by Linda Ford
“You’re free to go,” the judge told Hatcher.
The murmur of shock and mounting curiosity rose like a heat wave. Mr. Zacharius turned to Kate. “Now ain’t that a surprise?”
“Not to me.” The wide smile she gave him made him shift back.
She stifled a giggle. She didn’t mean to act inappropriately and frighten the poor man but life suddenly seemed as good and right as a soaking rain.
She pushed against the tide of people leaving the courtroom, making her way to the front of the room where Hatcher stood talking to Johnny. She grabbed Hatcher’s elbow, felt him stiffen. “You’re a free man.” She couldn’t stop smiling. All that mattered for this solitary minute was the fact Hatcher would not spend any more time in that dreary jail cell.
As to what happened next, she would deal with that shortly.
Johnny turned to gather up papers on the desk.
“Hatcher, I’m so glad.” Her heart overflowed with gratitude and joy. She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight.
He stiffened, groaned, kept his arms at his sides.
Kate held him for fifteen seconds then slowly forced her arms to relax. Stepped back so she could look into his face.
He could have been wearing a mask for all the emotion he revealed.
She understood his surprise. “It’s good news, isn’t it? To have everyone see you’re innocent. There can’t be any doubt after what Mr. Anderson said.”
He kept his gaze on a distant spot.
She wondered what he saw. What he felt. Or did he let himself feel anything? She wanted to shake him into reacting, revealing just a glimpse of all the emotions he bottled up inside, probably pretending they didn’t exist. She’d guess he was this minute reciting scripture to block any acknowledgement of relief that he was a free man.
“Hatcher, you’re free. Truly free. You can choose to stay here, become part of the community.” Our family. “You belong here. I’d be pleased if you’d come back to the farm.”
Slowly, like a man wakened from a long sleep, he brought his gaze round to hers. His pupils were wide, unfocused. He blinked. Narrowed his gaze. Seemed to see her; seemed to realize she stood at his side, begging for him to stay. A shudder raced up his spine and down his arm. She shivered as his paleness, the desperate hopelessness in his expression.
“Hatcher, you’re a free man,” she whispered, aching for the loneliness and despair she saw in his face. She shook him a little, relieved when he sucked in air. “Hatcher, please come home.” She felt a queer mingling of sorrow at the ordeal he’d endured and her love that swelled and grew like bread dough left untended. Surely he saw how she felt. It must stick out all over her. She smiled tenderly. “I love you. Come home.”
Chapter Sixteen
Hatcher had walked into the courtroom, determined to feel nothing, reveal nothing. Faltered for a heartbeat when he saw Kate’s tender smile. Despite the sweltering heat of the room filled with the curious and vengeful, she looked fresh and cool in the same green dress she’d worn to visit him in jail. She looked like a fresh spring day. When God created that woman he put her together as nicely as any woman on the earth.
Although the only sounds were the rising murmur of interest as he followed the sheriff to Johnny’s side, he heard the sound of Kate singing. Smiled inwardly as he remembered her choice of song: “Bringing in the Sheaves.”
His hoped his face revealed nothing of what he felt. He’d spent ten years denying his feelings. Shutting them away, blocking them by reciting scriptures. He’d slipped up for a few days and caused Kate’s hurt. He regretted that as much as anything he’d done before.
He turned from her sunlit face, realizing the sun didn’t touch her, the light came from within, and pushed aside all feeling.
He heard the words spoken by the sheriff with the same interest he would have given the scratching of a mouse in a straw stack. Knew the lies without hearing them.
Stirred himself when Johnny got up. The man had promised he’d prove his innocence. Surely would be nice to be out in the open again, breathing fresh clean air, able to wash and shave when he wanted. Maybe he’d go back to the coast. The pounding of the surf would help cleanse his mind of disturbing, distracting thoughts. Like Kate.
He smiled secretly at the picture that came to mind—Kate trying to chase down a chicken and get it in the pen. Her legs churning, her arms waving madly like a crazy windmill. At least he’d greased the windmill that last day. She wouldn’t have to tackle it again for a while.
Every man’s work shall be made manifest: for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire shall try every man’s work of what sort it is. One Corinthians three, verse thirteen.
He jerked his thoughts back to the proceedings. Realized the shopkeeper said he couldn’t identify Hatcher, nor was the money his. Heard the judge declare Hatcher innocent. Say he was a free man.
Johnny said it would go this way. Hatcher believed him. Or thought he did but at the verdict, he felt as if the world tipped sideways. He needed to hold on tight to something solid.
He fell back on his ten-year habit. The Lord, which maketh a way in the sea, and a path in the mighty waters. Isaiah forty-three, verse sixteen.
Then suddenly, as if from across a wide field, he saw Kate at his side, knew she touched his arm. Felt an abyss of emotion before him, continued to recite, didn’t dare relax his restraint.
He heard her soft pleading voice. Tried to block her words. Half succeeded until she whispered, “I love you.”
His stomach lurched to his throat, clawed for a handhold. His limbs had a weightless feeling. He knew he’d dropped into the void. He fought to regain control.
A hoarse sound escaped his tight throat.
“Hatcher?”
God help him, he wouldn’t repeat his error. Wouldn’t hang around to cause Kate any more problems.
The Lord upholdeth all that fall, and raiseth up all those that be bowed down. Psalms one forty-five, verse fourteen.
He found solid ground, sucked in reviving air. “Best if I move on.”
He felt the scorching heat of her gaze, saw Johnny straightening to give him a startled look.
“Best for who?” Kate demanded.
He’d heard that stubborn note in her voice before, knew she would argue till the cows came home. “You might as well save your breath. I’ve made up my mind.”
She grabbed his arm with a viselike grip.
Heat raced up his arm from her touch, burned into his heart like a branding iron. The muscles in his arm twitched, knotted at the base of his neck. He hunched his shoulders, ignoring the pain, ignoring the way his heart lurched toward her. Not that he expected her to give up easily. But all the begging in the world wouldn’t make him change his mind. He forced his gaze to the doors, now closed behind the departed crowd.
“Hatcher, why won’t you believe you aren’t the man you were ten years ago? Forget the past. Forgive the past.”
He didn’t move, didn’t answer. She’d just have to accept he couldn’t stay. Couldn’t ruin their lives.
“Hatcher.” Her voice caught and when she continued, her words were so low he wondered if he’d heard correctly. “Hatcher Jones, I love you. I want you to stay.”
He pushed past her, headed for escape.
She called after him, a desperate pleading note in her voice. “Not all prisons are made of iron bars.”
Johnny caught up. “Don’t be so foolish, boy. Take what Kate’s offering you. Settle down and enjoy the rest of your life.”
Hatcher pushed out into the sunshine, saw the stark shape of the half-dead poplar tree next to the wooden sidewalk. The drought was killing it branch by branch. He swung his gaze to take in the weathered fronts of the row of stores across the street. Mr. Anderson’s store—Anderson’s Mercantile. Wong’s Public
Laundry. Larry’s Garage with the e broken from the end.
He sucked in air, grateful he didn’t have to return to the stinking jail cell.
The world was his to enjoy.
The world would never be big enough for him to escape memories of this place. This time.
He faced the older man. “I appreciate your help. I’ll find a way to pay you.”
“I ask only one thing in the way of payment.”
“I can’t stay here. I won’t do that to Kate and the children.”
“I wasn’t going to ask you to. That’s something you have to decide on your own.”
He’d expected Johnny to argue, to try and persuade him to stay. His disappointment grabbed at his throat and he coughed before he could speak. “What do you want?”
“Boy, I want you to go home and see your father.”
Hatcher’s thoughts stalled, his jaw went slack. Of all the things Johnny might ask... Why not ask him to fly to the highest hill? Jump over the row of buildings? It would have been as impossible. “I don’t imagine I’d be all that welcome.”
“You might be surprised.”
“I’ve spent ten years avoiding situations that would trigger my anger and you ask me to go back to where it all started?”
“Your father shouldn’t die without seeing you again.”
Hatcher wanted to refuse. But this man had rescued him not once, but twice. He owed him. Even if the payment he asked was far too great. “How is my father?”
“Find out for yourself if you really care.”
For ten years, Hatcher had successfully blocked homesickness from his mind and now with a few words, Johnny had undone all those years. He ached to see his father, visit his mother’s grave, find out where Lowell had gone. Perhaps he could make a quick visit without the townspeople discovering he was in their midst.
Johnny waited.
“Very well. I’ll visit my father.”
The deputy strode toward them. “Here’s your things.” He handed Hatcher a bundle.
“Are you catching the next train?” he asked Johnny.
“Yes. Want to go with me?”
The sooner he turned his back on this place, the sooner he’d be able to forget it. “Yeah. No reason to hang about here.”
Kate stood beside her truck, watching him. He pretended he didn’t see her. Ignored the ache in his bones at denying himself one last glimpse. Concentrated on the hot wind brushing his cheek, tugging at his shirt. Wished for rain so Kate’s crop would grow.
He sendeth rain on the just and unjust. Matthew five, verse forty-five.
God would provide all her needs without assistance from the a man like Hatcher.
He and Johnny fell in step and turned toward the train station. Their path took them by the school. A ring of big boys stood in the far corner of the yard, chanting, “Crybaby, cry. Stick your finger in your eye. Crybaby, cry!”
Hatcher slowed his steps. He hated bullying. Don’t get involved. Walk away. Remember your anger. He hurried on.
He heard a small, thin voice. “Go away.” And ground to a halt. “That’s Mary.” Anger, hot and furious, filled him like a rush of boiling water. He turned off the street, strode across the dusty yard and pushed his way through the circle to Mary’s side. His breath burned up his throat, scorched his tongue. Anger, denied so many years, raged like a forest fire. He took a deep breath. This is what he feared about letting himself care about anyone. Once unleashed, what would his anger turn into? Violence? Murder? He remembered the feeling when he was young. How it made him want to grab someone, something and squeeze hard. Made him want to hurt someone as if it would ease the burning of his gut.
He faced Mary’s tormentors. Felt no desire to hurt them, only sadness at whatever drove them to taunt someone younger and weaker. “Boys, bullying makes even the strongest man look weak. Is that what you want?” One by one they slunk away.
Hatcher knelt in front of Mary, dried her eyes, smoothed her hair back, ignored the sharp rock beneath his right knee. “Are you hurt?”
“No, but why am I such a crybaby?”
This little girl needed a champion. Someone strong and good and understanding. He’d pray such a man would come into her life before long. Pain shafted through him. He blamed the rock digging into his knee.
“You’re not a crybaby. You’re a sensitive girl. You feel things strongly. That’s good.”
She looked doubtful. “You’re out of jail.” She laughed and hugged him. “Momma said you’d be free today. Are you coming home?”
He pushed against the rock, welcoming the agony as he hugged the child. “Not with you.”
She squeezed her arms around his neck. “Why not? Don’t you like us?”
He laughed around the constriction threatening to choke him. “I like you very much. But I’m going to see my father.”
She looked into his face. “Then you’ll come back to us?”
“No, Mary. I don’t belong here.”
She stuck out her bottom lip. “Yes, you do. Momma’s been so much happier since you came. We all have.” Her lip started to tremble. “Why can’t you come back?”
“Mary, your momma will need you to be strong and brave. She’ll need your help. Will you be sure and take care of her for me?”
Mary considered his words, looked doubtful then took a deep breath and nodded.
Hatcher pushed to his feet and hurried away without glancing back. A little girl’s tears were a mighty powerful weapon.
“You handled that well,” Johnny said. “I was tempted to knock a few heads together.”
“They just don’t realize what they’re doing.”
“They aren’t the only ones.”
Hatcher heard the none-too-subtle hint in Johnny’s words but he wasn’t about to waste any more time arguing about why he couldn’t stay.
They purchased tickets for the trip back to Loggieville. Conscious of the curious glances from others in the waiting room, Hatcher suggested they wait outside on the worn wooden platform.
Hatcher hooked his fingers in the front pockets of his trousers and tapped his thumbs against the worn hem. When the train whistle warned of its approach he jumped just as if he hadn’t been waiting for the last ten minutes.
He grabbed his knapsack, headed for the step then stopped and allowed Johnny to enter the car first.
As they settled on stiff leather seats facing each other, Hatcher allowed himself one last look at the huddled little town, lifted his gaze to the road leading toward—it didn’t matter where it went.
He settled back, closed his eyes, feigning sleep. Johnny soon snored softly and Hatcher sat up. Even in sleep the man looked as neat and tidy as if someone had ironed him where he sat.
Darkness descended and Johnny slept on.
For Hatcher, narcotic sleep did not come.
With each clackety-clack of the wheels the one place he vowed to never again see grew closer.
The only place he wished to be got steadily farther away.
Chapter Seventeen
Kate watched Hatcher walk away. He’d remain a man of the road, just like her father, unless he stopped running from his past.
She climbed behind the wheel of her truck.
She should be happy he’d earned his freedom. Of course she was. Seeing him in jail had been more difficult than she could have imagined. But her happiness was laced through and through with so many other things—regret, sadness, emptiness and anger.
She grabbed hold of the anger and focused on it, let it burn down her throat and churn up the inside of her stomach like a drink of boiling acid. Stupid man. Senseless. Blind. A person could promise him the earth, fill it up with gold and silver and precious stones and he’d walk away muttering about past deeds and all sorts of nonsense.
The truck kindly started for her an
d she drove blindly out of town, ignoring a wave from Mrs. MacDuff. She didn’t feel like being neighborly or polite or even nice. She wanted to...
She sighed so deeply her toes curled up.
She had no idea how to handle this churn of emotions, was no closer to knowing what to do when she pulled to a stop in front of her house and stared at the beast of a tractor stranded in the middle of the field with half a dozen rounds left to seed. She was in a bad mood anyways, she might as well see if the tractor would run for her.
After she’d changed into her baggy overalls, she marched across the field every determined step raising a cloud like a ball of grey cheesecloth.
She reached the tractor, stood in front of it. “You better run for me.” She grabbed the crank and gave it a heave. A reluctant sputter then nothing. She cranked again. The engine caught, coughed, huffed and puffed but at least kept running.
For days the beast had run hour after hour for Hatcher but it stalled when she tried to convince it to move ahead.
Down to crank it. More coughing and sputtering. Back to the seat. Cautious, so very carefully, she edged forward. Made fifty feet before the engine conked out as if exhausted.
Down to crank. Reluctant cooperation from the beast. Back to the seat. Another fifty feet.
Two hours later she’d half finished the work that should have taken an hour at the most. She wore a coat of gritty dust. The back of her hands were streaked with mud from wiping away tears.
The beast stalled again.
Kate slouched over the seat.
