A Northern Light(83)

We'd talked amongst ourselves on the way down the hill, never doubting that the fire was an accident. We figured an oil lamp had tipped over. Or maybe sparks from the wash-pot fire had flown up and landed on the roof, though Weaver's mamma is always careful to build her fire a good ways from the house. But as soon as we saw Lincoln, the hinny, lying in the road with blood soaked into the dust all around him, and dead chickens everywhere, and the pigsty smashed apart, we knew different.

My father was standing by the smoking ruins with Mr. Loomis and Mr. Pulling. Mr. Sperry, Mr. Higby, and a handful of neighbors from Fourth Lake were there, too. I ran up to them. "Pa, what happened?" I asked.

"Mattie, what are you doing here? This ain't for you to see."

"I had to come, Pa. I had to see Weaver's mamma. Is she all right?"

"She's across the road at the Hubbards'."

I started to run toward Emmie's.

"Mattie, wait..."

"What, Pa?"

"You know anything about those men who beat Weaver?"

"Only that they were trappers. And that Mr. Higby put them in jail. Why?"

"They must've just got out. Weaver's mamma says they're the ones did this. Killed the hinny and most every chicken she owned. Pig got away, at least. Ran off across the field into the woods. Got the Loomis boys out after her."

I couldn't believe what he was telling me. "Pa, no," I said.

"She says they were mad as blazes about the jail time. She says they set fire to the house, then took off into the woods, heading north. At least that's what I think she said. She ain't making much sense right now. She's bad off, Mattie. She fought with them. One broke her arm."

I pressed my palms to my cheeks and shook my head.

"You listen to me now, Matt. No one knows for sure where those men got to. I don't want you outside the hotel after dark. Not till they're found. You keep Weaver in, too. You hear?"

I nodded, then bolted off to Emmie's.

Cook was already inside, trying to find some coffee or tea and muttering about the state of the place. Mrs. Burnap and Mrs. Crego were there. Dr. Wallace, too. And Weaver. Most of the Hubbard kids were huddled wide-eyed on a worn settee or sitting on the floor in front of it. Lucius was playing in a pile of dirty clothing.

"Come on, Mamma, you've got to let the doctor see to your arm," Weaver said.

Weaver's mamma shook her head no. She was sitting on Emmie's bed, cradling her right arm with her left and rocking back and forth. Emmie was sitting next to her, her arm around her, crooning to her, shushing her, telling her everything would be all right. Weaver's mamma didn't seem to hear her, though. She didn't hear anyone. Her head was bowed. She kept saying, "It's gone, it's all gone! Oh, Jesus, help me—it's gone!"

Weaver knelt down in front of her. "Mamma, please," he said.

"Mrs. Smith, I need to take a look at that arm," Dr. Wallace said.

Emmie shooed him away. "Leave her set and rock for a bit, she'll come round. I always do," she said.

"She's got a bad fracture. I can tell by the angle of it."

"Oh, it ain't goin' nowhere. You can see to it in a minute. Whyn't you set yourself down for a spell and stop worryin' everyone?"

Dr. Wallace gritted his teeth, but he sat. Weaver stood up and paced the small room.

"Sip of my bitter hops syrup will put her to rights," Mrs. Crego said, reaching into her basket.

"There's no need," Dr. Wallace said briskly. "It'll only interfere with the laudanum I'm going to give her."

Mrs. Crego glowered at him. He glowered back. Cook found some chicory in a tin. Lucius gurgled in the dirty clothes. Mrs. Burnap picked him up and made a face when she discovered his diaper was full. And all the while, Weaver's mamma kept rocking and keening.

I walked over to Weaver and took his hand. "What is it? Why is she doing that? Is it the house?"

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe it's the animals ... or her things. She had photographs and such. Or maybe it is the house—"

"The devil take the house!" Mrs. Smith suddenly cried. "You think I give a damn about an old shack?" She lifted her face. Her ancient eyes were bloodshot from tears and smoke. "They found your college money, Weaver," she said. "They took it all. Every last nickel. It's gone, it's gone. Lord Jesus, it's all gone."





lep ? o ? rine


"Where's Weaver? Where is he?" Cook asked me. "He's always trying to wheedle a slice of coconut cream pie out of me. Now I've got one for him and he's disappeared. Mattie, go find him, will you?"

It wasn't like Cook to save slices of pie for anyone, but she was concerned about Weaver. We all were. I had an idea where he might be and I soon found him. He was sitting on the dock. He had his trouser legs rolled up and his feet in the water.

"Why isn't real life like book life?" I asked, sitting down next to him. "Why aren't people plain and uncomplicated? Why don't they do what you expect them to do, like characters in a novel?" I took my shoes and stockings off" and dangled my feet in the water, too.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Bill Sikes is bad. So's Fagin. Just plain bad. Oliver and Mr. Brownlow are good. So's Pip. And Dorrit."