Edge of the Wilderness - By Stephanie Grace Whitson Page 0,42

pardon?”

“The reverend and Miss LaCroix are engaged to be married, Mr. Leighton,” Miss Jane said.

“I—I thought Simon had written—” Gen interjected, embarrassed.

“He mentioned something about it in a letter,” Leighton said. “But we didn’t believe—” He interrupted himself. Looking at Meg, he asked, “Simon spoke of an orphan named Hope. I take it you haven’t found her family?”

“As a matter of fact,” Gen replied, “Hope’s family did eventually answer Simon’s notices in a newspaper in Ohio. But when they arrived we made arrangements to keep her with us.”

“I see,” Leighton said, although it was obvious he did not see at all.

“And how is your brother, little miss?” Leighton addressed Meg.

“He’s with Father. They are going to build our new house,” Meg said proudly. “Hope and I are going to have our own room,” she said. “Father says it will be very much like our house that burned down at Lac Qui Parle. That was a very nice house.”

“I’m sure it was,” Leighton said. He stood up abruptly. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“Please, Mr. Leighton,” Gen said, standing up. “Join us for dinner. We’d be honored to have you. Hope will be up from her nap soon. You can meet her. And I know Meg would like to hear more about her Grandmother Leighton.” She smiled at Meg. “They formed a close bond while we were in New York.”

Elliot declined to stay the afternoon, but promised he would return for supper. He took his leave, bowing to Gen and Miss Jane and promising Meg a special gift when he returned that evening.

As soon as he left, Gen checked on Hope and sent Meg out to pick green beans in the garden behind the house before following Miss Jane to the kitchen.

“Stunning man,” Miss Jane said without turning to look at Gen. “Must have been an officer. Regal carriage.”

“Yes,” Gen said absentmindedly. “He graduated from West Point. Had the rank of major, I believe. He lost his hand at Antietam right before Ellen died. They didn’t know where to find him to even tell him. Then he got some horrible infection and spent months in a hospital.” She murmured, “His hair was raven black in the picture Mrs. Leighton kept on her mantel.”

“Poor man,” Miss Jane mumbled. When Gen didn’t reply, Miss Jane looked up. She searched Gen’s face. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

Gen walked to the kitchen door and looked toward the garden where Meg had been joined by the Sutton children. Together they were all working away, singing as they made their way down the rows of beans in the garden.

“I don’t know,” Gen said. A shiver went up her spine. “Something. He doesn’t like me. I can feel it.” She murmured, “I wish Simon were here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Miss Jane interjected. “Mr. Leighton just doesn’t know you. He seemed perfectly nice to me. A bit distant, perhaps, but that’s certainly understandable. And imagine his disappointment when he came all this way and Simon and Aaron are gone.”

Gen turned back toward the kitchen. She pushed an errant strand of dark hair off her neck. “He didn’t write that he was coming. Simon would never have left if he knew his brother-in-law was coming to visit the children.”

“Perhaps the letter got lost,” Miss Jane said. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Gen,” she insisted. “You know, he was probably ill at ease after Meg asked all those questions about his missing hand. Poor man. I’m certain things will be fine when he comes to dinner. And you should mention the letter. He mustn’t think Reverend Dane knew about his arrival and left anyway. That would be unforgivably rude.”

Gen headed up the back steps to get Hope up from her nap. “You’re probably right,” she said. But instinct told her that Elliot Leighton’s surprise arrival had more behind it than a lost letter. And something more than just Meg’s questions about his war injury was bothering Elliot Leighton.

Twelve

But if from thence thou shalt seek the LORD thy God, thou shalt find him, if thou seek him with all thy heart and with all thy soul.

—Deuteronomy 4:29

The night was still, the very air seeming to vibrate with wave after wave of heat. Robert Lawrence and his wife, Nancy, had opened the flap and rolled up the sides of their tent in a vain attempt to catch even the slightest movement of air. They lay a few inches apart, content because of the blazing heat only to touch hands. From where he lay,