Page 63 of The Heart’s Charge

Fern still made no move to disembark.

“Come on,” Eliza said as she climbed down from the driver’s seat. “I didn’t drive you all this way so you could sit in the wagon. Let’s go.”

Eliza made a wide circle around the ponies and reached the front stoop about the same time Tildy opened the door. “Eliza? What brings you out here so close to sundown?”

“Tildy James, this is Fern Dawson. Sarah’s mother.” Eliza gestured for Fern to come closer when she hesitated at the base of the porch. “Fern, this is Tildy, your daughter’s nurse.”

Fern blinked back tears as she stared at the other woman, but Tildy wasn’t one to stand on formality.

“Well, come on in, Miz Dawson.” Tildy threw the door wide and waved them into her tiny cottage. “I’ll fetch baby Sarah for ya. She’s a sweet little thing. Don’t hardly cry unless she needs somethin’. I wish all my young’uns were so well-behaved. This ’un here,” she said as she rubbed the head of a boy around five years old, “used to keep me up all hours of the night, hollerin’ like the Lord Jesus was comin’ back and he’d been assigned trumpet duty.” She chuckled and shooed him toward the back portion of the room that served as their kitchen. “Go help your sister with the dishes, Zeke.”

The boy trod off without a word as Tildy led them deeper into the room. A three-year-old girl ran up and grabbed her mama about the leg, her thumb planted firmly in her mouth as she stared, wide-eyed, at the white woman entering her domain.

A toddler, barely over one year, waddled over and lifted his arms to his mother. “Uh. Uh!” he demanded, not shy in the least around the strangers in his home.

Tildy complied, plopping him onto her hip. “This one wasn’t too happy about sharing his mama when Sarah first came to stay with us,” she said as she pulled a piece of lint out of his hair and straightened his shirt to cover his brown belly, “but he’s gotten used to her now. Even comes to get me if I’m not fast enough in respondin’ to her fussin’. He’ll be sorry to see her go.”

Fern’s eyes widened, and her hands waved in front of her. “I’m not taking her. Not yet, at least. I just . . . wanted to meet her.”

“Of course you did,” Tildy said as if she’d never considered any other possibility. “And here she is.”

On the far side of a small sofa was a cradle, one that had been invisible until they came deeper into the room. Tildy set down her son, then reached into the hand-hewn baby bed. “Wake up, little Sarah,” she cooed as she pulled the babe, blanket and all, from the cradle. “Your mama’s come to call.”

Tildy straightened, a wide smile on her face as she held the child out for inspection. Fern didn’t reach for her child, however. Just stared in wonder at the tiny babe.

“Here,” Tildy said, “why don’t we sit on the sofa? I’ll show you how to hold her.”

It took only a minute to execute the transfer, and once Fern had her babe in hand, it became clear that to her, nothing else existed. As she unwrapped the blanket to take inventory of every finger and toe, Tildy left her to her exploration and joined Eliza a few steps away near the hearth.

“Miss Georgia told me you been lookin’ into those kiddy-snatchers the young’uns been talkin’ about,” Tildy said in a low voice. “Those men staying with you find anything yet?”

Eliza grimaced. “Not enough. We know one’s a white man who rides a horse sporting a shallow cut on its haunches and a nicked rear hoof, and the other’s likely a Mexican who tends to dress all in black when he goes out at night.”

“Sounds like Miguel Ortega,” Fern said.

Eliza’s attention jerked to the sofa, shocked that Fern had heard a word they’d said. “Miguel Ortega?” She didn’t recognize the name.

“Mm-hmm.” A flick of a glance was all the attention Fern spared them as she continued studying her dozing daughter. “He worked a couple summers for Wendell at the farm, though I can’t say I cared for him much. He had a coldness about him that made me uncomfortable. He sure did like black, though. Wore it nearly every day.”

Eliza’s breath caught. Their first real lead, and from the most unexpected of sources. She approached Fern and lowered herself onto the sofa beside her. “Do you know where we might be able to find Mr. Ortega?”

Fern shook her head. “No, he seemed the roving type. Moving from job to job.” She ran a finger over the dark hair at Sarah’s forehead, then suddenly looked up. “Wait. I think I remember Wendell saying something about Honey Creek.” She nodded to herself. “Yes. I was upset when he told me about it, because I worried we’d welcomed an outlaw into our barn. Wendell scolded me for jumping to conclusions. Said the man sought honest work and should be judged on his performance alone and not on the shady reputation of the place where he spent his winters. Does that help?”

“Very much.” Eliza’s pulse vibrated through her veins with a humming energy that demanded they return to Harmony House as soon as possible. She needed to tell Jonah. Fern might have just handed them the clue that could break the snatcher case wide open.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SIX

Mark delivered Alice and Kate back to Harmony House before returning to Kingsland for his horse. Crazy how hard it was to walk away, even knowing he was coming right back. He didn’t want to let Kate out of his sight. The Army had trained him to shake off death’s close calls for himself, but not for those he cared about. He wasn’t sure he’d ever recover from that trauma. His hands still shook from the shock of seeing that train barreling down on her.

Thankfully, he maintained enough dexterity to untangle Cooper’s lead from the saloon’s hitching post without much trouble. Mounting felt good. Almost like he was back in control. With a click of his tongue, he turned Coop and rode straight for home.

The thought jarred him. When had he started thinking of Harmony House as home?

Mark wagged his head in self-deprecation as he nudged Cooper into a canter. Probably the moment he discovered Kate inside. She was his home. He just needed to convince her that he was her home too.

Once back at the foundling home, Mark unsaddled his horse, rubbed him down, then saw to Coop’s food and water. His own belly rumbled with hunger, but no cavalryman worth his salt would feed himself before tending his mount.