Hanna Who Fell from the Sky

by Christopher Meades

  “Really? A red dress?”

  “The Creator forbids women from wearing red. Any other color is fine, so long as your neckline’s covered and your hemline is modest.” She paused. “Haven’t you noticed that women around here never wear red?”

  “I suppose.”

  Hanna rolled her eyes. “Boys know nothing of fashion,” she said. “It’s something they teach us girls when we’re young. They pull us aside and tell us never to wear red. Brother Paul says it’s the color harlots wear in the big city.”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  Hanna ran her fingers along the floral pattern on her nightdress. “It’s not that I don’t believe him. And it’s not that I was born desperately wanting to wear a red dress. But it’s strange—when something’s taken away from you, you just want it so badly. I love red. Late at night in the summer, those few minutes when the sun sinks into the horizon and the sky turns this brilliant bright red color, like a matchstick that just burst into flames. I’ve always wanted to wear red.”

  “You should.”

  “Are you suggesting I come sauntering into church in a strapless red frock?”

  “Why not?”

  “I would be tarred and feathered in the town square,” Hanna said.

  Daniel laughed out loud as though he never expected those words to come out of her mouth.

  “I don’t think they’d actually cover you in feathers,” he said.

  “Still, all the same...”

  The candlelight flickered. A breeze from above pushed on the flame and when it settled, a silence enveloped the room. A bold notion popped into Hanna’s head. She thought about reaching over and holding Daniel’s hand, entwining their fingers, pressing their palms together and feeling the touch of his skin. Her hand was resting on her knee, palm up, fingers open. It had been there for a minute, maybe more, and still Daniel hadn’t moved to take it. Hanna made up her mind. She would hold his hand. Her skin felt warm. Her stomach swirled. She closed her eyes. Hanna breathed in softly and reached over.

  “Are we still going upstairs?” Daniel said.

  Hanna’s hand hung in the blank space between them. Quickly, she brought it back, and Daniel glanced down. Hanna wasn’t sure whether he saw her reaching for him. The candlelight was faint and she’d already tucked her hand under her leg. Hanna longed to reach out again, to break free from of any worry, to be audacious and unashamed. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  Suddenly, unexpectedly, a light tinted the stained glass. It came from outside, a vehicle’s headlights illuminating the cathedral, and Hanna’s heart jumped, thinking it could be the two Pauls patrolling the church grounds. It might have been Brother Paul himself returning to the old tower cathedral to reclaim a long-forgotten item, one of his files perhaps. The bright light lingered, alarming Hanna, shattering any sense of security that she and Daniel were alone.

  Hanna and Daniel sat perfectly still as the light flashed across the walls and then faded before disappearing as the car pulled away. Together they breathed a sigh of relief. Hanna looked up into the rafters, at the winding stairwell that led to the belfry.

  “Yes. Let’s go,” she said.

  They were halfway up when Daniel lost his footing on the rickety old boards. Hanna was leading the way and though their eyes had grown somewhat accustomed to the darkness, it was still difficult to see. Daniel stepped on a loose board and slipped. Instinctively, Hanna grasped hold of his hand. She pulled him close and their fingers entwined. Daniel’s cheek brushed up against hers and rather than retreat from her touch, Daniel lingered, his warm skin inviting. “Thank you,” he said and pulled back slightly.

  An ocean of emotions flowed inside Hanna: excitement, trepidation, anticipation, and for a moment, she thought their lips might touch. That Daniel might kiss her right there in the middle of the stairwell. Instead, he placed his hand against the wall, steadying himself. They walked up the stairs together, ten stories in total, though the spiral staircase lacked partitions.

  Hanna stepped into the belfry first. Up top was a large black bell and four pillars. She wrapped her arm around a pillar and looked out at the open expanse. There was Clearhaven in all its glory. Beyond the white church’s glow, Hanna could see the marketplace. She saw the tip of her father’s rooftop in the distance, the sprawling woodlands, the marsh and the lights in the houses like little cubes of sunlight dropped into the darkness. The Road lay directly west. From the ground, The Road seemed to go on forever. But from this great height, a hazy orange glow hovered in the distance, faint like a painting with too many layers of gloss, but still—an end point, a resolution, proof that Clearhaven was not alone.

  Careful with his footing, Daniel stepped out beside her and pointed toward the glow. “I’m going there two nights from now,” he said.

  Hanna almost lost her balance. “You’re leaving?”

  “Just for one night. Do you remember that singer you heard on my headphones? Well, she’s coming to town. I saw an ad for the show the night before we returned home, so my brothers and I walked to the venue and I bought tickets.”

  Daniel took in the view fully now. He breathed in deep and looked at Hanna. A bundle of nerves thundered inside her each time he glanced her way. She looked down, to her side, in the distance, anywhere except his eyes. But he kept looking at her. Daniel’s eyes drew hers upward. They were soft and speckled with silver and they made Hanna want to get behind them and see Clearhaven, see The Road, see Hanna the way Daniel saw her.

  “You can come with me to the show, if you like,” he said.

  Hanna shook her head. “I couldn’t.”

  “Of course you can. You can do anything.”

  “I’ve never left Clearhaven.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s only one night and I’ll have you back before dawn.”

  Hanna turned away. “I’m getting married in five days.”

  Daniel’s tone changed. His smile faded. “You don’t have to do that, you know. You don’t have to do what they say.”

  Hanna’s stomach felt hollow, her arms as light as feathers. She looked at Daniel again, his delicate cheekbones, those penetrating eyes. With his one arm around the pillar, he edged toward her and put the other arm around her shoulder. Hanna’s first instinct was to step back inside and hurry down the stairwell. Only, she didn’t want to leave. The cool wind washed against her face. It seeped under her jacket and against her skin. But Hanna could barely feel it. Everything inside her felt on fire.

  She leaned forward, brought her face close to his.

  Hanna closed her eyes and Daniel’s lips brushed against hers, much softer than she expected. He pulled back and gazed at her, maybe to see if she was certain. Of course she was certain.

  Hanna’s lips quivered. She brought her tongue to her teeth. Hanna closed her eyes and kissed him lushly, passionately. Daniel put his free arm around her back and in Hanna’s mind, colors spun in dizzying circles, greens and reds and the brightest blues penetrated the grayest of shadows. Her heart raced. Daniel’s lips tasted sweet like honey and as he reached his hand up to her cheek, Hanna felt safe. She felt free. She felt like she could do anything.

  The world drifted away and all that came before and all that was to come after were forgotten. She leaned in farther, blissful and jubilant in the apex of her secret life.

  17

  The next morning, Hanna walked into the kitchen to find Kara sitting at the table, staring out the window with an empty cup in her hands. When Hanna said “good morning,” Kara glanced her way. She offered a smile that looked painful to wear and then returned to gazing off into the woods, the bruise on her cheek now yellow like butter, a slight greenish color forming along her jaw. The young ones dashed through the kitchen, chasing each other in a game of tag, and Hanna waited until they passed before checking the kettle on the
stove. It was still warm.

  “Would you like some more tea?” she said.

  Kara shook her head. She pressed her fingertips to her cheek, right where it had swelled, and continued staring out the window.

  Hanna sat down next to her mother. Outside, frost glistened on the grass, an early-morning mist obscuring the woodlands’ enormity, in contrast to the crisp, clear sky of last night. Hanna had seen these trees, these pockets of leaves and the pathway into the woodlands hundreds of times before. But she’d never focused on them. The woodlands’ stillness was soothing, reassuring in that the world would still be here tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. Hanna exhaled. Her mind returned to her candlelit conversation with Daniel, the thoughtful way he opened her door for her, the taste of his lips. Hanna brought her legs up. She cradled her knees in her arms and allowed herself to savor the memory, to replay it, to relive the burst of excitement she’d felt the moment their hands touched on the stairwell.

  Her mother’s voice pulled Hanna from her thoughts.

  “Let’s go for ice cream today,” Kara said.

  She was looking directly at Hanna; for how long, Hanna didn’t know. Kara’s fingers were spread across her breastbone, curling slowly inward, as though she was holding herself upright. Her eyes were puffy, and yet her jaw was clenched, the lines around her mouth rigid.

  “All of us?” Hanna said, thinking how Jotham would balk at the cost.

  “No,” Kara said. “Just you and me. Let’s go to the marketplace after lunch. Do something together for a change.”

  Hanna thought it strange that her mother wanted to go for ice cream when it was still so cold outside. And she almost said something, but Kara’s expression told her not to question anything she said today.

  From the hallway, Emily approached. She braced her hand against the wall for support. “I need help with my jacket,” she said.

  Hanna reached inside Emily’s jacket and righted an inside-out sleeve. As she watched Emily struggle to slip it over her shoulders, a wave of regret washed over her. Hanna still didn’t know what was to become of Emily after her wedding. She hadn’t found the courage to ask Jotham if he’d arranged for Emily to live with her and Edwin. Jotham was out on the back porch now, reclined on a deck chair, smoking a cigarette, something he rarely did and usually only when he was hard at the drink. Early morning was not the time to approach him with requests. In the late afternoon, his disposition might improve. The midway point between his first and his sixth whiskies was still a long way off.

  She helped Emily with her zipper and walked the children to the door for their day at school. “Try to be good today,” she said as they stepped outside.

  Before he left, Charliss surprised Hanna by embracing her. Hanna braced herself for Charliss to tickle her or tell a silly joke. However, the punch line never came and only when she was sure he was serious, did she hug him back.

  Charliss whispered in her ear. “You never came home last night.”

  Hanna pulled away. Her hand clasped Charliss’s shoulder, to brace herself for what he said next.

  “I heard you leave,” he said. “I heard the front door shut and a car drive away. I waited for you until I couldn’t stay awake any longer. When I woke up this morning, you were downstairs.” He locked eyes with his big sister. “Where did you go?”

  Katherine called out from the other room. “You’re going to be late!”

  Hanna ran her hand across Charliss’s cheek, gently, tenderly, the way his mother, Belinda, never would. How could she explain what she’d done, the way she felt last night? Even now, hours later, each time Hanna took a breath, a warmth beat like a second heart inside her. Her skin still tingled. And Charliss was just a boy. He would never understand. He couldn’t. “It’s best not to keep your teachers waiting,” she said.

  Charliss’s eyes narrowed. They lingered, clearly suspicious of Hanna’s obvious deflection. Katherine called again, and this time Charliss joined his siblings.

  Hanna watched him walk out the door. Seconds later, little Ahmre reached her hands in the air and Hanna hoisted the child onto her hip. They’d just stepped back inside when Jotham appeared in the hallway. His tall figure blocked their way. Jotham scratched a patch of ingrown hair on his neck and held out a jug. “It’s empty,” he said.

  Hanna didn’t ask what he meant. She knew he wanted her to fetch more whiskey and not from the marketplace. The liquor there was too expensive, too watered-down. Hanna would have to visit the old hermit again. She would have to cross the woodlands, and she would have to hurry to complete her journey in the daylight while the wolves still slept. Hanna took the jug.

  “How will I pay?” she asked.

  Jotham undid a buckle on his back brace. He loosened it and secured it again, almost stumbling into the wall as he found his balance. His skin looked clammy this morning, his movements sluggish, as though he hadn’t slept. “Tell the man I’ll pay him soon. He knows my credit’s good.”

  “Will that work?”

  Jotham clamped his jaw shut and stepped forward. His massive figure towered over the girls, hot air billowing from his nose, but he didn’t raise his voice. “Of course it’ll work,” he said and lumbered past Hanna, down the hallway and into the front alcove, where he collapsed onto the couch.

  Hanna set Ahmre down. She thought of Emily and Charliss, already walking to school, and her mother staring off in the kitchen. Hanna didn’t want to make the trip alone. Briefly, she toyed with the idea of asking Daniel to go with her. Then she remembered Paul the Third traipsing off into the woods to fetch the bottle of moonshine. This town was too small, the old hermit too likely to tell Brother Paul’s sons of her comings and goings to be wandering about with a strange boy accompanying her.

  Ahmre had uncorked the jug and was blowing on it, creating a low, hoarse drone. Hanna leaned so they were face-to-face. “What do you say, angel? Do you want to go for a walk through the woods?”

  “What about the wolves?”

  Hanna shook her head. “The wolves only come out at night. And besides, we can’t spend our entire lives being afraid of wolves, now can we?”

  * * *

  Minutes later, they were out the door. For all her brave words, it would have been foolish not to protect Ahmre as they traveled deep into the woodlands. Hanna didn’t ask Jotham’s permission. She opened the storage bench on the deck and pulled out his shotgun. She felt its weight in her hand, ran her fingers along the scuffed wooden stock and the cold metal of the trigger guard. Hanna checked to make sure it was loaded, engaged the safety and slung its strap over her shoulder before taking Ahmre’s hand and setting down the gravel road.

  Together they kept to the footpaths. Hanna steered clear of the mossy underbrush and the steep rocky patches, lest the three-year-old have difficulty navigating the terrain. Only twice was Hanna forced to pick Ahmre up, once to cross a shallow stream and a second time to climb a crumbling tree stump. Ahmre never complained once. She chatted the whole way, toddler talk, asking Hanna if she was married yet and detailing incidents in the past week in which her brothers had “swiped” her toys.

  As they passed the river, a small beaver dam came into view. Ahmre squealed with delight when three yearlings poked their heads out of the water. The creatures submerged and resurfaced, and Ahmre cheered as they poked their noses into the misty morning air.

  Eventually they came to the old hermit’s dilapidated cabin in the woods. The cabin existed in two parts. The left side had long collapsed inward and now housed all sorts of unkempt foliage and uninvited woodland creatures (last time Hanna visited, she spotted the masklike stripes of two raccoons peering through a hole in the rotten wood). The cabin’s right portion was a teetering shack held aloft by several precariously perched wooden beams and a rusted-out car bumper wedged on its side. Hanna could see the old recluse’s moonshine distiller
y through the open door.

  She led Ahmre over to a tree and told her to stand still, to wait where Hanna could see her and, most important, to scream if danger reared its head.

  “What do you do if you see a wolf?”

  “I scream,” Ahmre said.

  “If you see a person?”

  “I scream.”

  “If you see a police officer?”

  Ahmre hesitated.

  “You scream. Do you understand?”

  Ahmre nodded and Hanna kissed her atop her head. She untied the empty jug from a string over her shoulder and hitched Jotham’s shotgun against her hip. As Hanna approached, a great clank sounded within the cabin. Then a jangle, followed by three more clanks. Hanna poked her head in the door. The old hermit was surrounded by wires and copper tubes, pots and condensers, two large stoves and a set of diamond-shaped metallic frustums. Despite the chill in the air, he was shirtless, on his knees, hammering away at a misshapen boiling chamber with a wooden mallet.

  “Hello?” Hanna said.

  The hermit looked up. His face twisted into a knot at the sight of Hanna’s shotgun. “You’d best leave that outside,” he said.

  Hanna steered the barrel of the shotgun toward the ground. She leaned it against the front door, within reach, just in case.

  The hermit rolled to his feet. He pulled a dirty brown shirt off a hook and slipped it over his shoulders, and then he ran his hand across his eyebrows, where he struggled to tame his wild white hairs. He gritted his teeth. Hanna counted two at the top and a throng of incisors at the bottom, by turns black and yellow, like a decomposing ear of corn.

  She held out the empty jug. “Jotham sent me to get whiskey.”

  “Do you have any money?”

  “Well, no. I can return later, with money, if you’d like,” she said.

  The hermit picked up his mallet and for a moment Hanna thought he might come at her. Her heart rate soared and Hanna lifted her hands to deflect the blow. Then he clanked the boiling chamber. The hermit aimed for a warped protrusion jutting out of the metal and clanked it again. This time the protrusion bent inward. He flashed his crooked teeth, undoubtedly pleased with his results. The hermit set the mallet down and took the jug from Hanna.