Marysvale (30 page)

The small boy watched his father
disappear before retrieving the scattered shoes. He hugged them
tightly to his chest and slowly returned to the house.

The door closed.

“
What will happen to him?” I
asked, both horrified and fuming at what had just transpired.
Though I didn’t know for sure, something told me that the man
didn’t do anything to deserve that kind of treatment.

Jane somberly replied, “I don’t know.
It is extremely rare that one who is taken is ever seen
again.”

Barely audible, Hannah said, “I know
the girl....Her name is Isabelle. I like her.”

Though it was small consolation, I
un-slung the pack of food, opened it, and withdrew a large portion
of its contents. Wordlessly, I handed them to Hannah, who placed
them on their threshold as we passed. She gave the wood a few raps,
and we slipped unseen into the night, just as we heard the door
creak cautiously open.

Eventually, we came to a narrow road at
the south end of the town.

“
Here we are,” whispered
Jane.

Their small home consisted of two
levels. It looked better kept than most, yet still had a rundown
appearance. Boards replaced broken windows, and the wood on the
outside was weathered and rotting with mildew.

Jane tried the door. It didn’t
open.

She knocked softly. No
answer.

She tried again. Still, no
answer.

It looked like it wouldn’t take much to
force the door open, but the third try produced a hushed response.
“Who is it?”

“
It’s us, Father,” whispered
Jane.

After a brief commotion behind the
door, it swung open and their father embraced both his girls in a
gigantic hug that he held for quite a long time. With tears
streaming down his cheeks, he said, “Thank Heaven you’re back
safely. I was worried sick.”

He looked up and noticed me for the
first time—fear crossed his face.

“
It’s all right, Father, you
can trust him,” assured Jane. “This is John. He’s with us. Without
his help, we wouldn’t be here.”

Mr. Wolfe hesitated and then said,
“Well, if Jane trusts you, then so do I.”

He ushered us inside, and then looked
up and down the street before closing the door. A moment later,
Hannah had a candle lit, illuminating the meager surroundings of
their modest home. The front room also doubled as the kitchen, with
a small iron stove in one corner. A table, four chairs, and a few
sparse shelves adorned the room. Mr. Wolfe invited me to sit down,
and I did. Squinting through the dim yellow light, he studied me,
while I did the same to him. He looked older than I had expected
and had obviously fathered Jane and Hannah later in life. I
wondered how old Mrs. Wolfe would be if she were still alive. I
realized I had never asked Jane about her mother and wondered if I
should have, or if it remained better left alone.

Mr. Wolfe had a thick head of hair. In
the dim light, it was difficult to make out the color; but it
looked mostly black, with streaks of white. He wore a peppered,
white beard and mustache that hid his wrinkles and gaunt features.
He looked naturally tall, but now stooped from malnourishment, age,
and worry.

“
Do I know you?” he asked,
breaking my appraisal of him.

I glanced at Jane, asking silent
approval to reveal myself.

Ever so subtly, she shook her
head.

I was beginning to wonder if all this
secrecy was really a good thing. In the end, if they were
questioned and didn’t know anything, would they be believed? I
reminded myself to talk to Jane about it later. Whatever she
decided, I would honor. For now, I simply said, “No, I don’t
believe so.”

He continued to look at me, trying to
dust the cobwebs from his memory. Eventually, he gave up and
observed, “You three must be hungry. I’m sorry, all I have is half
a loaf of old bread; but you’re welcome to it.”

Tears welled in Hannah’s eyes. “Father,
we told you to eat the whole ration while we were gone. We didn’t
want you saving anything for us.”

“
As you can see, I survived
just fine. Besides, I had to. If you failed, there would be nothing
for you when you returned tired and hungry.”

“
But we didn’t fail,”
replied Hannah. She opened the sack to show him.

He inspected it, closed his eyes, and
said a silent prayer of gratitude.

“
We’re sorry there isn’t
more,” said Jane. “Sarah really did send us with a lot.” She went
on to explain how Lord Wright had confiscated their food and about
the lost packs I had cut loose in my race to the gate. She also
explained the deal made with Captain Smith in exchange for their
help, and the man who had been taken from his family.

When finished, he said, “Then let us be
thankful you returned safely, and for the food we still
have.”

Jane got up and fetched three plates;
she returned looking apologetically at me. “Sorry, we only have
three.” Then added quickly, “You can have mine; I will eat off the
table.”

“
No, you won’t,” I retorted.
“I’m not that hungry.”

“
Nonsense,” said Mr. Wolfe.
He pushed his plate to me, got up from the table, retrieved a clean
cloth from a small shelf near the stove, and laid it out before
him. “This will do,” he noted.

Jane dished up small portions of the
food and Hannah offered grace.

After we began eating, Mr. Wolfe
inquired, “Tell me about yourself, John. Where do you come from and
how did you get here?”

“
There really isn’t much to
relate,” I said. “My name is John Casey. I got lost trying to join
a hunting party from Syre. I was attacked and chased by the Brean,
and then ended up at Sarah’s.”

He digested that for a moment, as if
savoring the information. “And do you have any family?” he
asked.

I shook my head, “No, I don’t.” It
wasn’t much of an explanation. I purposefully liked giving short
answers. Few people really cared about them anyway. They only asked
out of politeness or curiosity, and rarely wanted more information
than that.

“
No mother or
father?”

“
No, both are
dead.”

“
I’m sorry to hear that. And
how did they die, if I may ask?” His eyes shifted from his food to
me.

The way he asked made me suspicious
that he already knew the answer; he wasn’t very good at acting like
it was just another question. It is the subtle things that usually
give one away. Unlike his other queries that came naturally while
he kept on eating, when he asked this one, all his attention
shifted to me. He reminded me of a parent asking a child a series
of innocent questions, before getting to the important one. The
trouble with this trick is that when they do get to this point of
their interrogation, they try too hard to make the question look
like any other, and their intention is all too obvious.

I wasn’t fooled. Apparently Jane wasn’t
either. She sighed and said, “All right Father, out with it. What
do you suspect?”

Replying as innocently as possible, he
stretched his hands wide and said, “Nothing at all. It’s just that
John, here, looks very similar to your young friend of so long
ago.”

Hannah’s interest was piqued and she
put down the piece of dried meat that she was gnawing
on.

“
You two have been hiding
something from me haven’t you?” she accused. “I knew it in the
woods at that old burnt cabin.” Then, remembering something else,
she gasped, “Oh, does it have to do with how you can see so far in
the dark? John, you promised that you’d tell me. You weren’t lying,
were you?”

I looked helplessly at Jane.

“
See? See that look he gave
you? I can’t believe it, my own sister is keeping secrets from
me!”

Jane looked at her father sternly. “Now
look at what you’ve done!”

A small grin spread across his old
face. “It’s not the end of the world,” he cajoled in a fatherly
tone.

Hannah continued, as if no one had been
talking, “What have I done to deserve being left out in the cold?
I’m beginning to expect it from John, but not my own
sister!”

“
Hey,” I said defensively.
“That’s not fair. If we haven’t told you something, it’s for your
own good. And I’m not admitting that we haven’t, mind
you.”

“
But you don’t deny it!” she
exclaimed excitedly.

I said nothing.

She looked at Jane, who also kept
quiet.

Hannah folded her arms and said in a
huff, “I have a right to know. Don’t you think I should be informed
of anything that affects me?”

Jane silently exchanged glances with me
and then sighed, “We’ve obviously lost this battle. Say what you
think is best, John.”

Satisfied with her victory, Hannah
said, “Out with it.”

“
Hannah,” I offered
patiently. “Sometimes simply knowing information puts you in
dangerous positions.”

She looked at her father expectantly,
undoubtedly seeking his alliance.

He simply responded, “Listen to
him.”

She sighed, and made a little motion
with her hand for me to resume.

“
It may force you to say or
do something you’d rather not, and it can be used against you and
those you love.”

“
I understand. Still, I
think I’m perfectly capable of dealing with it just as well as you
are. And I’m tired of people deciding what
they
think is
best for me. I can choose for myself.”

“
Yes, but freedom to make
your own choices doesn’t make you free from the
consequences.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you going to
tell me or just preach me to death?” Then softening, she continued,
“You told me to trust you, and I do. Now it’s time you put some
trust in me. I want to help if I can, and I won’t betray anything.
I promise to do the right thing should the time ever
come.”

I smiled at her. “Very well. I wanted
to tell you anyway, but I wanted you to be sure. I just recently
found out most of it myself.”

With that said, I began my story. For
their father’s sake, I started my tale when I first saw the Brean
in that moonlit clearing during my flight from Syre. Occasionally,
Hannah piped in to finish my thought, claiming I wasn’t telling it
properly. I could tell Jane was getting frustrated by the
interruptions, but it didn’t bother me. I didn’t really relish
telling it. I simply waited until she had finished telling it her
way, then picked up where she left off. I told them how Sarah had
taught me to use my special sight, explaining how I could use that
gift to see in the dark. This unleashed a torrent of questions,
with both girls demanding details of how it worked, and what it
looked like. Some answers I could give, and some I couldn’t. I
shared with them the remaining bits and fragments of my past
memories, and I relived my dreams for them. Through it all, Mr.
Wolfe sat quietly, patiently listening, only occasionally asking a
point of clarification.

It took hours and the candle burned
low. Only a stub of wick and a puddle of wax remained when I was
finished, and it threatened to go out at any moment.

“
Amazing,” said Hannah. “I
knew there was something strange about how you were never lost when
in the dark; and how you could see the Brean, even through all that
fog.”

Her eyes went wide, and then she
furrowed her eyebrows. “How often have you read my mind?” she
demanded.

I laughed. “Only once in the beginning,
when you two seemed so interested in killing me. Besides it’s not
like that. I read souls, not thoughts.”

“
What’s the difference?”
asked Mr. Wolfe.

“
The soul is much more than
just thoughts—it’s feelings, passions, desires. It’s who you
are—what type of person you are. Think of it like a painting: you
rarely notice one stroke, you take in all of them
combined.”

“
But it’s possible though?”
asked Hannah.

“
Sometimes—but it’s more
difficult and not as informative as you might think. Assuming I can
push through to another’s thoughts, I can only see the one that is
currently on his mind; I can’t just go in and find out anything I
want to.”

“
Maybe you will someday,”
suggested Jane.

“
What?” I asked,
confused.

She continued, “Perhaps there is a lot
you can do, you just haven’t learned how to do it yet. After all,
it wasn’t that long ago you learned how to see in the dark and find
the Brean.”

I hadn’t thought about that. I’d spent
most of my life trying
not
to develop my gifts. A part of
me was fascinated by the untapped possibilities; another part of me
was scared. So far, my gifts had brought more pain than joy to my
life.

I didn’t say anything.

Hannah approached the subject as if
nervous to ask the wrong question. “Is there a way to block you
from getting in?”