Edge of the Wilderness - By Stephanie Grace Whitson Page 0,20

I’ll—I’ll make us all some tea.” He looked at Mr. Potts. “Or coffee?”

“Coffee,” Potts answered gruffly.

“Coffee, then,” Simon said quickly. He helped Gen up and turned to the Pottses. “If you’ll excuse us for just a moment—”

He could feel Gen trembling when he cupped his hand under her elbow and guided her to the door. Hope had snuggled into Gen’s shoulder and was nearly asleep.

“Simon,” Gen whispered brokenly the moment they were outside.

“I know.” Simon nodded.

Gen blinked back tears.

“Take Hope upstairs to bed. Then meet me in the kitchen.” He made his way down the long hall.

Gen went upstairs and laid Hope in her crib. Covering her with the new quilt she and Miss Jane had just finished, she prayed desperately, God—dear God you can’t mean for those people to have her. You can’t. She slipped out of the room and down the back stairs leading directly to the kitchen.

Simon had stirred up the fire in the stove and set a pot of water on to boil. As soon as Gen came into the kitchen he asked, “Are the rest of the children—”

“Having a wonderful time. They won’t be back anytime soon. I only came home because Hope was exhausted and she was so fussy she was ruining everyone’s fun.” Gen inhaled sharply, trying to smother a sob.

Simon set the coffee grinder on the table before her. Gently taking her hand, he motioned for her to grind the coffee. “Don’t cry, my dear.”

Gen closed her eyes, inhaling the aroma of fresh ground coffee beans. Presently she retreated to the pantry to get four cups and saucers, sugar, a tray. When a cup hit the floor and shattered, she slumped in a chair. “I can’t,” she croaked. “I can’t be hostess to people who are determined to break my heart.”

Simon knelt before her and picked up a piece, of the broken cup. “No one is going to break your heart, Genevieve.” He reached up and laid one finger on her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Something isn’t right here. The Pottses claim to have been desperate to have news of their relatives. And yet they didn’t see my notice in the newspaper. Don’t they have friends? Wouldn’t someone have told them about it before now? And they don’t even know which agency the homestead was near.” He stood up and began to pace back and forth. “Did you watch Mrs. Potts when I described the scene Two Stars found? The woman bawled like a calf when you handed her a baby she’d never seen. But when she learns that her own, supposedly very beloved, sister has been scalped and left to decompose—she doesn’t flinch.” Simon shook his head. “Something isn’t right. I can sense it.”

“What—what can we do?” Gen asked nervously.

“I’ll think of something. For now let’s serve the coffee.” When Gen went to pick up the tray, Simon intervened. “Let me get it.” He smiled down at her. “One broken cup is quite enough to have to explain to Mrs. Whitney.”

When Gen and Simon reentered the parlor, Mrs. Potts squeezed a tear out of one eye and dabbed at her face while she made a strange mewing sound. “Poor orphaned baby,” she muttered. “Poor Charlotte Mary.”

“I thought you said your sister named her child Charlotte Marie,” Simon said while Gen poured coffee.

With a fearful glance at her husband, Sally Potts nodded. “That’s right. Charlotte Marie. My sister’s name was Charlotte Mary.”

“Mr. Potts,” Simon said as he handed Potts a cup of coffee, “I must tell you that it has been a shock to both of us having you suddenly appear at our door expecting us to give Hope up.” Simon sat down. “Do you happen to have any family records with you? Anything that might help us verify Hope’s parents’ names so we can check the land office records more carefully?”

Potts squinted at Simon. “What kind of family records?”

“A Bible. Church baptismal records. Something like that.” Simon looked down momentarily and then smiled. “You say your sister wrote about the baby. Perhaps you have the letter?”

Mrs. Potts rolled her eyes toward her husband.

He cleared his throat nervously. “We didn’t keep the letter. But that’s Charlotte Marie or my name isn’t Harlan Potts.”

“Please don’t take offense, Mr. Potts,” Simon said. “It’s just that we must be careful—for the child’s sake.”

Potts seemed to relax a little. Sitting back in his chair, he rubbed his chin with the back of his hand.

“You wouldn’t want us to just hand your niece over