She frowned and nibbled the corner of her lip. “The thing I can’t put out of my mind is this: we were with trusted friends the whole time. It just doesn’t make sense, unless …”

“Go on.”

She glanced up. “Follow me, if you please. I want to talk to you in private.”

A deserted hallway in the dead of night seemed private enough, but Addie wouldn’t say so. She followed Priscilla to the end of the hall and into her large, ornate bedroom. The scent of lavender met her at the door, and soft rugs cushioned her feet. Uneasy to be in her employer’s private space, she paused just inside and waited.

“Come along,” Priscilla said, patting a striped divan. “Have a seat right here.”

Addie trudged obediently to the sofa and perched on the edge.

Priscilla climbed into an overstuffed chair and tucked her bare feet beneath her. “The matter I want to discuss will require strict confidence, Addie. I wouldn’t dare broach the subject unless I felt you were mature enough to keep a secret.”