by C. Cervi
“Let me,” Grant said, coming up beside him.
Aaron turned his dark eyes on Grant—the man he held responsible for Emily’s death. But as he searched the man’s eyes—eyes filled with guilt and remorse, he lost the strength to resist. He moved back and allowed Grant to take the girl in his arms.
C
hapter 21
Afterwards, Aaron barely remembered the long walk into town, nor did he notice at what point the Gardener and the two other patients joined them. He and Keith had kept their arms around each other—each one struggling to hold the other up. Philip had walked quietly beside them, while Grant had carried Emily the entire time—a burden so light, and yet so heavy. It was dark by the time they reached the outskirts of the town, but even in the darkness, it was easy to tell that the town was in an uproar. Aaron didn’t know what was going on, and he didn’t care. He couldn’t have made his mind focus even if he’d wanted to. Their arrival added even more chaos. It appeared several of the town’s citizens, including the livery man and the owner of the mercantile, had disappeared during the night. Ignoring the questions, the prisoners passed through the crowds, not stopping until they arrived at the undertakers. Following the undertaker’s instructions Grant set the girl on a small table and covered her with a sheet. The undertaker brought in herbs and lit candles, surrounding her in soft light and beauty. Grant left after that, saying something about getting everyone situated, but Aaron refused to leave her alone, and the undertaker kindly offered to let the two brothers take his own room.
Aaron didn’t remember falling asleep—he didn’t even remember getting in bed, but the next morning, he woke to bright, warm sunshine and a soft breeze fluttering through curtains in an open window. He and Keith had shared the one bed, and he tried his best to get up without disturbing his brother. Some clothes had been laid out over a small chair, and he brought them up to his nose, breathing in the fresh scent—remembering a time when the smell of clean clothes was something he’d taken for granted. A light knock on the door startled him, and he turned to see the undertaker.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said, “but I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a bath for you.”
Aaron gave the man an empty smile. “That’s very kind of you.”
The old gentlemen led Aaron to a small wash room and handed him a towel.
“Just one thing,” the man said before leaving. “I really should get started. Where do you plan to lay her to rest?”
Aaron felt as if he’d just been punched in the gut, and he struggled to keep the bile rising in his throat from coming out.
“I want to bury her at my home,” he answered, his voice heavy. “It’s quite a ways from here.”
“I see,” the man said softly. “There are things that can be done. I’ll certainly do my best. I’d be happy to make all the arrangements for you.”
Aaron couldn’t bring himself to answer, and with a quick nod he entered the washroom and shut the door. He stood quietly for several moments, allowing his mind to take him back home. To a beautiful hillside overlooking the lake—he knew that was where he would bury Emily. After a moment, he removed his clothes and, wadding them up, threw them in the furthest corner. Several moments later, he slid into sweet, warm oblivion as the fresh, clean water lulled him to sleep.
It was another knock from the undertaker that finally roused him. Pulling himself out of the now cold water, he wrapped a towel around his waist and opened the door.
“I’m very sorry to have disturbed you again,” the man said, “but I’m almost finished and I thought you might like to see her one more time before I do.”
Another blow, felt just as sharply as the first, and he reached out a hand to steady himself on the wall.
“Mr. Colbert, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No,” Aaron answered after a moment. “I would like to see her. If you’ll just give me a minute.”
“Take all the time you need,” the man said kindly. “I’ll leave her just as she is for now.”
Aaron shut the door again, this time, making his way to a small washstand. When he emerged from the room, clean shaven, dressed in black pants and a soft white cotton shirt, he slowly approached the table where Emily lay. Just her face was uncovered, and he gasped when he saw it. The undertaker had taken the time to clean her up. Her black hair had been cut evenly and shone darkly against her pale skin. A large cut across her cheek caused Aaron to cringe. He reached out toward the scratch and, for the first time since he’d known her, she didn’t flinch away at his touch. Aaron heard someone coming up beside him, but he didn’t turn when Grant spoke.
“She’s beautiful,” the man said.
The two stood silently for a while. Grant kept taking a breath as if he wanted to speak. Finally, he seemed to find the courage to say what was on his mind.
“I know you can never forgive me. I know I can’t forgive myself. I should have done something a long time ago . . . I . . . I just wanted you to know that I intend to visit the families of all that were lost . . . in that place. I’ll be starting with Philip’s mother—it’s too far for the boy to go alone, so we’ll be traveling together.”
“How do you know where to go?” Aaron asked, thinking of all the people that had died in the past seven years.
Pulling a small book from his shirt pocket, Grant answered. “I’ve kept a record.”
“How many?” Aaron asked, never taking his eyes from Emily’s calm, white face.
It took a moment for Grant to answer, and when he did he sighed, “Let me carry that burden,” he said. “You have enough on your shoulders.”
“What about her family?” Aaron asked.
“She was alone,” Grant answered. “Her father was all she had.”
Alone. The word echoed in Aaron’s ears. But no longer, she would have a permanent place near his home, and he knew he would carry her memory forever.
A few more minutes of silence passed before Grant turned to leave.
“She saved me you know?” he said, stopping. “When the cat heard the explosion it ran off. It almost . . .”
Aaron turned as Grant’s voice broke. For the first time since last night, he took the time to really look at the man. His head was bandaged and there were deep scratches on the side of his face.
“Did you pull it off me?” he asked.
The man looked down at the floor, then nodded. Grant had almost died trying to save him, and even though Aaron knew a part of himself would never be able to forgive Grant, another part was willing to offer the man a small consolation.
“Thank you,” Aaron said.
Grant gave him a sad smile. “Philip and I will be leaving first thing in the morning. I hope you can take a minute to see him before we go.”
“Of course,” Aaron answered.
Grant left and Aaron reached out to Emily again, running a hand softly over her hair. She looked so peaceful—more so than he had ever seen her before. The words she had whispered in his ear just before she took up the torch floated through his mind.
“I’m not afraid anymore,” she’d said.
“You don’t ever have to be afraid again,” he whispered, leaning over to lay a kiss on her forehead.
He turned from the table and nodded to the undertaker, who was discreetly standing in a far corner of the room. As the man moved to finish his task, Aaron went back to their small room. Keith was still sound asleep. Aaron stood next to the bed, watching him for several minutes. Keith’s back was beginning to heal, but it would be a while before either them were ready to travel. Aaron’s own aches and injuries were, once again, making themselves known. But he knew it was the wounds he couldn’t see that would take the longest to heal. A rumble in his stomach reminded him of other needs, and he decided to go out and see what he could do about rounding up some food.
“If my brother wakes up, tell him I’ll be back soon,” he said toward the undertaker.
Stepping out of the building, Aaron blinked
against the bright sunlight. He wasn’t sure which direction to head in as he gazed across the street. What he saw caused his breath to catch in his throat. Three familiar horses were tied to the rail outside the small mercantile, but he was looking past them—to a tall man with silver hair. Aaron wondered if he was dreaming, but then the man turned and their eyes met. Aaron began stumbling across the street even before his mind registered what he was doing. The man ran toward him and they met, in the middle, father and son. Aaron felt his father’s arms circle around him, heard the sound of his father’s voice, and the dam that had been holding back his emotions suddenly broke. For a moment, he wasn’t a man anymore, but a boy, waking from a terrible nightmare to find himself safely wrapped in his father’s arms. Then, resting his head against his father’s strong shoulders, he wept.
The End
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Ruled By Fear
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