by BJ Hoff
He’d told them they were crazy, but what he’d seen hadn’t been lunacy. It was something worse. Maybe it wasn’t what he saw at all. Maybe it was what he hadn’t seen. Because there was something missing in Billy’s eyes. Something that should have been there just…wasn’t.
It was so hard to see in here. Even if there had been light, he could not have seen all that well, because his glasses had gone flying off his nose outside, when they’d grabbed him and Maggie.
His head was swimming from the pain. He felt off balance, as if the room were leaning.
Something scurried across the floor, and a sound tore from Maggie’s throat.
Kenny turned toward her. “It’s all right,” he said, his words coming out thick and slurred. “Don’t be scared.”
She was crying. He hated that. Maggie never cried. Almost never, anyway. She was the bravest girl in school, braver than most of the boys. But now she was crying, and it made him hurt even more.
Billy moved, coming toward them. Kenny knew it was Billy because he had legs like tree trunks.
“Brave guy,” Kenny muttered. “Making girls cry.”
“Shut up, Four-eyes!” The words were accompanied by a kick in the head.
Now the room did tilt, and Kenny went sideways, against Maggie, who reached to steady him.
“Leave him alone,” Billy snapped. “Put him in the corner over there,” he said to Orrin. “Get him out of the way. If he gives you any trouble, slug him again.”
“What are you gonna do, Billy?”
Kenny was still clearheaded enough to note the uneasiness in Orrin’s voice. So he wasn’t necessarily sold on his buddy’s meanness after all. Somehow that didn’t surprise Kenny. But he was here, all the same. He’d gone along with Billy, whether he liked the idea or not. As far as Kenny was concerned, that made him just as bad.
Maybe just not as dangerous.
“Billy? What are you gonna do?” Orrin asked again.
“What do you think I’m going to do?” Billy said with an ugly laugh. “I’m going to teach Little Red Riding Hood here some respect. I told you, get him out of my way.”
Kenny nearly gagged on the rage boiling through him as Orrin came and took him by his good arm. He shook him off, forcing the older boy to switch sides. When he did, Kenny slipped his hand into his pocket, palmed the knife and flicked it open. As Orrin bent to grasp him, Kenny twisted around, brought the knife up and plunged it in, then out, of Orrin’s leg.
The boy screamed and fell backward. Kenny scrambled away from him, knife still in hand as he lunged toward Billy, who was standing over Maggie.
“Maggie! Run!”
But Maggie couldn’t run. Billy was too fast. With amazing aim, even in the darkness, he blocked her and then he pivoted and kicked out at Kenny’s arm, knocking the knife out of his hand and sending it clattering across the floor.
Then he cursed at Kenny and again kicked him in the head.
The last thing Kenny heard before the darkness swallowed him whole was Orrin shrieking like a girl and Billy cursing them all as he crashed across the room to get the knife.
Pip was on his knees, shivering as much from fear as the cold, when he heard Kenny yell. It got quiet for a couple of minutes, and then someone yelled again, only this time it wasn’t Kenny. It was a terrible sound, like someone was hurt and hurt bad.
Pip didn’t think but clambered to his feet and took off running as fast as he could toward the road. Not for the first time, he wished he were big. Big and strong like his papa had been. He wished he still had both hands. He wished he hadn’t got lost and made Maggie and Kenny come looking for him.
They had been so nice to him, both of them. And now when they needed help, he was useless.
But he could still run. His papa always said he could run like a wild jack rabbit.
So Pip ran. He would run all the way into town if he had to, but somehow, somewhere he was going to get help for Maggie and Kenny.
Twenty-Nine
A Call for Heroes
Unbounded courage and compassion joined
proclaim him good and great,
and make the hero and the man complete.
Joseph Addison
Where were they?
Jonathan had been pacing the road beneath the tipple for more than ten minutes now, but there was still no sign of the children or their fathers.
He’d brought a lantern but left it dark, not wanting to announce his presence. At least not yet. Earlier the night had been clear, and he’d been able to see well enough, but clouds had now begun to gather, and he feared that soon he would have to light the lantern even if it did give him away.
Nearly sick with worry, he again scanned the railroad yard and the grounds beneath the tipple but found the entire area still deserted. The shift would have ended nearly an hour ago; apparently, no one lingered long after the whistle blew.
Chilled, he was tempted to go back to the buggy and wait for the others but then decided against it. He couldn’t see nearly as well from where he’d parked the buggy up the road, and he didn’t want to risk missing the children.
He tried to feel hopeful. Perhaps Billy Macken and the Gaffney boy had given up their malicious plan and Maggie and Kenny were safely home by now. If nothing happened soon, he’d try to think of an excuse to stop by one or the other’s house, just to make sure.
Somehow, even though he wanted to believe that scenario, he couldn’t quite convince himself that was what had happened. The heaviness that had been pressing in on him throughout the day hadn’t lifted; if anything, the oppression had only grown darker. During the ride here, one appalling image after another had inserted itself in his mind, until by the time he arrived he was half nauseous with dread.
He didn’t know what else to do except to wait. Surely, Matthew and Judson Tallman—
Just then he saw Tallman coming around the side of the hill from his office. Relieved, he watched the mine superintendent approach. The man was half running in a stiff, straight-legged gait, one arm hanging close to his side, the other hand holding a lantern.
He moves like the person he’s said to be, thought Jonathan. He seems like such a rigid, unyielding sort of man.
He reminded himself that he really didn’t know Judson Tallman, although his recent encounter with the man had done nothing to dispel his earlier impression of him. Still, he should at least make an effort to be charitable. Especially under the present circumstances.
“They’re not here?” Tallman said as soon as he reached Jonathan.
“No sign of them yet,” said Jonathan. “I’ve been here for several minutes now, and I haven’t seen anyone, except for a few men who were leaving just as I arrived. I don’t know what to think.”
He fished in his pocket for the matches he’d brought, struck one and lighted his lantern.
“What about MacAuley?”
Jonathan shook his head. “I haven’t seen him. I’m sure he’ll be here soon—”
Tallman interrupted with a gruff sound of impatience. “Likely you misunderstood the whole situation. You probably didn’t hear what you thought you did.”
Jonathan bristled. “I’m not given to poor hearing, Mr. Tallman. I know what I overheard, and it was exactly as I described it to you and Matthew MacAuley.”
“Well, you can see there’s no one here,” Tallman said tersely. “Including MacAuley.”
But just then Matthew MacAuley was there. The big miner, still in his work clothes, his face black with coal dust, came hustling down the hill, swinging a lantern in one hand.
“Sorry,” he said when he reached them. “There was trouble with the cage—that rattletrap should have been replaced months ago.” He shot a pointed glance at Judson Tallman before going on. “Anyway, we were late getting up. I tried—”
Before MacAuley could finish, a frantic cry split the stillness of the night.
Jonathan whipped around to see a boy breaking out of the edge of the trees across the railroad tracks,
wildly flailing his arms and shouting as he ran toward them.
“It’s Pip!”
The three of them took off running, but Matthew MacAuley quickly passed Jonathan and Tallman. Before Jonathan could make it across the road, he had to slow his pace; his heartbeat was severely erratic, the pain in his chest intense.
But Pip didn’t stop for Matthew MacAuley or Tallman. Instead, he came running directly to Jonathan. The boy was clearly panicked, his dark eyes wild with fear, his breath coming in sharp, quick gasps.
Jonathan caught him by the arm. “Pip, what is it?”
“Over there!” He spun around and pointed toward the woods. “Maggie and Kenny!”
Matthew MacAuley and Tallman had retraced their steps and now stood behind the boy, listening. He was shaking badly when Jonathan took him by the shoulders. “What about Maggie and Kenny? Where are they?”
Again the boy pointed to the woods. “They’re hurting them! Those boys—those boys from school—they took them to a house—”
“Slow down, Pip,” said Jonathan. “What house? Where?”
But Matthew MacAuley was already moving, and there was nothing to do but follow him. Judson Tallman went at a run behind MacAuley, while Jonathan had all he could do to walk.
He felt a tug at the sleeve of his coat, and when he looked down, Pip took Jonathan’s hand and placed it on his own narrow shoulder. “I’ll help you, Mr. Stuart. You lean on me, okay?”
Jonathan swallowed, unable to speak. But he did indeed lean on the little boy at his side. Together, they followed the two fathers at a distance, Pip explaining how they’d become separated and what he had seen in the woods—and Jonathan praying silently, frantically all the way.
Holding the lantern up to see, Matthew didn’t hesitate. He kicked the door in and charged inside, with Tallman right behind him.
He saw Kenny first, crumpled in a corner, a narrow trickle of blood streaming down the side of his face. Orrin Gaffney, his face white and stark in the flickering glow from the lantern, sat crammed against one wall, holding what looked to be a bloody glove over his leg. He took one look at Matthew and shrank back against the wall as if he were trying to vaporize.
Then Matthew saw Maggie.
A groan of despair tore from his throat. They had gagged the girl! She was sprawled on the filthy floor, her coat bunched up about her knees, kicking that animal, Billy Macken, in the legs.
He was laughing at her. And he had a knife.
Matthew snapped.
Billy Macken saw him and stopped laughing.
Matthew rid himself of the lantern by setting it carefully to the floor. He then straightened, and took a step toward Macken. After only the slightest hesitation, the boy bolted toward him, clearly intending to escape through the open door.
Matthew blocked him with his body. The boy raised the knife, but Matthew wrested it from him with one vicious motion, trapping him with an arm against his throat as he pitched the knife over his shoulder and out the door into the night.
The Macken boy was big and heavy-built, but Matthew toppled him as if he were nothing but a reed in the wind. When the boy went down, Matthew yanked him upright again, wrenching his bad arm hard enough to send pain shooting all the way up to his neck.
He grabbed the boy by both shoulders, shaking him as if he were no more than one of his girls’ rag dolls.
His blood pounded, his heart hammered like a wild thing, and a rage he had not known since he was a boy thrummed through him, setting off a roaring in his head that shut out everything around him.
The young devil was crying now—crying, the simpering coward—and then begging, but Matthew had nearly crossed the line from mercy to madness. He took the boy’s throat in his hands and began to squeeze.
“Matthew! No! Stop before you kill the boy!”
Jonathan Stuart’s voice finally sliced through the storm of rage that had caught Matthew up in its vortex. He stared at the Macken boy, whose jaw had gone slack, his eyes panicky and wild, for Matthew still had him by the throat.
And as if his hands had suddenly caught fire, Matthew released the boy, who tottered backward.
“You get over there,” Matthew ordered, his voice like gravel as he pointed to the opposite corner of the room. “And don’t you move. Don’t you even roll your eyes, understand?”
The boy’s eyes now glittered with hatred, but, rubbing his throat and hacking, he stumbled over to the corner where his white-faced cohort with the bloody glove still cowered.
Matthew shook his head to clear it and saw that Jonathan Stuart had knelt down beside Maggie. The gag was gone, and the teacher was holding her as she sobbed against his shoulder.
He glanced at Judson Tallman, who had pillowed his boy’s head in his lap and was wiping the blood from his face. Kenny appeared to be conscious now, but his skin was ashen, and he was moaning with pain.
The wee Pippino boy was on his knees at Kenny’s side, his gaze going back and forth from the boy to Judson Tallman, solemnly watching them both.
Finally, Matthew turned and went to Maggie. He dropped down beside her, and Jonathan Stuart very gently turned her away from him and handed her over to her father.
He held his daughter to his heart, carefully so as not to bruise her with the force of his relief and his love, though he sullied her with his coal-dusted miner’s hands. As he held her, he rocked her and stroked her wild red hair, so much like his own, and murmured a promise, over and over, that no one would ever hurt her again.
Please, God…
He glanced across the room then to see Judson Tallman pass a hand over his son’s face in a gesture much like a blessing.
“Is your boy all right?” Matthew said.
Tallman looked up, his expression somewhat stunned, his eyes damp.
Perhaps he did care, after all…
“His arm is broken, and he’s been beaten…again,” Tallman said, his voice unsteady. “But, yes, I believe he will be alright.” He paused. “And your daughter, MacAuley? How is she?”
Matthew gazed down at the top of Maggie’s head and then at Tallman. “She’ll be just fine.” He hesitated and then added, “Thanks to your son.”
Their eyes locked for a long moment before each turned back to his child.
Thirty
A Future and a Hope
“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you,”
says the LORD, “thoughts of peace,
and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.”
Jeremiah 29:11 NKJV
On the night before his birthday, Jonathan Stuart forced himself to make what was probably the most difficult decision of his life.
For days now he had been wrestling with a matter that threatened to break his heart every time he confronted it. Tonight he had faced the truth without shrinking, had resigned himself to the reality—and the finality—of his deteriorating physical condition, and had somehow come to terms with what he must do.
In the dim solitude of his small study, with icy, wind-driven snow pelting the windows, despair overcame his spirit as fatigue had overcome his body. So weak had he grown over the past weeks that he virtually dragged himself to and from the schoolhouse each day. The smallest tasks had become trying, to the point that exhaustion had become a way of life for him.
He would never understand how he had endured…and survived… the past few days. By all rights, the recent events would have consumed what little stamina he had left. The ongoing tension and worry, and then the harrowing night of Maggie and Kenny’s rescue, had been as enervating as days of rigorous physical labor, perhaps even more so.
Yet he was still here, albeit depleted, still able to function if not well, at least enough to get by. And no matter what the ordeal had done to him, some remarkable things had come out of it. He had seen the end of Billy Macken and Orrin Gaffney’s bullying the other children. Both boys had been spared a jail sentence in lieu of a year’s stay at an institutional farm for wayward boys in the next coun
ty. One could only hope they would emerge from that experience more inclined to contribute to society rather than defy it.
According to Matthew MacAuley, Maggie and Kenny were both recovering nicely. Kenny was still resting at home, as was Maggie, but Matthew had assured Jonathan that both would be back to normal soon.
As for Judson Tallman, Kenny’s father seemed to have had a much-needed awakening. Apparently, he had come to realize that his cold, uncompromising method of raising his son had nothing to do with instilling courage and a sense of manhood in a boy; indeed, such traits were already present in his son. What Kenny needed most was attention and love, and although Jonathan suspected that Tallman would never find it easy to be lavish with either, he could only hope the man would eventually learn how to provide both.
As for himself, he had made two new friends: Matthew MacAuley and Pip. The latter had become his shadow, showing up at his house every day during the Christmas vacation from school to see what might need fixing or what errands Jonathan might assign to him—or simply to talk his ear off while he “kept him company.” Matthew, of course, was far too busy at the mines to enjoy the luxury of an idle visit now and then, but he stopped by when he could, often with some treat from his wife’s kitchen.
Jonathan was almost beginning to feel somewhat spoiled by all the rest and attention. But at the edge of his mind there was the constant awareness that the present sea of calm was only temporary, that looming closer and closer was a time when his life would have to change.
Tonight, after hours of prayer and searching the Word, he could almost believe that he had finally made peace with his warring emotions and could follow through with what he’d known he must do for some time now. Although the decision had scarred his very soul and challenged his faith in a way nothing else ever had, he had, as much as possible, accepted the future that awaited him.