A Soldier's Promise

by Cynthia Thomason

  “I don’t know why you’re here, Carrie, but if you came to talk to me about school, you could have waited until Monday...”

  The girl’s voice dropped to a chastised tone. “I didn’t come to talk about school.”

  “Oh.” That was even worse. “I can’t imagine anything else that couldn’t wait. This is the weekend, and...”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Sullivan. I just needed someplace to go, and, well, you seem so nice in class.”

  Intrigued in spite of herself, Brenna leaned against a porch column. “Why do you need a place to go? What’s wrong with your home?”

  “It’s not nice like this is.”

  Since Brenna hadn’t seen this girl before this year, she assumed she was new to the school system. “So where do you live exactly?”

  “Outside of town.”

  “How far outside?” Brenna wondered if she would have to drive the girl home. If so, there was a liability issue with having a student in her car. And she’d be late meeting her friends. Precisely why she didn’t get involved.

  “I live beyond that old mill, the one on White Deer Trail. Do you know where it is?”

  Brenna did know. Diana and her family lived close to that location. So did other families who preferred the rustic, remote neighborhood. But Brenna hadn’t known another house existed beyond the long-defunct gristmill.

  “Why aren’t you there now?” she asked. “Do you need a ride? I’m sure you missed the bus.”

  “I did, but I can call someone. I thought I could just hang out here for a while.”

  “That’s not really such a good idea.” In desperation Brenna quoted school board policy. “We have a strict nonfraternization policy here. The school board frowns upon high school students visiting teachers’ homes.”

  The girl hung her head. Long, dark waves of hair hid her face, but Brenna thought she heard a sniffle. Oh, dear. What would she do if this girl suddenly burst into tears? What was she so upset about? She was obviously clean and well cared for, like just about all the kids in Mount Union. Her clothes were stylish. She wasn’t anything like the students Brenna had had her first two years of teaching.

  Carrie scrubbed her face with both hands and looked up. She seemed in control. “It was dumb of me to come here. I was just hoping you’d let me stay awhile. But I can go somewhere else.”

  “Where?”

  “Someplace. You don’t have to worry about me.”

  Brenna sat on the wicker chair next to the love seat. Something was going on with this girl, something Brenna might not be equipped to deal with. Remembering the hard-learned instincts to remain distant—the ones that had stayed with her since her first teaching position—she put her hand on the girl’s arm. Even that slight bit of familiarity made Brenna uncomfortable.

  “What aren’t you telling me, Carrie?” She studied the girl’s face, her bare arms, looking for bruises and hoping she wouldn’t see any. All she saw was clear, pale skin. Yet something wasn’t right.

  “Do you have problems at home?” Brenna asked.

  The girl didn’t say anything. She just twisted her fingers in her lap.

  “Carrie? Do your parents know where you are?”

  “It’s just my dad, and I don’t know. Probably not.”

  “Give me his phone number. I’m going to call him.”

  “No!” She brushed bangs from her forehead, revealing red eyes. “I said I’d go. You don’t have to take care of me. I get it.”

  “I’m not telling you what to do,” Brenna said. “But you can’t stay here. I’ve got plans tonight.”

  Why did that suddenly sound shallow?

  “Sure, I understand,” Carrie said. “I guess I was wrong. I thought you’d be easy to talk to.”

  Me? I seem easy to talk to?

  Carrie continued, “I don’t have any friends here. Where I used to live, one of my teachers talked to me a lot. She even came to my mother’s...”

  “Your mother’s what?”

  “Never mind. It’s not important. I shouldn’t have come here. I’ll go.”

  “I don’t mean to sound short with you,” Brenna said, “but you should be home. And you sound like a girl who just needs to make some friends her own age. There are lots of ways to make friends. On Monday we can discuss it. You can join a club...or something.”

  “Sure, I’ll do that.” Carrie stood and walked slowly to the steps leading from the porch. With each footfall, Brenna felt the sting of her conscience. But she didn’t want to be this kind of teacher again, the Diana kind. She’d tried it once and still suffered from her decisions. Besides, Diana was used to Mount Union kids being in her house 24/7. She had a son in high school and a husband who worked at the school. And she hadn’t been through what Brenna had been through at her last job. Brenna had only herself, and she just couldn’t risk getting involved like that again.

  Why hadn’t Carrie gone to Diana’s? Brenna watched her walking away and sighed deeply. When Carrie reached the sidewalk, Brenna called to her. She almost didn’t recognize her own voice. “Are you hungry?”

  Carrie turned. “A little.”

  Brenna managed a quick mental survey of her refrigerator. “I could probably rustle up some mac and cheese and a couple hot dogs.”

  “I could eat that.”

  “Okay, then. Come on back.” Brenna stood. “We can talk a bit if you want. And then you’ll go home, okay?”

  “Sure. Okay.”

  Brenna unlocked her door. “I’ll get out of my teacher clothes and fix us that mac and cheese.”

  She changed into worn cutoffs and a T-shirt and gathered her humidity-frizzed red curls into a ponytail. So much for getting to the Riverview on time.

  During dinner preparations she and Carrie talked about Mount Union High School. Brenna gave her some tips on what kids in town did, where the closest movie theater was, things she thought would interest a sophomore. She also told Carrie about the Cultural Arts Center that was being planned for the community. Brenna was chairing the committee for the center and hoped it would be beneficial in a town that offered little in the way of teen activities.

  “Besides the center being a meeting place for teens, we’re going to offer special classes,” Brenna said. “Drama, music, other courses that have been eliminated due to budget cuts.”

  “Classes?” the girl asked. “Over and above having classes in school?”

  Okay, maybe that sounded lame, but Brenna knew several students who would take advantage of enrichment courses. “There will be activities, too,” she explained to Carrie. “Movies, dances, games, a whole range of choices.”

  Carrie didn’t comment on the center, but halfway through the cheesy casserole, Brenna saw the girl smile for the first time.

  “This is really good,” the girl said. “Thanks for fixing it.”

  “You’re welcome. We make this in class, you know. About midway through the semester.”

  “That’ll be cool.”

  Brenna carried her plate to the sink and looked over her backyard. The sun was setting, turning the trees on the other side of the river to gold. “It’s late,” she said. “Maybe you’d better call your father and tell him to pick you up.”

  “He’s not worried about me.”

  “Well, regardless, you can’t walk home in the dark. It’s a long way to the mill.”

  “I’ll be okay. I take care of myself.”

  Brenna took her seat on the other side of the table and stared at Carrie for a moment. The girl looked down and forked her leftover noodles around the plate. “Is there something you’d like to tell me, Carrie?” Brenna asked, hoping the girl wasn’t harboring a big secret, the kind that had led to heartbreaking decisions once before. She swallowed, knowing she could have opened the door to something she didn’t really wan
t to hear. “Is everything all right at home?”

  Brenna held her breath. Please just let this be a case of a new kid in town who’s experiencing some loneliness.

  Carrie mumbled into her lap. “It’s that obvious?”

  Oh, boy. “Is someone treating you badly?” Brenna asked.

  Carrie swallowed hard. She didn’t answer the question.

  Brenna leaned over the table but resisted the instinct to place her hand over the girl’s. “Has someone hurt you, Carrie?”

  Still no answer. Carrie didn’t look up.

  “Because if so, there are people who can help. But you need to tell someone...”

  She never finished giving advice because movement in front of her house caught her eye. Through her open door she saw a police cruiser pull to the curb. Carrie gasped and stood up.

  “This is about you, isn’t it?” Brenna said.

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I didn’t mean to be any trouble. I’ll just go out the back...”

  “No, you won’t. You’re coming with me.”

  Like a prisoner being led to the gallows, Carrie walked ahead of Brenna to the living room. She sat in a chair out of sight of the front door. Brenna opened the screen to police officers she knew well. “Hi, Boone, Lila. What’s going on?”

  “We’ve had a missing-kid report, Bren,” Boone said. “She’s one of your students and we’re following every lead.” He took out a photo and showed it to Brenna. “This is the girl.”

  A sweet face surrounded by a tumble of black curls smiled at Brenna from a typical school photo.

  “Her name’s Carolyn Langston,” Lila Menendez said. “Her father’s about ready to tear the town apart.”

  Brenna opened the door wider. “Come on in.”

  The officers walked to the middle of the room and stared at Carrie. “You’re her, all right,” Boone said. He pressed a button on a device on his shoulder. “Located the girl. She’s at...” He waited for Brenna to give him her exact address and repeated it.

  “How’d she end up here, Brenna?” he asked.

  She briefly explained how she’d found Carrie on her porch. “Can we talk outside?” she asked the officer.

  “Sure.” Boone spoke to his partner. “Lila, you stay here with the kid. Make sure she doesn’t go anywhere.”

  The young police officer crouched beside Carrie. In a soft voice she said, “Are you okay, honey?”

  Carrie nodded and Brenna led Boone to the end of the porch, where their voices wouldn’t carry to the interior of the house. “I think this kid’s in trouble,” Brenna said. “I’m suspecting some kind of abuse.”

  “Did you see any injuries?”

  “No, but she’s very unhappy. She doesn’t want to go home.”

  “Well, Brenna, that describes a bunch of teenagers. Even me a few years ago.”

  “That may be, but this girl’s reaching out for help. I think you need to notify someone in authority.”

  “I’ll talk to the chief about it. But right now I’ve just got to return this kid to her father. He’s probably on his way over here to pick her up. He seemed plenty worried to me.”

  Yeah, and I wonder why. Was the father afraid the kid would tell on him? “You won’t let her go if you think something’s not right, will you, Boone?”

  “I’ll check it out, Brenna.” He pointed to the street, where a blue pickup was screeching to a halt behind the cruiser. “There’s the dad now. I’ll explain things to him, tell him the kid came here of her own accord. We don’t want him holding you responsible.”

  “I don’t care about that,” Brenna said. “I’m just concerned about Carrie.”

  The driver’s door swung open and a man in a beige jumpsuit stepped to the asphalt.

  “Hey, I know that guy,” Brenna said. She stared at the man of few words, Mike the mechanic, as he strode purposely up the walk to her door.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “WHERE’S MY DAUGHTER?” The words shot from Mike’s mouth like blasts from a pistol. He headed straight for the front porch, looking neither right nor left.

  Boone stepped in front of him and put his hand on Mike’s chest. “Hold on a minute, buddy. Let’s all calm down.”

  Mike evaded the officer with a defiant maneuver. “Calm down? Are you kidding? Is Carrie in this house or not?”

  “Yes, she’s in there. And she’s fine.”

  He released a pent-up breath, and his shoulders relaxed slightly. “Okay.” Then he glanced around, seeming to take in the darkness that had settled over Brenna’s shrubs, the unfamiliarity of his surroundings and, finally, Brenna. “I know you,” he said. “You’re the silver Mazda.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Actually, the silver Mazda is my car. I’m your daughter’s home ec teacher.”

  Confusion battled with panic in Mike’s face. “What’s Carrie doing here? Did you bring her?”

  “Brenna had nothing to do with Carrie showing up at her house,” Boone said. “That was your daughter’s decision. Brenna has just been talking to her. She didn’t know until we got here that a missing-child report had been filed.”

  Mike glared at her. “And it didn’t occur to you to call me?”

  Struggling to control her temper, Brenna said, “First of all, I don’t even really know you. Second of all, a teenage girl is capable of calling her parents herself—if she feels confident doing so.”

  His mouth opened and then closed again. Apparently he hadn’t come up with a way to respond to the implied criticism. “All right,” he said after a moment. “I’ll just get my daughter and leave.”

  Brenna kept her features blank, though inside she was seething.

  Mike took another step toward the porch. “I’ll talk to her about what happened. She won’t bother you again.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  Ignoring her, he marched up the steps to her door. His work boots sounded heavy on the polished wood planks of her porch floor. It was as if this man had come to claim property. She glared at Boone and gave him a do-something look. Mike and Boone were about the same age with similar builds. Boone was a good cop who wouldn’t be intimidated by Mike’s aggressive behavior. And besides, Brenna had always suspected that Boone had a thing for her, and she knew he would intercede because she’d asked him to.

  Boone grabbed Mike’s elbow. “Not so fast. I’d like to talk to you before you go in to get your daughter.”

  Mike turned sharply. “What do you mean?”

  He nodded to the front lawn. “Come on down here so we can speak privately. I’d like to clear up a few things in this investigation.”

  “What things? And how did this suddenly become an investigation?”

  Though obviously not pleased with the delay, Mike did follow Boone’s orders. The two men ended up under Brenna’s ornamental cherry tree. Boone spoke in a calming manner but gestured dramatically with his hands.

  At first Mike’s features remained stoic. Then his eyes widened. His jaw dropped. His expression took on the veiled semblance of disbelief. His mouth formed the words no and never.

  Boone eventually put his hand on Mike’s upper arm. The two had seemed to reach an accord or perhaps a stalemate. Brenna could only hope that Boone had made his point clearly and with the full power of his badge.

  They both came back to the porch. “I should tell you that I’m going to leave this case open for a while,” Boone said. “Just until things settle down.”

  Mike turned around to stare at him but said nothing.

  “We take our kids’ safety seriously in Mount Union. As a father, you can understand that,” Boone added.

  Mike went to the screened door. “Carrie, come on out now. It’s okay. We’re going home.”

  Carrie walked onto the porch. Lila was wi
th her and had her hand on Carrie’s shoulder. When she saw her father, Carrie hooked her thumb in the waistband of her jeans and gave him a little wave. “Hi, Dad.”

  He shook his head once and looked down at her. “Are you all right?”

  “Sure. I’m sorry if I worried you. I just thought I could talk to Miss Sullivan for a while. I didn’t realize how late it was getting or that you’d be wondering where I was....”

  “You didn’t think I’d be wondering?” Mike looked at Brenna. The anger in his eyes had dimmed just enough so she felt Boone had accomplished something with his talk.

  “We’ll discuss this when we get home,” he said to his daughter. He started down the sidewalk with Carrie by his side. As he passed Brenna and Boone, he said, “Thanks for your help. My daughter and I will be fine.”

  Brenna watched him open the passenger door for Carrie. The girl looked back once and then climbed inside. Through the window, Brenna saw Carrie’s shoulders slump. She stared into her lap and seemed so very small in the large truck cab. Mike started around to the other side of the vehicle.

  “Mr. Langston,” Brenna called out.

  He stopped under a streetlight and looked back.

  She hurried down the walkway to meet him in front of his truck.

  “What is it, Miss Sullivan? I thought we were done here.”

  “I know,” she said, looking into those seriously dark eyes again. Only now they seemed even more mysterious in the shadows of night. What was going on behind those eyes? She stammered, something she hadn’t done since she was ten years old, “I...ah...I like your daughter, Mr. Langston. She’s a sweet kid. And I’m sorry for any distress this situation caused you.”

  His brow furrowed. “I’ll get over it.”