Hannah Grace (4 page)

Slate sidestepped the two as they went to the back to remove the tarp. When they did, they got the surprise of their lives.

"Wull, I'll bejig-swiggered. What is that?"

Gabe stared open-mouthed at the bundle of a body curled into a tight ball.

"Looks to be a sleeping boy," he murmured.

he bell above the door sounded a new customer's entry into Kane's Whatnot. Hannah ceased refolding the towels Mrs. Mayworth had completely undone in her quest to find the perfect one for her newly painted, yellow kitchen. She smiled at the elderly Edwin Fisher as he entered, his cane hooked over one arm. He carried the thing more than he used it.

"Good morning, Mr. Fisher. Have you come to check out some new books?"

Under his other arm, he lugged three large volumes. Ever since losing his wife back in February, he frequented the town library, which was stationed above the general store. Hannah figured that reading provided an escape for the retired postmaster, who had to be approaching eighty years of age.

"That I have, my dear."

`And did you read all of those?" she asked, nodding to the books under his arm.

"For the most part," he said with a twinkle in his eyes. "These, yes." He held up two volumes of Mark Twain's works. "This, no,"

Hannah leaned forward and read the title. "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I've not read that one yet."

He scowled. "Too strange for my taste. Hence the title, I suppose. A bit on the dreary side, actually. I waded through the first half of it before giving up on it altogether." He leaned forward and whispered, "If you want to know the truth, I read the ending to determine if I wanted to keep going."

She gasped. "Reading ahead? That's a mortal sin!"

`And you've never done it, I suppose," he teased back with a chuckle.

"Never-well," she said, dipping her chin in feigned shame, "all right, I'll admit that I did peek at the last page of Brewster's Millions, but that's the only time I've cheated. I simply had to know if he would manage to spend all that money by the given deadline and gain an even larger sum as his reward. I do so hate a story with a sour ending."

A flash of amusement crossed his wrinkled face, his white moustache quivering. "I understand. By the way, who's tending the library post today?"

"Maggie Rose." The Kane sisters took turns staffing the library. "I know she'll be happy to see you. She's set aside another of Twain's volumes that she thought you hadn't read yet."

"Ah, how you fair ladies do look after my interests."

She flashed him a smile. "We wouldn't do it for just anybody, you know."

"I can't believe that. Everyone knows the Kane sisters are a notch above the rest, helpful, kind, generous-and pretty, to boot."

She dropped her gaze to the unfolded towels. Pretty? Maggie and Abbie, to be sure. Endowed in all the right places, they were. To cover her insecurities, she took up again the task of refolding towels and sought to change the subject. "Shall I call Maggie to bring down the book, or are you of a mind to navigate the stairs today?"

He pulled back his curved shoulders and stuck out his chin. "What do you take me for, my dear? An invalid?"

She giggled. "Well, the least you can do is leave the books with me. Tell Maggie I'll bring them up later."

"I'll not argue with you there." He handed them over, then hobbled toward the stairs, hooking his cane over his wrist, as usual.

"You be careful now," she called after him, smiling to herself when he waved a backward arm at her, mumbling something under his breath.

A handful of customers came and went over the next half hour, forcing Hannah to give up straightening linen so that she could fill customers' orders. A lull in busyness allowed her to resume folding linen in the back of the store, so she wasn't at her post by the counter when the door opened again, this time admitting the first unfamiliar face of the day. Hannah stayed concealed behind the shelves of jam and preserves, peering out at the new patron.

At his heels was a young lad, skinny as a fence rail and looking like a flea-infested ragamuffin with his torn shirt, his too-short pants, his soiled toes that poked through his worn boots, and jet-black hair that looked like it had seen neither drop of water nor ounce of soap since spring. His tanned, burnt-umber skin showed signs of having spent hours in the sun. Did the man work him in the fields from morning till night? Her immediate reaction to the situation was revulsion-not at the poor lad, but at his neglectful father. What man could show such disregard for his own offspring, especially when he himself looked to be reasonably wealthy?

Instead of going out to greet them, Hannah remained hidden. She couldn't explain the indolence that had come over her, keeping her from giving a gracious welcome to the newcomers. She thought that if Mr. Fisher could see her now, he would certainly take back those words about every Kane sister being helpful, kind, and generous. Normally, she would have bent over backward to be gracious, especially to a new customer, but some strange sense of perturbation had started in her chest as soon as the pair entered the store. Perhaps it was the way the lad had eyed the candy counter with particular interest, and the way his father had so pointedly ignored it.

The boy remained as closemouthed as a clam while scuffling along behind the strange man, who had taken to looking at men's vestments. After picking up a flannel shirt and examining it quickly, he set it back on the top of the stack and sauntered past the candy counter, the women's hats, the brooms and dusters, and, finally, the apothecary jars and toiletry products at the rear of the store. Hannah watched him turn down another aisle and stop in front of a twenty-five pound sack of stone-ground meal, mumbling something to the boy, who said nothing in return. When the man glanced around the store, Hannah ducked behind a stack of grain sacks, careful to avoid his notice.

The man resumed moving about the store, his tiny companion acting as his shadow. At closer range, Hannah could make out a few of his features-his clean-shaven face with its square-set jaw that clenched and unclenched every few seconds, his broad shoulders, his strong yet lean physique. But that was all the time she would allow herself to examine the brute, who hadn't the slightest apparent concern for his son.

Hannah noticed that the man appeared to be seeking assistance, so she finally emerged from behind the counter. "May I help you find something?" she inquired.

The man looked almost startled, focusing on Hannah for a few seconds before removing his hat with a sweeping gesture. "You carry much in the way of kids' clothes?" His voice, though deep, rang crisp and clear. "I'm looking for something that would fit this little mud puppy."

What a strange way to address one's child, Hannah thought. Crude, uncaring man.

She found her voice hidden in a distant part of her throat. "It's-you'll find the children's clothing against that far wall there."

"Oh, I guess we didn't get over there yet." He put a hand to the boy's bony shoulder and pushed him in the other direction. With his back to her, she was able to glimpse his straight, fresh-cut hair, still tickling his shirt collar but a stylish length, the color of beach sand. If he had the time and resources to visit a barber, why couldn't his son go, too?

The fellow picked up a pair of boy's overalls and held them up against the lad's body, checking for size and length. "You think this'll fit you?" No response. He looked frustrated, if not distracted.

Hitching her skirt past her heels, Hannah made her way across the room. "He can try them on in that back room, if he likes."

At the sound of her voice, the man whirled and gave her the first hint of a smile. To say he had a pleasant face would be insufficient. Abbie Ann would call him infinitely divine, heavenly, a marvelous creation... she was wordy with her descriptions. Maggie Rose would concede his good looks but remain more subtle in her word choice. And she, Hannah Grace, would keep her thoughts entirely to herself. After all, what woman, nearly betrothed to the town doctor, for mercy's sake, would give another man's looks the slightest thought?

"We might do that, although these appear fine, don't you think? A little on the big side, maybe."

Hannah stood back to study the lad with the overalls tugged up under his chin. It was then she discovered several bruises along his arm and another on his forehead. Closer inspection showed that the hand most visible bore several scratch marks. Her stomach roiled in horror. What was this? She leaned forward to get a better look, but the boy jumped out of view faster than a monkey and skittered behind the man's thick thighs, sticking out his head so that all she saw were his big-as-the-moon brown eyes.

"What have you done?" she hissed at the man, daring to eye him with the menacing gaze of a livid lioness. Her flesh prickled with dread. "If you have so much as laid a hand to this boy, I'll-"

"Hush up and leave him be," ordered the stranger, his tone an authoritative, husky whisper. "It's not what you think."

"I'll-I'll report you to the local authorities," she finished, pulling back her proud shoulders.

His mouth spread into a thin-lipped smile as one blond eyebrow quirked. "Is that so?"

"Yes, that's so, and you can wipe that smug look off your face this instant,"

She could handle most any kind of injustice by chalking it up as sin and reasoning that God would deal with the sinner, but the maltreatment of children? She simply couldn't abide it.

"Well, you go right ahead and report me, lady. In fact, word has it the new sheriffjust arrived in town last night-he opened his office this very morning."

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

His cockiness bore a hole through her side, and the notion he didn't seem to take her seriously galled her even more. She'd heard about the new sheriff's arrival, and if this man thought she was kidding about reporting the senseless abuse of this tiny little slip of a boy, well, he could just-just-put forks up his nose.

Forcing out a calming breath, she leaned forward to make eye contact with the boy. "Are you all right?"

The impertinent man blocked her with his palm, and her resentment rose higher than a spring kite. "You can talk to me," she said to the child, trying her best to ignore the gargantuan hand that looked ready to seize a fistful of her hair if she so much as moved an inch closer. "Are you...?"

Quick as a hiccup, the boy made a mad dash for the door. An oil lamp was in the way, and it crashed to the floor, erupting into a million pieces. Shocked, Hannah straightened and merely watched the action, the young soul throwing wide the screen door, pursued closely by the man.

"You come back here, you little...!" At the door, he paused just long enough to glare back at Hannah. "I told you to leave him be!"

When she would have offered a retort, he plopped his hat on his sandy head and vanished from view, the screen door bouncing shut with a loud whack.

"Hannah Grace, what is all the racket?" Maggie came rushing down the stairs, skirts flowing. Mr. Fisher forded down after her, moving faster than she'd ever witnessed, albeit breathless once he reached the bottom.

"I've just been visited by a tyrant."

Maggie frowned. "What are you talking about, a tyrant?"

"An awful man who beats his son. I'm sure of it. When I tried to talk to the child, he sped out of here faster than butter melts on a hot griddle. I'm going straight to the sheriff's office."

"Now, just-wait-a minute," Mr. Fisher huffed. "You must have proof-before you make such an accusation, my dear."

"Oh, I have proof!" she blurted.

"What sort of proof? Did you-actually witness himmanhandling this-child?"

"Well, not exactly, but..."

"You need to sit down, Mr. Fisher," Maggie ordered, running to retrieve a folding chair by the door and hurrying back to prop it under him.

With assistance, he sat down with a thump, snagged hold of the curved handle of his cane with both hands, and leaned forward on it, looking up at Hannah. "Now then, who was this man?"

His tall, rawboned physique materialized in her headand then that handsome, square face, giving her a chill despite the warm, August air filtering through the door and open windows. "Quite frankly, I don't know. I've never seen him before. That doesn't mean anything, though. We get tourists through here all summer long."