"Wull, I ain't heard nothin' but first-rate reports about you, so things are good all around, I guess."
Gabe grinned and laid the paper out in front of him. "Let's hope it stays that way."
"You figure out who that little shadow of yours belongs to yet?"
"Not yet."
He shook his head in wonder. "That's somethin'. Somebody's got to be missin' that cute li'l guy, I'd think."
"You would think."
Eben leaned an elbow on the counter and angled his gaze down his nose where his reading spectacles sat, perusing the article alongside Gabe. "What you readin' there?" He had a distinctive wheeze that probably came with a nicotine habit, and he exuded the odor to prove it. "Hmm. That McCurdy Gang still on the loose?"
`Appears so," Gabe mumbled, studying the photo he'd seen innumerable times in police files back in Columbus. Rufus McCurdy, the brains behind a string of crimes that spanned several states, all the way from petty theft to attempted murder, and his no-account sons were now wanted for a more recent case. This time, they were wanted for murder. Unfortunately, the photo was a couple of years old, and anyone in law enforcement knew how quickly time changed a face. There was that one newer picture of Roy, the oldest son, taken on the sly by some sharp-eyed reporter in a Cincinnati saloon one year ago. Too bad Roy had split by the time the reporter could return with the police.
"I read the other day they're top suspects in that murder case down in South Bend," Eben was saying. "Some, er, fancy woman claimed to have spent some quality time with one o' them McCurdy boys after it happened. Apparently, he bragged about the whole business t' her. 'Course, who can believe a harlot, even if she did have a number of details right accordin' to authorities when it come t' describin' the crime scene an' all?"
Gabe kept reading.
"It's a shame. That man and woman wasn't doin' a thing but mindin' their own business when them McCurdys come bustin' through their door. If it was them, that is. I guess everybody's innocent till proven guilty, idn't that right?"
Still, Gabe read on.
"Must've caught 'em completely off guard. It say anything there'bout them havin' any leads? "I heard the dead guy had a gun in his hand. Poor feller must've thought he could draw faster. Why d'you s'pose he took a chance like that? Why, if someone come in here with plans t' rob me, I'm going to give 'em the shirt off'n my back, besides what little cash money I got." He chuckled to himself. "Which isn't much, mind you."
Gabe half-listened as he scanned the rest of the article.
"Call me a chicken-liver if y' like, but I'm no match for a gun. What's them folks' names?" He leaned in for a closer look at the article, his winded, wheezy breaths a distraction. "Harley and Mary Littleton,"
He made a ticking sound with his tongue. "That's a shame, ain't it? Article I read a couple days ago says they was nice country folk, young, too. Kept to themselves, but they was nice. Attended church real regular."
Gabe looked up and acknowledged the gabby merchant, suddenly sorry for his poor manners in ignoring him. He patted the man on his shoulder. "I best let you get back to work, Eben. I thank you for the newspaper."
"Wull, now that you've read the article, you may as well take back your nickel,"
Gabe folded the paper and stuck it under his arm. "Thanks for the offer, but I'll read the rest of it tonight with my final cup of coffee,"
On his way back to the office, while Gabe pondered the article and the thugs on the loose, the sky started spitting rain. It came down in intermittent sprinkles, at first. He hastened his steps, thinking he might beat the storm, but before he reached Fifth Street and Sandy Shores City Hall, the clouds let loose their rain. He took the stairs two at a time but got wetter than a dog paddling upstream before making it through the doors.
Kitty Oakes looked up from her desk and scowled. "You couldn't have holed up somewhere?" she asked. "You'll catch your death. I don't suppose you have a dry uniform hanging in the back?"
"They only issued me one, but another's coming in next week."
"A lot of good that'll do you now," she chided him sympathetically.
He removed his hat and shook off the moisture as best he could. Kitty slanted her gaze at him. "You better put that hat back on and run across the street. Judge Bowers said to send you over as soon as I laid eyes on you."
He sighed and made an about turn, plopped his hat back on, and pushed open the door to the raging elements.
"And you best not sit on his fine furniture," she called to his back.
Judge Bowers was standing at the window and watching the rain. He spun around at the gentle knock on the door.
"Gabriel, come in." Then, giving him a perfunctory look, he said, `Appears you just took a dip in Lake Michigan."
Gabe lifted his mouth in a short-lived smile. "Very funny. Kitty said you wanted to see me?"
"Yes, have a seat."
"I better stand."
"Pfff. Can't hurt this furniture any. It's been kicked at, thrown around, wet on, spat on, and, hmm, retched on."
Gabe raised his eyebrows in silent curiosity.
"Don't ask. I'm sure that, as an officer of the law, you can relate to the fact that not everyone is going to love you. Same holds true for me." His eyes glinted with humor as he gestured at the closest chair. "Sit."
Gabe did as told.
Rather than sit in the chair opposite Gabe, the judge dropped into the one behind his oversized oak desk, folding his hands on his big green ink blotter. "Now then, have you come any closer to figuring out that young boy's identity, other than discovering his name?"
Gabe shook his head, frustrated that all roads thus far had led to dead ends. In all their digging, even his father and brother, an attorney-at-law, had come up with nothing more than a list of missing children, the same list he'd found in his police files, none of whom bore the name of Jesse Gant.
"I put out a bulletin to several lakeshore towns, sent wires to their law enforcement agencies, but nothing positive's come of it. You'd think if a boy came up missing, there'd be an outcry over it,"
"Not if he had no home to speak of or anyone to care about him. Might even be his people shoved him out of the nest,"
"At his age? I'm guessing he's no more than seven or eight."
Something like disgust brimmed in the older man's eyes. "Some folks don't have the brains to raise a window shade, let alone a child. Could be they mistreated him. He looks malnourished. Maybe they starved him,"
Gabe winced. As much as he hated to admit it, he'd grown fond of the lad. The idea of someone harming him gnawed painfully at his heart.
"Fact is, until he talks, it'll remain a mystery. Anyway, you wanted me to see about finding him a place to stay."
Gabe repositioned himself in the chair, his wet clothing clinging to the seasoned leather. Outside, a sudden crack of thunder shattered the last nerve that ran along his spine. Torrential rain fell in sheets now, slamming against the judge's windowpane.
"Yes?"
"You'll be happy to know that I found someone to take him off your hands. They already have six critters, all under the age of twelve, mind you, but they seem to think one more into the pot won't matter. He'll have to sleep on their living room sofa, though, as all the beds in the house are spoken for." He chuckled to himself and shook his head. "You might have seen them at the church service last Sunday. I noticed you sat about five or so rows behind them. They take up an entire pew, as you can imagine. Names are Herb and Lizzie Monroe. Can't tell you all their kids' names, though. Nice Christian family. He runs a dairy farm a couple miles out of town."
The judge kept up his description, but Gabe still stumbled over the first part of it, namely, "You'll be happy to know that I found someone,"
This is good news, Devlin-good news all around. He tried to snap out of the instant slump in his spirits; worse, tried to picture the boy surviving in an environment filled with certain chaos.
"...tomorrow morning. You listening?"
"What
? Yes. Yes, that's good. Tomorrow morning? Already?"
"Around ten, after they've finished the milking. I can give you the directions now if you like, or, better yet, since my morning schedule looks clear, I'll go with you-make the introductions, you know. That work for you? In the meantime, you keep your nose to the grindstone and figure out where this little fella belongs."
Gabe gave a slow nod and dragged up his wet frame, suddenly numb with stupor.
"If it's any consolation, the Monroes were happy to accommodate. I approached a few other families, but most said they couldn't manage another mouth to feed. You understand. 'Course, he'll have chores, as any young man should," Ed droned.
"Of course."
He picked up a pen and tapped its ink tip on the blotter. "You okay?" he asked, giving Gabe a scrutinizing gaze. "I thought you'd be happy about this. It is what you want, right?"
"What? Sure, yeah. I'll just let Hannah know she won't have to watch him after today. I best swing by there once the rain lets up."
"You told me yourself you didn't have time for the boy."
"Exactly."
The judge leaned forward, comprehension dawning after he had given his graying beard a few thoughtful tugs. "You're growing attached to that boy." His voice took on a low, fatherly tone. "Best not do that, son. He belongs to someone, and, eventually, he'll be heading back home. It's just a matter of time,"
He spoke the truth, Gabe knew.
So why was it so hard to swallow?
"Here we go." With Jesse at her side, Hannah pulled out the hardcover book she'd been seeking. "Someone must have put it on the wrong shelf after looking at it. Have you ever heard of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz?"
She put the book at Jesse's eye level and watched him gaze at the cover with interest. He gave his dark head of hair a slow shake.
"Well, I'm not surprised. It just came out a couple of years ago, but I hear it's really catching on with children everywhere. Would you like me to read some of it to you? You'll love the pictures."
He nodded and took her hand, leading her to the table and chairs on the other side of the room. It was her day to staff the library, and, with the rain coming down in steady intervals, only a handful of people had visited, allowing her to catch up on bookkeeping, organize files, and spend time with Jesse. Lately, he'd been more responsive to her; he hadn't spoken yet, but at least he smiled more readily. Maggie and Abbie both noticed the subtle changes, too.
They each pulled out a chair and sat. The clock on the fireplace mantle struck half past five. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and a light breeze billowed the curtains, cooling the room to a pleasant temperature. Before long, fall would be upon them, and children would be traipsing back and forth to school. Hannah wondered about Jesse. Had he attended school last year? If so, where? Should they attempt to send him to Sandy Shores Grade School if the school year started and Gabe still hadn't found Jesse's family?
"Hmmmm," Jesse whined, poking his finger on the first page, impatient for her to commence reading.
She laughed. "What?" Daily she asked him questions, as if she expected a verbal response, but every day, he said nothing in return. He stabbed at the first word again and frowned.
"Do you know that word?" she asked. "Did you learn to read last year? What grade were you in?"
To all three questions, he merely stared at her.
She sighed and touched her forehead to his. "I know you're listening, Jesse Gant. Why won't you talk to me? Don't you know by now you can trust Gabe and me, not to mention Maggie Rose and Abbie Ann?"
He pulled back and clamped his mouth in a tight line, then proceeded to shove his chair back. She seized him gently by the arm.
"Okay, okay, no more pushing." Removing a thick lock of hair that blocked his vision, she cocked her head at him. "You're a mystery, sweet boy, you know that?"
After a half hour, Hannah found herself engrossed in the lovely tale, whether Jesse was or not. He'd put his head on her shoulder midway through chapter two, and, at the close of chapter three, "How Dorothy Saved the Scarecrow," had closed his eyes in slumber. She angled her head slightly to study his profile-the pointed little nose peppered with freckles, the sun-bronzed cheeks, the perfect little mouth, and the long, black, sweeping eyelashes-and quietly closed the book.
With her back to the stairway, she hadn't even heard Gabe's entry, perhaps due in part to her drifting thoughts.
As soundlessly as possible, Gabe removed his hat and invited himself to sit in a chair opposite her, rewarding her with a rare smile before focusing his attention on the sleeping boy, whose head was fast sliding down her arm.
"He's tuckered out, I see," he whispered.
"He found a stray dog out back and played with him until it started raining. I kept checking on him, mind you," she added.
"Who, the pup?"
"No, silly. Jesse." A ridiculous flush crept up her face, starting at her neck. She thanked the Lord for the darkness of dusk and its concealment.
He chuckled. "I'm not worried about you slacking off, Hannah."
The way he said her name, like a whispered song, sent her stomach tumbling. His presence always did strange things to her-made her nerves jump around in confusion. Like the pause between lightning and thunder, there came that tiny bit of anticipation at seeing him every day, no matter how foolish it was. It wasn't as if they stood around for long periods and talked about their days. Most nights, he arrived at six o'clock sharp to pick up Jesse, and the two would walk out five minutes later. She studied his silhouette in the dimly lit room, observing how the shadows cast a soft darkness over the clear-cut lines of his face, transforming his azure eyes into gray, his profile into a hazy mask. In her edgy state, she swept at her hair-a wasted effort, as it never ceased to fall out from its bun before day's end. She sought to see where he looked, but the dimness of the room made it hard to know.
"Did you feed him?"
It seemed a foolish question. "Of course I fed him. I took him over to the Culver House Cafe for lunch."
She heard rather than saw the smile. "Nice. But I was referring to the dog. Did you feed the stray dog?"
A childish giggle shot out of nowhere. "Oh. Yes. Maggie Rose ran across the street and got some meat scraps. The last time I checked, the food dish was empty. I put out a bowl of water, and that's half gone."
A silence fell between them. Across the street, the piano music at Charley's Saloon started in full swing.
"I suppose he'll be wanting to keep it now-the dog."
"I suppose."
"We needed the rain," he said, apparently in an attempt to keep the conversation moving. "I got stuck in it after lunch. Nearly drowned."
"It came down in sheets."
Downstairs, Maggie Rose sang "Amazing Grace" at top lung capacity. As usual, she sang louder than necessary. It would have been one thing if she could carry a tune. "I can always tell when she's locked the store and hung the `CLOSED' sign out:'
Gabe chuckled, "She's not that good."
"She's terrible," Hannah breathed.
Jesse slipped farther down her arm and made a snuffling sound, his wet breaths pooling on her sleeve. Hannah adjusted herself in the chair and drew the boy's head to her lap. He never stirred, just snored louder.
Gabe leaned across the table and folded his hands, his face coming into full view. If ever she had wanted to run, it was now. He looked as solemn as a marble statue. "Someone's offered to take Jesse:"
"What?" Her breath caught and held.
When he swallowed, his Adam's apple poked out like the head of a tortoise from its shell. "Herb and Lizzie Monroe. You know them?"
"They have about a dozen kids,"
"Six."
"I don't care. It's too many. He'll get lost in all that chaos. He'll stay silent forever."
Their gazes locked. "Hannah, he's not our responsibility."
"Yes, he is," she shot back. "He's grown accustomed to us. If we abandon him now, he'll run off again, and probably ju
st about the time you figure out where he belongs, too. Then what?"
He tipped his eyebrows up in a curious slant and studied her for several seconds. "So, now he's our responsibility? I thought you said..."
"I don't care what I said. We're sharing the load, and because of that, I ought to have some say." Jesse stirred, and Hannah pulled her fingers through his freshly cut hair until his deep breathing resumed. She heaved a long breath of her own. "He can't go out there, Mr. Devlin. They're a nice family, but they won't do Jesse any good. He has big needs right now. Putting him in an environment where he can't get a word in edgewise will make him shrink back all the more." Her heart felt near to collapsing as she pled her case. "If you can't keep him with you, then I'll take him to my house. If my father and grandmother put up a fuss, I'll-"
He put his hand out. "Shh. Okay, okay, it'll be fine,"
Threatening tears stung the backs of her eyes. "How?"
He sighed and looked down at his lap. Had he detected her imminent tears? "As long as you don't mind watching him during the day, he can continue staying with me. I'll admit I didn't like the idea of sending him out there either. They may be wonderfully generous people, but they don't know him as we do. I guess I had to see if we were of one accord, you and I:'
"Oh." She relaxed.
He started to stand. "Bear in mind, though, that he'll have to go once I figure out where he belongs."
"Well, of course, but only if he has a suitable family to go home to."
He seemed to consider that before standing and walking around the table to lift Jesse into his arms. "Oh-it looks like I'm buying a house." After some adjusting, the boy settled against Gabe's broad shoulders.
"Really?" She didn't know why the news should strike a chord of exhilaration in her, but it did. "Where?" She pushed back her chair and followed him to the top of the stairs.
He turned to face her. "Out on Slayton Street. Folks by the name of Bronson."
"I know them. They moved to Lansing to be closer to her ailing folks,"
Hannah Grace Page 8
