Hanna Who Fell from the Sky

by Christopher Meades

  She couldn’t stop thinking that someone was testing her, that one of Brother Paul’s cronies might be watching from the woods, reporting on her movements, making escape impossible. The very thought was irrational, paranoid even. Hanna was walking on a dirt road, forty minutes from Jotham’s house. There wasn’t a single person within earshot, not a wolf in sight. Hanna was alone. She was safe.

  For as long as she could remember, there had always been someone at her side. In those early years, it was her mother. Later, it was Emily, the girl’s breath and her young voice as much a part of the air as the sound of the pressing wind. Recently, it was little Ahmre clinging to Hanna’s hip. The solitude heightened her sensitivity. Without her sisters nearby, every crunch of frozen dirt under her boots, every swish of her arm against her warm winter jacket felt heightened, bordering on electric. Hanna found when life slowed down and she actually paid attention to the movement of her legs, her neck turning, her fingers curling into her palms, she felt slightly intoxicated. These were the moments in which Hanna most believed in an all-knowing power governing her life. It took being alone to sense a greater purpose.

  She gazed at the ground beneath her feet and wondered what her brave other self might be doing on the other side of the world. Was she sitting next to a roaring fire, practicing her embroidery? Or was she in midflight, battling demons with a sword in her hand and vengeance in her eyes, protecting the meek and the weak alike? Hanna imagined a face identical to her own, wild and alive, a girl standing post-battle, chest heaving, legs strong, the blood of the vanquished flecked across her face, finally knowing and free.

  She was fully in this fantastical dream world when a car approached her from behind. Hanna heard the vehicle from some distance and chose not to look back. If it was a neighbor or a friend from church, she could smile and wave as it approached, hope they didn’t stop to ask where she’d been. If it was an out-of-towner on an unsanctioned visit to Clearhaven, she would turn her eyes away and pray they passed by without incident.

  It turned out to be neither friend nor stranger. A blue-and-white police car pulled up alongside her. Hanna glanced over. Inside were Paul the Second and Paul the Third, Brother Paul’s sons. Brother Paul had nine wives and twenty-one daughters. But he had only two sons and he’d named them both Paul, after himself. The way Hanna heard the story was that when they were young, a great confusion arose as to which Paul was being called to supper and which Paul was being admonished for sticking his fingers in the soup before anyone sat down to eat. Their father started calling them Paul the Second and Paul the Third, or quickly, Two and Three. They were seven and eight years older than Hanna respectively, two of the chosen ones: grown men who hadn’t left Clearhaven to make their way in the world. The two Pauls still lived with their father and served as the only police force in town.

  Hanna had disliked them since she was a little girl.

  Paul the Second was the cruel one, the one who’d dipped Hanna’s hair in ink when she was eight years old, the one who’d cut off a little girl’s ponytail just to watch her cry. He’d grown up to look like a toughened, thick-chested version of his father, with deep-set lines on his forehead, patches of stubble on his chin and pomade comb lines forever adorning his hair. His brother, Paul the Third, was chubby and balding, like an off-kilter teapot always in danger of tipping over. Paul the Third wore a mustache that Charliss described as “four parts pubic hair and three parts bacon grease” and he perspired constantly. Paul the Third followed his older brother like a heavyset shadow and hardly said an unprompted word, which must have suited Paul the Second just fine because he couldn’t stop talking.

  The police car slowed to a crawl and Paul the Second stuck his head out the driver’s side window. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”

  Hanna kept moving. His use of the word ma’am was clearly insincere. It was a ploy to trick her into bantering with him, a hopeless proposition.

  “Whatcha doing out here all alone, girl?” he said. “Does your father know where you are?”

  Hanna rolled her tongue along the top of her mouth. The road underfoot was not a direct route between Edwin’s and Jotham’s homes, and Paul the Second was right to be suspicious. She couldn’t explain being out here all alone in the middle of the day.

  Paul the Third leaned past his brother. “What say we give you a ride, Hanna?”

  “Thank you, but no,” Hanna said. Her words came out quickly, forcefully, leaving no room for interpretation. Hanna made sure she stood upright and made eye contact when she spoke. Inside, however, that feeling of being slightly intoxicated with life dissolved into a tangle of anxious, stomach-turning knots.

  She stepped away from the car and hastened her pace. Hanna only made it a few steps before the patrol car pulled up behind her, its front bumper dangerously close to the back of her legs. She stopped and glared at the brothers, who snickered under their breath. Hanna started again and the brothers followed, nearly bumping her with their headlight. Hanna looked around. The road was bordered by frozen woodlands. There would be no escaping the brothers Paul. They would follow her all the way to her doorstop if she let them, blaring their siren and flashing their lights, punctuating their gall with jeers and moronic laughter.

  Hanna walked around to the open side window. “Do you promise to take me home?”

  “We swear,” they said in unison.

  With no other option and against her better judgment, Hanna climbed into the back seat. The engine revved and the car started down the street.

  Paul the Second was all smiles. “Do you know what I hate about winter?” he said. “The heavy jackets. It’s impossible to see who’s put on weight. Impossible to see who’s...blossomed, if you get my meaning.”

  Hanna gazed out the window. “That must be very difficult for you. Your brain straining to use its imagination.”

  Paul ran his crooked teeth along his lower lip. He looked back at Hanna and his eyes narrowed into sharp, black slits. Immediately, Hanna regretted saying anything. She vowed not to speak unless spoken to for the rest of the trip.

  They drove in silence until the police car reached a fork in the road. The semi-paved street to Jotham’s house was to the left, clear of debris, stumps lining the road where trees had been felled to let vehicles pass. The path on the right was swathed in tall, frost-tinged grass with leafless branches converging overhead, the ground still frozen, its texture unsullied by foot or car.

  Paul the Second turned the wheel and headed down the remote path.

  Hanna’s eyebrows shot up. Her heart fluttered. “Where are we going?”

  “Simmer down now.” Paul the Second tilted the rearview mirror so Hanna could see his face. “It’s not like we were out searching for lost little birds when we found you. We’ve got some official town business up here. Then we’ll drive you home.”

  The car careened down a narrow slope. It lurched over a mound of stones.

  “Drop me off here. I can walk,” Hanna said. She pulled on her door handle, but it wouldn’t open.

  The car drove into a clearing and stopped next to a tree stump with a single hatchet jutting ominously from its frigid core, a throng of thorny, petrified saplings blocking out the sunlight. Paul the Second shut off the engine and leaned back in his seat. There wasn’t another soul in sight.

  A vision flooded Hanna’s brain: of the brothers grabbing her from the back seat and throwing her to the ground, striking her, wrenching the hatchet from the stump and swinging it with abandon. Hanna fought the hysteria storming through her veins. Looking at the stark wilderness all around, she was convinced: Brother Paul did send them. Someone had witnessed Hanna’s brazen visit to Daniel’s pier and the brothers were here to administer the Creator’s swift and merciless punishment. She took a quick breath and then another.

  “You go this time,” Paul the Second said to his brother. “I’ll stay here with littl
e Miss Tight Dress.”

  Paul the Third ran his fingers through his thick, moist mustache. He glanced back at Hanna before stepping out of the car. Without a word, the heavyset brother traipsed into the woods, toward a hazy plume of smoke over a hill in the distance. Now Hanna recognized where they were. The shack where she’d purchased Jotham’s moonshine was nearby. Perhaps the brothers were telling the truth when they said they were here on town business, that they were going to shut down the old hermit’s operation. Perhaps Brother Paul demanded a tax on all goods not sold at the marketplace. Or perhaps Paul the Third simply needed an excuse to wander off into the woods and leave her alone with his brother.

  Paul the Second turned around and ran his fingers along the car seat. His musky odor filled the car, a pungent smell of dried sweat mixed with days-old cologne. He was so close; Hanna could see the little black dots along the bridge of his nose. She pressed her shoulder against the door, leaned as far away as possible. Hanna was as vulnerable as a calf and she knew it. Worse: Paul knew it.

  “Let me go,” she said.

  He looked her up and down. “I don’t think I’m gonna do that.”

  “I’ll scream.”

  Paul the Second motioned out the window. “Scream all you want, little girl. Ain’t nobody gonna hear you.”

  “What would Edwin say if he knew you had me out here? What would your father say?”

  Paul the Second shoved a toothpick into the space between his front teeth. He pulled it out and examined it for debris. “Relax. I ain’t gonna do nothing too bad. That is, unless you see fit to having me do it.” He cast a glance in Hanna’s direction and when she glared back, a smirk bent the corner of his mouth. “What we have here is a little one-on-one time. To get to know each other better.”

  “I know you perfectly well,” Hanna said. “I’ve known you my whole life.”

  “Maybe that’s true. Or maybe we’re both different people now. People change all the time. Heck, sometimes I’m a different person than I was the day before. Maybe you and I’ll be different people by the time we leave this car.”

  Hanna dug her fingernails into the car seat. The windows had covered in steam and she rubbed her shoulder against the glass to look outside. Paul the Third was nowhere in sight.

  “You’ve got some big changes coming for you,” Paul the Second said. “Becoming a woman, that’s no small thing.” He propped his elbows on his seat and leaned closer. “If I was less of a gentleman, I’d tell you about my first time. Let’s just say it was a bad scene. Things got ugly, way uglier than anyone ever intended and nobody who entered that room left it unscathed. I’ve been thinking, though. About Edwin. About those wives of his. From what I hear—through the grapevine and whatnot—what I went through don’t even compare to what you’ve got coming for you.”

  He bent his toothpick until the thin piece of wood snapped. Paul the Second leaned his seat back as far as it would go. In one swift motion, he slid to where he perched above her. Paul hovered. His pupils fixated on her.

  Hanna’s heart raced. Her hands trembled. She felt exposed, defenseless, wedged between the door and Paul’s thick, muscular frame.

  Calmly, deliberately, he rolled up his sleeves, baring his thick wrists and forearms. He reached forward and ran a finger along Hanna’s collarbone, up along her neck, setting her hair on end.

  “Don’t,” she said.

  “Don’t what? Don’t stop?” he said. “You’ve got your mind in the wrong place. I’m only trying to help. It’s that fiancé of yours you should be concerned about. Edwin might look like nothing, but what a man looks like on the outside don’t tell you nothing about what’s going on inside.” Paul’s thumb held her jaw in place. In a brief, swift motion, his finger parted Hanna’s lips and felt the wet space in between. “Want to know what I’m thinking right now?”

  A torrent of blood surged through Hanna’s veins. It colored her face. Hanna pulled her shoulder off the door. If he was going to force himself upon her, if this entire abduction was leading to this moment, Hanna wouldn’t shrink away. She wouldn’t shudder in his presence.

  She met his gaze. Hanna stared right through him. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

  Paul the Second grinned, a sickening, duplicitous grin. A carnal glaze washed over his face. He leaned forward until he was almost on top of her. “I’ve been looking forward to enlightening you for years, little girl,” he said.

  Hanna balled her fingers into a fist. She tensed her arm and prepared to strike.

  Just then, the passenger’s side door flung open. A swoosh of cold air sailed in as Paul the Third sat his large backside in the passenger’s seat, a bottle of moonshine in his hand. He looked from his brother to Hanna and then down at the driver’s seat reclined all the way back. His brow crinkled. “Is everything okay?”

  Paul the Second slid back toward the steering wheel, slippery like a snake. He pulled a lever and his seat shot upright again. “Never better,” he said, cramming a new toothpick between his teeth.

  “The windows are fogged up.”

  “It’s called condensation, blockhead.”

  Paul the Second took the bottle from his brother’s hands. He unplugged the cork and smelled the homemade hooch. “Woo-wee!” he hollered, his voice colliding off the windows. “Here, Hanna, take a whiff,” he said. When she shook her head no, his eyes turned sharp. “We ain’t leaving until you do.”

  Hanna looked to Paul the Third, who nodded with his jowls. Paul the Second pressed the bottle up to her face. She breathed in the pungent odor, like corn syrup mixed with gasoline. The bitter stench flooded her nose and Hanna coughed to the delight of both brothers. They howled and Paul the Second insisted she smell it a second time before replacing the cork. He fired up the engine and drove back the way they came, the brothers’ sophomoric snickering filling the car.

  Soon Jotham’s house came into view. The car slowed down as it reached the driveway, the doors unlocked and Hanna climbed out the moment it came to a stop. She was only partially surprised when Paul the Second stepped out and leaned against the front headlight. Hanna was already three yards away.

  “Ain’t you gonna thank us for the ride?” he said.

  Hanna stopped in her tracks. He was probably expecting her to flash him an angry glare or for her to break down in tears, to show he’d affected her in some way. Hanna wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  “Thank you. It was very considerate of you,” she said.

  Paul the Second ran his hand across his unshaven chin and Hanna could hear the sound of the stubble scratching under Paul’s thumb. His brother stepped out of the car and they exchanged a look. Paul the Second hitched his thumbs in his belt.

  “I can play this cat-and-mouse game all day.”

  “If you were a cat, you’d have a bell around your neck. And all the mice would hear you coming,” Hanna said.

  “Your wedding night’s not for six days,” he said. “A lot can happen in a week’s time.” Paul shifted his belt buckle and looked down at his pelvis. His voice slid to a sinister whisper. “I didn’t have time to show you back in the woods, but I’ve got something here for you. The past couple years, it’s been thinking about you at night.”

  Hanna stopped at her front door. She knew she should turn around and walk inside, that any reply would only encourage him. But she couldn’t help herself. She looked Paul straight in the eye. Then down at his pants.

  “I’m surprised.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. I’m surprised you can keep that thing out of your brother’s loving embrace long enough for it to think about me,” she said.

  They locked eyes and Hanna saw the fire seething in Paul the Second’s black gaze. Instantly, she regretted her words. This wasn’t a game to him. And Hanna knew it wouldn’t end well for her the next time they crossed paths.
Quickly, she opened Jotham’s front door. Hanna stepped inside, fastened the lock and pressed her back against the door frame, terrified that the next sound she’d hear would be the two Pauls stomping up her front steps and barging inside. Instead, they opened and shut their car doors. The engine revved, the wheels turned on the gravel road and the two brothers drove off the property.

  It was only after they’d left that Hanna realized she’d forgotten Belinda’s salad bowl in the back seat of the brothers’ car.

  11

  The foyer was empty. Hanna could hear the children in the living room, Kara and Katherine in the kitchen, clanking spoons, husking and chopping as they prepared the family’s supper. Hanna was surprised when none of them ran up to her, that no one had been watching through the window eager to ask about her visit to Edwin’s house.

  She stepped into the front alcove and took off her jacket. In the fireplace, orange embers smoldered under the metal grate, its misshapen frame thick with soot, the singed remains of kindling jutting from a mound of white-gray ashes. The cracks had widened in the ceiling above, the leak in the rooftop in dire need of repair. Hanna removed her boots and hurried down the hallway, desperate to see her sisters, to hug her mother, to do anything except think about her interaction with the two Pauls. She found the children in the living room writing in their journals from school. Charliss was sitting cross-legged on the floor, helping his brothers with their spelling, all of them too busy to notice Hanna leaning against the door frame. Jotham was nowhere to be seen.

  Finally, Emily looked up. She hobbled over, her limp more pronounced than usual, and embraced her sister.

  “How was school today?” Hanna said.

  “Good.”

  “What did you learn?”