She went back to staring silently.
“Of course she doesn’t know that, Reed,” he chided himself. Some tracker he was if he couldn’t remember that a lost child would be disoriented. Trouble was, he couldn’t quite figure out what to do. Missing children weren’t his specialty. He’d never worked with children until this job. Could this child be one of the orphans? He shook off the idea. She’d called for her mother. This girl had a family. In a town as small as Evans Grove, someone would know where to find her ma or pa.
He crouched again, ignoring his knee’s protest. “If I pick you up and walk around town, do you think you can point to the last place you saw your mama?”
The girl answered by sticking out both arms.
She trusted him.
The knowledge kicked him in the gut. No one trusted Wyatt Reed. Not since before the war, anyway. If this girl only knew what he’d done. If she’d heard the screams of terror, she wouldn’t trust him now or ever. But she didn’t know who he was or what he’d done. She just trusted him.
“Get ahold of yourself, Reed.” The girl didn’t know anything about him. She trusted him to get her home, and he’d do it, the same as any paying job.
His big hands more than encircled her tiny waist. He lifted, and her thin arms wound around his neck. So trusting. This girl would crack his tough veneer if he wasn’t careful.
He cleared his throat. “Let’s find that mother of yours.”
And soon. He couldn’t take much more undeserved trust.
* * *
Charlotte Miller fingered the paltry selection of ribbons in Gavin’s General Store. The emerald-green one shone against her pale fingers. The lovely ribbon would match her best dress, but she must buy the black. Custom dictated she hide beneath heavy black crepe for the next year or more while mourning the husband she’d never loved.
Charles Miller had treated her kindly, but all his love had been reserved for his deceased first wife. His marriage to Charlotte had been a business arrangement. She’d needed a husband when her parents died months after they arrived in Evans Grove. He’d needed a housekeeper and cook. Simple and sensible. Yet deep down, she’d hoped their marriage would one day develop the warmth and love that would usher in a large family.
She sighed. At least he’d agreed to take in one of the orphan girls. If not for Sasha, she would have no one.
Charlotte cast a glance toward the toys where Sasha and Mrs. Gavin’s granddaughter, Lynette, were playing with the dolls. The two looked so much alike they could have been twins. Each wore their dark hair in pigtails. Today they wore nearly identical dresses in the same shade of blue. The Gavins had stocked a large quantity of that particular fabric, and most of the girls in town sported play dresses in royal blue.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, dearie,” Mrs. Gavin said as she cut a length of ribbon sufficient to adorn Charlotte’s hastily dyed bonnet. “At least you’re still young.” Mrs. Gavin tried to lift her spirits as she handed Charlotte the ribbon.
At thirty-one, Charlotte didn’t feel terribly young. After a year or two of mourning, she’d have lost even more childbearing years.
She dug in her bag for payment, but Mrs. Gavin refused to take her money.
Unbidden shame rose to Charlotte’s cheeks. “Charles provided for me.” Unlike her parents, he’d left her enough to last three or four years if she was frugal. And she would be. Thirteen years might have passed, but not the memory of the empty cupboards and gnawing hunger following her parents’ deaths. Charles’s proposal had filled her belly if not her heart, and for that she would always be grateful. It had taught her to fight for what she needed. Never again would she let herself become that destitute. Never would she let Sasha endure the pain and humiliation she’d faced. “I can pay.”
The plump proprietress patted her hand. “It’s something we do for all widows.”
Widow. The word ricocheted through Charlotte’s head. A widow had few options. If she wanted to provide for Sasha once Charles’s money ran out, she must either work or marry. But what man would marry a woman who appeared unable to bear children? To any outsider, thirteen years of childless marriage meant she was barren.
Sooner rather than later she must find work. She couldn’t run Charles’s wheelwright shop. The flood had destroyed it. Charles’s apprentice had rebuilt the forge portion, and she’d accepted his generous offer to assume Charles’s debt in exchange for the business.
No, she must look elsewhere. Perhaps Mrs. Gavin needed help.
“I wonder if—” she began to ask, but the proprietress had hurried off to help Holly Sanders, the schoolteacher and Charlotte’s friend.
“Miss Sanders,” Mrs. Gavin exclaimed. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
“Congratulations?” Charlotte drew near her friend.
Holly blushed furiously. “Mason proposed.”
“He did? Oh, Holly. How wonderful.” Charlotte enveloped her friend in a hug. “I’m so happy for you.” Truly, she was, though the irony of their situations didn’t elude her. She, once married, was now a widow. Holly, who’d admired Sheriff Mason Wright for ages, would now be married.
Holly pulled away. “Enough about me. How are you doing?”
Charlotte couldn’t believe Holly would think of her at such a time. “I’m doing better. Having Sasha to care for helps pass the time. She’s such a dear.”
“How is she handling it? She seemed so bewildered at first.” Holly had gotten to know all the orphans in her role as part of the orphan selection committee responsible for placing the orphans with families. She’d grown very attached to the children since their arrival in town.
“The poor girl has seen so much death. Losing her parents, and then Charles.” Charlotte shook her head. “I had no idea his heart had weakened.”
“No one did.”
Charlotte fought the rush of memories. “There’s so much to take care of. I should go through his things, but I can’t bring myself to do it.”
“Would you like help?”
Charlotte couldn’t believe Holly would consider helping her when she had a wedding to plan. “Aren’t you busy with the wedding?”
Holly waved a hand. “It won’t be anything fancy. Besides, we haven’t set a date yet. I can certainly manage an hour or two for a friend.”
Then there was no escaping the task. Since Charles’s death, Charlotte had avoided the loft, the place where he’d lived his life apart from her. She’d respected his privacy when he was alive, and now that he was dead, it felt like even more of an intrusion to set foot up there. Maybe Holly’s presence would make it easier.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I don’t know what to do with it all. Perhaps someone who lost their belongings in the flood could use the clothes, but who?”
“I’ll ask around.” Holly smiled encouragingly and again grasped her hand. “Shall we do it Saturday morning?”
So soon? Charlotte’s heart sank. She didn’t know if she could face the task, but it must be done. She stiffened her resolve. “Saturday.”
“Anything else, Miss Sanders?” asked Mrs. Gavin as the busybody spinster Beatrice Ward stepped into the store.
Considering the glare Miss Ward cast at Holly, she’d heard the news of the engagement and disapproved. Charlotte wondered if she had any reason to dislike the match, or if she simply felt no one should make major decisions in town without consulting her.
“Not today.” But Holly’s gaze drifted toward the dress goods after Mrs. Gavin left to