Reverend of Silence

by Pamela Sparkman

  My eyes fell to my feet. I felt ashamed for thinking my parents had been neglectful. I needed to do better about not assuming things. And I had. I had assumed my parents hadn’t been here because everything had been neglected. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Forgive me.”

  “Nothing to forgive,” Mama said. Then she hugged me. “Come.” She gestured we go back into the kitchen.

  Mama Burke hadn’t bothered to rise from her place at the table, rather she gestured for everyone to join her instead. I passed Papa a plate of bacon once he sat, but he waved away the offer. I offered to Mama as well. She too waved it away. I had barely rotated the plate toward Noah when he took it out of my hand. Popping a piece of bacon in his mouth, he set the plate down beside him, like he was going to guard it with his life.

  I wanted to laugh. It had started to bubble up inside me. Laughter. I could even feel my face split with a smile. And then I glanced at Mama Burke. Her eyes glistened like wet stones, and the bubble inside me burst. My smile fell and everyone at the table sat motionless. We didn’t talk. We didn’t try to console one another. We just sat with our thoughts—together—while Papa Burke stayed upstairs with Sam.

  Noah shoved the plate of bacon away. And that’s when I knew. We were ghosts. Just shadowy, spiritless images of ourselves. And none of us knew where to find the light.

  So I did the only thing I knew to do. I got up and added another log to the fire.

  It was time to build it back up again.

  Lucy

  Days passed with Sam improving very little. We took turns sitting at Sam’s bedside, holding his good hand, putting tea to his lips, hoping he’d drink some of it down, and trying to keep him as comfortable as possible.

  I hadn’t asked permission to stay. I hadn’t asked permission to help as my mama had done. I’d never given Mama and Papa Burke the opportunity to turn me away, to say no. I’d simply arrived and never left.

  When I wasn’t holding Sam’s hand, I was cleaning rooms, opening windows, bringing in fresh water, washing our clothes, and hanging them out to dry.

  Noah was keeping the wood stacked.

  Mama was there every day, helping, intercepting visitors from Papa Burke’s church and others from town, armed with baskets of food and messages of sympathy. They never stayed long. Mama Burke rarely saw their visitors. It was a strain on her heart to be away from Sam. Papa Burke would greet them on occasion, but mostly, they allowed Mama to take care of that for them.

  Papa came by in the evenings after work and would stay late until Papa Burke would send them away.

  “There’s nothing you can do. Go home. Rest. Come back tomorrow.”

  But I was excluded from that command. I supposed everyone knew there was no going home for me. I was there. I was staying. And that was the end of it. I was glad for that.

  Although I wasn’t excluded from all commands. Noah had come into Sam’s room one early morning like a gust of wind, pointed to me before signing, “We’re going out.”

  I had bristled, blinked, stared, and then said, “What?”

  He grabbed my hand with his left, signed with his right, “Come with me.”

  “No,” I signed. “I need . . .”

  Mama Burke entered the room. She kissed my cheek, then placed her palm there. She stared at me for a moment with sad eyes. Then she signed, “Get some sun. Enjoy fresh air. Sam will be here when you get back.”

  I didn’t want to get some sun. I didn’t want fresh air. I wanted to hold Sam’s hand, and that was all.

  Noah tugged at my hand and led me out the door, down the stairs, and out of the house. Every step we took, anger swelled up inside me until I thought I might explode with it. I don’t know why I allowed him to lead me from where I wanted to be. When we had made it halfway to our house, I planted my feet to the ground and yanked my hand free from his. Noah turned with wide eyes.

  “Stop,” I said. I pointed to the Burke house. “I’m going back,” I signed furiously. I turned to go. Noah jumped in front of me.

  “Wait,” he said. “Let’s take a ride together. We will stay close. I promise. You need to get out some.”

  “I do not!” I said. “Don’t tell me what I need! I need to be with Sam!”

  “Sam doesn’t know you’re there!”

  Tears pricked my eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Noah said, taking a step toward me. I took a step back.

  “I’m trying to take care of him.” My heart curled in on itself as I signed the words.

  “I know.”

  “He’s your best friend,” I said, tears sliding down my cheeks. “Sam loves you like a brother.”

  Noah’s whole face crumpled before he placed his hands on his head. He ran his fingers through his hair and tugged, then slung his head back, opened his mouth. The veins in his neck bulged. Birds flew from the trees above our heads. He sagged at the waist, placed his hands on his knees like he was out of breath. I couldn’t move. I was stuck, rooted to the ground like an oak. All I could do was watch my brother come apart before my eyes. I waited and I watched until he stood to his full height, though he appeared burdened by an invisible weight, a weight he found difficult to carry.

  “Yes,” he said, looking me in the eye. “He’s my brother.” He slapped his chest. “And every time I see him like that, I die inside. If you don’t need some air, I do. Because I swear, I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe when I look at him.”

  I nodded, the tears still falling, and I took the three steps separating us and wrapped my brother in my arms. It seemed like all we did was hug these days, though it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. We kept reaching, trying to fill a void, a Sam-sized hole we could never fill. But we kept trying all the same. All of us trying to fill the space Sam had left. None of us was a good substitute. We needed Sam. It was as simple as that. We needed Sam.

  I took his hand and, together, we continued to walk toward our house. Once we were close, Noah steered us toward the barn instead, and to my surprise, pulled me flush against the side wall. He pointed at the barn I was pressed against, then signed, “Sam’s father and ours are in there, talking.”

  “So?”

  He put his ear to one of the wood slats, pressing his cheek to it. I waited for him to tell me what was going on. After a few minutes, he spun around, practically painting himself to the old barn, not counting the arm he crossed in front of my torso to flatten me against the outer wall. I was scared to even breathe. I didn’t understand what was happening, or why we were hiding from our papa and Papa Burke. I studied Noah’s face to help me sort it out. His eyebrows were arched high on his forehead, his eyes darted back and forth, his chest rose in quick, rapid successions. Was he frightened? Should I be frightened?

  When Noah leaned over and stepped around the corner about a minute later and told me they were gone, I waited again for him to tell me what had happened.

  “Change of plans. Go back to Sam. I have something I need to do. We’ll go for a ride tomorrow.”

  He was calm? My heart still thrashed wildly.

  I marched at him and shoved him. Hard. “You scared me!”

  He tried to hug me. I resisted.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry.”

  “Why were we hiding?”

  He frowned. “I wanted to hear their conversation. I didn’t want them to know we were here.”

  “Why?”

  His frown deepened. “They were talking about finding out who hurt Sam. I want to follow them.” He kissed my forehead. “We’ll go for a ride tomorrow.” I grabbed his arm as he started walking away. “I’ll be safe,” he said.

  “What if they see you?”

  “They won’t.” He kissed my forehead again. “I need to go.” He ran to the carriage, readied the horses, then climbed up and drove away.

  I sighed and let my arms fall to my sides. Fine. Tomorrow, then. We’ll go for a ride tomorrow.

  Noah

  I eyed the corner house, wondering what I
was going to do now that I was here. I’d not taken the time to consider that part of it when I’d overheard Papa and Reverend Burke talking in the barn. When they’d left, I’d taken my leave from Lucy as quickly as possible. They’d said they were going to get answers for the attack on Sam’s life, and I’d wanted to be there when they got them.

  I parked the carriage on the other side of the street and halfway down from where I knew Mr. Clive lived. I’d guessed this was where they were going, and I was right because Reverend Burke’s carriage was parked out front.

  Discreetly, I looked around to establish my surroundings. People milled about, but otherwise, no one paid attention to me. I climbed down from the carriage, pulling my hat low to obscure my face, crossed the street, and then walked up the other side in a casual stroll until I was in front of Mr. Clive’s house. I peeked underneath the brim of my hat as I strolled past. I saw no one inside. A good thing. If I couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see me. I continued around the corner, keeping my head down. When I reached the back portion of the house, I peered over my shoulder, checking to see if anyone was looking. The front of Mr. Clive’s house faced one of the busiest streets this side of the Pequannock River. However, it was my good fortune that the back side of his house was home to woodlands. Taking one more cautious glance around, I ducked quickly behind his house and immediately got down into a squat position behind a row of hedges underneath an open window. Deep baritone voices that I recognized carried from somewhere inside.

  “Why are you really here, Reverend? Out with it. And why did you bring Hallison with you? You’re lucky I let him inside.”

  “I find it curious you haven’t asked me about Sam.”

  “Sam?”

  “Yes. My son was attacked, Mr. Clive. I am your pastor. I am standing in your home, and yet, you haven’t asked me how he’s doing.”

  “Oh, yes. I heard about that. Pity. How does Samuel fare?”

  “I’ll just bet you heard about that.”

  “What are you implying, Reverend? That I had something to do with it?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time you had someone attacked!” This from my father. “A few years ago, it was Noah. Or have you forgotten?”

  There was a clink, like someone had touched glass to glass. “May I pour you a drink, Hallison? I know the reverend probably wouldn’t indulge.”

  “You’re unbelievable,” my papa muttered. “Where is your son, Mr. Clive?”

  “Not here, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Where is he?” Reverend Burke cut in.

  “I haven’t any idea,” Mr. Clive responded casually. “I haven’t seen him. Not for a while. Although Boston would be my guess. You sure you don’t want a drink, Hallison? Scotch or bourbon? I’m afraid I don’t have any of that swill you’re most likely accustomed to.”

  “I don’t want a damn drink. I want to know when you last saw Fredrick? Was it here—in Bridgeport?”

  There was a brief pause before Mr. Clive answered. “Has anyone seen him here?”

  “What?”

  “I’m asking if anyone has seen him here? I’m going to guess the answer to that is no, or you wouldn’t be asking me questions.”

  “We haven’t asked if anyone has seen your son, Mr. Clive,” Papa said. “Though maybe we should. Perhaps we’ll be enlightened.”

  “Go ahead. Ask around. See if anyone has seen him.”

  “Let’s go, Jasper. I told you this would be a waste of time.”

  I heard the heel of two pairs of boots striking the floor, moving further and further away from me. That was it? I angled my head up toward the window. They were giving up that easily!

  “You know, Reverend,” Mr. Clive said, “Fredrick never did get into the college of our choice.” The sound of boots slapping against wood ceased. “You lied. You said if I sent Fredrick to Boston, you wouldn’t say anything to your connections. You did anyway.”

  “What are you talking about?” Reverend Burke said. “I never said anything.”

  “Didn’t you?” Mr. Clive hissed. “Fredrick wasn’t allowed admittance. I know you had something to do with that.”

  “What are you saying? That I’m to blame for your son not getting into college? What were you told? What reasons were you given?”

  Mr. Clive scoffed. “I don’t believe the reasons we were given.”

  “Which were . . . ?”

  “That Fredrick didn’t pass his entrance exam.”

  “Then he didn’t pass his entrance exam, Mr. Clive. I didn’t keep Fredrick out of college.”

  “I don’t believe you, Reverend.”

  There was a beat of silence . . . and then . . . boots striking hard against the floor . . . the sound of someone being thrust and pinned against a wall.

  “What did you do?” Reverend Burke hissed. “What did you do, you evil son of a—”

  “Jonah!” Papa said. “Let him go. LET HIM GO! You’ll kill him!”

  There was gasping and wheezing that rent the air. Things tumbling and crashing to the floor as though someone stumbled around.

  “Keep him away from me,” Mr. Clive said, his voice as brittle as paper. “He’s mad as a March hare.”

  A body was thrown against the wall—right beside the window above my head. I closed my eyes and made myself as small as possible, hoping they couldn’t see me.

  “You think I won’t send you up Salt River myself, you miserable cretin? Me stopping the good reverend from taking your life wasn’t a mercy on yours. It was a mercy on his. I’d gladly sully my soul for the benefit of this town.” Another slam against the wall. Mr. Clive moaned unintelligibly. “Now, you’re gonna tell us what you did,” Papa bit out. “Or I’ll finish what my friend here started.”

  “After Fredrick d-didn’t get accepted into college, he was ashamed to come back home. He went back to Boston.” Mr. Clive went quiet and Papa made the window above my head rattle when the next thump against the wall sounded.

  “Keep talking.”

  “For years I tried to get him to come home. But he stayed away. Told me the next time anyone saw his face in town, it would be to attend a funeral. He holds a grudge. He could have done something to Sam to get back at his father. He told me he’s always hated Sam. It would be killing two birds with one stone.”

  I hadn’t realized how hard I was grinding my back teeth together until my jaw started to ache, or how tightly I held my hands into fists until I felt the sting of my nails bite into my palms.

  “What do you know, Clive, that you’re not telling us? Did you see him? Did he visit you?” Reverend Burke asked with fury.

  “No,” Mr. Clive snarled. “Did you not hear me the first time? I’ve not seen him.”

  “Then I suppose we’ll have to pay him a visit,” Papa said. “You claim he’s in Boston. We’ll find out for ourselves.”

  “You do that, and I will ruin you both. I have the marks to prove Reverend Burke tried to kill me. People will have seen you two enter my house. Reverend Burke’s carriage is parked out front. And your story, should you choose to share it, holds no water. You have no proof. It is your word against mine. No one has seen my boy. He is in Boston. He hasn’t been home in years. Everyone will assume Reverend Burke is a man desperate to find someone to punish for the crime against his son. Understandable. But he has nothing, a story built on fantasy. And you, Hallison, stood by and let a good man ruin his reputation because, as I’ve been telling people for years, you are a heathen, like the rest of your family, and thought nothing of letting Reverend Burke come here and succumb to his torment by accusing an innocent man and his son of something as malicious as attempted murder. People may forgive a grieving man, father, and pastor. Maybe. But you, they will not forgive.”

  Mr. Clive let out an inarticulate, high-pitched shriek of pain at the sound of bone crunching.

  Papa said in a low voice, “Consider that nose-ender payment from when you set up that attack on my son all those years ago, you swine. I’m not in
timidated by your threats. But I am tired of them. I hope you like the taste of saltwater, because if you threaten me and mine or the Burkes one more damn time, you’ll be getting more than a mouthful. I hope you get my meaning, Mr. Clive. I’ll make it look like an accident. I swear I will. Do you understand me?”

  My heart was beating hard against my ribs.

  “Jasper,” Reverend Burke said softly. “Perhaps we should go now.”

  “What are we going to do about Fredrick?” Papa asked. “We going to Boston?”

  “If you do that,” Mr. Clive grunted, his voice sounding like he was talking through his nose, “I’ll be sure everyone here knows about this little meeting we’ve had here today. And if I come up floating in Salt River, as you so kindly put it, Hallison, I plan on leaving letters all over town painting you as my murderer. I’ll ruin you from the grave. So, if I were you, I’d let this one go.”

  “Oomph!”

  “You may think you hold all the cards,” Reverend Burke said calmly. He must have been right in Mr. Clive’s face, because I heard every word as crisp as if he’d been talking in my own ear. “But I have a few cards of my own. Ones I have yet to play. So, pay attention, Mr. Clive, because I’m only going to say this once. This ends now. You understand? If there is even a rumor your son was seen in this town before my son was attacked, now, or in the future, everything you hold dear is over. Everything. I will seek justice and I will not rest until I have it. You have no idea what a grieving father will do to get it. No idea. From this moment forward, if you see me, my family, or anyone in the Hallison family on the left side of the street, you better move to the right. If you so much as even look at one of us, my mission will start thusly. Do we understand one another?”

  Mr. Clive squeaked, “Y-Yes.” Then he let out a gasp, as though someone had been holding him by the throat.

  “Let’s go, Jasper. I need to get back to my son.” I heard them walking away as Mr. Clive struggled to let air into his lungs. “Oh, one more thing,” Reverend Burke said from the far end of the room. “I don’t mind sinners coming to church. We’re all sinners. I want them to come. But the devil can stay home. That means you, Mr. Clive. Don’t come back.”