by Joan Hohl
Though the urge to keep moving north grew stronger with each passing day, and he continued to obey that urge, he progressed with calculated slowness. He was exhausted, he was undernourished, he was emaciated, and he knew it. He also knew somehow that though the fall weather was mild in the Southwest, it would be growing cold in the Northeast.
Reason cautioned him to bide his time in the temperate climate before attempting to face the biting onset of winter to the north. He needed rest. He needed food. He needed to rebuild his flagging strength.
Without funds, and looking like a wild man who had just fought his way through a wilderness—which, in effect, he had—Jonas had few options available for seeing to his needs. The most obvious of those options was to seek assistance at the shelters that were operated for and utilized by the street people—the homeless, the rejected, the dropouts.
Drifting in a northeasterly direction, Jonas stayed a few days, at times an entire week, in small towns along his route.
In one of the first of those towns, Jonas was offered a bath by a kind but harried-looking man who was hard-pressed to keep from wrinkling his nose in distaste. Jonas accepted the offer with controlled eagerness. The man had shown him to the bathroom, then hurried away, telling Jonas he’d bring clean clothes for him to wear. The room had held a commode and an old, claw-footed, rust-stained porcelain tub. Jonas had luxuriated in both of the conveniences.
Jonas never knew what happened to the rags he’d torn from his skinny body, but then he didn’t particularly want to know. The clothes the overworked man brought to him were used but had been well cared for and, luxury of luxuries, they fitted, as did the previously worn but still serviceable shoes and socks the man had placed atop the folded garments.
When he was clean and decently attired, Jonas was provided with a hot meal and his first cup of steaming coffee. Grateful for the man’s kindness, Jonas savored every bite of food and every sip of the coffee. When he had finished eating, Jonas asked the man if there was some work he could do as a measure of repayment for the bath, clothing and food. Grateful for the offer of help in the understaffed shelter, the man assigned him the job of washing dishes.
Staggering with exhaustion, but determined, Jonas stood for some four hours washing and drying the seemingly never ending flow of dishes the man brought to him.
“You got a name, mister?” the man asked when he entered the large kitchen with the last load of dirty dishes.
Jonas hesitated, then spoke the first name to spring into his mind. “John. The name’s John.”
The man smiled with wry acceptance. “Isn’t everybody’s?” Not waiting or expecting a response, he thrust out his hand. “Mine’s Hopkins, Ben Hopkins, and I appreciate the help. Flu goin’ around and we’re shorthanded.” He indicated a shed off the back of the kitchen. “There’s a cot in there. You can flop for the night if you’ve no place else to go.”
“Thanks, Ben.” Jonas strove to keep his voice steady; he nearly made it. “I have someplace to go, but I’m just too damned tired to keep moving.”
Ben studied Jonas’s eyes for several seconds, then nodded. “If you don’t mind working, you can stay a few days, eat, rest up.”
Jonas’s throat worked and his voice cracked. “I don’t mind working, and I appreciate the offer. Thanks again.”
Ben shrugged and headed for the doorway. “It’s nothing. Like I said, we’re shorthanded.”
Jonas stayed at the shelter until one of the volunteers returned to duty five days later. It was to be the first of many shelters. He was always given food, and sometimes a cot or pallet to sleep on, but either way, Jonas always insisted on doing some sort of work in payment for the bounty received.
Ten weeks after entering Texas, Jonas crossed the state line into Louisiana. With his constant moving and working, Jonas hadn’t managed to gain any weight, but his strength was returning. He was ready to move on, still heading north.
* * *
Val was tired. Resting her head against the plush seat back, she closed her eyes and tried to relax. Being driven home from the office was a new experience for her; Val had always driven herself. But it had begun snowing around noon, and by quitting time the driving was hazardous. Not wanting to take unnecessary chances in her advanced state of pregnancy, Val had placed a call to the company garage to ask Lyle Magesjski to drive her home.
“Sure thing, Mrs. Thorne,” Lyle had said, as if genuinely pleased to be of service. “Tell me what time you’ll be ready to leave, and I’ll be at the door.”
Lyle had been with Jonas for fifteen years. He’d been devoted to him. Now his devotion had been extended to Valerie.
Jonas.
Listening to the swish of the windshield wipers, Val sighed and conjured up an image of Jonas’s strong, chiseled face. Late-winter snowstorm notwithstanding, it was almost spring. Her projected due date was only two weeks away. It was six months since she had received notification of Jonas’s death. Four months had passed since she had awakened to the flutter of life inside her. Val’s mouth curved into a tender smile. Jonas’s child now at times appeared determined to kick and punch his way out of her body.
She missed Jonas terribly. There were moments when Val felt certain she could not bear to go on one second longer weighed down by the knowledge that she would never see her husband again. Her sense of loss, her anguish, had not lessened with the passing days and weeks and months. Val merely kept the loss, the anguish to herself, hidden behind the charge she’d assumed to care for his family and for the business Jonas had worked so very hard to make succeed.
Jonas had a granddaughter he would never see. Two months before, Mary Beth had given birth to a fiery red, squalling, beautiful baby girl. The baby was born with Jean-Paul’s dark hair and coloring and her mother’s bright blue eyes.
Val adored the baby and had secretly vowed to protect the heritage of both Jonas’s granddaughter and that of his own child.
With inner amusement, Val recalled the expressions of skepticism and doubt she’d received when she had returned to the office the day after she had felt her baby’s first tentative movements. Everyone, from Jean-Paul to Charlie to Janet and straight down the line of employees and family had been sympathetic; some, like Janet and Marge, even encouraging. But none of them believed she could actually run the company in Jonas’s stead.
Satisfaction replaced her amusement as Val reflected on her own rather amazing accomplishments of the previous four months. She had moved into his office with bold decisiveness. By working night and day, she had studied and learned until she knew the business inside and out and even sideways. While certain that no one could replace, let alone match Jonas’s genius, Val knew he had hired brilliant electronic engineers who, with the proper support and leadership, were fully capable of maintaining the company’s excellent position.
Val had taken control, and she had succeeded. She was tired, but she had grown used to being tired. And on a snowy evening in mid-March, she was aching for Jonas. She knew she would never grow used to the ache. She would live with it. Val had no choice. She had his family, even Lynn who, upon full recovery from her injuries, had wisely decided to take her mother’s advice to grow up, and was proving to be a surprisingly effective grandmother. Val had his company, whose employees had rallied around her to a man…and woman. And before too long, Val would have a part of Jonas himself, in the form of the child they had conceived in love.
Val was content…or as content as possible while silently screaming in agony.
Chapter 10
Two days after the official arrival of spring, Val sat propped up in a hospital bed, cradling her own spring arrival in her arms. Tears ran down her cheeks as she gazed into the face of Jonas’s son and tiny image.
Her labor had been long and hard, but the advent of the infant Val had already named Jonas had been worth every minute of the pain it had involved.
“The likeness is incredible,” Jean-Paul observed, staring in astonishment at the baby.
“It’s…almost like having Dad back,” Mary Beth murmured, reaching out to stroke a trembling finger over one downy pink cheek.
Val shifted her tear-bright violet eyes to the younger woman. “A part of him,” she agreed softly.
“And we’ll always have that part of him, won’t we?” Mary Beth raised eyes shining with hope and happiness. “As long as we have baby Jonas, we’ll have a living part of Dad.”
Cradling the baby in one arm, Val reached out to grasp Mary Beth’s hand. “Yes, we’ll always have a living memory of your father…of Jonas.”
Later that night, as Val coaxed her son to suckle nourishment from her breast, she stared into his new, yet endearingly familiar face and made a silent vow.
I remember, Jonas. I’ll always remember.
* * *
The urge was stronger now inside Jonas, so strong that at times he had to fight against an overwhelming need to run.
Where did the inner pressure want him to run to?
The question was beginning to torment him. The urge had expanded in time with his slow movement north.
Jonas had planned to spend the winter months in the warmer climate of the southern states, but the urge persisted, overriding his common sense. Unable to rest after a stop of more than a few days in any one place, Jonas kept moving north, ever north.
He took refuge in shelters, and as he had in Texas, Jonas repaid every kindness with whatever work needed doing. He mopped floors, he washed dishes, he cleaned toilets. No task was too menial or beneath his dignity. The rewards of his labor were sustenance for his body, clothes to ward off the chill and a dry place to sleep. That was enough for Jonas.
In a church shelter in North Carolina, a soft-voiced, sad-eyed woman gave him a winter coat. It was worn and the sleeves were too short, exposing his flat bony wrists and long broad hands. But it was made of good wool, and the pockets were deep and lined with flannel. And that was enough for Jonas.
The distinctive scent of spring sweetened the air by the time Jonas reached Virginia. The wind was chill, but the sunlight was bright with the promise of coming warmth. The now bushy beard he had let grow to protect his face from the cold began to itch. Jonas decided that the beard would have to go within a month or so.
He was tired. Having been unsuccessful in picking up a ride, he had walked the last twenty-five miles. Locating a shelter run by the Salvation Army, Jonas introduced himself as John, the name he’d used since that first time in Texas, and offered himself for work in exchange for food and rest for a few days. After receiving a dissecting stare from the army captain, his offer was accepted and, defying the clamoring inner urge, Jonas settled in to rebuild his stamina.
Jonas had been at the shelter five days and was feeling surprisingly good when, on glancing up from the bowl of soup before him, he had the strangest experience.
There was a woman seated at another long table nearby. Her back was turned, so he couldn’t see her face, but there was something about her that riveted his attention. She was small and slender and had shiny black hair that fell to her shoulders. While he stared in fascination at her hair, Jonas was startled and shocked to feel a tightness in his chest; his breathing had become labored, too.
Stunned by the reaction of his body, Jonas sat and stared at the woman until she had finished eating and stood up. The minute she turned and he saw her face, the tightness in his chest began to ebb. Before she had crossed to the door to leave, his pulse rate had returned to normal. But moments later, Jonas felt a sharp pain sear through his head. Then it was gone. But not for long. Through the following two weeks, as Jonas slowly made his way to Baltimore, the pain struck with increasing persistence and severity.
* * *
Val looked forward to warm weather with both anticipation and dread. The winter had been hard and bitterly cold and she was eager to see new, lush green grass and flowers blooming in colorful profusion in her garden. But the warmer months would also bring with them anniversaries, so many anniversaries.
Val’s birthday was in May. Their wedding anniversary and Jonas’s birthday fell in June. Also in June was the anniversary of their reconciliation in San Francisco. Four weeks later it would be one year since Jonas had been kidnapped. And in August she would have to face the anniversary of the day she’d received notification of his…
No! Spinning away from the long dining-room window, Val headed for the stairs. She would not think about it. Blaming her wandering thoughts on her inactivity, Val quietly entered the nursery. Walking softly to the side of the crib, she gazed in adoration at the sleeping cause of her leave of absence from the office.
Lying on his belly, his face turned toward her, his small chin thrust out and his tiny hands curled into fists, Val’s little Jonas was a youthful miniature of his father.
No, Val decided, she would not think of the horror, would not allow herself to dwell on the pain. Jonas had left her a precious gift in their son. She would not squander her time on useless remorse. She had a son to raise, a company to run and a family to care for.
Touching her fingertips to her lips, Val brushed her fingers over his silky black hair, the single feature of hers he had inherited, then turned and left the room.
She had things to do; she had to confer with Grace about the meal they would serve that coming Sunday, when Jonas’s daughter and son-in-law and granddaughter were coming for dinner.
* * *
The trucker stopped to pick up Jonas on I-95 outside Baltimore.
“Thanks for the lift,” Jonas said, panting as he pulled himself up into the high cab.
“Sure,” the trucker drawled. “Where ya headed?”
“North,” Jonas answered.
“Well, I’m running to Allentown.” The trucker grinned. “That far enough north for you?”
Jonas returned his grin and slumped against the seat. “That’ll do. Thanks again.”
Jonas had considered resting a while at a shelter on the southern edge of the city, but the sense of urgency was a constant now, eating at him, pounding through his bloodstream. The searing pain in his head was another constant, at times causing an instant of darkness, at others moments of brilliant shards of flashing lights. The pain was what had driven him to the highway. Now he was almost grateful for it.
“You can grab some sleep if you like,” the trucker said, never taking his eyes from the roadway. “I won’t mind. I’m not much of a gabber.”
“I think I will,” Jonas murmured on a sigh. “It’s been a long haul.” Somewhere in the neighborhood of six months, he added in weary silence.
Minutes after he shut his eyes, Jonas was deaf to the sound of grinding gears and the trucker cursing all Sunday drivers. Jonas dreamed of explosions and a dead man without a back, of hunger and thirst, of sweating as he trudged around a mountain and shivering as he walked along a backcountry road, and he dreamed of the back of a small, slender woman with shiny black hair.
The pain woke him. It was worse, intense, like knife blades stabbing into his skull. Jonas winced and sat up. He tried to read a road sign as the truck rumbled by it, but the lights were flashing inside his head and he couldn’t focus.
“Where are we?” Jonas had to concentrate to articulate the question.
“Fifteen miles this side of Allentown,” the trucker replied. “Give or take a mile.”
Jonas felt sick. “If you don’t mind pulling over, you could let me out here,” he said between measured, pain-filled breaths.
“Makes no never-mind to me.” Even as he spoke, the man sent the truck lumbering to the side of the highway.
“Thanks again,” Jonas said, pushing the door open and jumping to the ground the instant the truck came to a halt.
“Sure. Have a good day.”
The incongruity of the trucker’s response didn’t strike Jonas. He was beyond registering anything but the pain and flashing lights inside his head. Disorien
ted, he began to walk, but had taken less than a dozen stumbling steps when the inside of his head seemed to explode. The world turned a glaring red, then went black. Unconscious, Jonas pitched forward and into a shallow gully off the soft shoulder of the highway.
He was cold when he regained consciousness. The pain and the flashing lights were gone. He was clearheaded. Rolling to his feet, he stood and glanced around to get his bearings. A smile curving his thin lips, he started walking again…south. He knew exactly who he was and exactly where he was going.
Jonas Thorne was going home to his wife.
Without a twinge of doubt or hesitation, Jonas stepped boldly onto the highway to flag down the first police car to come cruising by.
“What’s your problem, buddy?” the officer asked, running a wary glance over Jonas’s rumpled appearance.
Briefly, concisely, impatiently, Jonas explained his situation. The officer was patently skeptical.
“Thorne?” His brow creased in thought, then his eyebrows flew into an arch. “What are you trying to pull, fella?” he demanded. “Thorne’s dead. It was in all the papers.”
Jonas bit out a brief curse. Since regaining consciousness, his imagination had been busy with speculation about the possible effects his disappearance had had, both on Val and everyone else. Val! Jonas groaned. Val thought he was dead! A new sense of urgency ripped through him.
Flicking Jonas a look of dismissal, the officer turned away. Jonas placed a hand on his arm, detaining him. “I am Jonas Thorne, officer,” he said tersely. “And I can prove it. But first I’ve got to get home.”
Something in his voice convinced the officer. Jonas got a ride home…compliments of the Pennsylvania State Police.
Dusk shadowed the landscape when the police cruiser pulled into the driveway. Jonas’s throat felt tight and his eyes smarted as he stared at the house. The windows were aglow with light. Only Jonas knew that the only light of any real value to him inside that house shone from the violet eyes of a small, dark-haired woman.