But the morning after the protest, the headline of the newspaper wasn’t Ambitious Young Man Saves Uncle. On the front page, right below Mysterious Gunman Fires During Protest, was a story with the headline Forester Wields Weapon. ‘He carried it in his pocket,’ the paper quoted a townsperson as saying. ‘A sling. All this time he’s been carrying it around with him. It makes me afraid to walk in my own town. Who knows what might set these people off.’ Elwyn thought it must have been a mistake, but the next day the paper said much the same, and again the next day, until Elwyn had no interest in the news. He took care to avoid the papers and all talk about the protest. But still he heard things. People talked about it incessantly, the ‘June 28th Protest’. It was in the air like the cottonwood fluff. Foresters marching through town, masked, cloaked in red. As word spread, the supposed numbers of Foresters grew from a couple dozen men and women to hundreds. Politicians began to talk about it. Tomison Garreth, Chancellor of the Central Territories and Rhoad’s political opponent, spoke about it regularly.
‘This is why the isolation we have cultivated is so essential to our way of life,’ a newspaper quoted Garreth as saying. ‘Isolation is a fortress against anarchy. The anarchy that threw our people into chaos, violence and destruction eight-score years ago. The anarchy that rears its head now and, for the survival of our Collective, must be kept back.’
Timothy tried to continue with Elwyn’s lessons as before, but hate-filled letters started pouring in, and diligent Timothy wanted to answer them all, defending his position with academic terms and references to the studies and bodies of work he admired. Elwyn wasn’t sure this was the way to respond – the letters were full of emotion, not reason, and in Elwyn’s experience, people didn’t listen unless they were spoken to on their own terms. Elwyn tried telling that to Timothy, but he was always hushed.
It was twelve days after the protest that an X was burned with strong-smelling vinegar into the grass that covered the Blackwell house. ‘Burn the Trash’ was painted on the door in red. Timothy turned pale when he read it, but Boaz smiled. Timothy had been jittery since the protest, startled easily by loud noises.
‘Boys, go to your rooms while I call the police,’ Timothy said.
‘I give it a week before my father realises how much trouble you are and sends you back where you came from,’ Boaz whispered to his cousin as they walked down the hall.
‘What have I ever done to you?’ Elwyn said. But Boaz ignored him, going into his room without giving his cousin so much as a glance. Elwyn stood in the doorway of the room, where things were organised in neat rows by size. The week had taken a toll on him, and he didn’t want to be unheard. ‘I asked you a question,’ he said. Boaz turned to face his cousin, his face going a little pink like his father’s. This is it, Elwyn thought. We will finally have it out, he and I.
‘Are you really that stupid? You being here is the problem, tree trash. Do you know what people are saying about my family? Now that they know we are related to people like you?’ The sneer was gone from Boaz’s face. It looked serious and almost scared. ‘I told my parents things like this would happen if they took you in, but they didn’t listen. My father only cares about his work, and my mother doesn’t care about anything. It’s up to me to look out for the reputation of this family. I can’t count on anyone but myself.’
Elwyn, who had prepared to channel his disappointment and confusion into an argument, found the anger drained from him. It wasn’t lost on him that Boaz, though hateful, hadn’t sent him out of his room, hadn’t shut the door in his face.
‘I knew this man, Otis, who lived up in Kegonsa,’ Elwyn said. ‘He was the skinniest, smallest man around, and he was afraid of everything. He didn’t go on hunts because he was afraid of getting caught in a trap, he didn’t go fishing because he was afraid of falling into the water, and he never said a word to the woman he liked because he was afraid she wouldn’t like him back. And when people asked him if he ever planned on getting married, he said what you just said. “I can’t count on anyone but myself.”’
‘What are you talking about?’ Boaz said, looking even more irritated at his cousin.
‘See, one day Otis’s brother teased him so much that he finally agreed to go fishing. And would you believe it, he was so lightweight that when a large fish pulled on his line, Otis was pulled right into the water. The fish dragged him around the lake half the day, and he didn’t dare let go because he couldn’t swim. Of course, people gathered around watching. They thought about helping, but Otis wasn’t in real danger, and there’s not much entertainment in the woods.’
‘Shocking,’ Boaz said spitefully.
‘It was after lunch when the line broke and Otis struggled his way to the shore. And you know what he did then? He went straight up to that girl he had his eye on and proposed right then and there, his clothes still sopping wet. And she said yes. Not only that, but she was so happy, and he was always so eager to treat her with this or that good thing to eat, that she got fatter and fatter and became one of the largest women you’ve ever seen. And because Otis had his wife’s weight by his side, the man wasn’t afraid of fishing any more, or of anything else.’
‘Are you telling me this to try to help me?’ Boaz said.
‘We all need help,’ Elwyn said.
But Boaz was angry now. He moved to the door. And before he shut it, he spat on his cousin’s face. Elwyn wiped his cheek, disgust rising in him. He banged on the closed door with his fist.
‘What is wrong with you?’ he yelled. Boaz was leaning against the door to try to prevent Elwyn from entering, but Elwyn threw his weight and shoved it open. Boaz stood, looking well pleased with himself, and Elwyn, for the first time, really did want to hit his cousin. But Foresters never fought people weaker than them. Years ago in Badfish Creek, it came out that Victor Page was hitting his wife, Laura. And all the Forester men in town – and any women who were stronger than Victor, too – lined up at his door and one after the other gave him a punch to the jaw.
‘You know, I used to want to meet you,’ Elwyn said. ‘When I heard I had a cousin out in Hill Country, the same age as me. I used to imagine we’d meet someday. Become friends.’
‘I never wanted to meet you.’
‘You’ve made that clear enough. So maybe you don’t like me. Some people don’t. I don’t care. But you have six other cousins in Badfish Creek you haven’t met. And an aunt. Each of them is worth ten of you, and you don’t even care if you ever meet them.’
‘Oh no, you’re wrong. I do care. I would rather cut off my own right hand than have any more tree trash showing up on our doorstep for the whole world to see. Asking for favours.’
Their voices had grown louder and louder as they talked. When Elwyn heard Timothy rushing down the hall towards them, he thought their fight was the reason. He looked at his cousin’s defiant face before turning to his uncle. He thought maybe Boaz was right, and his fate with the Blackwells was being decided right there. But when Timothy appeared around the corner, his face was shining with perspiration and happiness.
‘Elwyn,’ he said, breathless. ‘I’ve just received a telegram. My publisher will be here tomorrow to discuss something with us.’
‘Is that good?’ Elwyn said.
‘“Is that good?” This protest, this opposition, may be the best thing that could have happened. I’ll admit I was getting worried. But, you see, all this attention you’ve drawn to us and our project… my publisher must think it will drive up interest in my book. I think he’s going to ask if we can release the book sooner than planned.’ Timothy glanced at his son. ‘Don’t slouch, Boaz. It reflects poorly.’
Timothy ate three helpings of dinner that night and half of the massive strawberry cake he asked the cook to bring out in celebration. The joy was infectious. Elwyn found himself caught up in it; even Piety gave what seemed like a heartfelt congratulations to him and his uncle, wishing them both luck. It was the first time Elwyn had seen his aunt and uncle looking happy
together. They seemed elevated by the possibility of good news: hope has a way of transforming all people. Only Boaz was untouched by the lightened mood. His sulking had an air of the sinister.
The next day, Timothy had Elwyn bathe in water and buttermilk, dress his best, comb his hair. But when the publisher arrived, he hardly glanced at Elwyn. He was a grey, discerning man.
‘Timothy,’ he said gravely. ‘May I speak to you in private?’
CHAPTER 17
Tree Trash
WITH THOSE WORDS, all the happiness was let out of the room. The clocks were the only sound. Timothy’s face went dull. He led his publisher to his office and closed the door. Elwyn followed and pressed his ear to it.
‘I’m sorry, Timothy. It’s been decided,’ the man said.’ Due to recent events, we’ve decided times are too contentious for this sort of work. If our university wants donor support—’
‘But surely you saw the efficacy of my methods.’
‘Efficacy has nothing to do with it. People are afraid, Timothy. They’re hearing stories about a mob dressed in red invading their square. A Forester with a sling, a wild man with a gun. No one wants to financially support a university that puts out a book detailing how to bring these people into society.’
‘It’s just a flash in the pan. It will all pass by the time we get this book polished and ready for distribution,’ Timothy said.
‘There is no “we”. There is no collaboration here. No partnership.’
‘But after all we’ve been through, Jared.’
‘That was a long time ago, Timothy. A long time ago. I came only as a friend. Only to let you know before you waste too much of your time on this little project.’
Elwyn winced at the word ‘little’. He waited for his uncle to defend himself and his work, but Timothy was silent. The silence tugged at Elwyn. He hated hearing his uncle so helpless. So weak. He couldn’t leave him like that. Elwyn opened the door.
‘Hello.’ He extended his hand to the publisher. ‘I’m Elwyn Bramble. We met a few minutes ago at the door.’ The man looked confused and hesitated a moment before shaking Elwyn’s hand. ‘And I want you to know that this isn’t just a little project. It’s groundbreaking, and really important at a time like this. Isn’t that right, Uncle Blackwell?’
Timothy stood silent, red.
‘I can recite the first few lines of Virgil’s Georgics for you. In Latin. I don’t really understand it yet, but I’m getting better—’ Elwyn continued.
‘That’s enough, Elwyn,’ Timothy interjected.
‘Or Seneca, maybe. My uncle just had me start memorising De Constantia Sapientis.’
‘I’m going to go now, Timothy,’ the man said, returning his hat to his head and moving towards the door.
‘Wait!’ Elwyn stepped between the man and the door. ‘You’re missing a great opportunity. An opportunity to be on the right side of history,’ he said, parroting his uncle.
‘Elwyn, I said that’s enough!’ Timothy shouted, spit flying from his pink face. Elwyn was surprised into silence. The publisher stepped gingerly around him, keeping plenty of space between their two bodies.
‘I’ll let myself out, Timothy. Send the boy back to the fields. Let him be with his own people. Where he belongs.’
The door shut, and Timothy grabbed Elwyn by the scruff of his shirt. Timothy wasn’t strong, but anger filled him, his eyes wild with rage. At first Elwyn was sure his uncle was going to hurt him, pull something off the wall and send it crashing over his head. But instead, Timothy dragged Elwyn to his room, pushed him in, and locked it from the outside. Elwyn was too shocked to resist.
‘You will learn not to open doors you have not been invited to open.’ There was a lack of restraint in Timothy’s voice, and, for the first time, a raw, untethered emotion. His vanishing footsteps were as rapid and heavy as Elwyn’s heartbeat.
Elwyn could hardly believe what had happened. He kept waiting for his uncle to come back and unlock the door. The light outside Elwyn’s window lost its harshness. Time ticked on. It was nearly sunset when Timothy returned. He spoke through the locked door.
‘I don’t see any reason for us to carry on with the project. Your time here has come to an end,’ Timothy said, the heavy wood muffling his voice, but not enough that Elwyn couldn’t hear the current of anger still running through it.
Elwyn had been sitting on his bed, channelling his frustration into a piece of string and a series of complicated knots Allun had once tried to teach him. He had been handling the injustice of the last couple weeks with what he thought was patience, even grace. But this was too much. He walked to the door to be sure he was heard.
‘You don’t see any reason to go on?’ Elwyn challenged.
‘I will make arrangements for you to return on tomorrow’s train.’
‘I’ve done everything right. Everything you’ve said, I’ve done. I followed all your rules. I read all the books you told me to. Did the exercises. And do you think I wanted to? No. But I did it anyway. I did it because you’re my uncle, and you helped me when I asked for help.’
‘You disobeyed me. You should have been at home working, not at the protest,’ Timothy said, getting pinker.
‘That gun was aimed at you. I saved you.’
‘You opened us up to scrutiny!’ Timothy’s voice boomed with a strength Elwyn didn’t know his uncle was capable of. He could feel the wood vibrate. Then hush came over the room, punctuated only by the ticking clocks. Elwyn thought for a moment that his uncle had gone. ‘You’ll leave tomorrow. That is final,’ Timothy said quietly, before his footsteps once again echoed down the hall.
Elwyn was alone in the quiet. The room wasn’t as big as it had seemed when he first arrived. The stacks of books on his desk, the papers and pencils that had seemed to keep him captive now looked innocent, such a small price to pay for the life he wanted. Why hadn’t he kept his head down, done the work he was asked to do? Why did he compulsively stick his neck out and try for something more? Why couldn’t he just be content with what he was given, like everybody else?
Elwyn lay on his bed and looked at the ceiling as the sun grew dim and twilight neared. He felt drained of energy, drained of himself. But then just a spark of that old fire flashed in his chest. He rose to his feet, moved a chair to stand on, and began to work at the skylight frame with the letter opener from his desk. He prised at the glass and wood until it finally loosened, and Elwyn lifted the window and pushed it aside, then crawled onto the grass.
The evening was starless and heavy with clouds and heat. Fireflies still flourished in the fields. Gas lamps in the town were being lit, twinkling in their glass cages, and at the front doors of inns and houses. Elwyn turned away from the centre of town, towards the river and the hill to the north, where the Rhoad house perched like a giant lantern, its many windows alight against the blue-purple sky.
He knocked on the door, but no one answered. When he knocked again, the door opened, but this time it wasn’t the old woman. It was Rhoad himself, weight on his left foot, a crutch under his arm.
‘Oh. It’s you,’ he said, looking past Elwyn for a moment, as though he was expecting someone else, someone who might appear through the half-light behind him.
Elwyn was surprised to see Rhoad. He had thought the maid would come, would make fun of him and let the dogs out. This stroke of luck bolstered his confidence. ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘Here to ask for another job?’ Rhoad’s clear, authoritative voice sounded harsh in the stillness of the night.
‘I have a proposition for you.’
‘Is this going to end in my foot getting shot again?’ Rhoad said, the soft light casting deep shadows on his handsome face.
‘It’s about your campaign. I’ve heard it’s in trouble.’
‘You acted courageously. I see that. If it weren’t for your actions, a man may be dead, and the situation I find my campaign in could be even worse. Thank you. Now, go home.’
‘I think you sh
ould hear what I have to say.’
‘I understand things aren’t pleasant for you. You acted boldly and instead of being rewarded, all people see is a Forester with a sling in his pocket. That is just the way these thing go sometimes. It is not fair, but it is human nature. I have myself and my own affairs to think of. This protest has voters terrified. They’re flocking to Garreth. I don’t have time for your problems, I’m busy enough with mine.’
‘That’s why I’m here. I have an idea for how I can help.’
‘And I’m sure this is purely for my benefit. No self-serving motives.’ Rhoad’s sarcasm was as dry and hard as the stone steps where Elwyn stood.
‘Of course I have self-serving motives. That’s what business is about anyway, isn’t it? It’s an exchange that works out for both people. Otherwise it’s not business, it’s swindling.’ Rhoad didn’t invite Elwyn inside. He studied him, and Elwyn looked directly back. ‘I understand your situation,’ Elwyn began. ‘I read about you in books, how you got to where you are. You took risks. You never balked. You and I have that in common. I also believe in being bold when things get hard,’ Elwyn said. ‘Doubling down. Not sitting around complaining about a bad foot, hoping things get better.’
That was when it began to rain, a fast, heavy rain that poured out of the sky all at once and turned into warm gold where it was touched by the gaslight. The water drenched him, but Elwyn didn’t move, and Rhoad still didn’t invite him in. The two of them stared at each other.
‘I want to be your campaign assistant,’ Elwyn said, raising his voice to be heard over the downpour. ‘Everyone will expect you to put as much distance as possible between yourself and folks like me, but you’ll never be able to play into people’s fear the way Garreth does. You aren’t about self-protection. I’ve read your speeches. You said we have to “let go of old baggage to free our hands for the building a new future”. So why are you running a campaign the same way everyone does?’ Rhoad’s face did not change as he listened to Elwyn.
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