The Immortal American

  ~*~

  Five days from when Hannah had been assaulted, in the dark cocoon that the night afforded, she woke, sucking in air like she was drowning.

  “Hannah.” I rejoiced.

  “Violet,” she croaked.

  I began to sob, then twined my arms around her.

  “Violet?”

  “Hannah.”

  “I knew you’d be here.”

  “Yes. I’m here.”

  “Sing me that song.”

  I instantly thought of the song I’d invented when she was just born. When I had carried her around telling everyone she was my baby, that I was her mama.

  “Hannah, baby mine, how I love you.

  Hannah, Hannah, love, precious one.

  Hannah, baby mine, how I love you.

  Hannah, Hannah, love, precious one.”

  It was a simple song. I was six when I’d made it. Cradling her to me, I sung it over and over. Finally, my quaking voice made me stop.

  “Why are you crying, Vi?”

  “I’ve missed you, Hannah.”

  “It wasn’t a dream, was it?” Her voice wavered.

  I cried in response.

  Again she sucked in all the surrounding air. I twisted my body into hers, holding her tighter. “I’ll make it all better, Hannah. I promise.”

  She clutched onto me, her nails sinking into my skin while she fought for air.

  “I’ll make it all better, like it never happened.”

  “He . . . oh, he hurt me, Violet. He tore my dress, my pretty dress. I stood there like such a fool, astonished he would tear off my dress.”

  “I’ll make it better.”

  “I stood and stared at him. I couldn’t believe he ripped my dress.”

  “I’ll get all sorts of fabric. You can make—no, I’ll make you hundreds of better, prettier dresses.”

  “It was my favorite.”

  “I’ll make one just like it then.”

  She laughed, and it felt as if the sun were breaking through a Northeastern storm—the black clouds cracked open, and the sun pelted its healing rays down on us. “I love you, Vi, but you can’t sew a straight line.”

  “I’ll learn,” I choked.

  She quit laughing and returned to crying. “He hurt me.”

  “I know. I know.”

  “You were there, weren’t you?”

  “I—”

  “You picked me up. I felt you. I thought I had died, and you picked me up and held me like a baby. Like when I was a baby. I thought it was heaven. I thought you were my guardian angel.”

  “I should have done a better job as guardian for you. I’m so sorry.”

  Hannah cried. “It was my fault. I never thought he’d—”

  “No. It was my fault. I should have warned you, warned you there were men like that out there. My entire fault.”

  “He killed me, Violet. He killed me.”

  I wept and clutched at her. “No, he didn’t, my baby sister. I won’t let him.”

  Chapter Twelve: Promises