Nathaniel

by John Saul

  He found it. Holding the strands apart as far as he could, he put his left leg through the fence, then bent down to duck under the top wire.

  A barb snagged the flannel of his shirt, and Michael reflexively tried to jerk free. The barb worked further into the material. He reached back with his right hand, feeling for the wire. A barb pierced his skin, sinking into the ball of his thumb. Suppressing a cry, he yanked his hand back. Shadow whined sympathetically and tried to lick the injured hand, but Michael brushed him aside and inserted the thumb in his mouth, sucking hard on the wound. As the salty taste of blood filled his mouth, his eyes instinctively went to the single lantern that still glowed in the field. As he watched, it went out. With the disappearance of the light, Shadow's whine turned into a warning growl.

  A moment later, Michael heard a car door slam and an engine grind, cough once, then catch, quickly settling into a reluctant hum.

  Ignoring the barbs, Michael forced his torso through the fence, pulling his right leg behind him. The sound of the car was louder now, and even though no lights were showing, he knew the car was coming toward him. He twisted frantically against the fence, but several of the barbs were now firmly embedded in the shredding flannel of his shirt, and he was held fast.

  And then, as the engine's drone drew ever nearer, he gave a last lunge against the restraining fence, and his shirt tore free. He dashed across the open space between the fence and his mother's house and dove behind a patch of bushes. A second later, the car—unrecognizable in the darkness—cruised slowly by the house, then down the driveway to the road. Only when it was on the highway did its lights go on.

  Michael waited until the car was well out of sight before he emerged from the bushes, breathing hard, his torn shirt damp with sweat. Shadow skittered nervously at his feet. He located his bike, but instead of mounting it, he wheeled it along the driveway, then across the road. He paused there for several more minutes, thinking hard. What was he going to tell his mother? How could he explain his torn shirt?

  And then Nathaniel's words came back to him.

  "Never tell them the truth."

  "If you tell them the truth, you will die."

  "Tell them what they want to hear."

  Even as fear began to grip him, an idea began to take shape in his mind.

  "Laura lost her baby?" Janet asked, the words echoing oddly in the Halls' kitchen. "What are you talking about?"

  "She miscarried," Amos Hall replied. He peeled off his jacket and hung it on the hook by the back door, then poured himself a cup of coffee from the ever-present pot on the stove. When he finally sat down in his usual position at the kitchen table, Janet stared at him dazedly. Though his expression was impassive, she could see the pain in his eyes. Then, as if sensing the thought that had immediately formed in her mind, he said, "It didn't have, anything to do with her overworking this weekend. The— the fetus was malformed, and Dr. Potter said the baby would have been born dead even if Laura'd carried it to term."

  Janet released the breath she'd been unconsciously holding, and sank back in her chair. "But why didn't you tell me what was happening?" she asked. "Why that story about the grange? I'd have gone with you. Anna and I both would have." Her eyes shifted to her mother-in-law for confirmation, but Anna only sat motionless in her chair, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes blank. Janet turned helplessly back to Amos.

  "We thought it would be better this way," he said. "We were afraid something like this might happen, and we decided it would be better if you weren't there." His eyes moved toward Janet's torso, and Janet's fingers moved instinctively to touch her abdomen.

  "I—I don't understand…"

  "This isn't the first child Laura's lost," Amos told her. "She—well, she doesn't have children easily."

  "But I should have been there," Janet insisted. "After all she's done for me, the least I could have done was be there."

  "No," Anna said, sighing deeply. Janet turned to look at her. A sad, apologetic smile reflected the look in Anna's eyes. "Laura wouldn't have wanted you there," she said. "She wouldn't have wanted either of us there. For me—you know why it would have been painful for me. And for you… well, you and Laura are about the same age, and she wouldn't want to frighten you. She wouldn't want you to go through the next few months worrying that what happened to her might happen to you."

  "Me?" Janet asked, her bewilderment increasing. "Did she tell you that?"

  Anna reached out and took Janet's hand. "She didn't need to. You've been through so much already, dear. And it's not just Laura, you know. We all worry about you. Tonight, Amos decided the best thing to do was wait until it was all over, and hope we'd be able to tell you you had a new niece or nephew." The half smile left her face, and her eyes hardened as they flashed briefly toward her husband. "Things don't always work out the way we want them to," she said.

  Oblivious to the look that had passed between Anna and Amos, Janet nodded her head. "It must have been terrible for her," she said at last. "Not even in the hospital, and with nobody there—"

  "I was there," Amos Hall corrected her. "And Buck and Dr. Potter."

  "I'm sorry," Janet said quickly, immediately contrite. "I didn't mean that. I just meant—"

  "Don't worry, dear," Anna assured her. "I know exactly what you meant."

  Again, Janet fell silent for a moment, but then she took a deep breath, as a thought struck her. "But what about Ryan? Wasn't he going out to the Simpsons' with Michael?"

  Amos shook his head. "He was home all evening."

  Janet's eyes darted to the clock on the wall. It was a little past midnight. "But look at the time! Where's Michael?"

  "Probably still at the Simpsons'," Anna told her. "A foaling can take all night."

  "But what if he's coming home? He's all by himself, and he's only eleven—"

  "And he can take care of himself," Amos assured her. "He's like his father—he'll be all right. Just try to take it easy, Janet. Getting yourself into a state won't help."

  It was then that they heard the first scream.

  Michael had mounted the bike and ridden quickly back toward the Simpsons'. When he was halfway there, he picked the bicycle up and jammed it into the fence between the north side of the road and the field beyond. When the wheels were securely tangled in the wire, Michael climbed the fence and began walking across the field. In the distance, he could see the faint glow which he knew marked his grandparents' house. Sure of his bearings, he began running, stumbling in the darkness every few yards, pitching headlong into the fresh-turned soil. Each time he fell, Shadow was instantly next to him, nosing at him, snuffling and whining until Michael rose once more to his feet. By the time he reached the far side of the field, with his grandparents' house clearly visible, his hands and face were scratched and bleeding, and what was left of his clothing was covered with grime. He climbed carefully through the last fence and paused to catch his breath.

  As his breathing slowly settled into an easy rhythm, he watched the house, but if there was any movement inside, he was too far away to see it. Still, even as he crossed the road to the end of the driveway, he was sure that his grandparents, as well as his mother, were waiting for him.

  Twenty yards from the house, he gathered his energy together, and began running.

  Running, and screaming. Shadow, as if picking up a cue, added his furious barking to the melee.

  "Mother! Grandpa! Help! Help me!"

  Still running at top speed, he dashed around the house and hurled himself up the steps of the back porch, his fists pounding on the door. "Help me! Mother, help me!" The door flew open, and Michael threw himself into his mother's arms.

  Janet's arms closed tightly around her hysterical son, and she sank to her knees to gather him against Her. "What is it?" she asked when Michael's terrified screams finally stopped. "Michael, what happened?"

  "My bike!" Michael wailed. "I was coming home, and all of a sudden there was a car behind me. I thought it was Mrs. Simpson, but it w
asn't. It—it ran me right off the road."

  "Where?" Janet asked. "Where did it happen?"

  "Right near the Simpsons'. I hadn't even gotten to our house yet."

  Her mind spinning, Janet's gaze drifted up to Amos Hall. He was on his feet now, staring at his grandson.

  "Tell us exactly what happened."

  They were at the kitchen table now, and Michael was sitting huddled close against his mother, his eyes fixed on the face of his grandfather, who finally reached out to pat his hand. Instinctively, Michael pulled his hand away, but the old man ignored the rebuff. "It's all right. You're safe now. Just try to tell us what happened."

  "I was coming home from Eric's," Michael began, letting his voice quaver. "I was coming along the road, and I was looking at our place in the moonlight. And then I heard something. It was a car, and it was coming along the road behind me." He fell silent, as if the memory was too frightening to talk about.

  "Go on," his mother said gently. "What kind of car was it? Did you recognize it?"

  Michael hesitated, then shook his head. "I don't think it was from around here. And it was coming real fast." He stared up at his mother. "It—it was almost like they were trying to hit me."

  "Oh, no…" Janet protested, but Michael bobbed his head.

  "I got way over, as far as I could, and pedaled faster. I thought maybe I could make it to our driveway, but I couldn't. And then, when it was right behind me, they honked their horn, and I skidded off the road."

  "You mean they hit you?" Janet asked, the color draining from her face.

  Michael swallowed, but shook his head. "Unh-unh. But then the car slowed down, and I got scared. So I climbed over the fence and hid in the field across the street from our house. And when the car came back, I started running."

  "But honey, they were probably looking for you to see if you were all right."

  "Maybe—maybe they wanted to kidnap me," Michael suggested, his eyes wide. "Anyway, I didn't even try to go back for the bike. I just started running across the field, but I kept falling and got my clothes all messed up." He looked uncertainly from his mother to his grandfather, then back to his mother again. "Are—are you mad at me?"

  Janet hugged him close. "Mad at you? Honey, why would I be mad at you? It was just an accident, that's all. I'm sure no one was trying to run over you, or hurt you at all."

  "But—"

  "Shh," Janet said. "There isn't any reason why anyone would want to hurt you. You just had a bad fright, that's all. And I think the best thing you can do is go upstairs, take a nice hot bath, then go to bed., By morning you'll have forgotten all about this."

  "But what about my bike?" Michael protested.

  "Your bike?"

  "It's still out there. It got all tangled in the fence, and I was so scared, I just left it there."

  "We can get it in the morning," Amos told him. "Now, do what your mother says, and get on upstairs."

  "But not before you give your grandmother a kiss," Anna suddenly interrupted. All through the conversation, she had sat in silence, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes shifting constantly between her husband and her grandson. But now she held her arms up, and Michael moved to her side. She wrapped her thin arms around him, and drew him close, so close her lips were at his ear, as if she were going to kiss him. "It's all right," she whispered. "I don't know what happened tonight, but I'll make him believe whatever you say." Then she kissed him on the cheek and released him.

  As Michael straightened up, he looked at his grandmother in puzzlement. She knew he had lied. Was she going to tell on him? And then he understood the rest of her words. She was not going to tell on him. Instead, she was going to back him up. Without thinking, he smiled at her.

  "I love you, too, Grandma," he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear. Then he turned to his mother. "Mom? Can Shadow sleep in my room tonight?"

  Janet smiled and nodded her head. "All right. But just tonight."

  His face wreathed in smiles, Michael dashed to the back door and pulled it open. "Shadow! Come on, boy!" Instantly, the big dog loped into the kitchen, then paused to peer suspiciously at the three people who sat around the table. As Michael left the kitchen to go upstairs, the dog hesitated only a second before following. When the boy was out of earshot, Amos spoke.

  "I don't like that, Janet. Dogs belong outside. Particularly that dog."

  "Oh, Amos, it's only for one night," Janet replied. "Besides, the dog is crazy about Michael. He never leaves his side."

  "But we don't know where it came from. For all we know, it could be sick."

  "Shadow?" Janet asked. "Amos, that's one of the healthiest-looking dogs I've ever seen. But if it'll make you feel better, I'll tell Michael to make him sleep on the floor."

  "I'll tell him myself," Amos said. "As soon as he's in bed, I'll go up."

  "I'm not lying," Michael protested. He was in bed, the covers drawn tightly up around his neck as if they could protect him from the anger he could see in his grandfather's eyes.

  Amos sat on the edge of the bed, and in the corner, his ears up and his eyes alert, Shadow crouched watchfully, his tail curled around his feet, its tip twitching dangerously.

  "No one would try to run you down, and no one would try to kidnap you," Amos said once more. "And you didn't just fall off your bicycle, did you?" He spoke in a low voice, his eyes steady on the frightened boy in the bed. "Tell me the truth, Michael," he went on. "Sooner or later, you'll have to tell me the truth."

  "If you tell them the truth, you will die."

  Nathaniel's words rang in his head, and Michael squirmed further into the bed. "But that is the truth," he whispered. "I wouldn't lie to you, Grandpa. Really, I wouldn't."

  Amos's hand came up, and Michael was certain his grandfather was about to strike him. But then, from the corner, came a low snarl. Startled, Amos glanced over at Shadow. The big dog was on his feet now. His ears no longer stood up, but were flat back against his head, and his whole body seemed to be a mass of tension. Only when Amos lowered his upraised hand did the dog begin to relax.

  "I'm not lying," Michael said once more.

  But Amos seemed to have forgotten everything except the dog. "Where'd he come from?" he asked. From his tone Michael knew the old man wasn't asking him a question, so he didn't try to answer it. Then Amos's eyes shifted back to Michael. "We're going to have to get rid of him, you know. If his owner doesn't turn up, we're going to have to get rid of him."

  "Why?" Michael demanded. Suddenly, with Shadow threatened rather than himself, he sat up in the bed, the covers falling away from his chest. "Why can't I keep him?"

  "I don't like dogs," Amos told him.

  "But he's mine! He saved my life, and he's mine!"

  "No, he's not. He's a stray, and he doesn't have a home. And tomorrow, if his owner doesn't show up, I'm going to get rid of him."

  "No!" Michael's head was suddenly pounding, and his eyes blazed with fury.

  Amos's voice dropped dangerously. "Don't argue with me, boy. You know I won't be argued with."

  Shadow, sensing the menace to his master in the old man's voice, rose to his feet again, his fangs bared; his snarl barely audible.

  For a moment there was dead silence and then, as the dog and the old man watched each other with wary eyes, the tension in the room was broken by a tapping at the door. A moment later Janet stepped inside. Shadow instantly dropped back to the floor, resting his muzzle on his forepaws.

  "Is everything all right?" Janet asked. Amos rose to his feet. "Everything's fine. I was just saying goodnight." He reached down and patted Michael's shoulder. "See you in the morning. And remember what I said." Then he was gone, and Michael and Janet were alone, except for Shadow, who rose and padded over to the bed. As Janet lowered herself to the spot that Amos had just vacated, the big dog rested his head in her lap, and his large eyes gazed up at her.

  "He wants you to scratch his ears," Michael said. Janet tentatively touched the animal's ears, and his t
ail began wagging. Smiling, Janet scratched harder, and the big dog wriggled with pleasure. As her fingers continued to play over the dog's fur, she turned her attention to Michael.

  "Does it hurt?"

  Michael shook his head. He looked uncertain for a moment, then once more shook his head. "Grandpa didn't believe me."

  Janet frowned. "Didn't believe you? What do you mean?"

  "He didn't believe someone almost ran over me. And he wants to kill Shadow."

  "Michael, what are you talking about?"

  "He says we have to get rid of Shadow. We don't, do we? I can keep him, can't I?"

  "But what if his owner shows up?"

  "He won't," Michael said. "I think he's a stray. Besides, he saved my life. I can keep him, can't I? You won't let Grandpa hurt him, will you?"

  "Of course not," Janet assured him. "And if no one shows up to claim him, you can keep him. You may not be able to keep him in the house until we move into our own place, but he won't mind staying outside. Will you, Shadow?"

  Shadow sat down and raised one paw, which he offered to Janet. Solemnly, the dog and the woman shook hands. "See?" Janet asked Michael. "We just made a deal. After tonight, Shadow will sleep outside 'til we get moved. Then all three of us will share the house. Now, what do you mean, Grandpa didn't believe you? You mean he didn't believe someone tried to run over you?"

  Michael nodded.

  "Well, maybe he's right. In fact, he probably is. I'll bet the car was going much slower than you thought, and when you fell off your bike, they just stopped to make sure you were all right."

  "But—"

  Janet put a gentle finger to his lips. "Hush." She tucked the covers snugly around him. "Now, why don't you tell me all about the foaling. Was it interesting?"