No journey too far, p.4
No Journey Too Far, page 4
“Are you thinking of Emma?” Katie asked softly.
Garth nodded, his neck heating. He had told them a little about Emma in his letters, but his sister had always been able to read between the lines.
The tension in Mum’s face eased. “Well, I don’t like the idea of you being so far away to do that training, but I’m happy to hear you’ve found someone special.”
“Nothing is settled between us yet.” Garth debated what else to say and finally added, “I haven’t heard from her in quite a while.”
Katie’s brows dipped. “How long has it been?”
He hesitated, then said, “About three months.”
Katie exchanged a worried look with Laura. “Her letters were probably just delayed or misdirected. The military mail system must have been disrupted with the end of the war and so many troops returning home.”
“That could be the reason, but I received letters from you and Mum right until the day our ship crossed the Channel.” Garth shook his head. “I don’t understand it. Honestly, I’m concerned.”
Andrew shifted in his chair. “Are you thinking something may have happened to her?”
Garth’s chest tightened, and a sense of foreboding filled him. That was exactly what he was thinking, and he hated to admit that it might be true. “Emma works on the same farm where I worked. Verna Hathaway, the cook and housekeeper, looked out for Emma and treated her well.” He frowned. “I can’t say the same for Mr. Gilchrest or the other two men working there.”
He grimaced as he recalled the men’s rough ways. Their coarse language, drinking, and carousing made him wish Emma could work somewhere else. But her indentured contract required her to stay until she was twenty-one, and that date had passed while he was in France. “It’s not the best situation, but I thought she’d be safe there with Verna to watch over her until I returned. I never would’ve enlisted if I thought she was in any danger.”
Katie’s forehead creased. “Then you must go back and make sure she’s all right.”
“That’s what I plan to do.” Garth turned to Andrew. “I have some money saved, but I wanted to ask if you might cover part of the cost of the trip. I only need a small loan. I can repay it as soon as I’m working again.”
Andrew nodded. “Of course. We’d be glad to help.”
Garth released a deep breath, relieved his request had been made and that Andrew was agreeable. “Thank you.”
Mum’s eyes lit up. “Perhaps you can deliver a letter and packet to the man in Toronto who is overseeing the search for Grace.”
Garth straightened. “I’d be happy to.” If he could somehow help in the search to locate his younger sister, he was more than willing.
“But I hope you won’t leave right away.” Mum laid her hand on his arm. “We’ve missed you so much.”
Garth smiled, warmed by his mum’s kind words and gentle touch. “Rob and I would like to stay for at least a week or so. It will take that long to make our arrangements for the trip.”
Mum patted his knee. “That’s not very long, but I’ll try to be grateful and enjoy each day.”
Garth slipped his arm around Mum’s shoulders. “Thank you, Mum. I hope you know how much I love you and all the family.”
“I do, son.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and she quickly blinked them away. “You’ll always have a special place in my heart.”
Gratefulness flowed through him like a warm wave. His mum had waited so many years for his return to England, and she’d covered him in prayer all that time. He would make the most of these days and show her how much she meant to him.
It would be hard to leave them all, but he couldn’t ignore the urgency he felt to return to Canada. He would deliver the packet to the private detective overseeing the search for Grace and then look into what was required for his veterinary training. But first he had to keep his promise to Emma and make sure she knew how much he cared.
Belleville, Ontario
Emma Lafferty knelt on the kitchen floor of the Hazelton Boardinghouse and dipped her scrub brush in the bucket of cold gray water. She wiped her sleeve across her damp forehead, then pushed the brush over the next few feet of pine planking. Her light-brown hair fell forward, and with a weary sigh, she tucked it behind her ears.
Her shoulders and knees ached from all the tasks she’d done that day, but her heart ached more. Why hadn’t Garth replied to her letters? That painful question cycled through her mind every day as she tackled the cleaning and laundry at this drafty old boardinghouse.
It had been four months since she’d received Garth’s last quickly scrawled note, dated 5 November 1918, from Armentières, France. The war officially ended a week later, and with each passing day, the possible explanation for why she hadn’t heard from him grew from a nagging worry to a dreaded fear.
Garth couldn’t be gone!
Even after everything else that had happened to her in the past few months, losing him would be the worst blow of all. No one else loved her the way Garth did. And few seemed to care what happened to her since she’d fled Mr. Gilchrest’s farm in mid-December.
The memory of the frightening events that sent her running through the night tightened her throat. She swallowed hard, trying to hold back tears, but a sob escaped. Oh, Garth, where are you? Why don’t you come? Every day with no word strains my heart near to breaking.
Was she a fool to hold on to the hope that he still loved her and would make it home from this terrible war? He’d told her that his duty, caring for the regiment’s horses, kept him out of the trenches and away from the line of fire, but that didn’t mean he was never in danger. Even now, he could be injured and languishing in some military hospital in France or England.
She closed her eyes. Please, Lord, if he’s been hurt, watch over him and restore him to full health. Send some word. Let me know he’s still alive.
Could there be some other explanation for his silence? Had her letters to him been lost? If that were the case, then he wouldn’t know that the terrible flu epidemic had sickened her and claimed Verna’s life. He wouldn’t know she’d run away to save herself from Mr. Gilchrest’s terrible threats and vile intentions.
Emma shuddered and dipped her brush back in the bucket. After she’d found her way to Belleville and made an agreement with the owner of the boardinghouse to work in exchange for her room and meals, she’d written to Garth again and told him what had happened, and she’d continued writing every week. Still, she’d heard nothing.
Please, Lord, help my letters reach him so he’ll know where to find me. I can’t bear the thought of going on without him.
As her silent prayer faded away, another fearful thought rose and threatened to quench her last flicker of hope. What if Garth had received every letter she’d sent but he’d finally decided what everyone else said was true—that she was only a poor orphan, an outcast from the slums of London, a British Home Child no one could ever love? She lowered her head, anguish twisting her heart.
No! Garth wasn’t like everyone else. He knew her, truly knew her. He’d promised he’d come home and they would be together again. She would not fail him now by doubting his love. She would hold on to that promise, treasure it in her heart, and let it carry her through these difficult days.
The kitchen door swung open, and Mrs. Ruby Hazelton, owner of the boardinghouse, strode in wearing a stained apron over her wrinkled brown dress. A scowl lined her haggard face, and her frizzy gray hair puffed out from her head like a misshapen steel-wool scrubber.
Mrs. Hazelton’s scowl deepened. “How do you expect me to cook supper in here when the floor is wet and slippery?”
“I’m sorry.” Emma wiped her forehead again, feeling dazed. “I’ll be done soon.”
“Well, don’t just sit there staring at me. Get to it!”
A cheeky reply rose in Emma’s throat, but she swallowed it down. She dared not anger Mrs. Hazelton and lose her place here. She had no real friends in Belleville and nowhere else to go.
Mrs. Hazelton shook her head. “I don’t know why I took you in. You’re hardly able to do a decent day’s work!”
Emma pressed her lips tight, dipped the brush in the bucket once more, and went back to scrubbing. It wouldn’t do any good to remind Mrs. Hazelton she was still recovering from a dreadful case of the flu that had nearly taken her life. She needed time to rebuild her strength, but the woman kept her busy all day until late in the evening and barely gave her enough food to keep going. It was no wonder her recovery was taking so long and she was slow to finish her tasks.
“This floor better be done and dried in fifteen minutes or you can pack your bags and leave!” Mrs. Hazelton stomped out of the kitchen. The door swung back on its hinges, squeaking in her wake.
Emma sighed and sat back on her heels. Her irritation with Mrs. Hazelton faded as thoughts of Garth returned. There had to be some way she could find out what had happened to him. Even if it would lead to the news she dreaded, at least she would know he’d died loving her rather than broken his promise and left her behind like everyone else.
* * *
A strangled cry startled Emma awake. She sat up in the dark, her heart pounding hard, and clutched the blankets to her chest. Another muffled cry rose from somewhere in the house, and then seconds later, hurried footsteps ran down the hall and descended the stairs.
Emma froze, trying to make sense of the sounds. Mrs. Hazelton’s room was just across the hall. Had something happened to her, or had the cry come from one of the four boarders on the floor below? She slipped out of bed, crept across the room, and put her ear up to the door. All was quiet now. She pulled the door open a crack and peeked out.
Darkness engulfed the upper hallway. Nothing moved, and the only sound was the eerie whistling of the wind under the eaves. She wanted to climb back into bed and pretend she’d heard nothing, but she couldn’t ignore the fearful cries or the mysterious footsteps.
She walked back to her bedside table. Her fingers trembled as she struck a match and lit her small lantern. She slipped on her robe and pulled in a deep breath. “Lord, give me courage,” she whispered as she left her room, crossed the hall, and knocked on Mrs. Hazelton’s door.
No one answered. She knocked again and leaned toward the door. “Mrs. Hazelton, are you all right?”
When no one replied, she tried the doorknob. After finding that it was unlocked, she pushed open the door and held up the lantern.
The faint light spread shadows across the sparse room, revealing a wooden chair in the corner with a tall dresser next to the window. A rumpled bed sat against the far wall with a still form beneath the blankets. On the floor next to the bed lay a pillow.
Emma strained to listen, but no sound came from the bed, not even a soft snore.
A chill traveled down her back, and she forced herself to move closer. “Mrs. Hazelton?” Her voice shook. “I heard someone cry out. I thought I should check on you.”
The lantern light fell across Mrs. Hazelton’s face, and Emma froze. The woman stared at her, wide eyed and unseeing.
Emma gasped and jumped back, almost dropping the lantern. Frightening questions darted through her mind, followed by a wave of nausea and dizziness. She spun away and ran from the room.
* * *
As the sunrise turned the sky pale gray, Emma sat in the boardinghouse kitchen with two constables and Margaret Clarkson, the kind silver-haired widow who was the only other female boarder.
Constable Fieldstone and his partner, Constable Burton, had already questioned the three male boarders and sent them away. Now Constable Fieldstone directed his stern gaze toward Emma. “You say you heard footsteps in the upper hallway outside your door?”
“Yes sir.” She’d already told him everything she could recall. Why did he keep asking her the same questions?
“Describe them for me.”
“They sounded hurried as they went past my door, and then they faded away as the person went down the stairs.”
“Past your door, you say?”
Emma nodded.
“But Mrs. Hazelton’s room is directly across the hall from yours.”
Emma hesitated, feeling a bit confused. “I thought they ran past my door, but it might have just been the sound of the person running down the hall, away from my room.”
Constable Fieldstone leaned forward. “Which was it, Miss Lafferty? Did the person run past your door or not?”
Emma rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. As I said, I was startled awake by a loud cry, and I was trying to make sense of it all when I heard the footsteps.”
The constables exchanged glances.
Constable Fieldstone focused on Emma again. “Tell me, Miss Lafferty, how long have you been working for Mrs. Hazelton?”
“I started here about a week before Christmas, so about three months.”
“And where did you work before that?”
Emma paused. If she told him the truth, would he send her back to Mr. Gilchrest? Her indentured contract was finished, but even if it weren’t, she couldn’t go back there. Not ever. “I…worked on a farm near Roslin.”
“As a domestic?”
“Yes sir.”
“And why did you leave that position?”
She glanced away, wondering how to explain it without giving him too many details. “The woman I worked for died.” That was true, but it wasn’t the whole story. Verna Hathaway, Mr. Gilchrest’s housekeeper, assigned Emma’s tasks and watched out for her, but Mr. Gilchrest was her true employer.
The constable frowned. “Your former employer died as well?”
Emma nodded. “We both came down with the flu after caring for our neighbors during their illness. I recovered, but Mrs. Hathaway did not.”
He continued to frown, even after her explanation. “Is Roslin your hometown?”
Emma pulled in a breath to steady her nerves. “No sir.”
He cocked his eyebrows. “Where were you born?”
She wished she could give a different answer, but there was no way around the truth. “I was born in London, England.”
“I thought you had an English accent. When did you come to Canada?”
“When I was fifteen.”
“You and your parents?”
“No, my parents died in a carriage accident when I was three. I lived in a children’s home until I came to Canada with a group of children sponsored by Dr. Barnardo’s Homes.”
Constable Fieldstone’s mouth drew down at the corners. “So, you’re a British Home Child.” His grim tone made his disapproval clear.
Emma looked away, her heart sinking. How many times had she been taunted or shunned when people learned she was a Home Child from England? Many believed only the dregs of society were sent across the sea to Canada and that they were not worthy of friendship, acceptance, or even a kind word.
Margaret straightened. “She may be an English orphan, but she’s a good girl, and she’s always been kind and respectful to me. You’ve no cause to think poorly of her.”
The constable turned to the widow with a skeptical lift of his dark eyebrows. “You can vouch for her character?”
“Yes sir, I can. Emma is a hard worker. She never argued with Mrs. Hazelton or had a harsh word to say about her, even though the woman worked her like a slave.”
He narrowed his eyes. “So, you believe the girl wasn’t well treated and had a reason to dislike Mrs. Hazelton? Perhaps she even had a reason to strike back at her?”
Emma pulled in a sharp breath. Did he really think she might be responsible for Mrs. Hazelton’s death? Was that why he continued questioning her after he’d dismissed the three male boarders?
Margaret’s face flushed. “That’s not what I said, nor what I meant. That girl wouldn’t harm Mrs. Hazelton or anyone else. You can dismiss that thought right now.”
Constable Fieldstone stroked his mustache, looking unmoved by Margaret’s firm words. “Nothing seems to be missing from Mrs. Hazelton’s room, which makes me doubt robbery was the motive.” He focused on Emma again. “What would make a person so angry they’d want to kill Mrs. Hazelton?”
Emma pulled back. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”
He leaned closer to Emma, his gray eyes steely. “Who held a grudge against Mrs. Hazelton or had a reason to harm her?”
Emma raised her hand to her heart. “I don’t know. Mrs. Hazelton never confided in me. She only told me what chores to do. That’s all we spoke about.”
The constable glared at her a few more seconds, then stood up. “Very well. That’s all the questions we have for you now, but we’ll be in touch.” He nodded to his partner. They put on their hats and walked out the back door.
Emma crossed to the window and watched the two men set off down the back alley.
“Well!” Margaret huffed. “What a dreadful man. The idea of him interrogating you like that!”
“I suppose he has to question everyone to find out who’s responsible for…what happened to Mrs. Hazelton.”
“Perhaps, but he seems set against you, especially now that he’s aware of your background.” Margaret shook her head. “That kind of prejudice is intolerable.”
Emma stared out the window as all that had happened in the past few hours rolled through her mind. Finding Mrs. Hazelton lifeless in her bed had been so shocking, she’d nearly fainted. Somehow she’d found the courage to run downstairs and wake all the boarders. Mr. McDonald, one of the boarders, had gone for the constables, and they’d arrived within the hour and begun their questioning.
It all seemed like a terrible nightmare, and she wished she could wake up and find that it wasn’t true. Who could’ve done such a thing? She’d never liked Mrs. Hazelton, but she’d never wished her any harm.
