Loving Beth Book One, page 6
Beth didn’t have many books. Money was always tight, so books were an extravagance they couldn’t afford. Besides that, Beth’s mother always told her there was no book better than the Bible, and if she wanted to read, she could just open the Bible and start reading the many wonderful stories and lessons in the Good Book. But Beth had already read the Bible cover to cover numerous times.
It had started drizzling during the night, and this morning the rain poured without stopping—which was another reason Beth had remained in bed longer than usual.
But all good things must come to an end. When Beth entered the barn with the milk pail later that morning, Gerty the cow let her know she was late. As Beth pulled the milking stool up alongside the upset cow, Gerty cranked her neck around, gave Beth a scowl, and mooed her discontent rather loudly, as if to say, “It’s about time you showed up!”
“I know, I know. I’m late.” Beth grabbed hold of two teats and started squeezing milk into the pail. That seemed to pacify Gerty, and she relaxed and began chewing her cud while Beth continued milking. Beth was just squeezing the last bit of Gerty’s milk into the pail when a loud raucous from the chicken pen startled her.
“My chickens!” Beth jumped up so fast she almost knocked the bucket of milk over. She picked it up and set it on a shelf and ran out of the barn. A flash of something ran behind the house—or, at least, she thought so. She couldn’t be sure. The chickens squawked and ran amuck with their wings flapping wildly—a few flew into the chicken wire in an attempt to escape.
Escape from what? Beth wondered. Something had obviously upset them. Beth opened the door to the chicken coop. Other than feathers on the ground and a few still floating in the air, everything looked okay. No sign of any predators, and the chickens were all accounted for. Whatever the danger was, the threat was no longer there. Beth threw out some grain, and the chickens slowly settled down and pecked at it. Before long, they were scratching in the dirt and crooning.
When Beth gathered the eggs from the nest boxes, a broken one lay on the floor. If a predator dropped it, what was it and how did it get in the coop? Something was amiss.
Beth left the coop with a dozen eggs in her apron pockets. She left the door open so the chickens could get out and have free range. As she rounded the corner of the pen, she spotted a track in the mud. She bent over to study the track, which was a little smudged. It was not what she expected. It wasn’t a possum nor a raccoon track, nor the track of any other four-footed critter. No! This was a human footprint. Beth jerked her head toward the house, where she’d thought she’d seen a flash of movement earlier. She looked back at the ground, still trying to process what seemed impossible. She looked for other tracks, but that was the only one. The footprint was smaller than her own—and she had small feet. It had to belong to a child.
Beth hurried to the house and placed her eggs in a basket, then ran back outside and searched for the child responsible for that track. She looked in and around the barn, the root cellar, and the outhouse, but there was no sign. So she walked the perimeter of her property. She spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon looking for the child. She was never so befuddled by a thing in all her life. Her closest neighbors, the Stewarts, were almost a half mile away. The nearest anybody after that was in town, and that was two miles away. Beth knew of no one else—unless someone had moved into the next hollow over. But that was well over a mile away. She’d never ventured over that way because there was no need to and there were no roads. Perhaps she needed to.
Feeling defeated, Beth returned to the house. She had so many unanswered questions about that footprint—it was like pieces of a puzzle she couldn’t put together. But more than that, she was concerned for the child. What would make him or her want to steal eggs? Hunger?
Beth poured herself a cup of tea, flopped down in a chair at the kitchen table, and took a deep breath. She was tuckered after her long search; she had covered a lot of area—on hilly terrain—on foot. She picked up her cup, blew a curl from her face, and started to take a sip, but froze before the rim of the cup touched her lips. She set the cup back down in the saucer with a clank. Her cake! Mrs. Bartley had given Beth the rest of her birthday cake, and it had been sitting on the table, covered with a piece of muslin. It was gone! So was the cloth. Only crumbs and an empty plate remained. That child had stolen her cake!
Beth sat back in her chair and sipped her tea, trying to make sense of it all. Who was this child? Where did he or she live? Obviously, the poor little tyke was hungry. Her heart ached for this mysterious child.
She needed a plan. She needed to catch the little bantling in the act. They’d been here before—hence, the broken egg on the ground yesterday and the missing eggs on a few other occasions.
Beth sighed. She’d have to get up early the next morning and keep vigil at the window.
CHAPTER 10
The next day came without any sign of the child. Beth collected the eggs and all was fine in the chicken coop. She chuckled to herself as she kneaded bread dough on the floured surface of the kitchen table. “Why should that child come today? He or she is probably stuffed full of my chocolate cake.”
The following morning, when the chickens sounded the alarm, Beth was ready. She ran out the door. There stood a small boy with one of her hens in his little arms. The boy looked at Beth. His large eyes opened wider. The hen pecked the boy, and the boy dropped it. He took off running toward the mountain slope northwest of Beth’s cabin.
“Wait, stop!” she hollered at the boy. “Don’t run. It’s okay.”
But the boy ran without looking back.
“Little boy, little boy, come back,” Beth continued to call. She decided to follow him, but in her hurry to get out the door at the first sound of the chickens, she had neglected to shut the door. So she ran back to the house, shut the door, and then ran in the direction the boy had gone. Of course, he now had a good head start. Beth glimpsed him as he started up the forested slope. He zig-zagged through the trees. She would see him, and then she wouldn’t, as a tree would block her view. Running up this mountain in a long dress hindered her as well. She’d have to stop now and then and catch her breath as she searched for the boy. “Beth,” she chastised herself, “how can you let a small boy outrun you?” It wasn’t that he was running faster—he was dodging and hiding from her, trying to throw Beth off his trail. You’re a smart little whip.
And then she saw him. The little boy had veered left from behind a huge sugar maple and was a good distance up the mountain from Beth. The climbing became steeper, and Beth had to slow down and pace herself. The trees hid him from view, so she didn’t see him again until he topped the ridge and disappeared down the other side. The mountain was steep enough that Beth had to grab ahold of a tree or a branch now and then to help propel herself forward.
She finally reached the top, but to her disappointment, there was no sign of him—and no sign of a dwelling. There was just a little valley, no wider than the hollow that led to the Stewarts.’ Where are you?
Then she spotted him. He was headed up the hollow. Beth ran down the mountain as fast as she could, being careful not to twist an ankle. When she reached the bottom, the little boy was far ahead of her. He suddenly veered left and headed up the next slope. Every now and then, he would stop and look back, and when he spotted Beth, his little feet ran faster. Beth wished she could convince him that he didn’t need to fear her.
She was now on a narrow trail. How many times had the little boy ventured over to her side of the mountain? Enough to make this trail? More likely, it was a deer trail. After the boy reached the top of the next ridge, Beth slowed enough to catch her breath. Surely, he couldn’t go much farther.
The top of the second ridge leveled out into a field. In the distance was a small log cabin. There was no sign of the boy. As she approached the cabin, the cries of a baby reached her ears. She hoped the people living in the cabin were friendly. She remembered the gossip back at the store about the rude couple who’d stopped in. As she grew closer, she noticed a clothesline off to the side of the house with no clothes hanging, and a trail that led into the forest a short ways behind the cabin. Near that, a large patch of dead cornstalks stood defiantly against the coming winter.
As Beth stepped cautiously onto the porch, the baby continued crying. The cabin door stood open.
“Hello?” No answer, just silence. Even the baby stopped crying. Beth reached the door and poked her head halfway inside. An awful stench greeted her, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“Hello?” Still no answer, so Beth stepped inside. There stood the startled little boy to her left. He looked gaunt and frightened as he stared at her, unmoving from the stool he stood on in front of a huge cookstove.
“Don’t be afraid,” Beth said softly. “My name is Beth. What’s your name?”
The boy didn’t move. He looked about six or seven years old. He wore torn and dirty bib overalls with one of Beth’s eggs sticking out of his front bib pocket.
The baby, sitting on a pile of rags behind boards that were nailed to the walls to form a makeshift crib in the corner, crawled over to the wood rails, and, with some effort, managed to pull herself to a standing position. Big blue eyes stared over the top rail. Blond little curls framed a tear-streaked, dirty face. The baby bounced up and down, still clinging to the rails. A pout played at her lips, and then she wailed. Her diaper hung past her knees and desperately needed changed.
Poor little thing. Beth wanted to go to the baby in the worst way, but thought better of it. Surely, their parents were somewhere close by.
The boy still stared unblinking. Greasy brown bangs half hid his wide brown eyes. Dark circles lined his eyes and dirt smudged his face. Beth looked at his feet. He wore shoes but no socks. By the looks of it, neither child had bathed or put on clean clothes in a month. They had been pitifully neglected. Beth’s heart broke for these two little ones.
She looked at the little boy and nodded toward the baby. “Is that your little sister?” He looked over at the baby, his lips trembling, and nodded.
Beth bent down to the little boy’s level and spoke in a soft voice. “Can you tell me your sister’s name?”
At first he said nothing, but then Beth noticed the corner of his mouth twitch. “Sissy,” he finally said, his voice barely a whisper.
“And your name?”
“T-Tommy.”
Beth smiled. “I’m really happy to meet you, Tommy.” She placed her hand gently on his shoulder. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. You’re not in trouble. I’m your neighbor, and I want you to know I’ll always be your friend.”
Tommy averted his eyes, but then slowly looked back at Beth. This time, his wary eyes held no more fear.
“Where are your parents, Tommy?”
Tommy shrugged and looked down at the floor.
Does he really not know? Or does he not want to say? These children appeared abandoned. But, surely not!
Beth took a quick look around the room. Debris was everywhere. Dirty dishes piled on the table looked like they hadn’t been washed in ages. A bucket sat next to the baby’s crib with dirty diapers hanging over the edge. Yet, the log cabin was newly built, and it had been built by someone who was skilled and took pride in their workmanship. The furniture in the room looked handmade by possibly the same skilled builder. A beautiful rocking chair waited by the rock-walled fireplace. On the upper back rail, the name Lydia had been carved.
The lid clanked on the stove, and Beth jerked her head toward Tommy. He added a small stick of wood to the firebox. He must have been getting a fire started in the stove when Beth walked in, startling him.
“What are you cooking, Tommy?” A small cook pot filled with water sat on the stove. She smiled at Tommy, then leaned over and peered inside the pot. Her jaw dropped and blood drained from her face as she fought back the urge to gag. She swallowed hard. “What is this?” She pointed at the pot, trying not to sound too disgusted.
“Toby brung it?” His voice trembled.
“Who’s Toby?”
“The cat.”
“You got this bird from your cat?” Beth asked, unable to keep her voice from raising an octave.
Tommy pointed at his little sister, worry shrouding his face now. “Sissy’s hungry.”
Sissy began howling again.
Beth took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She had to get a grip for the children’s sakes. It’s not every day you find a young child cooking a Blue Jay. The bird, to her disgust, had not been cleaned or plucked, and, dear Lord, was that a maggot in the water? Evidently, the cat, like cats will do, proudly dropped the dead Blue Jay on the door stoop. Were these children so hungry that Tommy would actually pick up the dead bird and, not knowing how to dress and clean it, just put it head, feathers, guts, and all right into the stew pot? Then Beth envisioned the little boy stealing her eggs, chocolate cake, and almost one of her hens. No wonder the poor little tyke wanted a chicken. Beth had to fight back tears as her heart broke for these precious children who were starving.
“Tommy,” a much calmer Beth said. “Do you mind if we give the bird back to Toby? He might be hungry too. I could cook you that egg you have in your pocket.”
Tommy looked up at Beth. The worry melted from his face, and he actually smiled for the first time. “Okay,” he said, nodding fiercely.
Beth picked up the pot and walked a little distance from the cabin and threw the contents into the yard. She didn’t want to take the chance of Tommy coming back for it when she left. Left? How could she possibly leave these kids? She returned to the cabin and added more wood to the stove and held her palm out to Tommy for the egg in his bib pocket. He handed Beth the egg, his sunken eyes sparkling at her. Beth scrubbed out an iron frying pan, found some lard and put some in it, and then cracked the egg into the pan. She felt a little tug on her dress sleeve.
Tommy pulled two more eggs from his britches.
Beth couldn’t help but chuckle at his sly little grin. She added those eggs to the pan.
As soon as the eggs were done, she washed a plate and put them on it to cool.
“Tommy, does the baby have any milk?” Beth handed the plate of eggs to Tommy.
“There’s no more milk,” Tommy said. He pointed to his plate. “I saved that for Sissy.”
Beth stared at the plate. Tommy had moved half the eggs to one side—and had cut them into tiny baby-bite pieces.
“Are there any clean diapers for the baby?”
Tommy shook his head and then looked at the floor. “I didn’t know what to do.”
Beth silently huffed. What was she to do? She couldn’t leave the baby dirty and hungry. But, at the same time, she felt apprehensive about the parents returning. Something told her they wouldn’t be very understanding. She straightened her shoulders. No matter, she thought as she rolled up her sleeves. Let them come. She didn’t give two cents to what they thought. While wash water heated on the stove, Beth scrounged around the cabin until she found some muslin she could use for a diaper, and, as luck would have it, she found a clean gown in the bottom drawer of a small dresser that should fit Sissy. On closer inspection, she noticed the small detailed stitching and little tucks in the front. A lot of care and time went into making this gown. The woman who sewed this obviously loved her baby. She looked at the rocking chair. Did Lydia sew this little gown for Sissy? And where was Lydia now?
Beth sponge bathed, clothed, and fed Sissy, and found herself falling in love with the delightful little girl. As soon as she was clean and fed, Sissy babbled and smiled. Beth was sickened by the terrible rash on her little bottom. It wasn’t surprising, though. Who knew how long that diaper had been on the baby? Beth sat on the floor and played with the giggling Sissy, swinging her around. Sissy’s giggles made Beth and Tommy laugh too. When Beth sat the baby back down, the baby instantly stopped laughing. Beth thought at first she wanted another ride in the air. But then suddenly Sissy started crying and staring at something behind Beth. Tommy went silent.
Beth’s heart dropped. A foreboding feeling came over her like a dark shadow in the night. Before she had a chance to turn around, she felt a searing pain in the back of her head as someone grabbed her by her hair and yanked her to her feet. Beth shrieked as she reached for the back of her head. The rough hand that held her let go. She turned around and found herself staring down the double barrels of a shotgun pointed at her face by the foulest woman she had ever seen. The man next to her was just as foul if not worse.
Tommy started crying.
“Shut up,” the man yelled with his hand ready to hit the boy. “Or I’ll give you something to cry about.”
Tommy backed up behind Beth, where his little sister was still sitting on the floor crying.
Beth took in a sharp breath, but she felt helpless to do anything with a gun pointed at her.
“What in Sam Hill you doing here?” the stocky woman snarled at Beth, displaying a mouthful of rotten and missing teeth. She reeked of alcohol. Bushy, straw-like hair that hadn’t seen a brush in a long time framed the woman’s pockmarked face. Her cold beady eyes stared hard at Beth.
“I-I—” Beth had to think of something. She didn’t want to tell them she followed the boy, lest he get punished for it. “I’m your neighbor,” she said nervously, chewing her lower lip. “My place is a couple ridges over from here. I-I lost my cat,” Beth lied, “and was searching the woods for it, and-and then I heard a baby cry and came upon your cabin here.” She paused, lifted her chin, and continued defensively. “I was just trying to be neighborly.”
