“Hannah”

by: Stacey cochran

Hannah had been dead for seven years the morning Ryan Hanover looked out his kitchen window and saw her truck coming up the long, dusty drive to his home.

The grass on the lawn was green, and the sun shone through the window just right catching the dust and lint floating in the kitchen. The kitchen smelled like chlorine bleach, and outside in the yard doves cooed in the pecan trees. Ryan looked out beyond the white, paint-chipped picket fence.

The truck shined in the sunlight. And the wheat at either side of the road rustled in the truck’s wake like water behind a boat. The shiny auburn truck was definitely coming toward the house.

 

Ryan walked into the front yard and watched the truck. Not many folks traveled out into Union County, and Ryan was sure it wasn’t somebody looking to buy pecans. It was early. And he knew the truck. Knew the way she drove. There was something jovial and sure in the way the shiny, auburn truck moved. Something in the way the sunlight glinted off the chrome bumper. Ryan’s brow furrowed, and he took another step forward.

Ryan glanced up at the pecan trees. The doves took off, up into the blue sky. Ryan looked back at the truck. The shiny auburn truck.

An arm rose up out of the window. Sunlight glinted on the front window. Ryan squinted. The hand to which the arm was attached wriggled its fingers in a wave. "Hello," that hand said.

"Hannah," Ryan said.

The truck was fifty yards away.

"What in God’s na--"

Ryan visualized the funeral service. He saw the country church up on Pleasant Grove Church Road. He remembered the Jackson girl -- Mirna Jackson, all of fourteen at the time -- taking (God only knows why) photos of the casket at the front of the church. He remembered being on the second row in the church. He remembered it wasn’t a sad occasion; it wasn’t a fun occasion. It was burying your dead, and it was real. And he remembered feeling tired after the service; having to be sociable and warm when there was a dead body in the room was like trying to be bored when water-skiing.

The truck pulled up beside the fence, and Ryan looked into the open window. Hannah smiled. She tooted the horn. Ryan saw her green eyes and her hair, the color of seashells. He saw her dimples. She smiled.

"Hannah," he said.

The engine rumbled. She put the truck in park. The engine idled. She turned the ignition. The truck stopped.

There was a white, wooden gate, five feet from the truck. Ryan took a step towards this gate. He stared at the driver.

Hannah opened the driver’s side door. It creaked. Ryan watched her all the way.

Hannah had a curvy figure, stood 5’ 3" and was dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt. The T-shirt was screen-printed. There was a large green oval on the front with blue letters: Other Side Outfitters. She smiled at Ryan.

"Honey?" Ryan said.

Hannah looked up at this. Her hand was on the gate. Her green eyes looked into Ryan.

"What’s the matter, babe?" Hannah Stone said.

She opened the gate. It squeaked on the hinges.

Doves flew backwards into the pecan trees landing on the branches. Hannah looked up and saw them. She realized Ryan could not see them. She came to him. She hugged him. Her body was warm. Ryan stood there. She leaned back and looked into his green eyes with her own. She kissed him on the cheek.

"Shhhh," she said. She realized something was bothering him. "It’s okay, baby. It’s all right."

Ryan stood there. Hannah looked at him. The sun was up, behind him. She squinted at him. The doves in the trees cooed.

"The gate needs some oil," Hannah said.

Ryan stood there, remembering the day she drowned on Lake Ossippee.

Hannah punched him in the stomach.

"You know," she said, "kiddo?"

"Hannah," Ryan said.

"Oil, Ryan-baby," she said. "Oil. -- What’s for breakfast?"

Ryan Hanover found himself saying, "Eggs. Grits if you like. Toast is good, and we’ve some sausage in the fridge."

***

"Let me show you something," Hannah said.

They stood in the yard. There was a gray barn at the edge of the yard, forty feet away. There was a field of wheat beyond the yard. The sky was blue beyond the gray barn.

There was a single door into the barn, and the door was pinned shut with a slab of wood the width of two fingers. The slab was nailed with a single nail in its center and could spin in such a way that if it was vertical the door could open and close, and if it was horizontal it kept the door shut.

"Did you see it?" Hannah said.

Ryan looked at Hannah.

"What?" he said.

"The barn," she said. "Keep an eye on the door."

Ryan squinted. The door was a good forty feet away.

"Okay," Ryan said.

The little wooden slab might have moved. Ryan’s focus aimed right on it. The movement had drawn his eyes from the broad side of the barn to the tiny little slab. He was certain it moved. Ryan took a step forward.

Hannah smiled at him.

"Do it again," he said.

He looked into Hannah’s green eyes. She returned the look and then turned back to the barn door, the wooden slab. It began to spin -- just a nudge at first -- like the ticking of a clock’s second hand from 1-to-3.

Ryan looked from the wooden slab, to Hannah. He looked back to the slab. It spun around more: from three o’clock, to four, then five, six. The door popped open.

Ryan looked at it. The door was open a foot. He could see that the base of the door was caught on the green grass. It would take a firm hand to open it over the grass.

The door moved back and forth.

The doves stirred up on the branches of the pecan trees.

Ryan looked at Hannah’s green eyes. She was focused on the door. Ryan looked at her.

He reached out his arm, his hand -- to touch Hannah. At the moment his fingertips touched her cheek, the barn door flew wide open, slamming against the exterior wall.

Ryan looked up at the sound. The doves on the branches took off, up into the blue sky. Ryan pivoted and looked up at the doves. He watched them rise up into the blue until they were just small white specks two hundred feet up, vanishing. He turned back to Hannah. Hannah looked at him.

"Watch the hay," she said.

There was hay on the barn floor. Rectangular bales of hay leaned against the back wall. The hay at the foot of the door began to stir.

One of the bales flew out of the barn into the yard. It looked like the gray barn had pitched it out for them.

"Stop," Ryan said. "Hannah, please."

The truck rumbled to life. Ryan turned. Its engine revved. The headlights turned on and off. The windshield wipers wiped back and forth, squeaking over the dry glass.

The bale of hay in the yard was bound with twine. The twine unwound.

"Hannah, please," Ryan said. "You’re scaring me."

The bale unwound. The hay loosened and pooled on the green grass. And then it began to stir. Ryan’s eyes grew wide. The hay rolled over and over itself like a wind was coming up from the earth. It stirred and came toward them.

Ryan Hanover looked from the hay to Hannah Stone. She was focused. The windshield wipers squeaked. The driver’s side door on the truck opened and closed with a slam. Ryan looked back at the hay coming toward them -- ten feet away, now. He looked into Hannah’s green eyes.

The hay was six feet above the ground like a giant tumbleweed coming to them. Ryan stared into Hannah’s green eyes and just as the hay began to flutter over them, Hannah turned and looked into Ryan’s green eyes.

The hay flew up ten feet and then drifted over them like snow, and Ryan grabbed hold of Hannah and hugged her tight.

"Hannah," he said. "Hannah, Hannah, Hannah!"

She embraced him, and the hay fell all around them. They held each other close. And the yard grew silent.

***

Hildreth at Hildreth’s Market realized something was different with Ryan. Hildreth was a middle-aged woman. She had short brown hair and an engaging, nervous, reserved personality. She wore large round glasses with a beaded chain so that she could rest them around her neck if need be. When Ryan entered the store, a bell jingled.

"Hi, Ryan," Hildreth said.

"Hello, Hildreth," Ryan said. "Lovely day."

"Forecast is callin for--" Hildreth stopped.

A bag of charcoal fell off a shelf behind Ryan.

"What in the name of--"

"I got it," Ryan said.

He turned and picked up the bag of Smoker-T-Charcoal. He placed it back on the shelf. Hildreth’s register started buzzing. It startled her.

"Well, for Pete’s sake!" Hildreth said. She turned and looked at the register. "What in tar nation is the matter with this thing, now."

"Got any fresh peaches?" Ryan said.

Hildreth looked up from the register, to Ryan.

"Uh," she said. "Uh, yes. Yes, we do. Just got ’em in this mornin." She looked at the register. "What in the world?" The cash drawer opened and closed.

Hildreth laughed. "I think this thing’s possessed."

The register stopped. Ryan was on aisle seven looking over the peaches. He placed a few fresh peaches in the basket.

Hildreth stared at the register. It was silent for a moment. She looked up at Ryan.

She realized he seemed calm, and this calmed her. She watched him a moment.

"I have ten bushels of pecans," Ryan said.

He picked up a loaf of bread and put it in his basket. He looked up at Hildreth from twenty feet away.

"If you want, I’ll bring ’em down tomorrow and settle up with you."

The stereo box beside Hildreth’s register came on. It startled her.

"Now, how in the world could that happen." Hildreth stared at the stereo.

Hildreth looked up at Ryan. She realized something strange was going on.

She tried to laugh it off. "Might need you to come in here and work on the electricity."

"It’s just a short," Ryan said. "Old stereos like that liable to pick up stations in Chinese."

She looked at Ryan. He managed a positive look.

"You ain’t noticed anything strange out your way?"

"Like what," Ryan said.

She seemed at a loss. Ryan realized somebody had been talking with her about him. Everyone knew everyone else in Union County; there was nothing unusual about that.

"What have you heard?" Ryan said. "Is Heath up to his old haunted house stories about the farm again?"

"Said five days ago, he saw dust comin up from 77 like a car was out your way. Said he didn’t see no car, though. Just concerned for you is all. Young man out there all alone. You know my niece is gonna be home from college for a month come May. My brother’s awfully proud -- you know my brother, Brian Jackson, don’t you?"

"I know Deputy Jackson right well," Ryan said. "How’s Mirna liking school?"

"Makin all ‘A’s," Hildreth said. "Talkin ’bout goin on to medical school."

"Mirna was always at the top of her class," Ryan said. "Born to break hearts. And mend them."

The front door of the market opened. Hildreth saw no one there. The door seemed to be encouraging Ryan to hurry on up with his groceries.

"Sure is a jealous door," Ryan said. "Oughta be ashamed."

Hildreth looked at him. She looked back at the door. It closed.

"I think you walked in here with a ghost today," Hildreth said. "Ryan Hanover."

"Bah," he said. "It’s just the wind."

"Wind my fiddle."

Ryan realized. "Oh, that’s right. I needed to get a gallon of milk."

He placed the basket on the counter and walked back to the cooler. Hildreth watched him walk to the cooler. She watched him open the glass door. She watched him remove a gallon of milk. She watched him close the door and return to the counter.

Hildreth shivered. A cool breeze tickled her spine. Sure is a nice day, Hildreth.

"What the name of Chri--"

"It’s Two Percent, Hildreth," Ryan said. "Don’t let it startle you."

Ryan placed the milk on the counter.

"I know you heard that," Hildreth said.

Heard what, Hildreth.

"I’ve ten dollars," Ryan said. "I’ll bring down the pecans tomorrow and settle up with you."

Hildreth look terrified.

"It’s all I’ve got, Hildreth," Ryan said. "Ten dollars."

Ryan waved his hand in front of her face. She was staring at him, and she looked terrified.

"Are you feeling okay?" Ryan said.

Hildreth was speechless.

"So, that’ll be fine then," Ryan said.

Hildreth was staring at Hannah Stone. She stood behind Ryan. Hildreth started to point. Ryan turned around. He acted like he didn’t see anything.

"What’s the matter, Hildreth?" Ryan said.

Ryan walked through Hannah Stone.

"I see," Ryan said. "Your man put the baked beans on the shelf where the green beans should be."

Ryan made the adjustment.

"There, that should do it," Ryan said.

Hildreth was white as a sheet. Ryan placed the ten dollar bill on the countertop. He took a brown paper bag and loaded his own groceries.

"Well, tell Heath I’ll keep the ghosts quiet up on the farm."

Ryan smiled. Hildreth was frozen -- so flooded with panic and adrenaline, she was paralyzed.

It’ll be okay, Hildreth. I don’t mean you any harm.

"Well, just mark it in the book," Ryan said. "I’ll bring you the pecans tomorrow."

He turned to go. The door opened for him.

"Thank you," Ryan said. Then, to Hildreth, "Have a good day!"

Hildreth collapsed.

***

Warren Duston’s golden retriever howled. Rosy-girl was atop a grassy hill halfway between the Duston farm and the Hanover Pecan Ranch. Ryan was outside in the orchard, tending the nuts. He looked up.

Rosy-girl was up there, about a quarter mile away. She just sat there on her haunches, howling. At first, it was just a disturbance, but after fifteen minutes of lung-throttled howling, it made Ryan worried. He looked at the shiny, aluminum tub, he’d filled with pecans. He wiped his forehead with a blue handkerchief. The sun was high in the sky.

Rosy-girl howled like something’d gotten hold of her, and yet it was a deep, powerful howl -- not a yipping howl like she’d gotten trapped or stung. It was a steady, deep-chested howl.

Ryan looked at the farmhouse. There was a rubber car tire tied with ten feet of rope. It hung from a limb on an oak in the front yard and twirled in the breeze. The wheat rustled. Ryan saw the clear windows on the farmhouse. Nothing stirred inside. He looked back up on the hill. Rosy-girl was gone.

"Damn, dog," Ryan said.

Hannah had not been there that morning. They’d taken to falling asleep together. Ryan would read to her and Hannah would fall asleep there in the warm lamplight coming from the night stand. The house would creak and stir in the night, and they were warm under the blankets together.

He’d worked to row two when he heard another howling, far off in the distance -- a long, mechanical howl. He realized it was the sound of sirens.

He stood up and saw the dust rising from the thin strip of SR-77. There were three ambulances and four sheriff’s deputy cars. Their sirens howled, and their flashing lights spun.

Ryan walked to the edge of the orchard. He watched them coming up for him. He glanced up at the hill.

The ambulances tore up close to the house, and Ryan stood there.

The sheriff’s deputies got out of the cruisers, and Ryan stood there. He recognized one of the deputies and a couple of the EMTs.

"What’s going on?" Ryan said. "Roger?"

Deputy Roger McBowers looked at Ryan. He looked at the house. The car tire hanging by the rope swayed there from the limb. He spoke into a walkie-talkie. The EMTs had a gurney out of the back of one of the ambulances.

"What in God’s name are you doing?"

"Where are the bodies?" Roger said.

Ryan looked at them. "There’s no emergency here," Ryan said. "Hey, man, watch the fence!"

One of the EMTs broke the swinging gate so they could get the gurney through into the yard.

Ryan Hanover walked over to them. He grabbed one of the EMTs by the arm. His touch was positive.

"What are you doing?" Ryan said.

"Got a call of five injured in a furnace blast!"

Ryan looked into the EMT’s eyes. The EMT looked tense and nervous -- doing his job. He looked at Roger; he’d gone to high school with Roger. They’d run on the same track team.

"Somebody’s put you up to this," Ryan said. "I’m serious, Rog. There’s no emergency here. I’ve been in the orchard all morning. Straight up."

Ryan looked at Roger.

"I’m serious," Ryan said. "And furnace? -- it’s ninety-five degrees out here today."

The EMTs looked up at the house. It was peaceful.

Roger waved to one of the other deputies. Ryan recognized him; it was Brian Jackson, Mirna’s dad. Brian was graying, jovial, and overweight. He was at the police cruiser. McBowers’s motion indicated to Brian Jackson that he needed to check on it -- check with dispatch.

"The call came from here," Roger said. "It came from inside your house, Ryan."

"That’s impossible," he said. "I’ve been working in the orchard for the past two hours. Came inside once for a drink of water -- around ten -- but that’s it. Straight up, Roger."

Jackson listened to the squawking radio.

"Dispatch identifies," Jackson said. He looked at the mailbox near the white picket fence gate.

Ryan said, "You guys can come inside and check. But I swear to you, I’ve been out here in the orchard all morning."

Roger could clearly see that the house was fine -- not on fire. But Ryan felt like he had to prove himself.

"If you want to come inside," Ryan said. He looked at the EMTs. "You’re more than welcome. But you ain’t got to be tearing out my fence, man, you know?"

"Who placed the call?"

"No one placed a call," Ryan said. "Was it a male voice?"

"Woman’s voice," Roger said. "Young woman called in screaming -- five people burnt in a furnace blast."

"I don’t know how you received it," Ryan said. He looked at the EMTs. "You guys go ahead. The front door’s open."

He looked at the deputies and said, "Maybe some kids got on the line somehow and are playing a prank. But I’m serious as a heart atta--"

Brian Jackson fell forward, hit the front of the police cruiser with a dull thud, and crumpled to the ground. A loud breathy sound came from him like kuh-huh. Brian’s body lay still on the ground.

All attention moved to him.

Roger shouted, "We got a man down! We got a man down!"

The EMTs tore back through Ryan’s fence. Brian’s body lay there lifeless. His face was growing white.

Ryan swore and stood back out of everyone’s way. One of the EMTs was over the body. Ryan watched in horror. The EMT was over Jackson.

"He’s not breathing," the EMT said. "Got no pulse!"

The EMT started CPR. He was on his chest, pumping blood through Jackson’s still heart with his folded hands: one, two, three, four. And then he breathed air into his lungs. One, two, three, four. Breathe.

Ryan looked from one scene to the next.

"Get the paddles," another EMT said.

They wheeled a machine out of the back of an ambulance. They tore Brian Jackson’s shirt off, while the first EMT continued CPR. Brian Jackson had a hairy, fat chest and stomach.

"Come on, man," the guy said. "Hurry it up!"

They got Jackson up on a gurney. Paddles rubbed together. Cold silver touched his lifeless chest. Electricity rocked him. The body jumped. There was a beep, beep, beep, on a monitor -- then beeeeeeep. Flatline!

The first EMT went back into CPR on Brian Jackson.

"Get that thing charged!" he shouted.

They slapped the paddles again, hit his chest with them, and everyone watched the electricity hit his heart. They watched his body jump. Then, the monitor: beep-beep, beep-beep.

"Got a pulse. Holding. Holding. Holding. Get some oxygen in here! Holding steady."

Brian Jackson’s face was covered with an oxygen mask. Ryan saw it was pale, fighting to live. It all happened so fast.

They wheeled him to one the ambulances, lifted him up, and got the door closed.

Ryan realized the door wasn’t closed all the way, and they were spinning the ambulance around in the driveway.

Ryan said, "The door’s not closed!"

He ran at the ambulance, and the door flung open. One of the EMTs fell out the back. Equipment hit the ground. Ryan was over the guy and the equipment, helping him up. Another EMT inside the ambulance shouted at the driver to stop.

The ambulance stopped. Ryan grabbed the guy up off of the ground. The deputies rushed up to them.

"You’re all right," Ryan said. But the guy was already hurrying to pick up the machine that had fallen out of the back of the ambulance. He looked dazed, but he was fighting it. They got the equipment up into the ambulance, slammed the door shut, and were off again, tearing up SR-77.

Ryan’s last glimpse inside the ambulance had been of Brian Jackson, delicate and alive, on a stretcher.

Everyone stood back, dazed, watching the ambulance go. It crested the hill, a mile up the dirt road. It had all happened so fast. It had all happened so fast.

Everyone stood there for a moment, stunned.

***

Deputy Brian Jackson made it through the night at Union County Memorial Hospital. Ryan was in the lobby area, with seating for forty people. Roger McBowers brought him a cup of coffee. It was four in the morning.

"Any word?" Ryan asked.

"Nothing," McBowers said.

He took a seat next to Ryan. He leaned forward and placed his face in his hands. Ryan looked at him. He looked worn out.

"He’s gonna be all right," Ryan said.

McBowers rubbed his eyes. A couple other folks in the waiting room glanced at him. Ryan gave them a look. They went back to minding their own business.

"Son of a gun had just left the sheriff’s office downtown," McBowers said. His eyes were red. "Had gotten a call of a disturbance out near the Chapaquituk line. It don’t make no sense. Who called in that emergency at your place, Ryan?"

"I don’t know," Ryan said. "I guess he was lucky."

Deputy Roger McBowers said, "Had he been all the way out there at the county line -- on the other call -- and that hit him, he’d have been all alone: a long way from anywhere."

"Well, it’s never good to have it happen," Ryan said. "We were just lucky is all. Lucky the EMTs were right there -- on the spot. Lucky."

McBowers looked at Ryan Hanover.

A doctor came out an hour later. He wore green emergency room clothes and a green paper cap. He was tall, with glasses, and though he tried not to look it, it was clear he was tired.

Ryan saw Mirna and her mother stand up. The doctor walked with them over to a section of the lobby where no one was sitting. He spoke with them, alone.

***

Brian Jackson ruptured his aortic valve, but he lived. The back flow of blood and high blood pressure, coupled with an incredible (to Ryan’s mind) cholesterol level of 578 -- well, Jackson was fortunate to have been where he was, when his heart gave. Anywhere else, and he would be dead.

Ryan never saw Hannah Stone again. She was gone like she came, and she’d shown Ryan Hanover a world beyond our own. He knew the coincidence was not meaningless; Brian Jackson was alive. But he realized that harnessing that kind of power required a wisdom that would come with age. He was young.

In the months that followed, Ryan worked the orchard. For a time, he questioned his own mind. He questioned his own sanity. Some rule had slowly blanketed modern life that meaningful coincidence was not something to believe came from anything other than that which can be explained. And since no one had a clear explanation for how or why, it was decided the best answer was to silence coincidence -- to equate it to meaninglessness and insanity. Ryan realized that at some point the old questions faded away, and new questions arose. At some point, you had to accept the energy beyond what everyone safely accepted as real. You had to go with the flow, forever moving forward with life.

On sunny afternoons, he took his iced tea on the front porch of the farmhouse, and he listened to the stirring of the wind over the wheat, over the barn, over his house. He listened to the cooing of the doves in the pecan trees, and he saw the green grass out on the lawn, stirring. Ryan watched the white doves take off, up into the blue, and he watched them until they vanished up in the sky. Ryan looked up to the road, the thin stretch of 77 where the dust rose up in the distance, and he thought of Hannah. He knew that one day he would see her again.