Hoggee (15 page)

“Four,” said the doctor. “Four so far,” and he hurried away with his bag before Cyrus could ask their names.

When the men with the wagon came, they loaded Jack with his blankets into the back. Howard climbed up to sit beside him. The girls would walk home, and Cyrus rode up front with the men. “We'll put him in my bed,” he said, turning to Howard when they had begun to move. “I'll sleep in the pantry.”

Howard held on to Jack's hand and listened to the clop of the horses' hooves on the road.

Mistress Donaldson met them at the door. “Is he dead, then?” she questioned as the men unloaded the blanket-covered form from the wagon.

“No,” Howard called. “He is not dead, and he will not die!” He jumped from the wagon and ran to the door. Live, Jack, he repeated over and over in his mind. Live. You're obliged to live.

Mistress Donaldson folded back the covers on Cyrus's bed, and the men placed Jack there, dropping the blankets that had covered him. She took off his shoes, and Howard pulled off Jack's wet britches and shirt before
she spread blankets over him. Next she went for a pan and a cloth to wash his face.

Howard looked around for a chair, but there was nothing in the little room except a bed and a small chest. He went to the kitchen for a chair, put it as close as possible to the bed, and settled himself there.

“I suspect you're hungry, lad,” Mistress Donaldson said to Howard when she had finished washing Jack's face and tying a white cloth bandage around his head. “There's beans and bread aplenty in the kitchen.”

Howard shook his head. “Thank you, no,” he said. “I'll just wait here until Jack wakes up. I can eat then.”

Mistress Donaldson made a sad clucking noise with her tongue, wiped at her eyes with her apron, and left the room.

Laura and Grace, when they arrived, came in to stand silently at the end of Jack's bed. Laura's dress had almost dried now, but her thick hair was still wet and tangled. Her face was as white as the bandage on Jack's head. “I'd rather they had put him in the pantry,” said Laura softly. “Our da died in this bed.”

Howard kept his eyes on the gentle rise and fall of the blankets with Jack's breath. “Our father died, too.” He bit at his lip. “My father and Jack's, but he was older, and weak with consumption. Jack is strong,” he said, his voice rising. “No one is stronger than Jack. Jack will not die!” A tingle went through his body, a sensation of strength, and he stared at his brother, willing the strength of his own body to pass into Jack's. “Live, Jack,” he said, this time aloud. He did not notice when the girls tiptoed from the room.

Howard sat beside his brother and watched the shadows
in the room grow longer. Captain Wall, Buck, and Bert came to stand about in the room, talking softly to each other. Captain Wall put his hand on Howard's shoulder. “I'll hire temporary help,” he said. “Your jobs will be waiting for you, yours and Jack's, when he's able.” The boy looked up at the man and nodded. No words would come to his lips.

Just before dark, Cyrus came in with a lamp. “Go have a bite, laddie,” he said. “I'll stay by your brother. It won't change things, you being away from the bed. What will happen will happen. Jack, now he be in the hands of God.”

Howard let Cyrus pull him up from his chair, and he wandered into the kitchen. The girls sat at the table with their mother. Mistress Donaldson stood as Howard came in. “I'll fix you a plate, my lad,” she said, but he shook his head.

“I couldn't eat.” He put his hand on his stomach. “Nothing would stay down. Mayhap I'll walk a bit to clear my head.”

Laura came to him with a hunk of bread and a slice of salted pork. “Take this,” she said. “You've need of food to stay strong for Jack.”

He nodded his head, took the food, and went out the door. At first he moved without direction, eating, and letting his feet take him where they would, along the canal and past the shops. At the fallen bridge, he stood for a long time, looking and wondering.

Finally he moved on. After a time, he stopped and looked around him. He was, he realized, near the boys' school. He looked across the street at the big white building. Lights came from every window, and Howard
imagined boys studied in those rooms. Once, such a thought would have filled him with envy. Now, his insides were frozen with fear for Jack.

He stood for a while and looked at the building, then crossed the street. Without knowing exactly why, he wanted to talk to the teacher.

He went to the high front steps. A few days ago it would have been impossible for Howard to climb the tall steps and knock on the big front door. In his long-ago life before this morning, he would have been too shy, but now he climbed easily and knocked without hesitation. “I need to see Mister Parrish,” he said to the boy who answered.

The boy, who seemed to be about his own age, opened the door, looked at him, and raised his eyebrow. Howard felt the boy stare at his dirty, disheveled clothing. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Tell him it's Howard Gardner,” he said without dropping his gaze. “Tell him it's the boy from the snow.”

Almost at once, Howard heard footsteps on the wooden hallway floor, and Thomas Parrish appeared. “Howard,” he said, and he came to shake the boy's hand. “Are you all right?”

Howard rubbed his hand across his eyes. “The bridge that fell…” He stopped. He could not talk about Jack, not now. If he talked about Jack to this kind man, he would cry. Howard did not want to cry, but if he had not come to tell Mister Parrish about Jack, why had he come? He looked about the wide entry hall. Bookshelves lined the wall. There must be books everywhere in this building, he thought.

Howard knew Mister Parrish looked to him to say
more. He swallowed, waiting, then began to speak. “I wanted to tell you that I'm not going back to the canal,” he said. The words seemed to burst from him, unplanned. “I'll have to work, but if there's a way, I'd like to study here.”

Mister Parrish used his hand to usher Howard through the hall. “Come to my office,” he said. “You look as if you need a chair.”

Howard began to speak even before they were inside the room. “I'm staying because of my friend,” he said. “Cyrus's granddaughter, she's a deaf-mute.” He took the chair Mister Parrish indicated without a break in his explanation. “I have another book, and it's about talking with your hands.”

Thomas Parrish sat behind his desk, and when Howard stopped talking, he nodded. “Sign language,” he said. “It's taught in schools for the deaf. There's a wonderful new one down in the city of New York.”

“Sarah can't go away to school. There's no money. Besides, her grandfather would never allow it. I can teach her, though. I've already started.” Howard rubbed his thumb across his fingertips. “Sarah knows that's the sign for money.”

“Very good,” said the man. He leaned toward Howard. “You look as if you've been through something today,” he said. “Were you on the bridge that fell?”

For a second Howard felt confused, then his head cleared. “My brother was,” he said. “Jack. He was hurt bad.” He stood suddenly. “I've got to go back there. I've been gone too long. Jack might…” He turned to the door.

Thomas Parrish walked from behind his desk. “Let me get my rig. I'll drive you back.”

Howard stood and shook his head. “Thank you, no,” he said. “It's kind and all, but I believe I can walk there while you're getting your horse. It isn't far, sir.”

“All right,” said the teacher. He walked with Howard to the door. “You come back later, Howard,” he added after they had said good-bye. “I think I can arrange for you to go to school here.”

“I'll have to work,” Howard said again, and he moved through the door. “I send money to my mother.”

“You could study here part-time,” said the man.

Howard turned back from the second step. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “I will come back when…” He stopped. “I will come back, no matter what happens.”

“Good. I'll say a prayer for your brother tonight, Howard,” he called as the boy went down the steps.

“Yes,” said Howard without turning around, “you do that, please. You say a prayer for Jack Gardner. You tell God that Jack should live to be a captain on the Erie Canal.”

The May evening was cool, and Howard shivered as he walked. He thought of Delia. She would be proud of me, Howard thought. I made up my mind, just like she made up hers not to stay on her island and work in the fields. Tomorrow he would tell Laura that he was staying in Birchport.

When he reached the house, he knocked at the door. Gracie came to let him in. “Is there any change?” he asked her.

She shook her head. “No, Grandpa is in there now, but he would have called out if Jack woke up or died.” The little girl clapped her hand over her mouth, then went on. “I shouldn't have said that. I should have said naught a word about dying.”

Howard reached out to touch her cheek. “It's no matter,” he said. “Saying a word doesn't make it happen, Gracie.” He stepped back. “I'm going to the barn to get something. I'll be right back.”

Being in the barn seemed strange. The door made the same loud creak as he opened it. The stalls were the same. The same four mules stood in the last stalls. The straw was the same. How could everything look the same, smell the same as it had in the morning? How could everything be the same when the world had changed so completely?

In Molly's empty stall Howard dug beneath the straw for his haversack. He wanted to take it with him to Cyrus's house so that he could add to his carving. Then he took his blanket, stuck it under his arm with his bag, and walked to the barn door. Just before he left the barn, he looked back. There had been a boy who lived in this place for the winter, but that boy was gone. He had changed into someone else.

When the others had gone to bed, Howard sat with his board. The lamplight was enough to see Jack's breaths as they lifted the covers slightly. For a long time Howard watched. His body ached with exhaustion, and his eyes closed over and over. He would, he decided, spread his blanket beside Jack's bed. He would sleep there for a time, waking often to put his hand on Jack's chest.

First, though, there was a thing he had to do. He took his knife from his pocket, picked up his board, and carved his prayer for Jack. Then he sat for a long time with the board pressed to his chest.

Howard looked at his writings. There were ten now. He felt good about carving his history in the board. His words would last. The only thing better would have been to carve his words in stone, like the ones part of the canal had been cut through.

That first night after Jack's fall, Howard slept hard. Just before sunrise, he woke with a start. He had not checked on Jack for quite some time. Afraid of what he might find, he lay for a moment, listening, but no sound came from his brother's bed. He pushed back his blanket, got to his knees to see the bed. Jack's chest moved up and down with breath. Relief spread through Howard's body, giving him the strength to move.

With a cloth he had dipped into a bowl of clean water, he touched Jack's dry lips. “Wake up, brother,” he said. “It's a new day, and we're needed on the canal.”

Jack moved his head on the pillow, but he did not open his eyes. Howard bit at his lip. He would have to write a letter to Ma. He would ask Laura to get the quill pen, ink, and paper he had given her, and he would write the letter. Tomorrow he would post it. Ma had to be told. She would be surprised, Howard thought, to
learn that Jack had been injured. He looked down at his brother. “Ma would have expected such from me,” he said, “but not from you.”

Gracie came to call Howard to breakfast. “Ma says you're to come to the table and put some real food in your stomach.”

Howard left the door to the bedroom open. “I need to be listening for Jack, in case he wakes up.”

“I'll help you listen,” Gracie promised, and she left the room.

Howard took the brown book from his haversack. He held it close to his body and slipped it, unnoticed by the others, into his lap when he sat down.

While the girls and their mother put food on the table, Howard waited, saying nothing until he had filled his stomach with potatoes and eggs. He took a big drink of tea, drew in his breath, and started. “I saw a deaf girl on the canal,” he said. “Her mother and grandmother talked to her with their hands, making signs, and she talked back.”

Mistress Donaldson gasped. Cyrus put his tea mug down without taking a drink, and Laura reached across to grab at the hand Howard had left on the table. “Tell them about the book,” she said.

“There's a book! The lady gave it to me. I want to use it to teach Sarah.”

“You think you could learn Sarah how to talk with her hands?” asked Mistress Donaldson, and there were tears in her eyes.

Howard nodded. “I can teach, and Sarah can learn.”

Suddenly Cyrus pushed back his chair and stood up. “Whoa, the lot of you!” he said. “This is my house, and I won't have you coming in here to get Sarie all stirred
up. Laura's one thing, but not Sarie. I won't have it, I say!” He reached out to Howard, took his arm, and pulled him up. “Get up, you young troublemaker, you. Get up and get out of my house.”

Howard did stand, but he made no move to leave. “Begging your pardon, sir,” he said. “I know this is your house, and I am grateful for your generosity to my brother and me, but you do not own Sarah.” He motioned toward her. “She is a person, sir, and she deserves a chance to speak, if not with her mouth, then with her hands. We all need to tell what comes up from inside us.” He paused for a second, drew in a deep breath, and went on. “Yesterday, sir, it was Sarah, out of all the people gathered round, who knew that bridge was going to fall. It was Sarah who made me see how the braces were about to give way. If not for Sarah, Gracie would have been on the bridge, too, and she might be dead or injured like Jack. Look at her now!” He waved his hand toward Sarah, who sat looking from one face to the other. “She wants to know what's going on right now. Give her a chance, sir. She is a person. Give her a chance.”