In the Bleak Midwinter

“Mark! This is Russ! I’m okay!” Now. Now was the moment to take a chance. He eased his 9mm Glock out of its holster. The click of a round chambering sounded as loud as a gunshot in his ears. Keeping the weapon down by his side, he straightened to his full height, shoulders and head above the cow’s broad back. In the fading twilight, he could see Ethan’s outline at the back of the barn. “Stay where you are, Mark,” he shouted. “I think Ethan’s going to put down his gun and come out.” He ignored the feeling like ants crawling up his neck and through his hair. Ethan could blow his head off before he’d be able to get his piece up past the cow. “Aren’t you, Ethan?”

The boy was a space of stillness in the dark. Hay rustled. A cow kicked against her stall with a loud thump. “Yeah,” Ethan said.

Russ hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until he let it out in a whoosh. “Okay. Put the gun on the floor, then lace your fingers together and put your hands on top of your head. We want to make sure everyone can see you’re unarmed when you leave the barn.”

When Ethan walked past him, hands on head, Russ slipped from the stall and fell in behind him. He holstered his gun, but left it unfastened. Just in case.

Mark Durkee was beside the barn door. He leveled his gun at Ethan. “Ethan Stoner, you’re under arrest,” he said. His glance flickered to Russ. “Chief?”

“I’m fine, Mark. Take Ethan to the car while I go talk to his parents, please.” He let himself through the cattle gate while Mark read the boy his rights. A Millers Kill squad car flashed its red lights at the base of the driveway. Lyle and Ed were getting out. On the porch, Wayne and Mindy stood with their arms wrapped around each other, straining to see the barnyard in the twilight. Far down the road, he could hear another siren approaching. Russ felt flushed and shaky, his legs almost too heavy to carry him down the barn drive and across the dooryard. The bite of the December air, the dazzle of the house lights on the snow, the sound of people’s voices all flooded his senses. It was good to be alive. He forced a smile to his face and began the long, long climb up the porch steps.

Clare smiled when she saw that the driveway to the police station had been thoroughly plowed. She eased her car over the sidewalk and into a parking space. She really was going to need a vehicle that wouldn’t get stuck if someone threw a snowball under its tires. Problem was, the only way she could afford a new car was to sell the old one. The thought of which sent her into a blue funk. This MG was the closest she had ever gotten to flying on the ground. She thought of the dark, mid-sized anonymous American cars so many of her teachers at the seminary had driven. Clergymobiles. “Baby, climb inside my car,” she sang as she strolled up the sidewalk. A municipal employee leaving City Hall next door looked pointedly at her collar and frowned. Probably a Baptist. Clare winked at him before charging up the steps to the police station.

Inside, she shucked off her jacket. “Harlene?” she said, approaching the dispatch room. “Has the chief left yet? I was hoping to—” She shut up when she saw Harlene’s face. “What is it?”

“I really shouldn’t talk to civilians yet,” Harlene said, her crumpled expression at odds with her formal words.

“Harlene, is anyone hurt? Please . . .”

The dispatcher pushed her headset further back over her springy gray curls. “The chief went to bring Ethan Stoner in for his blood test and the boy pulled a shotgun on him.”

The rest of the room faded to a blur, and Harlene’s face came into exquisite focus. Clare could see every mole, every hair, the wrinkles around her lips as she pursed them together, the light on her lashes as she blinked quickly, over and over again.

“What happened?” Clare’s voice was even.

“I don’t know. They’re both in the barn. Mindy Stoner heard a gunshot, but I haven’t had any news since then.”

Clare nodded. She kept nodding as the possibilities flitted through her mind. “Harlene,” she said, “I’d be grateful if you’d let me stay. I’d like to find out if . . . if anything has happened.”

Harlene held her hand out toward an old office chair next to the filing cabinet. “You just sit right down. I’d be glad for the company, to tell the truth.” Clare tossed her coat under the chair and sat. The two women looked at each other.

“Who has—” Clare began.

“Do you—” Harlene said. They smiled weakly at one another. “Go on,” said Harlene.

“Who has been sent out to help? With the situation?”

“Three of our own officers. The sheriff’s department is sending a car or two, and the state troopers are mustering their SWAT team.” She worried at the inside of her cheek. “And an ambulance.”

“Oh. Of course.” Clare looked at her hands. “What was it you were going to say?”

Harlene looked embarrassed. “I was going to ask if you believe praying can really help at a time like this.”