Page 24 of On a Midnight Clear

The cabin lay quiet in the morning stillness except for the crackling of the fire. Hope stepped softly to Mr. Thompson’s side to see if he might be awake. Should she rouse him to ask about the knife?

She’d intended to talk with him yesterday right after she and Noah planned their search, but the poor man had been in need of a great deal of care. By the time he’d been cleaned up and fed, he was too exhausted to keep his eyes open.

Then Martin had finally come in from the barn, too weary and cold to be civil. She’d decided to ask him about the knife when he came back from hunting today.

As she stood beside Mr. Thompson, his eyelids slowly lifted.

She eased out a breath. Good. She settled cross-legged beside his bed, adjusting her skirts to cover herself properly, and sent him a smile. “Good morning. Are you feeling better?”

His gaze drifted to her face, distant at first, then focusing. “Might finally be on the mend.” His voice rasped so much it was hard to understand his words. At least his spirits were returning.

She rested her fingers on his brow. “I’m glad to hear it. Your fever hasn’t returned, so I do think you’re recovering. The important thing now is to get your strength back.”

He gave a small nod even as his eyes drifted shut. “I’ve imposed on your hospitality too long.”

“Nonsense. You’re always welcome here. The snow is still too deep for the stage to get through anyway.” He looked like he was about to drift off again, so she spoke quickly. “I was hoping to ask a question.”

His lashes fluttered, opening a crack.

She pressed on. “By chance, have you seen a knife? One with an antler handle and the name Palmer carved into the grip?”

Mr. Thompson’s brow furrowed. “A knife? No. I ... the last few days are hazy.” He spoke slowly. “I wouldna taken somethin’ of yours. Surely not in my right mind.”

She did her best to hide her disappointment. Should she take him at his word? She hated to search his bag without his consent, though it would be easy enough once he slept.

His eyes cracked a little wider and looked toward his bag on the floor. “You can check my things, just in case. I’d look for ya, but you’ll be faster at it.”

She reached for the worn leather satchel and set it on her lap. The brass clasp was tarnished and the leather straps nearly worn through. She unfastened the latch and folded back the flap.

Inside were a few spare articles of clothing, all of them threadbare and so dirty they almost crackled when she unfolded the bundle.

Aside from those, the bag held a tin cup, a wooden spoon, a comb, a small sewing kit, and a very worn knife with its blade scratched from so many sharpenings.

A leather-wrapped bundle held several strips of dried meat—a snack for the road, most likely.

And that was all. No books. Nothing for pleasure. He likely couldn’t read and probably found entertainment in visiting with friends at the stops along his route. And these probably weren’t his only possessions, just the small supply he needed when he drove.

At first, she’d felt sorry for the man who had so few belongings to carry.

But maybe he’d learned the wisdom in relishing the gifts that came his way every single day.

Like when Jesus sent his disciples out two-by-two to preach about the Kingdom of God.

He told them not to take even an extra set of clothes.

They would be fed and cared for along the way.

How hard it must have been to trust so fully.

“See it anywhere?” Mr. Thompson’s quavering voice brought her back.

“No. The only knife in here is yours.” She slipped everything back into the bag except the cloth bundle. “Do you mind if I wash these clothes while you’re here?”

He blinked at her. “I’d be obliged, Miss Hope.”

Rising, she settled him more comfortably on the pillow and drew the quilt up over his chest. “Rest now. I’ll check on you again in a bit.”

As she turned to leave, Mr. Thompson’s voice stopped her. “Miss Hope?” His words were slurred with fatigue. “I truly hope ya find that knife. Seems like it means a good deal to ya.”

Emotion welled in her throat. “It does. It’s been passed down through the men in our family for several generations. I was planning to give it to Martin on Christmas.” She swallowed hard against the burn in her eyes. “But don’t fret about it. You focus on getting well.”

His eyes had already drifted shut, but he managed a small nod.

She watched him a moment longer, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. At least she could rule him out as a suspect. But that still left the mystery unsolved.

With a sigh, she turned to put the clothes with her other washing. Now would be a good time to share her findings with Noah.

As Noah brushed the gelding’s neck in the dim light of the stall, the barn door creaked open. He peered around the wall to see who had entered. Maybe Martin had returned from his hunt.

But Hope stood in the doorway, the light framing her in silhouette. Even as a solid shadow, she was beautiful. Her stray curls gave her a feminine look, but she carried herself with a confidence all those fainting flowers in the elegant ballrooms would do well to learn.

She must have seen him, for she stepped inside and let the door fall shut. The lantern’s soft glow shone on her face, making her look like a dark-haired angel with that soft smile on her lips. Yet as she approached and he could see her expression better, the worry there tightened his chest.

As she approached, he moved back to brushing the gelding. He’d been careful to do everything he could think of to care for the stage horses since Sam couldn’t.

Hope halted in front of the stall where he worked. “I hope I’m not disturbing you. I thought we could compare notes on our questionings.” Disappointment weighed her voice.

“I take it you didn’t have any luck?”

She shook her head, her shoulders slumping. “No. Mr. Thompson said he hasn’t seen it. He had me go through his pack, and it’s certainly not there.”

Noah grimaced. “The same with Miss Whitmore. I searched the crates in her room, and she looked through her trunk and bags.” He tried not to let the heat rise to his face again at the memory.

She sighed, the worry lines deepening on her forehead. “It’s like the knife just vanished into thin air.” She stared down at her hands.

His fingers itched to wrap around hers. It would be a normal sign of comfort between friends, wouldn’t it?

But just as he’d convinced himself to reach out, she looked up. That desperation from before glimmered in her eyes. “I don’t know what else to do. I’ve looked everywhere.”

He hesitated. “Is there any chance your brother has it?”

She stilled, then a flicker of pain flashed on her face. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked it. But her expression turned thoughtful. After a moment, she shook her head. “Martin doesn’t even know the meaning behind the knife. And he would have no reason to go through my trunk.”

Noah nodded. “Well, then... I suppose it might be good for us to do one final search of the rest of the house and barn. Just in case there’s a clue we might have missed.” He tried for an encouraging grin. “Maybe a mousehole big enough a little rodent could have carried the knife through.”

She scrunched her nose. “I’m not sure I want that to be the answer.”

He chuckled, then reached for the rope across the stall doorway. “Is now a good time to start looking?”

She nodded. “Martin’s still out hunting, so we can search his room and mine. Then the main room and the barn...”

He raised his brows. “Think he’ll be upset if we go through his things while he’s gone?”

She scrunched her nose. “I wouldn’t do it with anyone else except him.

He’s my younger brother, and he’s always been happy for me to put away his clean clothes or all the knickknacks he leaves around the cabin.

” She glanced in the direction Martin had ridden earlier, as though she could see through the barn wall.

“I’ll ask him about the knife and let him know we searched his room as soon as he gets back. ”

Noah nodded, then motioned for her to lead the way from the barn.