No stable home. No hope of having one. But he couldn’t leave the boy’s survival to chance.
If only he’d find the boy here.
Amongst thousands of children, somehow his son’s guardianship paperwork had been lost. All Luke knew for certain was the child had ridden west on a train full of orphans. He’d followed the trail for weeks, first riding the train, then buying this wagon and moving from town to town, selling his medicine and searching for the boy. Every lead had come up empty, every clue pointing to another town until he’d landed here in Noblesville, Indiana.
Another town. One more out of dozens. Would this town hold Ben?
If not, he’d move on tomorrow, though the prospect pressed against his lungs. He was tired, bone tired.
But his comfort didn’t matter. Finding his boy did.
God, help me find my son.
“How’s business?”
Luke whirled to face the sheriff, a big man with a friendly face and keenly observant eyes. From his trek across the country, Luke had learned the importance of getting on the right foot with the local lawman. It appeared Rogers had decided to keep an eye on him. “Can’t complain, Sheriff.”
Rogers patted his midriff. “That remedy of yours is easing my touchy stomach.”
Luke smiled. “Glad to hear it.”
“I’ll want to stock up before you move on.”
“I’ll set some bottles aside.”
The sheriff thumped the side of his wagon. “You drove this clear from New York City?”
“I rode the train as far as eastern Ohio, bought the rig and then followed the route of the Erie line.”
The sheriff shoved his Stetson higher on his forehead. “Same route that brought them orphans last year.”
Luke’s pulse leapt. “Orphans?”
“Yep, I’ll never forget the sight of that train. Youngsters poking their heads out the windows, squeezing together on the platform. Why, some had crawled on top of the cars.”
“How many stayed?”
“Twenty-eight. Eleven of ’em live in town. The rest are scattered ’cross the countryside.”
Luke hoped one of the eleven was his son. If so, he’d likely come across the boy without having to make inquiries that would raise suspicion. Or force him into an action he didn’t want to take. “Finding them homes must’ve been lots of work. Did you have to do it?”
“Nope. Fell to a committee.”
Luke forced himself not to push for information. Fortunately, the sheriff was in a chatty mood.
“The committee did its best, but the guardian of two of those orphans physically abused ’em.” Sheriff Rogers shook his head. “Ed Drummond will spend the rest of his days in state prison.”
Luke’s blood ran cold. “Did the children survive?”
“Yep.” The sheriff smiled. “Emma and William Grounds got themselves a fine home now.”
A gentle breeze carried off the breath Luke had been holding. “Good to hear. Sounds like a brother and sister.”
“Yep.”
Which meant Luke’s son wasn’t one of the abused orphans. Thank God.
The sheriff gave him a long, hard look and then slapped Luke on the arm. “Don’t forget to save me them bottles.”
“Sure will.” Luke hadn’t missed Roger’s piercing stare. Had he unwittingly revealed too much interest in the orphans and raised the sheriff’s suspicions? “Say, can you suggest a place to stay while I’m in town?”
“The Becker House’s food is second to none. Classy accommodations, too.”
“Sounds expensive.”
The sheriff rubbed his chin, thinking. “Last I knew the room over the Whitehall Café was empty. Try there.”
“I will. Thanks.”
Whistling, Sheriff Rogers moseyed off, hopefully overlooking Luke’s concern about the orphans. Early on, Luke had learned asking too many questions made folks wary, even led them to ask some questions of their own. He’d have to be more careful.
Pocketing the key to the padlock, Luke headed for the Whitehall Café. Someone waved to him; it was probably one of the morning’s customers. Along the way, he passed prosperous brick buildings, gas streetlamps, paved avenues. Trees on the lawn of the impressive three-story courthouse had changed to hues of gold and orangey-red. A crispness to the air hinted at the approach of winter, but on such a sunny day, winter appeared a long way off.
Noblesville looked like a good place to pause. He’d had an arduous trip, exposing him to the elements—rain, cold, heat. It was hardly his existence back East. In most ways, he’d found the journey good, even pleasurable. The towns where he’d stopped in the past weeks may have blended in his mind, but he’d enjoyed seeing the middle part of the country, meeting everyday people living everyday lives.
Mostly he’d found hard-working, good people who understood what mattered. He’d been glad to give back, to offer them a medicine he believed in. And yet, always searching, seeking that one last piece of his family puzzle.
No matter what that aggravating female thought of his remedy, of him, she wouldn’t thwart his quest to find the boy.
He wasn’t here to ruin a child’s happiness, or get involved. Life had taught him to hold people at arm’s length. He’d learned the lesson well.
If Ben had a good home and was happy with a family, Luke could return to New York and his lab.
Yet he couldn’t help questioning how it would feel to leave his flesh and blood behind. To forsake his responsibility to Ben as his parents had to Joseph.
Could Luke leave and repeat the family history he despised?
Geraldine Whitehall was dying. Again.
Mary bit her tongue, searching deep for a measure of patience, then greeted the café owner with a smile. All afternoon, the office had a constant parade of patients. Hoping to leave when the Willowbys arrived, Mary sighed, resigned to the delay.
Geraldine leaned close, her eyes wide with fright, her face creased with worry. “I need to see Doc.”
“He’s with a patient.”
“I have this cough. It’s worse at night. I’m sure it’s consumption,” she said, her tone hoarse like the words scraped her throat raw on their way out.
Mary patted the woman’s hand. “Have a seat. I’ll get you in as soon as I can.”
The patient collapsed
