Hunting (17 page)

***

Jules had been awake for a
while and she’d watched him carry Ruthie into the kitchen. She lay
there on the couch listening to their conversation, how he set
Ruthie at ease, how he had the little girl laughing with him. And
he’d looked so darned natural holding Ruthie on his hip while he
worked in her kitchen.

She felt a softening in her
heart toward him that she definitely didn’t want to feel. How could
she not when the man had cleaned her kitchen while she napped? Why
had the Fates up there done this to her now? Why couldn’t she have
kept him at a distance like she had for the last eight months? She
didn’t have room for a man like him. Not a man like Malachi Perfect
Brockman.

She didn’t. She couldn’t.
And she wouldn’t. No matter how hard that was for her.

They were better off with
what they’d agreed on. No mention of what had happened between
them, and they kept their relationship professional. Coworkers, who
were mildly friendly with each other. That was all she could
handle.

So why did that make
everything seem so…bleak?

The first week went about
as well as Jules had expected. They’d had a few meltdowns, and
Ruthie was frightened every time Jules got out of her sight, but
they had developed some sort of a routine. Jules just worried that
routine would be completely disrupted when she returned to work in
a week. And Rosa couldn’t watch Ruthie as planned. She’d called two
days earlier and apologized, but she was getting married and would
be cutting back her work load considerably. What could Jules say?
The woman had been widowed for years, and had worked for Ed since
her husband’s death line-of-duty. She was entitled to retire. Jules
still hadn’t figured out a solution.

Ruthie had been in a tough
mood since she’d wakened, and Jules was struggling to figure out
what was bothering the little girl. The spilled cereal was just
another incident in a long compilation of them.

The milk was everywhere;
soggy cereal stuck the chair and sloshed over the floor. Ruthie
dropped to the floor and started scooping the cereal back into the
bowl with almost frantic movements. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I was
bad! Bad! I’m always bad! God will ‘mite me! He’ll ‘mite
me!”

Her sobs grew louder and
she tried picking up the milk with fingers that were
shaking.

Jules dropped to her side
and pulled the shivering child into her arms. “Baby, no good God
would hurt a little child for spilling milk. He loves you. I love
you. It’s ok; we can clean up the mess and get new cereal.
Shhhh.”

“
He’ll ‘mite me, He’ll
‘mite me. Like Hannah was ‘mited! I made a mess. And now you’re
going to send me back!”

“
No, baby. No. I will never
send you back. I promise you that. You will never be smited.” They
sat there on the floor for Jules didn’t know how long. Ruthie
cried, and cried, and cried, and Jules cried along with her.
Something that had already happened a few times over the past week.
She rocked the little girl, not caring that the milk on the floor
eventually soaked into the cream colored trousers she
wore.

Finally, Ruthie fell asleep
in her arms, too worn out from crying to stay awake though a glance
at the clock told Jules it was not yet ten a.m. Poor baby; what had
she gone through to have such responses ingrained so deeply, even
now, months after she’d been removed from that hell that had been
her parents’ house? Was she even old enough to have memories that
were developed enough to still frighten her? And why had the sudden
onset of this smiting business?

She didn’t know; but she
knew a child psychologist that she could ask. And as Ruthie
continued to cling to her, even while asleep, Jules got over her
hesitation. Didn’t it make more sense to ask a professional how
best to help Ruthie?

She carried Ruthie to the
couch, unwilling to put her down just yet. She grabbed the phone
and dialed Al. “I need help. Is your brother around?”

“
Tweedledee or Tweedledum?
And are you ok?”

“
Oh Tweedledee, definitely.
If that means Malachi…and I’m ok. I think.”

“
He’s right
here.”

“
Julia? What is it? Has
something happened?”

“
Ruthie had…a…episode, I
guess you’d call it. And I need a professional opinion. And I don’t
want to ask your mother.” She kept her voice low, as she rocked in
the antique chair Georgia had given her as a housewarming present.
“I’m not sure what to do next.”

“
Do you need me to come
over? I have all day free.”

Did she? She looked at her
little girl, and her decision was made that quickly. “Yes. I think
I do. Because this is something I don’t understand. And I have no
clue what to do next.”

***

He was both concerned and
elated at Julia’s call. She’d called him for help, when she didn’t
have to. He wasted no time throwing on a clean sweatshirt and
grabbing his ID, gun—he went nowhere without it after the
kidnapping, and his car keys. Ten minutes later he was pulling into
the small home on Chesterfield Farms Drive. He knocked, and Julia
met him at the door, Ruthie sound asleep in her arms. He followed
her inside, then waited while she laid the little girl on the couch
and covered her with a blanket.

“
Sweetheart, what’s going
on?” He wrapped a hand around her upper arm and guided her to sit
beside Ruthie. He took the chair across from her. “What
happened?”

“
Ruthie spilled her
cereal.”

He listened while she
explained what had happened, ending with, “It took me more than an
hour and a half to get her to stop crying. I’m not sure what I
should do about this. She honestly feels that God will strike her
down at any moment for any little thing she does wrong. I don’t
know how to help her with this.”

“
So you called me.” She
could have called several people—did she realize that? Both Hell
and Georgia could have offered advice, both as parents of a
traumatized child and as behavioral psychologists, as could have
Fin McLaughlin, someone he knew she was friendly with. Not to
mention his mother, who was one of the top five abnormal child
psychologists in the country. So what did it mean that she’d turned
to him?

“
Yes. You know exactly what
situation this child came from—or know as much as anyone. I figured
that would save me a lot of time.”

So he was the most
expedient. Figured. “Have you gotten her files yet?” The social
workers would have noted everything they knew about the Byrum
household, and Ruthie’s experiences in it.

“
Most, I think.” She
stroked the little girl’s hair. “There are quite a few holes, I
think. I’m not sure why. And most of what they had was inferred
from Hannah and the older two boys’ statements. At Ruthie’s age,
she wasn’t considered a reliable witness, nor was the youngest
brother.”

“
Not that it matters. You
and I both know what she was probably exposed to from birth.” How
was he to help her and Ruthie? What could he say to make the
situation better for the both of them?

“
So what do I do now? She
honestly believes that God will kill her for being bad. For having
simple accidents. She’s really too young to even know about death
and God, isn’t she?”

“
She’s probably beginning
to understand the emotions people feel in death situations, but I
doubt she understood the finality of it. She probably just likens
death to pain—and possibly burning if the Byrums repeatedly spoke
of hell and brimstone. Or burned her as an object lesson. Which I
bet they did. To her God is pain and hurt and just all around
bad.”

“
And now she fears a God
she’s too young to believe in.” Bitterness coated her words, and he
understood it. “She has a burn scar on the back of her
leg.”

“
Take her to church.” He
thought about it for a moment, fighting the anger that filled him
at her words. He reminded himself that Ruthie was safe now, with
people who loved her. “Find her a Sunday school class, activities
with kids her age, and as positive a belief system as you
can.”

She looked at him like he
was crazy, and how could he blame her? The little girl’s nightmares
were of a vengeful God, why would anyone want to make it more
difficult for the child to understand the concept of faith and
forgiveness? “Let me get this straight; you think I should expose
this little girl to more religion?”

“
Yes. I think that’s
exactly what you should do. Find a church or a faith itself that
promotes the forgiveness and love and all of the good things that
Christianity—or any religion—can possess, and show her how it
should be. Help her understand that the way the Byrums taught her
was completely wrong. It’ll take time, but I think if you don’t a
part of her will always have those kinds of associations with
anyone expressing any type of faith or religion. And she could
continue to build these negative images in her mind, until you’re
dealing with nightmares on a more frequent basis.”

She jumped up as quietly as
it was possible for her to without waking Ruthie and began pacing
the rug. “So you’re saying I really have no choice.”

“
Of course you do. But I
think this will be the quickest way to help her heal.” Malachi
stood and joined her on the rug. He fought the urge to wrap his
arms around her and hold her.

“
So, tomorrow, we go to
church. I don’t even know where to begin. I’ve not been to church
in more than fifteen years.”

“
Not even for your
wedding?” No princess wedding for Julia, with her perfect prince
groom? He couldn’t help wonder why.

“
No. We were married in a
local city garden. It was beautiful. I’m not sure I do church. It’s
not my thing.”

“
But I think it may need to
be Ruthie’s thing. But you do what you think is best.” Malachi
hugged her, though she was resistant. He kissed her forehead, then
stepped back. Now wasn’t the time for their concerns, but Ruthie’s.
“In the meantime, I think somebody is waking.”

***

Church. Great. Jules didn’t
understand church, and never really had. She believed in God, or
some version of Him—she’d seen too many things in her career not
to—but she’d never understood the organized religion part of
things. As far as she could tell, there were more problems
associated with the group aspect of worship than there were
benefits.

Still, she’d given
Malachi’s advice a lot of thought, and had even called and talked
about it with Georgia. The other woman had surprisingly agreed, and
then helped Jules pick a church to attend. Georgia and Hellbrook
were both Catholic, though they didn’t’ attend Mass often.
Georgia’s father did, though, and took Mattie when he had him.
Jules knew that Catholic was something she definitely wasn’t. Her
mother had pretended to be a devout Catholic whenever she hadn’t
been drinking. She’d dragged Jules to Mass off and on for
years.

No, Jules was definitely
not Catholic. And neither would Ruthie be.

After some discussion of
what Jules would most likely be comfortable with—if she ever
would—Georgia had suggested trying Al’s church. The same one that
Al attended with all of her family—including Meredith and Kenneth.
And Malachi.

She was never going to
escape Malachi. She might as well accept that. The Fates kept
pushing her toward him. She pulled Ruthie from the childseat. The
little girl had been completely freaked out when Jules told her
where they were going. Now she was just wide-eyed and quiet. She
clung to Jules’ neck when Jules tried to set her on her
feet.

Not that Jules didn’t
understand. The big stone building with its towering steeples and
its ringing bells was more than a bit intimidating. Jules consoled
herself with the knowledge that she’d know people inside. Malachi
might have her confused over their personal feelings for one
another, but one thing she’d definitely admit to—she respected his
professional opinion. Greatly. He’d suggested this for a reason.
And she trusted that.

And Al was a friend;
Al
didn’t have a perverted religious viewpoint. Jules would
have already caught on to that. And both Al’s parents were normal,
well-adjusted professionals in their fields. And Jules liked and
respected both of them.

It was just residual nerves
from her childish experiences making her stomach burn at the
thought of entering the imposing structure. Ruthie tightened her
hold on Jules’ neck until Jules thought she’d choke. She gently
loosened the little girl’s arms. “It’s ok, baby. I promise. You can
sit on my lap the entire time we’re in there, ok?”

“
Promise? They won’t put me
in the closet?” Tiny fingers dug into Jules’ shoulder.

“
Who put you in the closet,
baby?”

“
My other mommy. When we
went to church and me and Lijah were too bad.”

“
Honey, that was just a
really bad church. It wasn’t anything you or your brother did. It
was the grown-ups who were bad. I promise this church is not like
that. There will be other kids in there for you to play with, too.”
She mentioned her brothers a lot, especially the one closest in
age, Elijah. Jules made a silent vow to keep in touch with the
great-uncle who’d taken Ruthie’s brothers. He’d been receptive to
the contact, but Jules had been uncertain. Now she wondered if she
should. They were Ruthie’s family, after all.