Keeper of the Books (Keeper of the Books, Book 1) (17 page)

Alban seemed to take no notice of the two in their stare off, and left the table to wash his bowl, humming as he went. Marum stood and joined him in the kitchen. They talked together and laughed. Alban gave her another hug, truly delighted to see her again.

Nate kept his voice low as he spoke to Rachel. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re taking a fancy to me.” This was a stupid thing to say considering the promised wrath of Rachel’s father, but Nate had enough whiskey in him to forget it.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re a crook,” Rachel came back. “Don’t take advantage of my father’s hospitality.”

“It would seem that if I was taking advantage of anything, it would be his curiosity,” Nate said. “Your father wants to help me because he can’t understand how or why I’m here. You better believe I’m going to take advantage of his curiosity.” He leaned forward and spoke lower, while Alban laughed away with Marum, clueless to their conversation. “You see,” Nate continued, “I’ve got two things going for me here. First, your father is the only person willing to help me try and figure out what in the world is going on. He might even be my only chance to get out of here.”

“And the other thing?” Rachel asked.
 

Nate leaned back in his chair and gulped the whiskey, finishing off his glass, the liquid burning all the way down. “Well, that depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not you’re attracted to
crooks
like myself,” Nate said. “I’m looking for a lady partner to take with me to Montana. You dress the part quite nicely.”

Rachel’s mouth hung open, a snarl forming on her upper lip. “In all my life, I’ve never been so quickly revolted by someone. You’re disgusting.”

“No, Miss Rachel, I’m a man.”

“Not all men are disgusting,” she said.
 

“You ever met another man?” Nate asked. “Believe me, we’re
all
disgusting.”

“I don’t like you, Mister Cole. After we take you to the Foreseer, I suggest you take whatever information you can and leave us alone.”

“You’re awfully harsh on a man you’ve known for just a few minutes.”

Rachel swallowed. “It only takes a few seconds to see what kind of man a man can be. A few minutes with you has been far too much.”

“I can tell you and I are going to get along just fine, Miss Rachel.”
 

Spring, 1872 A.D.

The spring sun in Kentucky was just beginning to warm the air. So many days of cold had kept most people indoors for long periods. This had worn on Joseph Cole so much that the first day he woke up without frost on the ground, he was out the door without any breakfast. His mother, Melanie, called him back to make him put on his coat regardless of how he felt about it. She had apparently seen the disappointment on his face when he trudged back to the house to grab his coat off the peg next to the door, so on his way back out, she handed him a small pastry she’d made the night before. He smiled when he looked down at it and immediately bit into it. The berry tartness mixed with the sugary sweet made his jowls ache, but he loved every chomp. He never knew how his mother was able to make such heavenly treats, but it was her specialty. It was a wonder how Joe was as little as he was. He was ten but about the size of a seven year old. Some of the others at school would occasionally make a snide remark about his size, but he ignored them. His family wasn’t poor. In fact, his brother, Nate was in college back East somewhere. It was something most families in the area would never be able to afford. But Joe was certainly going to follow in his brother’s footsteps. A good education was something people of all sizes could,
and should,
attain, his father had once told him.
 

With a smile and a wave, Joe was back running toward the schoolhouse, his coat half on and the rest of the pastry filling his cheeks.

“Don’t forget I’m coming to pick you up this afternoon,” his mother shouted from behind him. “I have to be in town to get a few things.”

Joe heard her, but didn’t acknowledge her. His feet carried him too swiftly to turn.
 

The day at school didn’t match his enthusiasm. The hours of reading and mathematics were torturous. Joe wondered if the teacher was simply being mean by making them stay inside all day. He wondered if this was what it was like to go to prison. He had heard of people going to prison. His father even had a friend that was once in jail but was released. Joe remembered asking about it and learning that inmates did indeed have time to be outside in the open air even though there were walls and fences all around them. The walls and fences, Joe could handle, but the hard chair and Ray Johnstone sitting behind him was something different entirely. At one point during the day, the teacher had her back to the students and Ray thought it was a good moment to tease Joe. He could sense Ray lean forward and get next to his ear.

“My pa read one of your pa’s books,” Ray said with a giggle. “Told me it was the worst thing he had ever read. Said the pages weren’t worth wipin' a goat’s behind with.”

Joe wanted to say something back to Ray, but he knew it would only result in a beating later. Ray was about twice Joe’s size but a year younger and about three years dumber. He liked to pick on Joe because he was small, but he felt validated because Joe was older than he. Joe couldn’t count the beatings he’d received from Ray. He’d gone to his father for advice and he wished he’d never done it. James was inclined to try and sort things out with words, but Ray’s father was just as belligerent as his son. He tried to turn the argument around on Joe’s father to make it sound like Joe was starting everything.

“For a kid as small as yours he needs to learn to shut his yapper. My boy ain’t the only one who’ll shut him up in his life.”

Of course, James walked away with dignity, feeling that he had done everything he could for his son.

“But what am I supposed to do when he tries to hit me again?” Joe asked one afternoon after he came home with a bloody lip and a black eye.

“You do your best to hit him back,” his father said.
 

“But his friends will just beat me up. I’m smaller than they are.”

“You can’t let being small become your giant problem, son. Being small has its advantages. Use them.”

Joe tried to use whatever imaginable advantage being small could have offered, but what advantage was there when three boys had him cornered with no place to turn? His only options were to fight or curl up into a ball. Curling up into a ball produced the fewest number of bruises so that’s what he usually resigned himself to.
 

Maybe it was being cooped up in a schoolroom on a nice day. Maybe it was the fact that the teacher, Mrs. Lowry, had turned her back, and Ray’s nose was only inches away. Almost without realizing he was doing it, he shoved his desk forward and spun on his heels. Ray was too stunned by Joe’s sudden movement to duck out of the way, and Joe’s fist came down like a lightening bolt.

His punch landed in the middle of Ray’s face, cracking the bridge of his nose. A few of the children yelled out and Ray started crying immediately. Blood drooled from his nostrils, tears pouring from his eyes. The students around him were jumping to get away from the soon-to-be-angry Ray—the Ray that would punish Joe for this every day for the rest of his life. Joe’s hand hurt and his heart beat faster, but he felt good. He expected Ray to lunge at him and grab for his throat. He might even try to kill Joe. But once the teacher was between them, Joe knew he was safe, at least until school was finished.

He didn’t hear the teacher yelling at him. He didn’t answer her endless questions. He simply stared at Ray in wonder. He had never made blood spill from the bully. Did this mean Joe had won? Was this the end? No. It couldn’t be the end. Ray would get past the tears and the bloody nose. He would want revenge. Joe was going to get it bad, but he didn’t care. He had just taken down the biggest kid in school. This only made Joe’s day better.
 

The act had earned Joe thirteen slaps against the palms with the teacher’s long wooden stick that she kept behind her desk for such occasions. The teacher then drew a circle on the chalkboard and told Joe to stand so his nose touched the middle of the circle. When he got to the chalkboard, his hands red and aching, he found that the circle was a good six inches above his nose. He paused. Had she meant to place it so high?

“It’s too tall,” Joe whispered.
 

“I didn’t hear you,” the teacher said, sitting down at her desk.
 

“I said it’s too high up, ma’am.”

Most of Joe’s classmates laughed when he said this, but a stern look from the teacher drew silence from them almost immediately.

“Then you must do your best, Joseph.” She said this with such coldness. He almost sensed malice in her words.
 

Joe took a deep breath and stood on the tips of his toes, yet the circle was still too far above his head. He could hear one or two kids snickering as he struggled. He let his heels back on the ground and looked at the teacher again.
 

“Could you please lower the circle, Ma’am? I’m too short.”

More snickers.
 

“Joseph, you can either do your best to get your nose in the circle or receive more slaps on the palms. Your choice.”

Later, Joe didn’t feel as elated about his victory over Ray Johnstone when his mother was standing behind him with her hands on his shoulders. The teacher was giving a particularly loud speech about respect and the need for civility in the classroom. He didn’t feel afraid, but more shame than anything. He had only done what had felt right in the moment. He knew he didn’t think before he threw the punch.
 

Now as he stood in front of his mother, the teacher going on and on, Joe’s calves hurt.
 

“…and that is why it is important for your son to learn prudence, Mrs. Cole.”

“Prudence?” Melanie said. She had been silent for the whole speech up until this point. “What prudence do you require of a ten year old who gets picked on by bullies? You think he deserved punishment? He is punished every day by that Johnstone boy and you’ve done nothing about it.”

“Raymond and Joseph are not the only students in the school, Mrs. Cole. I have subjects to teach. I cannot be bothered with simple quarrels day-to-day. Your son needs to learn discipline.”

Melanie set her jaw firmly. “Mrs. Lowry, I am not a woman who likes to meddle in other people’s affairs, but how you run this classroom, directly affects my son. Part of your responsibility is to punish bullies like the Johnstone boy for inciting reckless behavior in your classroom.”

“You forget, Mrs. Cole, that your boy is the one who threw the punch.”

“I haven’t forgotten. I also haven’t forgotten that Ray Johnstone has had it coming to him for some time. For one of Joe’s punches, Ray has dealt a hundred.”

More like a thousand,
Joe thought.
 

“You may fear his parents, or may even fear the boy himself, but you will not stand here and pretend you have order in your classroom when you clearly do not. If you don’t do something about that boy, I will make sure everyone in town knows that you are incapable of keeping order and that you’ve grown too old to teach the children.”

Mrs. Lowry gasped.
 

“I’m sure the widows would love to know how you’ve handled this situation, Mrs. Lowry.”

She gasped again. It was all Joe could do to keep from smiling. His mother had just made the worst threat a woman could make in their town. The widows were two sisters who were both queens of gossip. If something of interest (anything of interest) caught their attention, news would be quickly spread to the entire county, true or not.
 

Despite her obvious look of shock, Mrs. Lowry remained defiant. “And what would you tell them exactly? That your son punched another and I punished him for it?”

Melanie breathed in deeply and pointed her nose in the air. It was a look that made her seem superior to anyone else in the room, though Joe knew she didn’t feel that way.
 

“I would simply tell them that your classroom is chaos,” she said. “That you have no control anymore and that you’re becoming too deaf to hear what the students are saying while your back is turned.”

Mrs. Lowry’s mouth was hanging open.
 

“Then I would tell them that your pies taste like sawdust,” Melanie said. A mischievous grin formed at her lips. “Then again, everybody already knows that.”

Melanie didn’t wait for a response. She simply reached for Joe’s hand and pulled him toward the door and out of the schoolhouse, leaving a poor, miserable Mrs. Lowry to fear for her reputation.
 

Joe didn’t know what to say when he got onto the buggy. His mother climbed into the seat confidently and put on her riding gloves as she always did. Joe sat next to her, silent.
 

“You don’t have to be worried, son,” she said. “You’ve received more than enough punishment for what you did.” Her next words were under her breath, but Joe heard them anyway. “You should receive a medal for bopping that wretched Ray Johnstone on the nose.”

Joe wasn’t supposed to, but he couldn’t help but smile.
 

It was obvious that the matter with Ray Johnstone was over and done with as they rode along toward their house. His mother had no more reason to talk about it except to say that she wanted to know if Ray ever bothered him again (though she suspected he wouldn’t), and that the confrontation he had just witnessed was to remain a secret.
 

Joe crossed his heart and hoped to die if he told anyone, though it would be hard not to tell one or two of his friends. His mother had been phenomenal in the classroom. She had been a hero. She did what no one else had ever done—she stuck up for him—and that included Joe’s father.
 

As they rode along, the conversation took a more serious turn, though Joe didn’t know how that was possible. He looked at his mother. Her slender cheeks seemed pale. Her brown eyes were fixed ahead and stern when they would normally be soft and welcoming.