Mended Hearts (13 page)

H
er face had grayed. The pain of retelling the story was an obvious drain.

What a thing for her to carry around, this kid's lack of conscience, his deep-seated anger. None of that was Hannah's fault. “You can't shoulder that, Han. It's not fair. Whatever messed those kids up happened long before you came on the scene.”

A tiny smile softened her face. “That's what Jane Dinsmore told me. She's known all along who I am, where I came from. So did your grandmother.”

It didn't surprise Jeff that Grandma knew. She was thorough with everything she did and she chaired the council that hired Hannah, but the fact that she didn't say anything…

That felt a little off.

“They also knew Jane was sick, that she might not beat this cancer and if she didn't, I would be here, waiting in the wings.”

The idea that Jane and his grandmother plotted to keep Hannah here because they wanted a teacher to step into Jane's shoes if she didn't win the battle with cancer… Of all the pompous, power-wielding—

“It was a brilliant idea, actually.”

Hannah's words stopped his inner tirade. “What do you mean?”

She lifted her slim shoulders in a slight shrug. “They gave me a chance to heal, to reconnect with people, with God. With life. And you.”

“Hannah, I—”

“I need to finish before you say anything else, Jeff. Please?”

Her soft and earnest plea made him relax his hands, his emotions. “Of course.”

“Ten of my students were with me. Nine were in the lab with Karen, the lab instructor. One was absent. Once we barricaded the lab door and locked the hall door, we hid behind a half wall of shelving that was built like a study nook along the last three windows. We huddled there, crouched behind the shelving, listening to what happened in the lab, step-by-step.”

Jeff didn't need to hear the details of that carnage. He remembered the ceaseless minute-by-minute news coverage and read the reality in her gray pallor, her heavy eyes.

“And while Brad tormented and shot Karen and those lab students, he shouted we'd be next, that I'd never get the chance to keep a kid out of a class again.”

“Oh, Hannah.” Jeff pulled her into his chest, needing to hold her, not sure what to say when words weren't enough. “Hannah. I'm so sorry.”

“He couldn't get through the lab door. He sent Dave to the hallway to see if they could infiltrate our room through the hall entry doors, but the hall security gates came down when the emergency was sounded, and our security chief was a former county sheriff licensed to carry. He shot Dave as he approached our classroom door with a sawed-off shotgun and two homemade bombs. Ironwood is a huge school, and I found out later the reason Dennis found the shooters
so quickly was because he followed the trail of bodies up the back stairs.”

Jeff hung on, praying, begging God to bless her, help her, help those families whose lives were altered in the space of a few hours.

“When Brad realized he couldn't get through the lab doors, he started shouting the names of the captive students before he shot them. He made sure we heard them cry and plead. Beg for their lives. He had Steven list the names on the blackboard with the time of death, taunting the police for their lack of speed.”

The magnitude of the combined depravity gripped Jeff, making him wish he could do something, anything to make this better. But no one could.

Except God.

“When Brad realized he'd lost Dave, he and Steve started raining bullets on our room through the wall. They managed to hit the windows above us.” He didn't think she could pale further but he was wrong. Her eyes went wide, the sights and sounds of that horrific afternoon painting a mental picture he could only imagine. Hannah had no choice but to replay the events. She'd lived them. “We clung to one another, crouching low in a bed of sharp, broken glass while the rain poured in, lashed by forty-miles-per-hour winds.”

“Lord, bless Hannah, help her to stay strong, to see Your words, Your truth in the goodness that lives in her. The strength, the wisdom, the amazing intelligence You've given her and the gift of giving she shares with others every day. Help her, Lord, take away the guilt she carries wrongly, help her see that evil cannot always be explained and that the devil's work should be condemned, not that of the innocent.”

“Was I innocent, Jeff?” She pushed back and searched his gaze. “What if I let him into our room? Would he have still shot Karen and those students? Would it have bought time so that help could arrive?”

“You did the right thing, the brave thing,” he insisted, amazed she'd think differently. “You saved lives that day, the lives of the kids in your classroom. You didn't cause the other deaths, Hannah. The shooters did. Don't take that on yourself. You reacted to a horrible situation with guts and brains. How can you think less of yourself?”

“Because he called me a coward for hiding.”

The calm way she said the words chilled Jeff. He gripped her shoulders and held her gaze, hoping, praying he was doing the right thing. “You are one of the bravest people I've ever met, Hannah. You reacted to an out-of-control situation with thought and action. You saved ten children and yourself.” When she looked like she might argue, he shook his head, needing her to understand. “I will forever thank God that you had the common sense to lock and barricade that door, that the barricade held and that the bullets he sprayed through the wall didn't hit anyone in your room.”

He gathered her back in his arms, feeling her tears wet his shirt, his neck. He didn't know how long he cradled her like that, but when she finally sat up, he read the look of determination on her face and knew she'd made a decision.

“You're going for it, aren't you?” He leaned back, assessing her gaze, the set of her shoulders.

“I have to.”

“Why?” Why would she put herself through that?

“Because I won't feel whole again until I face this fear, Jeff. It eats at me. I hide it away and think I'm better, and then it rises up at the worst times, choking me.”

“Wouldn't therapy be easier?”

She leaned forward and laid her soft hand atop his arm. “This
is
therapy. My last step. I've come so far, but I need to go the distance, Jeff. Face the dragon.”

“I'll buy you a dragon of your own. We can build him a pen in our backyard.”

A soft smile chased the shadows for a moment. “
Our
backyard?”

“Hannah, I—”

She put her hand over his mouth and shook her head. “Don't. Please. You have to know the rest, Jeff, that I came totally unglued after the attack. I was hospitalized for a while, and then was treated by a psychiatrist and a therapist for months. I hated myself, I hated my life, I hated the shooters and I wanted to die.”

He didn't think his heart could break any further, but it did, seeing the guilt in her face for her very normal reaction to murdering chaos. “Hannah, you crashed afterward. That's normal.”

“Nothing I did could be construed as normal,” she argued, remembering.

“It was,” Jeff insisted. “You're a scientist. You understand the principles of action/reaction. Your emotional
reaction
matched their actions, step-by-step. They attacked your students, your room, your colleague, your job and then your faith. You crashed and burned, then regrouped by coming here. Working here.” He hugged her again, feeling the softness of her hair slip beneath his cheek, his hands. “And I'm so glad you did.”

“Me, too.”

He smiled, feeling her relax in his arms. “So you're going to apply for Jane's job?”

“Yes.”

He had no idea if this was a good move or a really stupid one, but he knew one thing: whatever Hannah decided, he'd support her from this day forward. “Okay, then. Where do we start?”

“We?”

He nodded firmly. “I'm a big believer in facing the past. Moving on. Whatever happens, just know I've got your back.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, then. Let's start with this.” Hannah stood and crossed the room, disappeared for a few seconds, then returned, carrying a box.

Jeff frowned, not understanding.

She held out the box and pointed to the script. “This is from Brian. He was my fiancé at the time of the attack. He's now the vice president of VanDerstraat Communications and a town board member in Big Springs. He didn't have much use for me while I was in the psych wing.”

“Hannah.”

She waved him off. “In retrospect, he did us both a favor. I wasn't good for anyone or anything at that point. It taught me that true love is required to stand up to the test, that those vows of sickness and health are not just pretty words. They're a solemn pledge.”

“So what's in here?”

She made a face and shook her head. “I don't know. I was tempted to chuck it to the curb when it came, but I realized that was the chicken's way out.”

“So you shoved it away…” he teased.

“I wasn't
that
brave,” she shot back, a tiny smile curving her mouth. “And notice that I'm opening it with you here, ensuring proper backup.”

“Let's do this.”

“All right.” She tugged the tape free from the sides, then pulled the strip across the box top, the distinct sound leading them to what? More sadness? More sorrow?

Jeff was pretty sure that was humanly impossible.

“Oh.”

Jeff leaned forward, his vision obscured by the box flaps, but he needn't have bothered. Hannah withdrew a presidential award for excellence in teaching math and science, her expression soft, her fingers trailing the vellum surface.

“Pretty impressive.”

Her bittersweet smile said yes and no.

“May I see?”

She handed it over and withdrew a second one from the box. “Sure. You look at that one and I'll look at this one.”

“You won two?”

She nodded. “My Penn projects. I was nominated three times and received the award twice.”

“Hannah, that's amazing.”

She shrugged the praise away. “It was a wonderful honor for me and the kids. Ah…” She grimaced, pulling out a sheet of folded paper, then sent Jeff a rueful look. “Oh, good. A note.”

Jeff leaned over her shoulder, and read out loud. “Hannah, hope all is well. The school asked if I could forward these to you with their apologies. It seems they were lost for a while and the new principal is sorry they weren't sent to you years ago. Best, Brian.”

Funny. She'd been worried about what Brian's message might do to her, but sitting here, reading his short words, seeing his script, it meant nothing. Not a thing.

Of course, six feet of wonderful and supportive man sitting alongside her had something to do with that. She crumpled the note into a tight ball and lofted a three-pointer into the small garbage can just inside the kitchen door. “Sweet shot.”

She smiled and flicked a look Jeff's way. “Old news.”

“Good.”

She lifted the beautiful award, stood and placed it in a position of prominence alongside Nick's family picture. “I'll go see Jane tomorrow.”

Jeff stood and crossed the room with the second award. He set it up alongside the family photo, flanking Nick's accomplishments with Hannah's. “And you know I'll help in any way I can, right?”

His promise was worth so much more than he knew. Jeff's
faith, his work ethic and his level of commitment were so different from Brian's. How could she have ever thought the two men similar?

“They're beautiful, Hannah.” Jeff nodded to the awards, then drew her into his arms, cradling her against his chest, his heart. “And so are you.” He dropped his mouth to her hair, her cheek, kissing her gently. “You'll let me know if there's anything you need?”

“Will do.”

“Do you want me to go with you tomorrow?”

“Nope.”

“All right, then.” He paused before he opened the front door. “Call me. Let me know how things go, okay?”

“I will.”

He hated to leave after hearing her story. He climbed into his car to return to Wellsville, then paused, chagrined.

Hannah had dealt with more death and destruction in a few short hours than most people face in a lifetime. She'd crashed and burned, then rebuilt her life step-by-step, while he stubbornly refused to move beyond high school anger at his father and half brother. That realization said he had some serious fence-mending of his own to do.

He turned the car around and headed north toward Nunda, unsure where he'd find Matt, but determined to fix things now.

“J
ane?” Hannah tiptoed into Miss Dinsmore's hospital room the next morning. Jane looked relieved, as if she'd been hoping Hannah would come. But then, Hannah had already figured that out. Hannah swallowed a sigh, mustered a smile and stepped in.

“I'm glad you're here.”

“Me, too.” She sat in the chair by the bed and grasped Jane's hand; the dry skin was lax beneath her fingers. “I had to, but you know that, don't you?”

Jane nodded. She paused long seconds, eyeing the wall, then dragged her gaze back to Hannah's. “Helen and I prayed when we found out I was sick. We asked God to send someone special, someone who could appreciate our children and towns. It's hard to get good teachers in these outlying schools, even with a nice quality of life. We're so far off the beaten path that young people pass us by. And then your application came in for the library position.”

Hannah nodded. “I thought God might have had a hand in it,” she confessed, then gave Jane a wry smile. “Now I see that it was just two bossy women engineering things along.”

Jane met her gaze with a smile of her own and shook her head as she gripped Hannah's hand. “Except we know He
sent you on purpose. There is a time for every purpose under the heaven.”

“But three years ago I was a basket case,” Hannah said, not trying to soften the skepticism in her tone.

Jane acknowledged the time frame with a slight wince. “You needed healing time. And I had a fight on my hands. But it looks like we've reached the turning point. Will you be my long-term sub, Hannah? Please? I've got my science team preparing for the Christmas break state science games, and we're in the thick of the first semester and you know I don't take that lightly.”

“We have that in common.”

“So?” Jane studied her face, her expression hopeful but resigned to whatever Hannah might say. She'd obviously put thought and prayer into this petition.

So had Hannah. She leaned forward and grasped Jane's hand. “Yes.”

Jane's features softened, a layer of worry removed. She squeezed Hannah's hand, her grip strengthened by hope. “Thank you.”

Helen's voice interrupted the moment. “You asked her?”

“She did. I assured her you were both crazy. I'm a librarian now.” Hannah gave Jane's hand a reassuring squeeze, letting her in on the joke.

“A librarian with a master's degree in biology and education,” Helen retorted as she moved into the room. “Three Ironwood Central School Teacher of the Year awards and three nominations to the President's Award for Academic Excellence in Math and Science, two of which you won.” She grasped Hannah's free hand and squeezed, imploring. “I wouldn't ask if the need weren't so great. Will you consider stepping in, taking over Jane's classes? Please?”

“Helen.” Jane's deep tone drew Helen's attention.

“Yes?” Helen faced Jane, her concern evident. Jane nodded
toward Hannah and smiled. “She's already said yes. Stop annoying her.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Hannah met Helen's gaze, amused. “Since seeing Helen beg is a rare occurrence, I'm noting the day and time in my PDA.” She paused, all kidding aside, and swept both women a look. “The better question is,
can
I do this?”

“Yes.”

“Of course you can.” Helen's agreement sounded more vigorous than Jane's for various reasons. First, she'd never had to deal with a room full of hormone-stricken teenagers.

Helen thought everyone was invincible. Hannah had proven that wrong once, did she have what it took to try it again?

“God gifted you with a rare talent, Hannah Moore.” Helen drew up a chair alongside Hannah and set her small purse down on the bed. “Don't allow evil to steal that gift or shroud that light under a bushel.”

“What do we need to do?”

“The board needs a copy of your application, transcripts and the letters of recommendation you used when applying for the library job. Luckily I already have that.”

Hannah wasn't surprised. This was Jeff's grandmother, after all.

“I've already downloaded your information into the database,” Helen went on. “So all you need to do is fill out the forms attached to the email I'm about to send you and we'll proceed from there.”

“You've begun the process already?”

Helen didn't even try to act embarrassed. “Weeks ago, when I saw you sparring with my grandson at our initial meeting.”

“It's not hard to see where he gets his driven personality from,” Hannah noted, her wry tone spurring Jane's smile.

A nurse stepped in, gestured to the clock and said, “Five minutes. She needs to rest.”

“‘Plenty of time for that in the grave,'” Jane barked. Hannah stood and laid a calming hand on her shoulder.

“Benjamin Franklin,” she noted. She gave Jane's shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I love that quote. It's one of my favorites.”

“Mine, too.” Helen rose, walked around the foot of the bed and leaned down to hug her friend. “We'll go straighten out the details. You work on getting better.”

“Helen.”

“Don't throw in that towel without a fight, Jane.”

Jane sighed. “I've been fighting, Helen. Maybe it's time…”

“See what they say in Buffalo, okay?” Helen turned toward Hannah again. “They're sending her up to Roswell for an evaluation. If they say there's no hope…” She shifted her gaze back to Jane. “Then we'll talk. But until then, we fight.”

“We?”

Helen laughed, hugged her again and shrugged a shoulder toward Hannah. “I helped with this, didn't I?”

Jane yawned and smiled, fatigue weighting her eyes. “You did.”

“Well, then.”

Hannah studied Helen as Jane's eyes drifted closed. The stark worry was apparent, but when Helen pivoted, her features were calm, business as usual. “How soon do you think you can have that paperwork filled out?”

“This afternoon.”

Helen's smile made Hannah feel ten feet tall, but the fear nagging her gut made her wonder what she was doing. She could have said no with no hard feelings on either side. She knew that. But she
had
to say yes, uncertain if that was conscience or God-willed or a combination of the two. In any case, Hannah
Moore was about to retake her place at the front of a classroom, and hopefully wouldn't lose her breakfast doing it.

 

You'll be fine, you'll be fine, you'll be fine….

Whatever strings Helen pulled to put Hannah in front of the classroom Monday morning were quite impressive, but then this was Helen Walker they were talking about. Hannah approached the school bright and early. Her cell phone rang as she climbed the steps. She saw Jeff's number and answered quickly. “It wouldn't take much to talk me out of this right now, so if that's what you're hoping, now's your chance.”

He laughed, which was the best reassurance she could ask for. “Not on your life, I called to encourage you and tell you I'm thinking of you. Got your lunch?”

“Right here.”

“And your pencils are all sharpened?”

“Yes, Mom.”

He laughed again. “I just wanted you to know I'm praying for you. Thinking of you. Caring about you.”

Her heart swelled to impossible proportions. His tender words pushed her to succeed. “Thank you, Jeff. Oops, gotta go. Even teachers aren't supposed to use cell phones in the school.”

“A rule that gets broken regularly, I expect. Have a good day, Hannah.”

“I will. You, too.”

She walked through the doors and nodded to the security guard seated to the left. Hannah wondered what it would have been like to teach a few decades ago, when the idea of school security was a vice principal. Now teams of former sheriffs and police patrolled district schools, and even with all that, assaults happened.

“Hannah?” A woman stepped forward, tall and solid, her short, crisp haircut framing a strong but kindly face. “I'm Laura Henning, the principal.”

“Nice to meet you.” Hannah accepted Laura's hand and hoped the older woman couldn't feel her thrumming pulse. She looked around. “It's a beautiful school.”

“And a little scary right now, I'd expect.”

“Downright terrorizing, but I made it this far.” Hannah gave the entry a look as they moved to the stairs. “And not to belabor a bad thing, can you give me a mental sketch of security? It helps me preplan a course of action.”

“Did you learn that in therapy?” Laura asked as they climbed the wide stairway.

“Nope. In fourth grade during fire safety week. I always scout out my options in the light of day so my brain can kick in as needed.”

“That's remarkable.”

Hannah sent her a small smile. “It gets the job done. And it helped at Ironwood, because I always have a plan of action in the back of my mind.”

Laura nodded, turned left and headed down a hall. “I'll have one emailed to you as soon as I'm back in my office. You have a computer here on your table, a printer alongside, and you're one of only two computer stations with full access to the internet. Most stations have limited access, but Jane was given a reprieve because of the research nature of her methods.”

“Wonderful.”

She thought she'd hate stepping into the classroom, thought she'd go a little crazy inside, but she loved it. It felt like coming home. The science room was cluttered enough to be user-friendly, the walls covered with great quotes, equations and thoughtful insights Jane commandeered for motivation.

“Give me a call if you need anything.” Laura passed along her direct access code to Hannah. “We have security checkpoints on each floor, but there's been little need for them. Still…”

Hannah nodded, understanding. “You never know.”

“Exactly. Here is your schedule. I'm having Rose Tomer assist for the first few days. She knows the kids and might be able to defuse any situations that come along.”

“A babysitter?” Hannah tipped her head slightly, one brow up, facing Laura directly.

“A facilitator,” Laura replied, meeting Hannah's look with frank honesty. “One of these little darlings is going to look you up, see who you are and start asking questions.”

Hannah's heart dropped to somewhere in the vicinity of her left foot.

“Rose's presence allows you the option to step away if necessary. And maybe I'm wrong, maybe it won't happen—”

Hannah waved her off as she settled things into her desk. “Oh, it will. I've been working with kids long enough to know that. Having Rose here gives me leverage. Thank you.”

Her calm acceptance eased Laura's features. She nodded, then backed toward the door. “Remember, if you need anything…”

Hannah held up the slip of paper with her code. “I'm covered.”

“All right.”

Once Laura left, Hannah breathed a sigh. The rumble of buses drew her attention to the window, the winding Genesee River a beautiful sight as the sun's rays pinked the hilltops beyond.

Ready or not, here they come.

 

Jeff's car idled alongside hers when she came out of school at five-fifteen. He climbed out and came toward her, his expression wondering until she stepped beneath a parking lot light. He took one look at her face and relaxed into a smile. “It went well.”

“Very well.” Hannah hunted for words to express her feelings, then settled for a shrug. “I was fine.”

“One of us isn't surprised.” Jeff pulled her in for a hug. The feeling of being in his arms warmed her despite the cold, bleak afternoon. “Congratulations, Hannah.”

She stepped back, trying to remain objective. “It was just one day. I taught long enough to know that's not necessarily indicative of success, but…” She smiled and slanted her gaze up to his. “It felt great.”

“Good.” He grasped her shoulders and jerked his chin toward their cars. “Can I buy you supper?”

“Don't I wish.” She held up her bag as proof. “Lesson planning. I stayed late to get an idea of where Jane was going, but if I'm doing this, I'm doing it right. I'll be lesson planning for this week's classes tonight, then for the month over the weekend.”

“But you need to eat.”

She nodded. “I ordered a sub from the deli. Tomorrow night, tuna. Wednesday, who knows? But we could get together before the meeting on Thursday. How does that sound?”

He sent her an exaggerated frown. “Like life just got lonelier on me.”

She grinned, poked his shoulder and headed for her car. “Presidential science awards come with a price tag, my friend.”

“I see that. But you know what else I see?”

Hannah turned, Jeff's warm smile a blanket of comfort in the dull, gray cold. “What?”

“The woman you were born to be.” He reached out, tucked a strand of her hair back behind her ear and let his hand linger along the side of her face, his tender smile approving. “And it's wonderful, Hannah.”

Hannah glanced around, sighed and smiled, amazed and satisfied, unable to disagree. “It sure is.”

 

“Knock it off, guys,” Hannah scolded a group of girls in a first-floor hallway the next day. “Does what Chrissie said
to Amelia really matter in the worldwide scheme of things to care about?”

Two of the girls flushed. A third rolled her eyes, her expression saying Hannah was out of touch. Hannah sent the fourth girl a knowing look. “And lose the cell phone. You know you're not supposed to have it out during the day.”

“But…”

Hannah arched a brow, glanced at her wrist to show she hated wasting time and tapped her foot.

“Sorry, Miss Moore.”

“Thank you, Angie. And for your information, ladies—” she leaned in, inviting their confidence “—I think Chrissie's wrong. Randy Lessman
is
that cute. Totally.”