Jubilee's Journey

by Bette Lee Crosby

  One small boy who understood loneliness was ready to step up to the plate to do what no one else seemed willing to do: stick by Jubilee Jones.

  She’d turned to him and he’d answered.

  I promise I’ll stick by you.

  The Road to Remembering

  Mahoney left his house long before dawn and was knocking on Olivia’s apartment door at six-fifteen. He had hoped to search out Freddie Meyers and have some good news to report, but now it would have to wait. He needed to get Jubilee in and out of the hospital before Gomez got there. If there was any chance of the boy opening up, it wouldn’t be with an antagonistic cop hovering over him ready to pounce. It was a good plan, and it might have worked—if not for Ethan Allen.

  Olivia had anticipated that just she and Detective Mahoney would accompany Jubilee on the trip to the hospital, but Ethan Allen thought differently. Last night she’d told him they were going to leave early, and Clara would come and wake him when it was time for school.

  “Tell her not to bother,” he’d answered, saying that he didn’t plan on going to school. “I done promised Jubie I’d stick by her, and I’m gonna do it.”

  “You can stick by her all you want when we get back from the hospital, but tomorrow morning you’re going to school.” As far as Olivia was concerned that was the end of the discussion.

  Not so with Ethan Allen. He’d stayed awake for most of the night so he’d be ready when they started to leave. When Jubilee sat down at the breakfast table he was right beside her.

  “Go back to bed,” Olivia told him. “There’s no need for you to be up this early.”

  “Yes, there is,” he answered. “I promised Jubie I’d stick by her, and that’s what I’m gonna do.”

  “Not this morning. Paul’s more likely to remember Jubilee if she’s alone.”

  “I gotta be there in case he don’t remember.”

  “No,” Olivia said flatly. “Now shoo on out of here, and let me fix breakfast.”

  “If you ain’t gonna let me come with you in the car, I’ll take my bike and be following right behind.”

  Slowly losing patience, Olivia said he was going to lose his allowance for a full month if he didn’t listen. “You’ve already missed two days of school this term, and I was none too happy with that D on your last report card.”

  Words flew back and forth, and the argument continued until Jubilee spoke up. “I’m scared, Miss Olivia,” she said. “Please let Ethan come with me.”

  With those few words, she reached in and took hold of Olivia’s heart. The child’s fear was painfully real, close to the surface like sunburned skin blistering and ready to pull away in torn bits and pieces.

  “Well,” Olivia relented, “I suppose if he promises to catch up on his homework and get better grades…” She hadn’t quite finished the sentence when Ethan grinned and said, “Thanks, Grandma.”

  On the drive to the hospital Olivia sat in the front seat alongside Mahoney, and the two kids sat in the back. As they pulled onto Monroe Street, Mahoney checked them in the rearview mirror. Ethan Allen was squeezed close to Jubilee on the right side of the seat. It was a sharp contrast to his son and youngest daughter who, when there was an occasion to ride together, sat on opposite ends of the seat, as far away from each other as possible, acting as if one had poison ivy and the other was wary of catching it.

  In this moment of relative calm, he tried to warn the child. “Jubilee, you know your brother’s been very sick, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know what happened before Paul came to the hospital?”

  “He got shot.”

  “Being shot has caused him to not remember things, so he might not recognize you.”

  “I know.”

  “That doesn’t mean Paul doesn’t love you.”

  “I know, Ethan already told me,” she said sadly. Although you would think it impossible for the boy to be any closer, he leaned his head over and whispered something in her ear.

  Mahoney watched them through the review mirror. “If Paul doesn’t recognize you, are you going to get upset and cry?”

  Instead of answering Jubilee turned and looked at Ethan Allen. He shook his head, then whispered in her ear a second time. She listened then said, “I’m not gonna cry. I’m gonna be patient and wait for him to get better.”

  After answering, she turned back to Ethan Allen. He nodded and smiled.

  They arrived at the hospital at seven-ten and went directly to the intensive care unit. The night supervisor, Leslie Storey, was still on duty. She eyed the foursome and said, “Only two of you can be in the room at one time.”

  “No problem,” Olivia answered. “We can wait outside.” She nabbed Ethan Allen’s arm and wrested him to her side.

  “Hey, I was gonna—”

  Before Ethan could finish his thought Olivia said, “I know what you were gonna do, but forget about it. You’re staying here with me.”

  Mahoney took Jubilee by the hand and walked into room 412.

  Paul was lying partway up. Even though his hair was gone and his head swaddled in bandages, Jubilee recognized him the moment she came through the door. She darted across the room, flung her arms around him, and began chattering about how much she’d missed him. “You should have come back,” she scolded. “I was there a long time, and I got scared, and then this boy—”

  Paul eventually turned his head so that he was face to face with her.

  “Where’s Mama?” he asked.

  Jubilee stopped talking and loosened her vise-like grip on him. “Why you asking me about Mama? Mama got buried a long time ago.”

  “Mama’s dead?”

  “Cut it out, Paul, that ain’t funny!”

  Mahoney squatted down beside her. “Jubilee,” he whispered, “I don’t think Paul’s trying to be funny. I think he’s trying to remember, but he’s only got bits and pieces and your mama’s death might be a piece that’s missing.”

  Jubilee turned and looked at Mahoney curiously. “Does he have the piece of who I am?”

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you go ahead and ask him?”

  “Ask Paul if he knows me?”

  Mahoney nodded, then stood and moved back several feet.

  Jubilee couldn’t find the courage to ask that question right away, so she began with others, others that would lead up to what she really wanted to know.

  “Do you remember Daddy got killed in the mine?”

  Paul lowered his chin, said nothing, and shook his head.

  Jubilee turned back to Mahoney. “He don’t remember Mama and Daddy died.”

  Mahoney put his index finger to his mouth, shushed her, then with a nod and a slight movement of his right hand indicated she should continue.

  When there was nothing more for Jubilee to hang on to, she finally asked, “Do you know who I am?”

  Paul cringed as if he’d felt a sudden pain, then he looked at her and gave a very slight nod. “Jubie?”

  “You remember!” she shouted and lunged at him again.

  Paul’s face still wore a look of confusion. “You’re big?”

  “I ain’t no bigger than I was,” she said. “It’s just Miss Olivia bought me these fancy dresses, and they make me look growed.”

  Mahoney began to realize what was happening. Paul was remembering, but the present was gone. He remembered only the past.

  “Paul, do you know what year this is?”

  For a few moments it seemed as though he was thinking; then Paul shook his head.

  “Do you remember taking the bus to Wyattsville?”

  Thinking. Thinking. Finally another head shake.

  Question followed question, and as he continued to nod or shake his head at things not remembered tears began sliding down Jubilee’s cheeks. Paul noticed. He stretched his arm out and curled her into it.

  Mahoney listened as Jubilee reminded Paul how they’d walked down off the mountain and taken the Greyhound bus to Wyattsville. She explained how he’d told
her to wait on the bench while he went inside to do a job.

  At that point Mahoney interrupted. “Jubilee, did Paul say he was going to do a job or get a job?”

  Jubie stretched her mouth into a straight line then crooked it to the right. “I’m not real sure on that,” she said, then turned to Paul and asked, “You remember which?”

  He gave an apologetic shrug and shook his head.

  Jubilee went on to remind Paul of the year their mama died and the awful time when the man from the mine came to tell them that Bartholomew had been killed in accident.

  “Don’t you remember any of this stuff?” she asked.

  Her brother responded with a lowered chin and a sad shake of his head. Once in a while some event or name would cause a flicker of memory to light his eyes, but for the most part those years were a blank. There were no memories to look back on, no sign of who he had been or what he had done.

  Shortly after nine, Hector Gomez walked into the room. “What the hell do you call this?” he asked angrily. Before he could say anything more Mahoney pulled him out the door, leaving Jubilee alone with her brother. When Olivia turned to see what Mahoney was doing, Ethan scooted past them and into the room.

  “This is the boy,” Jubilee said. “Ethan Allen. He’s the one what found me.”

  Paul gave a half-smile and a nod. “Thanks,” he said. It was a single word rich with the sound of sincerity.

  Ethan returned the smile, then went on to say how Jubie was settling in real good and could stay as long as she’d a mind to. “Seeing as how she’s none too anxious to go live with your Aunt Anita, maybe you ought to tell Detective Mahoney to not bother with looking anymore.”

  “Aunt Anita?” Paul repeated, and the look of puzzlement returned to his face.

  Gomez sputtered and stammered as Mahoney filled him in on what he’d learned.

  “You couldn’t call me?” he argued. “It’s my case, but you come up with something big and don’t bother with even a phone call? One minute, that’s what it would have taken. One minute!”

  “As I said, I didn’t know it would turn out to be anything.”

  “Yeah, I bet.”

  “It’s true. My missing person case being tied to the Klaussner shooting is a fluke. I was checking out a lead on the girl’s aunt and ended up here.” Mahoney went on to explain that as it turned out the John Doe was Paul Jones, Jubilee’s brother.

  “They’re two kids from West Virginia. Both parents are dead so they came to Wyattsville looking for an aunt, somebody they could possibly live with.”

  “That’s what the kid told you?”

  “No, he didn’t tell me anything. He doesn’t remember any of it.”

  “That is such a load of—”

  “No, it isn’t,” Mahoney said. “The morning of the Klaussner shooting, those two kids were fresh off the bus. I doubt the boy had any intent of committing crime; he was just looking for their aunt.”

  “Believe what you want to believe, but back off and let me get this case to the DA.”

  “Why the DA?” Mahoney questioned. “Don’t you think there’s a good possibility the kid is innocent?”

  A cannon firing next to Gomez’s ear would have gotten less reaction.

  “You’ve got to be kidding! First you screw me over on the Doyle case, now this? No way!”

  “This isn’t about you or me,” Mahoney said. “It’s about determining guilt or innocence.”

  “Don’t give me that crap. This is about you wanting another hero button to pin on your chest. Well, this time you’re not getting it! The kid had Klaussner’s bullet in his head, and as far as I’m concerned that’s proof enough!”

  Gomez turned and stomped into Paul’s room. He gave Jubilee and Ethan a menacing look and said, “Scram, visiting hours are over.”

  Jubilee lingered a minute, promised she’d be back, then followed Ethan out of the room.

  Before they left the intensive care unit, Mahoney informed the nursing supervisor John Doe now had a name. It was Paul Jones.

  When the foursome turned and left the ICU, no one notice the angry-faced woman watching from afar. With her husband still in a coma Carmella Klaussner had for the past week sat silently by Sid’s side, praying perhaps, but also gathering up her anger and hatred toward the boy who had caused this to happen. When she heard the raised voices of Gomez and Mahoney, she stepped out of the room and listened. As she watched Mahoney’s back disappearing down the corridor, her resentment came to a full boil.

  “He won’t get away with this,” she muttered, then went in search of Detective Gomez.

  Jack Mahoney

  A cardinal rule in this business is never get emotionally involved, but dammit I am. How can I not be? I look at that little girl and think that, but for the grace of God, it could be one of my kids. I can’t do anything about her parents dying, but I can sure as hell do something about helping her brother.

  If I turn my head and look the other way, that kid is going to get railroaded. Gomez isn’t interested in justice. He’s interested in making a name for himself. Yeah, there’s a chance the kid is guilty, but I’m just not convinced. I watched the boy reach out for his sister, and you can see the love there. If you love somebody you don’t put them in harm’s way.

  Say Gomez is right, and the kid did plan to rob the store. Then he wouldn’t have parked his sister right across the street. At the bus station maybe, but not across the street. And how did a kid from a coal mining town get hooked up with a street thug like McAdams? Too many missing pieces. I keep asking myself, why now and why here? None of it makes sense.

  Gomez claims because Paul was shot with Klaussner’s gun, he’s guilty. With no eye witnesses, that could be enough to pin it on him. At least Gomez has something. All I’ve got is a gut feeling the boy is innocent. The shit-kicker is that with no memory, he can’t even tell us what happened. And the same thing can happen with Klaussner. It’s not uncommon for trauma victims to blot out the memory of something terrible. When Mack Wilson got hit by lightning, he was in a coma for nearly a month. When he finally came out of it, he remembered reading the newspaper that morning but couldn’t remember stepping foot outside of the house. Trauma, that’s why.

  The whole thing stinks, but I’m not letting it go. Somewhere there’s got to be something, some little piece of evidence that’s been overlooked, something that will prove Paul Jones just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  I know it’s not in my jurisdiction and I know I may catch hell for getting involved, but at least I’ll be able to look myself in the eye tomorrow morning when I’m shaving.

  The Sign

  Although Olivia had not entered Paul’s room, she’d stood on the other side of the plate glass window close enough to hear most everything. She’d also heard Mahoney’s conversation with Gomez, and it was troubling to say the least. There was a growing list of “what ifs” bouncing around in her head. What if Paul goes to jail, what if he never remembers what happened, what if they can’t find Anita, what if there’s no other family, what if Jubilee has no one, what if… The list seemed endless. After they’d crossed Monroe Street, she turned to Mahoney and asked, “What happens now?” All of her “what ifs” boiled down to that single question.

  Mahoney kept his eyes straight ahead and his expression unreadable. He gave an audible sigh and said, “I guess we keep looking for Anita, and I try to find something that will prove Paul didn’t do it.”

  “Do what?” Jubilee asked.

  Ethan Allen answered before anyone else had the chance. “Shoot Mister Klaussner.”

  Jubilee yanked her hand loose from Ethan’s and turned to him with an angry glare. “Paul didn’t shoot nobody! That’s killing, and the Bible says no killing.”

  “I ain’t saying he did,” Ethan countered. “I’m just telling you what that detective was saying.”

  “Well, I ain’t interested in hearing it!” Jubilee folded her arms across her chest and scooted to the far ed
ge of the seat looking mad as a bullfrog.

  Mahoney glanced into the rearview mirror and saw her expression. It was genuine. There was no pretense, no sneakiness, no covering over. “Jubilee, has Paul ever been in trouble before? Has he maybe stole something, or—”

  Mahoney didn’t have a chance to finish what he was asking because Jubilee came back with a loud, “No, no, no, no, no! Stop asking me if Paul does bad stuff, ‘cause he don’t!”

  “That’s pretty much what I was thinking,” Mahoney answered. After that the only sound heard inside the car was the din of traffic, and once they turned off of Monroe even that ceased.

  Aware that Gomez was most likely still at the hospital, Mahoney drove to the Wyattsville station house after he dropped off Olivia and the kids.

  “I’d like to take another look at the Klaussner shooting file,” Mahoney told Pete Morgan.

  Morgan handed him a file folder that was only marginally thicker than it had been last time. “Anything new on this?”

  “If there is Gomez is keeping it to himself. That’s all I’ve got.”

  One by one Mahoney leafed through the pages. A background of Hurt McAdams, the statement from Martha Tillinger, the ballistics reports saying the bullet in Paul’s head came from Klaussner’s Browning, and another report saying the three bullets that tore through Sid Klaussner’s chest and abdomen came from an unregistered 45 caliber handgun. The prints on the cash register were those of Hurt McAdams. Prints on the door handle came from the John Doe shot by Klaussner.

  Mahoney set aside the reports and continued looking through the crime scene photos. There were several showing the area in back of the counter and outlining the spot where Klaussner had fallen after he was shot. There were also several showing the area in front of the counter and three outlining where Paul had fallen. The third picture had been taken from a further away spot, and it included areas not shown in the first two.