Gabrielle Meyer - The Gift Of Twins

“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.” He spoke with a bit of a lisp.

“It’s nice to meet you both.” Ben slowly took off his coat, not wanting to frighten them with quick movements. Memories of the day his father had left him at the mission at Pokegama came rushing back unbidden. He hadn’t been much older than these two, and he’d been just as scared. Above all else, he remembered how hungry he was that first day, but he’d been afraid to ask for a thing. “Would you like something to eat?”

The boys looked at one another, and then Zebulun nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Let’s see what we can find.” He didn’t bother to ask if they’d like to take off their coats. He remembered feeling safer keeping his meager belongings with him when Father left. These boys didn’t even have a bag—just the clothes on their back, and threadbare clothes at that. Where had they sheltered the night before? Had they been cold? Scared? He hated to think that they had suffered through the storm, only to be abandoned today. But he suspected their suffering had started long before now.

They slowly followed him, not letting go of one another, their eyes roaming his home.

The breakfast he’d enjoyed with Emmy only an hour before was still on the table, cold and half-eaten. Ben cleared away the dishes and set them to the side, then he stoked the fire and put the frying pan over the heat. “Do you like eggs?” he asked.

Zebulun nodded, but Levi shook his head. Ben smiled to himself. It was the first response he’d gotten out of Levi. “What do you like, Levi?”

The little boy looked around the kitchen, his gaze resting on the bread and jam. “I like toast and jam.”

“Then that’s what you’ll get.” Ben sliced a couple pieces of bread and looked at Zebulun. “What about you? Do you like toast, too?”

Zebulun nodded.

“Why don’t you two have a seat at the table. I’ll get some milk for you while we wait for the food.”

The boys did as he suggested, needing to let go of each other to take their seats.

“Do you know your names are from the Bible?” Ben asked as he placed the bread on a pan to put into the oven.

“Yes, sir,” Levi spoke up, confidence in his answer. “We’re tribes of Israel.”

Ben’s eyebrows rose, impressed that a boy so young would know about the Tribes of Israel. Someone must have taught him.

“My name is Benjamin,” Ben said, trying not to pay them too much attention, lest they get nervous, but trying to hold up the conversation to keep their minds preoccupied. “It’s also a Tribe of Israel.”

Zebulun looked impressed, but Levi didn’t show any response to the revelation.

Ben grinned. “We just need to find Asher, Judah, Naphtali, Reuben, Simeon, Issachar, Gad, Dan and Joseph, and then everyone would be here.”

The boys looked at one another, clearly confused at the string of strange names he’d just said.

Ben’s smile fell and he took a deep breath. What would he do with these boys? He wasn’t equipped to care for them, yet he didn’t know who could. Abram and Charlotte Cooper had just welcomed their fifth child less than three weeks ago, and Jude and Elizabeth Allen had their hands full caring for their twin girls, only two months old. With the national recession, and troubles closer to home, he could think of no one eager to take in two extra children. Ben had the financial resources—he just lacked the skill and experience, not to mention the help.

The only thing he could think to do was go back to the Hubbards and ask Pearl for advice. She had become a surrogate mother in the community. An honorable woman of wisdom and discernment. If anyone could help, it would be Pearl.

* * *

The bedroom was smaller than Emmy anticipated, and there was only one bed she’d have to share with the girl named Rachel. There were four hooks on the far wall, a single window looking out at a snow-covered world, and a rag rug on the floor. The space was so tight, it would be almost impossible to dress properly without bumping the walls. She thought of the large room she’d slept in the night before at Ben’s home and sighed. How would she get the privacy she craved, or the necessary space to study here? A cursory glance around the house had suggested there were generous public areas—but those rooms would also hold men. Lots of men. Too many men for Emmy to get anything done if she took her books to the parlor or dining room to study. Maybe there was another space she wasn’t aware of. She’d be sure to ask Mrs. Hubbard.

Her trunks were now in the attic, with two long flights of stairs in between. She’d taken only the necessary items she’d need, but she suspected she’d make that trek up the stairs several times a day.

With a final glance around the room to make sure her few items were in their place, she entered the kitchen at the same moment as a young lady she’d yet to meet.

“Hello,” Emmy said. “You must be Rachel.”

“And you must be Emmy.” Rachel set a pile of folded towels on a worktable and smiled. “Welcome to Little Falls.”

Rachel was not a girl, after all, but a young woman in her midtwenties with shiny black hair and large brown eyes. If Emmy wasn’t mistaken, she, like Ben, had Indian heritage, though her English was flawless and lacked any hint of accent. She was a beautiful woman, and Emmy wondered for a fleeting moment why she wasn’t married.