Page 132 of My Heart Will Find You

He seemed about to say something, but instead he looked back at the brochure. “This is interesting. There’s a plaque of dedication in the church. It was made by Henry Fredericks and has profiles of a man and a woman.” He held up the photo to her, and she politely pretended to look at it, but she didn’t. Seeing it once was enough.

“The man, Maxwell Lawton, was a rancher and it says he gave up his life to stop an attack.” Max looked up. “An attack on what? Who?”

“If he prevented it, it wouldn’t be in any of the history books so we wouldn’t know about it.”

“Good point.” He looked back at the paper. “It says it wasn’t known where his wife came from, but she helped with a buffalo hunt.” He smiled at that, then frowned. “This is far-fetched, but I wonder if that relief on Dad’s desk has anything to do with this?”

“There were lots of hunts,” was all Etta could think to say.

“Where we got the desk, in Mason, is a long way from here. Although, that’s where the Fredericks house is. Maybe—”

She interrupted him. “What else is in there?”

“Opening hours and how much children can learn from visiting the town. They stage gunfights. Gotta have violence.” He refolded the pamphlet and looked at the back. “Here’s a list of people who did the restoration. No, that’s not right. It says that Mrs. Lloyd wanted the original people involved in building the church to be noted.”

“Read it to me,” Etta said softly.

“Okay. Here’s an interesting fact. The first pastor of the new church was a black woman, Sally Roberts. It says she could sing.”

“She could,” Etta said. “Beautifully.”

“During the week, the church was used as a school that was run by Lillian Wellman, whose husband was the accountant for the whole project.”

Etta’s throat closed and she couldn’t speak. Her parents did marry.

“Needlework was done by Alice Lawton Adams, and her husband, Patrick, made the big bells in the towers. Mrs. Lloyd’s husband Bertram was legal counsel.” Max looked at Etta, but she was staring at the water and said nothing.

“It seems that there was a garden in the back. I wonder if it’s still there,” he said. “It was designed by—” The pamphlet slipped out of his hand, and he made a grab to get it.

“Freida Simmons,” Etta said. “Is Rufus in there?”

“Yeah. You know your history. The garden was created by Freida and Rufus Voss.”

Etta nodded. “Anything else?”

“In 1890, the care of the church was handed over to Miss Nellie Adams, who ran it for the rest of her life. I guess she’s related to the other Adams.”

“Pat’s daughter,” Etta said.

Max put the brochure in the basket, and Etta started straightening up. “Tell me how you know so much about this place.”

She managed a smile. “Maybe someday. The next time you’re home I’ll make margaritas and nachos, and I’ll tell you the whole story.”

He frowned but he saw that she wasn’t going to say more. “That sounds like a deal. Etta?”

She looked at him.

“Thank you for coming into our lives. Ben and Caro and I have been in agony at leaving Dad alone, but...”

“You have to follow your own dreams. Henry knows that.” She smiled. “I’m glad your father and I found each other. We both need things and...” She didn’t finish that thought. “You ready to go take pictures of the town?”

“I am. I think I’ll do some sketches of the church. You don’t expect something like that to be on the plains. I wonder why Mrs. Lloyd put it here and not in KC or another city? And why in the world didn’t Dad take us to visit it when we were kids?”

All because of me, she thought.Because I said I hated to see the people and the town disappear as though they’d never existed. But that didn’t happen. The people I loved didn’t vanish without a trace. Each of them left a part of themselves behind. We were here, they seemed to say. And we contributed something beautiful to the world.

Max was staring at her.

She couldn’t tell him her thoughts. “I’m trying to remember all of your father’s instructions. Did you get pictures of the stream?”

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