Hannah Grace (14 page)

Blasts of gunshots and banshee-like screams. Blood mingling with blood, redder than them roses Mr. Godfrey sold outside his store on East 22nd Street, oozing like beet juice out the lady's mouth and ears and pouring from the man's chest, changing his shirt color from tan to crimson.

Jesse covered his eyes from the worst of it, but he still peeked through his separated fingers, wanting to know what happened to the man and woman. Were they dead?

For a second afterward, no one moved, not even the bad guys. Everything went still as a March moon, except for a blue jay overhead that kept up its yapping. Suddenly, the man with the gun started barking orders. "Grab as much as you can. Don't just stand there looking stupid. Move!" Like slaves, the other three carried out his orders, stepping over the bodies to snatch up whatever goods they could. "Money! Look for money!" the mean man wailed. They started yanking out bureau drawers, tipping over furniture, tossing debris in all directions. One of them picked up Jesse's little black suitcase, opened it, and dumped its contents on the floor.

Through the tiny kitchen window, Jesse looked at the woman, who lay like a sun-dried fish, eyes open but not looking, mouth drooping wide, blond hair clumped and wetlooking. Something pinched and burned at the bottom of his stomach, and he had the sudden want to retch, but he didn't.

While surveying the parlor room, one of the bad men spotted him, and for a heart-stopping instant, their gazes held. "Hey, some bratty little kid seen us, Pa. He was watchin' through that winder." Jesse tried to move, but his feet refused. Even peeling his hands off the windowsill seemed a chore. Finally, he managed, and when he did, he took off like a horse with wings past the barn and across a big field, soaring past bushes and through tall weeds.

"Well, go get 'im, fool!"

Footsteps pounded at Jesse's back, gaining on him. He ran faster, glad for his boots, holes and all. With every ounce of strength, he made a running leap for a ditch behind a big, wide oak and buried himself under a felled log, counting each breath, wondering which one would be his last. The runner kept going, passing his well-hidden body. It pays to be small, he told himself, small and quiet.

Mustn't make a sound, he said inside his brain. Can't trust a livin' soul.

Vomit pooled in his throat, but he swallowed it, pinching shut his eyes, as if to block out the bad stuff.

Everybody leaves, he thought. Everybody leaves and dies. First, Daddy; then, Mama. Even that lady who dropped me of in Do-wagi-ack, or however it's said-she left me sitting at a train station with those-those strangers. Those strangers who were now dead.

He'd thought he could trust her, but he'd been wrong. Can't trust anybody. No siree. Nobody.

Jesse opened eyes that felt heavy and damp in the corners. He wiped them and sat up, wondering for a second where he was, thinking he might still be running. His chest heaved and pounded as if that were so. But then he saw the sheriff sleeping in the bed, and he knew he was safe-at least for now.

The picture of the bad man he'd seen in the newspaper shot a path back to his brain. It was him. He knew it was. He remembered that gray beard, that balding head, that big stomach that bulged over his belt, and that mean, gorilla-like face with the sunken eyes. Granted, the picture looked like a younger version of the man, but that didn't leave Jesse any less certain.

And something else he knew. That man and those others were hunting for him, and when they found him, they would kill him dead. One of them had chased him in a town a few weeks ago, up a street and down an alley, until Jesse outsmarted him by jumping in a waste barrel. "We'll get you yet, you scraggly little stooge, and when we do, you'll be a sorry little twerp!" he'd hollered into the night. "Don't think you can run forever."

He could not stop the loud patter of his heartbeat, nor the sweat, clammy and clingy, that trickled down his face and soaked his nightshirt. His stomach knotted into a tight ball, paining him so much that he feared it would burn a hole through his skin. How to stop this panicky, sickening feeling coursing through his veins?

Outside, the moon tried to peek through the thick clouds, shedding just enough light to reveal Mr. Devlin's-Gabe'schest rising and falling in steady rhythm as he breathed.

Jesse knew he needed to talk to him and Hannah. He could trust them, couldn't he? Still, every time he tried to make his voice work for either of them, his throat locked up tight as a rich man's safe, the very idea of spilling out the truth of what he'd seen making him quake and shudder. In fact, some days, his chest felt near to exploding. He could never seem to forget the sight of that bright red blood, oozing and pouring out of the bodies of the man and woman.

He tore the blanket off his skinny frame and made a running leap for the bed, thinking the quicker he got there, the faster the bad pictures would go away. Gabe shifted his weight and made a snuffling noise with his mouth and nose. He was more of a snuffler than a snorer, Jesse noted, turning on his side so that he felt Gabe's warmth against his back. Not too close to wake him, but close enough to feel safe.

The final days of summer turned into the earliest signs of fall-cooler temperatures, shorter days, and the start of the school year. Gabe wanted to start Jesse in school, despite his refusal to speak; Hannah thought otherwise, arguing that plunking him into an environment of raucous children would drive him only deeper into his private little burrow of silence.

"You're spoiling him," Gabe countered. "He needs to come out of that shell, and putting him with other kids will speed the process."

"What if he decides to run away during a recess break because he can't cope? I don't think it's smart to push him, especially since he's making small gains."

"What if introducing him to other children his age gives him the desire to communicate? You know how youngsters talk while they're playing. Maybe he'll forget about being determined not to speak and, one day, start yapping while they're playing a game of tag or something."

Hannah squeezed her lips tight together and crossed her arms to show her staunch skepticism. "I highly doubt that would happen."

"He needs to socialize with children his age."

`And he will-but not until he feels safe."

"How's he ever going to feel safe if we don't give him a little push?"

"What? That doesn't make a bit of sense."

Her father, who'd been standing next to the cash register counting bills and studying the week's receipts, put down the papers and announced they sounded like a couple of old marrieds who couldn't agree on anything.

At his words, Hannah's cheeks heated up until she imagined they must look as red as strawberries. She made an about-turn and walked to the back room, leaving Gabe and Jacob alone. From there, she gazed out the back window at Jesse, who was playing with the stray pup. She tried to gather her bearings as she listened to the men speak in low tones.

"She's probably right, you know," Jacob said. "If he's not talking yet, putting him in a school situation where he's forced to conform will almost certainly do more harm than good."

"You think so?" Gabe asked.

"He's shy, at best. If he refuses to talk, the others might start teasing him. The tongue can be an awful weapon."

"That's true enough. Children can be cruel little beasts when they put their minds to it,"

"No sense in causing further trauma."

"Is it your opinion we should hold off on the school notion, then?"

"Indeed," Jacob replied.

Oh, it angered Hannah that her father's words carried more weight in Gabe's eyes than her own. Had he forgotten who'd been watching Jesse Gant for the past several weekstending to his needs, feeding him, reading to him, soothing his hurts?

After some discussion, the men decided Jesse's fate. Things would continue as before, Gabe dropping the child off in the mornings and picking him up at day's end. "Of course, you'll probably want to school him yourself, whenever possible," Gabe inserted when Hannah reentered the room, her temper barely intact.

She forced back a biting word and nodded. "As I've been doing ever since I started watching him, Mr. Devlin,"

"Gabe," he corrected her.

"Mr. Devlin," she snapped back.

Jacob Kane merely shook his head and went back to his bookkeeping, biting back a grin.

Hannah and Jesse moseyed up Third Street, heading for the Kane home, a dusky sun settling on their shoulders. "Listen. Do you hear that? It's a chickadee," She put out her hand to stop Jesse in his tracks, Together, they tilted their faces toward a cloudless sky. "Chee-dee-dee-dee, chee-deedee-dee," she mimicked. "Hear him? He's putting up a fuss, isn't he? What tree do you think he's sitting in?"

With all his might, Jesse seemed to ponder her question, gazing from one tree to the next, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his blue dungarees, black hair falling to one side with the tilt of his head. Finally, he pointed at the aged oak. Through the thick-leafed branches, one could see a rustling of leaves.

"Exactly!" Hannah agreed, clapping her hands. "Look, there he goes."

Wordlessly, Jesse pointed at its trailing mate and smiled. She loved his smile, the way it transformed his dour face into something quite adorable, showing off his two permanent incisors, only halfway in. The teeth revealed something about his age, according to Ralston. Most children had their second teeth, or at least a good start on them, by age seven, he'd said.

They set off again, her hand guiding his shoulder as they crossed over to the other side of the street, the foursquare house at 210 Ridge Street now in full view. "My grandmother is hosting a little dinner tonight, and you're invited. Did you know that?"

With a sideward toss of his head, he gazed at her through troubled eyes.

"Nothing to worry about, of course," she said, maintaining a nonchalant tone. "Gabe will be there, as will my sisters and my father, and you know them. And Dr. Van Huff, of course. Remember him?"

Jesse scowled with some kind of private thought. "Then, there will be a few folks from town," she hurried on to say. "My grandmother wants to make certain people get the chance to meet Mr. Devlin-if they haven't already."

He seemed to be processing the information. She had purposely kept the party from him all week, knowing it would make him worry. But the time for secrets had passed.

"That's why Gabe didn't pick you up today," she continued, sensing his growing agitation, his slower gait. "We agreed it made just as much sense for me to bring you as him."

She gave him time to digest her words, preparing to nab him should he decide to bolt. While they were still half a block away from home, Maggie Rose stepped out on the front porch and waved at the two of them, looking pretty as a picture in her pale blue satin gown, long blonde hair falling in perfect waves around her face and neck, shimmery barrettes stationed at either temple. It struck Hannah afresh how God had played favorites. Secretly and without forewarning, she wondered how Gabe viewed her younger sister. "Probably smitten with her," she said aloud. "And why not?"

Ignoring her spoken observation, Jesse took off at a run toward Maggie.

"Hey, where are you going, young man?"

But he paid no heed to her question, running full tilt instead toward Maggie's waiting arms.

"Humph. Gabe wouldn't be the only one smitten," she muttered to herself.