Forged by Fire

by Sharon M. Draper

Finally Gerald spoke. “It snowed last night. Come look.”

  Angel looked with wonder at the sparkling snow. “Everything looks so clean! It’s like all the bad stuff is covered up with shiny stuff,” she said, barely smiling.

  “Aunt Queen used to say that Christmas snow was magic snow,” Gerald told her. “Make a wish, Angel.”

  Angel squeezed her eyes tightly, held her breath, and whispered softly, “Please! Please! Please! Please! Please!”

  “Angel,” Gerald said, gently interrupting her, “we gotta get help. We gotta tell somebody. We can’t let him bother you anymore!”

  “No!” she almost screamed. “He’ll hurt Mama. He’ll hurt you. He’ll hurt me bad! He told me and I believe him. It’s not so bad. He just... he just. . . talks to me.”

  “I’m gonna tell, Angel,” Gerald insisted. “I gotta tell somebody.”

  “Please don’t, Gerald. If you do, I’ll run away and hide in the snow. I’ll say you’re bad and you made it up!” Angel was almost hysterical.

  “Okay, okay! Calm down. I won’t say anything now, but I want you to sleep in my room. You can sleep in the other twin bed. We’ll tell Monique that you’re scared of the dark.”

  “She won’t care,” replied Angel, “but Jordan will be real mad.”

  “I have an idea!” said Gerald suddenly. “But we have to work fast.”

  Gerald ran to the area under the sink where Jordan kept his tools. He grabbed a screwdriver and a wrench and ran to Angel’s room. Swiftly he wriggled under the bed. Mystified, Angel heard the sound of the tools on the metal frame of the small bed. Gerald emerged, grinning. In his hand were six screws and two bolts. He tossed them into his pocket and hurriedly replaced Jordan’s tools just as Monique and Jordan emerged from their bedroom.

  “I’ll tell you later,” he whispered to Angel with a grin.

  Monique smiled sleepily and said, “Merry Christmas, my babies. Did you see the snow?”

  Angel gave Gerald one quick look. It was a pleading one. He sighed and shook his head just a bit to show her he would not tell—at least not yet, he thought. Angel smiled sweetly at Monique. “Merry Christmas, Mama! It’s magic snow. Gerald told me so.”

  Gerald glanced at Jordan, who seemed to be relaxed and enjoying the snow. Jordan looked at Angel and, in that gravelly voice that Gerald hated, said to her, “I got you a Christmas present, Angel.”

  Angel looked surprised. Jordan had never bought her anything special, not even on her birthday. Monique scurried back into the bedroom, brought out the box that the last pair of Jordan’s new shoes had come in and handed it to Angel with a grin. “Here, baby. Open it. Quick!”

  Gerald could hear scratching coming from within the box. Angel opened it, and out popped a tiny ball of tawny fur, which landed in her lap. “A kitten!” screamed Angel with delight. “I’m going to name her Tiger!”

  Gerald was glad to see Angel smiling again. But he knew that this happiness would not last. He glanced at Jordan and Monique. Monique was watching the snow. Jordan was watching Angel.

  TEN

  WHEN JORDAN FOUND out that Angel’s bed was broken, he was angry and tried to fix it. But Jordan had no skill at fixing and repairing and he quickly gave up the task with a curse and a kick to the bed. He then tried to move Gerald’s extra bed to Angel’s room, but it wouldn’t fit in the small corner room where she slept, so he gave up, swearing he would buy a new bed as soon as he got a little cash. Gerald and Angel giggled at Jordan behind his back, and Angel moved to the other twin bed in Gerald’s room.

  Angel was happy with Tiger the kitten and the safe sleeping arrangements. Gerald would read to her late at night, trying to remember the poems and stories that Aunt Queen had read to him. Sometimes they would hear Jordan coming in late from his job. His boots were always loud on the bare floor, but he never came into the room.

  He still smacked Gerald around whenever he got the chance, but not as frequently as he used to. He had a new job which he liked, and was getting paid every week. Monique was like a little butterfly. She fluttered around the house, trying to make sure Jordan was happy. Gerald wondered when Monique ever got a chance to be happy herself, or if she even thought about it. But he never asked.

  She couldn’t cook very well, so they ate a lot of fast food. Gerald missed Aunt Queen’s home-cooked meals. He missed her home-cooked loving even more.

  Tiger loved french fries. She would jump up on the table and eat them right out of the bag. However, she knew to stay away from Jordan, who would knock her off the table with a sweep of his arm, or kick her if she got in his way. Angel would grab the cat and hug her until she stopped shaking and began to purr again. She dressed the cat up in doll clothes, pulled her along the floor in a box, and even decorated her tail with ribbons. Tiger allowed it all without complaint, snuggling each night at the foot of Angel’s bed.

  When Angel got chicken pox, Tiger seemed to be pleased to have Angel home from school each day. Monique took two days off from work, mostly to watch the soaps, but she did open a can of chicken soup each day and give it to Angel. Angel hated chicken soup, so Tiger had great lunches.

  On the third day, Monique had to go back to work. Gerald had already left for school. Angel was still asleep.

  “I’ll watch her,” Jordan growled carelessly.

  “What about your job?” Monique inquired hesitantly.

  “Don’t you worry about my job, woman! You just do yours! I said I’d watch the kid and that’s what I’m gonna do! Now get to work!” Monique hurried out the door.

  “She loves chicken soup!” she called to Jordan as she left.

  When Angel woke up, she felt for the warm lump in the blanket called Tiger. The cat was gone. Angel felt itchy, but not as sick as at first. She hoped Mama had fixed peanut butter today. She was sick of soup.

  Angel got up, went to the bathroom, and tried not to scratch her spots. “Tiger?” she called. Where could she be hiding? Angel thought.

  Still concentrating on finding the cat, Angel didn’t see Jordan until it was too late. He was sitting on her bed. She gasped and tried to run from the room, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her fiercely next to him.

  “No, please, no, Jordan,” she begged. “Please don’t. Oh, please don’t.”

  “Relax, girl. I ain’t gonna hurt you. I just want to talk to you, to see how you feel.”

  “I feel fine, Jordan. Now leave me alone! Please!”

  “Now you just let me see how well you feel. How’s that rash? Hold up your shirt and let me see.”

  “No, Jordan! I don’t want you to look at my rash. No!”

  “I’m your daddy, girl. I’ll look at your rash if I want to! How can I tell if you’re getting better? Now take off that shirt!” Angel tearfully removed her T-shirt while Jordan watched. Her rash was very mild and the spots were already beginning to fade. He touched her back, and she tensed at the roughness of his fingers.

  Angel wept silently while he explored her body for chicken pox spots. He took his time. He found them all.

  Finally he spoke. “I’ve missed you, girl. I forgot what a special little Angel you really are.” He headed out of the room.

  “Oh, by the way, if you’re lookin’ for that stinkin’ cat, it’s in the oven. Don’t worry, I didn’t turn it on. But if you say one word to anybody—I swear I’ll kill that cat and cook it!” With that, he slammed the door of the apartment and left.

  Angel was alone. Still shaking and sobbing, she ran to the kitchen and slowly opened the oven door. Tiger jumped into her arms. They stood there for a minute, clinging to each other in fear of the darkness they had seen. Angel, too terrified to tell and too frightened not to, clung to her cat and wept.

  ELEVEN

  WHEN GERALD GOT home, Angel was pale and feverish. Jordan had not come back all day. Gerald fixed Angel a scrambled egg and gave her some juice. She would not talk to him. He remembered when he got chicken pox how Aunt Queen had made a warm poultice out of something she found in the garde
n, and the itch had disappeared. What was bothering Angel seemed to be more than a rash. Gerald carried the worry deep and heavy in his gut.

  “Monique,” he called to her as soon as she walked in. “I think Angel’s getting worse. Come look.”

  Monique sighed, glanced at Angel, and replied, “These things take time, Gerald. If she ain’t better by tomorrow, I’ll take her to the clinic. Right now I’m going to give her something for her fever and a little of my good chicken soup. Let’s see if that helps, okay?”

  “Why did you leave her here by herself?” Gerald asked. “I coulda stayed home from school.”

  “There was no need for you to stay home. Jordan stayed with her today.”

  At the sound of Jordan’s name, Angel’s eyes got wide, but she said nothing. She moaned softly, then was silent again. Gerald frowned.

  “Well, he wasn’t here when I got home from school,” Gerald replied. “She’s too little to be here all by herself.”

  “Maybe he went to get some french fries for Tiger. You know he likes that cat,” suggested Monique as she checked her hair in the mirror.

  Tiger was curled into a tight ball, very close to Angel. “Let’s let ’em sleep, Gerald,” said Monique. “I bet they’ll both feel better in the morning.”

  Gerald didn’t sleep well. He watched Angel toss and turn and moan. He was worried.

  Finally, just before dawn, he gently shook her arm.

  “Angel!” he said quietly. “Angel!”

  She woke suddenly, eyes fearful and staring. Instinctively she grabbed the covers and pulled them tightly around her.

  “It’s me, Gerald. How do you feel?”

  Angel relaxed a bit and turned away from him.

  “I’m okay, Gerald. It’s just chicken pox. Let me get some sleep.”

  “What about Jordan?”

  “He ain’t got chicken pox.”

  “I gotta know, Angel. You gotta tell me. Did he bother you yesterday? Did he hurt you?”

  “I’m cold, Gerald.”

  He pulled an extra blanket out of the closet and tucked it around her.

  “I’m always cold, Gerald, and scared. Jordan makes me feel like I’m cold and dead inside. He ... he said he would kill Tiger. He said he would kill Mama. Make him go away, Gerald. Make him go away.”

  “Did he touch you, Angel?” Gerald asked. He felt the anger rise like vomit in his throat.

  “I’m so cold.” Angel refused to look at Gerald. She stared into the darkness, shivering with her fear.

  “Go back to sleep, Angel,” Gerald said, trying to soothe her. “I’m gonna make things better. Do you trust me?”

  “Yes,” she whispered softly.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Don’t leave me here with Jordan!” Angel whispered frantically. “Where’s my cat?”

  “Tiger’s right here at the foot of your bed, and Monique doesn’t have to go to work until later. You’ll be fine until I get back. Go back to sleep and relax. I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

  “Okay, Gerald,” she replied with sleepy trust. She sighed and drifted back to sleep.

  Gerald dressed quickly, took his book bag, and left the apartment. It was 6 A.M.

  Monique got up about seven and decided to go to work early to put in some overtime. She noticed that Gerald was already gone. She shrugged, assumed he had gone to school early, and finished polishing her nails. She glanced at Angel, who was still asleep, but she didn’t wake her; nor did she touch her to see if the child was feverish. She decided to change her shoes because they didn’t match her dress, and left to catch her bus.

  Gerald felt sick. He knew he had to get help in a hurry, but he didn’t know where to go, who to talk to, or what he should do first. The bus dropped him off in front of Hazelwood Middle School, where he was in sixth grade. It stood empty and silent this early in the morning. The dark upstairs windows looked like huge, accusing eyes, staring at him. The front door hadn’t even been unlocked yet. Gerald sighed and sat on the curb, hoping that a teacher or counselor he knew and could trust would decide to come to work early today.

  He was hesitant to go to the police.

  What if they don’t believe me? he asked himself. Will they believe a kid? I don’t really have any proof. On TV, cops need hard evidence or the bad guy gets away. What if I accuse Jordan of abuse or something and they can’t prove it? He’ll be angry and get even more violent and maybe hurt Angel and . . .

  Gerald bowed his head and sighed in misery. He barely noticed the silver Buick that stopped in front of him.

  “What’s up, man? You look so down that curb looks like up.” It was Robbie, the best basketball player at Hazelwood Middle School. Gerald liked Rob, who was always cracking jokes and acting silly.

  “What you doin’ here so early?” Gerald asked.

  “My dad drops me off every morning before he goes to work. It’s a little early, but I finish up my homework or go sleep in the locker room. That door is always open early. Want a doughnut?”

  “Naw, man. I got a lot on my mind today.”

  Rob’s dad, who was standing at the back of the car getting Robbie’s bag and lunch out of the trunk, glanced at Gerald with concern.

  Gerald didn’t know Rob’s dad very well, but he probably knew him better than any father of his friends. Mr. Washington was active on the school parent council and came to all of the basketball games, track meets, and school plays. He and his wife often had Rob’s friends to their home on weekends. They had a finished rec room, a huge backyard, and a refrigerator that always seemed to be well-stocked with essentials like pizza and ice cream and soda pop. Gerald wasn’t sure if they were wealthy or not, but they sure had lots of things that he and Monique and Angel couldn’t afford. Gerald had only been there once, and although he’d felt uncomfortable at first, Rob’s family had made him feel at home.

  Mr. Washington touched Gerald on the shoulder. “You all right, son?” he asked with genuine concern.

  Gerald had planned to shrug, laugh, and head to the gym with Rob. But the touch of Rob’s father’s hand on his shoulder seemed to let everything come loose. He tried to hold them back, but tears of fear and worry began to escape from his tightly clenched eyes.

  Embarrassed, he sniffed and lowered his head. Rob’s father motioned for his son to go on into the building and squatted on the curb next to Gerald.

  “Let’s go get something to eat, Gerald,” he said quietly. He offered his hand. Gerald sighed, wiped his eyes on his coat sleeve, took the offered hand, and got in the car.

  Mr. Washington asked no questions at first. At McDonald’s he ordered a cup of coffee and a hot chocolate, got extra cream and sugar for both, and steered Gerald to a booth near the back. Gerald sipped the cocoa gratefully, the warmth of it relaxing him. He thought of Aunt Queen, who loved her black coffee every morning. He knew that Queen would have liked Rob’s dad. She approved of black men in blue suits who had jobs in offices downtown. Mr. Washington had called his office from a pay phone, so he casually read the morning paper while Gerald sat silently, trying to figure out where to start.

  “It’s my sister,” he said finally.

  “How old is she?”

  “Almost seven. Her name is Angel.”

  “Is she sick?”

  “No, she, uh, well, she’s got, uh, chicken pox.”

  “I thought you said she wasn’t sick.”

  “Well, the chicken pox is not the problem. See, she can’t go to school, so Jordan stays with her and he, and he ...”

  “Who’s Jordan?”

  “My stepfather. He drinks, and he’s mean, and he smacks me around, but that’s not the problem—I can handle it. I think he’s . . . doing stuff to Angel that he shouldn’t. And I don’t know what to do! I can’t go to the cops—they might not believe me. She’s so scared of him she won’t even admit it to me, but I know he’s hurting her and I don’t know what to do or who to tell or . . .”

  He stopped, in tears a
gain, but this time, he wasn’t ashamed. He felt cleaner now that he had finally told someone. Someone who he knew could help.

  “You were right to tell me, Gerald,” Mr. Washington assured him with a sigh. “I’m glad you trusted me. Let’s go get this stopped right now. Where is this Jordan?”

  “At home. With Angel.”

  “Let’s hurry. We’re going to the police.”

  TWELVE

  JORDAN TOOK OUT a cigarette, put his feet up on the coffee table, and smiled, looking forward to another day with his little Angel.

  When Angel woke up, the cat was missing again, and she could hear Jordan’s boots as he walked around the apartment. He was whistling.

  She looked at the window. It was narrow and had been painted shut years ago. Even if she hid under the bed, there was no escape. She felt like she was going to throw up. Jordan’s footsteps approached. He opened the door. He was smiling.

  “I brought breakfast in bed for my little girl,” he said cheerfully. “Come and eat. You look a little pale.”

  Angel darted past him out of the bedroom door and mumbled, “I have to go to the bathroom.” She stayed in the bathroom as long as she could, but the door had no lock, and she watched as he turned the knob from the outside.

  “Your breakfast is getting cold,” Jordan declared. “Don’t you appreciate what I’ve done for you?”

  “Thank you, Jordan, for the breakfast, but I’m not very hungry. Where’s my cat?”

  Jordan’s loud laughter startled her. “Ha! You think I killed that stupid cat? Not yet. Maybe I won’t have to. Come here!”

  Angel’s feet would not walk toward Jordan. His boots clumped on the bare wood floor as he walked over to her. He picked her up, then kicked open the bedroom door. He placed her gently on the bed. “Today,” he said softly, “we got the whole day to spend together. Ain’t that grand?”

  Angel trembled with disgust and fear. Jordan turned the radio up loud and closed her door.

  Jordan didn’t hear the apartment door open. He didn’t notice that Gerald had quietly opened Angel’s door or that two uniformed police officers were standing there until just before they grabbed him and handcuffed him. He roared in anger and tried to get away, but it was too late.