Chapter 9 - The First Rain of November
Three weeks after the hearing, the autumn rain came down over Crawfordsville—a soft, gentle drizzle that washed the dry dust from the oak trees along the street and turned the grey asphalt outside my apartment window into a gleaming mirror.
I sat in a low rocking chair near the window, wearing a soft fleece sweater, holding my three-day-old daughter in my arms.
Her name was Clara Eleanor Vance.
She had arrived on a Saturday morning—six pounds, eight ounces, with a thick crown of dark hair, clear blue eyes that looked around the bright hospital room with quiet wonder, and a voice that was small, sweet, and strong as a steel spring.
Dr. Mercer had delivered her himself at Montgomery County Memorial Hospital, placing her straight onto my chest twenty seconds after she entered the world.
Hannah sat on the sofa beside us, a warm cup of chamomile tea held in her hands, watching Clara sleep with a soft, proud smile on her face.
"She looks like you, Ellie," Hannah whispered, reaching out to touch the baby's tiny, soft fingers. "She has your forehead. And your eyes."
"She has your chin," I said gently, smiling at my sister-in-law. "That stubborn little chin that doesn't bow to anybody."
Hannah laughed—a quiet, musical sound that filled the warm, light-filled room.
There was a soft knock at the front door.
Hannah set her teacup down on the wooden coaster, walked over to the door, and looked through the brass peep hole before turning the lock.
Deputy Sheriff Frank Miller stood on the landing outside, holding his hat in his hands, his uniform coat damp from the rain.
"Afternoon, Hannah," Miller said, taking off his boots at the doorway before stepping onto the hardwood floor. "Mind if I come in for a minute?"
"Come in, Frank," I called out from the rocking chair, turning Clara slightly so she wouldn't be disturbed by the cool draft.
Miller walked over to the window, his heavy boots making a quiet thump-thump on the rug. He looked down at the tiny bundle in my arms, his tired eyes softening into a genuine, warm smile.
"She's a beauty, Eleanor," Miller said quietly. "Congratulations."
"Thank you, Frank," I said. "What brings you out in the rain?"
Miller pulled a small white envelope from his breast pocket and laid it gently on the small table next to my chair.
"Caleb signed the final divorce papers and the custody agreement from his facility in Terre Haute yesterday afternoon," Miller reported. "He waived all parental rights, full legal custody is yours, and he agreed to the liquidation of his share of the farm to pay your medical bills and ongoing child support."
I looked down at the white envelope lying on the table.
"And Evelyn?" I asked.
Miller sighed, running a hand over his thick mustache. "She accepted a plea deal thirty minutes ago. She pleaded guilty to two counts of Level 3 felony battery and one count of witness tampering. Judge Harrison sentenced her to six years at the Rockville Correctional Facility for Women."
The room was silent for a moment, save for the soft, rhythmic patter of the rain against the glass window panes.
"Six years," Hannah repeated quietly, looking down at her hands.
"She'll serve four with good behavior," Miller said, looking at Hannah with gentle sympathy. "Thomas was granted pre-trial diversion—two hundred hours of community service and eighteen months of probation. He's selling the remaining cattle and leasing the bottomland out to the Miller boys for the next three years."
He put his hat back on his head, adjusting the brim over his brow.
"The farm is quiet now, Eleanor," Miller added softly. "The North Barn is locked up. The house is empty."
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"It was always empty, Frank," I said, looking out at the rain washing across the green grass of the yard. "It just took us three years to see it."
Miller nodded once, touched his brim in respect, and walked quietly out the front door, closing it softly behind him.
