A Hidden Beauty

by Jamie Craig

  The low murmur of male voices came from the front hall, growing louder as they approached the kitchen. Micah stood at the stove, dishing out his breakfast, when Jefferson appeared, but it was the sight of Ewan at his side that made Micah pause.

  “What are you doing here?” he blurted.

  “I’ve come to see you, haven’t I? I could extend the same question to you.”

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Jefferson asked.

  “Please. It’s been a long, cold journey.”

  Micah watched Jefferson wait on Ewan with as much grace as he had ever shown Micah, and felt a mild pang of guilt for resenting the intrusion. He would have to start sharing his time with Jefferson with the world soon anyway. He did not need to begrudge his friend a visit, especially this close to the holiday.

  “How was your Christmas?” he asked, gesturing for Ewan to sit with them. “Bounteous, I hope.”

  “When your father realized you had disappeared, he demanded I tell him where you went. I, of course, insisted I was quite ignorant of your whereabouts. He thought having me arrested would be a good way to prompt my memory.” Ewan paused and sipped from his coffee. “I spent Christmas in jail. I came here as soon as I could.”

  Micah choked, covering his mouth to keep from sputtering. “He did what? Why? I told him I was leaving.”

  “I suppose he didn’t actually believe you. He thought you were simply being obstinate, but that you would come around. He was…quite angry when he understood that you did not plan to return to the household.”

  He hadn’t expected this. When he’d made his decision, it had felt final. He’d been confident. Assured. He thought he had portrayed that to his father. Apparently, he’d been mistaken.

  “He shouldn’t have arrested you. He has to make restitution.”

  Ewan shook his head. “I’m just happy common sense prevailed and he had me released. I suspect your mother had something to do with that. She’s always had a soft spot for me. At any rate, don’t think he’s going to let you go without a fight. You know your father. He doesn’t like to be made a fool of, and you dropping out of Harvard and running away from home does just that.”

  Micah looked helplessly at Jefferson. “What do I do?”

  “I…I don’t know.” Jefferson wiped his hand over his face. “Your father might have guessed that you would come here. Or at least believe I might know something Ewan didn’t. Perhaps I should go check the post?”

  He slumped in his seat to ponder his predicament. “If Father is serious about my return, he’ll pursue every course. It’s likely he’d go to my professors, even though they despise him. Professor Simonsen, in particular, was not pleased with my choice.” He met Jefferson’s gaze. “All Father has to do is let him know I’ve left Boston. It would not surprise me if Simonsen deduced I came here. And he would try and contact you, especially after his threats.”

  Jefferson put a hand on Micah’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “We’ll think of something, Micah. Just remember that regardless of what they think, or what they believe, they have no power over you. They cannot compel your return. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Micah covered Jefferson’s hand with his own, meeting his lover’s gaze. He couldn’t say the words with Ewan present, but he hoped that Jefferson would know his heart without them. Without another word, Jefferson left, leaving him alone with his oldest friend and too many tumultuous thoughts.

  “Thank you so much for coming. Though I regret you had to make such a journey in the first place.”

  “I regret I made the journey now instead of with you. Why did you not ask me to travel with you?”

  Micah frowned. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Ewan might be bothered by his flight. “Because you have a life in Boston. And I cannot afford to hire you at the same wage my father does.”

  “I can find a job with a decent wage anywhere, Micah. But I cannot find a friend like you.”

  His throat tightened. “You would leave it behind?”

  “You are my friend, Micah. Besides, who will take care of you if you leave me behind?”

  Micah smiled at that, though Ewan’s sacrifice still overwhelmed him. “I’m doing quite well so far, thank you.” His amusement faded as thoughts of his predicament came back. “Though I doubt Father will think so.”

  “No, your father will probably not be impressed.” Ewan tapped his fingers against the mug. “Do you really mean to live here?”

  “Of course. Jefferson’s been more than gracious in allowing me to move in.” He tilted his head, regarding Ewan in curiosity. “You don’t really expect me to go back to Boston, do you?”

  “I don’t know. I think the possibility of returning is worth considering. Not because of your father, or your former professors, or the consequences you might be facing. I am…worried about your motivations for coming here.”

  His tone was careful, his word choice deliberate. Micah sat up straighter, suddenly wary. It had never occurred to him that he’d find opposition in Ewan. Ewan was the only one he’d spoken to about his desires.

  “Jefferson’s a good man,” he replied. “And he returns my feelings. I thought…Why aren’t you pleased for me? I assumed you, of all people, would understand.”

  “I am pleased that you have found somebody you love and respect. And I do understand your feelings. But I also know that Jefferson represents the chance to leave your family behind. I just want to be sure you’re here for the right reasons. And you realize the risk you are taking.”

  To hear such gravity from Ewan was unsettling. He had been a bedrock of support, but it almost sounded as if he was attempting to dissuade Micah from staying.

  “I love Jefferson. Any risk is worth it to be with him.”

  Ewan studied him for a few moments before nodding. “I will do anything I can to help. If you are certain this is where you want to be.”

  “I am. Nothing has ever made me feel as complete as I do here. Not even my verse, Ewan.”

  Ewan leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Then we must figure out how best to avoid your father. My biggest concern is that he will try to have Jefferson arrested on certain charges. I trust the two of you are being discreet, of course.”

  “Of course, but…” He blinked. These were circumstances he had never even considered. “Can he really do that? Surely, he wouldn’t go to those lengths.” Even as he spoke, however, he knew his father would.

  “Not unless he has some sort of evidence. The important thing is that you two are sure not to give him any.” Ewan reached out and touched the back of Micah’s hand. “I didn’t come here to frighten you, Micah. There’s a good chance that Mr. Yardley’s business or James’s new child will distract him from you. It’s not as though he paid a great deal of attention to you while you were there.”

  It stung, but it was true. Still, Micah knew he had to be careful.

  “What would you do? If you were me?”

  Ewan studied Micah for several moments before speaking. “I don’t think you will like my answer. First, I would find somewhere else to live. Mrs. Ruark’s room again. Or perhaps a home who is looking for a boarder, but I would make it a point to live there. I imagine you are, ostensibly, here for your poetry. I’d also make it a point to get something published this winter. Finally…I’d leave after the thaw.”

  His stomach dropped. “I can’t go back to Boston. Jefferson won’t return there.”

  “I didn’t mean you should return to Boston. I think you should go somewhere your father can’t touch you. West.”

  “West?”

  His mind raced. He had never considered options other than Wroxham. Of course, he’d never considered that his father would care enough to seek him out, either. But he would rather live a life far from the one he had known than one without Jefferson.

  “It will take some persuasion to convince Jefferson to leave,” he mused aloud. “Will you help me? Perhaps together, we can impress upon him how serious Father is about thi
s.”

  “Of course I will help you. But you can’t run off and leave me again without a word.”

  Micah smiled. “Never. If I did, who would take care of me in that strange new world?”

  “You’d be lost without me, clearly.” The tension in Ewan’s face disappeared, and he smiled. “You look like you’re happy here. I’ve never seen you so comfortable in your own skin before.”

  “I am. Jefferson makes me feel…” He caught the look in Ewan’s eyes and flushed, shaking his head. “Neither here nor there. But you’ll like him. I’m certain of that.”

  “I’ll like anybody who makes you smile that way, I’m sure. Of course, he might not like me so much when he learns my suggestion that you move out.”

  “Considering the alternative, I’m sure Jefferson will be fine.”

  Micah almost believed it too. In light of his current situation, he had no other choice but to.

  * * * *

  Jefferson had not been surprised at all to see Ewan. And he hadn’t been surprised by the news he brought, either. He had only been surprised by the fact it took so long for Ewan to arrive. He hadn’t even been surprised by the explanation for Ewan’s delay. His heart had twisted when he saw the horror on Micah’s face—followed swiftly by fear. Perhaps he shouldn’t have fled so quickly, but he didn’t quite know how to comfort Micah. Could he really tell him everything would be fine when he didn’t quite believe it himself?

  Jefferson didn’t know how far Richard Yardley would go to get his son back in Boston. On the one hand, he knew that Richard cared for Micah only as far as Micah could hurt the family name. On the other hand, if news—or even rumors—of their relationship ever hit Boston, it could scandalize the entire family and drive Richard to even greater lengths to protect himself and his name.

  Jefferson’s earlier doubts returned, along with a large dose of self-recrimination. True, he hadn’t brought Micah to Wroxham. But he hadn’t followed Simonsen’s explicit instructions to cut Micah out of his life. And that’s exactly what it would take—a cut with surgical precision that would leave a big, hollow spot in his existence. But if it would be best for Micah, did he have any right to selfishly resist the inevitable?

  He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice the utter silence, the blankness, of the village surrounding him. The only hint of life in the village was the thick smell of smoke. Jefferson registered it and dismissed it as merely a bonfire, perhaps started by children playing in the woods. He didn’t notice anything was amiss until he stepped into the mercantile and heard the unmistakable sounds of Emilia’s sobs. She wasn’t in the store, or behind the counter, and so he followed the sound of gasping breaths and flowing tears to the small room in the back.

  “Emilia? What is it?”

  Emilia looked up sharply at the intrusion, her eyes miserable, her nose puffy, her cheeks blotchy and wet. “You haven’t heard?”

  “Heard what?” He took another step closer and took the handkerchief out of his pocket. She stared at him without accepting the soft cloth, so he bent and pressed it into her hand. “What happened?”

  “It’s…” Another broken sob came from her and she buried her face in the borrowed handkerchief. “It’s…”

  “Is it your father?”

  She shook her head.

  “Is it…?” Jefferson’s heart stopped. “Is it Reverend Deem?”

  She nodded, and then exclaimed, “It’s the church! It’s possessed. It killed him.”

  “It didn’t…”

  “It did.” Now she looked at him with blazing eyes. “It did, and everybody knows it. Everybody saw it. You weren’t there, Mr. Dering, you don’t know what we saw.”

  “Reverend Deem passed on this morning?”

  “They’re all meeting at Mrs. Ruark’s. You should go. They’re going to figure out what to do with that church. Before it kills us all.”

  Jefferson took Emilia’s shoulders and forced her to look at him. “How did he die? Did anybody tell you?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “It matters. Please, Emilia. Please, tell me what happened to Reverend Deem.”

  Emilia looked at him doubtfully for a moment, but then she nodded. “Reverend Deem succumbed to a fever this morning.”

  “A fever? Was his fever a result of his injuries? I thought he was cut by the glass.”

  “I overheard my father tell my mother that the cuts were shallow and none of the glass was left in his flesh. It seems he suffered from weakness in his lungs.”

  “Emilia, go home. Don’t go near the church, please. Can you do that for me?”

  “I can.”

  “Good. Good girl.”

  Any other time, Jefferson would have helped her close the store. Any other time, he would have gone straight home and told Micah what happened. But he didn’t have the luxury now. Not while the church was in danger.

  Chapter 20

  Jefferson automatically turned towards the inn, but the wind picked up, and acrid, black smoke filled his nose. Not a bonfire. He saw the smoke rising above the inn’s roof, and in the winter silence, he heard the first snap of wood buckling in the heat. Jefferson’s heart lodged in his throat, and he began to run. He didn’t feel the snow beneath his feet. He barely heard the crunch as he ground the ice beneath his heel. As he raced towards the church, other sounds began to filter past his ear.

  Singing.

  Shouting.

  The bell in the steeple chiming furiously. Ringing, ringing, ringing, in his head, in his ears, vibrating in his blood.

  No. No. Please.

  He rounded the corner of the inn, and immediately began to cough. The orange flames licking the base of the church were brighter than the sun overhead, and twice as hot. The snow was melting all around them, running like clear streams of blood, reflecting the dancing light. Most of the villagers surrounded the church, but nobody made a move to stop the fire, or to keep the flames from spreading. Jefferson’s stomach tightened and rolled and something acidic burned the back of his throat.

  But it wasn’t too late. The structure wouldn’t be damaged beyond repair yet. He pushed through the crowd and got as close to the church as he dared. “What’s going on here?” The demand wasn’t addressed to anybody in particular, but everybody in the crowd watched him.

  “It’s an abomination,” Leah Hoxit snapped. Murmurs of agreement rippled through those surrounding her, and her small eyes gleamed in her lined face. “We’re destroying it before it destroys any more good people.”

  “No. Please, listen to me. It’s not the church. My grandfather built this church. Leah, your grandfather helped him. Mrs. Ruark, your father was here for the first services. This church isn’t an abomination. It’s…it’s sacred.”

  Mrs. Ruark shook her head. “Something sacred wouldn’t have killed a God-fearing man like Reverend Deem.”

  Rallying cries sprang up throughout the crowd, and a young man darted forward to throw another torch through one of the windows. Glass shattered, but it only spurred the rising animosity among the villagers.

  “What would Reverend Deem say if he knew you were burning down his church?” Jefferson’s voice rose with desperation. He knew he could not put out the fire without their help. “He loved this building as much as I do. This was his home. Is this how you honor his memory?”

  “We honor his memory by making sure nobody else dies.” Leah’s eyes grew colder than the wind whipping the fire into a frenzy. “We’ll build a new church. One free of the Devil.”

  “This one is free of the devil! These walls are free of demons. You can rebuild the structure, but you can’t rebuild…” Jefferson’s words faded as they all stared at him—unflinching, unmoving. “What about the Bible? Did you leave all of Reverend Deem’s belongings in there to burn?”

  More than one guilty look got exchanged. Clearly, they had been far too incensed to think through their actions.

  “The Reverend doesn’t have any family nearby anyway,”
Leah said stubbornly. “And they’re not going to want anything tainted by his death.”

  Jefferson turned to peer into the smoke-dark building. Could Joseph forgive him for walking away? Could he ever forgive himself for not trying harder? But what could he do? Shovel snow over the flames with his bare hands? Something about the crowd made him think if he tried, they would stop him.

  Help me.

  Pain drilled through his ear and into his skull.

  Please help me.

  Jefferson didn’t stop to think about how he could help a ghost. He didn’t even consider why a ghost would need help. He responded to the desperation radiating through the words. He responded as he would to anybody who cried out for help. He turned and ran into the wall of smoke.

  * * * *

  Micah laughed as he rose from his chair to pour a fresh cup of coffee. “I’m going to have to bribe you to keep you from telling these tales to Jefferson, aren’t I? He’ll never respect me again if you do.”

  “It’s hardly my fault you have such a penchant for getting yourself into trouble.”

  “And lucky for me, you have a penchant for getting me out of it.” He frowned when he was only able to fill his cup halfway. “Did we really drink the whole pot? That’s not possible. Jefferson’s only been gone…” His frown deepened as he pulled out his pocket watch. “He should have been back by now.”

  Ewan leaned back in his chair. “Perhaps Mrs. Ruark cornered him? She’s always up for a nice, long chat.”

  “Perhaps.”

  But some of Micah’s returned mood dissipated. Jefferson knew how he felt about his family; even with his concerns about the reverend, he had been gone much longer than Micah would have anticipated.

  “I’m going to finish getting dressed,” he announced. “Would it be too much to ask if you’d run and see what’s keeping him? The sooner we come to agreement on a plan, the happier I’m going to be.”

  Ewan nodded, and Micah left him rising from the table. With his thoughts in disarray, he tried not to consider the worst consequences should his father pursue him all the way to Wroxham. Jefferson was going to be very displeased to hear Ewan’s suggestions, but the more Micah weighed them, the more he thought they might be best. The last thing he wished was for Jefferson to experience the brunt of his father’s displeasure. Living together would only give Richard Yardley even more ammunition.