The House Near the River by Barbara Bartholomew

scolding her at the same time. “We’ve been worried sick. I called the sheriff. Your dad hired detectives. I was afraid you were dead, though your dad was sure you were still alive.” She pulled out her phone and started to call, “I’ve got to let him know. He’s acted so calm, but inside he’s got to be frantic. I t’s a wonder he hasn’t had a heart attack.”
    Still in shock, Angie listened as her cousin told her father that she’d been found safe and well and that she didn’t have a clue, a single clue as to what had happened, but they’d be there as soon as possible.
    Her eyes widening, Amanda completed the call, staring at Angie with David still clasped sobbing in her arms. “Who is that little boy?” she asked. Then before Angie could answer, she went on, “He looks like David, or at least the way I remember David. Of course it’s been so long ago and I was so young, I probably can’t remember . . .”
    She kept chattering as she always did when she was excited or nervous so Angie tuned her out, sitting David on his feet and looking him over for injury. Other than scrapes on his knees where he’d hit the ground, he seemed in good shape. She looked at Amanda whose mouth still moved though Angie had tuned out the sound. What could she say to explain David’s presence?
    The answer was obvious. Nothing. How could she explain a brother who had not aged after being missing for fifteen years ? She had her own theory that he’d been in some kind of stasis until a few days ago when he showed up at the Harpers , but she wasn’t about to suggest that wild idea to Amanda .
    “How long have I been gone, Amanda? “
    “ Nearly two weeks,” her cousin responded. “Twelve days and part of another to be exact. When I got your message the next morning after we were supposed to meet, I came straight out and found your car. I thought you’d been kidnapped and maybe even murdered.” Her excitable cousin sighed gustily. “Thank God, you weren’t murdered.
    “Anyhow,” she continued. “I called the sheriff’s office and they came out to do a search, though they didn’t have any better luck than I ’d had. Then we called your dad and he came right out.”
    “Who’s looking after the Prairie House ?” Angie questioned immediately. She and Dad couldn’t both be away from the b ed and b reakfast at the same time.
    Amanda shrugged. “Who cares? It didn’t matter. We were only thinking about you.”
    “You shouldn’t have told Dad,” Angie accused angrily.
    Amanda stared at her. “Have you lost your mind? I’m not supposed to tell your dad you’d gone missing?” She studied her cousin seriously, then her gaze fell once more on David. “You still haven’t told me who that little boy is.”
    She didn’t see any way around the truth. “He’s David.”
    “David!” Amanda glared at her.
    “My brother.”
    “Angie, David disappeared over fifteen years ago. He’d be eighteen.”
    “He’s David,” it was the one point Angie would insist on in the questioning that lay ahead. She wouldn’t explain. She couldn’t defend. But he had to be David if she and Dad and Grandma were going to keep him. And a frightened little boy must be with his family.
    She looked around. Her car was gone, but a big red pickup was parked in the drive. “Are the police here now?”
    “No, I just came out, hoping . . .” Amanda stopped her explanation. “Honey, I promised to get you to your dad right away. He’s at my house. But what do we do about this little boy? I don’t want to be accused of kidnapping.”
    “He’s David,” Angie insisted firmly.
    David frowned at her. “Manda,” he said after a lo ng look. As with his sister, he was facing a familiar face many years older than the one he remembered, but he still saw the familiar person within. He’d stopped crying, though he clung to Angie’s hand. “
    We’re going to see Dad,” she told him.
    “Daddy,” he affirmed, looking pleased.