by Lisa Preston
Closing the distance to the horse, Ben grabbed the boy’s arm.
“No!” Greer’s shriek sent Clipper’s eye wide, the white showing, ears swiveling, and tail wringing. The boy knotted his fingers through the thick mane.
“Sh, shush,” Ben whispered, one hand on the horse’s neck, the other on Greer’s waist, considering the options. Forcibly yank the boy off or not?
Greer whimpered something unintelligible, his face wet, angry, and terrified, lips moving. The fingers of both hands wound tighter into the black mane.
Ben unbuckled his belt, slipped it off, then around the horse’s neck.
“Just sit tight, buddy. We’re going back to the house now.” He started leading the horse at a walk, his right arm under its jaw, palm over its nose, talking softly all the while to beast and boy. Then Clipper froze.
Osten stood there with a halter and lead rope, Ryan on his heels. Ben inclined his head to indicate Ryan should walk beside the boy on the other side of the horse. Osten haltered the horse and turned his back, walking away with the lead rope in hand and aplomb the horse was happy to follow. It took some time to bring them all the way out of the woods and through the pasture, but Ben shook his head at Ryan and Osten near the barn. To the house.
Osten opened the gate and led Clipper through. Ryan shooed the other horses away and relatched the gate. At the house, Osten tied Clipper to the apple tree nearest the front door.
Ben reached up, arms open. Greer shook his head.
“Come on, buddy. We’re going back inside.” Ben didn’t make it an order, just a matter-of-fact statement.
Greer cast a frightful look at the other two men. Ryan looked away. Osten did too, whistling like he was out for an afternoon walk.
At last Ben pulled the boy from the horse’s back and led him inside by the hand.
The deputy sat down first, in the middle of the sofa, looking out the window. Ben caught his eye and nodded at the way the man checked any urge to bull into getting the kid sorted out. Ryan, too, nodded at Ben. What now?
Ben considered this with a sideways look, hesitating as he replayed in his mind what he’d heard. “You said …” he beckoned to Greer.
Silence was not what they wanted, but what they got. A confused little kid rubbed his eyes and blinked, plunked down in a chair by his big brother.
“Clipper,” Greer said, his eyes wide.
Ben smiled at him. He was pretty sure this was the first time Greer had been on a horse since the night he fell off. The night he fell off.
“Clipper’s right outside, buddy. He’s tied up. He’s fine.”
Greer’s fingers gripped the edge of his chair.
Ben watched his brother’s face. “Want some milk?”
“Love some,” Osten called.
Ryan and Nate exchanged another look again, one that Ben acknowledged with an eyebrow. The kid was glass. Ben shot his partner a look, then glanced at Greer, then again at Ryan, thinking: Don’t let him leave.
Ryan nodded.
Ben went into the kitchen, grabbed a stack of glasses and the milk carton. Back at the dining table, he set out four glasses, pouring.
“So, Ryan,” Osten said, his tone conversational. He pointedly didn’t look at Greer as he went on, “You thought Harold Brayton killed his wife?”
“I sure did,” Ryan said, keeping his gaze on the deputy. “But maybe he didn’t kill her. I was concerned for her, that’s why I talked to you. But now I wonder if I was wrong, if maybe he didn’t kill her.”
Greer sat up while Ryan spoke, entranced. He blinked at his big brother. Ben smiled and raised his glass of milk at the boy.
“I’ve been wondering all this time what happened to her,” Osten said.
“She drove away.” Raucous, painful bawling shook Greer’s body. He pushed his chair back and sank to the floor, surrounded by three men. “He was going to.”
“He was going, also?” Osten said. “Where was he going?”
“He didn’t kill her.” The boy’s tone was absolute. “But he was going to.”
“What do you know, little brother?” Ben asked.
“That he was going to kill her.” Greer shot wild, flashing looks that three somber men struggled to comprehend.
Osten asked, “When did this happen?”
“Long time ago,” the boy admitted, miserable. “Start of winter.”
Ben stared at his brother, then at Ryan, whose mouth was open. Nate Osten looked at Greer then away, still not pressuring.
“He’s known all this time. Something,” Ben said.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Ryan puzzled, squinting at the boy with the others, stepping backward to crash onto a dining chair. “How could he know?”
“If he was going to kill her, why didn’t he?” Osten asked the room, not questioning the boy, making it sound like a jaw-stroking muse.
Greer looked at the deputy. “’Cause I stopped him.”
Osten nodded peaceably. “How did you stop him?”
“He had a big revolver in his truck. Not like Papa’s, no trigger guard. I picked up the gun and told him to stop. He was kicking her in the stomach. She was on the ground. I told her to go. She drove away. He told me to put the gun down and I did, and he got really mad and shoved me into—”
A chair scraped as Ben lurched back to his feet. Ryan still stared openmouthed at Greer, then grabbed Ben’s arm when Ben made fists. Ben forced his hands straight and knelt by Greer.
Osten raised a silencing hand. First they had to clear the way for the kid, open the path too-long blocked. “Why didn’t you tell before?”
“He said he’d kill everyone if I told,” the boy whispered and started panting. “He will kill everyone. He will. We’ve got to go. Let’s go—”
“Greer.” Ben snapped his fingers in the boy’s face. “Listen to me. Answer me. Who’s everyone? What did he mean?”
Greer waved his hands around. “Everyone. Momma and Papa and you and Clara and Doug and Emma and Frankie. My whole entire family. I promised not to tell. I swore. I didn’t mean to tell. He’ll kill everybody. He swore. We’ve got to go.” He turned to bolt again but this time Ben grabbed him, fingers seizing the boy’s shirt, stretching it out, pulling him close.
Osten stood and said, “I promise you’re safe and your family is safe.”
“Nobody’s going to hurt us, buddy.” Ben held the kicking, wailing boy so tightly he thought he might hurt him.
“Caroline, it’s Ben. Is my mom there?” Ben stood in the kitchen, his voice low but pressing on the phone. It was just dark outside, early evening. He’d told his folks he’d watch Greer ’til bedtime. They had time off.
“No, I haven’t seen her today. She called last night. Are you all right? You sound—”
“Just listen,” Ben told her. And then he listed what he wanted, pausing for her to murmur that she was keeping up with understanding his requests.
Find Ardy and Bella. Don’t stop looking ’til you have them. Send them home. Call in the cavalry, everybody. Here’s the deal with Greer: he saw a crime last fall, stopped it, set a woman free. Then the man grabbed him, knocked him around, and threatened to kill the whole family if Greer told. So the kid kept his mouth shut.
He heard Caroline breathing hard on the phone. “You’ve called the police?”
“There’s a deputy here right now.”
“They’ve got to find out who did this.”
“A guy named Brayton. Harold Brayton.” Ben turned the phone, stepped around the kitchen trying to get better reception because it suddenly sounded dead. “Hello? Caroline?”
“That’s my boss, Ben.”
The shifts in the world were not over.
“I need to do a short official interview with your little brother,” Osten told him.
Ben hesitated, wondered if he should wait for his parents. I’ve got this, he’d assured them when he told the folks to take some time for themselves.
“I want to be present in the room.”
“Of course. No problem. He can sit on your lap. Just be quiet. Don’t prompt him in any way.”
Ben nodded. “You want anything? Tea? Water?”
It had been hard to offer hospitality when he did not know what the deputy was doing in the house. He wanted to make up for earlier. And he wondered aloud why Greer had managed to tell Deputy Osten what had haunted him all winter. Because he was armed? Because he was outside the family circle?
Osten shrugged. “The little man was afraid.”
They went to the dining table where Ryan waited with Greer. Ben and Ryan sat in silence to allow Osten to record a short interview. Greer was solemn and compliant. After he answered Osten’s questions, Greer mouthed something soundless.
Ben leaned in. “Greer, it’s hard for me to hear what you’re saying. Turn your face to me and say it slowly, okay?”
A whisper came back. “I wish I was a grown-up, a man.”
“Buddy, I think you are going to grow up to be the finest man I’ll ever know. The bravest and kindest. It comes from you being one of the very best people I have ever met in my life. You carry all that promise inside you already.”
“You sure do,” Ryan said, tousling Greer’s hair.
“Mmm,” Osten grunted. “Ben, this brother of yours is going to be one hell of a good man.”
If the cop was just going along, Ben thought, he was doing a damn good job of it. He kept his grip on Greer while Osten whistled his way outside, using the portable radio, then a cell phone, plunking down in his SUV.
Ben opened the front door for Caroline and Malcolm. The house was filling, more than a half-dozen people milled about.
“My,” Malcolm said.
“Yes, well,” Caroline said. “When the Donners come in …”
“… the room fills,” Ben finished.
They were plotting at the table, in the kitchen, in the great room, in the hallway, talking on top of each other. Ben and Ryan. Bella and Ardy and his mother, who called for heads on a platter. Doug and Maddie, who said that Clara and Wes were on their way. And now Caroline and Malcolm. Ben’s rendition of the events didn’t do enough to achieve clarity. They all needed to hear it again and again, asking questions. But plain English hardly portrayed the inconceivable.
Caroline’s hands shook and tears formed as she heard the details. “I can’t believe it. I’m going to vomit. I was here with Maddie when that child came home that night.”
Ben leaned down and wrapped both arms around her. “You and Malcolm, you measure up.”
She managed a smile. “You and Ryan, too.”
Pink paisley crossed the porch in front of the front window, then Emma walked in the door. “What’s going on? Why’s Clipper tied up outside?”
Bella gave Emma a meaningful look and flicked her gaze to Greer. Emma cocked her head.
“I tied him up,” Osten said, leaving the crowd. “I’ll put him back with you, fill you in. These good folk can get their joking done.”
When Greer followed Emma outside, Bella and Ardy started to reach for the boy, but Ben put a hand on each parent. “It’s all right. Let him put the horse away.”
Osten followed Greer but turned at the door and spoke in a low tone. “At this point, there isn’t enough to charge Brayton with a misdemeanor assault. I need corroboration. I’m going to see Brayton, and I’ll be back. Can you all stay put and not stir things up for an hour?”
Kill him, string him up, pummel him. Ben grinned as the family talked it up one side and down the other that afternoon, right in front of Greer. The deputy had promised the boy safety over and over. Talks always got muddled.
Ryan pulled Ben aside. “I was a dick about Greer. I really didn’t think much about his behavior, his stress over … since that night he got lost.”
“We all missed it.”
“I still feel like a dick.”
Ben laughed and hugged him. Then Clara was calling on his cell, saying she was ten minutes out.
“As soon as she gets here, can we go string this guy up?” Emma wanted to know.
“Sure,” Ryan soothed, shooting a glance at his partner. “We’ll go kill him.”
Caroline said that Clara had been spitting mad on the phone when Caroline called her, incredulous that someone held a threat over Greer’s head, and they’d all been ignorant of the boy’s problem.
Emma brought food and more food in from her car and helped her mom pull more from the kitchen to feed the horde.
“These are great, Em.” Ben raised a handful of her cookies in salute and brought some to the sofa. “Hey Greer, you okay?”
Greer nodded but admitted in Ben’s ear, “I was so scared.”
“You’re safe,” Ben said. “We’re all safe.”
The boy climbed onto the armrest, drawn to the many conversations. Some of his big brothers and sisters looked uncomfortable that he should hear their discussion, but Greer seemed to revel in them talking about it, in the comfort and relief of them knowing. Ben shook his head at the thought of his little brother’s hard-fought effort to keep it together. He didn’t want to leave the boy’s side. Someone sat by him every moment, holding his hand, an arm over his thin shoulders, some connection. They would not lose the connection. Every one of them quelled his fears about Harold Brayton coming to the house to enact his threat.
Emma stood by the sofa to hug and hold Greer.
“You’re getting so big,” Maddie told him, swooping in on her little brother-in-law’s other side, kissing the top of his head. She put a hand on her belly and arched her back to stick her stomach out. “Look, I’m showing. And you are going to be the most terrific uncle.”
Clara burst in the door, Wes at her side, and made vivid descriptions of running Harold Brayton through a wood chipper. She said she could rent one in town. Wes nodded his agreement, as there wasn’t much else a married-into-the-Donners man could say.
Ben’s cell vibrated again. When he hung up, he thrilled his parents with, “Frankie’s coming home, soon as he can.”
“Really?” Bella asked, delighted.
“I mean, temp, for Greer,” he explained. No permanent Frankie-at-home, but bless that he’d come in for the baby of the family. Of course he would.
“Oh, yes.” Bella nodded.
Ardy was trying to get a head count. “Who’s picking Frankie up?”
Clara was fuming now. “Oh, he’ll get himself here. If he doesn’t go straight to that Brayton fellow first and beat the crap out of him.”
Ben shook his head. “Beat up isn’t enough. He threatened Greer, roughed him up, held this over his head all these months. And for what? Because he’s a bully and a wife beater to boot?” He burned, thinking about Brayton accosting his little brother.
Ardy wondered aloud how, really how, to keep them all safe. The man threatened his child, was going to murder a woman, threatened the whole family. He nodded grimly. “I want to know where he lives, what his car looks like. I want to be able to keep my eyes open.”
“Maybe we should call the office,” Clara said to Wes, who nodded agreement. “Get a legal opinion from one of the criminal lawyers on this.”
Caroline thought Brayton might not stay in town. “I’d like to kill him with my bare hands,” she said. Her every muscle tensed as she stewed. “How dare he? How dare anyone even conceive of harming that boy, of harming any child? And that woman who left Greer, whoever she is, I’d like to kill her, too.”
Ben saw her obsession with the woman build as bits of the story were parceled out, and he chuckled at how she’d learned to love the Donners’ rough talk. Love it.
Malcolm looked at his bride and didn’t say a word. Those Donners, they had an effect on people.
“What do you think, Mr. D—Ardy?” Ryan asked. “Haven’t you hated what you don’t understand?”
“Then I learned to understand.”
Bella made soothing noises. Clara was on the phone, saying a restraining order would help.
Emma said in a reasonable
tone, “I guess it’s not ours to judge.”
Ben helped himself to some tapenade and crackers she plated. “This is quite a spread, Em. Thanks.”
Greer asked the room full of family, “What’s going to happen?”
Ben felt a wry smile tug on the corners of his mouth. It was the “going to” that counted. Brayton was going to kill his wife. Going to mattered. It mattered almost as much as actually doing something. Greer was going to keep the secret forever to protect his family. He was going to be good, so good, for so long. Nobody could be that good forever. It was exhausting.
“Let’s wait and see what the police say, buddy.”
Emma looked beyond the window. “Oh, he looks better in plainclothes, doesn’t he? But he looks good like that.”
Ben turned as she opened the door and let the now-uniformed deputy inside.
“So, a couple of developments,” Osten told them. “Look, we’re talking about misdemeanor assaults here.”
“But he was carrying a gun during a domestic violence assault,” Clara said.
Osten shook his head. “Brayton didn’t pull a gun. Greer did.”
The boy stepped forward and asked, “Am I in trouble?”
“Not a chance,” Doug said. “Not at all. Not while I’m around.”
Osten gave a grim smile. “Look, the prosecutor will try for jail time, but the crimes were months back. Whether it goes in front of a jury or a judge, a time lapse tends to diminish sentencing. Brayton has no record either. First time offender, clean nose. He’ll be released O.R. and—”
“O.R.?” they asked.
“On recognizance. He’ll be released on his own recognizance. That’s after charging, before a trial. And then at sentencing, which is after he’s found guilty, he’ll get mostly a suspended sentence, a token few days, and sent to an anger management class.”
“If that man gets some kind of deal, gets a plea bargain …” Bella fretted. “Besides, who can watch out twenty-four hours a day, every day?”
“He grabbed Greer,” Ryan said. “Threw him around, roughed him up.”
Osten nodded. “You’re describing an assault. The boy’s clear. He gives a consistent statement. But there has to be some kind of corroborating evidence, and we’re too far past things for physical evidence like scuff marks at the scene or marks on Greer. The only possible corroboration would be a matching statement. And of course, the only other person who was there denies what Greer says.”
