“I will.”
Mr. Samuelson tipped his hat at Mrs. Hubbard, and then at Emmy, though she suspected he did it out of habit and not a desire to be a gentleman, and then he left.
“I’ll bring the trunks to the attic,” Ben said to Mrs. Hubbard. He turned to Emmy. “It’s been my pleasure, Miss Wilkes. I hope you’ll be happy here.”
“Thank you.” She wanted to say more than thank you, but she couldn’t find the words to express her gratitude. If he had been any other man, she probably wouldn’t have a job right now.
“Do my ears deceive me?” One of the men exited the parlor and put his hands over his heart. “Is this beautiful creature going to abide under the same roof as me?”
“Mr. Archibald, remember your manners,” Mrs. Hubbard said. “Miss Wilkes is a lady.”
“How could I forget?” Mr. Archibald took Emmy’s hand and bent over it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Wilkes.” The other men followed Mr. Archibald out of the parlor. They circled her like a hungry pack of wolves, and she their prey.
It would be quite a feat to hold them at bay—of that she was certain—but it was vital if she wanted to keep her job.
Ben returned home, disliking the way the men had surrounded Emmy. He’d seen it countless times before. As one of the only single females in town, she would be hounded incessantly. He didn’t doubt she could resist their charms—but it wouldn’t be an easy task.
He trudged through the drifting snow, his thoughts full of the young lady and all that had transpired since last evening.
A sleigh sat in front of Ben’s home. It was piled with furniture and household belongings. A man waited on the front bench, reins in hand, while half a dozen children sat huddled in the back. They looked as if they were just passing through. People often stopped by the church and parsonage for one thing or another, and he tried to accommodate everyone to the best of his ability.
“Hello,” Ben called as he drew near the parsonage. Snow continued to fall, but it was letting up and would probably stop soon. Activity had begun to commence on Main Street, though most would still be home, digging out from the storm.
A woman stood by Ben’s front door, two small children by her side. She turned when she heard Ben and grabbed each child by an arm. “Are you the pastor?”
“I am.”
The man on the buckboard gave Ben a cursory glance, but his attention was soon snagged by one of his children.
“I need to talk to you, quick,” the woman said.
“Would you and your husband like to step into the house?”
“Norm will stay outside with the children, if it’s all the same to you. We don’t have much time and I’d like to get this over with.” The woman had brown hair with strands of wiry gray at the temples. She looked tired and worn—but there was grit in the way she held her thin shoulders.
“Please step inside,” he said, opening the door.
The lady walked into Ben’s home with heavy footsteps, pulling the two children with her. Now that he was close enough to see, he noticed they were little boys, about the same age, if he were to guess.
Ben closed the door behind them, but didn’t make a motion to remove his hat, or invite her farther inside. “How may I help you?”
“These here are my sister’s boys, Zebulun and Levi. They’re twins, five years old.” She grasped each one’s wrist. “Their ma died when they were three and their pa wasn’t fit to raise them, so she sent ’em to me.” She let them go and gave a decided nod. “My husband and me ain’t got the means or the energy to raise ’em no more. I’ve got six of my own, and one more on the way, and we’re just plumb wore out.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Ben stood there expectantly, wondering why she’d come. Did she need money? He kept some on hand for situations like this one. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.”
“You can take ’em off my hands.” She started to move to the door. “That’s why I’ve come and now I’m heading out with my man. We’re going north and want to get a move on before another storm takes us by surprise.”
Alarm rang inside Ben’s head as he looked down at the two little boys. They clasped hands and looked up at him, their eyes round with fear.
“I can’t take them.”
The lady grabbed the knob. “I can’t take ’em, neither. Do what you want with them. I did what I could, and now I’m handing them off to you. I told my man that the first church we come across we’d drop ’em off, so here we are.” She turned the knob to leave.
“Wait.” Ben reached out to put his hand on the door to stop her departure. “I don’t have a wife, or the means to raise them.”
“Then find a family who needs a couple extra hands.”
“But—I don’t even know their last name, or their kin. How am I to find their father?”
She snorted. “That good-fer-nothing shouldn’t be found.”
“But he deserves to know where his sons have gone.”
“The name’s Trask—Malachi Trask—but I don’t know where he is. Last I heard, he was in St. Paul, but I suspect he moved on. Probably lying in a saloon somewhere west of here, I’d wager.”
“Malachi Trask.” Ben repeated the name.
“They’re not my problem anymore,” the lady said. “I did what I could, but I can’t do no more.” She nodded at the twins. “Goodbye, boys. I hope the pastor’ll do right by you.”
She opened the door and Ben moved back, knowing he couldn’t keep her from leaving. He followed her out of the house, his pulse speeding up as she walked toward the sleigh.
“How will I contact you?” Ben asked.
“I don’t aim to be contacted,” the lady said, climbing into the sleigh. “I told my sister not to marry that man, but she went against my wishes. I don’t hold no responsibility for them boys she bore.”
“Giddyup,” the man said as he hit the horses’ rumps with the reins.
Neither one looked back as they pulled north, out of town.
Ben stared after them, helpless to stop them and make them return for the boys. He didn’t know the name of the lady or her husband, but he suspected that was intentional. They didn’t want to be known.
Ben turned back to the house, scratching his head with his mitted hand. What would he do with twin boys?
He entered his house and found them exactly as he’d left them.
Ben closed the door, apprehension making his back tight. He tried to smile, to reassure them that he was trustworthy, but they continued to look at him with those sad, fearful eyes.
“You’re twins?” Ben asked, uncertain what else to say. They didn’t look like twins—didn’t even look like brothers, really. One had brown hair and round green eyes, while the other one had blond hair and almond-shaped green eyes. The brown-haired boy was shorter, but he was the one who nodded at Ben in answer to his question.
The blond-haired boy just stared.
“Which one of you is Zebulun?” Ben asked.
The brown-haired boy raised his hand, just enough for Ben to acknowledge him. “And this is my brother, Levi.”