Free KeepingFaithCole by Christina Cole

settled over a man like a
thick, black cloud, then crept into his belly and lodged there like a stone.
This feeling was so big, so black, and so damned heavy, he could hardly force
himself to take that last step.
    “Yes, ma’am,” he said,
reaching up to remove his hat. “I’m Thomas Henderson. I reckon you’ve got some
sad news for me.”
    He noticed the pain that
flickered through her eyes. Nobody ever liked to be the bearer of bad tidings,
but someone always had to do it, and in this case, it had fallen to this
scarecrow of a woman with the long arms, thin face, and hair so gray it matched
the color of her drab skirt and jacket.
    She didn’t have to say a
word. Tom already knew what she’d come to tell him. Sally was gone, something
awful had happened, and he’d never see his little sister again.
    If only he’d taken her with
him.
    He sucked back years of
regret, letting it eat away at him. All those years, he’d always thought
someday he and Sally would find each other again. He’d finally made the effort,
and it turned out he was too late.
    Like Ma always said, he’d
never been on time once in his life.
    “Yes, Mr. Henderson.”
    Tom heard a squalling sound
coming from somewhere. Must be his own pain coming out, some keening wail
rising up from deep down inside of him. He fought to hold it in. Wouldn’t do to
show his sorrow and sadness. Just one more fault he’d be called out for, one
more proof that he wasn’t quite man enough to meet the expectations put upon
him.
    “When?” he asked. “How?”
    The little knot of men
around him eased away, slinking into the morning sunlight as if bad news were a
disease that might spread if they got too close.
    “I understand you’ve been
trying to locate your sister.”
    He nodded and looked down.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Lucille still standing where he’d left
her. She hadn’t deserted him, hadn’t left him to suffer alone. If he needed
her, she’d be there for him. The thought comforted him.
    “She’s gone, isn’t she.” Not
a question. A simple statement—which Miss Christensen quickly confirmed with a
curt nod.
    “About three months past,
Mr. Henderson.”
    Sickness? An accident? Maybe
he didn’t want to know how sweet little Sally had died.
    That squalling sound came
again, and when Miss Christensen turned and opened the door of the coach, the
sound grew louder. Louder, clearer, and too distinct to be mistaken for anything
but what it was.
    A baby’s cry.
    “Your sister died in
childbirth, Mr. Henderson. She left behind a beautiful little girl.”
    “Can I see her?” Tom
gestured for Lucille to join him. She’d heard every word, he suspected.
Together they peered past the somber spinster, straining to get a glimpse of
the infant.
    Miss Christensen eyed him,
checked Lucille over with an appraising glance as well, then turned and
carefully removed the little blanket-wrapped bundle from the coach. Tom smiled,
noting the wicker basket in which his little niece—his niece!—had made the
journey from Denver to Sunset.
    “It appears,” Miss
Christensen said, holding the child up for Tom’s inspection, “that you’re the
only family she has.”
    Questions flooded his mind.
He wasn’t sure if he should ask any of them.
    Lucille stepped up and asked
for him. “Her father? Where is he?” She reached out to touch the baby’s cheek.
    “Terrible tragedy.” The
woman closed her eyes as if offering a silent prayer. When she opened them
again, she turned to face Tom. “The child’s father took his own life, I’m
afraid. Grief sometimes makes men crazy.”
    Lucille gasped, a cry of
utter, heartfelt dismay. Tom felt it, too, but no sound came out when he opened
his mouth. Too much bad news was coming at him all at once.
    “I’m from the Children’s
Foundling Home,” she explained. “The father, your sister’s husband,” Miss
Christensen added, “brought the child to our doorstep, left her there, then
disappeared.