A Daughter's Quest (5 page)

“Hans.” Mary’s voice sounded gentle. “Maybe Constance doesn’t want to tell us. We shouldn’t put her on the spot like that.”

Constance turned toward the group. “That’s okay. My father asked me to come find his friend from the war.” She clasped her hands tightly in front of her waist. “Do any of you know Jim Mitchell?”

Jackson looked from his wife to Hans then back. “I believe a family by that name owned some land near the Mississippi River, but I don’t think anyone has lived on the farm for more than a year.”

Constance returned to her chair and perched on the front of it, clasping her hands in her lap. “Is it very far from here?”

“We’re several miles from the Mississippi, and if I remember right, the farm is northeast from here.” Jackson shuffled his feet against the rug. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be any more help than that.”

She stood and looked toward the hall tree where her cape hung. “You’ve helped me a lot. I needed friends, and you welcomed me into your home and fed me a delicious meal. But it’s time I got back to the hotel.”

Mary followed her into the foyer. “I hope we can become good friends.”

“Thank you. I would like that.”

Constance donned her cape and gloves and slipped out the door. She knew she was running away, but she had always been totally honest. Trying to keep a secret was becoming a burden to her heart.

Hans didn’t stay long after Miss Miller left. He couldn’t even remember what Jackson, Mary, and he had discussed in those last moments. His mind was on the story that Constance had told them and on the part of the story she left out.
Why is she so intent on finding this man? Is she interested in him in a romantic way?

That thought felt like a spike sinking through his chest. He didn’t care what she did. But she should be too young for her father’s friend, shouldn’t she?

After leaving the parsonage, all Constance could think about was the fact that a Mitchell family owned a farm close to the Mississippi River, not too far from Browning City. That was probably Jim Mitchell’s family. How could she find out? The question was her first thought on awakening Monday morning.

She paced from one side of her hotel room to the other trying to think what her father would do if he wanted to find them. Surely, he would go out there to the farm to see if anyone had returned. He might even try to get into the house and see if they left any indication where they might be. Constance could do that, couldn’t she? Or maybe talk to a neighbor who might know where they went and when they would come back.

How would she find the farm? She didn’t know anything about Iowa, except the portion she had seen from the windows of the stagecoach. If she had it figured out right, the Mississippi was east of Browning City. Did one of the roads lead east out of town? She could just follow that. Maybe it would be a good idea to talk to the sheriff and see if he knew where the farm was. She didn’t want to ask Pastor Jackson and Mary about it again. It wouldn’t do to arouse too much attention from anyone. They might ask more questions than she wanted to answer.

Constance went to the open window and leaned out to check the temperature. The spring breeze didn’t feel cold, so she didn’t put on her cape, just her bonnet, before picking up her reticule and going downstairs.

Thankfully, the hotel wasn’t on a street where she could see the smithy. While she made her plans, the blacksmith’s face often intruded on her thoughts. He didn’t really know much about her. Although he had been kind to her, she knew he couldn’t possibly be interested in her except as a casual friend. It wouldn’t do any good to pay much attention to him. After she found Jim Mitchell, she would be on her way back to her beloved Ozarks.

The walk to the sheriff’s office didn’t help clear her jumbled thoughts. The door to the office stood open, so she stepped inside. The sheriff had his back to the door, tacking up a wanted poster. Constance had never been in such an office before. The room had a utilitarian feel to it, bare of decorations, unless you wanted to count the posters. They made her shiver in disgust. She didn’t want to see outlaws, even if they were mostly drawings. She cleared her throat.

The sheriff whirled around. “Well, what can I do for you, little lady?”

Constance didn’t like being called
little lady
. “My name is Constance Miller, and I’ve come for some information.”

The sheriff held out his hand. “I’m Andrew Morton, and I’ll help you if I can.”

She barely touched his hand with her fingers when they shook hands. “I’m trying to find someone.”

The sheriff took off his hat and laid it on his desk. “Have a seat.” He gestured toward the chair in front of the desk while he leaned against the front corner of the large, plain wooden piece of furniture. “Who are you looking for?”

Constance cleared her throat again, this time because it felt so dry. “One of my father’s army buddies. Jim Mitchell.”

He scratched his stubbled cheek and stared into space for a moment. “I think he’s the son of a family that owns a farm near the Mississippi.”

“That’s what I heard.”

“I haven’t seen hide nor hair of any of the Mitchells for almost a year.” He moved behind the desk and dropped into his squeaky chair. “Why do you want to find Jim?” He leaned his arms on the desk and stared intently at her.

Constance squirmed, trying to find a more comfortable position on the hard wooden seat that was so tall her toes barely touched the floor. “My father wanted me to find him. Before he died, he made me promise to do that.”

“I’m real sorry to hear about your father. When did you lose him?”

Tears sprang to Constance’s eyes, and she removed a hanky from her reticule and blotted them away. “Several weeks ago.”

The expression on the sheriff’s face turned sympathetic. That brought more tears to Constance. She was sure that by now her nose and eyes must be red-rimmed. She blotted them again with the now soggy bit of cloth.

“Would you like me to go look for him?” He began tapping a pencil on the wooden desk in a brisk cadence. “I probably could go next week.”

Constance stood. “No, thank you. If you could just tell me how to get to the farm, I’ll go myself.”

He rolled up out of his chair and towered over her. “I can give you directions, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to go out there alone. I know you came on the coach by yourself—”

“How do you know that?” She knew it wasn’t polite to interrupt, but she wanted to know where she stood with this lawman.

He chuckled. “I was standing with Hans when the coach drove up.”

“I suppose you saw me fall.” Constance knew how to make her tone icy. Hopefully, the man would take the hint.

His grin widened. “Actually, you didn’t exactly fall. After you stumbled, Hans—”

As if their words called him, the blacksmith stepped through the doorway. “Andrew, I finished shoeing your horse, so I decided to bring him—” He stopped short and glanced from the sheriff to Constance.

The room felt extremely warm. She wished she had brought her fan. Hopefully, she didn’t look too flushed. She even thought about grabbing one of those wanted posters and fanning herself with it.

“Hans.” The sheriff skillfully took control of the conversation. “Miss Miller came to ask directions to the Mitchell farm. She wants to go there by herself. I was just starting to tell her it really isn’t safe for a single young woman to travel out in the country alone.”

Hans nodded. “I agree. Outlaws occasionally roam the back roads. She would be easy prey for them.”

Constance stood as tall as she could, stiffening her back. “Thank you for your concern, but I don’t want to wait until next week when the sheriff could check it out for me. I want to finish my business with Mr. Mitchell and return home as soon as possible.” She turned toward the lawman. “If you’ll be so kind as to give me the directions…maybe you could write them down, so I won’t get lost.”

The sheriff sat back down and pulled a tablet and pencil from the top drawer of his desk. “I can’t stop you from going, so I’ll write the directions so you won’t get lost, but I still don’t think it’s a good idea.

“I’ll go with her.”

Hans stuck his hands in the back pockets of his trousers. So much for forgetting about Constance Miller. Not only would she be in his thoughts, he was going to spend at least a day with her.

“Oh, but I couldn’t take you away from your work.” She started to reach for his arm, but then let her hand drop. He followed her actions with his gaze.

He turned to look in her beautiful face, a face that held a very becoming blush. “Work’s a mite slow right now.” He watched her indecision dissolve into acceptance. “It might take most of the day, so I’ll pick you up at the hotel at nine o’clock in the morning, if that’s all right with you.”

Her nod was almost imperceptible.

“Here are the directions.” Andrew handed the piece of paper to him. “I think you know where this is.”

Hans studied the notes and crude drawing. “Ja, I know the place. We won’t have any trouble finding it.” He stuck the paper in his shirt pocket and turned to go.

“Thank you, Mr. Van de Kieft.” Her soft words followed him into the street, the melody of them once again playing on his heart.

As expected, Hans didn’t get much sleep that night, either. At one point, he stood by his bedroom window and stared at the stars. “Vader God, why is this happening to me?”

When he spoke out loud to the Lord, he wished for an audible answer in return, but it didn’t come. However, peace stole over his heart. Maybe God had everything under control. Maybe it was His will for Hans to spend time with this woman.

Since she had expressed her desire to return to Arkansas, he needed to guard his heart. If he got too close to her, he would be hurt when she left. When he finally fell asleep, he slept longer than he planned and had to hurry to get everything ready to pick her up.

Nine o’clock had passed when he pulled the wagon up in front of the hotel. While he tied the reins to the hitching post, Constance came out on the boardwalk.

“Will I need a parasol to protect me from the sun?”

Because the walkway was a couple of feet from the level of the street, Hans had to look up at her. “Yes, bring one. The road we’ll follow has shade in some places, but not in others.”

He stood with his hands fisted on his hips and watched her go back into the building. Her clothes were more sensible for a ride than anything he’d seen on her so far. The brown skirt and matching top wouldn’t show the dust too much, and the fullness of the skirt would make it easier for her to get up into the wagon. Of course, he would be glad to help her. As tiny as she was, he could just swing her up. That thought reminded him of the other times he had touched her. The familiar knot tied itself in his midsection.

As soon as they passed the edge of town, trees lined the roadway. Even though the leaves on many were just coming out, they provided respite from the sun. Constance folded her sunshade and laid it behind her in the conveyance. “What’s this stuff in the back of the wagon?”

She eyed the folded quilt as if it were a coiled serpent. After she returned to the hotel yesterday, all kinds of doubts tormented her. Could she really trust this man? He had protected her from harm twice before, but were his intentions honorable today? Maybe possible outlaws weren’t the only danger on the trip.