Nobody's Child Read Online Free PDF

in spirit and marriage. Idyllic times.
    Uncle Jack might not have entered the story had he not arrived at the door. The bang of a fist meant he came to be served, not to dine.
    Auntie Rose stopped in midsentence, sharing another memory of Hope and their youth together as schoolgirls, the tender middle-school years long before Angus proposed marriage. The first bang on the door stopped her and she cowered, eyes wide, moving where Laura Ann’s body shielded her from the sound. Just a fraction of a moment, a brief retreat, but it spoke dark secrets of her dread of Uncle Jack. She turned to embrace heraunt, but too late. Rose stood and walked to the door, stoic. A lamb headed to slaughter.
    When his wife opened the door, Uncle Jack stepped into the home without a word, eyes on the prowl. Like he was searching for something, scouring every tidbit, leveraging for an angle. His way.
    â€œHello, Laura Ann,” he said at last.
    She nodded. “Merry Christmas, Uncle Jack.” She stood and faced him, her quarry. He’d eluded her once today. Would he confess?
    He didn’t respond to her greeting but dusted snowflakes off his jacket, a brown outdoorsman thing like the ones that hung in rows at the hardware store. Not a stain on it, still stiff with factory sizing. He headed straight for the kitchen, avoiding Laura Ann’s gaze.
    â€œWe’ll get dinner set,” Auntie Rose said. “We were just waiting for you.” She moved quickly, but more like a robot on fast action than a woman proud of her kitchen skills. She made small talk, he responded. She ladled food, he sat down. She prayed, he bowed a head, then ate in silence. The spirit of Christmas died in the compress of their unspoken tension. Uncle Jack, the joy thief.
    â€œShoot anything?” Laura Ann asked, tired of hearing him chew.
    â€œNo. Why?”
    â€œSaw your truck up on the rise earlier. With a gun in the rack.”
    Auntie Rose snapped her head up from its characteristic slump, her eyes pleading with Laura Ann “don’t.” No talk of guns or game laws — or wardens on the prowl.
    Words burned on Laura Ann’s tongue and she swallowed hot spite. “Ian stopped by earlier,” she said, determined to make her point. “Mentioned he saw you this morning out near West Union.”
    â€œMight have,” Uncle Jack responded, watching his plate.
    â€œHe said to tell you hello,” she continued. “Comes by every Christmas to check for poachers.” She watched for some response. He reached over the table to pull the pie in his direction.
    â€œYou don’t have to head up to West Union to hunt, Uncle Jack,” she continued, standing to gather up his plate and her own. Laura Ann could see Auntie Rose shaking as she lifted a hand to finish her last bite. “You’re family. You can hunt here.”
    That comment got his eye. Uncle Jack regarded her for a long moment, then looked down to lift a wedge of pumpkin pie onto his plate. She headed for the sink, an ear inclined back toward the table.
    â€œThanks. I might do that Friday. Buck season’s back in.”
    No one spoke while she cleaned up the dishes, set out coffee, and dashed some whipped cream on the pie. When at last she sat down, ready to enjoy her first dessert, Uncle Jack was finished, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, he smiled.
    â€œI met a man today, Laura Ann,” he said, his voice unnaturally pleasant. “Land buyer. Super opportunity.”
    â€œYou told me you went hunting.” Auntie Rose’s voice rose in pitch, her fork of pie stopped halfway to her mouth.
    â€œToday’s Monday, Rose. It’s a work day in my book.”
    â€œYou had to work on Christmas?” Laura Ann asked.
    He looked down at his pie, then over at Rose. “You should be glad.” He turned back to face Laura Ann.
    She held his gaze, counting the seconds in silence, waiting for him to look