And when he did leave, she wouldn't hear from him again.They weren't friends now. He wouldn't call. He wouldn't write.It was doubtful he'd ever come here again.
Nonetheless, she couldn't seem to stop herself from typing the website from the bottom of the printed page into the address bar and calling it up. She began reading the article— the part after the first page. Apparently there was a trial of U.S.serviceman Malcolm Kraft in Afghanistan. He'd been charged with a crime against a citizen of that country. Kraft said he wasn't guilty, that he'd never been anywhere near the crime scene even though there were witnesses. Kraft claimed Chris had it in it for him and that the witnesses were Afghans who hated the Americans who were there.
However, after evidence of something called DNA, Kraft admitted he'd been with her. He claimed he'd been drunk and had smoked pot, insisted the relations he'd had with the woman had been consensual. A military court found him guilty.
Hannah studied the photo of the man who appeared to be in his early thirties. He didn't look like a bad person to her, just like any other young Englisch man dressed in his military uniform and standing with his wife at his side. She looked closer at the little boy Kraft held. He appeared to be around three years old, and he sucked on his thumb as he stared, his expression confused, into the camera.
Another article followed, telling how a week later, there'd been a fire in the barracks. Everyone had gotten out but Chris, who was supposedly determined to make sure none of his men remained. A support beam fell on him and he sustained burns on his back, an injury that would have sent him stateside for treatment, but he'd refused. He insisted he would stay and complete his tour. Questions had been raised about whether the fire had been intentionally set—an investigation found no proof.
Then in a third article, a month later, just days before Chris was to finish his tour of duty and fly home, his armored truck was hit by a roadside bomb and he and another soldier were severely injured. He was sent home for treatment and to recover from injuries and related infections.
There the articles ended. Apparently Kraft was still in prison, serving ten years for his crime.
Poor Chris, Hannah thought as she printed out the remainder of the articles. He must have felt—maybe even still feels— like Job with his many trials and tribulations. It must have been devastating to feel compelled to pursue prosecution of one of his own men and then to have his superiors refuse to back him up. How awful it was to wake and find your sleeping quarters on fire, fear for the lives of others, then find out the blaze may have been deliberately set.
And how horrible to get so close to finally getting sent home only to get injured and have to spend so much time recovering in a hospital? No wonder he was taking some time now to travel, to do as he pleased.
Now she understood that brooding air about him sometimes . . . that look of vulnerability in his eyes when she'd asked him if she could give him a lift to town and when he'd seemed hurt that Josiah was being unfriendly.
She didn't want to assume too much from just these articles—Jenny had talked to her about how people in her old world were so influenced by newspapers and television—but she wondered how Chris had been affected by how others had turned a cold shoulder, had shunned him at the trial. Had it felt like that was continuing here, with Josiah?
And she herself had been unfriendly, suspicious of him when he'd first arrived. She felt shamed at the memory. While she'd since behaved differently and had thanked him for helping Matthew, she wondered if it was enough to make up for her earlier behavior.
A teenager came to sit in front of the computer next to her.He typed some keys on the keyboard and started playing with a video game. He leaned over and looked at her screen.
"I thought you people weren't interested in war," he said and popped his gum.
"We don't participate in it," she said, clicking the back button to look at other articles related to the case Chris had been involved in.
"Oh," he said, and he turned to play the video game on the computer.
Hannah knew that wasn't allowed on the library's public computer, but it wasn't her way or that of the Plain community to tell others how to behave.
She glanced through some of the articles and printed another and then, glancing at the clock, saw that she should be leaving to teach at the store. Logging off, she gathered up the printouts and left the library.
Hannah woke instantly when she heard the creaking of the stair step.
Slipping into her robe, she found her slippers—the nights were getting cooler—and walked to Phoebe's room. The door was ajar and the bed empty. Going downstairs, she made certain to make plenty of noise so she didn't startle the older woman.