"I've taken the liberty of arranging a car to drive you and your brother directly to the airport."
Aaron looked relieved. "Thank you, Dr. Milam. I appreciate that." Then he looked at his watch. "I guess we'd better be going."
Wes felt a moment of panic as he was wheeled out of the hospital and into the sunshine. Still locked into the pretense of unawareness, it was all he could do not to lift his face to the sun and breathe in the fresh air. He let himself be led to the waiting car, then seated in the back seat. When his stepbrother shut the door and got in the front seat with the driver, he relaxed, but the relief was only momentary.
At Aaron's request, the driver took them right by the sight of where the commissary bombing had occurred. Unless he was willing to give himself away, Wes was helpless to do anything but ride. So he gritted his teeth,
closed his eyes and refused to look as the car moved past. But as hard as he tried, he couldn't block out the sound of the driver's voice.
"Terrorist... car bomb...bodies every where... wearing a bomb."
His heart started pounding, and he broke out in a cold sweat. Every memory he had of the smells and the sounds came flooding back. He heard screams and sirens, felt the crunch of broken glass beneath his shoes as he stumbled through the debris inside the commissary, searching for his wife and child. He saw her foot, then her leg, then the damage that had been done to her face.
The blood. There had been so much blood. And Mikey. So small. So still. So far gone.
Then the driver added one last bit of info that, if Wes had known, he'd forgotten.
"Colonel Holden...one shot...right between the eyes. Saved us all."
He felt Aaron turn and stare at him, but he never acknowledged the motion. He never knew when they left the base, but the exodus was monumental, just the same, wiping out the last bit of his identity. After the bombing, his life as a husband and father had come to an end, and now he was no longer a soldier, either.
Colonel Wes Holden was finally dead, as he'd intended to be all along, but the shell of a man still existed. It remained to be seen if he would bother to refill the hollows.
* * *
Ally was already up and setting out the sausages and bacon she'd cooked for breakfast when her father and both brothers came into the kitchen.
"Something smells good," Porter said, and stole a piece of bacon.
"Are we having biscuits?" Danny asked.
"Isn't this Sunday?" Ally teased.
Danny grinned. "Yes, it's Sunday, and yes, I know, we always have biscuits on Sunday. Just thought I'd ask."
"Scrambled or fried?" Ally asked, referring to the eggs she had yet to cook.
"Scrambled works for me," her father said.
Ally gave him a cool glance, then nodded. They had yet to smooth over the rough patch they'd had when she'd gone to Granny Devon's, and she wasn't going to be the first one to say "I'm sorry," because she'd done nothing for which she needed to apologize.
She began breaking eggs in the bowl as the men poured coffee, got butter and jelly from the refrigerator, as well as the salt and pepper shakers out of the cabinet, and set them on the table.
Within minutes, they were seated with plates of fluffy yellow eggs, scrambled to perfection, at each place. Gideon looked at each of his children until he had their complete attention; then he bowed his head and blessed the food. He was on the verge of saying amen when he paused and added the words, "Bless the cook that prepared it, amen."
Ally looked up to find her father's gaze upon her. She sighed. It was all the apology she was going to get.
"Porter, pass Daddy the meat," she said, then took a biscuit and passed them on.
Gideon worried all through the meal, hoping he hadn't left his little bit of news too late. It would be horribly embarrassing to have company over after church and not have a meal to offer. He poured himself a second cup of coffee from the pot on the table, then took a third biscuit and buttered it up.
"Good bread, daughter," he said quietly.
"Thank you, Daddy," Ally said, then glanced at the clock and got up from the table. "I'm going to get a roast out of the freezer and put it on low heat in the oven so it can cook while we're at church."
Gideon nodded approvingly, then slapped his knee as if he just remembered something.
"Did I tell you we're having company at
Ally turned. "No, and please tell me it's not the preacher because I don't have anything special baked for dessert."
"No, no, nothing like that," he said. "It's just Freddie Joe."
She frowned. "Detweiller?"
"Yes."
"Is he bringing his children?"
"No, I think they're at their granny's for the weekend. He mentioned wanting one of my bull calves to raise for a new breeding bull. I told him he'd better come pick it out before I cut 'em all."
"I'll put extra vegetables in the roast. It will be fine."
Gideon breathed a quick sigh of relief. It was a lie, but it had served its purpose. The only stock on the Monroe property that Freddie Joe was interested in was his daughter.
Gideon had almost gotten over his guilt at deceiving his daughter when they pulled into the church parking lot. As soon as they got out of the truck, they joined other members of the congregation who were moving toward the doorway. The preacher was standing on the steps, greeting his parishioners, as well as paying special attention to the children who were accompanying their parents.
Ally's focus was on one of her old classmates, who was coming to church with a new baby. While she was happy for her friend's little family, it only enforced the lack of her own. She was halfway up the steps when someone suddenly grabbed her by the forearm.
"Ally Monroe, is this you?"
"Good morning, Granny Devon," she said.
There was a smile on the old woman's face as she started to answer, then her sightless eyes suddenly rolled back in her head. She moaned, then she spoke.
"There's a man who's done evil.
There's a man who's done bad.
There's a man who comes walkin'.
There's a man who's so sad."
* * *
The prediction gave Ally the chills. She remembered the previous warning that had come to her the night she'd had supper with Granny Devon. Now it seemed that evil still threatened her family. Before she could move, Gideon wrenched the old woman's hand from his daughter's arm and pushed Ally up the steps. When he got even with the preacher, he turned and pointed.
"You tell that old woman's family if she won't stop witchin', to keep her at home."
The preacher was taken aback by Gideon's anger, which embarrassed Ally to no end.
As they moved into the church, Ally pulled away and whispered angrily, "You had no right to talk to Preacher John like that. Granny Devon doesn't mean any harm, and you know it. Besides, nobody else is bothered by her predictions. I don't know why you're always so hateful about her. She's a sweet old lady."
"She's not right," Gideon muttered. "And I'm not discussing this with you again. Take your seat by your brothers."
Ally sat, but only because to do otherwise would have caused a bigger scene than what her father had done. She was in the house of God and knew how to behave, but she stayed angry with her father, just the same. When the services were over, she got up and walked out on her own, and was already seated in the truck with the motor running and the air conditioner on high when her father and brothers got in.
Gideon took one look at her face and resisted the urge to issue his normal set of orders about wasting fuel just to make cold air. He had bigger fish to fry than saving a few pennies and wisely drove them all home in silence.
Freddie Joe Detweiller was sitting on the front porch when they pulled up the driveway. Ally's mind was already on the things that needed to be done before dinner would be served, but to her surprise, Freddie Joe jumped up, took off his hat and opened the front door for her as she came up the steps.
"Good day, Ally. Something is sure smellin' fine inside this house," he said.
"Just roast," Ally said.
"I thank you highly for allowing me to your table."
Ally shrugged. "Thank Daddy. He invited you."
Freddie Joe had an odd expression on his face as he looked at Gideon. Gideon nodded formally, then quickly looked away.
Freddie Joe came to himself in time to jump in front of Ally. He opened the door, then stepped aside, bowing slightly as she passed.
As she stepped over the threshold and into the living room, she couldn't help but notice that his hair was thinning at the crown. Then he smiled at her, and it was all she could do not to recoil from his yellow, tobacco-stained teeth. Still oblivious to the true reason for his presence, she paused to speak to Gideon.
"Daddy, I'll need at least thirty minutes to finish up dinner."
Gideon smiled. "That's fine, daughter. We'll be in the sittin' room."
"I thought you were gonna look at—"
Gideon interrupted before she gave him away.
"Not until after we eat," he said. "Don't want to be trackin' in dirt from the barnyard."
"Oh. Well, yes, thank you," she said, and hurried to change her shoes.
Minutes later, she was in the kitchen, cooking vegetables and baking corn bread to go with their meal. She'd taken a pie out of the freezer before they'd gone to church, and she popped it into the oven after she removed the roast.
Her dinner was coming together just fine. It was her life that somehow felt as if it was spinning out of control.
There was a tiny droplet of roast gravy on the edge of Freddie Joe's bottom lip, and a smear of grease just below his nose. When he'd chosen to ignore the paper napkins she'd set at their places, she'd gotten up from the table, torn off a couple of paper towels and dropped them in his lap.
"Oh, yeah. Right," he said, and swiped them across his face, then tossed them on the table near a bowl of peas.
Ally resisted the urge to roll her eyes and instead refilled the glasses of iced tea all around the table.
"Hey, sis, good meat," Porter said.
"Just like always," Danny added.
"Ally is a fine cook," Gideon said, then added, "She's careful with money, too. That's a fine attribute in a woman, you know."
Ally was frowning slightly as she began cutting the pie. Her brothers never complimented her cooking. They just ate it. Sometimes her father thanked her for a meal, but today he was acting as if she was competing for a prize. What was even stranger was that with four men at the table, not one of them had talked about the cattle herd or the bull calf that Freddie Joe wanted to buy.
She served the pie without fuss, but when she slid Freddie Joe's pie in front of him, she was taken aback when he grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze.
"Smells great!" he said. "Good thing you're used to cooking for lots of people."
Startled, she yanked her hand away, then looked to her father for intervention. To her dismay, he not only ignored her silent plea, but was smiling benevolently. Something was wrong—horribly wrong. It was like being the only person in the crowd who didn't get the joke.
"I don't know why it's a good thing that I can feed a thrashing crew without breaking a sweat, but I'd appreciate it if the conversation changed to something besides me and my skills in a kitchen."
Porter and Danny were stuffing pie in their mouths without looking at her, and her father's smile slipped a bit. Freddie Joe was frowning and looking from her to Gideon and back again, as if he was waiting for Gideon to put her in her place. When no one spoke, his tone of voice became belligerent as he pointed at Ally with his fork.
"Look here, missy, I came here willing to give you a chance to—"
Gideon stood abruptly.
"That was a fine meal, but we'd best be getting on to business. Freddie Joe, if you're done, let's go on out to the barn. I got some fine calves you'll be wanting to see."
Freddie Joe frowned.
"But I ain't finished my pie and your girl ain't—"
"Ally will pack you up a piece to go, won't you, girl?"
Then he grabbed Freddie Joe by the arm and all but dragged him out the door.
Frowning, Ally turned to her brothers.