A Difficult Boy (34 page)

“Away?” Ethan said. “Where?”

“To the sheriff's. In Springfield.”

“Then we'll go to Springfield,” Silas said.

Ethan and Lizzie followed Silas outside, with Ethan carrying the books and papers bundled together in Lizzie's apron. Silas looked as beaten as his father. His hands shook as he untethered Ivy and led her into the barn. He fumbled with the buckles on her bridle and didn't seem to know which one to undo first.

Lizzie's skirts rustled across the barn floor. “Silas?” Her voice wasn't much more than a whisper. “Silas, are you all right?”

Silas turned to face her. Ethan and Lizzie flinched at the despair that darkened his eyes. “Now you know the truth about both of us, Lizzie. A fine pair we make, a thief and a murderer. What right have I to judge him with all that's on my soul?” His voice was hoarse.

“Your father's a hard man. He only said those things to be cruel,” Lizzie said gently. “It's not true.” She approached Silas tentatively, the way she might approach a cornered animal. “Ethan, can you take off Ivy's saddle and put on her harness?” she asked softly.

Ethan nodded, though he'd only watched Daniel do it.
He pulled Ivy's girth strap loose and slid the saddle from her back, surprised by its weight in his arms and by his own ability to manage it. It seemed odd that he was steady enough to work, while strong, competent Silas looked aimless and lost.

Silas shook his head like a wounded beast. “He may have lied about everything else, but not that.
I
killed her.”

Lizzie took Silas's arm and led him to sit with her on the big toolbox in the corner of the barn. She put her hand on Silas's wrist, bent forward to look into his face. “I don't believe that,” she said.

Fascinated and frightened at the same time, Ethan worked slowly and quietly so he could watch and listen to Lizzie and Silas. He put Ivy's saddle on its rack and took down the bridle and harness for the farm wagon.

Silas shuddered off Lizzie's hand. “You don't know, Lizzie. I was an evil child.” He rested his elbows on his knees and stared grimly down at his hands. “I was spoiled. I was selfish and willful, and they indulged me. They never raised their voices to me, let alone their hands. If they'd curbed me early, at four, or three, or even two—”

“You're only saying what he's taught you. You were so young, how can you remember?”

“Oh, I remember that day, Lizzie. Something like that you can't forget.” He stared out at some remembered horror that he couldn't help but watch. Once he started talking, the words flooded out as if he had to tell every detail as some kind of penance. “I remember it was raining that afternoon, so I couldn't go out and play. My mother was tired, so she sent me to my room. I was five. I didn't care about the baby coming. I only knew that my mother was big and clumsy and tired and cross.”

Ethan tried to picture Silas as a child, but all he could imagine was a child-sized body wearing Silas's adult face.

“I tired of playing in my room, so I went downstairs. My mother was sleeping. I went to His secretary. I'd been forbidden to touch anything there, but I thought no one would know if I played at writing with His ink and quill. I passed the afternoon scribbling and drawing. I spoiled a mountain of paper and smeared ink all over my clothes and His ledgers and books. It was only when I heard her shriek that I saw the havoc I'd made.

“I leaped from the chair, and the inkwell leaped, too. There was a great pool of ink on the desktop, dripping down onto the carpet. She could barely speak for anger. So I—I fled. I ran up the stairs and into my room and huddled under the bed, waiting for her to come up and punish me. But she never did. She didn't even cry out. There was only a jumble of noise that ended at the bottom of the stairs.”

Ethan held his breath, afraid to hear how the story would end. Still carrying Ivy's bridle and harness, he crept closer to Silas and Lizzie, careful to keep the buckles and rings from jingling as he moved.

“For a long while I was too frightened to look. When I did, I found her sleeping, I thought, in a funny heap at the bottom of the stairs. I was afraid, and ran next door to fetch my aunt Sarah. It wasn't long before the house was full of people whispering and hurrying around. They fetched Him from the store and sent for the doctor.”

Ethan shuddered. When he closed his eyes to shut off the haunted look on Silas's face, he imagined his own mother lying in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs, himself frantically trying to rouse her. His throat grew thick with imagined grief. He opened his eyes and looked at Lizzie, hoping to find comfort in her sympathetic face. She wiped a finger under her eye, her lashes sparkling with tears.

“I hid upstairs for a long time. I was so wicked I never
gave a thought to what had happened to my poor mother. All I could think was that somebody would see the ink on my clothes, and I'd be punished.” Silas rubbed his hands against his thighs, as if his fingers were still stained with ink. “Aunt Sarah cleaned me up and put me to bed without a word about what I'd done. The next morning, I finally came down, not out of concern, but because I was hungry.” Silas laughed bitterly. “You see, Lizzie, the poor woman was dying under my bedchamber and all I cared about was my breakfast.

“The house was still full of people. Some were asleep on chairs in the parlor, and some were crying. No one had cleaned up the ink I'd spilled. My aunt was in the kitchen, but there was no breakfast. So I went to my parents' bedchamber. The door was shut, and I heard voices inside. While I tried to decide whether to knock, the door opened and He came out.

“His face was gray, but I was so lost in my selfishness that I couldn't guess why. So I asked Him if Mama was awake. At first, He didn't seem to know who I was. Then He raised His hand and hit me. He hit me until Aunt Sarah came and took me away. But you see, it was too late, wasn't it?”

Seeking confirmation, his eyes turned to Lizzie, then beyond her to Ethan. Lizzie made a soft, sad noise. Ethan looked away.

Silas continued. “They kept me away from Him for the next few days, until the funeral. Afterward, I stayed with my aunt and uncle. It was a week before He sent for me. He'd shut Himself up all that while. Aunt Sarah left me in the parlor waiting for Him. He came in and told me my mother and sister were dead and asked me if I knew what that meant. I didn't understand, then, about the baby, that I'd killed her, too. But I did understand about my mother—or thought I did.

“ ‘They put Mama in the ground,' I said. ‘She won't come back ever, will she?'

“ ‘No,' He said. He asked if I knew why she was dead.

“ ‘She fell,' I replied.

“ ‘Why?' He asked.

“ ‘Because I was bad,' I answered.

“He said I must be punished. I tried to suffer the strapping in silence, but after a while I couldn't help crying. I mustn't have understood what
dead
meant after all, because I called for my mother. He began to weep at that, and said that a boy who'd killed his mama had no right to call on her. The next thing I remember is waking up in my bed, hurting so much I thought I'd die. Perhaps it would have been best if I had. It must have been a torment to Him, to see me every day, knowing what I'd done.”

The humid summer air clung around them like a suffocating blanket. Yet Ethan had to wrap his arms around himself to hide his shivering. Though the sun glared down outside and birds and insects sang all around, Ethan imagined he could hear the mournful drone of rain against glass and wood, and the sound of somebody crying.

“Oh, Silas,” Lizzie said.

“I'm not telling you this to get your pity, but to show you I don't deserve it. He was right, only He was too late. If He'd curbed my disobedience a year, a month, a week earlier, she would have lived. All He's done to me was no more than I deserved. But all His discipline—all my work—none of it can undo—can bring back—” His voice broke, turned into a strangled groan. “I deserved every thrashing He ever gave me, but what about Paddy?”

“Daniel?” Ethan corrected.

Silas glanced over at Ethan and nodded. “Daniel. When something went wrong and He thought it was Daniel's fault, I was only too glad to see another boy take a beating instead of me. So I said nothing, did nothing to put it right. I could
have stopped it, but I pretended I didn't see. A fine pair of liars and thieves, aren't we, Him and me?”

“It's not the same.” Lizzie shook her head fiercely. “It's not the same at all.”

“No, it's not. There's no fixing my sins.” His voice strengthened with resolve. “But maybe I can undo His.” He nodded at the bundle wrapped in Lizzie's apron.

“Sins?” Lizzie's voice burned with anger. “What sins? You were a child. A frightened child. You're not a monster or a murderer. Not then, and not now. You're a good man, Silas.”

Silas's red-rimmed eyes narrowed with disbelief. “How can you say that after what I've just told you?”

“If you were all that wicked, it wouldn't torment you so.” Lizzie timidly took Silas's hands in hers. “I remember a day, a long time ago. I was ten or eleven, and I was weeping fit to burst because some girls laughed at me and said I was fat and homely. You gave me your handkerchief and walked me home, and I thought you were the kindest boy I knew.”

Silas opened his mouth to object.

Lizzie put her fingertips to his lips to silence him. “I've worked here for five years and watched you for longer. And I'm still fat and homely, and you're still the kindest boy I know.” She seemed embarrassed by her confession. She looked away, her cheeks turning red, her eyes brimming with tears.

Lizzie's tears gave Ethan a prickly feeling in his eyes. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to make her stop crying. There was only one thing he knew that was sure to make a girl smile. “
I
think you're pretty, Lizzie,” he said.

Lizzie's face turned redder still, and her mouth crumpled to smother a sob. She tried to pull her hands away from Silas, but he held them fast. He stared at her as if he saw her for the first time. “I think you're pretty, too,” he said.

“Look, Pa! It's Silas!” Ethan nearly dropped the milk bucket when he saw what had roused Scratch into a fit of hoarse barking.

Pa snatched the bucket away before the milk could slosh onto the ground.

Ethan raced toward the fence. He vaulted the rail and tumbled to the road in a heap. Gathering himself back up, he pointed at the carriage coming his way. “He's got Daniel with him!” Without a backward glance, he pelted down the road to meet the chaise.

Though Ethan had begged to go to Springfield with Silas, Lizzie had taken him home instead. The last few days had seemed an eternity of frustration as he'd waited for Silas to fetch Daniel back.

“Daniel! Daniel! You're back! You're back!” Ethan shouted, dancing at Ivy's side. The mare let out a high-pitched whinny, as if she shared Ethan's joy.

“Don't you think I know that?” Daniel said.

The words spilled out of Ethan in an ecstatic babble as he skipped around the horse and carriage, keeping pace with Ivy as she headed toward the house. “Isn't it wonderful? Did Silas tell you yet? I was right about those books. Besides cheating you, we found out that Pa didn't owe Mr. Lyman nearly so much as he said, and Silas made him forgive the rest or he said we'd tell Mr. Flagg, and when we looked
through the books, we found out he'd been cheating a lot of other people, and Silas is going to make sure they get all their money back, and . . . and . . .” Ethan stopped jumping and stared at his friend's face. “What's the matter?”

Daniel's eyes were red and teary. He rubbed his face with his sleeve and shook his head. “It's the sun. It hurts me eyes. It was so awful dark in that cell,” he said in an unsteady voice.

“Oh.” Ethan sobered, perplexed that Daniel wasn't bursting with joy the way he was. Instead, he looked sad and weary and old, as though he'd been gone years instead of days. Though the bruises Mr. Lyman had given him were beginning to fade to green, he seemed to have one or two new ones, and his face looked a sickly gray where it wasn't bruised. When they reached the house, he needed Silas's help to get out of the carriage. “Are you all right?” Ethan asked.

“Just—just tired is all.” Daniel looked over Ethan's head toward the house.

Ethan followed Daniel's glance. Maria and Chloe stood in the yard, staring at Daniel as if he were a monkey from a menagerie. Ma came to the doorway to see what the fuss was about. She clapped her hands to get her daughters' attention. “Girls! Your manners!”

“Good day, sir,” Maria and Chloe said in chorus. They made their best curtsies, blushed, and ran away giggling.

Ma rolled her eyes and laughed. She stepped forward to greet Daniel and Silas. “I'm pleased to see you, Daniel,” she said, holding out her hand. She gave him her warmest smile.

“Thank you, ma'am.” Daniel took her hand lightly. He seemed to fear she might snatch it away and strike him instead.

“It's a while yet 'til tea, but you're welcome to—” Ma cast a glance toward Pa, who was just coming up with the milk.

Pa's face was solemn as he looked Daniel over from his tattered cap to his leathery bare feet. Daniel met Pa's eyes uncertainly.

Pa set down the milk pail and took off his hat. He thrust out his callused hand and cleared his throat. “Mr. Linnehan, I'd be honored if you'd take tea with my family.”

Daniel stared from Pa's hand to his face. “Thank you, sir,” he said finally. “I'd like that very much.” He clasped Pa's hand firmly.

Ma squeezed Pa's elbow. “And Silas, too?”

Pa nodded. “Silas, too.” He gave Silas one of his sternest looks, as if he'd been the cause of all the trouble instead of Mr. Lyman.