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S even

“Tilda?” Josh didn’t want to interrupt her class, but he had no choice.

“Yes?” She was standing in front of the group of older children, just starting today’s history class.

A week ago she’d had six students. All boys.

Today she had twelve. Most of the older girls and boys now attended her history class.

Josh knew she’d been teaching about Cortés and California’s interesting past—people and subjects Thayne and Lock were both fascinated by.

The rest of the class was as well. Tilda was an excellent teacher.

Josh wouldn’t’ve minded attending her class himself.

Harriet Sears came up behind Josh and slipped past him, carrying her baby. “I’m taking over for the afternoon, Tilda. You’re needed elsewhere.”

Josh thought he heard a few quiet groans. Harriet was a top-notch teacher, but she was a taskmaster, and all the students knew it. Maybe bringing her baby to class would slow her down a little.

Tilda’s eyes flickered between Harriet and Josh, but she simply said, “I’ve got a nice stack of books today about the history of California. My plan was to pass them around and give the students a quiet reading day, with plans to discuss what we read tomorrow.”

Harriet smiled. “That sounds excellent.”

Tilda gestured toward the books. “I want you to come up and pick out a book. I’ve got enough for each of you. Don’t make Harriet distribute them while she’s got a baby in her arms.”

Josh recognized the books as having come from the library in the ranch house. Then Tilda came toward Josh. She had a serene look on her face until she was past the last student, and then a furrow of worry wrinkled her smooth brow.

He stepped back and let her precede him. Then he closed the classroom door and remained quiet until they got outside. “Your brother is here.”

Tilda tensed up. Her shoulders almost vibrated. “How did he get here this fast?”

“It’s been long enough if he jumped on the first train leaving New York City and rode straight through. No stopping to try and get children adopted.”

“Josh, what is going on here?”

Stopping before they reached the house, Josh rested one hand on her upper arm.

“I don’t know. He’s dressed very nicely.

He seems polite. He’s in there getting hit with questions from Michelle.

Gretel exchanged a few words with him, and when he heard her German accent, he spoke the language to her.

Michelle speaks German too, so I left the three of them chattering and couldn’t understand a word of it even though Gretel shouts in German sometimes.

Guess I only understand things like ‘stop’ and ‘ouch’ and ‘get out of my kitchen.’”

He smiled.

Tilda rolled her eyes. Then she forgot about Josh’s nonsense because she could do nothing but wonder what the stranger in the main house was up to. She rested her hand on top of his and said, “Promise me you won’t let him take me away?”

Josh leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. “I promise. And my word is good, Tilda.”

She studied his eyes for long seconds and read the concern there. “Mistaken identity was your theory, wasn’t it? That must be it. In which case, let’s go in there and be kind. And then send him down the road to hunt for some other poor, missing girl to kidnap.”

Only a few steps away, the back door to the ranch house swung open, and a man stepped out. Tilda’s eyes locked on him, stunned—he resembled her very closely. Tight, dark curls, though his hair was very short. Nearly black eyes.

“I’m Ben. I’m your brother.” The man’s declaration broke Tilda out of her staring, assessing daze. “And you must be Matilda.”

The man called Ben, moving with extreme care, reached for her and touched her forehead. “This scar.” He shook his head, and his eyes turned all glassy as if on the verge of tears. “This was my fault.”

His finger rested right where Josh had kissed her.

“What happened?” Tilda could hardly form the words.

“You were a baby. Just a couple of months old. Ma left me to sit on the bed near you while she ran for a clean diaper. I was five, clearly not old enough to be trusted, but Ma left me in charge anyway.”

Ben dropped his hand, and Tilda touched the scar she’d had for as long as she could remember. It had faded until it was nearly invisible now, yet it would always be part of her.

“You rolled right off the bed,” he went on.

“There was a small table there with a crossbar of wood at the base. You hit your head on it.” The man closed his eyes for a moment.

“So much blood. So much crying. Ma came running, then sent for the doctor. You were screaming. Ma was screaming. I was screaming. I felt awful.”

“Y-you really are my family, aren’t you?” Her voice shook, her hands, her belly, maybe her heart. She felt the wonder of it, yet at the same time she was terrified. Was he really who he said he was? Her brother? If so, why had he only turned up now?

Ben nodded.

“And my name is Matilda? I’ve never heard that before today. I’ve been Tilda from my earliest memory.”

“That’s what we called you. Tilda.”

Tilda shook her head slowly. Ten or more questions crowded to get out. They seemed to clog her throat, and she said nothing as she tried to make sense of it all.

Suddenly Ben flung his arms around Tilda’s neck.

Tilda felt the impact of his hug and spread her arms wide.

She glanced back and saw Josh watching her, only her.

He wasn’t going to just be bowled over by the supposed brother.

He’d promised he wouldn’t let the man take her, and right now she had to clamp her mouth shut to keep herself from demanding that he follow through on his promise.

Josh’s eyes met hers, and he gave her a short, firm nod as if he’d read her mind.

Slowly, Tilda managed to lower her arms and gingerly pat Ben on the shoulder. A brother. To have a brother, any family. She ached for it to be true.

Josh pressed one hand to Tilda’s back, then another on the man’s shoulder. “Let’s go inside and sit down.”

Ben nodded, then said with a voice so firm it seemed to be built on bedrock, “Yes, let’s go inside and talk this out.

I’m Ben Cabril, by the way, your big brother.

” He glanced at Tilda. “And you’re Matilda Cabril.

Let’s get to know each other a bit. Then we need to head back to New York.

Father is eager to see you again after all these years. ”

“M-my father is alive?” Tilda’s eyes widened. “And my mother?”

“Father, yes. Mother died a long time ago, I’m afraid. Both of our mothers have been gone a while now.”

Both of our mothers? Tilda wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly.

And she might have imagined it, but there seemed to be some tone of .

.. something in Ben’s voice. Censure? Anger?

Was he blaming her for their mother’s death?

And how had she come to be living on the streets of New York City and then in an orphanage when her brother—just the thought that she had a brother shook her deeply—grew up with her father?

Oh yes, she had things she needed to talk with him about.

But no matter what he had to say to her, she wasn’t going anywhere.

She’d lived most of her life on the edge of disaster, often cold and hungry.

Then, when the Muirheads had adopted her, she’d had a full belly and a dependable roof over her head.

But no affection. Nothing but demands from a couple who treated her like she should never stop working to repay them for the fine act of adopting her.

Being at the Two Harts Ranch was the safest she’d ever felt.

She had an interesting job and kind people surrounding her, with the orphans she’d been called to care for close at hand.

After setting out across the country with the bare minimum of money and a daunting task, she was finally in a place where she could fulfill that calling.

Over and over in her life, she’d taken risks because she’d had no choice.

At last she no longer felt as though she were standing on the edge of a cliff in a high wind.

No, she wasn’t going anywhere on the say-so of a stranger.

Josh slipped around Tilda without ever taking his supporting hand off her, then opened the door.

Tilda’s shoulders squared. Her chin came up, and she marched into the house, ready for some plain speaking.

* * * *

Josh couldn’t remember ever admiring anyone more. Tilda was clearly terrified, but she was facing what was ahead straight on.

He’d worked with a lot of orphans, and many of them had a way about them of trying to dodge trouble, even if it meant not always speaking the plain truth.

They knew how to slip past consequences when they could.

It was a skill many of them had developed, and no doubt it had helped them survive.

A big part of the schooling at the Two Harts included helping the students learn to face trouble head-on.

He thought for a moment of Thayne and Lock and all the lying they’d done to get to their treasure. That was a good example, and those two weren’t even orphans.

Now here was Tilda not doing any of that. Her courage was humbling.

Josh held the door and finally let his hand drop from Tilda’s back when she entered the house.

He intended to lend her support, but she was handling things well all on her own.

He would like just a moment alone with her to reassure her that Ben wouldn’t be taking her anywhere.

He was her brother almost certainly—the resemblance was unmistakable—but that didn’t mean Josh was sending Tilda off with the man.

Who knew what Ben was really made of and what his intentions were?

Gretel met them with the coffeepot. There were already mugs on the table and a plate of cinnamon rolls. She looked at Josh, frowning, and then her eyes slid from Tilda to Ben.

Josh couldn’t blame her.