Hannah's Moon (American Journey Book 5)

by John A. Heldt

  "What are you thinking?" Margaret asked.

  "I'm thinking I need to do this sort of thing more often," David said. "I usually avoid fairs and festivals because of the crowds, but I can see now I just need to be more selective."

  Margaret grinned.

  "Are you warming to the South, Mr. Baker?"

  David smiled.

  "I'm warming to a lot of things."

  Margaret laughed. She started to reply to David's comment but stopped when they reached the top of the wheel and she heard something snap. She grabbed her seat.

  "What was that?" Margaret asked.

  David looked around.

  "I don't know."

  The answer came quickly. When the ride operator pushed his lever to move the seats forward, one seat, the one at the top, did not swing and adjust to the pull of gravity.

  "David? What's happening?" Margaret cried. "David?"

  "I don't . . ."

  Just that quickly, the friends slid forward and slipped beneath the safety bar. Margaret instinctively grabbed the bar to halt her advance. David did the same. Within seconds, a pleasure ride, the highlight of a memorable day, had turned into something else.

  Margaret felt her heart pound as she held on for dear life. She felt it explode when the operator, oblivious to the drama above, pushed the lever again. She screamed loudly as the wheel again began to roll and her situation became even more precarious.

  "David!"

  David extended an arm and tried to pull Margaret close, but he could not. He struggled to keep himself from falling eighty feet to a certain death.

  "Just hold on, Margaret. Just hold on — and don't look down!"

  Margaret ignored the advice. She looked down and saw the sum of all her fears in a single terrifying glance. Two policemen rushed to assist the ride operator as spectators assembled around the base of the Ferris wheel and panic spread to other passengers.

  Margaret watched in horror as the cops and the operator appeared to argue about what to do next. She didn't have time for a debate. She didn't have time.

  Those at the bottom didn't seem to think so either. One of the policemen stepped into the open, cupped his hands around his mouth, and called out.

  "Can you hold on? Can you hold on if we start the wheel?"

  David looked to Margaret for an answer and got one in the form of a shaky nod. Then he looked down and answered the cop with a shout.

  "I think so."

  "Then hold on tight."

  Margaret did just that. She tightened her hold on the bar as the operator pushed the lever and the wheel again began to move. For a few seconds, she began to think she would make it. Then she lost her grip and screamed again as her nightmare entered a new phase.

  "David!"

  Dangling from a height of sixty feet, Margaret held on to a one-inch-thick metal bar with a single hand. As she did, she thought of her difficult life, her unfulfilled dreams, and her unrelenting desire to live. She tried to grab the bar with her free hand but found she could not do it. She simply did not have the strength.

  "I'm not going to make it," Margaret said.

  "Yes, you are," David replied in a forceful voice.

  "I can't . . ."

  Margaret stopped speaking as her hand grew sweaty and her grip went from firm to loose to nonexistent. She felt a strange sense of peace as the bar slipped from her fingers and she began to fall. She expected a swift and painful death. She did not expect a strong hand to grab her wrist at the last second and postpone her date with the Reaper.

  "You can!"

  Holding onto the bar with one hand and Margaret Doyle with the other, David Baker, unlikely hero, kept two bodies intact until the massive wheel rolled to a stop. He released Margaret into the waiting arms of others and held on tightly as the ride operator slowly lowered him to a position where he could safely drop to the hard ground.

  David brushed himself off, looked for Margaret, and found her in a small but attentive gathering about twenty feet away. When she finally emerged from the group, he raced forward, wrapped her in his arms, and held her until she stopped shaking.

  "Are you all right?" David asked.

  Margaret nodded but did not speak. Stunned by the sudden turn of events and her brush with death, she could do little more than sob and rest her head on David's shoulder.

  A moment later, Margaret and David reunited with Claire in front of a nearby ticket booth. They hugged each other fiercely, spoke briefly to the police, and headed for home.

  The shaken adults did not consult Hannah before changing their plans. All agreed they had seen enough fireworks for one evening.

  CHAPTER 44: DAVID

  Chattanooga, Tennessee – Friday, July 6, 1945

  "How is Margaret?" Carter Galloway asked. He lifted a cup from his desk and sipped some coffee. "The papers didn't say much."

  "She's fine," David said. "She was a mess the other night, but she's fine now. I saw her this morning before coming here. She seems to be doing all right."

  "How about you? How are you doing?"

  "I'm still a little rattled. I have never come so close to death. I will never ride a Ferris wheel again."

  Carter smiled.

  "Sure you will. You will because you're the type of person who answers adversity by jumping back into it. I wouldn't be surprised if you returned to the park next week."

  David laughed.

  "You have a lot of faith in me."

  "I do," Carter said. "I tend to have faith in people I can count on."

  David sank in his chair. He wondered if the boss would still feel the same when he told him he planned to leave town in ten days. He was tired of letting people down.

  "I'm happy to hear that," David said.

  Carter leaned back in his chair.

  "You don't seem that way. You seem a bit down."

  "That's because I have to share news you may not want to hear."

  "Oh?"

  David nodded.

  "Claire, Hannah, and I plan to fly to California to meet Ron when he starts his first assignment. He's been ordered to Mare Island."

  "I see," Carter said. "Are these plans set?"

  David shook his head.

  "They are very tentative. Ron said he would call us on July 15 with a final update. If, as expected, he is granted a leave, we will fly to San Francisco the next day."

  Carter sighed.

  "Will you come back?"

  David pondered the question before answering. He liked his job and wanted to keep it as long as he remained in Tennessee, but he also wanted to be fair to his employer. At the very least, he owed the defense attorney an honest answer.

  "It depends," David said. "If Ron is assigned to a base in California, we will move to that base. If, for some reason, he is not, we will come back to Chattanooga and stay until his situation is more settled. That's why I'm asking for a two-week leave, beginning July 16, rather than submitting my resignation. I'd like to keep my options open."

  "I'd like to keep them open too," Carter said. "Given that it's July and that I've prepared for this contingency, I see no reason to oppose your request."

  "Thank you. I appreciate you doing this for me."

  Carter chuckled.

  "I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it for me. As I told you the other day, you are doing splendid work. We want to keep you here as long as we can."

  David smiled.

  "Either way, I appreciate it. Thank you."

  "You're welcome," Carter said.

  David felt a heavy weight tumble off his shoulders. If he did nothing else in the next ten days, he would leave Chattanooga with a clean conscience.

  "I should probably start my rounds," David said. He lifted his satchel and placed it on his lap. "Is there anything else you want to discuss?"

  Carter took a breath.

  "As a matter of fact, there is. It's a subject I've wanted to address for several days. It's something that came to my attention on Monday."

&nb
sp; David sat up in his chair.

  "I'm listening."

  Carter rubbed his hands together on his desk.

  "A friend of mine, a retired detective, spoke to me in confidence about something he heard in passing last week."

  "What's that?" David asked.

  "The FBI, it appears, has been watching a local family for several weeks," Carter said. He frowned. "My friend said the family moved here recently from Los Angeles and may be involved in some kind of espionage."

  "He told you this?"

  "He said it to my face."

  David felt his stomach drop. Though he had expected a difficult conversation with the boss, he hadn't expected this. He wanted to ask Carter a hundred questions, but he knew he could ask only two or three — at least now. So much suddenly made sense. David gathered his strength and asked the question that had to come first.

  "Do you think I'm a spy?"

  "I don't," Carter said. "I don't think Ron and Claire are either. I cannot, in my wildest imaginings, believe that a Navy man, a new mother, and one of my employees could engage in something so sinister."

  David stared at Carter.

  "Then why bring it up?"

  "I bring it up because I want you to be careful. I want you to be careful about who you talk to and who you write to. The last thing you want to do as a new resident of our fair city is create a misunderstanding while there is still a war going on."

  "I understand."

  "That's good," Carter said. "That's good because that's all I have to say on the matter. Now go do your rounds. Plan on working through next Friday and updating me on your situation and your plans as soon as you can. We'll work with you."

  David grabbed his satchel and rose from his chair. He couldn't believe things had ended so well. He took Carter's hand and shook it.

  "Thank you, sir. Thanks for having faith in me. I won't let you down."

  CHAPTER 45: CLAIRE

  Tuesday, July 10, 1945

  The courtroom of Judge Hamilton T. Pence looked more like a chapel than a venue for legal proceedings. With long padded benches, an arched ceiling, and slits for windows along one wall, it was warm, inviting, and practical. It was the kind of place that put people at ease and fostered good feelings.

  Claire certainly felt good as she held Hannah and stood with David, Margaret, Marie Weatherford, and a Family Aid attorney by the name of Winston Hale. She felt good because a difficult and often painful odyssey was about to come to an end.

  Claire let her mind drift as Pence and Hale went through the legal formalities and paved the way for the more informal moment to come. Nearly fifteen weeks after arriving in Chattanooga and plunging headfirst into the forties, she had a lot to think about.

  She thought first of Hannah, of course. It was hard not to think of a thirteen-month-old bundle of giggles and curls who brightened every moment of every day. The girl was worth every hardship she had ever faced and certainly worth a three-month wait.

  When Hannah lightly slapped her mother's cheeks, as she so often did when trying to get her attention, Claire pressed her nose against Hannah's and stared at her daughter until she started to laugh. She loved the girl's laugh more than life itself and looked forward to hearing it for many years to come.

  Claire also thought of David, who stood to her immediate right, and wondered what he was thinking. She had thought of him often since his harrowing brush with death on July 4 and his unsettling conversation with Carter Galloway two days later.

  When David had told her that the family was under the close watch of the FBI, she felt angry, violated, and finally relieved. Though she did not know what the Bureau wanted with two men, a woman, and a baby, she saw an upside to their surveillance.

  She no longer had to imagine that people were following David around town or opening the family's mail. She knew they were. As a result, she could adjust her actions accordingly.

  As Pence and Hale continued to blather, Claire thought of Margaret too. Despite lingering concerns that her neighbor had some secrets, Claire trusted her implicitly and wanted to maintain their friendship for as long as she could.

  Then Claire thought of the man who wasn't here but should be here. She missed her husband desperately and wished he could be part of this incredible moment. She wished a lot of things, but she didn't dwell on them. She knew that her family — her broken family — would soon be intact and be in a position to get on with the business of living.

  Claire pondered the coming reunion for a moment and then returned her attention to the man in the robe. She smiled when he looked her way.

  "Mrs. Rasmussen, I understand you wish to provide this child with a loving home, meet her material and spiritual needs, and teach her to be a moral and upstanding member of society," Pence said. "Is that true?"

  "It is, Your Honor."

  "Does your husband, who is not here today because of an obligation to our country, intend to do the same?"

  "He does," Claire said.

  The judge leaned forward.

  "Then I see no reason not to approve this petition."

  "Thank you, Your Honor."

  "I must say, Mrs. Rasmussen, that I am honored to be here. I have presided over five hundred adoption hearings in the past twenty years and cannot remember a prospective mother who came more highly recommended than you. Mrs. Weatherford has informed me of your challenges and written a report that, frankly, belongs in a book of poetry."

  Claire tried and failed to quell some tears. She glanced at Marie, who stood to her left, and then at Pence, who looked more like a kindly southern grandfather than a no-nonsense dispenser of justice.

  "Thank you again," Claire said.

  Pence folded his hands.

  "It is my hope that you and your husband will honor your commitment to this splendid girl, raise her as you would a child of your own flesh, and provide her with all the love and caring she not only needs but deserves."

  "We will, Your Honor. You can count on it."

  "Then it is with great pride and satisfaction that I approve this adoption and award Ronald and Claire Rasmussen permanent custody of Hannah Erin Rasmussen," Pence said. "This hearing and this matter are concluded."

  The judge pounded his gavel, got up from his seat, and stepped around his bench to join the others. For the next fifteen minutes, the participants shook hands, gave hugs, and engaged in light conversation. Pence asked the new family to pose for a photograph. Claire asked the judge to sign a baby book. By the time Claire left the courthouse with Hannah, David, and Margaret, she had a signed decree, a legal daughter, and enough good vibes to fill a high school gym. Her great new life was under way.

  A moment later, as the four advanced toward a parking lot, a corner space, and a 1941 Hudson Six sedan, Claire struck up a conversation with a woman who had been fairly quiet through most of the proceedings. She sensed that Margaret had much on her mind.

  "Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?" Claire asked.

  Margaret nodded.

  "I'm spending some time with a friend."

  "Is she someone we've met?"

  "I don't think so. Laura doesn't live here. She lives up north now. She lives in Detroit with her husband and two boys."

  "Is she someone special?" Claire asked.

  "She is. She's a high school classmate and my best friend."

  "Do you have plans for tomorrow as well?"

  "I don't think so," Margaret said. "Why do you ask?"

  "I want to have you over for dinner. I was planning to make a roast tonight, to celebrate Hannah's adoption, but I can postpone it until tomorrow."

  "I'd love to come, but I really should speak to Laura first. I've seen so little of her this year and want to see what she's doing."

  "Bring her along," Claire said. "We'd love to meet someone new."

  "Are you sure it won't be a bother?"

  "I'm positive. If you two don't have anything better to do, plan on coming over to the house at six. I'll set out extra
plates."

  Margaret waved at Hannah.

  "Can I show off your daughter?"

  "I think you know the answer to that."

  "I don't know," Margaret said. "I don't want to impose."

  "Please come. It won't be the same without you."

  "I'll tell you what. I'll bring Laura to your house tomorrow night if y'all come to my house Saturday night."

  "That's fair," Claire said. "Is something important happening?"

  "Yes."

  "What?"

  Margaret laughed.

  "My friends are leaving me!"

  Claire giggled.

  "In that case, you can have us the whole night."

  "Then it's a date," Margaret said.

  Claire smiled warmly.

  "It's a date."

  CHAPTER 46: CLAIRE

  Wednesday, July 11, 1945

  Thirty minutes into what would likely be the last formal dinner in the house on St. Elmo Avenue, Claire lowered her fork to her plate, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and studied the faces at her table. Each face was the picture of happiness.

  Margaret Doyle and Laura Wilder, seated on opposite sides of the long table, looked like women who had been best friends since high school. They looked similar, dressed alike, and even used the same figures of speech. Were it not for Laura's brown eyes and slightly darker blond hair, Claire might have mistaken the two for twins.

  David, too, looked happy. Seated opposite his sister at the far end of the table, he smiled and laughed with pleasing regularity and engaged his lovely guests with his usual charm.

  Claire was happy to see it. She had watched her brother mope around the house for days and wondered whether he would ever be able to break what appeared to be a strong emotional attachment to the neighbor lady.

  As for Her Highness, who gobbled up mashed potatoes in her high chair a few feet away, she was just plain giddy. Hannah seemed to thrive on the continuous attention she had received since Margaret and Laura walked though the door at six.

  Claire admired her messy, happy, adorable daughter for a moment and then turned her attention to her new acquaintance. She hadn't asked Laura many questions and figured there was no time like the end of their dinner to start.