A Killing Frost

by Hannah Alexander

  “So am I. It would have been hard to stay in River Dance today, waiting for a phone call, wondering about the results of the chest X-ray.”

  Fran gave the barest shake of her head. “You know I’d have called you first thing.”

  “So now there’s one less phone call you’ll have to make.”

  They rode in silence a few more moments, and Jama relaxed enough to admire the dazzling light of the morning sun illuminating the pale green of new spring foliage, the white blossoms of dogwoods and the magenta of redbud trees. How many times over the past fifteen years had she longed to leave the classroom or the hospital and drive to the river, perhaps park at a Katy Trail lot and just walk for miles, maybe rent a bike and ride until she was far from everything and everyone?

  Of course, it was impossible to run or bike far enough.

  Fran rested her hand on Jama’s arm. “Other than this morning’s events, how do you feel about being back in town?”

  Here it came. “I haven’t had time to decide.”

  “You had time to think about it before coming.”

  Jama flexed her hands on the steering wheel. “Why think about it? I had no choice. I couldn’t pay back the loan, not with all my other outstanding school debts.” Sometimes she felt as if she’d never get out from under. She had to admit to herself that Tyrell had done the right thing for her.

  “You didn’t want to come?”

  Jama hesitated.

  “You have a home and a life in River Dance, if you’ll accept it, Jama. You’ve succeeded, just the way you and Amy dreamed you both would. That’s in spite of the odds against you, which weren’t your making.”

  “I can’t blame anyone else for my behavior in high school, the drinking, running away from home, experimenting with drugs, vandalizing the school.”

  “You did not vandalize the school,” Fran chided, conveniently ignoring the other self-recriminations that were right on target. “You simply climbed a tree with branches that were too slender to hold your weight. I don’t think breaking tree branches on school grounds constitutes vandalism.”

  “The principal did, and it’s on my school records.” Besides, Jama had been drunk at the time.

  “Nobody pays any attention to those records.”

  “Except for scholarship boards.”

  For a moment, Fran was quiet. Jama searched her mind for another topic to redirect this mother-daughter talk.

  Tyrell, the stereotypical, high-achieving elder son, had earned a full scholarship to Columbia. He had been confident and strong from the cradle, it seemed, and yet he possessed a serene humility that drew people to him like birds to the Vignoles grapes on the Mercer Ranch hillside. He’d been the only Mercer sibling who’d already left for college when Jama came to live with the family, and though he’d always been affectionate with his kid sister’s best friend, Jama had never felt sisterly toward him.

  Daniel, the second son, had sown his wild oats for about six months his junior year of high school, gotten it out of his system, and qualified for a scholarship, as well.

  Heather and Renee, the twins, had surprised everyone. Inseparable through high school, they had pursued decidedly different careers. Heather and her husband, Mark Streeter, were both in the cardiothoracic surgery residency program in Kansas City. Renee, homeschooling mother of four, had completed two years of college, then pursued her lifelong dream of being a wife and mother with a large family. She even mothered Heather and Mark’s daughter, Doriann, while they worked their long hours at the hospital. Renee was a natural nurturer.

  “Your kids have always been so encouraged to succeed,” Jama said. “You and Monty helped them follow their dreams. What a difference that makes in a kid’s life.”

  “We’re so glad that Tyrell chose to follow in his father’s footsteps,” Fran said.

  “He always loved the ranch. The rest of us chafed at the chores, but he really loved the work.”

  “Yes, he did, but one reason Tyrell decided to return to River Dance and take over the ranch was because he knew you’d be here,” Fran said.

  Jama glanced at Fran, then braced herself. Here it came again. “He told you that?”

  “Didn’t have to. I’m his mother. Besides, he isn’t a hard man to read. I think you’ve probably developed that skill, as well.”

  “There’s no way he would have quit his job at the university extension center just because I’d be here. We talked about it, and he wanted to come back, anyway. He loves the ranch.”

  “He’s always loved the ranch, but can you tell me why else his arrival back home would coincide with the arrival of a certain young, beautiful doctor?”

  Jama couldn’t answer that. She hadn’t asked him to come back.

  “So things might become a little awkward now,” Fran said with a slight lift in her voice. It was a gentle question.

  “Nope.”

  From the corner of her eye, Jama could see Fran watching her.

  “Not just a little?” Fran asked.

  “Not at all. We’re both adults, and we know how to handle ourselves with maturity and grace. Or at least, Tyrell does.”

  “You’re not going to give up information easily, are you?” Fran asked. “What’s going on between you two?”

  “At this moment, we’re both focused on Monty.”

  “Jama.”

  “Nothing awkward, we’re both just concerned about something more important.”

  “You know what I mean. What happened between you two that Tyrell won’t talk about to anyone?”

  “Tyrell proposed, I didn’t accept. End of story.”

  There was a brief silence, then Fran said, “I find that hard to believe, sweetie. That it’s the end of the story, I mean.”

  “It’s true. It’s difficult to talk about, and I know it hurt Tyrell as much as it hurt me.”

  “Are you telling me the crush you’ve had on him all these years didn’t evolve?” Fran asked.

  Jama suppressed a sigh. Growing up, Jama never could conceal her feelings, and certainly not from Amy and Fran. “It’s me, Fran. It isn’t Tyrell’s fault that I’m not ready for the commitment of marriage.”

  “For goodness’ sake, you’re thirty-two, my dear. When will you be ready?”

  “Some people never are. I may be one of those people.”

  The silence swelled inside the car as Fran waited for further explanation. None came.

  “Oh, honey,” Fran said with a sigh. “If you’re afraid of marriage because of your poor mother, then you can rest assured that you aren’t going to do what she did.”

  Jama cast her a brief glance. “How can you know that?”

  “Why, look at you. You’re the age she was when she left, and you’ve had the strength to make a success of your life. You’re steady and dependable. I know you still have regrets, but don’t we all? You’ve got to look forward to the life waiting for you, not backward.”

  “Dad never told me much about Mom’s departure. He only said that she was sick and not able to be the mother I needed.”

  “I remember the day Amy brought you home with her after school.”

  Jama nodded. The memories of that time were branded on her mind, too. Everything in her life had changed in one afternoon when she was seven.

  For years, she’d had nightmares about arriving home that day to find all the doors locked. She’d shouted and screamed and pounded to get in. Then she’d caught sight of her mother’s face in the window, just watching her. Cold and remote. Later, Jama had heard her mother tell her father that she didn’t want to be a mother anymore.

  Amy had found Jama that day outside the house. Jama remembered walking beside Amy down the long lane to the Mercer home. She remembered seeing later in Amy’s bedroom mirror that smudges of dirt and tears had been streaked across her face.

  How was a second-grader supposed to understand the dark world of the adult mind? Jama understood mental illness now, but she still wondered about her role in creating her mothe
r’s sadness, and she still felt the pain of abandonment.

  Fran touched Jama’s shoulder. “My dear, something tells me this chapter in your life isn’t quite over yet. Give it some time. And thought. And give it a lot of prayer. Whatever is standing in your way with Tyrell affects your entire future.”

  Jama swallowed hard.

  “And when you look forward,” Fran said, “I suspect you’ll see Tyrell as an important part of it.”

  Jama grimaced.

  “Okay, sorry, honey. This is a conversation you should be having with him, not his mother. I cannot imagine a better match than the two of you.”

  Jama could easily imagine just such a thing.

  Chapter Nine

  Tyrell paused in the threshold of his father’s cubicle in the E.R. at St. Mary’s Hospital in Missouri’s state capital. It was a busy place. Medical dramas were taking place around him in every direction. Despite the federal regulations about patient privacy, there was no way every word spoken in this department could be kept private.

  Monty Mercer opened his eyes and looked up, motioning for Tyrell to come closer.

  Tyrell stepped to his father’s bedside, willing away the anxiety in his stomach. He didn’t attempt a smile. His father would see through it.

  Dad remained awake, but it appeared to take an effort. “Glad you made it. D’you bring your mom?”

  “Jama’s bringing her.”

  Dad nodded and closed his eyes. “Then maybe you two can work things out while she’s here.”

  “Dad, we need to focus on getting you better right now.”

  “Something’s up with her.”

  “She’s not talking to me about anything,” Tyrell said.

  “Then you need to help her start talking. If you’re wanting to become her husband, you’d better find out how to get her to open up.”

  “I guess it’s a good thing I majored in agriculture instead of psychology.”

  Dad nodded his agreement.

  “I’ve given her every opportunity-”

  “She turned you down, right?”

  Tyrell nodded.

  “Did she say why?”

  “She said she wasn’t ready for marriage.”

  For a moment, Dad was so quiet that Tyrell thought he had fallen asleep again.

  “You remember that young pup Doriann found in the ditch, half-dead, three or four years ago?” Dad asked at last.

  “Humphrey?”

  “He turned out to be the best hunting hound I ever had, even if he does run off on his own rabbit trails every so often.”

  Tyrell waited. Sometimes his father had a roundabout way of getting to his point, but he usually had one.

  “You remember the shape that pup was in when Doriann first brought him home? Couple of broken ribs, blood all matted in his fur, and he was afraid of everything, even the barnyard kittens.”

  “I doubt Jama would appreciate being compared to a stray dog.”

  “I’m too sick to joke right now.”

  “Sorry. Look, I know Jama had a hard childhood. I was there, remember? I want to be there for her now.”

  Dad winced, reached for a tube in his arm, adjusted it.

  Tyrell placed a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Now is not the time for this discussion.”

  Dad ignored him. “That dog never did completely get over whatever happened to him as a pup. Any time somebody shouts or raises a hand suddenly, poor Humphrey cowers as if he thinks he’ll be hurt again. That’s how Jama’s been acting.”

  Tyrell thought about that. His Dad was usually very perceptive. So why hadn’t Tyrell seen this wariness in Jama for himself? As close as he and Jama had grown over the past few months, and with so much shared history-

  “Sometimes, I guess a fella can have trouble seeing through the haze of all those romantic feelings to a festering problem,” Dad said.

  “Maybe, but-”

  “Especially when that fella might be struggling with the same problem.”

  “You’re talking about Amy’s death? How can that be connected to Jama’s childhood traumas?”

  “It’s a resurrection of everything bad, son. Help her through it. That’s what a man does for his woman. Give her time.”

  “That’s what I’m doing.”

  “But don’t just go all silent on her. Draw her out.”

  “Okay, Dad, I’ll twist her arm and beat it out of her. Now, you relax and I’ll go talk to the doctor.”

  Dad glared up at him.

  “Sorry. I’m not going to bully her about anything today. She’s got her mind on one thing, and that’s your health. That’s my focus, too. So you need to come through this and prove her diagnosis correct. Now will you let me talk to the doctor about-”

  “One more thing,” Dad said. “There’s supposed to be a freeze tonight.”

  “I know. I’ll see to it as soon as you come through this surgery.”

  “Nothing you can do to help the surgeon except pray, and you can do that at home on the ranch.”

  “Think I don’t know my job? What you didn’t teach me, the university did.”

  Monty closed his eyes and moaned.

  Tyrell leaned over him, alarmed, until he saw the very faint lines of a smile around his father’s eyes.

  “Dad, the ranch will not be ruined by the time you get back home. I promise I won’t make any changes without your permission.”

  “Those shoots are fragile right now. You can’t cover the vines or they’ll break off.”

  “Dad-”

  “And I don’t know that burning hundreds of dollars worth of hay will even make a difference.”

  “We can place the bales along the road at the bottom of the hill. The heat will rise.”

  “Not evenly.”

  “Dad, if you meant what you said about wanting me to manage the ranch, now’s the time to prove it.”

  To Tyrell’s relief, his father finally gave a faint nod and released a quiet sigh. “Just remember, though,” Monty said, “if this heart problem doesn’t get better, it’ll be your decisions from now on that make or break the future of our ranch.”

  “Don’t write yourself off yet, Dad. It’s going to be okay.” He trusted Jama’s instincts.

  Clancy’s angry voice filled the air with ugly words about the people in the world who didn’t deserve to live. Doriann knew she was imagining the smell of his bad breath from twenty feet away.

  She also knew that her prayers were being answered, because anybody else would’ve seen her in her hiding place.

  Thank You, Jesus. She had lain trapped, waiting for Clancy and Deb to move for what seemed like forever, and her right leg was cramping so badly she was about to cry.

  When she could stand it no longer, she shifted. Brush rustled. Dirt crumbled beneath her left knee. She peered across to see if Clancy and Deb had heard. Apparently, Clancy’s voice had masked the sound.

  Doriann tried to straighten her leg a little more, and more dirt fell.

  Deb turned to walk in the other direction. Clancy followed.

  Doriann remembered to breathe.

  The ground sank a little more beneath her left knee, and she felt her right knee sink, too. She heard the scattering of pebbles far below, and felt herself sliding.

  She grabbed at the base of the bush that barely camouflaged her. It rustled.

  “What was that?” Clancy growled.

  Both of them stopped and turned, but Deb pointed up into the trees. “Squirrels.”

  Doriann’s eyes squeezed shut as the dirt kept crumbling beneath her. She could let go of the bush and fall into the river and freeze to death, or she could be killed by the beasts nearby.

  “Look at the great blue heron,” Deb said. “It just took off.”

  The Missouri River was Doriann’s friend. She let go of the bush and braced herself.

  The ground stopped crumbling. Clancy told Deb how stupid she was for bird-watching. Then he blamed her for letting “Dori” get away.

  T
hank You, God. Now He was answering prayers Doriann wasn’t even praying.

  “No runny-nosed brat’s gonna outsmart me,” Clancy said.

  Doriann pressed her lips together. Want to bet? A slug could outsmart you.

  “We need to find a hiding place,” Deb said. There was a pleading note in her voice. “You may be macho man, but I’m fading.”

  “You told me you knew how to cook a batch.” His voice was getting harsher with every word. Aunt Renee said that would happen when someone was tweeking. Needing a fix. Craving a jolt, unable to think straight, and totally stupid.

  “Only if I have something to cook!” Deb snapped. “The stuff for that’s in St. Louis, and we’re a long stretch from there, with no ride. I’m headed for that barn. You can stay here and argue with yourself.”

  “I’m going to get that kid.”

  “She’s gone!” Deb shouted. “Look around you. See anything moving? You can come if you want, or you can get lost in the woods and be rescued by the FBI.” She turned and plunged back into the brush in the direction they’d come.

  For a moment, Clancy stood watching her leave. He said a few ugly words under his breath, stuffed his hands in the back pockets of his ratty jeans and glared at the ground.

  Doriann watched him. His shoulders gradually slumped. He took his hands from his pockets and crossed them over his chest, still watching Deb walk away. He looked up into the trees, as if he thought something might jump down on him.

  Doriann heard a thump nearby, and she nearly cried out. But Clancy didn’t hear it. He was rushing after Deb along an overgrown path through the woods.

  There was another thud, and again the sound of scattering pebbles. It wasn’t the twig-snapping buffalo tramp of Clancy’s or Deb’s footsteps. What she heard was behind…

  She leaned on her left elbow and turned to look back to where the river flowed. It wasn’t until she felt the dirt disappear from beneath her right leg that she realized what was happening, and then it was too late.

  This time the ledge crumbled.

  Her mouth opened to scream, and she gulped it back, choked as the dirt beneath both legs gave way, then fell from beneath her belly, then she tumbled down with a slide of rocks, dirt and mud.