He stops walking. “That’s what Uncle Rob says.”
I’ve struck a nerve. “I didn’t mean . . . Fraser, I wasn’t laughing at you. I think what you’re doing is wonderful. So does Erica. I don’t care what your Uncle Rob says.” I search for the words that will make him feel better. “I’m proud of you.” The look on his face tells me I’ve said the right thing.
When we turn onto the main street we’re suddenly part of a crowd. It’s like a festival. But just outside the entrance to the Hall I notice a group of men watching everyone go in. An unspoken threat hangs about them like bad air. Fraser feels it, too. He goes rigid with tension and places himself very firmly between the men and me, although I’m sure he has no idea he’s doing this. As we enter the door I hear a laugh that startles me. It’s Lem’s laugh. But how could it be? I stop, confused.
“What’s wrong?” Fraser asks. “Nothing. I just—nothing,” I say.
Inside the theater I can see the weavers have been busy.
“Oh,” I say. The stage is decorated with handwoven rugs and hangings. Two elevated platforms face the stage on either side. “What are those?” I ask Fraser as we sit.
“Speakers’ comers. They’re amplified. People who want to be heard can line up at them.”
“It looks wonderful,” I say. Fraser beams.
“It certainly does, Fraser. What a fine job,” Erica says as she sits beside me. She is alone but I’m not surprised. This isn’t an event to interest Marrella at the best of times and she’s still upset about Carson. “I only wish William and Donna could be here,” Erica continues, looking around. “Where’s Clara?” When Fraser explains, Erica looks surprised. “Who’s taking the chair?”
“I asked this afternoon. Merna Bursey,” Fraser says. I remember the slight, hesitant woman who presented her cloth at the Weavers’ Guild meeting.
Erica frowns and lowers her voice. “I’m sure Clara knows what she’s doing but . . .” the critical words stick in her throat, so Fraser finishes.
“But Merna’s soft-spoken and lets others have their way. You’re not the only one who thinks so. There was a lot of talk this afternoon but no one wanted to spoil things by challenging Clara. And the other weavers won’t participate in the discussion tonight, so no one can say they’re trying to control things.” He sighs. “I wish Donna could be here.”
“So do I,” Erica whispers but quickly because the meeting is about to begin.
Merna Bursey steps forward. “On behalf of the Weavers’ Guild, I’d like to welcome . . .” she begins. But suddenly the men from outside pour in. Merna’s quiet voice is lost in the commotion as they take over the back of the Hall. Donna or Clara would know what to do but Merna stops, confused. I glance at Erica, who leans forward as if she would like to help. When the theater is finally quiet again, an undercurrent of hostility radiates from the back of the room.
Merna begins again. She finishes her welcome and explains the open discussion that will end the evening. “But first,” she says, “I want to provide a retrospective of events.” She begins with a history of Weavers’ Guilds in North America over the past century. I can’t believe it. People shuffle restlessly in their chairs as she drones on and on. The noise from the back of the room grows until finally a man shouts, “We’ll be here all night if this keeps up!”
“That’s right,” says another. “Are you trying to keep us from having our say?”
Merna turns bright red. “Of course not. If that’s how you feel, we’ll go directly to the open meeting.” And she sits down. “The meeting is now in session.”
Fraser groans. “She forgot to introduce the agenda,” he whispers. “We had an agenda, to keep the meeting on track.”
A big man stands in the back. He wastes no time. “I want to know how long we’re supposed to tolerate that place up the hill. When the Commission is gone, it’ll be nothing but a drain on us.” His voice is so much like Lem’s that I realize he must be Rob Howell.
“That’s right,” another man shouts. “Send the scum of St. Pearl back to the streets.”
He is talking about me. I can’t raise my eyes. Erica puts a protective arm around the back of my chair.
Merna struggles to regain control. “If you wish to speak, please line up at one of the speakers’ comers.”
“Don’t you try to control free speech,” Rob Howell says.
“The Commission did that long enough.” A murmur of agreement fills the room. Merna looks as if she will cry.
Erica rises, walks to one of the speakers’ comers, and very deliberately waits to be recognized. She is a full head smaller than Rob Howell and stands the length of the room away, but she faces him down across that distance until he looks at his feet. I sit up straighter in my chair.
“I hoped this discussion would progress more slowly,” she says, “but I can see it isn’t going to be a slow evening.” People laugh and the room warms by several degrees. “I’m concerned about the children in the workcamp, too,” she says and she goes on to explain how the camp could become a school. While she talks, others begin to line up and order is restored.
I recognize the next man who steps forward next. It’s Mark’s father, Daniel Jones. He speaks quietly but with conviction. “We all know where Madonna Walsh is tonight,” he begins. “My son Mark was unharmed but none of our youngsters are restored to us yet.” People shift uncomfortably in their chairs. Captain Jones nods to Erica. “You mean well, missus, but you’re an outsider still. You can’t ask us to take in what dregs the Commission dumped on our doorstep. It’s more than we can tolerate.”
His quiet dignity shifts the weight of opinion very firmly to Rob Howell’s side. People come forward, one after another. The workcamp was never wanted. The history of their efforts to prevent it are bitterly recounted. Some are angry and some apologetic, but all agree. The children in the camp will have to go. Hours later, when Rob Howell comes to the microphone again, I realize Erica has expected these people to be better than they can be.
“We all feel the same,” he says. “So what are we waiting for? The sooner we clear that place out, the better.” Muttered approval comes from the back of the room.
Merna Bursey rises from her chair. “Tonight’s meeting is only for discussion . . .” she begins, but Rob Howell cuts her off.
“No one elected you, Merna Bursey. Or the Weavers’ Guild for that matter. Women were good enough when no real power was at stake, but things are different now. It’s time some men took charge. I’m going up that hill tonight and when I come down, the place will be empty. Who’s coming with me?”
When he says this, a number of families gather their things and scurry away. I want to yell, don’t go, we need you! But it’s useless. They don’t care what happens as long as they aren’t responsible. Fraser has gone pale. Erica rises. “You can’t do this,” she says.
This time, Rob Howell will not be stared down. “Then stop me.” He leaves with about twenty men, mostly ones he came with. It’s only a fraction of the people in Kildevil but enough to do harm. And no one but Erica has tried to stop them. I think of the kids who are left in the workcamp, all little ones. Erica turns to Fraser. “Get Clara up to the Grand Hotel,” she says. He’s gone almost before she finishes. She turns to me. “I’m going to follow them. I have to.”
I grab her sleeve. “Couldn’t we contact Donna and William?”
Erica shakes her head. “There’s no time.” She thinks for a moment, then says, “Go to Lem. See if he’ll come. If he won’t, stay with him. Promise me, Blake. Don’t come down alone.”
I only nod, hoping this doesn’t count as a lie. With or without Lem, I’ll be back for Erica.
The back path is all uphill. After the first few minutes, I hear nothing but my own loud panting. But I can follow the progress of the men on the road below even through the trees because they have torches. I try not to wonder what else they’ve armed themselves with. From here, they look just like the torch-lit procession of the investiture. B
ut this is the complete opposite. A procession of hate and destruction. I hope Erica keeps out of sight.
Running alone and frightened, it isn’t hard to outdistance the men but when I reach the main path, I still have to get up Ski Slope. I haven’t a hope of returning with Lem before they get to the Grand Hotel. I don’t even know how Lem will react. If I pound on his door yelling in the dead of night, he might not open it at all. So, when I see his cabin, I slow and try to catch my breath. At least his lights are still on. I knock quietly and call as calmly as I can. “Lem, Lem, it’s me, Blake. Please open the door.”
After a painfully long pause, I hear a fearful “Blake?”
How could Erica have imagined he’d be up to this?
“Yes, Lem. Please. Let me in. Something bad has happened.”
The door swings open. “Are you all right?”
I nod, still trying to catch my breath. “It’s your brother. He’s got some men and they’re heading for the workcamp. They want the children out,” I say between gasps.
Lem’s face clouds. “He can’t do that,” he says.
I nod. “Erica is trying to stop them. She’s alone.”
“We’ll go.” He grabs his coat from a peg beside the door. Halfway down the hill something streaks toward us, sobbing in the dark. It’s a child but she doesn’t see us. I have to catch her by the shoulders to keep her from running by. She squeals with fright and I recognize her. “Poppy, Poppy, it’s me, Blake—Blay. I gave you the gloves. Remember?”
Her eyes come into focus. “Men,” she says, “at the workcamp. With torches. I got out the back.”
“We know, Poppy. We’re going to stop them.” Lem’s voice is quiet, conversational. He holds out his hand. “Come with me?” He could be asking her to take a pleasant walk. Poppy hesitates only a moment before slipping her hand into his. She must be too panicked to consider who he might be. Introductions can wait, I decide. She’s scared enough already. When she stumbles, Lem swings her into his arms and we continue down the hill. This time, I hear the mob before we see them. Rounding the corner of the Master’s house, we see a semicircle of men with torches at the front entrance of the Grand Hotel. Erica faces them like an animal at bay. Not a timid one. She looks like a wildcat.
By now, my legs are like water. I stop uphill from the circle of light, unable to plunge past the crowd. They remind me of a death squad. Lem leaves me behind and races to Erica. I think he has forgotten he’s carrying Poppy. The sudden appearance of this huge man with a child in his arms confuses the mob. They fall back, lowering their shovels and guns. Poppy freezes, blank-faced with terror. Lem speaks to his brother as if they were alone but his voice carries over the night air. “It’s not going to happen this way, Rob,” he says. “Nobody hurts the children.” I’m the only one who notices when Fraser and Clara arrive. Fraser frowns with the effort of trying to puzzle out what he sees.
Rob Howell’s voice is filled with scorn. “Go home, Lem. You’re just a crazy man. Everyone knows that. Go and let us do what needs doing.”
Lem shakes his head. “Before you touch these children, Rob, you have to deal with me.”
“And me.” Erica speaks for the first time.
“And me.” Clara pushes her way through the crowd.
A voice rings out behind me, almost scaring me out of my skin. “I am ashamed to witness this.” Marrella’s sense of drama serves her well. She has dressed in her investiture robe and carries herself like a queen. The men part respectfully to let her to pass. And I am proud to follow, even though my heart pounds in my ears. It seems the warders have no intention of coming out.
Five of us face the mob, Lem still carrying Poppy. We are badly outnumbered but Marrella has tipped the balance. No one would dare touch her. Then Fraser pushes past the crowd. He stands between his father and me, looking directly at his uncle Rob. “You’ll have to deal with me as well,” he says. His voice wavers only a little. After a silence that seems to last forever, the men begin to drift away in twos and threes. Rob Howell curses and follows them.
Erica leans against the door. “Thank you all,” she says. I can see she’s trembling now. “We’d better keep watch tonight. There’s a loud whistle in the house. We can use that to raise the alarm if they come back. Clara, you look ill. I’ll make up a bed for you now.” Clara looks grateful.
“Well, goodnight, everyone,” Marrella says cheerfully.
We stare at her.
“What?” she says. “You can’t expect me to lose sleep for this place. I’ve done enough.” She sails back to the house.
Erica takes Poppy’s hand. “Did anyone else run away, dear?” she asks. Poppy nods and Erica sighs. “We’d better find the warders then, before those children die of hypothermia.” Which leaves me with Lem and Fraser.
If I’d expected some sort of reconciliation, I’m disappointed. “I’ll be back in four hours,” Fraser says. He scoots up to the house without looking at his father.
I turn to Lem. “You were so brave,” I say. “I couldn’t have done that.”
He chuckles. “Little Wheat, you’re half my size. Besides, I know Rob. He’s mean but he’s a coward. I figured he’d back down.”
“What if he hadn’t?”
“I thought about that coming down the hill. I really do think I’d rather die than let what happened before happen again.” He runs a hand through his wild hair and smiles. “Next time, though, remind me to put the kid down first.”
Recovering What’s Lost
After Hilary died, I couldn’t cry. If you showed any weakness in the Tribe, they beat it out of you. So I learned to cry in my dreams. I haven’t done that in years but tonight, after my watch, I do. All night, I dream I’m crying, stumbling through the woods looking for the little kids who are lost in the cold.
In the morning, everything is quiet. I find Erica and Clara hunched over tea. “We found them all,” Erica says before I can ask. “Most of them were hiding in the sorting sheds. But the warders are leaving. They’ve probably already gone.”
“What happens now?”
“People have to take responsibility,” Clara says.
Erica sighs. “I wish William were here so he could assert his moral authority.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“That,” Erica replies, “is what Marrella used to such good effect last night. That girl never ceases to surprise me.”
Fraser enters the kitchen rumpled and yawning. “That couch in the study makes a fine bed,” he says, then he frowns. “Something I’ll be needing, come to think of it. Can’t expect Uncle Rob to welcome me home after last night. I expect he’ll find someone else to look after those goats.”
“Don’t worry, Fraser. We’ll find a place for you,” Clara says. “I never wanted that man to have you anyway.”
“Where’s Lem?” I say. This is unkind and I know it but I can’t stop myself. I’m furious with Fraser for turning his back on Lem last night.
“He went home after his turn at watch. I’ll make you both something to eat.” Erica’s tone tells me the subject is closed.
After breakfast, Clara hands me a list. “I want these people from town. Both of you go round them up for me now and bring them to us at the Grand Hotel. Those children need attention right away.” This is not a request. Any hope of avoiding Fraser vanishes.
I decide I’ll settle for an icy silence, but as soon as we step outside, Fraser says, “I know you think I should have spoken to him last night.” I allow a nod. “One good thing doesn’t undo a lifetime of bad,” he says.
So much for silence. “One good thing!” I explode. “He’s all good. You don’t know him.”
Fraser sighs. “You’re right, I don’t. All this time, I figured he’d be just like my Uncle Rob. I thought, one’s trouble enough. What do I want with another?”
My anger melts away. “Oh, Fraser, is that true? He’s nothing like your Uncle Rob. He would have died last night protecting those children.” I tell him what Lem told me,
even his joke about reminding him to put Poppy down next time.
“He said that?” Fraser says.
“Yes, he did. Would you meet him, Fraser? Please?”
He hesitates, then says, “I guess I could use a relative about now.” Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve thrown my arms around him. I push away, not knowing where to look. After a long, embarrassed silence, Fraser says, “Anyone else you want me to meet?” When I look up, he’s grinning.
“At least we know where you get your sense of humor,” I say. Then I see something on the road ahead that makes me jab Fraser in the ribs harder than I intended. “Ow!” he says.
“Look, it’s Warder November.” She walks slowly under the weight of her baggage. At the sound of my voice, she looks back. “Let’s catch up.” I break into a slow run. This makes her try to hurry. The idea that she might be frightened of me makes me laugh, but the sound of that laughter shocks me. It belongs to someone I would rather not know. “Wait,” I yell. Maybe she decides there’s no point in trying to escape because she stops walking and puts her bags down. “Where are you going?” I ask when I catch up.
“Away. I’ve arranged for a boat to meet me at the wharf.”
She looks younger without her uniform and her face is drawn with fear.
“What about the children?”
“They’re someone else’s problem now. I haven’t been paid since this trouble started. Special representative of the Commission. Ha! You know what happened last night. Am I supposed to sit here until someone else decides to take revenge?” Her voice is bitter. My hands clench into fists that feel like hammers. I want to make her pay for what she has done.
Fraser catches up. He picks up a bag without speaking and continues walking toward town. I stare after him for a moment, but then I understand. He is being someone who is not Rob Howell. My fists become hands again. I pick up another bag and follow him.
All the way to town, Warder November looks like she’s struggling to say something she has no words for. In the end, she settles for “thank you” when we leave her by the waiting boat. And that will have to do.
The Secret Under My Skin Page 19
