The last time she’d had to create a new life—after her parents and sister died in the train crash—she’d married Robert. But he wasn’t here to save her now.
She had to manage on her own.
She probably shouldn’t have rushed to finish her work early today. Should have worked on the stack of washing she was saving for the next day, but her new friend Laura had taken Samuel swimming again to escape the heat of the late June afternoon. And Joanna hadn’t been able to squelch the impulse to meet them with a picnic for an early evening meal.
Her young son had so few pleasures these days. She owed Laura a favor for offering to take him from the heat of their little home and allow Joanna an afternoon to work without having to keep him occupied, too. Swimming had quickly become Samuel’s favorite pastime, so he’d jumped at Laura’s invitation.
The younger woman had become a good friend over the past month since she’d come to town, almost like a sister. Maybe they’d grown close because they were both new to town. Or perhaps because they’d both lost almost everyone they held dear. Lord willing, they’d both be able to create the new life they craved.
But now was the time to push away her worries and put on a smile for her son.
The satchel containing the small meal Joanna had scraped together grew heavier the farther she walked past the outskirts of town, along the tree-lined edge of the shallow creek. At last, she neared the section where the waters gathered into a deeper pool, perfect for swimming.
She strained to hear the little-boy laughter that was a trademark of her son’s exuberant personality. Samuel had more energy—and could get into more trouble with it—than any child she knew. His liveliness never ceased to cause apprehension when she let him out of her sight—and her protection. But a boy needed an outlet to release his pent-up energy. She had to keep reminding herself that allowing him to enjoy this afternoon with Laura today had been the right choice.
Almost to the water now, she heard no splashing of swimmers. Joanna’s pulse and pace quickened. She stepped through the trees around the edge of the swimming hole. “Samuel? Laura?”
Only the faint gurgle of running water answered.
She reached the bank’s edge and scanned the stream in front of her. No heads bobbed in the water. No figures relaxed on the stretch of rocky beach. An inspection in both directions still showed nothing.
She pressed down the panic that bubbled up in her chest. There had to be a logical reason. They must have hiked down the creek.
Dropping her food satchel, she cupped both hands around her mouth and yelled, “Samuel! Laura!”
She strained to hear their replies over the pounding of her heart.
No high-pitched voice answered her. Nothing but the trickling current.
Alarm lashed her imagination, creating scenes of horror. What if Samuel had been caught in deep water, a root holding him under? Maybe he and Laura had both drowned trying to free him.
Or Indians. Though she’d rarely seen them, this country was still home to more tribes than she could name. What if a group of them had come along and taken her son for his curly red hair? Oh, Lord, where is my baby?
She scrambled through the trees and brush, moving farther and farther downstream as fast as she could weave through the branches.
Over and over, she called their names. How far would they have gone? Had something happened to make them pack up and return home early?
No. She would’ve seen them on the road. Unless Laura knew of a shortcut. The other woman had lived in Settler’s Fort slightly longer than the half year Joanna and Samuel had resided here.
She paused for one final, desperate scream of their names. Only her own voice echoed back.
Dear God, let them be safe. She couldn’t lose her son, too. Not after everything else she’d lost.
She had to stop jumping to conclusions. Laura was probably, even now, taking Samuel through a hidden trail on their way back to the little rented house Joanna could barely afford. Maybe they were already sitting at the small table, snacking on biscuits, waiting for her to return.
Joanna turned away from the creek, working her way back through the trees and brush to the road that followed the water. Without her load, she could move faster. Getting home to her boy was all that mattered.
Once she reached the road, she turned toward town and raised her skirts so she could sprint. Just past the swimming hole, a flash of white caught her eye. A sack. It looked like the one she’d seen Laura carry when she’d come to pick up Samuel earlier.
She veered toward the fabric, then paused in front of it, her breath coming in giant heaves. She opened the cloth bag to peer inside. An apple. A blanket. She riffled through the contents to see if anything was hidden underneath.
Nothing.
Turning to the ground around her, she scanned the area for something—anything—she’d missed. There were no clothes strewn around, although the grass was pressed down in this spot like people had recently spent time here.
Once more, she screamed her son’s name into the air, tasting her desperation with the cry.
Still no answer.
Gathering her skirts, she ran toward town again. Every few minutes she stopped to call for Laura and her boy, which gave her lungs a chance to gulp in air. Still, no response.
God, please let them be at home. They had to be. She would snatch her son into a giant hug and breathe in his boy scent—a combination of dirt and sunlight and creek water.
As she entered town, the streets seemed even more deserted than before. Settler’s Fort was a quiet town, mostly occupied by miners, but a few families also resided here. People must still be hard at work for the afternoon, or otherwise hiding inside from the fierce sun. This was the warmest June she could remember in the mountain country.
Her side ached as though pierced by a knife, but she didn’t slow her stride until she reached her door. It gave way beneath her push, and she almost fell inside. “Samuel? Laura?”
The dark interior tightened the knot in her belly.
“Laura!” She yelled loud enough to wake the neighbors, but only a thick silence answered her call.
“Oh, God, where are they?” She pressed a hand to her forehead, working to rein her thoughts into a semblance of order. Maybe they’d gone to the mercantile. Samuel always loved to look around there, and he usually wheedled for a sweet. Maybe he’d talked Laura into stopping.
She spun and charged back down the street toward the shop she’d already passed twice. This mercantile didn’t have glass-front windows like those back in St. Louis, so she had no idea who was inside as she opened the solid wood door.
The bell jingled, and she scanned the interior, squinting to see in the dimness. “Laura? Samuel?” It might be poor manners to raise her voice in the store, but there were too many shelves and barrels they might be standing behind.
And the fear inside her couldn’t be contained any longer.
TWO
Mrs. Watson?” A voice to her right spun her that direction, and she stepped into the store and closed the door so her eyes could better adjust to the lighting.
Mr. Bowen stood beside a shelf of glass jars, and the sight of his familiar face eased the edge of her fear. “Mr. Bowen. Have you seen my son? Is he in here with Laura Hannon?”
There was another time this virile mountain man had come to her aid, when she and Samuel had been stranded while traveling with the Bradleys to Settler’s Fort. She couldn’t look at his face without remembering the strength and capability he’d shown during that arduous journey.