The Extraordinary Education of Nicholas Benedict

by Trenton Lee Stewart

  At the deserted crossroads, where Mr. Pileus got out of the Studebaker to scout for traffic, Mr. Collum mopped his brow and muttered, “And I hope you’re aware of what you’ve done to that poor man. So racked with worry he almost suffered a breakdown. Miss Candace could do nothing for him. Indeed, I fear she made things worse. I understand he spent all of last night in the bathroom.”

  It was true that Mr. Pileus looked sorely exhausted, and Nicholas began to worry that he would fall asleep behind the wheel. But by pinching his ears and slapping his cheeks, Mr. Pileus kept himself awake until they had arrived safely, at which point he mumbled something about bed and staggered away.

  Mr. Collum let Nicholas into his room. Mr. Pileus had diligently filled in the hole in the wall. This time he’d used the proper amount of water, and the mortar had had sufficient time to dry. Nicholas looked with resignation at the place where his window had been. So much for that. He took his pajamas from his suitcase, along with his toothbrush and toothpaste, and slid the suitcase back under the cot. How familiar the routine felt, yet how strange. Having been away from it, even for one night, made Nicholas feel anew the harshness of his nightly imprisonment.

  He got ready for bed as quickly as possible. Then he took a deep breath, gazed into the bathroom mirror, and steeled himself for the next difficult task. Mr. Collum had already made clear what his punishments would be—weeks of extra chores, no time in the library, early bedtimes each night. All that remained was for Nicholas to make his apology.

  He went back to his room, where Mr. Collum stood in the doorway, yawning and waiting expectantly. Clasping his hands together, Nicholas looked the director in the eye. “I’m truly sorry for the worry I’ve caused, Mr. Collum, and for all the trouble, too. I won’t offer any excuses. In fact, I’d like to speak with you tomorrow to discuss other ways of making amends. I don’t mean instead of my punishments,” he said quickly, seeing Mr. Collum’s color rising, “but in addition to them. For instance, I would like to deliver my Rothschild report, after all.”

  Mr. Collum’s expression changed. He straightened, cleared his throat, and said, “As for that, young man, perhaps you should do as I originally requested and give me a brief overview.”

  “I will if you like, Mr. Collum, although there isn’t—” Nicholas blinked heavily. He shook his head. “Oh, I’m very sorry, Mr. Collum, but I… I…” He stumbled over to his cot.

  “You don’t mean it!” Mr. Collum cried. “For heaven’s sake, Nicholas! Now? Again?”

  “Tomorrow… tomorrow…” Nicholas was mumbling now, sinking onto his side. He closed his eyes.

  Mr. Collum cursed under his breath, stomped his foot, and closed the door. He locked it and stomped away.

  Nicholas sat up. He listened. Then he leaped from his cot and began unpacking his suitcase in the dark, not even taking time to light a candle. He had a lot of work to do, and to have any hope of success, he needed to get started right away.

  Fully dressed, with his suitcase in one hand and his key in the other, Nicholas let himself out of his room. Silently he slipped down the servants’ stairs and listened at Mr. Pileus’s door. Sounds of heavy breathing issued from within. Through the keyhole he saw that the room was dark. Satisfied, he tiptoed across the passage, unlocked the basement door, and disappeared down the steps.

  A short while later Nicholas sneaked out the Manor’s side door, staggering under the weight of his burdens. By the light of a newly risen moon, he made his way to the back of the garden shed—the nearest decent hiding spot. There he deposited his heavy suitcase, his heavy flour-sack backpack, and a heavy bag he had fashioned from his tarpaulin rain cloak. Wheezing from his efforts, he looked up at the round yellow moon, hanging low over the trees. Had it really been only a month since he’d sat alone on that bluff, gazing up at the full moon? That night seemed like ages ago. It might almost have happened to someone else. Almost.

  Nicholas lit a match and knelt to study the ground. Sure enough, he detected the last faint traces of a minuscule ash pile, the remains of John’s letter. It couldn’t have been much to begin with, and now it was scarcely more than a gray smudge, most of the ashes having been blown away by wind or blended into the earth by rain. He looked mournfully at the spot until he felt the match starting to burn his fingers. Good luck, John, he thought. He shook out the match.

  As soon as his wheezing had subsided, he went back inside the Manor for his lantern and an extra supply of candles. He also paid a visit to the pantry. Then, leaving the heavy bags where he had hidden them, he hurried across the park, through the hickories, and over to the orphanage farm.

  The farmhouse windows were dark, the barnyard still and quiet. Nicholas set his shoulders. He squared his jaw. He took a deep breath. Now was the time for patience and courage. He had to move with infinite stealth. He had to remain calm.

  With almost agonizing slowness, Nicholas unlatched the barn door. He handled the latch as if it were explosive. He moved as slowly as a sloth on a vine. Never had he been so silent, so stealthy. Minutes passed as he opened the door just wide enough to slip through. Slowly he retreated a safe distance from the barn to light a small candle, which he carefully shaded with his hand. Then he tiptoed back to the door, slipped through the narrow crack, and began stalking toward the rear of the barn.

  He moved now like a heron on the prowl for fish. One slow step, freeze. Wait. Another slow step, freeze. Wait. Always with his eyes searching, searching the ground before him.

  And then he saw it. The half-finished carrot. It lay between the large, dangerous front hooves of Rabbit. The mule was asleep on his feet, yet even in his sleep he radiated hostility, or so it seemed to Nicholas. Sweat trickled down his face. If he made the least noise or misstep…

  Now came the decisive moment. He could not risk Rabbit’s seeing him do what he had to do next. And so, memorizing the exact position of the half-eaten carrot, Nicholas blew out his candle. The little flame made a very faint, very soft flicking sound as it was extinguished. In the sudden darkness that followed, Nicholas held his breath.

  Nothing happened. All the animals remained asleep. Still holding his breath, Nicholas inched forward. Quietly. Carefully. Steadily. If he gauged wrong, he might very well touch a hoof instead of a carrot.

  Don’t gauge wrong, he told himself.

  In one smooth motion Nicholas stooped, reached out a hand—and took hold of the carrot. He slipped it into his pocket. Still stooping, he backed away, took out his matchbox, and struck a match. There is no way to strike a match silently, and even as it flared to life, Nicholas heard the mule’s breathing change, heard a shifting of hooves. With trembling fingers, he lit his candle, and in its stronger light he suddenly saw Rabbit’s glossy black eyes fixed upon him. Nicholas stood rooted in place.

  The mule looked down at the spot where the carrot stub had been. He put his nose to the ground, his nostrils flaring and contracting as he snuffled around in the dust and straw. Then he looked up at Nicholas with murderous eyes. His ears drew back flat against his head. His rubbery lips curled up to reveal two rows of hard yellow teeth. He brayed a horrible mule curse, so loud and frightening that Nicholas almost dropped his candle, and every powerful muscle in the creature’s body tensed as he prepared to charge.

  “Oh, please!” Nicholas whispered, digging frantically in his pocket. “Please, just one second! Look what I have for you!” His fingers closed around what he was digging for—the fresh carrot, the largest carrot he’d been able to find in the pantry—and he whipped it from his pocket and held it up for Rabbit to see.

  Instantly the mule’s ears straightened and rotated forward. He made a pleasant grumbling sound, and stepping closer, he pressed his head against Nicholas, almost knocking him down. His huge nostrils flared and flared as he sniffed, but Nicholas had already tucked the carrot back into his pocket.

  “Not yet, old fellow,” he said, scratching Rabbit gratefully between the ears. “First we have a job to do. Now come on, we have to hurry
!”

  Rabbit, as docile as a lamb, followed Nicholas out into the night.

  In the hour before dawn, a boy crept wearily and stealthily onto the Hopefield farm. He was the same boy rendered in Violet Hopefield’s drawing—the boy on the bluff—yet in the month since that drawing had been made, he had learned so much, had come to feel and think so differently than before, that Nicholas Benedict looked upon that boy in his memory as something like a friendly stranger. He almost expected Violet not to recognize him.

  She did, of course, and at the sight of him her face lit up. Nicholas saw the familiar radiance of her expression even in the darkness of her room—her relief and delight as brilliant as a sunrise. Indeed, no sooner had her eyes opened than she was leaping from her bed to embrace him, lifting him right off his feet and swinging him back and forth so vigorously that his boots almost fell off.

  In her grogginess Violet was somewhat confused, however, and when at last she released Nicholas, she looked around wonderingly, perhaps searching for John, perhaps puzzled by how he had gotten in.

  Nicholas drew her over to the open window and showed her the tall stepladder he had taken from her barn. I need to show you something, he signed. Come with me. I’ll explain everything soon. Hurry, please. We don’t have much time.

  Violet quickly pulled on her boots and buttoned a jacket over her nightgown. What about John?

  Nicholas shook his head. Not tonight, he signed, not wanting to tell her the sad news just yet. Sad for the two of them, anyway, if not for John. He turned away before she could ask more questions.

  Only when they had descended the stepladder and stood in the moonlit farmyard did Violet notice Nicholas’s rough appearance. His clothes were filthy, his face streaked with grime, his hands scraped and bloodied to the last knuckle. She stepped back, shocked. What happened to you?

  Nicholas grinned. I know, I look like I’ve been fighting a bear all night. I feel like it, too. Come on, I’ll explain as we go, but we really need to hurry. If I don’t get back before sunrise, I’ll be in huge trouble.

  When they had reached the hill path and were under the cover of trees, Nicholas lit the lantern that he’d left there and led the way up. Now that he was no longer worried about Violet’s parents overhearing him, he let loose a great torrent of words, his head turned toward Violet so that she might read his lips, interrupting himself every few seconds to look where he was going.

  “Something’s happened to me, Violet—a lot of things, actually—but the most important thing is that I’ve realized how selfish I’ve been. No, don’t argue, it’s true! I don’t mean I’ve been wicked, exactly, but I’ve always been worried about myself more than anyone else. I suppose it’s natural enough—you have to learn how to take care of yourself in orphanages, especially when the grownups aren’t looking out for you—but it’s simply no way to live! There’s no joy in it!

  “Can you believe that yesterday it occurred to me, for the first time, that I should try to help protect the other kids from the Spiders? For the first time, Violet! It amazes me to think of it. Sure I’m only nine, but I’m supposed to be smarter than all of them put together, am I not? And yet I’ve just gone about my business, resenting the way everyone treats me and dealing with the Spiders whenever I have to. But everyone is scared! No one knows what to do! And who’s going to show them if not me? Why, over and over again in my mind, I’ve been seeing poor little Vern, frightened out of his wits, sneaking up to me to give me a note saying he’s sorry. And Oliver taking a risk to tell me something important, simply to be decent. Sure, I said thanks, but I hardly even looked at him! And I left without once considering how scared he might have been, how much courage it might have taken just to speak to me. I was too preoccupied with my own problems!”

  Nicholas stumbled over a rock, regained his footing, and kept going. Violet followed him up the path, trying to watch his lips and her step at the same time. He never slowed down.

  “And this treasure! This ridiculous treasure!” Nicholas rolled his eyes. “I’ve put all this thought into finding the treasure and having it solve all my problems. But what about your problems, Violet? What about John’s? What about all the other kids? Do you know what happened the other morning, just before I left for Stonetown? John was about to suggest that we tell Mr. Collum what we’ve learned. I’m sure of it. And I’m also sure I know why. John wasn’t just thinking about himself, see. He was thinking about all the other orphans. What happens to them if the Manor gets closed down? Sure, maybe they’ll get sent to a better place. But maybe it will be worse. Who can say? And what about the staff? What happens to old Mrs. Brindle if the Manor closes? What are the chances anyone else will hire her? What will she do?

  “Do you see, Violet? John was thinking we should share information with Mr. Collum, even if we got in trouble, because maybe Mr. Collum knew something we didn’t, and if we all worked together, we might find a solution. But do you know what I did? I cut him off. I didn’t want to hear it! The last thing I wanted to do was share anything with Mr. Collum—and probably get punished in the bargain. No, thanks!”

  Violet tried to catch Nicholas’s arm. She wanted to stop him, wanted to say something, but Nicholas shook his head. “Please let me finish, Violet. I promise I’ll answer all your questions and tell you whatever you want to know soon. And I’ll listen to whatever you have to say, too. Is that all right?”

  Violet put her hands on her hips and regarded him. She must have seen that he felt ready to burst with emotion. Perhaps she understood that if he tried to hold it in now, he’d simply collapse. She nodded. All right. Go on.

  Nicholas smiled with relief and gratitude. “Thank you, Violet. Really, I mean it.” He started on up the path. “And really, I want to thank you for a lot of other things besides. That drawing of yours—well, I won’t get into that now—but that drawing, and all the picnics, and your friendship most of all. I’m ashamed when I think of the sacrifices you’ve made, like telling your parents you don’t really want to go to art school anymore, even though it’s killing you not to go—you do these things because you care about them. Well, I care about you, but until recently it never occurred to me to make a sacrifice for you.”

  He gave Violet a rueful look. “I didn’t want you to go, see. Something in me—well, I wouldn’t even let myself think about what I could do for you. Not if it meant losing you. And isn’t that what art school would mean? You would leave!”

  Violet couldn’t help herself. Sorry, I’m confused. If we found the treasure—

  “But what if we never did?” Nicholas interrupted. “If we didn’t find the treasure, I wouldn’t want you to go to art school any more than I’d want John to be adopted. Sure, I wanted you both to be happy—but not if it meant losing you! Oh, it’s very mixed up, Violet. I never thought about any of this, really, not the way I’m telling you about it. I avoided any thoughts of the kind. I didn’t want to see the truth, I guess.

  “But I see it now. I see that some things are hard to do but that you can’t live with yourself if you don’t do them. I see that the best way to help myself is to help the people I care about. The rest will sort itself out—it has to, right?” Nicholas stopped and looked at Violet searchingly, as if he doubted his own words and only needed her agreement to believe them. She nodded and squeezed his arm.

  I think so, Violet signed. I hope so. She offered him a slight smile. I still want to think we have a chance of finding the treasure, though. Am I wrong? Have you learned something? Is that what this is about?

  “The treasure?” said Nicholas, as if he’d forgotten it. “Oh! Sorry, I’ve just been so focused on this other thing—” He laughed and shook his head. “No, I don’t know. I do have something new I’m going to try, but I haven’t had a chance yet. This other business had to come first, and it took longer than I expected. You see—well, come on, a few more steps and you will see.”

  Nicholas took Violet’s hand, and together they hurried on up the path. So intently focu
sed had Violet been on reading Nicholas’s lips—it was extremely hard to do as they stumbled up the path, with the lantern moving, and so often having to check her footing—that she had not paid attention to where they were heading until now. But here they were, coming out of the trees and into the boulder field, the site of the collapsed mine, of her collapsed dreams.

  And there, gleaming in the moonlight, was the drill.

  Violet’s hands flew to her mouth, her eyes grew wide, and she burst into tears. She threw her arms around Nicholas, squeezing him tightly. Nicholas squeezed back, trying hard not to be overly affected by her emotion. He had expected her to be thrilled, but her rush of tears had caught him off guard. He took deep breaths and imagined an infinite field of green plaid. Given his current state of exhaustion, if he fell asleep now, he might not wake for hours.

  Violet drew back from him, her face shining with tears. She ran over to the drill, walking around and around it, inspecting it. Shaking her head, she looked at Nicholas. How did you do this? she signed. It’s perfect. It’s just as it always was, only—she glanced in the direction of the collapsed mine, the too-narrow tunnel, then back at Nicholas in amazement—only now it’s out here! How is this possible?

  “We did it together, Violet,” Nicholas said, grinning. “If you hadn’t mummified it so well, greasing the parts and wrapping it all up the way you did, I doubt I could have taken it apart.”

  Violet stared. You… took it apart? And put it back together again the way it was?

  Nicholas shrugged. “You told me that the engineer and his assistant used to have to dismantle it sometimes. It should have occurred to me right then that I could do the same thing.”

  But they had blueprints! And tools!

  “Oh, I had plenty of tools myself!” Nicholas said, and he gestured up toward the ridge. Violet looked and saw a powerful mule tethered to a tree, asleep on its feet. Strapped to its back was a set of makeshift saddlebags, including a battered suitcase. “Rabbit carried them up here for me. As for the blueprints, well, once I had taken the drill apart, I knew where everything was supposed to go, didn’t I? It’s actually a pretty simple machine. The hardest thing was getting the parts out through the tunnel. I had to take the larger pieces out one at a time, and the rest in small bundles. It made for a lot of crawling. Good thing I’m still so small, right?”