In the following week, Harry healed enough to be released from the hospital, but he was taken to the city jail, where he was being held as charges were brought forth. Not a soul spoke of Harry in the open, although Hannah knew her parents stayed up late every night arguing in hushed voices down the hall.
Hannah had read Kat's obituary in the newspaper and had considered going to the funeral. Seeing Will would only bring to surface a mixture of emotions best kept in the past, and she surmised he wouldn't have wanted her there.
Hannah couldn't help but wonder if Harry wouldn't have found another route to alcohol. Pa had dropped a passing comment about his own father having a drinking problem and how those sorts of things ran in families. As Hannah was finding out, however, such dark secrets were seldom discussed. Harry's alcoholism had tainted the rest of the family.
Hannah left her job at the Black Sewing Machine, Kat's empty chair beside her too much. When she obtained a position at Dependable Electric, she transitioned from one job to the next easily.
By mid-summer, Harry's trial was held. Looking back, Hannah didn't wish to remember it. She didn't need to go over the hours spent in a courtroom as evidence was brought against her brother. She didn't want to recall her mother's bitter tears or the grim look that seemed permanently etched on her father's face. She didn't wish to be reminded of her own cowardice for being too afraid to speak to the young man who had once been so close to her. At the end of it all, she would forever remember the verdict: guilty.
Guilty of illegal alcohol consumption and guilty of manslaughter.
Hannah met Harry's eyes across the courtroom. He blinked and turned his gaze away.
Hannah felt herself charged: guilty of failing to be the supportive, loving sister Harry needed, now more than ever. Her family's charge: guilty of hiding Harry away like a stain on the underside of a beaten rug, its only purpose for wiping feet clean and further dirtying itself.
Harry was sentenced to three years in the county jail.
Erik, who had always been so close to Harry while growing up, could have been a perfect stranger to him now. He seemed to be distancing himself from the whole family since the debacle. When the holidays came and went without any visit from him, Ma mourned a second wayward son, questioning where she had gone wrong. He called on Christmas Day and spoke with his family for five minutes.
The year 1932 began with the first good news the Rechthart family had had in a long time - Amy was pregnant again. Nine months later, she delivered another baby girl and named her Bethany Marie.
Hannah saw time's mark on her family as her parents seemed to age ten years in the year that followed Harry's incarceration. Ma's back began to slump, and she shuffed along like someone much older. When Pa broke his leg in a trucking accident, he cursed the whole way to the hospital, and Hannah held back from asking him if maybe it was time he handed the heavier work over to someone younger - that would have meant Harry just a year before.
Overall, the Rechthart house had drifted to a dismal place. Ma's heart wasn't in her cooking and catering to guests any longer, and no one felt compelled to push her when it was evident that she moved slower these days. All the fight had gone out of her, leaving a shell of a woman whose strength and solidarity had always been a cornerstone of the family. Pa's smiles were fewer, and the sparkle in his eyes burned out.
Hannah wondered if she appeared as a ghost to others as she went to work and back daily. She flitted through her days, barely making a mark - her touch on the world a brush stroke, leaving the painting unfinished. If a person could have grown translucent and grey, Hannah's skin would have become see-through and dull, her person partly dead, a walking automaton.
So, when ten-year-old Irma approached Hannah at the dusk of another autumn, Hannah wasn't prepared for the conversation that would unfold.
"Hannah?" Irma asked that evening before bed.
"Yes, Irma?" Hannah yawned.
"Why does everyone act like Harry's dead? He's not, but it's like he is. No one ever talks about him anymore. Ma and Pa, I know they used to talk about him, but it was only after they thought we were sleeping."
Hannah swallowed. Treading carefully, she took a seat on the edge of Irma's bed.
"Irma, I- I don't know what to say. You're right. I haven't exactly done my part in trying to keep the memory of Harry alive, of how he was before this all happened-"
"But that's just the thing. He's still Harry. He's still our brother. He's Ma and Pa's son, and it makes me mad to think they don't love him anymore."
Irma's eyes filled with tears as she crossed her arms defiantly.
"Don't say that. Of course they love him. I love him, too. It's more complicated than that. Yes, he's still our brother, but there are just some things you're too young to understand."
"Stop saying that I'm too young. Just because I'm the baby of the family and the quiet one, everyone thinks they can do all the talking for me. It's not right, Hannah, acting like Harry doesn't exist. Does anyone even visit him in jail? Have you, even once?"
Hannah shook her head guiltily. "I'm pretty sure Ma and Pa have."
"Did they say so?"
"Well... no, but surely they would-"
"Then what's stopping you?"
"I..." Hannah looked down in shame. Why haven't I visited Harry?
That was a good question, and Hannah feared the answer. Answering it meant looking deeply into her own heart.
"I don't have a good answer, except that I'm afraid. If I hadn't introduced him to Kat, none of this would've happened, so I suppose I blame myself for this as much as him."
"But Harry chose to drink, didn't he?"
"I knew Harry had an addiction, Irma, yet I did nothing." Tears brimmed in Hannah's eyes, and for the first time in a long time, she allowed the truth they revealed to fall into the open.
"You couldn't know what would happen. He wouldn't have wanted you to blame yourself... nor Ma or Pa. They raised him good. You're the best people I know, and it hurts to see this family torn apart."
Hannah couldn't believe the wisdom of Irma's words. She wiped the tears away and took Irma's hands in earnest.
"You're way too smart for your own good, young lady. I can't guarantee it'll be easy, but I'm going to try to fix this. Perhaps if our parents see that we're not afraid anymore, they won't be, either."
Irma smiled, and the sisters hugged.
The following day, Hannah took the bus after work to the county jail. As she walked into the parking lot, she stared at the imposing building. Part of her was tempted to turn back. She hadn't told her parents of her plan, nor Irma.
Hannah found her resolve and approached the entrance. Checking in as a visitor didn't take long. Hannah twiddled with the strap on her purse while she kept her eyes on the clock as she waited to be called.
Ten minutes later, a police officer escorted her to the visiting area. She took a seat in one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs. Bars separated her side of the table from the other side.
She waited, nervously anticipating Harry. A police officer emerged and escorted a young man clad in ill-fitting prison garb and seated him on the other side of the bars.
"You have twenty minutes," the police officer said dully and walked away.
Harry sat so close, yet seemed like a distant stranger. He bore a resemblance to the former person he'd been, but like his father, the gleam in his eyes was dead. Frown-lines drowned the old smiles that once had pulled at his lips. His coloring was drab, the lack of life that had visited the rest of the family seeming to have poured itself over Harry as well. He needed to shave, and his hair was unruly.
His eyes bore into Hannah. He said not a word.
When Hannah realized her brother wasn't going to speak, she tried to smile. "Hi, Harry."
"Hannah," Harry said after what could have been the longest minute of her life. "Fancy seeing you here of all places."
"Harry, I'm sorry for not visiting sooner."
"Don't be."
"I wanted to see how you're doing. Not a day goes by that I don't think of you."
"I see. So, I'm in your thoughts, but that's not enough to make you come and see me? It's been over a year."
Hannah blinked several times, furiously trying not to let the tears fall.
"I know, and all I can say is I'm sorry. I've been a horrible sister. Do- do you have other visitors?"
Harry leaned his chair back, balancing it on the back legs, and crossed his arms casually over his chest. He studied her.
"Things must've really changed on the homestead if you don't know. Yeah, Pa and Ma, they've stopped by a few times, but it's been a long stretch. I think it took them a good three months after my incarceration before they swung by for the first time. Of course, all Ma ever does is look at me and cry, and then Pa comes in after her time's up and tries to act like everything's fine. No one talks about what got me here. It's like some big secret we're all keeping, just trying to see who can keep quiet the longest. I'd say it's a fun game, but I'm not sure if that's how you'd see it."
"I don't think it's a game at all," Hannah said softly. "It's your life."
Harry laughed dryly. "Ah, but there's the rub, Hannah-panna. My life is a game, a joke. Those are easy to put away when you have no use for them. This old game isn't so much fun anymore."
Hope of seeing the old Harry was fleeing from Hannah's heart the longer she listened to her brother's sarcastic words. Groping for something to hold onto, Hannah searched her mind vigorously.
"You won't be in here forever. What about when you get out?"
Harry's face hardened. "It's obvious my problem has burdened my family enough, Hannah. Trust me when I say that it's easier this way. You shouldn't have come today."
Now, tears were falling. Hannah glanced at the clock. Five minutes left.
It could have been five seconds for all the words Hannah could find. She found herself standing and pushing the chair back in.
"Officer," she said brokenly. "I'm ready to go."
She glanced one last time at Harry, but he was staring at his lap.
"Officer," he called. "Take me back to my cell."
Hannah couldn't leave fast enough. Her feet carried her from the jail like a deer dashing from a wolf. The chilly air blew relentlessly as she made her way to the bus stop, the icy blast adding to the already cold, empty feeling that filled her. When the bus came, she sat alone and stared out the window at the passing pavement.
She told nothing of her visit to her family, lying that she had to work late.
Hannah had buried Harry that day. For many years to follow, he would be dead to her.
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