Gemma and her grandson had been living in Henry Adams for almost a year, but she’d been born and raised in the neighboring town of Franklin. Memories of her life there and afterward were bittersweet. Pregnant at sixteen. Shipped off in disgrace to an aunt in Chicago. Raising her daughter Gabby alone on the city’s rough South Side. Watching her daughter become a pregnant teen, too. The joy of holding baby Wyatt for the first time and then heartbreak as she stood with him at Lieutenant Gabrielle Dahl’s grave at Arlington National Cemetery after an IED took her life during her second tour in Afghanistan.
Now, at forty plus, she was back in Kansas. She had a good job and Wyatt had a future that didn’t include daily beatdowns from the South Side gangs he’d refused to join. In Henry Adams, there was support for a woman starting over like herself, strong male role models for Wyatt to emulate and look up to, and friends for him with goals as lofty as his own. Problems remained, however, and one stood behind the counter when she went in to pay for her gas.
“Well, if it isn’t Hester. Where’s your scarlet letter?”
Gemma met the mocking eyes of Astrid Franklin Wiggins and wanted to slap the smirk off her face. Instead, she tossed back coolly, “Where’s your bridle, Seabiscuit?”
Astrid flinched. A woman in line behind Gemma snorted. Astrid’s wealthy family founded Franklin. In middle school her long face and horselike teeth earned her the disparaging nickname Seabiscuit. Back then she and her clique of mean girls savaged Gemma and other less fortunate kids like wolves on elk. Recently however, as mayor of Franklin, she’d made the mistake of taking on Henry Adams and Bernadine Brown. When the dust settled, Astrid went from a fur-wearing, big-house-living, rich witch to residing in a trailer park and working behind the counter at her family’s gas station for minimum wage. “Any other questions for me?” Gemma asked.
Astrid’s red, tight-lipped face said no. Gemma tossed the twenty she owed on the counter. “Have a nice day,” she lied, and walked out.
Only after she’d driven away did she acknowledge her hurt and fury. Being sixteen and pregnant by the married Owen Welke became even more horrifying once her pregnancy began showing and the kids at school figured it out. Having to read Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter in English class and be called Hester behind her back, or in Astrid’s case to her face, had been so painfully humiliating she’d been glad when her parents sent her to Chicago. Her parents were both dead now and went to their graves still ashamed. Her only shame lay in being so naïve as to believe Owen would leave his wife and child for her. She heard he’d left Franklin shortly after she did but she didn’t know or care where he lived now. Last year, when she moved back to Franklin with Wyatt, she’d initially rented an apartment but everywhere she went whispers followed. Tramp. Whore. Homewrecker. Not wanting her grandson subjected to the ugliness, she inquired about living in Henry Adams because she’d heard about its excellent new school and she wanted Wyatt to have the best. It turned out to be a smart move. Ms. Brown was an angel. She had no problem with Gemma and Wyatt not being African American, and even helped her find a home that she was renting to buy, but she wondered if people in her hometown would ever see her as anything other than a pregnant unwed teenager. In spite of their opinions, she was proud of the life she’d carved out for herself and Wyatt, and for putting that witch Astrid in her place. Hopefully, the next time their paths crossed, Seabiscuit would think twice before opening her mouth.
Lucas Herman opened his eyes and saw the sun above him. His back felt wet. He vaguely realized it was because he was lying in a muddy field, but he didn’t know why or where he was. He sat up slowly and his head hurt so badly he dropped it for a minute hoping the pain would stop. Raising it again he looked around and saw debris scattered around him: tree limbs, splintered wood, shingles, coiled wire, a mangled “STOP” sign. There was even a white bathtub. About fifty feet away stood what was left of a small house. The walls were caved in and it had no roof. His roaring headache kept him from thinking clearly, so he closed his eyes again and tried to remember how he’d come to be where he was. Then it all rushed back. Heart racing, he looked at the house again. Uncle Jake! He spun his attention to the busted-up SUV a few yards away. There was a huge tree lying on top of it. Stumbling to his feet he screamed, “Jazzy!”
Head throbbing, he ran to the SUV, tripping over wood and limbs. “Jazzy!” The tree’s big leafy branches covered the entire driver’s side. Peering through the foliage he saw that the door was gone but the tree’s trunk and branches blocked access to the inside.
“Lucas!” his sister screamed.
Thankful she was alive, he ran around to the passenger side and looked in through the cracked muddy window. Her clothes were soaked, there was blood on her face, and when she saw him she began to cry. Frantic, he pulled on the handle but the door was so buckled and damaged it wouldn’t budge. “Hold on! I’ll be right back.”
Visually searching the piles of debris, he spotted bricks. Grabbing one he hurried back and shouted, “Cover your face so the glass won’t get in your eyes.”
Using his arm to shield his own, he smashed the brick into the window again and again until it shattered enough to make a hole large enough for her to maybe climb through. Jagged pieces remained though, framing the opening like a shark’s gaping mouth. Removing his tee shirt, he folded it a few times and laid it over the bottom of the window. It didn’t go all the way across but he hoped it created enough of a cushion to keep her from getting too badly cut. She scooted over, carefully avoiding the sharp shards on the seat, and stood up as much as the caved in roof would allow. He reached in and grabbed her around the waist. “Try and lift your knees real high.”
As he pulled her through her knees and legs grazed the points of glass beneath his shirt and she cried out in pain, but he managed to ease her to her feet. Once she was standing, he held onto her like she was made from gold and she held him just as tightly. They cried together for a long minute while he prayed silently to God and their dead parents for help. He leaned back and looked down at her. “You okay?”
She wiped her dirty face and nodded. She had cuts on her hands and arms. Little rivulets of blood trickled down her knees and the front of her legs below her black-and-pink polka-dot shorts.
“Do you hurt anywhere else?” he asked.
She shook her head no. “What about you?”
“Got a ginormous headache.” He’d never had a concussion but the last thing he remembered before blacking out was something crashing into his head, so he figured that might be what was wrong. He turned his attention to the remnants of the house. He already knew Uncle Jake was dead, either inside or close by and his heart twisted into knots.
“Uncle Jake’s dead, isn’t he?” she asked in a tiny voice.
“Yeah, probably.” No sense in lying to her. He didn’t know what lay ahead but they were alive and together so that helped him not be so messed up. “Do you want to stay here while I go check or come, too?”
“No. I’m going with you.”
He nodded. Since the death of their parents they’d been forced to deal with stuff no kids should have to endure. He wished for a time machine so they could go back to the life they used to have but . . . He took her hand.
They crossed the field of debris and found Jake lying facedown beneath a large section of the roof.
She whispered, “What do we do now?”
“Probably see if we can find his phone in the car and call 911.”
Lucas wondered what life might have been like with Uncle Jake had they made it to California. Filled with sadness, he forced his mind away from what would never be and walked with Jaz over to the SUV. They looked through the window but didn’t see the phone. The interior was soaked from all the rain so even if they did find it, he figured it probably wouldn’t work. But he climbed back in through the hole he’d made earlier, cutting his arms and legs in the process. After a bit of searching he found it beneath the front seat. It was dead. Of course, he said to himself.
/> He climbed back out. Using his shirt to wipe the blood off his legs, hands, and arms he put it back on. The few changes of clothing they owned were in trash bags in the trunk, but the keys were nowhere to be found. He looked out at the road running by the field they were in. “Let’s start walking. Maybe we can get somebody to stop and call 911 for us.”
“I don’t want to go back to foster care.”
Her soft plea put a lump in his throat. “I know. Me neither.”
Gemma was driving and singing to Adele at the top of her lungs when she spotted two kids, a boy and a girl walking hand in hand up ahead along the side of the road. The boy turned and upon seeing her car began waving frantically as if attempting to flag her down. Surprised, she slowed. When she stopped, they stood back as if uncertain but it was the sight of the dirt and blood covering them and their clothing that widened her eyes. Checking her mirror to make sure there was no oncoming traffic, she got out.
The boy appeared on the verge of tears but said firmly, “We need help. Can you call 911, please?”
Taking in their faces and bloodied and muddy clothes again, she asked, “What happened?”
He replied in an emotion-filled whisper, “We got caught in a storm last night. Our uncle is dead and we don’t have any place to go.”
Her heart broke. Tears stung her eyes. “I’ll call 911. You come on and get in the car. I know I’m a stranger but I promise I’ll take care of everything. Okay?”
The boy nodded and dashed away the tears on his cheeks. The little girl just looked incredibly sad.
“What’re your names?”
“I’m Lucas Herman. This is my sister Jasmine.”
“My name’s Gemma Dahl. Come, get in.”
Once the two were in the backseat, she took out her phone.
Two minutes later, Gemma was talking to County Sheriff Will Dalton. She explained what little she knew of the situation and where she was. He promised to send a car immediately. She thanked him and then ended the call. “Help’s on the way,” she told the children. “I have some water in the trunk, do you want something to drink?”
They shook their heads no. She wished she had a first aid kit to take care of their cuts, but assumed the officer would.
Jasmine asked, “Will the police take us back to foster care?”
Gemma paused, eyed their bleak faces, and wondered what their story was. She answered truthfully, “I don’t know, honey.”
“Can we go home with you, please?” Jasmine asked.
Gemma glanced between them. Lucas was staring out the window as if he’d been turned to stone. Jasmine, whose face was framed by a soft cloud of natural hair that had shriveled from the ordeal, had a plea in her eyes that tugged at Gemma’s heart so keenly, she almost said yes. However, she knew the decision was beyond her control. “We’ll see what the sheriff says.”
“You don’t have to take us in,” Lucas said quietly. “You probably have kids of your own.”
“Just my grandson, Wyatt. He’s about your age.” She wanted to pull him into her arms and let him cry. It was obvious they’d been through a lot. “While we wait, how about you tell me what happened.”
They took turns telling her about the storm, the death of their parents, their stint in foster care, and the ill-fated adoption by the man whose body they said lay outside a house back down the road. Once they were done, all she could think was, things happen for a reason, and she knew as sure as she knew her name that she’d been sent to find these children—she felt it in her bones. And with that she was determined to take them home and ensure that at some point soon they’d feel safe enough to smile again.
A county sheriff’s vehicle pulled up and Gemma was surprised to see Sheriff Dalton himself step out. With him was a young African American female deputy Gemma had never met. When he reached the car, he leaned down and peered in through her lowered window. He was a big man and the kids drew back sharply. “Sheriff Dalton’s a friend,” she said, hoping to reassure them. “He’s one of the good guys.”
Will seemed pleased by that and gave her a silent nod of thanks. “Hi kids. I’m County Sheriff Will Dalton and this is Deputy Davida Ransom.”
The deputy said, “Hi you two.”
The kids gave both officers tentative nods of greeting.
Will asked them a few of the same questions Gemma had earlier. Once satisfied with their responses, he said. “I’m so sorry you’re having to go through this. I’m going to have Ms. Gemma follow me back to where you said your Uncle Jake is. Do you think you can find the place again?”
Lucas said, “Yes, sir.”
“Okay. It shouldn’t take us long to get things settled there.”
Jasmine said, “Then can we go home with Ms. Gemma?”
Before the sheriff could respond, Deputy Ransom spoke up. “Unfortunately, no. When we’re done, you’ll ride back with us. A social worker from Child Services will take care of you from there.”
Gemma saw Will’s lips thin for a second as if the deputy had spoken out of turn, but he kept whatever he was thinking to himself. Instead, he asked Gemma, “Does that sit right with you, Ms. Dahl?”
“Truthfully, no. I’d rather take them home. They’ve been through enough for the moment. They need to get cleaned up, fed, and have a doctor check them out. I want to talk to Ms. Brown about their situation, too.”
Ransom opened her mouth, but a pointed look from her boss shut her down immediately. He said to Gemma, “I agree with you. It could be hours before a caseworker shows up. Let’s see what Ms. Brown can work out.”
Ransom seemed shocked. “Sheriff, the law—”
“I know the law, Deputy, been handling it since you were probably in middle school. Ms. Brown knows the law, too, and if anybody can work the system so these kids can settle in with Ms. Dahl, it’s her. Now, how about we go see to their uncle so they can be on their way.”
She nodded tersely.
He told Gemma, “We’ll follow you. I’ll call Ms. Brown on the way.”
Gemma turned her car around so she could lead the sheriff, and Lucas asked her, “Does that mean we’re going home with you?”
“At least for now. Is that okay with you?”
Eyes glistening, he gave her a quick nod. “Yes. Thank you.”
She checked out Jasmine in the mirror. “That okay with you, Jasmine?”
She responded with a quiet, “Yes, ma’am. Real okay.”
“Then let’s help the sheriff take care of your uncle.”
Once the sheriff finished his tasks and the county coroner was called to transport Mr. Gleason’s remains, a crowbar was used to open the SUV’s trunk to retrieve the trash bags holding the children’s clothing.
Gemma thought it sad that it was all they owned in the world, then reminded herself it could be worse. The children could have lost their lives in the storm too, and be riding with their uncle to the morgue, leaving the bags to serve as the only testaments to their having lived at all.
Chapter 2
Gemma pulled into her driveway and cut the engine. The kids sat in silence behind her.
“Is this where you live?” Jasmine asked.
“Yes, so how about we get out and go inside.”
They grabbed their bags and followed her up the steps and inside. The town’s pediatrician, Dr. Reginald Garland, was in the living room talking with her grandson, Wyatt.
“Bernadine called me,” Doc Reg said, explaining his presence.
“Thanks for coming.” She saw Wyatt giving Lucas and Jasmine a silent once-over. He was always so poker-faced, she sometimes had difficulty knowing what he was thinking. Setting concerns about his reaction aside for the moment, she made the introductions. “Dr. Garland and Wyatt. This is Lucas Herman and his sister Jasmine.”
Wyatt nodded in their direction but didn’t approach.
Dr. Garland extended his hand first to Lucas and then his sister. “Everybody calls me Doc Reg. Glad to meet you. I want to take a look at you and ask you some ques
tions about how you feel physically. Is that okay?”
They gave him tight nods.
He checked them over in turn, asking about the accident and if they had any pain. “How’d you get these cuts on your legs, Jasmine?”
Lucas spoke up. “It was my fault, sir. I had to break the window to get her out of the car. I tried to make a cushion out of my shirt, but she still got cut when I pulled her out.”
“Using your shirt was a great idea, son. Without it, the cuts would probably be a lot worse. Good thinking.”
Gemma couldn’t tell whether that absolved the guilty feelings Lucas apparently had, but he seemed relieved.
Jasmine said, “Lucas cut his arms and legs on the windows too, when he crawled back in to look for Uncle Jake’s cell phone.”
Garland surveyed the scrapes and cuts. “You won’t need any stitches, but I want you both to take a nice hot shower and wash the cuts out as best you can. I’ll leave Ms. Gemma some ointment for you to apply so they don’t get infected.”
Lucas volunteered, “I think I might have a concussion, too,” and told him about his headache and the probable cause.
Reggie checked his pupils with a small penlight. “Ms. Gemma said you two were walking along the highway. Any trouble with your balance?”
“No, sir.”
After inspecting the spot where Lucas had been hit in the head, Reg put his instruments back into his bag. “I think you might be right about the concussion but it appears to be mild. If the headache persists we’ll do some tests.” He looked between them. “I’m sorry for your loss. Ms. Gemma will take good care of you. I’ll come by tomorrow and check on you. In the meantime, get those showers, something to eat, and then rest up.”
Gemma was pleased with how thorough and gentle he’d been. “Thanks, Reg.”
“You’re welcome. See you tomorrow.”
After his departure, she was about to take them upstairs when the doorbell rang.