It was an hour before Dora returned, Walt at her side. Esther was asleep as they came in, but she stirred, then Walt carried her to bed. Dora sat between Luke and Tilda on the sofa and when Walt returned, he knelt in front of them.
He gazed first at his wife, their conversation in the shed having been brief. What had taken so much time was the walk they shared afterwards, once Walt was sure the man was resting comfortably. He’d had two decent swallows of whiskey, followed by a cup of water. Again Walt would sleep on the floor in the shed, but he hoped by tomorrow evening he could fall into his own bed.
Dora nodded at him, then grasped his hands. They had stared at the stars, silently wondering from where this man had come, then remarking upon that fact, making the other chuckle. How many years since Walt had felt so connected to this woman, as if they weren’t much older than Luke. Part of it was the baby, the other was…. Some strange innocence had been recovered, like his tour overseas and their two miscarriages had never happened. So much had been stolen from them both, for Walt had never dreamed of being drafted and of course Dora hadn’t imagined losing…. He wiped tears from her cheeks, then smiled. “Luke, Tilda, you need to help your mama tomorrow. Come straight home from school. Luke, you’re in charge of the shed. Tilda, you keep an eye on your sisters.” Walt gazed first at his son, then at his eldest daughter. Both children nodded at him.
“I have no idea how long we’ll be caring for him, maybe just until he’s on his feet, but that might be a week or two. And most important, you keep this to yourselves. I don’t want anyone snooping around here, especially not Hiram Bellevue.” Walt stared at Luke. “He make any kinda fuss, you tell me and I’ll take care of it.”
“Yes Daddy.”
Walt stood, then shook out his shoulders. As he did, the right one ached, then he shuddered. How in the world had that man’s body healed itself? Luke had been right in asking if the man’s arm was attached; last night Walt had half a mind to take it off, but the man had seemed to sense Walt’s intentions, moaning loudly every time Walt reached for it. Walt set that from his head, walking to the stove, pouring himself what was left in the coffee pot. He drank it slowly, watching how Dora clutched their two oldest kids in her arms. She’d said she was feeling okay, but Walt had made her promise that at the first sign of trouble, she would call her mother. Hannah wouldn’t go poking around the shed unless she heard something, but Walt was going to give that man more whiskey in the morning. Maybe he would sleep until Luke and Tilda came home. Walt swallowed the last of his coffee, then put the cup in the sink. “All right,” he said, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Tilda and Luke got off the sofa, going to where Walt stood, hugging him tightly. “You two go to bed now, school tomorrow.”
“Yes Daddy. I love you Daddy. Goodnight Daddy.” The kids walked to where Dora remained on the sofa, kissing their mother goodnight. Then Luke headed to the back of the house, Tilda on his heels. They went into the room where all four children slept, closing the door behind them. Dora stood from the sofa, then joined where Walt waited.
“If you need something in the middle of the night….” she started.
Walt set a finger to her lips. “I just want you to sleep. Too much commotion, and you need your rest.”
Then he set his hand to the small swell of her belly. His heart raced, for the other issue they had discussed was how much each wanted a son. But Walt didn’t speak to that now. Perhaps their words had been reckless; another six weeks remained until they were out of the woods. Yet Walt felt strangely optimistic. “I love you,” he said tenderly. “I’ll see you before I leave.”
She nodded, then kissed him. Dora pulled away first, but she walked him to the front door. He stepped onto the porch, their gazes not parting until he reached the steps. Right before he passed the side of the house, again Walt met her eyes. How he could see her staring back at him he wasn’t sure, for the light was behind her. Yet he knew she was, and that knowledge warmed his heart and lightened his steps as he reached the shed, where for whatever reason that strange man still lay, taking one ragged breath after another.
In another state to the west, a different man was having trouble breathing; Ritchie Nolan was trapped behind the wheel of his car on the road halfway between his parents’ home and where his wife and children resided. The car had flipped upside down, but had resettled on its tires, yet the steering wheel was pressed firmly against Ritchie’s chest. Blood ran down his face, his hands trembled, but trying to draw air into his lungs was the hard part. Ritchie had been arguing with his father, who had called him a no-account drunkard. After what they had lost on Friday, Gene had hollered, what did Ritchie think his own life was about? Ritchie tried to focus on breathing, but his chest ached terribly, his mother’s wounded cries resounding in his head, echoing with the faint memory of his wife’s similar tears: you’re gonna kill yourself, Brenda had wailed. Now it seemed his estranged wife might be correct.
If he did die, Ritchie hoped Brenda would forgive him. He also prayed that his folks wouldn’t blame themselves, for he had ripped the car keys out of his father’s hand, then staggered to his ancient sedan, peeling out of his parents’ driveway like the devil was on his tail. Yet, that was the truth, Ritchie smiled at himself, although he coughed, then tasted blood. He spat that out, then tried inhaling through his nose. Perhaps this was for the best; Brenda wouldn’t have to live with the stigma of divorce, neither would his parents. All nine of his children would never again feel the shame of his drunken behavior, and maybe this would keep them sober. Maybe Tommy would quit, Ritchie hoped, taking as deep of a breath as he could. He closed his eyes, feeling weary. He was an alcoholic and better for him to die now than cause his loved ones more pain.
He didn’t hear the siren approach, little oxygen reaching his faltering lungs. As sleep beckoned, Ritchie’s last thought was that Renee’s little girl wouldn’t remember him. Her hair was so red, just like his sister’s. But that child, her name having slipped from his mind, would carry no memory of an uncle that spent his last moments considering her. How ironic was that, Ritchie mused, again straining for air. How ironic was this life indeed.
It took several rings for Marek to hear the telephone, but as he reached the kitchen, the ringing stopped. He prayed it was Laurie and that Eric had returned. Or maybe it was Klaudia, just needing to hear his voice. Marek shivered, for the hallway was cool and he only wore pajamas. Then the phone rang again and he picked it up immediately. “Hello?”
“Marek, it’s Laurie. Sam just called; Renee’s brother was in a car crash tonight.”
“Oh my goodness, is he all right?” Marek knew that two of Renee’s older brothers were drinkers, and that one had been living with her parents. “Do you know his name?”
“Well, that’s the main reason I’m calling. Sam asked for specific prayers, it doesn’t look good.” Laurie relayed the details and Marek made mental notes. Then Laurie sighed. “Also I have a favor to ask. Can I drop Jane off with you tomorrow? Lynne wasn’t feeling well tonight and she’s gonna call her doctor in the morning.”
“Of course.” Marek gripped the receiver. “Laurie, if you need to take Lynne to the hospital….”
“No, I think she just wants to, you know….” Laurie cleared his throat. “Have someone tell her it’s okay, I mean, the baby’s moving around, it’s not that.”
“I understand. Bring Jane over whenever Lynne can get an appointment. And if you hear back from Sam tonight, do let me know.”
“Thanks. He said he’d only call….” Laurie paused, then continued. “If Ritchie didn’t make it, which unfortunately seemed to be Sam’s understanding.”
“I see. Well, I’ll wait to hear from you, and my prayers are with us all. Give Lynne my love.”
“I’ll do that and we’ll see you in a few hours.” Laurie had another sigh. “Speak to you soon.”
“Yes, goodbye.” Marek hung up the phone, then glanced at the clock, which read three fifteen. He had gone to bed s
omewhat early, exhausted from all that weekend had wrought. Yet, now another crisis had emerged. Marek gazed at his coffeepot, then again at the clock. Perhaps just a cup of tea, he considered, not feeling sleepy, yet fatigue lingered. He filled the kettle, set it on the burner, then lit the flame. Then he prayed, wondering what one more death might accomplish. As that thought left his mind, he shuddered. The kettle whistled and he fixed his tea. Another long day loomed in front of him.
Walt Richardson spent Tuesday morning making subtle inquiries, but no one seemed aware of a man left for dead along the shore of Caddo Lake. It seemed an odd subject when only yesterday the nation’s president had been laid to rest. Walt went home for lunch, which raised no eyebrows, and to his relief the man was still sleeping and Dora seemed better. Walt checked the man’s right side, but it appeared as it had last night, bones and muscles intact, if not askew. Walt and Dora discussed if they should notify the doctor, but Walt still wasn’t certain if maybe Luke could be blamed for the man’s injuries. Walt assumed that Hiram had shot more than only a hawk, but probably not on purpose. Yet, the man had been stark naked when Walt found him, and feathers had been stuck to him. If Walt had time, he would stop at the lake on his way home to examine the ground where that man had laid. But Walt didn’t relate any of this to Dora. If she felt up to checking on the man, Walt didn’t mind, but if he kept quiet, then Luke could look after him when he got home from school.
As Walt returned to work, Lynne was ushered into Dr. Salter’s office. Lynne excused her presence due to emotional weariness, but the doctor didn’t scold, taking Lynne’s blood pressure, which was normal, then listening to the baby’s heartbeat, also fine. The doctor gently inquired about Mr. Snyder, which brought Lynne to tears. Eleanor Salters had heard stories that the painter had abandoned his family, but having witnessed that man at Lynne’s side during Jane’s arrival, the doctor discounted the rumors. The women discussed where Lynne wanted to give birth, which was still at the Snyder home. Renee and her sister-in-law would be present, not to mention those supporting from downstairs. Dr. Salters asked if there might be custard again, to which Lynne nodded, adding a brief chuckle. The doctor wished Lynne a happy Thanksgiving, then told her to make an appointment for right before Christmas. Lynne shook her doctor’s hand, then went to the lobby where Laurie waited. After making the appointment, Lynne led Laurie to the car, where they debated upon where to go next. Ritchie was still alive the last they had heard, right as they were leaving to drop off Jane. Laurie felt Lynne should rest, but Lynne asked if he minded taking her to the hospital. “I just wanna see Renee,” Lynne said softly.
Twenty minutes later, Laurie escorted Lynne into the same hospital lobby where she and Jane had sat when Fran lost the twins. This time the waiting area was packed with Nolan relatives, and Lynne wasn’t familiar with any of them. Many were young, maybe the offspring of Renee’s siblings, Laurie whispered. Their parents were probably upstairs, closer to Ritchie’s room. Laurie went to the front desk, inquiring about Renee’s brother. Then he stepped toward Lynne, who waited near the elevator. “Well?” she asked.
“He’s in intensive care, that explains everyone down here. I told her you were Renee’s sister and she said we could go upstairs. If Renee’s not there, I’ll just find a pay phone and call Sam.”
Lynne nodded, appreciating Laurie’s acumen. Eric would have been just as astute, but Lynne barely had enough working brain cells to know her name. “All I wanna do is see Renee.”
“Me too.” Laurie smiled, squeezing Lynne’s hand. “Then we’ll go get Jane and take you two home.”
“Or maybe stop and see Sam,” Lynne added as Laurie hit the button for the elevator. Then she sighed, tapping her foot.
“What?” Laurie asked.
Lynne gazed at those gathered in lobby; were any of them Ritchie’s children? Then she stared at Laurie. “I know this might sound silly, but when we get home, I’m gonna call Stanford. He needs to know about this and….”
Laurie smiled wanly, then led Lynne into the elevator. As the doors closed, he spoke. “Honey, he’s not gonna care about Renee’s brother.”
“No, but he needs to know that in the blink of an eye life changes, lives end. Oh Laurie, you shouldn’t be here holding my hand. You should be in New York, getting ready to celebrate….”
“You hush.” Laurie smiled, then kissed Lynne’s cheek. “I’m right where I’m supposed to be and we’ll think about Stan later.” The doors opened and Laurie gripped Lynne’s hand, then patted it, gazing at her. “Let’s go find us a carrot top.”
As they followed the signs for Intensive Care, a few redheads passed them, men and women in their age group. Lynne had met most of Sam’s siblings, but Eric had sketched the Nolan clans either at their homes or at Sam and Renee’s house. People looked familiar, but Lynne couldn’t put a name to a face. Then she stopped Laurie as they passed the restrooms. “I’ll be right back,” Lynne said.
“I’ll be right here.” Laurie released her hand, then shoved his in his coat pocket.
When Lynne emerged from the ladies’ room, Laurie was speaking to an older fellow, then they were joined by a woman who looked like Renee. Laurie turned, then waved Lynne in their direction.
Laurie made the introductions; Renee’s father Gene was pleased to finally meet Mrs. Snyder, while Renee’s older sister Sandra smiled, then excused herself. Lynne didn’t speak as Laurie carried their side of the conversation. Gene was grateful for their prayers, but they had just missed Renee. And as for Ritchie….
“It’s touch and go,” Gene sighed, then coughed loudly. “Doctors can’t tell us much more than to wait. Renee said the same when she got here, but I sure appreciate your coming over. Marie’s with him now and I’ll tell her you stopped by.”
Lynne nodded, but her heart felt stuck in her throat. How many times in her career had she been approached by anxious family members, but often there was little concrete news to give. She wanted to speak, but if she did, tears would accompany. Gene seemed to sense that, for he smiled, grasping her hand. Then he let her go. “You take care now Mrs. Snyder. Renee will be in touch when there’s something to share.”
“Thank you sir,” Laurie said. “Let’s go Lynne.”
She nodded as Laurie shook Gene’s hand. Then Laurie put his arm around Lynne and they turned around, heading back the way they came.
By the time Lynne and Laurie collected Jane from St. Matthew’s, Luke and Tilda were nearly home from school. They had run most of the way, then paused to catch their breaths, then back to sprinting they went as if making it a race. But only Luke would get to see that man, although he knew Tilda was tired of hearing about him second hand. Maybe if he was better by the end of the day, Luke could ask their father if Tilda could have a peek at him.
They reached their driveway at the same time, but Luke hadn’t been trying hard to beat his sister. Now the thought of that man’s care falling on Luke’s shoulders was somewhat daunting. He let Tilda reach the house first, where their mother waited. Luke ran, seeing how she held Tilda’s hand, Gail in her grasp. “Where’s Esther?” Luke asked, once he was to the porch steps.
“Grandma’s looking after her,” Dora said. “She was asking too many questions.”
Right before Luke took a step, he looked to the side of the house. “How is he?”
“Been sleeping all day. Your daddy checked on him at lunch, he was okay then. But he’ll probably need some water now, and I made chicken soup. If he’s awake and wants something to eat, you can try that.”
Luke nodded, but trembled inwardly. The prospect of trying to feed that man was scary, but as Tilda stared his way, Luke straightened his shoulders, hoping she couldn’t detect his fear. “Yes Mama. I’ll go check on him now.”
“Thank you Luke. Tilda, you take Gail. I’ll be laying down if you kids need something.”
“Uh-huh.” He took a deep breath, then left his books on the porch. Tilda held their youngest sister, who pointed to the side of the house
. Luke nodded as if Gail was prodding him. “I’m going, I’m going,” he said.
“You wanna trade?” Tilda asked, a spark in her tone.
“No, I don’t wanna trade.” Luke stuck out his tongue, then headed for the shed.
The day had been cool, similar to the mood on the playground. All that everyone wanted to talk about was how Jack Ruby had shot Lee Harvey Oswald, or maybe that was what the boys discussed. If Luke had a minute, he’d ask Tilda what she talked about with the girls. Luke had stayed away from Hiram, but then Hiram seemed to feel the same. No one asked about his black eye, which Tilda had said looked a little improved from Sunday. It had looked ugly to Luke; maybe Hiram’s father had beaten him on Friday, then Luke shivered. He could hear the man moving about, hopefully he would just go back to sleep after a drink of water.
Carefully Luke opened the door. “Hey mister, it’s me, Luke Richardson. Daddy’s still at work, but he told me to check on you.” Luke didn’t need to turn on the light, for a dirty window near where the man rested provided enough illumination. And now Luke could see more than blonde hair; the man’s eyes were open, and they were gray. He was slender, his jaw sharp, his cheekbones protruding. The right side of his upper body was concealed by a blanket, but his left shoulder was bare, his skin almost yellow in appearance. “Hey mister, you thirsty, or maybe you’re hungry. Mama made chicken soup and….”
The man had been nodding, then shook his head slowly. Luke wasn’t sure what that meant. “So are you thirsty or….”
He nodded again and Luke brought over a cup of water. The man couldn’t sit up, so Luke dribbled the water onto his lips. “Listen mister, I gotta get you upright.” Luke breathed through his nose, for the man smelled terrible. Using all of his strength, Luke sat the man forward just enough to then put the cup to his mouth. The man drained the glass, then sighed, but to Luke it sounded like a squawk. Luke set the cup on a little table near the head of the bed. Then Luke eased the man back into a horizontal position. Luke wanted to study him, but the stench was overwhelming. “You need a bath mister, my goodness.”
The man nodded, a small smile forming on his face.
Now Luke smiled. “Can you talk mister? What’s your name?”
The man shook his head, then he let out a little moan, which again to Luke sounded like a bird’s cry. “Goodness mister, you’re in a world a’hurt.” Luke peered toward the man’s right shoulder; the blanket had fallen down when Luke sat him forward. Walt had bandaged the injury, but blood had seeped through the gauze. Still, it looked as if one day the man might be able to use his arm, although Luke still found that damage puzzling. Then he sighed. Everything about this man was strange. “Mister….” Then Luke sighed. “I don’t like just calling you mister, that’s not mannerly. I’ll say some names and you nod if I guess yours. Is it….” Luke rattled off all the names of his classmates, excluding Hiram’s. The man slowly shook his head for each one.
“Well that’s all the names I can think of right now.” Luke stood. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
The man nodded, then closed his eyes. As soon as Luke stepped from the shed, leaving the door open, he took several deep breaths. How had his father slept in there last night, Luke wondered, for the smell was dreadful. Luke walked to the house, but just as he went to open the door, Tilda waved him away. “Don’t you come in here smelling like that.”
“It’s not my fault,” Luke sighed. “It’s worse in the shed.”
Tilda scowled. “You tell me what you want and I’ll put it on the first step. You get any closer and I’m gonna vomit.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “Well, all I want is to tell you and Mama that he doesn’t want no soup. He can’t talk neither. He can nod though, but I asked him what his name is and he couldn’t tell me.”
“Well, if he can’t talk, how’s he supposed to tell you his name?”
“I said some names and he shook his head at all of them, that’s how.”
“Oh,” Tilda said, tapping her foot. “Well, it was a good idea.”
“Thanks.” Luke sighed, then sat on the bottom step. “How’s Mama?”
“She’s resting. Luke, she’s not acting right, I mean….” Tilda stepped from the house, holding Gail’s hand. They sat on the first step, then Tilda wrinkled her nose. “My goodness you stink.”
“Tilda….”
Gail giggled, pointing at Luke. “You ’tink,” she said.
“All right, all right.” Luke stood, then sat five feet away, pulling his knees to his chest. He could see the shed, and if he squinted, he could just make out that someone was lying on the bed. Then he gazed at Tilda, who looked like she still had something to say. “What?” he asked.
“Something’s wrong with Mama. She was sick a lot just now.”
“Well, she had to take care of him and he doesn’t smell good, or so you say.”
“Maybe,” Tilda shrugged. “I’m gonna ask Daddy if she needs the doctor.”
Luke shook his head. “If Daddy brings the doctor out, he might hear him.” Luke pointed toward the back of the house.
“Daddy can take Mama to the doctor, you know.”
“It’s none of your business Tilda.” Luke peered at the shed; he felt very proprietary about the man, as well as his mother. Then Luke went to his feet. “Take Gail inside. Oh, and bring me some soup. If he doesn’t want any, I’ll eat it.”
“What kinda man doesn’t like soup?” Tilda asked, again grasping Gail’s hand.
“I dunno, but I like soup just fine.”
Tilda clucked, leading her sister into the house. Luke waited until Tilda returned, but she waved him back. “Don’t you get any closer than that. Gonna make Mama really sick if she smells you.”
Luke grumbled, then picked up the bowl. Carrying it with two hands, Luke slowly walked back to the shed, then cleared his throat. “Hey mister, I’m back. I left the door open, some fresh air might suit you. I know it suits me.” Luke said that quietly, then entered the shed. He put the bowl on the main table, then stirred the soup with the spoon. Luke approached the bed, seeing the man’s eyes were open. “You sure you don’t want any chicken soup?”
The man shook his head, closing his eyes.
“Okay, well, more water?”
Again the man shook his head, but he opened his eyes, staring right at Luke.
“Do I know you mister, you sure seem familiar. Don’t know how though, hmmm.” Luke crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m gonna call you Mr. Doe. Mrs. Thompson, she’s my teacher, she was reading us this story about a man who didn’t know his name, and everybody called him John Doe. So until you can tell me your name, will that be okay?”
The man nodded, but Luke saw something was troubling him. “Mr. Doe, do you know your name?”
Now the man’s lip trembled and tears fell from his eyes. Again he shook his head, then he tried to speak, but only managed some bird-like squawks. Luke pulled up the low stool, then sat beside the man, grasping his left hand. Luke squeezed gently and the man reciprocated. “It’s okay Mr. Doe. We’ll take care of you until you know your name. You’re not going anywhere anyway, not with that bad shoulder. Just about lost your right arm, Mr. Doe, but God healed it, can you believe that? Don’t worry Mr. Doe, it’s gonna be okay.”
The man continued to weep as Luke offered more soft squeezes. Then Luke looked to where Tilda and Gail stood not ten feet from the shed’s open door. Tilda was wiping her eyes while Gail squirmed beside her. Luke nodded at his sisters, then motioned for them to leave. Mr. Doe didn’t need two girls invading his privacy, Luke thought, even if he had no idea who he was.
Chapter 163
The Hawk: Part Nine Page 6