Will turned his truck around, careful not to slide into the snow-driven ditches, and followed Daniel along County Road J that led to Dr. Nevara’s vet clinic, which was on the western outskirts of Broken Branch.
If it hadn’t been for Daniel, Will would have missed the black tires and chrome wheels of the car, flipped upside down in the ditch, nearly completely drifted over with snow.
The two men clambered from their vehicles, the ground knee-deep with snow in some areas and bare in others. Together, using their hands, they pushed the snow away from the driver’s side window of the upended car, in hopes of seeing inside. When they finally cleared an area big enough to see, Daniel pressed his face against the window, trying to shield the glare of the snow. “There’s a man inside,” Daniel confirmed, reaching for his cell phone. “He’s not moving.”
As Daniel tried to raise help, Will peered inside the car. The man was upside down, held in place by his seat belt. Blood dripped from his nose and one of his legs was dangling at an odd angle. Will tried to still his own labored breathing so he could focus on the man’s chest, hoping to determine if he was breathing. After a moment, he could discern the faint rise and fall of the man’s chest. He was alive.
“They want to know if he’s breathing,” Daniel shouted above the groan of the wind.
“He’s breathing,” Will confirmed. “He’s unconscious and looks like he has a broken leg.”
“They’ll be here as quickly as they can,” Daniel said once he disconnected. “They’re sending a wrecker from town and an ambulance from Conway. Do you recognize him?”
“No,” Will answered. “But it’s hard to tell. He’s in pretty bad shape. I hope they get here in time.”
Chapter 74:
Augie
I see Beth disappear into the classroom and I try to imagine what it would feel like believing that your father could love you so much he would resort to kidnapping a classroom full of kids. Then I have another thought, one that leaves my stomach feeling sickish. Maybe it’s because Beth’s dad hates her mother so much. Maybe this was his way of getting back at her. Would he shoot his own daughters out of hate for his wife? You hear about that on television sometimes, the woman who smothers her six-year-old for being sassy or drowns her eight-month-old in the bathtub, or the dad who shoots his entire family and sets the house on fire.
My knees feel weak at the thought and for the first time all day I’m really scared. The kind of scared that begins as a knot in your chest and gets bigger and bigger until that’s all there is and there is no room left for air. The same kind of scared I felt the day of the fire. It’s the scared that comes from knowing how badly and how easily we can hurt another person.
I know that there is no way I can go into that classroom. I was stupid to think I could actually get P.J. out of there all by myself. The man with the gun probably wouldn’t let us leave, anyway. What would I say? “Excuse me, but it’s getting close to supper time and I need to get my little brother home.” He would probably laugh and tell me to sit down and shut up. Maybe even shoot me.
I figure the best way to help P.J. and everyone else in the classroom is to just sit down outside the door and wait and listen. Maybe I’ll hear something that could help the police. I tiptoe along the hall and crouch down in the little area beneath the drinking fountain, which is right next to P.J.’s classroom. I lean against the cold wall and pull my knees up to my chin and try to make myself as small as possible. Hopefully the man doesn’t get thirsty and come out and find me sitting here.
Chapter 75:
Mrs. Oliver
It’s not the pounding, throbbing pain in her jaw that awakened Mrs. Oliver, though that certainly had a rousing quality. It was the children and their welfare, as it always was, that brought Mrs. Oliver out of the miasma of semiconsciousness and forced her to pull herself up from the ground and into an empty desk. The man was most definitely losing control—the way he grabbed Natalie Cragg’s sister, the way he had struck her with the gun—Mrs. Oliver couldn’t leave the students alone with him. She was vaguely aware of a wet warmth trickling along her check and down the length of her neck. She tentatively touched the side of her face and wasn’t surprised to find that when she pulled her fingers away they were coated with blood. “I’m okay,” she tried to tell the children, but her jaw seemed unhinged somehow and all that tumbled from her mouth was an optimistic sounding but garbled jumble. She looked around for something with which to wipe her fingers, sticky with blood, and settled dejectedly upon her denim jumper. Through the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut, Mrs. Oliver found that her students, along with Beth Cragg, were all staring at her in alarm and she gave them a lopsided smile and a thumbs-up. The man looked at her with a mix of irritation and admiration. He must have thought she was no longer any threat to him, because he left her where she sat and pressed his phone to his ear. Mrs. Oliver concentrated on staying upright and her abruptly ended phone conversation with Cal. He would most assuredly contact the police with what he heard. Any moment now they would burst through the classroom door, or a bullet sent by a trained sniper expressly for the man would shatter the window and pierce his forehead.
She would be transported to the hospital, but not until all the students were safely reunited with their families. Cal would be there to meet her. He would lean low over the hospital bed and smile down upon her and tell her that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Just as he had done so many years earlier after she had given birth. With one hand Cal held her swollen fingers and in the nook of his other arm was George’s baby.
To her surprise, Mrs. Ford encouraged the brief courtship between Evelyn and Cal. “Evelyn,” she said shortly after the disastrous dinner when Evelyn had retreated to her room, “you know there’s nothing wrong with being happy.”
“What do you mean?” Evelyn asked.
“George would want you to be happy.” Mrs. Ford’s chin trembled with emotion. “He would want someone who is a good and kind man to help raise his child.”
Evelyn rotated her head from side to side trying to shake the thought away. It seemed too cruel, too soon. “Now, Evelyn,” Mrs. Ford gently chided her. “It’s obvious to see that Cal Oliver is crazy about you. You are young and you have a lifetime in front of you.”
“But I still love George,” Evelyn said in a small wounded voice.
“Of course you do,” Mrs. Ford said, wrapping an arm around her daughter-in-law. “And you always will. That’s the wonderful thing about the human heart, there’s room enough for all kinds of love.”
Evelyn couldn’t answer, couldn’t explain how she still felt devoted to George but how an electrical spark of joy would course through her veins at the sight of Cal.
“Promise me one thing, Evelyn,” Mrs. Ford asked gently. Evelyn nodded and sniffed. “Please tell the baby all about George. Tell him…or her,” Mrs. Ford amended, “that his father was a sweet boy who loved numbers and Coca-Cola. That he was smart and a little bit silly. That he died in a faraway place because it was the right thing to do.” Evelyn could feel the top of her head become damp with Mrs. Ford’s tears and she clutched more tightly to the older woman’s hands.
“I will tell him,” Evelyn said, because she was sure that the child she was carrying was a boy. “I will tell him and you will, too.”
Evelyn and Cal were married just a few weeks after she gave birth to Georgiana Elizabeth Ford. She was surprised when the doctor had told her she had given birth to a healthy baby girl, but that was quickly replaced with a deep-seated gratitude. Amazing, really, how this tiny pink-faced being came into this world less than a year after her father left it. What a gift, Evelyn kept saying to her
self. And as if reading her mind, Cal looked down at both of them and then upward. “I’ll take good care of them,” he whispered. “I promise.”
Chapter 76:
Meg
“Dammit, Meg,” the chief spits into the phone. “What the hell have you been up to?”
I know I need to speak fast, keep it short and to the point. “I had reason to believe that Ray Cragg could have been the intruder in the school. I went to investigate and found him on the floor with a gunshot to the face.” I stroke Twinkie’s flank while I wait for Chief McKinney’s reaction.
“So Ray Cragg is really dead?” the chief asks softly.
“Yes, an apparent suicide. Ray’s father, Theodore, was injured by his son. An ambulance just took him away.” Twinkie looks up at me with mournful brown eyes. Ray Cragg lost everything—his wife, his children, his life—but his dog still loved him.
Chief McKinney sighs heavily. “This day just keeps getting better and better. Did the sheriff’s deputy arrive to relieve you yet?”
“Yes, he’s there. He said you wanted me back at the school ASAP.”
“Yes, head on back over here as quickly as you can, but drive safely.”
I hesitate before continuing. “Chief, have you heard anything on the scanner about my ex-husband?”
I am met with silence. Not a good sign. “We’ll talk when you get back here,” he finally says.
“Chief, you can’t think—”
“Just come on back to the school, Meg,” he says wearily.
Chapter 77:
Will
Will tried to stay outside next to the flipped car in case the man trapped inside awoke, but the cold drove him back to his own vehicle. He sent Daniel on his way, so he could get the distressed cow to the vet before she gave birth. In the scheme of the world, in this day, the life of one cow and her calves didn’t matter much, not in comparison to the lives of his grandchildren and daughter-in-law.
Will decided to take a moment to call Marlys. He had promised to call her every hour with updates, but with the fiasco at the Cragg farm he was late.
“Any news?” Marlys asked by way of greeting.
“Nothing new at the school,” Will answered, and turned the heater in the truck down so he could better hear his wife.
“But…” Marlys began.
“Ray Cragg committed suicide.”
“No!” Marlys exclaimed. “Those poor children.”
“Yeah, now I’m sitting on County Road B waiting for a wrecker to help someone who flipped his car.” Will pressed his fingers to his temple. He felt the beginnings of a monstrous headache.
“I’m sorry,” Marlys said soothingly.
“Well, I’m in a much better state than Ray and this guy in the Ford.” Will tried to lighten his voice. Marlys already had so much to fret about, he didn’t need to add to her worries. “How’s Holly doing? Does she know anything about what’s going on?”
“No, but I don’t like keeping this from her,” Marlys said ferociously. “Holly’s made a lot of mistakes, but she’s a good mother to Augie and P.J. and loves them more than anything.”
“Maybe we should tell her, then,” Will said pensively. “You want me to talk to her?”
Marlys was quiet for a moment. “Let’s wait a bit longer. She is so looking forward to seeing the kids tomorrow. I don’t want to ruin that for her. For goodness’ sake, Will, how much can one person go through? It’s just got to be okay,” Marlys finished with determination.
“Okay, we’ll wait,” Will assured her. “Just keep her away from the TV, I’d hate for her to hear about it that way. Listen, I gotta go. I see the wrecker and the ambulance. I’ll call you back in a little while.”
“I love you, Will.” Marlys’s voice trembled with emotion and Will wanted nothing more than to pull his wife into his arms and tell her it was going to be okay.
“Love you, too,” was all he could manage. Bracing himself against the cold, Will stepped outside and waved his arms, flagging down the wrecker and the ambulance.
Chapter 78:
Holly
Most days I absolutely hate my physical therapist, Gina. She lets me whine and moan all I want, but she doesn’t let me get by with any excuses. If I tell her I’m tired, she tells me too bad. If I say I’m in too much pain, she tells me to suck it up. Today, when I tell her I have an infection, she says, “What’s that have to do with the price of eggs?”
I can’t help laughing. “That’s exactly what my dad always said when I was growing up.”
“Smart man,” Gina says, tapping her head.
My dad was, is, one of the smartest men I ever met, not that I’d ever tell him that. He was so practical, though, that it drove me crazy. He could never just do something for the fun of it. There was always a bull to buy, a calf to be born, a crop to be harvested, a piece of machinery to be fixed. I remember once, when I was fifteen, my boyfriend at the time and I snuck out into one of the sheds. After fooling around for a while, we decided that it would be fun to take my father’s brand-new John Deere tractor for a little ride. The thing didn’t go any faster than five miles per hour, but he completely had a conniption.
“It’s not like we even hurt the thing,” I remember protesting after he caught us and grounded me for two weeks.
“What’s that have to do with the price of eggs?” he had shot back, just like he always did.
“Get some rest,” Gina finally says when she realizes that she isn’t going to get anything more out of me during this physical therapy session. “We’ll hit it hard again tomorrow. You want to be good and strong when those kids of yours get here.”
I smile at the thought. “I can’t wait,” I tell her. “It seems like forever since I’ve seen them.” I wonder if my father had ever been so anxious to see me, wonder if he is looking forward to seeing me tomorrow. I know I didn’t make things easy for him, I know I was oversensitive and overcritical when it came to my father. But how does a kid compete with a cow? If once, just once, my father would have said, “Holly, won’t you please come home? I miss you.” I would have been on the next plane back to Broken Branch. But he never did. That’s the difference between the two of us. When it comes to my kids, I know what’s important.
Chapter 79:
Mrs. Oliver
Mrs. Oliver’s tongue felt dry, thick and swollen, like a sock had been shoved into her mouth. The man was pacing methodically in the front of the classroom, frequently checking his cell phone and growing increasingly agitated with each passing minute.
Mrs. Oliver knew that this whole episode would need to come to an end soon. If it didn’t, someone, maybe many, would be dead, and she couldn’t fathom the thought that it could be a child. She rapped soundly on the top of the desk with her knuckles and the gunman looked irritably toward her. “What?” he asked impatiently.
Mrs. Oliver tried to form the words she knew she needed to say. Her mouth still didn’t work correctly. Her jaw was obviously broken, maybe shattered. She made a writing motion with her hand and the man nodded. Carefully she lifted the lid of the desk and quickly scanned the contents of the messy desk: textbooks, a pair of scissors, broken crayons, pencils, notebooks. As she retrieved a pencil and a notebook she pulled the scissors more closely to the desk’s opening. The man watched her warily as she closed the desk and opened the notebook to a clean page. She concentrated on keeping her hand steady and in her normally tidy script Mrs. Oliver wrote shakily, “I will stay. It’s time to let the children go now.”
The man stared at the words for a long time but finally gave one short nod. Mrs. Oliver breathed deeply and sighed in relief, wincing at the stab of pain as the stream of cool air crossed over her broken teeth.
Chapter 80:
Meg
It’s nearing six o’clock,
already it’s getting dark and sunset will arrive in just over an hour. Beyond the police tape, despite the weather, two news vans are parked, puffs of exhaust cloud the air. “Keep your head down,” I tell Twinkie, who snuffles softly in response. A few reporters of indiscriminate genders are bundled up in large parkas with fur-trimmed hoods, and are facing shivering cameramen and speaking into microphones. Their attention turns briefly to me as I drive by, but seeing that I’m just a lowly Broken Branch public servant they quickly forget about me.
The sentries, a pair of police officers from a neighboring department, wave me into the school parking lot and I pull up as close as I can to the RV that has become the makeshift command center. I remove my coat and tuck it around Twinkie, hoping that her fur and my jacket will keep her warm and content.
The frozen air and brisk wind instantly sweep away any body heat I’ve conserved and by the time I burst into the RV without knocking, I’m shaking with cold. Chief McKinney, Aaron and a man I don’t recognize look up at me when I enter. The chief’s face is grim and I ready myself to get a tongue lashing for the way I went off to the Cragg farm without following protocol.
“Sit down, Meg,” he says gently.
I look first to the chief, then Aaron and finally to the unknown man. None of them can look me in the eye.
Chapter 81:
Augie
Even though my hiding place beneath the drinking fountain is uncomfortable and my neck is twisted at an awkward angle, I somehow keep zoning out. Not sleeping, but I feel strange, numb. Every once in a while I hear a loud noise from P.J.’s classroom and I am startled awake and bang my head on the drinking fountain. I’m not quite close enough to understand any of the conversations in the classroom. I’ve heard some crying and shouting. I’m not sure why the police haven’t come into the school yet, but I figure they probably know what they are doing.