Visalia, California
We all experience seasons, Sean. They’re not the predictable seasons, such as winter and summer, but the unpredictable seasons that come into our lives. I’m talking about times of loneliness or grief, or seasons of joy and peacefulness. But no matter what the weather in our hearts, Sean, we’ve got to keep our eyes on God.
Why Katie’s words of long ago would come to Sean so strongly at that instant was beyond him. He felt another trickle of sweat run from his temple down into his beard, but still he didn’t move. How he had gotten himself into such a mess, he couldn’t for the moment remember. But then he heard the low whistle—the signal—and there was no more time for thought.
As Sean rushed through the rear doorway of the bank, he nearly stumbled over a body. Stopping dead in his tracks, he felt a sudden jolt as Rico, the man behind, ran into him.
“What are you doing?” Rico sounded as breathless as Sean felt, and Sean turned to find his features in the darkness.
“Nobody said anything about killing.”
“He’s not dead you idiot, now get over here with those sacks!”
These words were ground out by Hartley from his place by the safe, and the two young bank robbers rushed forward to comply. Sean had never heard Hartley sound so tense. Suddenly the enormity of what they were about to do froze Sean in his tracks.
“Get behind something, it’s almost ready to blow.”
These words were enough to propel Sean into action. He dove for cover just as the entire world seemed to explode. The next minutes were a blur to Sean as he choked on the smoke and tried to be in all six of the places he was being commanded.
He froze again when he heard shots outside, and felt completely rattled as a vision of being shot raced through his mind. Still stunned, he watched in fascination as his companions ran out the back, their arms full of sacks hastily stuffed with United States currency.
“Donovan!”
Not even the furious shouting of his name could compel his feet forward; by the time Sean reacted, it was too late. He spun around as men with guns came pouring in the front door. He turned and moved after Hartley and Rico, but he hadn’t gone two steps when another man came through the back door with a gun. Sean listened in stunned disbelief as the men yelled that Sean’s partners had escaped.
Sean felt numb. He was barely aware of the man who laid hands on him until he gave a cruel yank to Sean’s arms. Now painfully alert as his hands were being cuffed behind his back, Sean started as a face suddenly pressed close to his own and snarled in a voice full of hate, “If he’s dead, you’ll hang.”
“He’ll hang either way if I have anything to say about it.”
Sean’s confused mind barely registered this last comment as he was escorted to the door. He was surprised at the number of people on the streets, but then remembered the deafening sound of the explosion and wondered how in the world they had believed they could get away with such a robbery.
The back wall of the jail cell was the only obstacle that kept Sean from hitting the floor as he was pushed violently past the bars. The clanging of the door was like the sound of a death knell in his ears.
Squinting through the gloom of the small cell, Sean saw a cot. He sat down with his hands still tied and leaned slowly back against the wall. If they left his hands tied until morning he was certain to be disgraced as the need to relieve himself was pressing in stronger with every passing moment. That, along with the receding fear, caused Sean’s anger to return. He was working himself into a fine rage, telling himself he was going to kill Hartley as soon as he was released, when he heard voices in the outer room.
“It’s what he deserves I tell you! This waiting is utter foolishness.”
“Yet we will wait for Judge Harrison, and I’m telling you, you’ll have to go past me to get to the prisoner.”
“Be reasonable, Duncan. Why wait two whole days and have the trouble of feeding and watching him?”
There was no reply to that question, and Sean realized that every muscle in his body was as taut as a well-strung bow. He waited in the dark silence, and after a few more minutes he thought he heard people leaving.
He must have been right because his jailer returned to the cell holding a lamp and a shotgun. He was with another man, and this man let himself into the cell to remove Sean’s bonds. Sean was more than a little aware of the way the barrel of the shotgun never wavered from his chest. If he could have spoken, he would have told the men he couldn’t run. His legs would never hold him.
They didn’t speak to Sean or to each other, but before the men left the cell they stared at Sean for a few intense seconds. His fear returned fullscale at having these two men staring at him. Knowing he was completely at their mercy was even more frightening than when the safe blew.
If the light had been better, Sean might have noticed that the older man’s look was regretful, not cruel.
“He’s nothing but a kid.” The deep voice was soft, contemplative.
“How could you tell under all that hair?”
“His eyes. Clear as glass and angry, but scared out of his wits.”
The deputy only nodded, sure that Sheriff Lucas Duncan, “Duncan” to all, was right. He usually was.
“Want me to stay the night?”
“No. I’m restless as it is, but stop and let Lora know that I’m all right and ask her to bring breakfast for two.”
“Right. I’m off.”
An hour passed before Duncan moved again. He’d been deep in thought and knew that his hunch had been right: There would be little if any sleep for him tonight. Had he gone home, he’d have tossed and turned for hours, disturbing Lora.
Duncan pushed away from his desk then, the chair creaking in protest. He had planned to question the boy at daybreak, but if he was as restless as the sheriff, now was as good a time as any.
Duncan was surprised to find his prisoner asleep. He was stretched out on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes. Duncan let his eyes run the length of him. He was big. He covered the cot and then some. It was easy to see why Hartley picked him; his size alone could be intimidating.
But Duncan wasn’t fooled. He guessed him to be somewhere around 20 and as wet behind the ears as they came. And at 54, Duncan had seen more than a few prisoners come and go.
He walked back to his desk, sat down, and propped his feet on the flat surface. After laying his gun across his stomach, he tipped his hat forward and his chair back. He caught about an hour’s sleep before his wife came in with breakfast and a smile.