She didn’t answer for several seconds. “I don’t know what to think. I’m not certain. About you. But I do know that Franky would always stay loyal to you.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’m not really sure. And that’s half the problem.”
She turned and headed back toward the hatchery. Thomas watched her until she disappeared around the buildings. With a grunt, he kicked the railing—harder than he should have. It hurt his toes, and he growled at the pain. Why did he even care what she thought? Why did she demand such esteem from him?
The question echoed in his head for a time as he stood on the bridge, leaning over the railing and looking down at the blackness rushing by below. Listening to it, mostly, trying to hear answers in it. Eventually, deciding he didn’t have an answer for any of the questions assaulting him, he went to watch Franky fish.
And not until Franky had finished, and they’d gone to the farm where the others had stopped for the night, did it occur to him how he could stop them from resurrecting Mama.
For an opportunity presented itself.
During your Life Vision you wish to act. You wish to use that body you can sense in the pits of your mind, and do something to change the course of the life you’re watching. Only, by the time you’ve made a determination of what action to take, the next scene of your life is along, and you’re wishing to change this new scene. It’s a real joy, living every mistake over again, in a matter of days.
Chapter 22: A solution involving flames
Thomas could stop his family. He could stop the city council. He could stop the mayor. He knew how.
It came to him after he, Franky, and Miss Sadie reached the farm. As with the Baker farm, this one had a lane leading up through a field to the house—only this house was a two-story structure painted yellow and white, which elicited an “oh, how lovely” from Miss Sadie. Lanterns hung from metal curlies on the posts on the front of the porch and next to the door, washing the area in gold. The lane curved on past the house, continuing beyond the field, to the barn about fifty yards off. A man carrying a lantern closed the doors to the barn, but not before Thomas saw the wagon parked inside, with the coffin in it. The man came down the lane, whistling.
The image of the coffin stuck in Thomas’s head. He could see it there, unguarded, unwatched.
He imagined Mama laying inside it, arms down by her side, her face peaceful like it had been after she’d died.
Anything, Thomas. You lazy, no good son of mine—you do anything to keep me from coming back.
Thomas stopped at the porch steps as Franky hurried on up, anxious to show everyone the half a dozen fish he’d caught—one of which they would use in the resurrection spell the next morning. Miss Sadie stopped with Thomas.
At the door, his hand on the handle, Franky turned back to look at them.
“You know, Thomas, even though the hatchery didn’t want me, I’m glad you do.”
Thomas smiled despite the sting. Franky was a good brother. A fun kid. Thomas did love him. When he left the family farm, he could just take Franky with him. Would that work? Why not? At least the idea made Thomas feel better.
“That’s right,” he said. “And you’re a good friend.”
Franky smiled and entered the house.
Miss Sadie clicked her tongue. “You people just barge into others’ houses. So willy nilly. I don’t get it.”
Thomas just stood there, watching the man come down the lane from the barn. Off to the left, back beyond the barn, another light showed the fence of a corral, where a few dozen horses stood around with their noses in troughs or feeders. That light, too, began to come toward the house, bobbing up and down, illuminating the legs of whoever carried it.
As the old man coming from the barn approached, he and Miss Sadie exchanged pleasantries, and she asked if the Bakers were in this particular house.
The old man grunted, and spoke with a light northern accent.
“Yes, they are—smelling up the house. I’ll never understand why Hurricane’s mayor sent word for us to put them up. A more worthless bunch of people I never met.”
Miss Sadie stiffened and glanced at Thomas. A dull anger bubbled in his gut, but he didn’t let it show. He had work to get done, and reacting to the comment would only get in his way.
The man came close enough that his face resolved into shadows and lights from his lantern. He looked about sixty. His tone became mocking, similar to Papa’s voice.
“But by the blessings, they won’t be beholden to no man. No, they’ll pay for their night’s lodging. Just as soon as they get the money.”
Miss Sadie slid closer to Thomas. Her boots ground on the dirt. She nodded toward the door.
“This is your house?”
“No, I’m just the help. But you can come on in.” He headed for the door. “Mr. Milne told us you was coming.”
“I’d like to speak with the man of the house,” she said. “Before I go in. Get his permission.”
The man frowned and grunted, pointed with his chin at the man coming past the barn, carrying the lantern.
“He’s coming in from the corral. You can talk with him in a moment.”
He went inside.
“Your family is thought highly of,” Miss Sadie said, her tone teasing. “You must love it.”
“Oh,” Thomas said. “Yes, well, I sure do. Love it a lot.”
She linked her arm through his and half turned to look at him. It surprised him.
“They don’t know the entire family, though. The reputation comes from just one of you.”
He grunted and thought of David’s comments a few days before.
“Maybe, but more than one of us deserves it.”
She frowned and gave him that same look curious look, like he was a puzzle and she was trying to fit the pieces together.
“Do you even realize that you look at me like that?”
She started and looked away, as if embarrassed. They waited in silence for the man of the house to come down the lane. When Miss Sadie and the farm owner went inside, he could go to the barn and take care of Mama’s body once and for all. This time, he wouldn’t hesitate, like back at the river. This was his chance. He couldn’t let them disrespect Mama’s wishes by resurrecting her. Even if Mr. Milne did have a secret reason.
His heart beat harder and faster. He clenched his fists inside his pockets as the man of the house came down the lane. This time, Miss Sadie didn’t give any opportunity for badmouthing the Bakers.
“May I enter your house?” she asked as the man approached. “I understand we’re to stay the night here.”
“That’s right,” the man said.
Without slowing, he turned up the porch steps. As he reached the top, he turned the knob on the lamp, putting out the kerosene-fed flame. Miss Sadie followed him up the stairs. He placed the lamp on a little stand just outside the door, and went inside. She followed, looking back at Thomas with a questioning glance.
“I’ll be in shortly,” he said.
He still hadn’t moved from the same spot he’d stopped at before, in the moment he’d seen the coffin in the barn, unguarded. Now was his chance. He wouldn’t waste it. No matter the cost.
She nodded and shut the door.
The sound of the click seemed to break something inside of him, as if it set a monster loose. An arsonist monster.
* * *
Go, now! Do it, Thomas! Do it!
He bounded up the porch steps and grabbed the lantern the man had just left behind. Back at the stairs, he stopped to reach over and remove the still-burning kerosene lantern off of the metal curlie.
His heart hammered.
He jumped down the three steps and ran up the lane, holding the lanterns out wide to his side. The light bounced along ahead of him, and soon it illuminated the front of the barn and the red double doors. When he reached them, he placed the unlit lantern down, and cursed his luck.
A thick board sat across the doors, hel
d in place along its length by several iron bars that fit loosely over its front, so it could slide back and forth. In the very center of the board, a latch rested over the beam, held into place by a keyed padlock.
Who locked their barn? Thomas had never locked theirs. Of course, they didn’t have the money to buy a lock. But even still, no one had ever stolen anything out of their barn. Not that they had anything worth stealing.
Without much hope, Thomas pulled on the lock. It rattled, but didn’t give. He pulled harder, without effect.
He needed another way into the barn.
He picked up the lantern and headed to the right, around the side of the barn. Maybe a window would provide him with access to the inside. That was all he needed. Just access to the inside. The rest would be easy.
But this side of the barn, the broadside, had no windows. Only a few tall trees lined its side. He didn’t stop. Someone could come out of the house at any second. In fact, for all he knew, they could watch him from a window.
Around the back, he found two more double doors like the ones at the front. And, like the ones at the front, also shut and locked. He lifted the lantern over his head and looked for a window. Above, a door to the hayloft stood slightly ajar, but he had no hope of getting that high. He would have needed the gift of jumping to even grab hold of the lowest handhold.
He continued on around to the next side. The house came into view, all lit up in the front. He couldn’t see anyone in the windows or on the porch. The field extended out to his right, freshly plowed. Stillness lay over the land. The stars twinkled at him.
No windows here, either. Nothing.
He swore. How to get inside? He went back around the front, and checked the lock again. It held as solid as before, and perhaps had even grown more solid, just to spite him.
The lamp handles, just thin metal rods, dug into his hands as he clenched his fists. What could he do?
He circled around the barn, to the side with the trees. None stood close enough that he could climb them and jump onto the barn roof, then swing down inside the hayloft door.
The hayloft door. It had stood ajar. Just a little.
He hurried on to the rear and stepped back a dozen feet. He lifted the lantern, trying to direct its light toward the door.
About six inches. It stood open six inches. Tufts of hay hung out, smashed between the door and the post. Someone had tried to shut the door in a hurry, but the hay had stopped it.
Could he throw the unlit lantern up there and break it, spilling the kerosene over the hay? Then could he throw the lit lantern up, breaking it open without putting out the fire and, in fact, lighting the hay?
It seemed a long shot. But did he have any other options? His mind raced like the blood thundering through his head. No. He couldn’t think of anything else. It was all he could do.
He hadn’t wanted to burn the barn. He’d wanted to just get inside, douse the coffin, and start it on fire. Then, as it burned, he would push the wagon out. Simple. Much less destructive than torching the entire barn. Could he do something like that? Destroy a man’s property with whatever was inside it?
A trio of factors turned in his head: Mama’s voice, how he had hesitated the day before at the river, his own declaration to Mr. Milne that he would do anything.
Indeed, he would.
He would burn the barn, then find a way to make it up to the barn’s owner later.
He grunted, realizing he was starting to sound like Papa.
He placed the lit lantern down and took several steps back, trying to figure out the best place to throw from. He would have to toss the lantern about sixteen feet up. Not really far, but far enough that he worried about his aim. Back in the days when he had time to play with friends, he could chuck a rock and hit just about anything dead on, but a lantern was not a rock, and he hadn’t flung anything at a target for years. If only he had a lamp or two to practice with.
But he had to do it fast. Someone could come outside. He could not wait like he’d done back at the river.
He transferred the lamp handle into his right hand and bent his legs a little. He took a deep breath and began to swing his arm back and forth. Once. Twice. Three times. He gathered his energy and continued to swing. Any second now. Any swing forward would be the one that felt right. He had to wait until everything felt just right. Six swings. Seven. Eight.
It finally felt right.
He brought his arm forward and up, and with a grunt focused his energy and tried to estimate the exact moment to release the lantern, thereby creating the perfect arc.
The instant the lantern left his hand, he knew he’d held onto it for too long. He couldn’t have aimed any better, but he’d held on to it too long, and it arched upward at too high of an angle. It glanced off of the top of the barn door with a clank—pushing the door open a few inches—and his heart dropped with it as it fell down—.
And landed inside the door, in the hay, barely visible. Unbroken.
His next throw would have to go better. He would have to land it on the other lamp, so that the impact broke both of them.
He picked up the lamp and returned to his throwing spot. This time, he didn’t take the dozen practice swings before throwing. He couldn’t handle the suspense, the possibility of not knowing for much longer how things would happen.
He took a deep breath, pictured the perfect toss, and just threw it.
The flame flickered as the lantern turned end over end. The fire nearly went out—but it didn’t, and when the lantern landed on the other lantern, the glass shattered. The sound of fire consuming hay and kerosene joined the sound of the glass breaking.
Thomas’s heart leaped.
He would desecrate Mama’s body. He would turn her to ash.
* * *
It hadn’t occurred to him what it really meant to burn down the barn, to set Mama aflame. He’d only seen the need to stop the resurrection. But now, as smoke began to pour from the hayloft door, and as firelight flickered inside the barn, it hit him. He would never see her face again. Not at a funeral when he could pay his last respects. Not ever.
He cried out in despair. The flames inside the doorway leaped taller, illuminating the beams of the roof and a pile of hay. The fire crackled. The reek of smoke assailed his nose.
He couldn’t stop the fire now. It would consume the barn. He hated it, but he loved it. Mama would never come back to life, now. He’d done it.
He ran back around the side of the barn, past the open field, watching the house for signs that anyone knew what he’d done. It couldn’t have been two minutes since Miss Sadie had gone inside. To his left, inside the barn, a cow mooed. Then a second joined it. And a third. They would perish in the fire; a pang of guilt hit Thomas.
Just as he reached the front of the barn, a figure emerged onto the porch, and looked in his direction.
“Thomas!” the figure shouted.
Charles.
Thomas froze in place as Charles ran down the steps and started toward the barn.
“Thomas! What are you doing?”
Thomas glanced back. From this angle, the front of the barn looked fine. He could hear the hint of crackling flames inside, but he couldn’t otherwise discern any fire. It hadn’t grown large enough, yet. From the house, could Charles see the smoke rising out of the back, lit by the fire?
He decided not to chance it. He bolted toward Charles, steeling himself for another fight. He would tackle Charles, try to knock him out and keep him from alerting anyone of the fire. At the very least, he would pin him down and cover his mouth so he couldn’t shout.
Charles came down the lane, running at full speed.
“What are you doing? You stay away from Mama!”
He didn’t know. Not yet. He hadn’t seen.
Thomas redoubled his speed, clenching his fists. Charles ran toward him, his face twisting in rage. The distance closed at an alarming clip. Thomas stumbled on the dark ground, but caught himself and continued on. He ran low, p
reparing to hit Charles with his shoulder, wrap his arms around Charles’s body, and throw him to the ground.
But Charles stopped short. With twenty feet to go, he halted and his eyes widened as he looked up and past Thomas.
He knew. He’d seen the smoke.
Thomas barreled on, raising his voice in a roar. Just a second. Just a second and he would be to Charles.
And that’s about how long it took Charles to recover from the shock. He began to shout. “Fi—!
Thomas reached him, running full speed. His shoulder rammed into Charles’s chest, interrupting his shout and pushing the air from his body. But Thomas couldn’t wrap his arms around Charles. Their bodies fell too quickly. The impact was too jarring.
Grunting, they tumbled in a heap of arms and legs. Thomas skidded past Charles and ended up on his back, while Charles wheezed for breath as he rolled to his knees. They each stood, facing each other, Thomas looking toward the barn, Charles facing the house.
Smoke billowed up and out of the rear of the barn. It glowed an eerie orange from the flames that licked up the back of the building, and onto the roof.
Charles began to shout again, but Thomas dove at him, swinging. His fist connected with Charles’s jaw, and the shout disappeared in an incoherent grunt. The confrontation deteriorated into a flurry of fists and kicking. Thomas landed as many blows as he felt on his face and body. It proceeded just like a dozen other times they’d brawled.
Only this time, it didn’t feel like brothers brawling. Not the way Charles’s teeth bared and how his eyes burned with murder. Not the way Thomas’s own lips curled back or how the blows landing on him hardly seemed to make an impact or hurt him. A desperate determination coursed through his muscles and blood.
No, it didn’t feel like brothers fighting like brothers do. More like mortal enemies out for blood.
Charles landed a solid blow on Thomas’s chin, sending him spinning. He stumbled and his balance failed him, so he had to catch himself on both hands. By the time he straightened and turned back, Charles had started running for the barn.
“Fire!” Charles shouted. “Fire! Fire!”
Keep Mama Dead Page 21
