Beyond This Moment (35 page)

"You said we could, ma'am;' Billy chimed in, angling his head to look around her too. "Remember?"

"Of course I do. Here, let me choose one you haven't read yet." She walked to the bookshelf to make a quick selection.

"Good ... afternoon:"

Hearing Angelo's voice behind her, Molly cringed. But not at his having introduced himself. She cringed at her own rudeness. She turned in time to see Angelo walk over and extend his hand, and for Billy Bolden to shake it. Emotion stung her eyes, and the significance of the simple exchange washed over her. Mere boys doing what their elders could not...

"My name's Billy Bolden."

"And mine's Elijah Birch:' Elijah stuck out his hand too.

Angelo accepted it, then touched his chest. `Angelo Giordano;' he said quickly.

Billy smiled, fingering the jerky in his hand. "That's sure a mouthful, isn't it?"

Angelo laughed, and Molly knew he was responding more to the kindness in Billy's tone, certain he hadn't understood what Billy had said.

Elijah gestured. "Is Dr. Whitcomb giving you English lessons?"

"Yes, I am" Molly pulled a book from the shelf and joined them. `Angelo is a quick learner and is doing very well:'

"She ... good ... teacher:'

Molly saw Angelo eyeing the jerky in the boys' hands, and so did Elijah.

Elijah tore his piece in half. "Here, want some? It's good, but I'm gettin' full:' He patted his stomach and bloated his cheeks.

Angelo's shy smile returned. He shook his head, but the way he swallowed was revealing.

Elijah didn't draw back his hand. He just kept smiling, and Molly glimpsed both of his parents in the gesture. "How do you say please in Italian, Dr. Whitcomb?"

"Per favore," she whispered.

Offering the jerky a second time, Elijah repeated the words. But he said them without a hint of Italian inflection, and they all laughed.

Angelo accepted the jerky. "Grazie," he whispered. "Grazie mille." He took a bite, then closed his eyes and chewed.

Molly nodded to Billy and Elijah, so proud of them. Of all three of them. "He says thank you. Thank you very much."

A while later, Molly stole a look at Angelo as she walked beside him toward his home. Billy had given Angelo another piece of jerky before they'd left, and Angelo had slipped it in his pocket, along with the rest of the piece Elijah had given him. She was certain Angelo could have eaten it all, but he was saving it. Presumably, for his family.

They'd spoken in English when they'd first left the schoolhouse, but when the conversation took a deeper turn, she'd switched to Italian, and Angelo followed her lead.

"So is your family expecting a visitor this afternoon?"

Angelo nodded. "I told them you were coming. I have told my mama about you:' He grinned. "She is eager to meet the woman who rescued me from the mean shopkeeper"

Molly laughed softly. How would Angelo react if he knew that Billy was the son of that mean shopkeeper? "Thankyou for carrying the basket. Is it too heavy?"

He looked at her as though she'd insulted him, but the sparkle in his eyes said otherwise. "I am a big strong Italian man. I can do anything!"

"Spoken like a true man. Regardless of heritage."

Gratitude deepened his smile. "Thank you, Dr. Whitcomb"-he indicated the basket in his arms-"for this:"

"It is a custom where I am from:" She'd already spoken to him about Georgia and where it was located in the country. "If you are from the South, then you must not go to someone's home the first time without taking something. So thank you for accepting my gift. You have allowed me to save face with my people:"

He briefly bowed his head, and she glimpsed a gentlemanliness in the boy that would take him far-if he was given the opportunity to grow into a man.

Little Italy was not more than a half mile or so from town, but the stark contrast of how these families lived versus how families in town lived was numbing. Molly followed as they passed shack after shack, tent after dilapidated tent. The smell of human waste drifted toward her, then abated. Children were plentiful, most of them thin, like Angelo. None of them well nourished.

By the time they reached Angelo's home-which consisted of several tarpaulins tied together with rope, staked with what looked to be leftover pieces of lumber that had been nailed together-Molly wished she'd emptied her entire cupboard instead of bringing only a basketful of items.

Angelo lifted the flap of the tent as if living in such a place were normal. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. A woman sat in the corner on a pallet, and Molly guessed who she was.

The woman's head came up as they entered. "Angelo? Is that you?" Her voice was soft, her Italian accent even thicker than her son's.

"Yes, Mama. It is your Angelo:" He put down the basket, went to her, and kissed her left cheek, then her right. "I have brought a guest as I said I would:' He motioned Molly forward.

The woman held out her hands, and the milky white of her sightless eyes answered the question before it had fully formed in Molly's mind.

"Come close, Mrs. Whitcomb, I want to meet the woman who has shown such kindness to my son:"

Molly knelt, and Angelo's mother ran her fingers over her face.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Giordano;' Molly whispered. "Your Angelo is a fine son. You have every reason to be proud of him:"

"Come and sit. Yes, my Angelo is a jewel. But you ... you are teaching my only son this new language. He will be able to get a fine job and care for us:"

Molly prayed that would be true.

"But you must speak to him about this ... walking in the clouds he is doing. It is dangerous, no?"

Molly looked to Angelo, not following.

"I work at building Mr. Tolliver's hotel in my spare time. It is nothing." He hugged his mother again. "Mama, you worry for no reason. I will be fine:"

For the next couple of hours, Molly mostly sat and listened as Angelo's mother spoke of their homeland and of how her husband had died shortly after they reached the Americas. She met Angelo's three younger sisters, all dark and lovely, and with the same shy smile as their brother. Neighbors came to visit while she was there. They all seemed to know each other and share a common concern for each other's welfare.

When it came time for her to leave, Angelo rose as well. Once to the edge of Little Italy, Molly turned to him. "I am fine to walk the rest of the way by myself, Angelo. It is not far, and I know the way." She pulled her shawl closer about her shoulders. "Besides, it is too cold for you to be out. You have no coat:"

He waved off her concern. "I am not cold:'

"Please, Angelo, go back home and help your mama and your sisters. I will see you next week for our lesson:"

He did as she requested, though was slow to comply.

On her way home, Molly couldn't help but contrast her life with the lives of the people she'd just met. Not that she hadn't had challenges in the past and wouldn't have them in her future-she certainly would. But meeting someone whose life was so much harder than her own, and considering what it would be like to change places with them, made her own journey seem considerably less difficult.

The sun was half hidden behind the mountains to the west, and the brisk September breeze that had rustled fallen leaves earlier in the day now gusted through the stands of aspen, stripping leaves from their limbs.

Molly bowed her head against the wind and quickened her pace. She would make it home before dark-it was only a short walk-and was already looking forward to sitting in front of the fireplace with a cup of hot tea. As soon as she thought about it, she felt a touch of guilt, remembering the dwellings of the families she'd just left.

She raised her head to see two men walking in her direction on the opposite side of the road. Neither looked her way, and from habit, not recognizing them, she kept her head down as they passed. Farther down the road an inexplicable shiver scuttled up her spine. And an inaudible voice told her to run.

She chanced a look back and saw the men coming toward her.

27

olly ran as hard as she could, cold air churning her lungs. But footfalls gained behind her. One of the men grabbed her shawl. She shrugged it off. The other man grabbed her.

She screamed and struggled, and nearly fell. But he held her arm tight.

"Where you runnin' to, ma'am?"

"She's in some big kind of hurry-I'll tell you that much:"

Winded, Molly didn't respond. She searched the road both ways. No one. She wasn't five minutes from the schoolhouse. It was just over the rise and down in the valley.

The man holding her moved closer and brought a rank odor with him. "I've seen you in town. You're that new teacher" His breath was stale with smoke. "I hear tell you're real smart."

The men were younger than she'd thought at first glance. But their skin had an ashen tone to it, grayed and creased.

The second man, the larger of the two, fingered the fabric of her sleeve. She pulled away, but the grip on her arm tightened. They both laughed. "We heard you can make that same talk as them foreigners who're taking all our jobs. Is that right, ma'am?"

Eyeing her slowly, he began unbuttoning his coat, and Molly felt sick inside.

"I tell you, ma'am. For knowing so many different ways to talk, you sure don't say much:'

Oh, God, please help me. "I n-need-" She dug deep for courage. "I need to be on my way. Someone's expecting me right now" She jerked her arm away, but the man who held her only pulled her back against him.

His friend tossed his coat aside, nodding. "There you go. You can use that tongue of yours." He smiled. "Say something for me in that different talk. And make it sweet."

Molly shook her head.

He grabbed her jaw and forced her face back. "I said, say something in that-"

A thrashing noise sounded from deep within the woods.

The man holding her took a step back but didn't let go. He cursed softly. "What's that?"

His partner didn't answer. He just stared into the dense stand of evergreens.

Molly did the same, going from sickened and scared to petrified and unable to move. Of all the animals inhabiting these mountains, only one came to mind. As did the image of what Thomas Boyd's body must have looked like when they'd found him.

The thrashing grew louder. Sharp cracks and pops. It sounded as if trees were being trampled. Both men drew back. The one man let go of her arm.

Molly took steps away from them but couldn't take her eyes off the woods. The upper bough of an evergreen shook and she held her breath, praying-when Charlie Daggett crashed through the foliage, a bottle in his left hand.

He saw her and his eyes widened. He staggered a step as if trying to maintain his balance. "Miss Molly. What you doin' out here, ma'am?" He blinked and his gaze swung to the men beside her.

Confusion washed over his features, then quickly cleared.

Charlie looked back at Molly as if to confirm what he'd somehow deciphered.

She nodded, praying he was sober enough to understand.

What gentleness there was in the Charlie Daggett she knew disappeared. But he was drunk. She could smell it on him from where she stood, and the half-empty bottle in his hand confirmed it. Even as big as he was, he could barely stand. There was no way he could fight off-

Charlie started toward the men. The man without his coat drew a knife from a sheath on his belt.

Even watching, Molly wasn't sure how Charlie got ahold of the man's wrist. But he did. And she heard a pop. The man screamed, dropped the knife, and cursed Charlie at the top of his lungs.

Charlie started toward the other man, who grabbed his partner by the shirt and hauled him down the road. Their trot became a run and neither looked back.

Charlie stood stalwart, watching their retreat. "You okay, Miss Molly?"

"Yes;' she whispered, still hearing the sound of the man's wrist snap. "Thank you ... Mr. Daggett" She took another breath. "For coming when you did:"

He walked to where her shawl lay in the dirt, his steps slow and measured. He picked it up and walked back, stopping for the knife too. All while still cradling the bottle in his grip. "They touched you, Miss Molly. On your face:"