I told him that we would go quickly and get what they needed, and he nodded. “Y’all are such helpful people.”
Jacob and I ran to get the food, and quickly filled the bag with supplies from the larder. We did not speak, and Jacob looked ashen.
We returned with the bag, and when we did, he motioned for Hannah and Sadie to come stand by us.
“Have the boy bring it over here,” said the tall one, as the smaller one kept his pistol trained on us. Jacob did, and then was sent back over to stand with us. The tall man took a look at the bag, carefully examining the contents. Canned vegetables and soups, and enough jerky for two men for days. “Jerky, huh?” Again, the smile. “Thanks, man. I love me some jerky.”
“Let’s get out of here, Jim,” said the smaller one, in an anxious voice that crackled and broke.
The rangy man gave him a slow, pointed look. “You giving the orders now?”
“No, no, man, but I . . .” And he fell silent.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He passed the duffel bag to the smaller man, who shouldered it.
“But he does have a point, doesn’t he? It’s time for us to get going.” He looked at me, as serene as a serpent. “Course, folks are looking for us, and it just won’t do for you to tell ’em which way we went. So I’m gonna ask you to turn around, get on your knees, and then close your eyes and count to a thousand. Nice and easy. You can do that for me, right?”
Sadie slipped her hand into mine at that moment, and looked at me. “Dadi,” she said. “You know his heart, Dadi.”
And with her eyes meeting mine, I knew what this man intended. I felt it with certainty. In the emptiness of his eyes, I could see him saying just that very thing to Isaak. I could see it just as surely as if I had been standing there when he had them kneel, and then killed them.
I took Hannah’s hand with my other, and held it tightly. Jacob stood by her side.
I could feel my heart racing in my chest, but I managed not to let the trembling enter my voice.
“Leaving is not the only thing you mean to do now, is it?” I said this, and I looked at him. “We will not raise a hand to stop you, but neither will we look away.”
He uttered a short, resigned curse, and then raised the rifle, as the other lowered his head and stared at the ground. Hannah’s hand closed hard on my own, and I heard her whispering the Lord’s Prayer.
“Whatever,” he said, shaking his head, the smile fixed in place.
And there was a roar like a blow, and another, and another, four in all, fast and close. Hannah let out a short, breathless gasp.
The tall man’s smile was gone. As was much of the tall man’s head, and he fell like a toppled tree. He lay on the ground, legs out straight and twitching. The other fell, too, with a crashing of jars. He writhed and cried out, a gurgling, strangled cry.
There, by the workshop, stood Derek, pale as a sheet. In his hands he held my father’s pistol. He took a half step back, and then vomited.
Shauna was suddenly there. “Oh my God oh my God oh my God,” she said, over and over again.
Sadie moved away from me, like a ghost, past the body of the dead man and to the one who lay struggling for life on the ground.
The smaller man was dressed in fatigues and a dark, heavy jacket, which were draped over his thin frame. Whippet thin he was, probably in the best of times. His breathing was a wet struggle, jagged inhalations, rough breaths, his eyes wild and unseeing.
Derek had hit him in the chest. His head was resting on Sadie’s lap, and her light blue dress was stained with his blood.
“He’s hurt so bad, Dadi,” she said, matter-of-factly. “I do not think that he will live.”
I looked at him, and though I am not a doctor, I had to agree with her.
“I wonder if he has a name. He seems very young,” Sadie said.
She was right. His hair was long and dirty, hanging matted over his face. As she swept it away, I saw that he was only a few years older than she, the edge of his sunken face barely traced with stubble, a wisp here and there of light beard. He was barely a man, barely older than Derek.
Shauna ran to the daadi haus, then returned with her kit. She settled in next to Sadie, and pulled up his shirt slightly to examine the wound. He did not flinch, or even shift, but just continued with his ragged, shallow breathing. Under the shirt, it was a terrible mess, and Shauna covered it up again.
She looked up at me. “Can’t do anything for this,” she said. Her face was pale.
I nodded, and Sadie asked if we should move him, and maybe try to get the doctor. “It can’t help,” said Shauna. “But we can try to make him more comfortable. Not long, I think.”
“Should I go try to find my dad and the sheriff?” asked Derek, his voice shaky. I said he could if he wanted to, and he nodded. Tell him one is dead, and that the boy will not live, I instructed him.
So Derek left, and we stayed with the boy, as the darkness spread across the sky and the air grew cold.
Hannah brought blankets from the house, and food for us. We covered him as we could, but he was past the need for food and drink. We prayed both out loud and in silence. There was nothing else that could be done, but pray and be there with him.
Sadie would not leave him, not for a moment. And he lingered. His body was broken, but it must have been young and strong before hunger wasted it and the bullet tore at it. An hour passed, and still he breathed. The night grew deeper, and the chill pressed in. She spoke to him, softly, about the trees and the stars and the sky. About forgiveness.
After a while, his body tensed, his breath became a rasp, deepening, clutching at the cold of the night.
And then Sadie’s voice was that little singsong tune, wordless, meaningless, comforting. She sang, and she sang, and then she stopped. And he grew stiller, and the breath hissed away like steam into the night, and he was dead.
“He and me, Dadi.” She set his head down gently, and put her face close to his ear. “Vi miah dee fagevva vo uns shuldich sinn,” she said, in a soft voice that carried. As we forgive those who sin against us. Then she stood, and walked to the house.
I sent Tad for the handcart, and for some sheets for the corpses. We are keeping them in the barn tonight.
It has taken a long time for my hands to grow warm enough to write this. They still feel so cold, and they will not stop shaking. But I do not think they shake only because of the cold.
October 27
We buried the man and the boy in the morning, after the sheriff and a deputy came to see the bodies and talk with us.
It was a bitter day, bright with sun, cold and sharp. A light frost lay on the grass, and the wind came in ragged gusts.
We had wrapped the bodies in sheets for burial. Their blood had stained the sheets a deep umber, here and there. We used the handcart to move them back to a stand of trees on the southern edge of the pasture, and there Mike and I and Derek began to dig. The others stayed in the house.