Chapter Twenty-Seven

“I love Mickelle. I want her to take care of me until I go back to heaven with my own mommy.”

The words kept replaying in Bryan’s head. Did that mean Belle was going to die? He thought it did. She must have sensed her time was short.

His mind rebelled. She was so bright and happy, and she loved him better than even her real brother, Tanner, who teased her constantly, and Jeremy who most times acted younger than she did. Bryan loved her, too. He loved the way she asked his advice, the way she always thought to include him, and the way her cheeks dimpled when she smiled. She was the best little sister he could ever imagine. Oh, sure, she got on his nerves, but not nearly as much as Jeremy, and she was so cute it was hard not to love her anyway.

Now she would be gone. Gone. Just like his dad.

Everyone had disappeared somewhere, and Bryan was alone in the family room. He hated being alone, though he couldn’t share his feelings with them. He felt too exposed, too betrayed. He wandered from the room, hoping to find his mother and feel her comfort.

He heard her in the study, speaking in a low voice with Damon. What was she saying? Something about hope. Had Damon given up hope? Was Belle even worse off than he had been told? Was she perhaps already dead?

“I love Mickelle. I want her to take care of me until I go back to heaven with my own mommy.”

No! She couldn’t to heaven. He wouldn’t let her. God couldn’t take her.

God had taken his dad.

No, Dad made his own choice.

He knew there was a difference, though it mostly felt the same to him.

Someone was coming from the darkened room, and Bryan shrank into the shadows, glad it had grown dark enough for him to hide. He watched his mother disappear into the entryway, heard her going up the stairs—probably to the room she would soon share with Damon.

The bitterness didn’t come to choke him as it usually did. Bryan knew Damon was suffering, but it didn’t make him happy. Belle was not something to use against Damon. Never.

A mumbling took him by surprise. He recognized Damon’s voice, and edged closer to the partially open study door, more for the contact of another human than to eavesdrop.

Damon was praying for Belle, and the words made the tears return to Bryan’s eyes. The prayer left Belle decidedly in the Lord’s hands, but Bryan wasn’t sure that was the best place for her. Couldn’t Damon just demand that God return Belle to them?

No, that wasn’t how it worked.

But Bryan couldn’t do the same thing. He couldn’t say “Thy will be done.” He could only repeat in his head, “Please don’t let her die. Please don’t let her die.”

Damon continued his prayer, talking about Jennie Anne. The words he said aloud were short, but then he was silent for such a long time that Bryan thought he must still be praying. Or maybe he’d fallen asleep.

Suddenly, he was surprised to hear Damon speaking his name, or at least the shortened version Damon always used—Bry. Praying for him! But there was nothing wrong with him—why would Damon waste his breath? He waited to see if Damon would pray for Jeremy and Tanner, too, but he didn’t.

So why had Damon lumped him with Belle who was dying and with Jennie Anne who was missing?

Sobs came from the room then, loud, raucous sobs that bit into Bryan’s heart. He felt compelled to enter the room. Almost immediately Damon became aware of his presence. His sobbing ceased.

“She’s going to die, isn’t she?” Bryan said.

Damon rubbed his hands over his face. “She may. But that doesn’t mean we give up hope. It’s in the Lord’s hands now.”

Bryan said nothing for a moment as his eyes further adjusted to the room that was even darker than the hall. Damon was still on his knees. Bryan reached out a hand and clasped Damon’s shoulder as his grandfather had done earlier. It was a manly thing to do, but Damon starting crying again. Bryan lifted his other hand and found his own face wet.

Damon stood and reached out to him, and Bryan let himself be pulled into a bear hug, reveling in the comfort, but not returning the hug. Bryan’s silent tears became sobs. “I don’t want her to die. Please don’t let her die.”

“Will you pray with me, Bry?”

Bryan nodded and felt regret when Damon pulled away. He kept hold of Bryan’s hand, though, which felt awkward and wonderful all at once. They knelt on the carpet and bowed their heads.

My father never prayed with me, Bryan thought with bitterness.

First Damon thanked the Lord for his blessings, from Bryan’s mother to Mrs. Mertz, the housekeeper. He was thankful for things Bryan had never thought about, like the sunset and the rain. Then he prayed with feeling about Belle and Jennie Anne, as though he had not already done so a few minutes earlier.

When Damon finished, he said, “It’s your turn.”

Bryan hadn’t expected that. He even resented it a little because it was God’s fault that Belle was hurt, wasn’t it? And that Jennie Anne was missing. Belatedly, Bryan felt a deep sadness for Jennie Anne. He didn’t know her well; he’d never really tried. But he liked her. I wish I’d played with her more. I wish I’d been nicer to her.

So he prayed, asking for Jennie Anne to come home and for Belle to get better. In his heart he promised the Lord he would change. He would never hurt anyone again.

“Thank you, Bry.” Damon’s voice was rough. He hugged him again, and this time Bryan hugged him back. It felt warm and good and right. He wanted to say he was sorry for how he acted but the words that came out were, “Did you really mean it when you thanked God for everything? Aren’t you mad at Him?”

Damon didn’t answer right away, as though he was really considering the question. Bryan knew from experience that Damon wouldn’t answer lightly about something so serious, but all the same he was reassured to see Damon thinking about his response.

“God doesn’t cause accidents, Bry. He allows them to happen. Maybe sometimes it’s because we’re not being faithful, but mostly it’s because we need the experience. We need to learn and grow. The Lord tests those He loves. Never forget that. But also never forget that He will be right there with you, that He will help you through.” Damon made a sound which vaguely resembled a wry chuckle. “I forgot that today. I almost gave up. But your mother helped me remember. Now I know that no matter what happens with Belle at the hospital, the Lord loves us and He will make it right if we turn to Him with our whole hearts. He will take our burdens, if we let Him.”

That sounded good to Bryan, and miraculously, his heart did feel lighter, though that might also be because of Damon himself, and the way they were talking. As though they were father and son. As though there was nothing wrong with Bryan at all. My father was wrong, he thought. I’m not stupid or dumb or lazy.

“There’s something else,” Damon continued. “You and I may not always agree, but I will always be here for you. I’ll do my best to be fair.”

“I know.” Suddenly Bryan did know.

Damon climbed to his feet. “I need to get back to Belle.”

Bryan’s anxiety returned, though not as heavily as before. “I want to go with you.” He ducked his head slightly, half expecting a negative answer, but after a moment, Damon nodded.

“I’d be glad to have you come. Thank you.”

A wonderful warmth entered Bryan’s heart. He smiled through his tears.

* * *

In the end, everyone returned to the hospital except Jeremy, who was still sleeping with Grandma and Grandpa close by. Bryan couldn’t wait to see Belle, to talk to her. On the drive over, his mother called the police station for news about Jennie Anne.

“They’ve located the farm, they think,” she relayed. “They’re studying their options. They don’t want to endanger Jennie Anne.” She hesitated before adding, “Apparently, her uncle has a history of beating people up, including a few officers. They don’t want . . . well, they’re trying to do what’s best for Jennie Anne. If she’s still there. He might have moved her.”

Bryan felt nervous as they arrived in the ICU waiting room. Everyone in sight seemed to be in a somber mood. He wondered if that was because the patients in this wing were so close to death.

They couldn’t all visit Belle. In fact, visitors were still limited to Damon and Mickelle, or to Aunt Brionney if they had to leave. Bryan was upset that he wouldn’t be able to see Belle, but Damon talked to somebody, and Bryan and Tanner were given permission to go in one at a time with a parent. Tanner and Damon went first, and when they came out, Bryan and Mickelle went inside.

After kissing Belle and telling her how much she loved her, his mother waited near the door, giving Bryan a chance to talk to Belle. She seemed to know he wanted privacy.

Belle looked tiny in the big bed. Her round cheeks were no longer rosy, but pasty white except for two red fever spots, and the position of her limbs was stiff and contrived. Her normally curly hair limply framed her delicate face, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Oxygen hissed from a tube in her nose as an IV solution dripped into her arm. He wished she would open her eyes so he could know she was still inside.

He leaned down close to her. “Belle,” he whispered. “It’s Bryan. I know I haven’t been to see you before, but they wouldn’t let me in yesterday, and then Grandma took us back to the house. But your dad let me come see you now. He made them let me in even though I’m not really your brother. And, well, I wish I was your brother. That’s what I wanted to tell you. I thought you would be glad to know that I made up with your dad. I really did. We prayed for you. So now you need to come back because . . . because . . . well, I just need you to come back. We all do. I promise I won’t say mean things about your dad anymore. Or Tanner. We’ll be a family like you wanted. I’ll even tell Mom that it was mostly me who ripped up her roses. Of course, I might tease you a bit so the others won’t think I’m playing favorites, but you’ll always be my favorite. Please don’t leave us. Your mom can wait a lot longer to have you with her, ’cause time is different in heaven, you know. Earth life is like a blink of an eye there. Or something.”

He straightened, wanting to say more, but not able to think of anything in particular. Instead, he kissed her cheek as his mother had done, wishing Belle would wake up and smile. He studied her for a minute before backing away from the bed. Tears again were slipping from his eyes, despite his efforts to hold them back. “Goodbye, Belle.”

His mother put her arm around him and led him out the door. Bryan felt her love suffuse him, and for a minute the pain of maybe losing Belle lessened. “Mom,” he said, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’ve been so angry. I don’t know why.” He paused. “Sometimes I hate Dad.”

She blinked in surprise. “I didn’t know you felt that way. I used to feel that way a lot. But . . . Bryan, maybe we ought to go back to the counselor we saw after your dad died. I think maybe it might help us both. Would you come with me?”

“He was cool. I’d go.” Bryan felt a big relief that his mom didn’t think it wrong for him to hate his dad. He hadn’t known she had felt the same way.

“Mom, there’s something else.”

“What?”

“Uh, Colton, he gave me this.” Bryan pulled a fifty-dollar bill from his pocket.

“He gave you . . . When?”

“That day you came to Aunt Brionney’s to talk to me. He told me if I’d be nice to you, he’d give me this money, and more when I needed it. But I don’t want his money anymore. Not after what he did.”

She looked aghast. “He paid you to be nice?”

“Yeah. I feel really bad about it. I did then too, but I guess I didn’t care ’cause I wanted the money. I don’t now.” The bill seemed to burn his hand, like a lie in his heart. “What should I do?”

“You could donate it to the hospital. I bet they have a system set up to help needy people pay their bills. How does that sound?”

He sighed with relief. “Good.”

Maybe at least some things would work out after all.

* * *

Jennie Anne was glad when Troy put more wood on the fire. She was cold and her shoulder ached terribly whenever she moved, sending shoots of pain throughout her entire arm. Her stomach was also growling. The hamburger the beautiful man had given her was long gone. She didn’t know if Troy had more food and was afraid to ask.

For the most part, Troy had ignored her, but as time passed and the beautiful man didn’t return, he began to talk aloud to himself, and sometimes to her, though he never required her to say anything in return.

“Dumb fancy boy probably got himself caught. He better not spill the beans on me, or I’ll have his pretty face cut up big-time. I ain’t going back to the slammer. No way! That spineless little jellyfish. Got him an education so he thinks he can order me around. Just wait till he gets back here. I don’t need him to pick up the money. Like to see his expression when he finds out he ain’t going anywhere. I’ll tie him up, that’s what. Cops’ll have a heyday.” He laughed and continued his diatribe.

Jennie Anne quit listening after a while. He was nothing but contemptible, according to the school counselor. Contemptible. Though she wasn’t sure what the word meant, she really liked the way it sounded on her tongue. She practiced it under her breath. Concentrating on it helped her keep her thoughts away from the pain.

She wondered where Belle was and what she was doing. Did she get away? When Troy grabbed them, Jennie Anne had gone stiff and silent with fear. Not brave Belle. She had hollered and kicked until she got free. After seeing her success, Jennie Anne tried to follow her, but Troy had dragged her and thrown her inside the van. Her shoulder had given a loud pop, and pain had enveloped her.

She thought she’d glimpsed Mickelle’s face, but wasn’t sure if it really happened, and if so, when she had appeared in the sequence of events. Everything was hazy through pain, except the word contemptible.

Contemptible.

Was the beautiful man coming back? She wished he would because he had looked at her with those nice blue eyes, and when he smiled, that marvelous happy-looking dimple had appeared. But if he did return, Troy might hurt him, and she wouldn’t want that, even if he had driven the car that brought her to this freezing place. He’d still been nice. Before he left, he’d promised it would soon be over.

Or had she imagined that part?

Did he mean it would soon be over because Damon would pay the ransom, or had he meant something else? His blue eyes had almost seemed like they held a secret, especially the way they had darted to Troy and then away.

Jennie Anne turned her other side to the fire so it could get warm. If she kept turning she wasn’t too cold. She wished she had a coat, but she’d left it inside the school. Her legs were especially cold because the skirt she wore was silky and didn’t seem to do much to warm her.

She accidentally bumped her left arm on the raised hearth and gasped at the pain rippling through her shoulder—like a hundred sharp needles.

“Hurts you, does it?” Troy suddenly loomed over her. “Serves you right, brat. You should’ve done what I said.”

He backed away, and she breathed easier. “Your mother was always that way. Had to do things her own way. We told her to get rid of you, but she wouldn’t. Said she loved you.” He snorted. “That love got her really far, didn’t it? She still got pneumonia and died.” He laughed gleefully. “Of course if it wasn’t for my dear old cousin, I wouldn’t have all this nice money coming to me. Ha! Dear smart, snooty old cousin did good for me in the end.”

He started to pace again and worry aloud about the ransom and the “fancy boy.” He was like a wound top, ready to spin out of control.

Jennie Anne realized then that the beautiful man wasn’t coming back. Maybe he’d gotten the money already, or maybe he’d skipped town. Either way, that meant Jennie Anne would pay. Troy would probably kill her, or at best leave her here to starve to death. Or freeze.

Tears stung her eyes. She thought of the castle room she shared with Belle, and the identical one Damon had promised to build for her very own. She thought of the piggyback rides he gave her, of Mickelle’s hugs, and Tanner’s teasing. When she got to Jeremy and Belle, the tears slipped out and down her cheeks.

I have to get away.

There was only herself to depend on. She tried to get to her feet, but the pain in her shoulder blinded her.

What now?

Slumping next to the brick hearth, she contemplated her options. She could pray. According to Belle, who had once prayed for a mother and a horse—one of which she was getting and the other of which was promised—you could get anything you wanted by praying.

So Jennie Anne shut her eyes and prayed. She had listened to Belle and the others enough to know how and had practiced in private, though she’d never said a prayer aloud when people could hear. Occasionally during her prayer she opened one eye, just to be sure where Troy was, and that he wasn’t watching her. After she had prayed for what seemed like a long time, he added another log to the fire, muttered something about taking a pee, and left the room.

Jennie Anne remembered something she’d learned in school, a fable that told how Hercules, the Greek god of strength, once advised a wagoner that he should try to get his wagon out of the mud first before asking for help. Was this the answer to her prayer? Was she supposed to help herself? What good then was God?

Of course, Troy had gone to the bathroom, which she knew was out of order from her own short visits earlier when the pretty man had been here. The last time it had stunk pretty bad. Had God sent Troy there so she could escape?

She arose. The pain in her shoulder jumped to life—sharp instead of the continuous dull ache—but this time she wasn’t blinded by the pain.

Maybe God is helping me.

She kept moving, slowly and silently through the front room to the long kitchen, as though she were playing a hiding game with Jeremy and Belle. Her breath sounded loud in her ears and she tried to hold it. What little light there was came from several lanterns Troy had lit in the house. There was unidentifiable debris on the ground; she stepped around it. At last she reached the back door, smiled grimly when she saw that the knob was missing. She had only to put her finger in the hole and pull.

It was harder than she thought because opening the door with her right hand meant taking the support from her left arm. A whimper of pain escaped her lips before she clamped them tight and tried to swallow the sound.

The hinges creaked. Had Troy heard? She shivered as she thought about what he would do to her, and the fear almost froze her feet as the pain had not.

Keep going. She forced herself to continue.

Outside, the cold made her shudder. The stars beamed so brilliantly overhead, it wasn’t hard for her to believe that they were faraway suns. She kept walking. Surrounding the farm, she saw nothing but long empty fields. There were no neighboring lights, not a single glow to give her hope. She might freeze before she found another house.

Or Troy would find her.

Disappointment flooded her body. God hadn’t helped! She had tried, but He hadn’t done anything!

Choking back sobs, she took a step toward the house. Her teeth chattered with the cold. Could she get back before Troy found out she was gone? If not, what excuse could she use?

Tears obscured her vision.

She ran into something soft. A person! Excruciating, piercing pain from her shoulder once again washed over her. A bright light shone in her eyes.

A voice came through the pain. “Stupid brat!”

Troy had found her.

She shut her eyes and gave herself to the pain, grateful when the dark took away her consciousness.