Under the Same Blue Sky (12 page)

“Who says I’m a witch?”

She looked out the frosty windows. “Some folks.”

“What do
you
think?”

She scuffed the floor, a child again. “You’re our teacher.”

“And that’s
all
I am, Lydia. That’s what matters now. We have our pageant in two days. Shall we practice?”

“Yes, Miss Renner,” said the chorus.

“Good.”

“Susanna is my partner,” said Alice. “Will she be coming?”

The class was silent. Did they know about the Ashtons’ night visit and my failure? “I hope so. But meanwhile, who can take Susanna’s part?” By now most of the children knew every part of the songs we’d written to cover the geography, history, and civics topics they’d need for the county tests.

“I can,” said Lydia softly.

“Thank you, Lydia.”
Thank you, thank you.

We were practicing “Christmas in South America” when the Ashtons brought in a chill blast of air that ruffled our papers. The judge
didn’t wipe his feet as even the youngest children had been drilled to do. Mrs. Ashton closed the door. Her face was ashen. The judge’s was red. The deep voice boomed: “Where is Susanna, Miss Renner?”

Susanna? Her absence was suddenly palpable. “Because she’s not here and she’s not home.” His words filled the little room. The children looked from him to me, their stricken faces crying:
Explain this, teacher. Tell us what happened!
I felt my mouth open slightly and then close.

“She was so hot,” said a thread of Mrs. Ashton’s voice. “I had her on the sunporch and went to speak with the cook. I came back and Susanna was gone.”
Impossible.
In an utterly normal town, a child vanishes. Was some terrible magic at play?

“Miss Renner, what do you know about this?” the judge demanded. Jerked by the rope of his words, I was on trial.

“Sir, I’ve been here all morning with the children.”

“That’s true,” said a voice. Charlie’s, gathering strength: “I came early to help with the stove. She was here.”

“Judge, did you search—”

“
Naturally, my wife, the maid, and the cook searched the house and outbuildings before calling me. I searched as well. She’s gone. And something else: Ben’s gone.”

Ben, poor Ben, why did your voices call you away this morning, not yesterday or tomorrow? “He often disappears. It could be just coincidence.”

“
Coincidence,
Miss Renner?
Coincidence?
It’s nobody who wants money because there’s no ransom note. I’ve seen him spying on my Susanna. I’ve seen his crazy eyes.”

I’d never seen “crazy eyes.” I’d seen kind eyes, frightened eyes, eyes filled up with remembered horror. Yet now I remembered with horrible clarity his voice from our last, cold night on my porch: “Susanna needs help
now
.” And I told him not to worry.
Not to worry?
I said that
to a man daily tormented by horrors seen nearly twenty years ago? Crazy Hazel.

Mrs. Ashton spoke, her soft voice broken by anguish. “All we want is Susanna back safe. We think she’s with Ben because he was sneaking around our house yesterday, watching from the woods. The judge warned him, but this morning we found footprints.”

I backed against the slate board. Why hadn’t I listened? Because I was ruminating on my own failure to help, I hadn’t seen a sign waved in my face as clear as any flag. Ben would never hurt Susanna; I knew this with utter certainty. He’d give his life for hers. But what did I know of his voices? And if he had her, a feverish child, how could he care for her in this blustery cold?

“Where does he hide? Where’s that camp of his?” the judge demanded.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been there, It’s ‘up there’ is all he ever said. But he might not be at his camp. And he might not have Susanna.” Yes, I had to hang from this spider thread. There might be another explanation. Susanna might be—somewhere else.

“We’ll find him. Dick Morgan’s bringing his bloodhounds. We’re watching the roads, and the sheriff’s telegraphing police all over the state. Now that Ben’s stopped scratching, thanks to you, he could have taken her anywhere and looked normal. On the train, for instance.”

“But if the stationmaster didn’t see her, she’s still in Galway. And Ben has no money. He never wanted any.”

“That’s true,” Horace volunteered. “My father tried to pay him for splitting wood, but all he’d take was an old jacket.” Around the room, heads nodded.

“Is Susanna dead?” Alice whispered.

“No,” I said loudly. “Of course not. She’s just—somewhere. We have to find her.”

The judge sank into my teacher’s chair as if his legs had melted away. The spectacle of this fearsome man so reduced terrified even older children. The younger ones whimpered. Realizing his effect—or mortified to reveal weakness—he pulled himself up, his face icy white. “We’ll find Ben, and when we do, we’ll find my daughter. Search parties will start from my home. We can use every boy over thirteen and any girl who wants to help. School’s over for the day, Miss Renner.” Then he was gone, his arm around his wife. “We’ll find her, Martha,” were the last words we heard.

Facing the schoolroom, I knew what the children wanted: their old Galway back, where no child disappeared. How could I do that? Who had that power?

“Maybe she’s in Pittsburgh; she always wanted to see a big city,” Horace said. The others brightened. However huge, Pittsburgh was a
place,
and any place can be searched. Except that Susanna would never go alone to Pittsburgh. She’d never gone alone into Galway.

“Nobody would hurt her,” said Charlie, who adored her.

“I think it
was
Crazy Ben,” a low voice muttered.

“He’s not crazy,” I said sharply, “just different, but now we have to find Susanna. Some of you older ones can help, like the judge said. Make sure you have warm clothes. You younger ones go home now.” They needed to be with their families, not here feeding on each other’s fears. “Susanna
will
be found and we
will
have school tomorrow and the pageant the next day.” The children scrambled to their feet, gathered their coats, and were gone. Not even Alice looked back. I was Ben’s friend; they all knew that. Now Susanna was gone, and if Ben had taken her, in these children’s eyes, and in Galway’s eyes, how could this
not
point back to me?

Find her, find her. Think only about that.
I banked the fire and left the schoolhouse unlocked, for Susanna might come, or she might be
brought here. I went home. Nobody was there; nothing had been disturbed, and the only footprints to or from the porch were mine. I hurried to join a gathering crowd at the Ashtons’ house. Sheriff Wilkes had come from the county seat with a roll of maps.

Dick Morgan arrived with two young bloodhounds. “Where’s Heddy?” the judge demanded.

“She just whelped. She’s not strong enough for a hunt. But Jiff and Daisy here are good trackers,” Dick promised.

“They better be. Let’s go.” The hounds were given Susanna’s nightgown to sniff before charging into the house as we waited outside.

“There’s the schoolmarm,” someone whispered. “I bet she knows something.” Another man: “We should have kicked Ben out of town long ago. That crazy loon isn’t fit to associate with decent folks.” The man caught my eye and stopped.

Charlie appeared beside me. “Never mind them, Miss Renner.” He signaled his friends and they gathered close.

“Thank you, boys,” I whispered. A cold drizzle was turning to sleet, like the last night I saw her. Sick as Susanna was, how long could she endure outside? And would the dogs have more trouble finding her now?

“Do you want to sit down, Miss Renner?” Charlie asked. No, I’d stand.
Send my strength to Susanna. And Ben, bring her back, send her back and then run, far away from the judge.

Dick appeared at the front door, leading the dogs. They sniffed the grounds earnestly but aimlessly, circled the empty gazebo, and then looked quizzically up at their master. “It’s the cold and wet. My Heddy could track—”

“But Heddy’s not here, is she, Dick?” the judge snapped.

“Let’s get organized,” Sheriff Wilkes announced in a gruff, military voice that gave everyone comfort. “Dick, you take the dogs to Red Gorge with some men. Fan out and search the woods. Whistle three
times if you find her. Some of you start with Ben’s shack by the grocery and then search every house and every store in town. There are two roads out of Galway. We need every car stopped and searched. Doc Bentley and you women, go to the church and set up a first aid station, coffee, and sandwiches. Burnett, can you help?”

“Sure. Tell me what you need. I’ll bring it from the store.”

I joined women making sandwiches while boys and fleet-footed girls ran between teams and back to the sheriff, who marked the searched zones on a map of the township. My house and the schoolhouse got a black X and then another sign that I took to mean they’d be searched again. Mrs. Ashton sat frozen on a chair. Women brought her mugs of coffee, exchanged for new ones as they chilled. Nobody spoke to me or touched me or worked close to me.

Sleet became snow as afternoon wore into dusk. Teams staggered back, weary, cold, and empty-handed. They ate, warmed themselves, and went out again. Jiff mangled his paw in a fox trap and had to be taken off the search. Daisy began sniffing in circles. Roadblocks ringed the town. No one answering Ben and Susanna’s description had been seen on any train in Pennsylvania.

Search parties began reporting injuries on snow-covered trails, frostbite, and exhaustion. “We have fathers and sons out there. Someone’s going to break a neck,” Sheriff Wilkes announced. “We’ll go out again at dawn.” When Judge Ashton protested, Wilkes snapped: “I’m in charge here. Dan, call ’em back.” The barrel-chested deputy who’d been an army bugler sounded recall. Answering whistles sounded in the darkness. The teams began returning, soaked and shivering.

“Sorry, Judge,” many said. “We’ll find her tomorrow.” They wrapped frozen fingers around mugs of coffee. Ice chunks fell from their jackets, melting in pools at their feet. Women watched silently, thinking of their children. Slowly the crowd disbanded.

Back home, still in coat and boots, not bothering to light a fire, I sank into a chair, barely thinking beyond a dull repeat:
“Lord, bring her home safe.”
And Ben. Why hadn’t I seen his signs? How could I have been so blind? Once I’d blandly assumed I’d bring only good to Galway. I’d be the marvelous teacher. Now two innocent souls were in peril. And wasn’t it my blue house that brought Susanna and her parents to me, fanning poor Ben’s memories of the sick girl in Havana he couldn’t save, swerving his broken mind to
this
sick girl whose father would now hunt him down?

P
AST MIDNIGHT, TERRIBLE
chill led me to the stove. I was blowing embers back to life when a gentle rapping sounded at the door. The wind? It came again, more persistent. To satisfy disbelief, I opened the door. There she was, shivering in an ice-caked man’s jacket. “Susanna, Susanna, you’re safe!” Dizzy with relief, I carried her to the stove, took off the jacket, tore blankets from my bed, and wrapped them around her. “Are you hurt?” I asked over and over until she warmed enough to answer.

“No. Just tired and a little hungry.” Joy, joy. She wasn’t hurt, just hungry. With trembling hands, I heated pea soup, cut bread, and poured a mug of hot cider. She took it with one red-mittened hand.

“I lost the other mitten. Mother will be angry.”

“No she won’t. I promise.”
Ask!
“Susanna, who brought you here?”

“Ben.” I closed my eyes.
My lost and gentle friend, who can save you now?

“How did he—why were you with him?”

“I was on the sunporch and he came to the window.” She dove into the soup, bowl to her mouth. When it was empty, she wrapped the blankets around herself.

I took the bowl. “Ben came to the window? And then?”

“He asked if I’d like to go up to his camp. Maybe it could help me.
He said he felt better there. So I said yes.” When my house couldn’t help her, he’d offered his own.

“Why didn’t you tell your mother?”

“He said not to. He said the camp had to be secret. That’s how it works.”

“I see.” I sat at her feet, my legs weak.

“Ben didn’t do anything wrong, Miss Renner. Don’t think that.”

“He took you from home, in the cold.”

“He carried me the whole way in this jacket. He made a big fire and gave me tea from roots. He had me touch his house.”

“He thought it could heal you?” My stomach knotted more tightly with each revelation.

“Yes. He said voices told him to.”

“What else about the voices?”

“Nothing. He said he did a bad thing once in Cuba and now he wanted to do a good thing. We’re alike, you know. My sickness comes and goes. His voices come and go. He said fresh air helps. That could be right, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so.”

“And look, the fever’s gone. Feel my forehead.” She was right. The fever had gone. “Ben’s a little strange, but he’s nice,” she said dreamily. “Maybe he can visit me sometime.”

“Maybe.”
No, he’ll never visit you, ever.
“Where is he now?”

“I don’t know. He brought me here, and then I looked around and he was gone.”

“Yes. He does that.”

“I’m so tired now.” Her head dropped into blanket folds; her eyelids fluttered down. Whatever I thought, whatever I felt or feared, I had to get her home. Of course I had no telephone. I decided to keep her wrapped in blankets, sit her on the old bicycle Jim had given me,
and walk her to the Allens’ house, which was closer than her own. The snow had stopped. Moonlight slicked the road.

The rest happened quickly, like the sudden end of a one-reeler. Mr. Allen called the judge, who came with Mrs. Ashton, their Keystone roaring over frozen ruts. “Ben didn’t hurt her,” I repeated as Susanna was checked for injuries and peppered with questions she was too drowsy to answer. “He only meant to—”

“Kidnap her,” the judge snapped. “And might do it again.” He wrapped Susanna in a fresh blanket, putting mine aside.