pants.
“Aye?” he demanded gruffly, his blue eyes blazing.
Mary met his withering gaze evenly. “I’d like to see Judge Hannah, please.”
“Is it business you’ve got with her on Christmas Eve?” He scowled. His speech sounded musical and strange.
“My name is Mary Crow. I’m an old friend of hers.”
The man peered at her, his expression softening only slightly. “Hang on, then.”
He closed the door, but did not relock it. Mary heard his footsteps echoing through the house, then in a moment, other, swifter footsteps approached.
“Mary?” This time Irene appeared, fully dressed in a white blouse and faded jeans. Her silver hair floated like an aura around her head, and she looked radiant, with high color on both cheeks, her brown eyes sparkling like sherry.
“I can’t believe this!” she cried as she swung open the door, her still-rosy lips breaking into a smile. “You are the last person in the world I expected to see!”
“No kidding.” Mary chuckled as she stepped into Irene’s warm embrace. The women hugged for a long moment while the goose flapped around them, honking like something gone mad. Finally Irene stepped back and studied her.
“I figured you’d bug out of Atlanta for the holidays. I was picturing you sunning on some beach in the Caribbean.”
“Surprise!” said Mary. “This year I decided to drop in on you.”
“But how did you get here?” Irene’s shrewd gaze darted to the backpack at Mary’s feet, then to the goose, who stood eyeing them both. “How did you get past Lucy?”
“It wasn’t easy,” admitted Mary, laughing at the creature, who was now rubbing her feathered head up and down Irene’s leg.
Irene held the door open wide. “This is wonderful!” She pointed to the back of the house, toward the kitchen. “You’re just in time for Christmas dinner!”
“Thanks.” With a final triumphant glance at Lucy, Mary picked up her pack and walked into Irene Hannah’s home.
CHAPTER 11
“Don’t get your hopes up, Cabe. It ain’t gonna happen!”
Tommy Cabe glanced over at Willett, who stood in line next to him. Though Willett was speaking through the badly split lip that Tallent had gifted him with, his words were clear. He still did not believe that Sergeant Wurth would award Cabe a phone call for a week of no demerits.
“I’m still gonna ask,” whispered Cabe.
“You’d better watch out, Tommy-boy,” Willett warned. “He’s been in a piss-poor mood ever since he got back from wherever he went!”
Tommy Cabe held his breath as Sergeant Wurth made his way down the inspection line. The boys stood lined up in front of the castle, the Troopers toasty warm in leather flight jackets while the Grunts shivered in whatever clothes FaithAmerica had donated. For half an hour Wurth delivered some Christmas harangue about how richly blessed they were to have a roof over their heads and food on their table. Now, with his clipboard out in front of him, he worked his way down the line, reading each boy’s report.
They always held this formation on Sunday. Everyone called it “Judgment Day” because various forms of “corrections” were doled out to the boys, depending on the number and nature of demerits they’d collected during the week. The Troopers always got off light. The Grunts soon learned that their Sundays were expendable: an untucked shirttail might condemn a boy to spend a sunny afternoon in the dark library, copying Bible verses; an unmade bed could send him high up in the hills to chop kudzu. Insubordination garnered the worst correction. For that, Wurth sent them to the basement of the old castle for “Attitude Realignment.” In six months, Tommy had chopped a mountain of kudzu and copied Ecclesiastes three times over, but his attitude had never once had to be realigned. He’d heard from Willett what went on down in the basement.
Today, though, was different. For the first time since he’d come here, Tommy Cabe was about to stand
“Aye?” he demanded gruffly, his blue eyes blazing.
Mary met his withering gaze evenly. “I’d like to see Judge Hannah, please.”
“Is it business you’ve got with her on Christmas Eve?” He scowled. His speech sounded musical and strange.
“My name is Mary Crow. I’m an old friend of hers.”
The man peered at her, his expression softening only slightly. “Hang on, then.”
He closed the door, but did not relock it. Mary heard his footsteps echoing through the house, then in a moment, other, swifter footsteps approached.
“Mary?” This time Irene appeared, fully dressed in a white blouse and faded jeans. Her silver hair floated like an aura around her head, and she looked radiant, with high color on both cheeks, her brown eyes sparkling like sherry.
“I can’t believe this!” she cried as she swung open the door, her still-rosy lips breaking into a smile. “You are the last person in the world I expected to see!”
“No kidding.” Mary chuckled as she stepped into Irene’s warm embrace. The women hugged for a long moment while the goose flapped around them, honking like something gone mad. Finally Irene stepped back and studied her.
“I figured you’d bug out of Atlanta for the holidays. I was picturing you sunning on some beach in the Caribbean.”
“Surprise!” said Mary. “This year I decided to drop in on you.”
“But how did you get here?” Irene’s shrewd gaze darted to the backpack at Mary’s feet, then to the goose, who stood eyeing them both. “How did you get past Lucy?”
“It wasn’t easy,” admitted Mary, laughing at the creature, who was now rubbing her feathered head up and down Irene’s leg.
Irene held the door open wide. “This is wonderful!” She pointed to the back of the house, toward the kitchen. “You’re just in time for Christmas dinner!”
“Thanks.” With a final triumphant glance at Lucy, Mary picked up her pack and walked into Irene Hannah’s home.
CHAPTER 11
“Don’t get your hopes up, Cabe. It ain’t gonna happen!”
Tommy Cabe glanced over at Willett, who stood in line next to him. Though Willett was speaking through the badly split lip that Tallent had gifted him with, his words were clear. He still did not believe that Sergeant Wurth would award Cabe a phone call for a week of no demerits.
“I’m still gonna ask,” whispered Cabe.
“You’d better watch out, Tommy-boy,” Willett warned. “He’s been in a piss-poor mood ever since he got back from wherever he went!”
Tommy Cabe held his breath as Sergeant Wurth made his way down the inspection line. The boys stood lined up in front of the castle, the Troopers toasty warm in leather flight jackets while the Grunts shivered in whatever clothes FaithAmerica had donated. For half an hour Wurth delivered some Christmas harangue about how richly blessed they were to have a roof over their heads and food on their table. Now, with his clipboard out in front of him, he worked his way down the line, reading each boy’s report.
They always held this formation on Sunday. Everyone called it “Judgment Day” because various forms of “corrections” were doled out to the boys, depending on the number and nature of demerits they’d collected during the week. The Troopers always got off light. The Grunts soon learned that their Sundays were expendable: an untucked shirttail might condemn a boy to spend a sunny afternoon in the dark library, copying Bible verses; an unmade bed could send him high up in the hills to chop kudzu. Insubordination garnered the worst correction. For that, Wurth sent them to the basement of the old castle for “Attitude Realignment.” In six months, Tommy had chopped a mountain of kudzu and copied Ecclesiastes three times over, but his attitude had never once had to be realigned. He’d heard from Willett what went on down in the basement.
Today, though, was different. For the first time since he’d come here, Tommy Cabe was about to stand
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