Hannah Grace

by MacLaren Sharlene

  A lost boy needs to know someone values him.

  As if he'd been knocked alongside the head, Gabe got it. Sometimes actions weren't enough. Words. Jesse needed words.

  Gabe swallowed a hard knot of emotion and raised up on his elbow.

  "You're a fine boy, you know that?"

  'm nothin' special," Jesse mumbled into the sheets. 'An' I'm gettin' dumb, too, 'cause I been missin' so much school."

  "What? You're smart as a whip. Missing a little school isn't going to hurt you any," Gabe quickly countered. "I don't know many boys who can read like you. Shoot, I think you're better at it than me."

  Jesse pondered that one. "Did your ma teach you?"

  "To read, you mean? No, I think I learned that in school. How'bout you? Did your mama teach you?"

  A blanket of silence fell over them, save for the clock ticking on the bedside stand. Jesse pulled his covers up tight around his chin. "I guess. Ma read to me every night until she..."

  "What, Jess? Until she what?"

  "Died."

  If someone had hit him square in the face with a brick, he would not have been more stunned than he was right now. Bit by bit, the wall of secrecy Jesse had built around himself had started crumbling. Lord, I need to tread softly here.

  "I'm sorry to hear that, bud. You must have been very sad."

  Jesse nodded in the shadows. He pulled out his soldier and looked at it. "Pa died, too," This he said with chilling matter-of-factness.

  "Were they-in some sort of accident?"

  Jesse shook his head. "My pa was, but not my ma. Pa fell off a horse and hit his head, I guess. I don't remember him very good, 'cause I was just little when he, you know, got kilt. My ma got put in a hospital back in-hmm, I don't know when, but it was startin' to get warm outside. She couldn't breathe good."

  Pneumonia, maybe? "You mean last spring?"

  "Yeah, springtime."

  "So, you were on your own since then?"

  No answer, just a slow up and down nod as he handled his special toy soldier.

  "Where did you and your ma live-before she got sick?"

  "New York,"

  "New Y-Jess, how did you wind up in Michigan?"

  Silence like a black cloud draped them again. Was he pushing too hard? God, I don't want to blow it. Feeling his pulse thud hard in his gut, Gabe fought to keep his voice at an even keel. He touched a finger to the boy's forehead and rubbed lightly. "I care about you, Jess. Very much. You know you can trust me, right?"

  Jesse turned his head and looked at Gabe in the shadows, studying, processing. At last, another slow nod. "Yeah,"

  He breathed a sigh. "Then, tell me how you got here."

  In the moments that followed, Jesse loosed a slew of words, more than Gabe had dreamed possible-everything from what the crowded little mission was like that he and his ma had lived in, to the city school he'd attended, to the way his mother had looked as she lay dying. Little by little, he got to the part about how he'd come to arrive in Michigan, but the details wound up sketchy, at best. Gabe guessed he'd blocked out a good share of it, and who could blame him? What kid wants to recall nothing but bad memories? The best he could tell, he'd arrived at some children's facility after the death of his mother, lived there for a time, and then left on an orphan train to join a family in the Middle West. That would explain the tag Hannah had found sewn into his shirt. But after that, the story fell apart. What had happened to prevent his moving in with this new family? Had he simply balked at the whole idea and jumped off the train at some remote station? Somehow, the McCurdy gang played into the scenario, but in what way?

  "You think you can tell me how you happened to wind up in Holland, you know, the place where you crawled onto the back of my wagon?"

  In the shadows, Gabe detected a growing frown. "I thinkI jumped on the back of a train or somethin'. I did that a lot. I don't know. Its hard to remember it all."

  "I know, I know, but..." He swallowed hard and prayed for just the right words. "You saw something, Jess, something that scared you plenty. Do you think-now that you know you're safe with me-do you think you could tell me what you saw?"

  The boy sucked up most of the air in the twelve-by-twelve bedroom, then slowly let it back out. "I-don't like guns."

  It seemed a random thing to say, but it held a great deal of meaning. Gabe whistled through his teeth, "Boy, I know what you mean. I don't either."

  Jesse jerked his head in Gabe's direction. "How come you wear one, then?"

  "Well, it goes with my job, buddy. People see me wearing it, and they know they have to tow the line. It represents justice, and it gives them a sense of security knowing I'm watching over them. Guns are dangerous, yes, but they can serve a good purpose. In some ways, they help to keep a place peaceful. I don't like having to wear one, but I wouldn't want to be caught in a bad situation without it."

  "'Cause you might have to kill somebody?" Jesse asked.

  The words slammed against Gabe with intense power. He'd managed to block out the worst of the memory of that day he'd confronted Smiley Joe Hamilton, but every so often, it came back with force. It did so now.

  "Only when absolutely necessary, such as in cases of selfdefense or if I believe another's life is in grave danger. Usually a cop aims to injure, not kill." He believed the best approach with Jesse was the straightforward one.

  "Did you ever have to kill any bad guys?"

  "Once." He swallowed down a bitter taste. `And I didn't like it. I hope I never have to do it again."

  Jesse thought on that while he played with his toy soldier, tipping it at different angles in the moon's shadows. It took great self-discipline on Gabe's part not to prod him into talking, knowing it best to let him move at his own pace.

  "Sometimes soldiers have to kill if it's for a good cause,"

  "Well, yes, that's very true,"

  "Like in the Civil War. Ma said my grandpap had to fight in that war. He was on the South's side, but his side didn't win. Ma says he died of drinkin' too much after the war ended. He probably had to kill somebody, huh?"

  "It's possible."

  Still propped on his elbow, Gabe watched the boy with interest, shocked by his sudden impulse to talk.

  "It's a sin to kill people just 'cause you want to, but it's not a sin if you're a cop or a soldier, and y' have to do it,"

  "See, I told you that you were smart,"

  The ticking clock and Dusty's low-throated snores filled up the next minute or so.

  Outside, a dog barked, the wind rustled the dead leaves around, and someone on a late-night journey galloped past the house, the horse's hooves pounding on the pebbled street.

  Jesse took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Those people what wanted to adopt me was murdered by bad guys," he said with surprising calm. Gabe's heart pounded out of control. "I know, 'cause I saw 'em do it,"

  "Jesse."

  "I watched through the window. There was four of'em, an old guy and three younger ones. The old guy, that one I saw in the newspaper, he shot 'em both. I didn't really want to live with them two people, but I didn't want to see 'em get shot, neither."

  "Of course you didn't," Gabe answered in a breathy murmur.

  "They met me at the train station in South Bend where that agent lady left me, and they were pretty nice." Gabe listened with heart-stopping intentness, praying God would give him the right choice of words when it came time to speak. "They took me to their house. It was way far out from the town, and there was a barn with two horses, and some cows and pigs." He grew quiet, contemplative. The clock ticked, and Gabe stopped breathing. "But I only stayed there two nights," he continued. "'Cause they got, you know, shot dead. I never saw blood before that day. My ma didn't bleed when she died, but that one lady in South Bend had blood comin' out o' her nose an' ears. I didn't like it. I didn't like it at all,"

  Erratic shivers ran through Jesse's body, so much so that the blanket covering them started quivering.

  "Oh, Jesse, I'm so sorry
you had to witness that," He brushed his hand over the lad's forehead and found it damp with perspiration.

  "That one guy saw me and started yellin'. That's when I runned like there was no end t' the day. I mean I runned even faster than a train, I think. And I think-I think-I'm still runnin:"

  Gabe's heart pooled like a melting block of ice in July. "No, buddy, you're not running. Not now, and not ever again. You're with me, and nothing is going to happen to you, do you hear me? Nothing." Without forethought, he took the small-framed boy into his arms, pulled him close to his chest, and felt the tremors travel clear to his heels. Squeezing shut his burning eyes to hold their moistness at bay, he rested his chin on Jesse's matted head of hair and rubbed his bony shoulders.

  All at once, as if a river's dam had broken loose, its powerful waters surging the banks, Jesse started sobbing, deep-throated sobs that spilled and spewed, wracking his body, making him go limp from exhaustion.

  "It's okay, Jesse," Gabe crooned. "You've been holding in that river for too long. Time to let it out."

  A loud, hiccupping sigh tumbled out of Jesse, followed by several minutes' worth of earth-shaking wails, some so pitifully dismal Gabe thought his own heart would split in two.

  There is was-finally. The truth. And, oh, how it did pain a soul to come out after hiding for so long. And yet how absolutely freeing.

  He clutched Jesse so tight he feared he might be cutting off his air supply, but then another pathetic, high-pitched howl pushed out, and he knew his oxygen intake was adequate. Dusty got up from the floor to investigate, sticking his wet nose in Gabe's back and then padding around to Jesse's side of the bed. When it looked like things were under control, the mutt turned several circles and plopped back down again, this time next to Jesse. Gabe raised a hand to dab at his own watery eyes. Shoot! He couldn't remember the last time he'd shed tears, unless it was when his grandfather went to be with the Lord five years ago.

  An eternity seemed to pass before the crying spell wound down, and, when it did, a hundred wracking sighs followed on top of each other, each one ending on a hiccup.

  Gabe loosened his hold, and Jesse settled into his shoulder, his nightshirt drenched with sweat that moistened Gabe's bare chest.

  "I love you, Jess, you know that?" The effortless words drifted out like a song. `And so does God. He's had His eyes on you since the day you were born, and when your mama died, He decided to send you to me, even if you did take the long way to get here." He grinned over the boy's head.

  Jesse sniffed. "My ma tol' me God would take care of me."

  "And she was right."

  He sniffed again, this time hard and loud. Then he dragged the blanket up to his face and blew his nose.

  Gabe groaned. "Oh, Jess, did you have to do that? I got a whole slew of handkerchiefs in my top drawer."

  Jesse giggled-a giggle wrapped up in relief and unspoken joy. Gabe sucked in a lungful of air and chuckled himself.

  Seconds passed. "Are you g-gonna be my pa?"

  The question lunged out at Gabe like a snake from a closet. Here he was, inexperienced in every way concerning parenting, but wanting the label of father more than he could imagine. "I'd like to be, Jesse, if you wouldn't mind,"

  "Wouldn't we need a ma, too? Like maybe Hannah?"

  The snake lunged again. "I'd have to wrench her out of Dr. Van Huff's grasp first,"

  From under the blanket came the little wooden soldier. Jesse studied it in the moonlight. "I think she likes you better."

  "Really? What makes you say so?"

  "'Cause she's always lookin' out the window waitin' for you to come. And then she says, `Here comes Gabe,' all excitedlike, and runs to the mirror to fix her hair,"

  Gabe pulled his arm out from under Jesse and positioned himself on his side again, propping himself up on his elbow. "So, you think that's a good sign, then?"

  Jesse turned his head toward Gabe, then gave him a light bop on the arm with his toy soldier. "You better learn about women."

  The statement caught him like an uppercut on the chin and made him laugh.

  Later, after their banter had died down, Jesse slept soundly beside him, breaths light and peaceful. Gabe lay in a bed of mixed emotions. On the one hand, it gave him great joy to watch Jesse's wall of secrecy collapse in a heap, to be the one to assure him of his safety. On the other, knowing Rufus McCurdy's presence in the town threatened everyone's wellbeing, especially that of Jesse and Hannah, placed a huge burden of responsibility on his shoulders, filling him with a sense of dread and inadequacy.

  "God, I'm going to need Your divine intervention here," he prayed, having slipped out of the sheets to kneel beside the bed in a spirit of humility. "Without You, I'm no good. In fact, I'm nothing. But with You, I can do all things. I'm leaning on Your promises, God, depending on You to give me the strength, courage, and wisdom I so need to keep this town safe.

  "And thanks, Lord, for making a way for Jesse, for breaking down those barriers in his young life, giving him the freedom to trust me.

  "Now, if You could just provide a way for Hannah and me...

  "Son, be of good cheer," came the words of Matthew 9:2. Then, the command from Hebrews 10:35 to "cast not away therefore your confidence, which bath great recompense of reward." Gabe had read these words that very morning, followed by Hebrews 11:6: "Without faith it is impossible to please him: for he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him."

  As for strength for the day, the Lord seemed to say, did you not just say you are nothing apart from Me? Therefore, lean unto Me, for My strength is made perfect in your weakness. Trust Me, My son. Trust Me.

  Comforted, Gabe returned to his bed and slept like a rock.

  Despite November's biting chill, every pew in Sandy Shores Church held Sunday morning worshippers with hardly a space in between. The morning singing had been lively, Mrs. Overmyer's organ music especially skillful, and the portly Reverend Cooper's sermon timely, if not inspiring. Hannah held her Bible open to the primary passage of the morning's message, Psalm 37:1-4, silently rereading it and committing portions to memory, even as the pastor delivered his final few thoughts. "Fret not thyself because of evildoers, neither be thou envious against the workers of iniquity. For they shall soon be cut down like the grass....Trust in the LORD, and do good....Delight thyself also in the LORD; and he shallgive thee the desires of thine heart."

  Over and over, distinct phrases seemed to lift themselves from the feathery pages and wash over her like fountains of mercy, as if each word held special significance for this particular time in her life. She continued to read Psalm 37: "Commit thy way unto the LORD.-Rest In the LORD....Fret not.-For yet a little while, and the wicked shall not be.-The wicked plotteth against the just....but the LORD upholdeth the righteous....He is their strength in the time of trouble....He shall deliver them from the wicked, and save them, because they trust in him."

  What it all meant, she couldn't say for certain, but somewhere in the depths of her soul, she sensed the need to cling to these truths from God's Word.

  Not for the first time, her eyes traveled to the back of Gabe's blond head, spanning his broad-shouldered frame, his strong arm resting on the back of the pew, and his large hand cupping Jesse's narrow shoulder. He was sitting just a row ahead of her and across the aisle, his eyes trained on the preacher. The pair nestled close, looking suspiciously like father and son. Her heart warmed to near melting. As usual, Ralston sat next to her, and, every so often, she glanced up at him, as well. Whereas Gabe seemed focused on the minister's message, Ralston looked distracted, even bored. He fidgeted throughout the service, probably thinking about his patients and his beloved medical practice, tapping his fingers on his knee, crossing and uncrossing his legs, seeming impatient for the service to reach its conclusion. With chagrin, Hannah realized this was nothing new for him. If she were to marry him, would he even persist in attending church with her?

  Her eyes were drawn on
ce more to her Bible, where she returned to Psalm 37:4: "Delight thyself also in the LORD; and he shallgive thee the desires of thine heart." This time, the words fairly popped out at her, prompting her to pray silently, Lord, I long to delight myself in You. Please help me to focus on learning Your perfect will for my life.

  Ralston reached over and took her hand without warning, bringing it to his lap and clasping it between his smooth palms. The tiniest frown etched across her face, and she had to make a conscious effort to erase it. He'd held her hand on other occasions and she hadn't minded, but now she had the strongest urge to yank it away.

  Her eyes traced another path to Gabe. As if he sensed her gaze, he turned his head, and, just like that, their eyes locked. Suddenly, her hand in Ralston's made her feel selfconscious, for she remembered the kisses she and Gabe shared the day before, ones that rocked her to the soles of her feet. Masterful manipulator! Gracious, had she really called him that? Thinking back, she could blame only herself.

  Dragging her eyes to the pulpit, she tried her best to digest the reverend's words, but they sank into oblivion as she worried in secret. Perhaps she did find Gabriel Devlin irresistible.

  In which case, to be fair, she must quickly find a way to end matters with Ralston.

  Sneaking another peek at Gabe, she was surprised to find he had angled his body just so, putting her in perfect view. His sapphire gaze held her captive for several seconds until he reared back his head a few inches and lowered his eyes to Ralston's lap, delivering her a most disapproving frown.

  Mortified, she snatched her hand away and started fumbling for a handkerchief in her little brown clutch purse.