A Time to Heal(73)

"Why's that?"

"You remember . . . it's that forgiveness thing they do."

Malcolm Kraft waited behind a glass window, one of a long line of them. People who had been arrested sat on one side and visitors sat on the other.

He looked different than the last time she'd seen him. He'd been so consumed with anger at Chris—and mad at her for interfering. The ball cap and sunglasses had obscured much of his face and his eyes, but there had been no hiding the deadly intent of the man—especially when she saw the gun in his hands.

She'd been afraid of him then. Maybe not enough, she thought now, as her arm ached and she cradled it against her in an effort to get comfortable.

Now, he sat with his shoulders slumped and his face took on a pained look when he saw her. With some reluctance, he picked up the telephone as she sat and lifted the one on her side to her ear.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his tone unfriendly.

"Thank you for seeing me."

He sighed and wouldn't meet her eyes. "I almost didn't.They told me it was you again and not—" he stopped.

"Your wife?"

His eyes finally met hers and she saw defeat. "I don't blame her for not wanting to have anything to do with me. I don't deserve her or my son after what I did."

A shaft of pain lanced through Hannah's heart as she thought about his little boy.

"Look, I'm really sorry for what happened. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"But you brought a gun to hurt Chris."

He nodded.

"Why were you not in prison? The article I read said you were in prison."

"My lawyer got the verdict overturned." When he saw her frown, he explained, "They decided I wasn't guilty."

"But you are."

He glanced around, then leaned forward. "You trying to get me to say I did it? Well, I won't. I'm not giving anyone a chance to prosecute me for that again."

"That's not my intention," she assured him. "But it seems like you got a second chance," she said slowly.

He shrugged. "Yeah. I guess. So why are you here?"

Reaching into her purse, she withdrew the article she'd printed that day at the library. She folded it so that the photo of his little boy, Jamie, was the only thing that showed, and she held it up so he could see it.

His face crumpled and he began crying. "Why are you doing this? "

"I don't want to hurt you, Mr. Kraft. I want to know why you were so angry with Chris that you forgot this little boy who needs you."

He raised his eyes and wiped away tears with his knuckles."Like my wife is ever gonna to let me near him again." He stood. "I'm sorry for hurting you, but if you don't mind, I'm going back to my cell now."

"Mr. Kraft! Don't hang up!"

When she saw him stop, she took a deep breath.

"If you got another chance—"

"A third chance? Yeah. Right!" He started to hang up the phone again.

"What would you do with it?"

"People don't get those."

She nodded. "Maybe some people don't. Would you be able to remember what's important this time and do the right thing?"

He must have sensed that she was serious because he sank into his chair. "What are you talking about?"

Hannah shifted in her chair. Her arm throbbed. Maybe Jenny was right. She'd said it was too soon to be out doing this, but when Hannah insisted, she'd driven her there in the buggy.

"I forgive you for hurting me," she said quietly. When he went still, she nodded.

"People don't do that. You got hurt because of me. Why would you do that?"

"Because if I don't forgive you, how can I ever expect God to forgive me?"

"Like you ever do something you need to be forgiven for!" he said, his laughter disbelieving.

If he only knew . . . Hannah had been guilty of discontent, of feeling unhappy with her life. Maybe that wasn't on the same level as what he'd done, but that was beside the point.

"It doesn't matter," she told him. "We don't believe in judging."

"You're saying you can sit there hurting because of something I did and you can forgive me?"

"Yes," she said simply. "I already have."





"Mr. Benton?"

The assistant district attorney looked up at Hannah, ran his hands through his thinning hair, and gave her a baleful look.

"Yeah?"

"Hi, I'm—"

"I know who you are," he said, standing. He waved at the chair before his desk. "And I know why you're here."

"Really?"

He sighed heavily. "Yeah. I hear things. And going by my past experience with the Amish, you're here to tell me you don't want me to prosecute Kraft."

Hannah nodded.

The assistant district attorney sighed again, shuffled the papers on his desk to find a file, and pulled it out.