Hannah Grace (11 page)

Nearly deaf but not willing to admit it, Arvel replied, "Raisin leaves? Never tried'im. You boil 'em for tea or somethin'? Ain't raisins really grapes?"

Jacob heaved a sigh and looked to Hannah for help. She shrugged. "I asked if you were going to rake leaves," he repeated in a booming voice.

Mr. Sikes shuffled toward the door. "What's that?"

"Rake leaves,"

"I said, I never tried 'em. You got 'em in stock? I'll think about it next time I come in. Thing is, don't know if Hazel would like the flavor."

Hannah couldn't stifle her burst of laughter. "Good day, Mr. Sikes," she called after him, not surprised when he simply strolled out the door.

Helen McCormick, who'd been waiting patiently in line, moved ahead to plunk her three items on the counter-a bar of soap, a bottle of salve, and a new teakettle. "Poor man's deaf as a rock. Here Hazel spent all that money on an ear trumpet last year, and he won't even use it."

"It's an awkward contraption," Hannah said in his defense. "I don't imagine I'd want to bother with it, myself Perhaps he uses it at home."

Helen looked aghast. "To listen to Hazel's unending twaddle? She's probably the first reason he went deaf. I daresay, that woman could talk a limb off a tree."

"Mrs. McCormick, be nice."

"Well, you know it's true. She cornered me in the churchyard last Sunday after the service to tell me about Harriet Gurley's bad tooth, Lydia Foster's heart ailment, and Hester Graham's mental upset over that brood of hers. Lydia's took to her bed, you know, over that oldest one who lives in Nebraska. Or is it Kansas? I get them two states confused."

Hannah concentrated on ringing up the order. Outside, a horse-drawn rig created a cloud of dust, a couple of dogs started a barking contest, and Sandy Shores' citizens hurried busily up and down the city sidewalks. Across the street, Alden Lawhorn and Merlin Runyan took up their usual places on the cast iron bench in front of Kane and Perkins, smoking their cigars in the pleasant shade provided by the new awning her father had installed last spring.

"He's in jail, is what she heard," Helen continued. "Got in some sort of barroom brawl, which resulted in a gunfight. Thank goodness no one died. I declare, it's still an untamed place out in some of them Western states." She laid a finger to her chin and scowled. "Now that I think on it, it might have been Wyoming-or maybe Oklahoma. Anyway, it's because of her my roast burnt."

"That will be three dollars and seventy-five cents, ma'am," Hannah said while packing the items in a small box she found under the counter. "Seems to me the Grahams could use our prayers."

"Well, I suppose that's true enough," Helen conceded, clamping her mouth shut for the time being. She untied her drawstring purse and started digging through it.

Handing over a couple of bills, she drew her arched gray eyebrows into an inquisitive tilt and leaned forward. "So, how'd that boy come to belong to the new sheriff?"

Hannah blew out a little sigh, knowing anything she said would spread like a September wildfire as soon as Helen McCormick left the premises. "He doesn't belong to him, Mrs. McCormick. The child appears to have wandered here on his own. The sheriff will investigate all angles until he can determine where he comes from. Once that's accomplished, he'll return him to his family-if there is one,"

"Your pa said he doesn't speak? That's strange. Little guy must've encountered a frightening experience. My cousin Alma Ball got bit by a big snake when we were youngin's. Some said it was a rattler, but that's doubtful, since she lived to tell about it. 'Course, they say Michigan rattlers aren't near as dangerous as the ones from down South, so I guess it could've been. Scared the speech right out of her for pretty close t' two whole months. She quit walkin' out to the outhouse, too-which posed an even bigger problem. Why, I remember her mama yellin, `Alma, there ain't no call to keep goin' in yer pants now that snake season's come 'n gone."

"What started her talking again?" Hannah asked, impatient to know.

"Huh? Why, I don't know exactly. One day she was mute as a marble, and the next, you couldn't shut her up. I guess she just got tired of not giving out her opinions. Alma always was one to talk, you know, 'specially after that two-month rest she took in that summer of...let me see here ...it was 1868. Yes, we were ten years old, Alma and me.

"Anyway, don't know where she got that gabbing gift from. Nobody else in the family seems to have it near as bad as she does. We go to family get-togethers and no one gets a word in edgewise." Helen shook her head and sighed, as if exhausted from her own bout of nonstop jabber. "It's somethin."

The bell above the door jangled as her father and the entire Martin clan-Mr. and Mrs. and their four little onesentered the store. Everyone always held his breath when the Martins came to town.

Helen McCormick cleared her throat dramatically and drooped her bosom over the counter. "I hope you have your stuff anchored down, Miss Hannah," she whispered with a dubious smile, gathering up her box of goods and straightening to her full five and a half feet, give or take an inch or two depending on which shoes she was wearing. "Those children have the manners of jungle monkeys."

"Mrs. McCormick,"

The woman turned and headed for the door without another word, barely managing to dodge an airborne wooden toy soldier. She grumbled something under her breath and made a fast exit. On the one hand, it was a relief to see her go, but on the other, seeing the Martin family felt like exchanging one sour morsel for another.

"Billy, don't throw stuff. Stick that back in yer pocket," said his mother, even as he retrieved the toy soldier and threw it at his brother. This time, she merely shrugged her shoulders and drew out a paper from her pocket: her list. A long one, no doubt. The oblivious Mr. Martin wandered over to a table of assorted gadgets.

Across the room, Jacob Kane ran a nervous hand through his gray hair and watched as all four children took off in different directions. "I'll talk to you later, Hannah Grace," he said to excuse himself.

"Papa, you just got here," She waved her hand in a silent gesture of despair, hoping he'd take it as a supplication not to leave her in such a predicament. Surely, his presence in the store would act as a deterrent to the scallywags bounding up and down the aisles.

Instead, he walked to the door. "We'll talk at supper. You don't plan to eat in that jail again, I hope?" He had to raise his voice above the sound of screaming voices.

"No, Papa," she enunciated. "I'll be home, but-"

"Good," Giving a cursory look at the Martin children, all boys ranging in age from three to nine, he tossed her an apologetic smile. "I'm sure you can manage things."

She wrinkled her nose at him. He never had been one for confrontation. Even while raising his daughters, he'd given them most anything they wanted if it meant keeping the peace, leaving Grandmother Kane to do most of the disciplining.

"Ouch! Give me that, you big swine," said one of the younger Martin boys to the oldest. Every one of them had hay-colored hair and similar faces. Hannah never had learned their names. The boy wore a disdainful look as he faced up to his oldest brother and held out his hand, palm up.

The older boy lifted his upper lip at the corner to signal his scorn. "Go find your own toy, runt. There's a table full of them over there."

ON Lord, Hannah prayed silently while moving out from behind the counter to go protect the merchandise, give me patience enough not to strangle some necks.

n entire week had passed since the discovery of Jesse Gant's identity. Unfortunately, it hadn't brought Gabe any closer to determining where, much less to whom, he belonged, and the child's lack of speech only made the job harder.

After a thorough examination, Dr. Ralston Van Huff had declared that Jesse was healthy and fit, aside from his rather scrawny physique, and said he found no physical explanation for the boy's apparent inability to utter even the simplest of words. He'd tried to coax him into it by offering him candy, bribing him with a ride in his fancy carriage, and tempting him with a crisp, new dollar bill-all things that appeared to interest Jesse, but not enough to convince him to express himself.

Gabe hadn't approved of the doctor's tactics, as they didn't get to the core of his problems. Jesse wasn't merely being stubborn and obstinate in his speechlessness. Bribing him was as futile as using fresh-baked apple pie to entice a man with a broken leg to walk. The issue had to do with trust. Without establishing trust, no amount of coercing would get Jesse talking. It seemed to him the doctor ought to know that, but then, Gabe hadn't been overly impressed with the man. While examining Jesse, Dr. Van Huff had paid more attention to Hannah's presence than he'd paid to his patient's.

"I see no need for both of you to stay," he'd said at the door to his examination room, and then to Gabe, "Please-feel free to go back to your town duties, Sheriff"

"Tending to this boy is one of my town duties, Doctor."

"Then I suggest you go back to the store, Hannah,"

She'd actually started to turn, like a sheep going to slaughter, but Gabe seized her by the arm. "She needs to stay and hear the results of your exam. Since she's watching him during the day, I think-"

"Which seems a bit much, considering she already has the store to manage. What does your father say about all this, Hannah? In my opinion, it's not a healthy situation, you taking care of..."

Gabe couldn't believe it. "I'm not forcing her into this. In fact, she's the one who came up with the idea,"

"Hannah," The bearded doctor swallowed hard and angled her with a fatherly look, certainly not the sort one would expect from a beau. "Let's be pragmatic here,"

"Could we discuss this later, Ralston?" Hannah asked. She put her hand on the boy's frail shoulder. "He may not talk, but he is not deaf."

She speaks! Gabe thought.

That ended that, but not the doctor's censuring sideglances to him. By the time Gabe walked out the door with Jesse, Hannah staying behind so Ralston could walk her home after he closed his office for lunch, it was clear as glass why Ralston Van Huff was in a huff, and it had little to do with her taking care of Jesse. He didn't approve of her connection with Gabe, which was funny in itself. He dropped Jesse off in the morning and picked him up at suppertime, and, most times, few words passed between them, usually because Hannah appeared too busy and distracted with her duties at the store.

Gabe gave the cheerless skies a fleeting look and wondered if he could make it back to his office before the gray clouds let loose.

`Afternoon, Sheriff!" Gabe slowed and turned. Frank Portman of Sandy Shores Real Estate waved at Gabe, then strode briskly across the street in his direction. Gabe had met with Frank the day before regarding a house for sale on Slayton Street. Situated six blocks from town on an oversized lot with a barn big enough to accommodate Zeke and Slate, the compact two-story, shaded with massive oaks and maples, held great appeal. Gabe hoped that Frank was able to work out the details with the owner. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the Sherman House and its fine view of the lake, but he needed a bigger place-something more suitable, homey, and permanent. Before checking himself, he pictured Jesse scampering around in the backyard, maybe a smattering of chickens pecking at the dirt.

He paused and watched the man's approach, trying to gauge whether he bore good news. "Got some good news for you!" Frank said, as if reading Gabe's mind.

"Really?"

Frank looked as tickled as a pup in a meat market. "The Bronsons accepted your offer. They're especially anxious, since they've already moved to Lansing. We should be able to settle matters in the next few weeks. I have to pass a few papers back and forth in the mail. After that, the place is yours."

"No kidding!"

They discussed business a bit longer before Gabe headed off again, his step a little lighter. Lord, You seem to be working out every aspect of my life in Sandy Shores. I thank You for that. Now, if You could just lend some wisdom to this matter of Jesse Gant.

Up ahead, two barefoot boys in worn knickers who looked a little older than Jesse scampered across Water Street, a little black dog at their heels. They were carrying fishing poles, and Gabe figured they were heading for the pier. He wanted to tell them to be careful, but he was sure their mothers had issued them warnings. He'd recently heard that grown men had lost their lives on that pier when gargantuan waves swept them off with about as much mercy as a lion has for a lame gazelle. At least today, the waters were eerily calm, the air as still as a Quaker on Sunday morning.