Now and Forever (49 page)

They barely had time to unload the trunk before Jules's van rattled its way up the dirt road and rolled to a stop behind Shannon's car.

You never get used to it,
Shannon thought as they watched the two women help the children from the van. And if you did, you were a poor excuse for a human being.
 
"Gonna have a full house," Jules said as the grandmother gathered up the baby blankets from the back seat. "I've got two more pickups."

"Two more? What on earth's going on?"

"Full moon. Hot weekend. Your guess is as good as mine."

"Any more babies?"

"Teenagers this time. Two in one family, one in the other."

"We'll need more food," she said. "As soon as I get everyone settled in, I'll go home and raid the pantry."

"I will go for you," said Andrew as Jules set off to collect the next two families.

"I admit you've adapted amazingly well but I'm not about to let you drive."

"I have no need of your car," he said. "I will walk."

"It's pitch black outside. You'll never find your way there and back."

"Tell me what you require and I will see you get it."

She named a few staple items, told him how to bypass the alarm system, and where to find the pantry. Then she crossed her fingers that he'd manage to find the house before another two hundred years had passed.

 
#

In truth Andrew would have walked from there to kingdom come if it meant escaping the sorrowful eyes of the women and children.

He had seen terrible things in his lifetime. He'd held a young boy's hand as he lay dying on the village green near Lexington, victim of a Redcoat's musket. And he'd carried home the boy's meager belongings to his mother who had already buried two sons before him.

But nothing had prepared Andrew for the sight of the two women who had come to Shannon for help. The older had the look of defeat about her person, visible in the slumped shoulders and fearful expression, as if she expected danger to leap from behind the trees or drop from the skies. It was the younger woman, however, who had borne the burden of some man's anger. Heavy bandages hid her left eye from view while purple-and-black bruises ringed the right. A step ladder of what appeared to be tailor's stitches angled across one cheek, each stitch a testament to the horror she had sustained at the hands of the man to whom she'd pledged her life.

He made his way through the woods swiftly, relying on skills he'd thought would be unimportant in this world. A man did not need a road to find his way. A formation of trees, the stars overhead, all could be used to guide a man if he understood how to use them. There were differences, however, that made the exercise difficult in a way he hadn't foreseen.

Darkness did not fall with the same finality in Shannon's century as it did in his. He was accustomed to an all-encompassing blackness, a blackness so dark and deep the stars shining above seemed close enough to touch. But here there was a greyness to the night, as if a scrim separated him from the sky itself.

And the quality of the silence continued to confound him. Even now, alone in the woods, there was a constant noise he could not identify. Instinct told him it was not the noise of the wind or some strange insects or animals but something unnatural.

The back of Shannon's property was brightly lit, almost as if the afternoon sun shone down upon the land and reflected in the blue depths of the rectangular pond. Electricity made these miracles possible, harnessing the same power that split the skies during a summer storm. Was that the source of the ever-present hum that hovered at the edges of his mind day and night? In truth, he wished for just an hour of the deep silence he had taken for granted.

He followed Shannon's instructions and entered the house without causing the box on the wall to scream.

"A small triumph," he muttered as he headed toward the pantry. He wondered if the rest of his life would consist of small triumphs that amounted to nothing at all.

 
#

Fifteen years ago, on the day after their graduation from Rutgers, Pat Conner married Jack Delaney. Everyone said they were the perfect couple. Jack was poised at the starting line, about to enter an executive training program at Johnson and Johnson in New Brunswick while Pat was eager to start a family, something they accomplished with dispatch on their honeymoon.

They bought into the whole American dream: kids and career, the beautiful home in a trendy suburb, station wagon and golden retriever, the endless parade of expectations that could never be met.

Not by them.

Not by anyone.

"He'll find us," Pat said as she sipped hot soup through a straw in the kitchen while the kids wolfed down hot dogs. "He said if I ever tried to run, he'd find me and he'd find the kids and he'd kill us."

Pat's mother Terri looked up from her cup of coffee. "He was killing us anyway, honey, day by day." She met Shannon's eyes and Shannon tried not to notice the bruises along the older woman's jaw. "Tell her this was the right thing to do, miss. Tell her he can't find us here."

"You're safe," Shannon said, reaching across the table to squeeze Pat's trembling hand. "Nothing can happen to you here."

"You don't know Jack," Pat said, glancing nervously toward her children. "He's a powerful man. He has friends everywhere."

"So had my husband," Shannon said.

Pat looked up in surprise. "You?"

"Me," said Shannon with a small smile. "I've been there, Pat. I know how it feels."

"But you - I mean -" Pat gestured broadly to encompass the estate. "I didn't think it could happen to someone like you."

"You thought wrong," Shannon said. "Abuse cuts across all social classes and all economic backgrounds."

"I pushed her into this," Terri said, looking down at her cup of coffee. "Last night when he--if he lays a hand on my baby or my grandbabies one more time, I'll kill him."

"Don't say that, Mom!" Pat's voice quavered with emotion. "He's my husband."

"He's a no-good bastard."

"You don't understand." Pat looked toward Shannon for support but Shannon kept still. "He doesn't mean to hurt us...it's just - he's under so much stress at work. His job is shaky and...." Her voice faded and she took another sip of soup.

"See?" said the mother. "First she says he wants to kill her, then she's feeling sorry for him. I didn't know what to do. I figured this was our only hope."

"You live with them?"

"Since February. My -- my husband died and Pat took me in."

"You made the right choice," Shannon reassured her. "The important thing is that you got her out of that house before it got any worse."

"I can make my own decisions," Pat spoke up. "I just want to give Jack a chance to rest." She looked toward her kids as they polished off the hot dogs and moved onto the ice cream. "It's hard for him. The kids make a lot of noise and they need so many things--" Her voice broke as she started to cry.

"It's okay," Shannon crooned, putting a comforting arm around the woman's shoulders. "Nothing can happen to you here. You're safe. Tomorrow morning is soon enough to start planning your future."

 
#

Andrew moved deeper into the shadows. He'd seen the look on her face, heard the infinite tenderness in her voice, and it occurred to him that she was the finest person he'd ever known.

In times of war ordinary men and women rose to greatness with acts of heroism that were the stuff of history. But in truth it was easy to be heroic when the situation demanded it.

Heroism in the face of everyday trials was a rare thing indeed. Something Shannon possessed in great measure. She saw pain and she tried to ease it. She saw inequity and she tried to remedy it. He could not imagine many men or women who would open wide the doors of their home and take in strangers in need.

Take heed,
a voice inside his head warned.
'Tis her way to lend comfort.
To read anything but human kindness into her behavior was to mark him a fool.

 
#

"You were great with those kids," Shannon said a few hours later as they rode the short distance back to her house. "Teenagers can be difficult."

"They are angry," Andrew said.

"Is it any wonder? Their father beat hell out of their mother and turned a gun on the two of them. That's enough to make anybody angry."

"'Tis more than that. Much of their anger is aimed at their mother."

Shannon glanced at him as she pulled into the driveway and hit the garage door opener. "Did they tell you that?"

"It was not necessary for them to tell me. It was there for all to see."

"I didn't see it."

Andrew shrugged his powerful shoulders. "There are things you see about women that are invisible to me."

She shut off the engine and turned to face him. "So what you're saying is it's a guy thing."

His forehead wrinkled. "A guy thing?"

"You know." She gestured broadly. "Male bonding, all that sort of stuff."

His frown deepened. "Male bonding?"

"I'd give you a copy of Robert Bly but I have the feeling you'd grab your balloon and go back home if I did."

"Speak plain, Shannon. Your words make no sense."

She sighed, struggling to find a way to explain self-help books, television talk shows, and making peace with your inner child. "Many Americans spend a lot of time thinking about their lives," she said, "and a few very clever Americans make a lot of money writing books that help the others think better." He was looking at her so strangely that she had to laugh. "Of course if you don't like self-help books you can always go to a therapist."

"I do not know that word,
therapist
."

"A world without Freud? It sounds like heaven." She searched about for a definition. "A therapist is someone you pay to listen to your problems."

His mouth literally opened in surprise. "You pay someone to listen to your problems?"

"Well, yes," said Shannon. "And then the therapist offers solutions."

A funny smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "A few tankards of ale shared with friends at the Plumed Rooster accomplished much the same."

"I suppose it would," said Shannon as they got out of the car and walked across the side yard to the house. "The only problem is we don't have time for friends these days. We're too busy working three jobs in order to pay the mortgage, the baby sitter, taxes--"

"Aye," said Andrew with a groan. "A man could work half his life in payment to the Crown."

"Well, we don't have to worry about the Crown these days, but Uncle Sam is more than happy to take his share."

"I thought you were not in communication with any of your family."

"Uncle Sam isn't really my family. He's everybody's family." She explained how it was a quasi-affectionate name for the American government. "He's a tall man with white hair and a beard and he wears very strange red, white, and blue clothing that looks suspiciously like our flag."

"The same colors as the flag of England," he said, sounding quite indignant about the choice.

She unlocked the door and they stepped into the kitchen. "I don't know how to tell you this, Andrew," she said, turning on the lights, "but England is our staunchest ally and closest friend."

"And is she still the most powerful nation on earth?"

"No," she said. "Actually we are."

"In truth?"

"In truth."

"'Tis been a most enlightening day."

"Yes," she said, thinking about the remarkable happenings of the past twenty-four hours. "'Enlightening' just about says it all."

Their eyes met and a fine tingle of anticipation began to buzz against her breastbone and move up the length of her spine.
 

"Well," she said, straightening her shoulders, "it's late and I have so much to do tomorrow at the shelters." She flipped on the door alarm, then started toward the hall. "I'll see you in the morning."