Lissa. Her name came to him like a cool taste of water on a hot summer's day. His breath released in a tired sigh. Sweet Christ, he missed her.
You deserve to miss her. Turning wearily away from the bars, he started pacing again.
"Hey, mate. You okay?"
Jack turned, surprised by the jolt of relief he felt at hearing a human voice. He tried to smile at the jailer, and failed. "I'm fine. Thanks."
The man pushed the military-style cap higher on his head. "You want anything?"
A crushing wave of despair coursed through Jack at the casual question. Yeah, he wanted something, wanted it so goddamn desperately, he couldn't take a breath without aching for the loss. He wanted his life back. His wife, his family.
"No," he muttered.
"Suit yourself."
Jack watched the man go, suppressing a stupid desire to call him back?if for no other reason than to hear him
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talk. Anything, anyone, so Jack didn't feel so goddamn alone. The empty hallway mocked him.
He grabbed the rusted bars in shaking hands and banged his forehead against the cold metal. Help me, God. Let me remember. Then at least I'll know for sure. Please ... Heels shuffled toward the jail cell again. Wearily Jack opened his eyes. The jailer stood outside, arms crossed. "You shouldn't be banging your head like that. We don't have a doctor." Reluctantly Jack lifted his head. "Sorry." The man turned to go, then he paused and turned back around. "How'dya like some paper and a pen, mate? Give you something to do."
The doctors were wrong, Jack. You can't make it go away by forgetting about it. Only remembering will help you....
Fear settled in Jack's stomach as a cold, hard lump. "Well?" the jailer demanded. "You want to try it?" Just try, Jack. That's all I'm asking. Just try. Jack's fingers tightened around the bars. Tiny flecks of rust stuck to his damp palms. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I'll give it a try."
"Good." The jailer hurried to his office, then returned with a candle, writing paper, a pen and ink. "Here you go," he said, shoving them through the bars. Jack took them in trembling hands. "Thanks." When the jailer had left again, Jack set the candle on the uneven floor. The fecund scent of cold, damp earth filled his nostrils. Sitting cross-legged beside the light, he rested the Bible he'd been given on his lap and smoothed the paper on top of it. Then, carefully, he dipped the quill in the ink and brought the tip to the paper.
His hand didn't move. The ink-heavy tip remained poised. He sighed. He couldn't do it.
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Yes, you can, Jack. He heard Lissa's voice as clearly as if she were in the room with him. He closed his eyes, and for a heartbeat, felt the warmth of her body beside him, heard the quiet sounds of her breathing.
He touched the pen to the paper and began, very slowly, to write. / knew I shouldn 't be there. I didn 't believe in the war. . . .
The words came to him, some easier than others, some he had to skip entirely. But they came. He wrote and wrote and wrote. All the memories and thoughts and emotions he'd hoarded in the darkness of his soul for so many years came pouring through the quill's pointed tip.
He wrote until the candle was sputtering and burning low, and tears were streaming down his face, until the darkness was all around him, and shadows made the words blur before his eyes.
And still he kept on writing.
The next day dawned just as gray and dismal as the one before it, with thick, low-hanging clouds anchored to the metal-hued sky. Rain splattered the dirt road in huge, plunking drops and formed muddy puddles.
In the distance, the school bell pealed. Its melancholy clang echoed through the moist air. Tess sat stiffly in the front of the wagon, her hands curled in a tight, nervous ball in her lap.
At the schoolhouse, Jim maneuvered the wagon through the crowded yard to a spot alongside the rickety fence.
Tess swallowed hard, steeling herself for the ordeal that lay ahead. Everything depended on her. Jack's life, their future, the children's future. Everything.
Today?now?she had to be what she'd never been in her life. She had to force her chin up, smile, and walk to the goddamn podium. She had to be easygoing and pleasant and persuasive.
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Her self-confidence slipped. She wasn't sure she could do it. All her life she'd been quiet and isolated and alone. A wallflower.
Don't think about that. It was the past. She was no longer the Tess Gregory who melted into the background. Now she was Lissa Rafferty. Jack's wife. And she had no choice but to succeed. Jack's life depended on it.
"Lissa?" Jim's voice broke into her thoughts. "They're waiting for you."
Tess forced her chin up and tried to smile. "Thanks, Jim." Scooting across the splintery plank seat, she took his hand and got down. When her feet hit the solid ground, her knees almost buckled.
Jim grabbed her elbow and steadied her. "Are you all right?"
She nodded stiffly. "Fine. Let's go." Together they wove their way through the wagons and horses that cluttered the grassy yard. With every step, Tess felt her stomach tighten.
They climbed the steps slowly. At the creaking of the boards, the hushed conversations in the schoolhouse died away. A silence fell across the small room as people turned, one by one, to gaze at Tess.
She stood in the door, feeling as conspicuous and out of place as a weed in a rose garden. "H-Hello." She winced at the breathy, hesitant sound of her voice and cleared her throat. Nodding a silent thanks to Jim and Minerva, she walked down the aisle, her heels clicking matter-of-factly on the wooden floor.
At the front of the room, she turned and faced the mass of unfriendly faces. "Hello," she said again. "I'm Lissa Rafferty. I know most of you don't know me well, and have no reason to trust me, but I've come to ask for your help."
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A buzzing of dissent swept the crowd.
Ed Warbass stepped out of the throng of people and made his way up the aisle to stand beside Lissa. "This little lady is here at my request. I expect you to treat her with some respect."
The crowd quieted. Once again Tess felt every eye in the room on her. Her heart was beating so fast, she felt dizzy.
She fought the urge to turn and run. "As many of you know, my husband, Jack, has turned himself in to Ed and is in jail in Victoria."
"It's where he should be!" someone yelled.
Tess winced. "It's where the murderer should be," she said quietly, so quietly the crowd had to strain forward to hear her. "But what if Jack's not the murderer?" She waited, allowing the pregnant silence to expand. Then, softly, she said, "If he's innocent, we're all still in danger."
Her gaze cut to a portly man standing in the front row. "If Jack's not the murderer, your children are in danger. So is your wife."
The portly man flushed and looked uncomfortable. "B-But why would he say he done it if he dint?"
Tess let her gaze drift over the rest of the crowd. "Did any of you, or your relatives, fight in the war?"
There was a heartbeat's pause, then slowly, almost reluctantly, a few hands went up.
Tess focused on one of the men, a straggly, hollow-cheeked man in dungarees. "Do you have ... nightmares about it?"
The man paled and looked away. Staring at the side wall, he jerked his chin in a quick nod.
Tess glanced around again, her gaze sweeping the crowd. "The soldiers in that war saw horrors we can't imagine. And sometimes they can't ... let go. That's
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Jack's problem. When he hears loud noises, it reminds him of gunfire. Sometimes it scares him so badly, he panics."
She watched the room, allowing her gaze to soften. "I know most of you can't understand a thing like that. I have trouble with it myself. The point is, Jack isn't a murderer. He's just a scared, lonely man who has been afraid to talk to most of you. He's .. . different. But that doesn't make him crazy. And it doesn't make him a murderer."
"But he said he done it," someone said from the middle of the crowd.
>
Ed Warbass stepped forward. "No, that isn't exactly what he said. He said he figured he done it. He can't remember."
"Sometimes Jack blacks out. He can't remember where he's been." Tess moved toward the crowd, and this time she couldn't keep her hands from coiling together. Her gaze landed on a friendly-looking older woman in the front row.
"He's just like your husband," she said softly. "Or your son. He's not a crazy man, or a murderer. He's an ordinary man who's faced extraordinary circumstances in his life. And he needs some help from his neighbors."
The woman shot a nervous sideways glance at her husband. "Wh-What can we do to help?"
"I don't know, Miriam...." the man beside her complained.
Tess looked sharply at the man. "Would a murderer rum himself in? Would a murderer, someone who would kill a pregnant woman in cold blood, ask to be locked up?"
The man frowned. "Well?" he drew the word out?"I reckon not. But if he didn't do it, who did?"
Ed strode forward again. "I got some information that might help us there. On my request, the Canadian authorities arrested Joe and Kie Nuanna a few hours ago in Vic-
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toria. A shot pouch they'd borrowed from the Hannahs was found in the victims' root cellar."
"Joe and Kie ... no shit? They're just boys," someone said.
"Poor boys," someone else added in a meaningful whisper.
"They won't talk to the authorities," Ed said, "so we don't know for sure if they did it, but the evidence is pretty strong against them."
Jerry Sikes pushed his way through the crowd and stood by Tess. "I talked to Jack some durin' shearin' season. He wasn't half-bad. As for me, I don't think he done it. Never did."
Tess gave him a grateful smile.
Deep in the crowd, a man tugged a tired old hat from his head and crushed it to his chest. Awkwardly he moved to the front of the crowd. "I'm Charlie MacKay. I know the boys pretty well, and I wouldn't mind talkin' to 'em. Maybe there's a slipup in their stories, but?"
"That's wonderful?"
"Let me finish, ma'am. I ... I reckon any man'd be proud to have a woman fightin' so hard to prove he's innocent. But, well, what if he ain't? I don't want to get involved unless I'm damn sure your man didn't do it."
Tess battled a crushing wave of disappointment. "I understand, Mr. MacKay, but Jack's a stubborn man. He won't say he's innocent."
"But I couldn't sleep at night if I helped him get outta jail and he ... you know ... killed someone."
Tess winced at the ugly words and fought to maintain her composure. She couldn't lose it now, when she was so close. So damn close.
Think, damn it. That's what you're good at. Think
She had to convince Charlie, just this one man, that Jack was innocent. But how? How?
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Only one thing came to her mind, and it was a weak, feeble thing. An almost certain failure. Still, it was all she had___
She licked her lower lip, which felt scratchy and dry. "What if I talked to Jack, and got him to admit that maybe he was innocent? Would that be enough, Mr. MacKay?" Charlie pulled a wooden pipe from his shirt pocket and wedged it between his teeth, chewing on the carved end. "Yeah, I reckon that'd be enough." "We'd be much obliged, Charlie," Ed said. Tess squeezed her eyes shut. She tried her best to have hope, her very best. But for the first time in her life, her soul felt twisted and empty.
It was all in Jack's hands. He had to admit to maybe. And he'd never believed in himself yet.
That night after supper, Tess gathered the girls in a circle on the living room floor. A fire burned low in the fireplace, giving the shadowy room a red-gold glow. The leftover aroma of mutton stew mingled with the sharp tang of woodsmoke and filled the air. Moonlight slanted in a tenuous, broken streak through the small window and puddled in a bluish smear on the couch.
Tess spread a big blanket on the hardwood floor, then dropped slowly to her knees and patted places for the girls. As Katie and Savannah lowered themselves to the blanket, Tess laid out a precious piece of paper in front of each girl. A pen and inkwell followed.
Savannah looked up. "What do you want us to do with these?"
Tess gazed at her daughter, realizing for the first time how very young twelve could be. Savannah looked impossibly pale and naive in the uncertain light, a girl trying so hard to be a woman.
Tess's gaze moved to Katie. She was sitting Indian-
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style, all slumped over, with her little elbows rested on her bent knees. Her eyes were huge, earnest pools in the shadow-cloaked pudginess of her face. There was the barest hint of a tremble in her lower lip, the only sign that she was afraid for her daddy.
Love washed through Tess in a rejuvenating wave. These children had given her so much?more than she'd ever dreamed possible. They'd answered a million soundless, aching dreams. Where strangers had once been, there was now a family.
She didn't have to be strong for them; she had to be strong with them. From now on, they'd be facing a lifetime's worth of good times and bad. Miracles and tragedies. And they could battle them one at a time, each of them stronger for taking hold of the other.
She held her arms out. With a stifled sob, Katie lurched into Tess's arms and buried her little face against her mommy's shoulder. Savannah pushed the paper aside and crawled across the blanket, curling against Tess.
Their love and acceptance gave Tess the strength to take on the world. She stroked their backs in slow, gentle circles.
"Will he be back?" Savannah asked quietly.
Tess smiled. "That's my girl, Vannah. Always be direct. Ask what's on your mind."
"Will he?"
The scientist in Tess wanted to equivocate, to elaborate on the vagaries of the judicial system and the nature of Jack's fear. But that part of her was small now, and getting smaller. The mother in her had a simpler answer. "Yes, honey, he will, but I need your help."
Both girls drew back, studying her. "What can we do?" Savannah asked.
"See those pieces of paper? I want you each to write your daddy a letter. I'll take it to him tomorrow."
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Katie whimpered. "Oh, no, I?"
Tess touched her cheek. "I'll help you."
Katie let out her breath in a quiet, quavering sigh. "Wuh?will it help?"
"I think it will."
Katie nibbled nervously on her lower lip, then slowly nodded. "Okay."
Tess helped the girls swivel around and stretch out. Savannah lay sprawled, half on and half off the blanket, her legs crossed at the ankles in the air behind her. She chewed on the end of her pen for a long, thoughtful moment, then began to write.
Dear Daddy:
When I was a little girl, you used ta stand by my bed in the middle of the night. You 'd stand there, just lookin at me and cryin. I used ta wish so bad you 'd pick me up. Every time I saw you in them days, it was through the wooden bars of that bed. It seemed like bein in jail.
Then I grew up, and I learnt that a person don't need bars to be in jail. I always felt locked up and alone and afraid. But then everything changed. Mama started to laugh, and you taught me to dance.
That dancin was something. Sometimes I cry just thinkin about it. That was the night you first told me you loved me. After that, I never once felt like I was in jail.
Daddy I love you. Please come home.
S.
Emotion tightened Tess's throat as she read Savannah's letter. Impulsively she smoothed a stray lock of hair from Savannah's eyes. "That's beautiful, sweetheart."
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Katie chewed nervously on her fingernail. "How 'bout if I just sign my name to Vannah's letter?"
Tess hunkered down beside Katie, looping an arm around the child's trembling shoulders. "Come on. Let's give it a try. What would you like to say?"
Katie swallowed hard. "Just ..." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Just that I love him."
"Perfect." Tess smiled at her approvingly. "Now, let's get started."
&nb
sp; Thirty minutes later, the fire had dwindled to a hazy pile of red and black embers, and Katie's scrawled sentence was finally complete. Her letters were backward and cata-wampus, but the message was crystal-clear. / love you, Daddy.
Tess carefully folded the papers into quarters and set them on the wooden mantel, then she brought the girls back into a circle on the blanket. They joined hands and bowed their heads, and together they prayed.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Tess stared at the small brick building. The barred windows glinted in the noontime sun. She suppressed a shiver of horror and tilted her chin upward, plastering a false smile on her face.
Beside her, Charlie and Ed waited patiently. She cleared her throat. "Let's go." Lifting her skirts, she made her slow, thoughtful way up the jailhouse steps. The men walked a respectful distance behind her. With each step, she felt a desperate tightening in her chest. Remember the dream. Remember . . . She took a deep, shaky breath and forced herself to remember what she'd decided. Last night she'd lain awake in her lonely bed, thinking of the good times with Jack, the loving, laughing times. Each memory had driven like a shard of glass through her heart.
She'd closed her eyes, imagining that he was beside her. The warmth of his touch, the sound of his breathing, the scent of his hair, had all been with her, captured in the tiny, reflective place in her mind where cherished memories remained forever.
It was then, in the soft haze of remembrance, that she'd finally slept.
The dream had come with all the color and sounds and sights of reality. She and Jack were sitting in an elegant, wainscoted room. Sunlight streamed through a huge, oc-
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tagonal window, wreathing a table set with sterling and china and fine crystal. Children were clustered around the table, but they were no longer children. Savannah was a beautiful young lady with a dark-haired man beside her. On her other side was a pink-cheeked baby in a scrolled high chair. Katie, too, was grown-up and smiling, and busy laughing with a heartbreakingly handsome young man who Tess knew instinctively was Caleb. Two younger men sat across from Caleb, their heads bowed together in quiet conversation.