At Home on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [103]
Bridget took up her car keys. “I’ll go,” she said.
Lindsay turned for the door as she did. “I’ll check with Reverend Holland.”
Cici said, “Lori—”
“I’ve just got to get my shoes.” She raced up the stairs.
Noah was not at the folly. He was not in the studio or the workshop or the cellar or the old winery under the barn. He was not in the sunroom with the baby chicks or wading in the stream with the dog or sitting in the sun on the rock in the woods behind the house where he sometimes liked to sit and sketch. The motorcycle was still in its shed, gas tank empty. But the extra ration of apples that had been left in Bambi’s pen was not a good sign.
The neighbors had not seen him, and neither had the Hollands. He had not, to the recollection of the ticket attendant at the bus station, been on the bus that had departed at eleven a.m., nor had he purchased a ticket for the one that was to leave at eleven p.m. Of course, if he had hitched a ride to Charlottesville, he might already be on a train.
They met back at the house, exhausted, distraught, and virtually out of ideas. They stood in the foyer, uncertain whether to continue the search by foot or by telephone, or to get back into their cars.
“Lori, did he say anything, anything at all that might give you an idea where he might be going?” Bridget insisted.
Lori shook her head helplessly. “We had a fight. It was a stupid fight. But we’re always fighting. Mom, I’m so sorry!”
Cici put her arm around her shoulders in a brief squeeze. “It’s not your fault, honey. No one thinks that.”
Lindsay said, “We should check the highway one more time. And one of us should go to Charlottesville, to start asking questions there. I’ve got some photographs of him in my digital camera. All I have to do is run them off on the computer—”
“We can’t do this by ourselves. We have to call the sheriff.”
Bridget nodded in agreement. “We should call Carrie.” She looked anxiously at her watch. “It’s almost three o’clock.”
“You don’t suppose he overheard something, do you?”
Lori drew a deep breath. “Mom,” she said, “there’s something I think you ought to know.”
And then, from behind them, Noah said, “What’re ya’ll looking for?”
With a cry, they rushed him. He was dusty and sweaty and his battered sneakers had left muddy footprints across the floor. Lindsay grabbed his shoulders and looked for a moment as though she would shake him, but embraced him instead. When she released him she had to turn away quickly and wipe the tears with both hands before he could notice.
Bridget took Lindsay’s place, hugging him. “Where have you been? You scared us to death!”
Lori said, “We’ve been looking everywhere!”
“Don’t you ever do anything like that again, do you hear me?” Cici demanded, as she pulled him away from Bridget and hugged him hard.
Noah looked embarrassed by all the attention, but, for the first time, also a little pleased. He shrugged away uncomfortably. “I had some stuff to take care of,” he said. “Didn’t mean to cause all this fuss.”
Lori stood with her hands on her hips, scowling at him. “Well, you did. What have you been up to, anyway? We thought you’d run away!”
He looked from her to the others, all of them gathered around looking anxious and relieved and waiting for him to say something. Ida Mae came in from the kitchen silently, sweeping up his muddy footprints, but even she had an obvious ear cocked toward the conversation. Noah shuffled his feet, looked at the ground. Then he looked from one to the other of them reluctantly. “I thought about it. Running away, I mean. Figured it would be for the best. But then I got to thinking, what kind of jerk would walk out on a bunch of women in trouble, all by yourselves like you are . . .” Just then, he flicked a quick glance toward Lori, who looked surprised. “So here.” He dug into his pocket and produced a roll of bills, which he presented to Lindsay. “Here’s what I owe you for the ticket, plus some extra. There’ll be more,” he promised. “But that’s all I could raise today.”
Lindsay took the money,