Reverend of Silence

by Pamela Sparkman

  However, it was Wednesday. Noah would be walking Lucy home instead of me. I started to smile when a thought struck me.

  “What?” Noah asked. “What’s with the smirk?”

  “You have to go home wearing wet shoes.”

  Noah lunged for me, but I was ready for it this time and took off running, hoping I could get to Lucy and Mama before he caught up to me. However, being in our stockinged feet, we slipped and slid on the wood floors, which was uproariously good fun. I saw the door to the classroom, reached for the handle, slipped, caught myself on the door frame before falling, but Noah, he zoomed past me on one foot, the other in the air, his mouth open, his eyes wide, and then there was a multitude of sounds that followed . . .

  First, there was a shriek from my mother after she opened the door and saw Noah whiz by. Second, Noah’s body hit a very stiff, very hard oak table at the end of the hallway. Third, Noah’s body hit the floor. And fourth, a very distinct sound of a wobbling, wobbling, wobbling vase that sat atop of that stiff, hard oak table, and then . . .

  “Caught it!” Noah exclaimed.

  I was afraid to look, but curiosity and all that, and what I saw was Noah contorted in the most unusual way. I wasn’t even aware a body could bend quite like that, but he’d saved the vase, somehow, by crisscrossing a leg over the other and snagged the vase midair by a foot, a handle, and by all accounts, a prayer.

  “What were you boys doing?” Mama gasped.

  “We cleaned our shoes,” I said. “And we had to leave them outside.” I picked up one foot, showing her my stockings. “Our feet were slipping on the floor.” There, I hadn’t lied. I just hadn’t told the whole truth.

  “Was there a herd of buffalo chasing you through the house?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “An army of invaders, then?” I shook my head. “I see. So you were running in the house for no reason. Someone could have been hurt.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Uh, could I get a little help over here?” There was a pause and then a very pained, “Please?”

  The minute my mother slid her eyes from mine and caught sight of Noah, she moved toward him, her pinched expression smoothing over. “Oh, Noah, are you hurt?” she asked, taking the vase and setting it back on the table, which enabled him to finally stretch his legs and arms back into a normal position.

  “My foot may be bruised. And my arms. And my pride,” he answered, groaning and wincing.

  Mama’s mouth twitched, trying not to laugh. He had looked rather ridiculous. “Yes, well—”

  “Are you going to say anything about this to my mother, Mrs.—”

  “No, I’m not going to say anything. I think we’ve learned our lesson, haven’t we?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am. Absolutely.”

  “Mm,” she said, eyeing us both. “I’m going to go check on supper. Help Lucy gather her things, will you?”

  I stuck my hand out to Noah. “Need help getting up?” He slapped his hand in mine. I helped him to his feet. After he rolled his neck and shoulders a bit, I asked “You good?”

  “I’m all right.”

  We entered the classroom where Lucy sat at her desk doing her lessons, blissfully unaware of the trouble Noah and I had just gotten into. She lifted her head upon our entering, as though she’d felt our presence, and all I wanted to know was if she’d had a good day. I wanted to sit down beside her and let her tell me all about it. She liked to tell me about her days, showing me books she had read. Sometimes she would take out scraps of paper of things she had written—of thoughts she’d had during the day. Lucy liked to ponder things about the world—like kindness and cruelty and what made people the way they were. I suppose it was because of the life she had lived that made her ponder such things. I often had no answers to give her. I don’t think she was looking for answers, not from me anyway. I think she just liked having someone to share her thoughts with. As for me, I just liked being with her and knowing she chose me to share them with.

  But it wasn’t Tuesday or Thursday, and she had no reason to tarry. She gathered her things and moved toward the door—toward me, smiling as she approached. And as she did, I couldn’t help noticing how the sunlight washed over her as it spilled in through the windows. It did something really pretty to her hair, making her eyes shine brighter, and I got lost for a moment. I went from wishing to know how her day was, to wishing I had been a part of it. And I wondered—have I always felt this way about her? Or was this something new?

  “What’s happening here?” Noah asked.

  “What? Nothing,” I said.

  “Nothing,” Noah repeated, placing his hand on my chest and inching me backward. “You were staring. You were both staring.”

  “I—I wasn’t. We weren’t.”

  “Sam—”

  “It was nothing,” I insisted. “Lucy and I—we’re friends. That’s all. Just friends.”

  Noah lifted one dark brow. “Well, I’m your friend, too, Sam, and you have never looked at me like that. Not once.”

  I reared back. “Like what?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Come on, Sam. You think I’ve never noticed how you look at her? You like my sister. I’m not mad about it. Why are you denying it?”

  I started to walk away but Noah grabbed my arm. “Why can’t you admit it?”

  I tried to pull away again, but Noah, he never let anything go.

  “Noah,” I warned.

  “Just admit it,” he said.

  Mama’s words still echoed in my head. Be her friend, Sam. Sometimes a friend is all we need. I had taken Mama’s words to heart, and right or wrong, that was what I was going to be to Lucy—her friend. Because I happened to think a friend was what she needed most. Because I cared about Lucy more than I cared about anything in the whole world. Because I couldn’t let anything stupid come between us, and what if I did something stupid? And because I didn’t know what was happening with me and what I was feeling, because I had been feeling things for Lucy ever since I’d met her.

  I twisted free of Noah’s hold, and before walking away, I said, “We’re friends, Noah. We will always be friends.”

  It was a promise.

  To him. To me.

  But most importantly, it was a promise to Lucy.

  Noah and I walked to school together the following day, and even through lunch we didn’t speak of what had transpired the day before. I was grateful. Still, it did little to ease the awkwardness I felt whenever he glanced my way, like he wanted to say something yet kept his counsel.

  After we walked home, Noah saluted me with a goodbye at my house and continued his way home. I made the climb up the porch steps and fought the urge to run through the house again to get to Lucy faster, but I took measured steps, one foot in front of the other, even though my heart felt like a runaway train that had gone off the tracks. It was Thursday. I loved Thursdays.

  “Oh, good, you’re here,” Mama said when I entered the classroom. “Set your things down over there and come over and sit.” She spread out sheets of music she wanted me to play.

  After doing as I was bid to do, I sat on the bench seat in front of the pianoforte. Lucy was staring out the window, her back to me. I stole a quick glance at her, very briefly, and then looked to see what I would be playing today. It was torture not to look at her. And it was torture if I did. It pained me either way, and I had no idea when or how I came to be here—in this place with Lucy. It was as though I’d gone to bed perfectly fine one night and woken up all twisted up.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” my mother said, taking a seat next to me.

  I placed my fingers on the keys and began playing the piece that I had been practicing, knowing it almost by heart.

  Lucy moved from the window toward the piano, placed both her hands on it, and closed her eyes. This was the part I secretly loved about Tuesdays and Thursdays. The part that felt that I was somehow making a difference in Lucy’s day. Even if
I didn’t know what sort of difference I was making.

  “You play that very well, Sam,” Mama said when I finished.

  “Thank you,” I said. “What else would you like me to pl—”

  The tlop, tlop, tlop of horse hooves interrupted our conversation, my mother having gotten up to see out the window. “Your father is home early.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “I hope everything is all right.”

  Mama went to greet him, leaving Lucy and me alone momentarily. I scooted over and invited her to join me on the bench. I didn’t have my slate with me, which was what I preferred to use whenever I wanted to have long conversations with her. We could write and erase words quickly, tell jokes, and stories. But I’d left it by the door. However, I knew the signs she used and the few signs Mama had brought back from Hartford. It was just harder to say everything I wanted to say when the signs we had were limited.

  But I knew the sign for “pretty” and “today” and pointed to her.

  She blushed and signed, “Thank you.”

  I gave her a nod and looked away. We both stared at the keys on the piano like they held answers to life’s questions. Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw her hand come off her lap. She placed a finger on one of the keys, hitting the E note, once, twice, three times. I encouraged her to continue. She smiled and pressed another key. And another and another. I imagine she could feel the vibration of the note through her finger.

  I took her hand and spread her fingers over the keys. Then I splayed mine over hers and guided her through the notes I wanted her to play, gently, softly, until we were playing music together. And though she couldn’t hear the song, she could feel it. I could feel it.

  I don’t know who stopped playing first—her or me—but we both grew still. And I wondered if I turned my head—if I leaned in . . .

  My head swung in her direction when I felt her hand on my knee. Those big golden eyes captured me, and my breath caught. She searched my whole face like she was trying to read me, and I tried not to blink, hoping maybe she could figure out what I hadn’t been able to. Maybe this time she found an answer.

  “Hi,” I breathed. And my lips said, I’m Sam, as they touched hers. It was barely a kiss, but for the next few seconds, I didn’t think anything bad could ever happen again.

  Then my mother screamed and then she was the one running through the house and charging into the room, holding a piece of paper.

  I was on my feet, clutching Lucy’s hand, my heart galloping inside my chest. “What is it?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “She got in. Your father just got a letter. Lucy’s been accepted,” my mother said excitedly.

  “Got in? What are you talking about?” I asked.

  Papa stepped into the room. “You never told him, Sarabeth?”

  “I—no. I didn’t want him to get his hopes up.” She held up the letter and focused back on me and Lucy. “When I was in Hartford, there was talk to get a school open for the deaf, and well, they did it, they opened a school two years ago.”

  She stretched her hand out toward Lucy, the one with the letter, and Lucy took it, her eyes instantly reading over the words.

  “After I came back, I discussed the possibility with Lucy’s parents, and they agreed that if Lucy could attend a school such as that, then she should. I’ve maintained correspondence with Miss Huntley, and she has been a great help to me—to us—to get Lucy accepted as a student there. This letter is her acceptance letter, and she’s also been granted a waiver for her tuition. Samuel, do you know what this means?”

  I couldn’t swallow, and the room was going in and out of focus.

  Mama tugged me by the shoulders. “Sam, listen to me. I’ve done everything I can for Lucy. I’m limited with what I can teach her. This school . . . it will open a great big world to her. We have to let her go if she wants it.”

  Lucy lifted her head from reading, eyes now filled with tears. She clutched the letter to her chest, and I knew. I knew. Lucy wanted it. But I had to ask anyway.

  I pointed to the letter, and then asked her in sign, “You, go?”

  She pulled the letter away from her chest, scanning the words again, then moved to the piano bench and sat. She nodded her head, eyes on her lap, then her eyes swept up to mine and she nodded again and signed, “I go.”

  I walked Lucy home. We didn’t talk. I just held her hand the whole way. When we got to her house, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. Let go or hold on.

  Lucy stepped through the doorway and I stood on the porch. “Good night,” I signed.

  “Good night.” Her eyes were shiny, and I knew she was trying not to cry. I understood.

  “Sam!” Noah called. “I was beginning to worry. What took you so long?”

  As soon as Noah approached, Lucy dipped her head and left us.

  “I’m sorry I’m late bringing her back.” I turned to leave.

  “Hey, don’t go yet. I wanted to talk to you about the dance.”

  “I’m not going to the dance.”

  “What? I thought you said you had to—”

  “You were right, Noah. About what you said.” I took the letter out of my jacket pocket and handed it to him. “I do like her.” I looked up and willed the tears to not fall . . . for my voice to not break. “So much.” I looked at Noah and said, “But it doesn’t matter because she’s leaving.”

  “Who’s leaving?”

  “Lucy.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Read the letter.” I stepped off the porch and began my walk home.

  “Sam! What are you talking about? Sam!”

  I didn’t answer. I kept walking.

  Because my heart—it was breaking.

  Again.

  Samuel

  “You should have told him,” I heard my father say.

  “I know,” my mother said. “I didn’t mean for—”

  The sound of the creaking wood alerted them that I was coming down the stairs, and my mother didn’t finish her sentence. By the time I reached the kitchen table, they had grown unusually quiet.

  “Did I interrupt something?” I asked, taking my usual seat.

  Mama looked at me with part concern and part guilt. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before about The American Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb.” I took a bite of toast. “I didn’t know if Lucy would get in, and then there was the issue of tuition. There were so many variables, Sam. I was afraid to hope too much, and I was afraid that if I mentioned it—”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “You do?” she asked.

  “Yes and no.” It was the truth. I understood what my mind allowed. My heart was having none of it.

  There was a knock at the door and then a call as Noah pushed the door open a bit. “It’s me!”

  “Come in!” Papa called back.

  My heart took a giant leap. Lucy. I turned in my seat, prepared to see her, but all I saw was Noah. “Where’s your sister?”

  “She’s not coming today,” Noah said, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked at Mama when he said, “My mother wanted her to stay home today. She said they have a lot of preparation to do . . . lots of mending and sewing of dresses and such for her to take with her to school before she leaves next month.”

  “Oh, I see. Yes. That makes sense,” Mama said. “I’ll go over today and see what I can do to help.”

  “I’m sure Mama will like that. Thank you.”

  “Yes, well.” Mama smiled. “You two better be off. You wouldn’t want to be late.”

  I followed Noah to the door and got halfway before Mama said, “Sam, your lunch!”

  So lost was I in my own thoughts and disappointment that I had left my lunch on the table. She brought it to me and kissed my forehead. “Do try and have a good day.”

  I nodded, unable to form any words, and left without uttering even a goodbye to Papa.

  Noah must have had the same affliction as me, because we walked a good bit without talking to each othe
r.

  Then he said, “We’re feeling sorry for ourselves. This is what’s best for Lucy. We both know that. Why can’t we be happy for her? She’ll be back in a couple of years and—”

  “Seven years,” I said. “Not two.”

  “What?”

  “Mama said it’s a seven-year course study. Lucy won’t be finished there until she’s eighteen.” I picked a leaf and rolled it around my finger.

  “But she can visit, can’t she?”

  “Sure,” I said. “She can visit.”

  Though we both knew visiting over a seven-year period would mean a whole lot of missing her in between.

  We let that sink in and said nothing else the rest of the way to school.

  The days went by and I had yet to see Lucy. Her mother decided that she needed to stay home instead of continuing her studies with Mama. She said she wanted to spend as much time with Lucy as she could. That, and they did have a lot of preparations to make. I tried not to feel agitated about that and stayed away—to let them prepare and not interfere with whatever they had going on. But it was deuced hard.

  I was having to find out through Noah how Lucy was doing, and Mama, who would go over and help with whatever needed tending to while I was at school. I wasn’t used to that. I wasn’t used to not seeing Lucy every day, and not seeing her every day was new and strange and I was discovering that I didn’t know who I was without her.

  “I’ve decided to bring someone with me to the church dance,” Noah said, cutting into my thoughts.

  The dance was the weekend before Lucy left for Hartford, and the dance was the last thing on my mind. I didn’t understand why Noah was bringing it up.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, then bit into a pear. We were having lunch on the bank of the stream behind the schoolhouse. I was tired and irritable, not sleeping well, and not in the mood to be in the company of people. But Noah wasn’t people. He was my best friend and he was suffering too. I tried to be mindful of that.