Edge of the Wilderness - By Stephanie Grace Whitson Page 0,18

a hand on his mother’s shoulder. “I’ve booked passage west, Mother. I’m bringing Ellen’s children home where they belong.”

“You—you’ve what?” Margaret looked up in disbelief.

“Booked passage west.” Elliot patted his empty sleeve. “As soon as I get fitted for my hook, I’m headed west. I’ve been rattling around home long enough.” He strode to the door and paused. “If the Reverend Dane has changed as much as you say, he’ll do what’s best for the children. He can’t possibly believe it’s best for Ellen’s children to grow up among savages. Once I’m there, he’ll listen to reason.” He smiled at his mother. “And however civilized the reverend’s dusky maiden may be, I doubt she really wants to raise two white children she didn’t know existed until last year.” Elliot picked up the newspaper and tucked it beneath his arm. “Trust me, Mother. Everything will be fine.”

Five

Lying lips are abomination to the LORD: but they that deal truly are his delight.

—Proverbs 12:22

“And so ya’ see, Reveran’, we jus’ had to come and see if the baby is our little Charlotte Marie.” The unkempt man who had appeared at the door introducing himself as Harlan Potts of Dayton, Ohio, leaned forward. Resting his dirty shift cuff on one knee he reached into his frayed pocket and withdrew a strip of rolled-up tobacco.

Just as he opened his mouth to take a bite, Simon interrupted him. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Potts, we don’t allow tobacco of any kind in the house.”

Mr. Potts bit thin air. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, then nodded vigorously. “Oh. Sure. ’Scuse me, Reveran’. Shoulda known that.” He shoved the plug of tobacco back into his pocket.

Simon settled back in his chair, trying to hide his nervousness. He looked out the window, praying that their outing with a group of church friends would keep Gen and the children away until—well, until he could think what to do. He cast a prayer for wisdom and patience heavenward. The very thing we’ve feared has come upon us, Lord. Help. Please help. At least, he thought, the Pottses had arrived before he left for Iowa. At least Gen didn’t have to deal with them.

The birdlike woman with the dark circles under her eyes sitting next to Mr. Potts coughed none too daintily into a gray handkerchief. She leaned against her husband to catch her breath. Potts shifted uncomfortably in his chair. When he felt Simon’s gaze on him, he put one arm around his wife. “There, there, Sally, darlin’.” He looked up at Simon. “She’s been feelin’ poorly for some time. Seems like ever since we read the awful news of the uprising. She took it hard, thinkin’ on her own sister out in the West, right there in the center of things. We woulda come sooner, but we had to save up money for passage upriver.”

“Where exactly did you say your sister and her husband located their homestead?” Simon asked.

“Don’t know as we can say ’zactly,” Potts said, scratching his chin. “Somewheres near the agency.”

“The Yellow Medicine or the Redwood?” Simon asked. When Potts responded with a blank stare, Simon said, “There were two agencies a few miles apart. Which one were your relatives near—the northern or the southern agency?”

“Well now,” Potts said, twirling his stained felt hat in his hands, “Sally’s kin didn’t write regular, you know. There was only the one letter tellin’ us how they was settled and the baby was a little girl.”

“When can we see her?” the woman intoned abruptly, her eyes pleading. “I’ll know soon as I see that baby if she’s my sister’s. Blood tells.”

Simon cleared his throat. “She’s on an outing with the rest of the children.” He looked down at the floor, his heart beating. And dear Lord, please keep them there. “We’ve become very fond of Hope. My own children think of her as a sister.”

Footsteps sounded in the hall and Gen peeked in, Hope in her arms.

Hope pointed at Simon. “Pa!” she shouted happily.

With a glance toward the Pottses, Simon stood up. “Excuse me. I’ll just—”

But before Simon could wave Gen and the baby out into the hall, Potts jumped up and whirled around. “That’s her, ain’t it, Reveran’?”

Instinct made Gen put a protective hand on Hope’s shoulder. “Come in, Genevieve,” Simon said, crossing the room to cup his hand under Gen’s elbow.

Her heart pounding, Gen walked across the room and perched on the edge of an empty chair with Hope on her lap. She