After kissing Belle and telling her how much she loved her, his mother waited near the door, giving Bryan a chance to talk to Belle. She seemed to know he wanted privacy.
Belle looked tiny in the big bed. Her round cheeks were no longer rosy, but pasty white except for two red fever spots, and the position of her limbs was stiff and contrived. Her normally curly hair limply framed her delicate face, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Oxygen hissed from a tube in her nose as an IV solution dripped into her arm. He wished she would open her eyes so he could know she was still inside.
He leaned down close to her. “Belle,” he whispered. “It’s Bryan. I know I haven’t been to see you before, but they wouldn’t let me in yesterday, and then Grandma took us back to the house. But your dad let me come see you now. He made them let me in even though I’m not really your brother. And, well, I wish I was your brother. That’s what I wanted to tell you. I thought you would be glad to know that I made up with your dad. I really did. We prayed for you. So now you need to come back because . . . because . . . well, I just need you to come back. We all do. I promise I won’t say mean things about your dad anymore. Or Tanner. We’ll be a family like you wanted. I’ll even tell Mom that it was mostly me who ripped up her roses. Of course, I might tease you a bit so the others won’t think I’m playing favorites, but you’ll always be my favorite. Please don’t leave us. Your mom can wait a lot longer to have you with her, ’cause time is different in heaven, you know. Earth life is like a blink of an eye there. Or something.”
He straightened, wanting to say more, but not able to think of anything in particular. Instead, he kissed her cheek as his mother had done, wishing Belle would wake up and smile. He studied her for a minute before backing away from the bed. Tears again were slipping from his eyes, despite his efforts to hold them back. “Goodbye, Belle.”
His mother put her arm around him and led him out the door. Bryan felt her love suffuse him, and for a minute the pain of maybe losing Belle lessened. “Mom,” he said, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’ve been so angry. I don’t know why.” He paused. “Sometimes I hate Dad.”
She blinked in surprise. “I didn’t know you felt that way. I used to feel that way a lot. But . . . Bryan, maybe we ought to go back to the counselor we saw after your dad died. I think maybe it might help us both. Would you come with me?”
“He was cool. I’d go.” Bryan felt a big relief that his mom didn’t think it wrong for him to hate his dad. He hadn’t known she had felt the same way.
“Mom, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“Uh, Colton, he gave me this.” Bryan pulled a fifty-dollar bill from his pocket.
“He gave you . . . When?”
“That day you came to Aunt Brionney’s to talk to me. He told me if I’d be nice to you, he’d give me this money, and more when I needed it. But I don’t want his money anymore. Not after what he did.”
She looked aghast. “He paid you to be nice?”
“Yeah. I feel really bad about it. I did then too, but I guess I didn’t care ’cause I wanted the money. I don’t now.” The bill seemed to burn his hand, like a lie in his heart. “What should I do?”
“You could donate it to the hospital. I bet they have a system set up to help needy people pay their bills. How does that sound?”
He sighed with relief. “Good.”
Maybe at least some things would work out after all.
* * *
Jennie Anne was glad when Troy put more wood on the fire. She was cold and her shoulder ached terribly whenever she moved, sending shoots of pain throughout her entire arm. Her stomach was also growling. The hamburger the beautiful man had given her was long gone. She didn’t know if Troy had more food and was afraid to ask.
For the most part, Troy had ignored her, but as time passed and the beautiful man didn’t return, he began to talk aloud to himself, and sometimes to her, though he never required her to say anything in return.
“Dumb fancy boy probably got himself caught. He better not spill the beans on me, or I’ll have his pretty face cut up big-time. I ain’t going back to the slammer. No way! That spineless little jellyfish. Got him an education so he thinks he can order me around. Just wait till he gets back here. I don’t need him to pick up the money. Like to see his expression when he finds out he ain’t going anywhere. I’ll tie him up, that’s what. Cops’ll have a heyday.” He laughed and continued his diatribe.
Jennie Anne quit listening after a while. He was nothing but contemptible, according to the school counselor. Contemptible. Though she wasn’t sure what the word meant, she really liked the way it sounded on her tongue. She practiced it under her breath. Concentrating on it helped her keep her thoughts away from the pain.
She wondered where Belle was and what she was doing. Did she get away? When Troy grabbed them, Jennie Anne had gone stiff and silent with fear. Not brave Belle. She had hollered and kicked until she got free. After seeing her success, Jennie Anne tried to follow her, but Troy had dragged her and thrown her inside the van. Her shoulder had given a loud pop, and pain had enveloped her.
She thought she’d glimpsed Mickelle’s face, but wasn’t sure if it really happened, and if so, when she had appeared in the sequence of events. Everything was hazy through pain, except the word contemptible.
Contemptible.
Was the beautiful man coming back? She wished he would because he had looked at her with those nice blue eyes, and when he smiled, that marvelous happy-looking dimple had appeared. But if he did return, Troy might hurt him, and she wouldn’t want that, even if he had driven the car that brought her to this freezing place. He’d still been nice. Before he left, he’d promised it would soon be over.
Or had she imagined that part?
Did he mean it would soon be over because Damon would pay the ransom, or had he meant something else? His blue eyes had almost seemed like they held a secret, especially the way they had darted to Troy and then away.
Jennie Anne turned her other side to the fire so it could get warm. If she kept turning she wasn’t too cold. She wished she had a coat, but she’d left it inside the school. Her legs were especially cold because the skirt she wore was silky and didn’t seem to do much to warm her.
She accidentally bumped her left arm on the raised hearth and gasped at the pain rippling through her shoulder—like a hundred sharp needles.
“Hurts you, does it?” Troy suddenly loomed over her. “Serves you right, brat. You should’ve done what I said.”
He backed away, and she breathed easier. “Your mother was always that way. Had to do things her own way. We told her to get rid of you, but she wouldn’t. Said she loved you.” He snorted. “That love got her really far, didn’t it? She still got pneumonia and died.” He laughed gleefully. “Of course if it wasn’t for my dear old cousin, I wouldn’t have all this nice money coming to me. Ha! Dear smart, snooty old cousin did good for me in the end.”
He started to pace again and worry aloud about the ransom and the “fancy boy.” He was like a wound top, ready to spin out of control.
Jennie Anne realized then that the beautiful man wasn’t coming back. Maybe he’d gotten the money already, or maybe he’d skipped town. Either way, that meant Jennie Anne would pay. Troy would probably kill her, or at best leave her here to starve to death. Or freeze.
Tears stung her eyes. She thought of the castle room she shared with Belle, and the identical one Damon had promised to build for her very own. She thought of the piggyback rides he gave her, of Mickelle’s hugs, and Tanner’s teasing. When she got to Jeremy and Belle, the tears slipped out and down her cheeks.
I have to get away.
There was only herself to depend on. She tried to get to her feet, but the pain in her shoulder blinded her.
What now?
Slumping next to the brick hearth, she contemplated her options. She could pray. According to Belle, who had once prayed for a mother and a horse—one of whic
h she was getting and the other of which was promised—you could get anything you wanted by praying.
So Jennie Anne shut her eyes and prayed. She had listened to Belle and the others enough to know how and had practiced in private, though she’d never said a prayer aloud when people could hear. Occasionally during her prayer she opened one eye, just to be sure where Troy was, and that he wasn’t watching her. After she had prayed for what seemed like a long time, he added another log to the fire, muttered something about taking a pee, and left the room.
Jennie Anne remembered something she’d learned in school, a fable that told how Hercules, the Greek god of strength, once advised a wagoner that he should try to get his wagon out of the mud first before asking for help. Was this the answer to her prayer? Was she supposed to help herself? What good then was God?
Of course, Troy had gone to the bathroom, which she knew was out of order from her own short visits earlier when the pretty man had been here. The last time it had stunk pretty bad. Had God sent Troy there so she could escape?
She arose. The pain in her shoulder jumped to life—sharp instead of the continuous dull ache—but this time she wasn’t blinded by the pain.
Maybe God is helping me.
She kept moving, slowly and silently through the front room to the long kitchen, as though she were playing a hiding game with Jeremy and Belle. Her breath sounded loud in her ears and she tried to hold it. What little light there was came from several lanterns Troy had lit in the house. There was unidentifiable debris on the ground; she stepped around it. At last she reached the back door, smiled grimly when she saw that the knob was missing. She had only to put her finger in the hole and pull.
It was harder than she thought because opening the door with her right hand meant taking the support from her left arm. A whimper of pain escaped her lips before she clamped them tight and tried to swallow the sound.
The hinges creaked. Had Troy heard? She shivered as she thought about what he would do to her, and the fear almost froze her feet as the pain had not.
Keep going. She forced herself to continue.
Outside, the cold made her shudder. The stars beamed so brilliantly overhead, it wasn’t hard for her to believe that they were faraway suns. She kept walking. Surrounding the farm, she saw nothing but long empty fields. There were no neighboring lights, not a single glow to give her hope. She might freeze before she found another house.
Or Troy would find her.
Disappointment flooded her body. God hadn’t helped! She had tried, but He hadn’t done anything!
Choking back sobs, she took a step toward the house. Her teeth chattered with the cold. Could she get back before Troy found out she was gone? If not, what excuse could she use?
Tears obscured her vision.
She ran into something soft. A person! Excruciating, piercing pain from her shoulder once again washed over her. A bright light shone in her eyes.
A voice came through the pain. “Stupid brat!”
Troy had found her.
She shut her eyes and gave herself to the pain, grateful when the dark took away her consciousness.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Damon had given Belle a father’s blessing when he and Tanner had gone in to see her. A comfort spread through his heart. He’d done all he could do mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. The rest was left in the Lord’s careful hands.
After the initial visits, he and Mickelle had stayed alternately with Belle and with their sons in the waiting room. They were not alone. Other families were also gathered, and took turns with their critically injured or sick loved ones. One particular couple caught Damon’s attention. Their three-year-old daughter was near death, caused by a fall from a balcony. His heart went out to them and to the grandparents who’d also gathered. The girl was the couple’s only child, which increased Damon’s gratitude for Tanner and for Bryan and Jeremy. And for Jennie Anne, though that was a difficult direction for his thoughts to take. They’d still heard nothing from the police.
All the families in the waiting room prayed in their huddled groups, and talked quietly of hope and the hereafter. Hours ticked by.
Near midnight Mickelle emerged from the corridor leading to Belle’s room, and Damon arose for his turn. Neither he nor Mickelle was willing to let Belle be alone for very long . . . just in case.
She hugged him, and she felt warm and alive in his arms as he breathed the scent of her freshly washed hair. “No change,” she said wearily.
He wondered how long they could keep up this schedule. How long it would be until one of them would have to go home to take care of the other children. How long before Belle awoke. Or died.
“Mom!” Bryan’s voice penetrated Damon’s thoughts, urgent and demanding.
In his arms, Mickelle stiffened. Her hand went to her mouth and then fluttered to her side. Damon turned. “Jennie Anne!” Mickelle’s voice was a strangled cry. She ran across the room to the elevator where two police officers had emerged, one carrying a blanket-wrapped Jennie Anne in his arms. Damon hurried over.
“Mickelle!” Jennie Anne said weakly.
“Careful,” one of the men urged as Mickelle reached for the child. “Her shoulder’s dislocated. She needs to go to the emergency room, but we knew you’d want to be with her when she did. You’ll have to hold her on this side.”
They gingerly made the switch. Mickelle cradled Jennie Anne in her arms, kissing her and then pressing her face against the little girl’s head. “Oh Jennie Anne, you’re safe! Thank you, oh, thank you, Father.” Her eyes focused on the officers. “And you—thank you for finding her.”
One of the men shook his head. “It was her who found us, ma’am. We were outside the farmhouse, wondering how to get inside without endangering her, and then she comes wandering out, running away from what we can gather. We gave her a little fright sneaking up on her, but we didn’t want to risk the kidnapper hearing. He did come out of the house. Almost got her, too. But we were quicker. We have him in custody now. He’s going away for a long time.”
“She fainted,” added the other man. “Though that was probably because her shoulder hurt so bad. On the way here she kept muttering something about a wagoner and Hercules, or something. Couldn’t make sense of it.”
Jennie Anne nuzzled closer to Mickelle and then moaned with the pain. Damon caressed her forehead with his hand and kissed her cheek. “Good girl, Jennie Anne. You did good. Really good. We’re proud of you. What a strong girl you are!”
She gave him a smile that was strained but that showed her contentment.
Damon looked at Mickelle. “Why don’t you go down with her, and I’ll stay here with—” He stopped, not wanting to talk openly in front of Jennie Anne until she had been prepared for the news of Belle’s accident.
Mickelle nodded. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
She turned to leave, but Jennie Anne’s good arm shot out to Damon. “Why don’t you call me a nickname like everybody else?”
It was true. Damon used a nickname for everyone close to him—Tan, Belle, Jer, Kelle. He even called Bryan Bry. For Damon, the shortening had come naturally, so why did he still call Jennie Anne by her full name? It was probably the nature of her name—two complete words. She was not Jennie, which could be shortened to Jen, or Anne, which was already short. She was Jennie Anne. But how could he explain this to her?
Jennie Anne’s eyes fixed on him, awaiting his answer. Silently he tried out the possibilities. Jen Anne. No, still too long. How about J.A.? He grimaced mentally at the thought. That simply didn’t describe this freckled-face angel who had been tougher than anyone he knew.
“Well, you know,” he said at last, “some people are too special to have a nickname.” He saw the disappointment in her eyes and quickly amended his statement. “What I mean is that it takes a long time to come up with the perfect name because they’re so special. So I have to think and think of a name that will be just right for you.”
In her
brown eyes he saw she wanted to believe him but didn’t quite. So he searched for something to help her believe. “I think I need to wait a little longer to settle on a special name, and I was wondering if I could tell you on a special day, the day Kelle and I become your official parents. Two specials in one.”
Joy sprang to Jennie Anne’s eyes, scattering the disbelief. “Okay,” she agreed.
Mickelle smiled at him, her eyes shimmering. She mouthed, “Thank you.”
Damon watched them go, feeling much happier than he’d felt since the ordeal began. Jennie Anne was back and safe. He directed a prayer heavenward, Thank you, Father.
Leaving Tanner and Bryan in the waiting room, he went to sit by Belle’s bed. He couldn’t wait to tell her about Jennie Anne. They hadn’t mentioned her before, not wanting to upset her in case she could hear them, but the good news should only improve her chances of recovery.
Just inside the ICU Damon stopped to get a drink from a fountain in the hall, but he froze as he heard a scattering of murmuring voices. “She’s gone . . . nothing more we could do . . . didn’t expect it so sudden like this . . . . usually more warning . . . tell the parents . . . not looking forward . . . they’ve been here so long . . . just left her side for a few minutes . . . faithful . . . praying . . . wish we could have done more . . .
Damon straightened as a doctor and a nurse rounded the corner. They came toward him, every step sluggish as though slowed in a sports replay. Damon’s attention riveted on the doctor. Ever so slowly he continued his approach, solemn at the news he would be forced to divulge. Damon saw the dark stubble on the man’s face, the harsh pain in his eyes, the finality, and his gut tightened with the fear, although he knew it was already over. All that remained was the pronouncement. The doctor took a few more steps. He seemed to go so slowly, it made Damon angry. “Tell me!” he wanted to shout. “Just tell me!”
The torturous steps also made him glad. Slowly! Walk more slowly! Don’t tell me my daughter’s dead!
Bridge to Forever Page 34
