A String of Beads (Jane Whitefield, #8)(23)

Waking from that dream each time was like learning that he had died again. Years later, after Jane’s mother died, she became part of the feeling Jane had that her parents and her childhood were inextricable from the old ways. It was mainly the celebrations that brought her mother back—the women all bringing big bowls of soup and hot casserole dishes and setting them out on the long tables for everyone to share. They were like Jane’s mother—like the woman she had chosen to become out of love. And later, there were the dances. There were the drums and the rising voices of the singers, sometimes making her imagine she heard her father’s voice among them. Jane’s mother had been a graceful, effortless dancer. She had worn her hair long, and for these occasions she put on a traditional outfit, a long black dress with embroidered flowers, an untucked blouse, and an embroidered shawl. When she danced with the other women, she didn’t look different in any important way. There were women old enough to have white hair, which was a shade lighter than her blond hair. She was tall and thin, but there were others taller, and some just as thin. They were all beautiful together.

Their food arrived and Jimmy and Jane ate happily. Jane could feel the way the food renewed their energy and restored their spirits. When the waitress returned with the check, Jane paid with cash. Before the waitress left, Jane asked, “Do you know where the bus station is?”

“Erie. It’s on Erie, which is right down that way, south from here. I forget the number, but it must be in the eight hundreds or so.”

When they were alone outside, Jimmy said, “Bus station, huh? I hope I can get on a bus without being spotted.”

“I’ll check the place out before you go in, and make sure there aren’t police watching for you.” She paused. “Or you could turn yourself in right here in Syracuse. We’re in New York State again. I’m pretty sure they would give you a ride to Buffalo.”

Jimmy thought for a moment. “If I turn myself in to the cops where I’m wanted, won’t it seem better for me?”

“I think it might,” she said. “But if we get caught on the way, you’ll look like you’re still running away.”

“Let’s head for Buffalo.” He began to walk.

Jane hurried to keep up. “That’s fine. But if we get into a situation where it makes more sense not to try to go on, I hope you won’t be stubborn. As long as you go in voluntarily, it will help.”

“Fine,” he said.

As they walked, they moved out of the area where there were lights and restaurants and businesses into a stretch that was darker and consisted of larger buildings that were all shut down during the hours of darkness—office buildings, parking lots, and other structures that seemed to be deserted. Between them there were dark alleys and driveways for deliveries.

Jane caught a quick motion in the corner of her right eye, but as she turned her head she was already hearing the sound of the two-by-four against the back of Jimmy’s skull. As Jimmy fell forward, Jane could see the man completing his swing, holding the two-by-four in both hands like a bat. The two-by-four was about five feet long and heavy, so its momentum brought his arms all the way around, leaving his face unguarded.

Jane jabbed, hitting his nose with the heel of her right hand. The man staggered backward, his nose gushing blood, and brought his hands to his nose while the two-by-four fell to the pavement. As the second man bent over to pick it up, Jane took a step and pushed his head downward while she brought her knee up to meet his face.

The third man retained some vague conviction that the only real threat must be Jimmy, the big, muscular man who lay on the pavement. The man stepped to Jimmy’s side and kicked him in the ribs, then brought his right leg backward to prepare to deliver a kick to Jimmy’s head. Jane saw he had shifted all his weight to his left leg, so she ran at him and delivered a hard stomp kick to the side of his left knee. She felt his knee give and heard the pop as she dislocated it. He went down as though he’d been shot and clutched at his knee and rocked back and forth, yelling.

Jane had always been aware that it was stupid to try to fight a man for the space between them, and even worse to let him grapple with her. Men were much bigger and stronger than she was, and most of them had been fighting since they were toddlers. If she was cornered, her strategy was to take advantage of the man’s assumption that she was helpless, use any means to hurt him as badly as she could, and run. This time she had to stand her ground to keep the men from killing Jimmy while he was unconscious.

She danced back and forth over him for a moment, and used an instant to glance down at him. It crossed her mind that he could already be dead, but she had no time to think because the first two attackers were recovering. Jane snatched up the two-by-four and held it like a staff. As the first man lunged toward her, she left the lower end of the two-by-four planted on the pavement and pushed the upper end forward so it hit his sternum hard, rocking him back, then lifted the two-by-four straight up so the upper end of it came up to hit his chin, and brought it down hard in the middle of his left instep. As he lifted his injured foot in pain, she brought the end of the two-by-four down on his other instep.

The man’s howls were not as loud as those of the man with the dislocated knee, but they were loud enough to confirm her hope that she had broken some of the small, narrow bones in his feet. He staggered stiffly on his heels, as though his legs were made of wood.