Twenty-One
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I awoke, no longer on the couch in the library. My shoulder burned. I reached to stop the pain and winced as my hand made contact with the slit the bullet had cut into my shoulder. I forgot I’d been shot. I looked around. This was once the dining room. The room was cold without a fire. Jonah’s oversized coat lay on top of me. I forced myself to sit up, though I wanted to sleep. I had to find out how Jonah and my dad were.
I practically willed myself to the library. The fire burned bright. Jonah lay on a pallet near the fire ... tightly wrapped in a blanket ... his face beaten, his body limp. He didn’t look alive. I stared at his chest. It rose and fell. He was breathing. I allowed my own breath to come and go once again. Charlotte sat next to him, a silver rosary in
