Fairer than Morning (20 page)

“Where is he?”

“Gone. He must have slipped through the other way, like you said.”

“He knows we saw him. What do you think he'll do?” Tom hefted his axe and flipped a log over.

A motion by the doctor's house caught Will's attention. The doctor himself walked across the yard toward them and lifted the gate latch to let himself through.

“Is everything all right?” Dr. Loftin called from a few yards away. “I heard a shot.” He closed the distance to the woodpile in a few strides. His forehead creased in concern, his white hair rumpled on top.

Will rested his axe head on the ground and looked at Tom. No help there, for Tom's mouth was half open and he was even more at a loss than Will. Will's heart pained him as he met the doctor's worried green eyes. “It's Lucy.”

“Where is she?” The doctor turned slowly to scan the yard and woods as if to conjure his Lucy into sight. “What happened?”

Will's mind blurred as he tried to consider what to say, how much to tell or not to tell. “She's in there.” He pointed to the woods. “See where the piglet is coming out? About thirty paces in.” At the doctor's confused expression, he dropped the axe and started for the trees. “I'll show you.”

The silence between them grew oppressive as they entered the shadowy copse. When they reached the bush with the piglets milling around it, Will stopped and indicated it to the doctor. “Behind there.”

He did not want to see Dr. Loftin's reaction, so he pivoted and walked quickly away. Nonetheless, he heard the doctor's choked cry of shock. A lump came to his throat. He hurried back to the woodpile and attacked the logs again with fervor. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tom watching him with trepidation, flinching as the chips and splinters sprayed up. Will ignored him.

After a few minutes the doctor came out of the woods, his shoulders drooping, his white head bowed. Dr. Loftin made his way toward them, and Will saw that the doctor's eyes were moist.

“Young men, this is a very serious matter,” he said. “Is your master at home?”

Will shook his head.

“I suspect you know who shot Lucy.” The doctor's voice shook, whether from anger or sorrow, Will couldn't tell. But then his tone became firmer. “It's a base act. And I'm quite sure neither of you is responsible. But I'm afraid I will have to ask you to do something for me. I will need you to witness to a judge.”

Tom went sheet-white, and Will was sure he must look the same, as a frisson of fear traveled down his neck.

The doctor looked at Will. “Don't say anything, now. Before you say a word, I want you to think about the consequences. You know better than I what they may be. I don't want you suffering on my behalf.” A muscle tightened and firmed the line of his jaw. “But I don't want the devil to have free rein either. Someone has to stand against cruelty, eventually, or it will continue.” He cleared his throat. “So think carefully, both of you. The decision will be yours.”

The image of John Simon, branded but resolute, flew through Will's mind. “I'll witness for you, sir,” he said.

“Take time to consider first, Will.”

“I'll do it, sir. I don't need time.”

The doctor ran his hand through his mussed hair and sighed. “I'll be indebted to you, young man. I take this harder than I should, perhaps
 
.
 
.
 
.” He trailed off and brushed past them, shoulders curved, headed for his home.

They continued to chop wood until the wheelbarrow was full of kindling. Tom was pensive and silent. That suited Will, as he was also in no mood for talk.

As night fell and time for sleep neared, Master Good still had not returned. Mistress Good was surly and ordered Will and Tom out of the house after another meager meal. Will led the way to the barn, and once in the saddle shop, he raked the pile of straw from the corner. They always piled it closer to the coal firebox at night and slept there, huddled back-to-back to keep from freezing as the temperatures dropped.

“Will, are you really going to speak against the master?” Tom's voice was hushed, though Will felt it vibrate through his back as they lay there in the darkness.

“Yes. I've had enough. What's the worst he can do?”

“Kill you.” Tom sounded unhappy.

“I don't think he will. And besides, I don't think my life means much.”

“It means something to me.”

“It's worthless if I can't be decent or honest.” Will heard a rustling in the straw, and Tom's back moved away from his. He turned his head to see that Tom was sitting up, facing him.

“But all you have to do is wait another year.”

“I can't wait.”

Tom leaned down, whispering urgently. “I don't think I can witness. I can't do it.”

Will pushed himself up on one elbow. “You have to make your own choice. I can't decide for you.”

“I want to stand up with you, but I'm afraid I won't be able when the master's standing there watching. He makes me lose my nerve.”

Will burrowed down into the straw with a sinking feeling. “I don't want to talk about it anymore. All I know is that I will not lie to a judge. Especially not to save the master's pride . . . or his purse.”

“I'm sorry, Will. I'll do my best.”

Will was quiet, wishing Mr. Miller were still there. The saddler would approve of what Will had decided to do.
But Mr. Miller and his daughter are gone
. He opened his eyes in the darkness. The straw prickled through his clothes, and even their two blankets together were too thin.
I will have to stand up alone before the judge
.

He still had Tom, but he and Tom were in the same miserable plight. Mr. Miller was different. Behind his quiet ordinariness was a cloud of something otherworldly. Will had seen it looming and billowing in his eyes, blowing through his words. Perhaps it was sent from God. Perhaps it would come to Will, if he prayed for help. He envisioned a cloud descending on him in the courtroom, protecting him from the master.

A cloud went with them by day .
. . The voice of his father rumbled low in his memory; Will saw his brothers and his sister sitting in the firelight at his father's knee, the pages of the Bible ivory in the lamplight.

He had not thought so much of his family in a long time. It hurt too much—and yet, as their faces lingered in his mind's eye, a faint flicker of light within him grew steadier, spreading into dim recesses and long-forgotten dusty corners. He remembered his mother walking through the field toward him, holding his little brother. Johnny wrapped his arms around her, his dark curls tumbling over his fat cheeks, as he called Will's name in his baby voice.
I will write to Johnny, if the doctor will give me paper and ink
.

But what would he tell his brother? That he was still bound to a tyrant? That he had stained the honor of an innocent girl? The acrid smoke of burning pitch poured through him again. He gritted his teeth and fought back.

I will marry Emmie. If she'll have me. As soon as my indenture ends
.

The smoke rolled back, a fringe of darkness on the edges of his consciousness, though he sensed it waiting there for its first opportunity to return.
You will not win
, he told it.
I will marry her and put things to right
.

Tom sighed and his body crunched the straw.

Will murmured to him without moving. “I'm going to marry Emmie.”

“Now?”

“No. When I'm free from the master.”

“Oh.”

“I'm going to make right from the wrong I've done.”

Tom's only response was a raspy breath. He was asleep.

The thought of Master Good's likely reaction was terrible— but, oddly, Will felt calm. When sleep came, it was as if he fell slowly and gently into the massive cloud that waited for him, endlessly patient, behind Mr. Miller's eyes.

Nineteen

I
N THE NARROW CONFINES OF THE COACH, THERE WAS
nowhere to hide.

“You remember what I told you, boys,” Master Good said.

Will's palms were slick with cold perspiration. He laid his hands on his rough trouser legs to dry them without his master noticing.

“Yes, sir,” Tom said.

“And you?” The master pinned Will with his unblinking stare.

“Yes, sir,” Will said. Better to lie now than in the courtroom. He didn't like the sheepish expression Tom had been wearing. It promised no help from his testimony. At the thought of challenging the master alone, Will felt the walls of the coach press in on him.

The rattling of the coach slowed, then ceased as the driver pulled up. Master Good shoved open the door and climbed down, Tom following with obvious reluctance and Will bringing up the rear.

The courthouse was red brick and square, much like any other building from the city's earliest days. Will followed Tom through the white double doors. At the far end of the room, a massive mahogany desk stood on a raised dais. Against the white walls, the dark desk stood out like a tower, topped by the figure of the judge in his curled wig. He leaned over the gleaming wood to murmur to the bailiff, who stood beside him.

A number of other persons sat in chairs down below on the floor. Some of them engaged in conversation, others sat alone, waiting for their own cases.

Master Good led Tom and Will to three empty chairs against the far wall. He made the apprentices sit closest to the wall, and he sat next to them as if to keep them from bolting from the room.

Just as they were seated, the door opened again to reveal Dr. Loftin. He was dressed immaculately, not a wrinkle in his coat, not a hair out of place. But when he looked at Will, his brow was tense with worry and his green eyes shadowed.

I won't lie
. But Master Good's physical presence just inches from his left arm made him ill. Between his rebellious stomach and his dry mouth, it would be very hard to speak at all.

His nausea grew worse with the passing minutes, as the judge rapped his gavel and delivered verdicts on two other cases.

“Dr. Robert Loftin and Master Jacob Good,” the bailiff called.

The two men stood and walked to the clear area in front of the desk.

“Which of you brings the complaint?” The judge lifted his head wearily to examine them.

“I do, Your Honor,” said the doctor, his hat in hand.

“And what is the nature of the complaint?”

“This man, Jacob Good, shot and killed a valuable brood sow belonging to me.”

“Did you witness this act?”

“No, Your Honor. But these young men back here can witness to it. And I found the weapon a few yards from where I found Lu—the sow. It belongs to Jacob Good. With your permission, Your Honor, I will tender it to the bailiff.” When the judge nodded, the doctor walked back to his chair, where he had left his medical bag. From its depths, he produced a black pistol. He offered it handle-first to the bailiff, who brought it back and laid it on the surface of the desk at the judge's left hand.

“Is this your pistol?” the judge asked Master Good.

“Yes, Your Honor. But I must tell you—”

The judge cut him off with a sharp rap of the gavel.

“You, young man.” The judge pointed to Tom. “Approach. What is your name?”

Tom got to his feet, noticeably unsteady, and walked to the front, standing apart from the master. “Tom Reece, Your Honor.” He looked very slight and young, tilting his head up to address the judge, his hair as unkempt as ever.

“And did you witness the killing of the sow?”

“Not exactly, sir.”

“Don't beat around the bush! Explain yourself.”

“Well—uh—the pig went into the woods, and then—I heard a shot.”

The judge frowned. “And did you see anyone in the woods?”

“Tell him what you told me, boy,” Master Good said. “Did you not see the apprentice Will Hanby go into the woods?”

Will's nerves went taut. He felt the blood draining from his veins, leaving him like a figure cast in plaster.

Tom was silent. Will couldn't see his face.

“Well? Speak, boy!” The judge's face flushed red against the whiteness of his wig.

“Yes, Your Honor. Will went into the woods after the pig.”

Will found it hard to hear what else they were saying through the thick, dreamlike state that had overcome him—as if his ears had been stuffed with wool. It simply was not possible. Will had expected Tom to be silent, but not to betray him—and commit perjury. But Tom was indeed telling the judge that he believed Will had taken Master Good's pistol and killed the sow.

“And you? I presume you are this Will Hanby. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Will realized that the judge was addressing him, but his tongue was as leaden as his ears were stopped. He glanced to his left and noticed Dr. Loftin regarding him with eyes squinted in disbelief, mouth slightly open. Was that skepticism at Tom's story, or sudden doubt in Will?