River Runs Deep (17 page)

“Yes, Doctor,” Stephen said. He held his hands clasped behind his back and cast his eyes down.

“You must see my point,” Croghan pressed. “If something were to happen to you—or Nick or Mat—it would be disastrous. You'd take with you knowledge of the routes and byways of the cave that would take others years to re-create. A map is the thing. And as soon as possible.”

“Suppose I never thought of it that way,” Stephen said.

Elias almost jerked back in surprise. Croghan didn't know about Stephen's maps?

“I want you to begin immediately,” Croghan ordered. “I'll reassign some of your duties to the others if it might speed things along.”

“Yes, sir,” Stephen said. “I'll see what I can muster.”

Stephen, Elias reckoned, was as full of secrets as the cave itself.

T
wo mornings later brought another surprise.

“Rise and shine,” Nick called out into Elias's hut as he carried in a plate of scrambled eggs, a small pile of fried potatoes, and a couple of tomato slices. The tomatoes weren't fresh, but Elias snatched the plate and crammed one slice whole into his mouth, the juices running down his chin. It tasted better than it had looked—tangy, salty, sweet. And the potatoes were crispy, good and greasy, tasting of the bacon they'd been fried with, the insides soft and warm. Even the eggs tasted better when they weren't the only thing on the plate.

“I'd tell you to eat fast, but don't reckon you could eat any faster,” Nick said, clearly happy to see Elias enjoy his cooking so much. He spat a stream through the grate of the stove, and the sizzle and smell of the sweet tobacco bloomed in the hut.

“Why?” Elias asked, running the last few bites of egg across the smear of tomato juice left on his plate. “We got some place to be?”

He meant Haven, and wondered if maybe Hughes had sent for them.

Nick shook his head, reading Elias's thoughts. “Rotunda. Croghan means to walk all y'all. Reckons that's what's making you better, so he best start the others on it before it's too late.”

Elias groaned. The walk to the supper that day had plum worn the others out. But then again, they weren't used to it. Maybe Croghan was right, and the exercise would help.

“I'll walk Nedra down there,” Elias offered, following Nick out the door.

“Croghan came and took her and Lillian there himself a few minutes ago. I'm meant to get you and Pennyrile over.”

Elias slowed at the mention of Pennyrile. He'd avoided him since finding out about Haven. But this could be an opportunity. “I'll walk him,” he offered. “Probably ought to talk to him some.”

“You sure?” Nick's voice was grave.

Elias was.

“Know the way?”

Elias did.

“I'll catch up after I clean these then.” He gestured at the pans. “Tell Croghan I'll be along directly.”

*  *  *

Pennyrile was sitting on his bed, already dressed for the walk, finishing up the knot on his neck scarf.

“I'll see you down,” Elias said.

Pennyrile pointed at another letter waiting on the desk. “You want me to carry it?” Elias asked.

Pennyrile tapped his nose and pointed at Elias. Even in the silence, Elias was certain the man was mocking him.

“Fine.” Elias crammed the letter into his pocket.

Pennyrile remained on the edge of the unmade bed, staring at Elias, his eyes narrowed. He picked up his slate.
You look improved.

Elias knew he did, but he only said, “S'pose.”

Pennyrile waited, as if he wanted Elias to go on. The two pigeons remaining in the loft warbled softly. Pennyrile's silence made Elias uncomfortable enough that he had to fill it with something.

“I'm just doing what Croghan tells me to. Maybe the walking'll do you good too.”

Pennyrile's shoulders convulsed in one spasm of silent laughter. Elias remembered how difficult his walk had been on the way back from church. Then he wrote,
They gave it to you.

The room grew still. Even the pigeons ceased their noises for the span of a breath.

The water,
he scratched next.

Elias's heart hammered. He took care with his words, feeling as delicate as stacking cards made into castles.

“Water?” he asked carefully.

Pennyrile huffed and rolled his eyes, wagged a finger at Elias. Elias stood as still as a cornered rabbit.

Finally Pennyrile wrote again.
Negroes. Their miracle water.

What little air was left in the stuffy hut seemed to rush out. Elias knew his next words were crucial. If he seemed too eager, Pennyrile might smell a rat; if he played dumb, Pennyrile might give up on Elias. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “How'd you know about that?”

Pennyrile erased, then wrote,
I know.

“I don't know how—”

Pennyrile underlined his last words, the chalk screeching. The birds flapped in protest.

“Then I expect you know more'n I do. And if you'd tell me what you mean, maybe I won't have to waste your time.”

Pennyrile scrawled,
Had some outside. Before I came. Want more.

“They don't give it out. I don't even know how much they've given me.”

Pennyrile tapped the slate impatiently.

Elias felt himself start to sweat. “I may be able to talk Stephen into giving you some of it—”

Pennyrile cut him off with a scratch at the slate.
Don't want some. All.

Elias tried to act surprised, tried to act like he didn't understand. “All?”

Pennyrile circled the word, the chalk screeching.

“I don't know where Stephen gets the water, or how much there even is,” Elias admitted, glad that this was the truth. Pennyrile only tapped at the words on the slate.

Elias understood how desperate the man was. How much he needed
something
. He was dying, and he was losing faith in Croghan's remedies, like the rest of them probably were. Pennyrile wanted the miracle water. And if he wanted it bad enough . . .

“I'll talk to Stephen,” Elias said.

Pennyrile smiled as if he expected nothing less, and laid the slate aside. Then he leaned heavily on Elias as he walked him out the door and down the slope. Pennyrile huffed and shuffled the whole way, stopping several times to rest, but there was something, Elias thought, something calculated in the way he did so, looking to Elias, making sure Elias took note of how distressed he was, how feeble he was.

All he could think of was what Mat had said about that wounded bear.

Nick caught up to them as they reached the Rotunda. The sight was a sad one.

They were all there, all gathered around Dr. Croghan in a semicircle. The ones who couldn't stand on their own were propped up by nurses and other slaves. Croghan was leading them in lifting their arms over their heads and then back down.

“Ah!” Croghan called out when Elias and Nick led Pennyrile in. “Come here, Elias!”

Elias gave Pennyrile time to transfer his weight fully to Nick, and then slipped to the doctor's side.

“We were just talking about you,” the doctor said, sounding madly hopeful. “About your marked improvement, and how the vapors have done such miracles when coupled with your exercise.” He positioned Elias in front of the little assembly and stood behind him with his hands on his shoulders.

Elias took them all in. Nedra, looking spent, with Mozelle, flanked by Lillian and Hannah on either side. Tincher and Shem stood with Stephen. And Mr. Cherry, the lawyer, held up by Dorothy. And Pennyrile, of course.

There were so few of them left.

“Today we'll follow his example and do a short constitutional together,” the doctor continued. “I expect over time, many of you will work up to take part of a tour with Mat or Stephen!”

Elias surveyed the faces, all of them drawn and pale. Nedra was staring at Elias with something close to hunger, he thought. He couldn't hold her gaze. Poor Miss Mozelle started coughing in the middle of the doctor's speech, sending his voice louder to be heard. Shem just gazed into the black beyond the top of the doctor's head. Mr. Cherry and Tincher mumbled “amen” or “hear, hear,” Elias couldn't tell which.

Pennyrile just smirked.

“Today we'll do a circuit of only the Rotunda. Move at whatever pace seems most comfortable, and stop as often as you find you need to rest.”

The residents all stood there hesitantly, each waiting for someone else to move first. And one by one they all looked at Elias. Elias felt their stares, felt their expectation and their envy.

He'd felt sicker before, but he'd
never
felt so rotten for being well. But feeling like a heel wouldn't make anybody else any better. The entire party set out, shuffling up one side of the Rotunda. Doctor Croghan began to whistle. It took a few bars for Elias to recognize the tune to “When the Saints Go Marching In.”
Elias and Stephen hung back.

“It's the water!” Elias whispered fiercely, telling Stephen in rush about his conversation with Pennyrile.

“He said the water?” Stephen asked, eyes wide.

“Wrote it! Right on that slate! My eyes near bugged out of my skull!”

Stephen rubbed the back of his neck.

“But that's good, ain't it?” Elias asked. “At least he's not after runaways.”

Stephen wasn't convinced. “Seems too easy. Nothing ought to be easy with a man like that.”

They watched Pennyrile trudge away. It seemed to Elias that every time Pennyrile stopped, he made sure Stephen and Elias were watching.

“He's dreadful sick,” Elias said, watching Pennyrile pause to lean on the wall, Nick hovering close. “If we're careful, we might be able to get him to take the water and just go.”

“We'll wait and see what Hughes says. Did Pennyrile give you another letter?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Stephen said. “We'll read it and then take it up night after next before we go see Hughes.”

“That long?” Elias asked.

Stephen kicked a rock. “It can't be helped. Croghan wants us up at the hotel tonight for a party.”

“What about Pennyrile? In the meantime?”

“Keep clear of him if you can. We've got to work out what we're going to do first. Now, run on up there and catch up to them,” Stephen said. “It's your fault they're all down here parading around, anyhow.”

T
wo nights later Elias had really, finally, finished his letter home. The reply he composed read to him like a retread of the letter written earlier, save for the fact that this time his assurances that he was improving, that he felt better, were more than just an attempt to ease his mother's mind. They were the truth.

He managed to fill two pages with descriptions of the things he'd seen, as well as reports on Bedivere's wing, which seemed to be healing almost as rapidly as Elias was. Maybe he'd give him some of the water and see how it worked on pigeons. He was just rereading his last few lines, realizing he'd not spent them pleading to come home. That's how he'd always closed his letters. But this time, he'd merely said he missed Mama and Granny and Tillie.

Funny,
he thought.

A rapping at the doorframe made his pencil jump.

“Elias?” Nick called.

“Yeah, Nick?” Elias whispered.

He poked his head inside. “You eat yet?”

Elias put the paper and pencil aside. “Lillian gave me some biscuits,” Elias said. He was enjoying the food—even the eggs—more than he imagined he could. Before he'd started healing, he'd clean forgotten what it even felt like to be hungry. Now he felt it nearly all the time.

“Wanna take a walk?”

Elias ran the back of a finger down Bedivere's throat, then hopped up. They were heading to Haven, he could tell! He followed Nick out, noticing that Pennyrile's curtains were shut tight. But Elias imagined he was listening, that he was noting the fact that Nick was leading him into the cave again.

Halfway to the entrance Nick dropped his satchel and pulled out a thin knife. “Stephen and Hughes said we was to read that letter 'fore you dropped it.”

Elias handed the letter to Nick, who moved the plug of tobacco to the side of his jaw. The letter was a thin one, maybe a single sheet of paper folded on itself. Nick heated the blade of his knife in the lantern's flame, then laid it flat along the paper, slicing neatly under the wax seal.

Elias wondered why he hadn't thought to try the same thing before.

The letter popped open, Nick gingerly unfolding it the rest of the way. He held it to the lamp and screwed his eyes up. “Short, anyhow,” he muttered, handing the letter to Elias. Elias wondered if Nick could read like Stephen. He read the two words printed in the middle of the page, Pennyrile's signature slithering underneath.

Stand ready.

“Won't have no trouble remembering that to tell Hughes and Stephen, will you?”

Elias shook his head and folded the letter. Nick used his knife to chunk off a blob of the wax around the edge of the seal. Then he balanced it on the tip of the blade, holding the knife above the flame of the lamp until the wax melted enough to smear it on the folded letter, resealing it nearly enough to pass muster.

“Press that good, and it'll set up right.” Nick lifted his pack and led the way back to the entrance.

They took care of dropping off Pennyrile's letter, but their hopes for a revealing reply they could sneak a look at were unrealized when Elias found the jar empty again.

Elias thought back to when Pennyrile first rooked him into all this, how he'd said he used the birds because they were faster. He also knew not to expect letters unless he had first sent one, which made the use of the birds make more sense. And the fact that Pennyrile was up to something half-explained why his correspondent did not want to be seen.