Hannah Grace

by MacLaren Sharlene

  After filling their sparkling glassware to the rim with ice water and assuring them that a waiter would be along shortly, Peter gave a half bow and hurried off, every ounce of his demeanor painstakingly businesslike.

  Ralston retrieved a shining silver knife and held it up to the light, inspecting it for spots, as usual. The knot in Hannah's chest squeezed even tighter.

  "Too bad Peter can't relax a bit more. He's so stiff and formal."

  "What's that, my darling?" Ralston asked, barely looking at her. And that was another thing. Lately, when addressing her, he'd been calling her "darling," as if proposing marriage entitled him to do so. It would be one thing if she'd accepted, but she had yet to give him her answer.

  "Peter. He seems so-so ceremonial around us. It's not as if he doesn't know us. Goodness, he sees us every week. You'd think he'd be friendlier."

  "Friendlier?" Satisfied with his knife's cleanliness, Ralston set it down, folded his hands before dropping them into his lap, and finally looked her in the eye. `Ah, Peter. He's a member of the serving staff, dear. One wouldn't expect him to be too familiar."

  "He's an ordinary person, no different from you or me."

  A slighting look washed over Ralston's face, and he tugged at his well-trimmed goatee the way he often did when he seemed bothered.

  At least he doesn't have muttonchops, she mused, something else to stroke and pull at when deep in thought.

  "I hardly think a physician and a restaurant maitre d' compare, Hannah Grace."

  No "darling" this time?

  "Why not? We're all created equally in God's sight."

  Rarely did she have a wish to argue with Ralston. In fact, most times she was happy to comply. Somehow, she wasn't tonight.

  "Well, that's true, but Peter doesn't have years of education under his belt as I do."

  "Nor do I, Ralston. Does that make you superior to him? To me?"

  That brought him up short. "You, of course, are a woman. Most women perceive a college education as unnecessary due to their wishes for having a family. I assumed you felt the same."

  She chewed on his words, noting how he'd dodged the real question. Pulling back her shoulders, she said, "I would like a family someday, yes, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't also like an education. Perhaps I'll earn a degree in accountancy, since I would like to take over Papa's store someday."

  He tipped his chin at her and smiled, arched eyebrows quirked in amusement. "Darling, believe me when I say that there will be absolutely no need for you to work after we marry. My financial status will be more than sufficient to meet your every need,"

  "My every need, Ralston? What about my need to stay busy outside of the home? Granted, I want children someday, but until then, I'd love the chance to continue working at the store, perhaps even raising my children to take it over one day."

  "What? That's a preposterous notion, Hannah Grace. Imagine a physician's children running a general store."

  "And what about a physician's wife? What if this is something I desire to do? Do you even know about my hopes and dreams, Ralston?"

  "Shh. You're causing a stir, my dear." Ralston raised his napkin to his chin in a nervous gesture and glanced about the room. "Where is all this coming from?"

  She grasped the table's edge with both hands and leaned forward. "Why do you wish to marry me, Ralston?"

  "What? Well, I thought I'd made that clear enough. We seem well suited, don't you think?" He looked uncomfortable. "I, well, now you've caught me quite off guard, dearest,"

  Dearest? If she were his dearest, shouldn't his reasons for wanting to marry her be right there on the tip of his tongue?

  He reached across the square table and seized her hand, cupping it between his smooth ones and raising it to his soft lips for a gentle kiss. When she might have felt pleasure at his touch, she felt nothing. In fact, a memory she had no business recalling pulled at the edges of her mind; Gabe's hand coming to rest on hers when she was counting the store's petty cash; rough-hewn, strong, and powerful hands, so very different from the doctor's effeminate ones.

  Feigning the need to wipe a smudge from her cheek, she withdrew her hand and took a handkerchief from her clutch purse. A scowl marched across Ralston's face as he heaved an impatient sigh. "Oh, Hannah, you have so many strong points. I-I don't even know where to begin."

  She smiled. "Can you name them? For instance, what first attracted you to me?"

  "Well..." He looked perfectly tongue-tied as he fumbled with the rim of his nearly empty water glass. The notion that he couldn't name even one appealing thing about her created a ball of irritation that tumbled around in her stomach. Her backbone bristled, and, without warning, she remembered the day Gabe had accused her of being stubborn and bristly. Ugh!

  "You can't think of anything?" she asked, her voice rising above a whisper.

  "Hannah, shh-of course, I can. You've many wonderful qualities."

  "Name some."

  "Well," he hemmed. "You're very friendly with othersyes, cordial. You've a big heart and a lovely smile."

  "I do?"

  "You are a wonderful listener and encourager. You never seem to grow weary of listening to my dreams for my practice."

  I don't?

  She bit her tongue and stared at him. "May I ask you something personal, Ralston?"

  He drew back slightly. "Of course. Anything."

  "How old were you when you made a commitment to follow Christ?"

  The question must have thrown him, for his head jerked backward and he gave a nervous chuckle. "Good grief, you're jumping all over the map tonight, aren't you?"

  "If I'm going to marry you, I would like to know more about your personal faith. Surely, you must agree that it plays an important part in a relationship. For me, I was a mere child, perhaps six or seven, when Grandmother sat all three of us girls down and asked us if we wanted to accept Jesus into our hearts. I don't recall a moment's hesitation about inviting Him in. How about you, Ralston?"

  "Well..." He cleared his throat and frowned. "Naturally, I've attended church my entire life. Growing up in the town of Holland, one wasn't worth much if he didn't go to church," He fidgeted with his water glass, stirring the few remaining ice chips with a spoon.

  "Yes, but surely you're aware that just going to church isn't enough. Salvation requires an act of faith, believing Christ died for one's sins, and asking Him to cleanse and renew the inner person."

  A tense jaw betrayed instant displeasure. Gathering a tight breath, he leaned across the table and whispered, "This is not the time, much less the place, for this conversation, sweetheart,"

  "Then when, Ralston?" she asked, trying to contain her own frustration. He opened his mouth to reply, but the waiter arrived, pad in hand. Ralston sighed with blatant relief.

  "Ah, it's time to order, darling. What shall we have tonight? Shall I choose for you? How does the chicken almandine sound to you? Hmm?" He cast her a very brief look before giving the waiter his full attention, "I believe we'll have the chicken almandine, and please, go light on the almonds. Oh, do bring more water. I'm parched."

  He picked up his glass and drained it right there.

  When their food arrived, they ate in silence, Ralston concentrating on cutting his chicken into perfect little pieces, sipping his water between bites, and taking long glances at the door as if he couldn't wait to go through it. Hannah picked at her food and brooded over the fact that she still hadn't come one step closer to learning whether Ralston even had a genuine personal faith.

  It wasn't until they stepped outside and the doctor took her by the arm that he finally spoke. "Forgive me, darling. That was a completely ruined dinner for both of us," He leaned close to nuzzle her ear. "If it's any consolation I've had the chance to mull over several of your wonderful qualities. Would you like to hear them?"

  She couldn't keep her eyes from going as round as tonight's full moon. That was what he'd pondered over during the meal? Her wonderful qualities? What about the question
of his faith? Had he shoved that one aside?

  A weak smile trembled on her lips. "Suddenly, it's not so important, but thank you, anyway."

  He shrugged. "Well, suit yourself, then," They started walking up Third Street in the direction opposite her house.

  She stopped. "I really should go home, Ralston. It's been a very long day for me, working at the store and watching over Jesse."

  She turned and walked the other way, and he ran to catch up, snagging her by the hand. "Oh, that boy. You really shouldn't be spending so much time with him, you know. He's not your responsibility."

  She glanced at the starlit sky and pulled her collar closer with her free hand to keep the strong breezes from biting her exposed skin. "I love that little boy."

  "Love? Hannah, really, he's a waif. What in the world would possess you...?"

  Around the corner, a loud commotion had dogs barking and horses whinnying nervously, drowning out the end of his sentence. Probably some scuffle at one of the saloons, Hannah thought. She shivered against the brisk winds threatening to steal her bonnet. "Clearly, the sheriff isn't getting anywhere in locating his parents," Ralston was saying. "Seems to me he ought to start thinking of a permanent placement for that boy-an orphanage or something. Orphanages can be found in just about every state."

  She could hardly believe her ears. "An orphanage is the last place on earth...! Why, he needs love and care, two things an institution cannot offer. I would think that you, as a physician, would have more compassion, Ralston." She pulled abruptly away from him and started marching toward Ridge Street.

  "Hannah, stop this instant!" he demanded. "I didn't mean..."

  From behind, the approach of horses' hooves bore down on them. "Doc!" someone bellowed, breathless. Instinctively, Hannah whirled in her tracks. "We been lookin' for you." It was Ike Bergmann, owner of the White-n-Bright Laundry, and his teenage son, Ben, reining in their horses, creating a regular dust cloud.

  "What is it, Ike? Is someone sick?"

  "There's been a drowning down at the pier," Walter volunteered. His face was as white as one of Ike's freshly laundered sheets.

  "Oh, no," Hannah heard herself utter. "Heavenly Father, please help that poor soul,"

  "Too late for prayin, ma'am," Ike said. "I'm afraid he's done drowned. The ambulance wagon's bringin' the body up to your office, Doc, so you can pronounce him dead-or whatever it is you do. Pete Kloosterman and Vernon Graham worked on him for some time, but it didn't do any good. Appeared by the look of that fellow, he'd been in the water a while,"

  "Who is it?" Ralston asked, genuine concern in his voice.

  Ike shook his head. "Talk is, he's unidentified."

  "He don't go to ar school, that's for sure," Ben was saying. "There was other kids up there, and nobody recognized him,"

  "But that's awful. He must belong to someone around here. I'll go with you, Ralston," said Hannah.

  "No, you go on home. You don't want to see the body of a drowning victim, I can tell you that,"

  "It's not pleasant, ma'am," Ike echoed. "Believe me, I got a close look,"

  Hannah thought she detected a hint of pride in his voice for having had the experience. She felt her face pull into a painful frown. "Just the same, I'm going with you. Maybe I can help in some way, particularly if the boy's parents show up. Ben, would you mind going to fetch Reverend Cooper?"

  "Don't need to, ma'am. Sheriff Devlin's already sent for him."

  That said, everyone hurriedly headed south on Third Street.

  Gabe wished he didn't have such a procession following him up to the doctor's office. He felt like the grand marshal in the Independence Day parade. He and Jesse had been enjoying a quiet evening-playing checkers and sipping hot cocoa-when Gus van der Voort, one of his deputies, showed up at his door to inform him of the drowning. Naturally, he had to go, but what to do with Jesse? "You'll have to come with me, Jess," he said, spending all of one minute pondering it. He bent down to his level. "Promise me you'll do as I say when we get there."

  Jesse's big brown eyes moved over Gabe's face. "Okay," he said. "But I'll stay by you."

  "That depends, Jess. I won't let you look at anything scary, you hear me? You've had more than enough nightmares. I don't want to be the cause of any new ones cropping up."

  Gus stood by the door, listening to the exchange. Out of the corner of his eye, Gabe saw his weight shift from one boot to the other. "You want me to go saddle up Slate for you?" Gus asked.

  "No, Jess and I'll do that. You ride on ahead; we'll be along shortly. The pier, you say?"

  "Yep, feller must have fallen right off the south side of it 'cause his body drifted up on the south shore. 'Course, he could've been pushed, I s'pose." He gave a glance at Jesse. `A crime scene ain't no good place for a little squirt."

  "The boy comes with me," Gabe said. "I won't have him staying home alone. And let's not call it a crime scene, Gusnot yet."

  Duly reminded of his place, Gus gave a half nod and backed out the door.

  All the way there, Gabe prayed the Lord would intervene where Jesse was concerned. He also prayed for wisdom regarding the drowning victim, asking God to grant him a clear head and an intuitive sense about things-whether it was an accident or a deliberate action.

  Now, heading toward Van Huff's office, Gabe thanked the Lord the boy hadn't seen the washed up, swollen body of the young man stretched out on the shore, ice-cold waves washing over him, seaweed tangled in his mouth and hair, eyes wide and round as cat's eyes. After a sight like that, he'd have had nightmares, for sure.

  As soon as he'd reined in Slate at a hitching post not far from the scene, helped Jesse dismount, and then jumped down himself, he'd spotted Minnie Durham walking her toy poodle. She waved and hurried across the dirt-packed road. "How about I take Jesse up to Marie's for a dish of ice creamjust until you're finished with business here, Sheriff?" she'd suggested, her expression awash with understanding. Jesse clung tight to Gabe's hand, not knowing the elderly woman in the navy blue dress and heavy wool shawl, wide-brimmed hat covering her friendly eyes.

  "Why, that'd be mighty nice, ma'am," Gabe had said, nudging Jesse forward. "I'll stop by Marie's to fetch him when I'm done."

  But Jesse would have none of it, so Gabe excused himself to speak to Jesse privately. "She's safe, Jess," he'd explained, crouched at his side. "Besides, she has a dog, and folks with dogs usually turn out to be real nice people. Trust me, okay?"

  He'd looked half convinced, but then shook his head. "I'll go with you."

  "Sorry, buddy, not this time. I've got important work to do. Mrs. Durham is-"

  "Hi, Jesse! Hi, Sheriff Devlin." The familiar female voice had both of them craning their necks. Maggie Rose Kane and a group of her girlfriends were making their way toward them.

  "Maggie, hello," Gabe said, standing, nodding at the others. God's perfect timing never ceased to amaze him. "I was just trying to convince Jesse here to go with Mrs. Durham to Marie's Ice Cream Parlor."

  "Really? We're on our way there now," Maggie said. "We need a little cheering up, if you know what I mean."

  The remark had Gabe giving the young ladies a closer assessment, and, when he did, he noted tear-streaked faces and knew they had come upon the sordid scene at the pier.

  He nodded his understanding. "I sure do." He wanted to ask them more about what they saw, but not in Jesse's presence.

  Just then, Maggie's face brightened. "How about I take Jesse up to Marie's and then over to my house? You can pick him up later."

  As far as he knew, Jesse had yet to utter more than a few words to Maggie, but he looked relieved to see her, anyway.

  Maggie extended her hand to Jesse. "Come on, handsome, we'll all go together."

  Jesse took her hand, and the entire group, including Mrs. Durham and her poodle, headed for Water Street.

  Now, Gabe's deputies lifted the sheet-covered body from the ambulance wagon and carried it into Ralston Van Huff's examining room, stretching it out on a sterile
table. Ralston pulled back the sheet and examined the young man's head, turning it this way and that, no doubt looking for abrasions.

  "He has a bump here," Ralston said, feeling a spot slightly behind the temple area, concealed by his thick head of hair, now frizzled and matted. Gabe helped hold the body in place so Ralston could inspect the wound more closely. "It's quite a gash, but my guess is he hit a boulder when he went under. Probably knocked him out as soon as he hit it. Bet the kid never even had the wherewithal to gasp for breath-which could be a blessing when you think about it."

  With Gabe's help, Ralston started removing the boy's shirt. He was a skinny thing.

  "I wonder who he is," Gabe mumbled while Ralston continued his examination, starting at the neck and moving downward. One of the deputies was looking pale and excused himself, and that's when Gabe discovered Hannah sitting in a chair in the corner.

  "Hannah, you shouldn't be here," Gabe said, his throat clogged with unexpected feeling.

  "I told her to go home," Ralston mumbled, completely absorbed in his work. Gabe couldn't help but appreciate the doctor's thoroughness, even if his bedside manner was sorely lacking. "Humph," he tacked on.

  Gabe pulled his eyes off Hannah, who was twisting a handkerchief in her hands. "What is it?"

  "Humph," he repeated. "It's a tattoo right here on his left arm. See it?"

  Gabe bent over the body for a closer look. A snakelike figure wove itself around inky blue letters. "Luis M.," he muttered, louder than he intended. A strange sensation, almost like mounting dread, started at his feet and scuttled upward.

  He knew of a Luis M. But it can't be the same one, he told himself. Highly unlikely, in fact. But what if...?

  "Luis M.," Ralston said, as if Gabe hadn't just announced it to the room. "Well, there's a little clue, anyway." He went on with his perusal, seemingly unmoved by the name.

  The rest of the room remained in rapt silence. Standing next to the closed door, Stewart Stuyvesant, a reporter for the Sandy Shores Tribune, held a pencil and tablet in hand, and presently, his hand couldn't seem to write fast enough. Great. How did he get past the door? Gabe wondered.