Chapter Twenty #2
“The Taylors were good people. Odd people, but good people. Before she left town, Nikola was always coming into my general store, picking up packages or posting letters. They were inventors of sorts, making wonderous machines. Nikola gave me a fantastic lamp that lights up with no flames when I turn a crank.” Her eyes grew bright, but she blinked her tears away as she took the cup back.
“To think how long it will be before she learns of the fire.”
“Perhaps we can bring word to her,” I said, recalling what Maggie had said—that Nikola was in Sterling City now. That we needed to protect her.
I wanted to protect her. But first, we had to make it through this horrific day.
“If you deliver the news, be wary of those Transistors,” Francis said, practically spitting the word out.
“Did you see them?” I asked Francis. “The Transistors?”
“They arrived a few days ago on horseback. Wanted a full accounting of everything the Taylors had ever ordered. Told them I didn’t keep records, of course.”
The House of Industry knew what Maggie had been doing. That meant Julian wasn’t safe. Not here. Not anywhere.
“You were protecting them,” I realized aloud.
Francis nodded vigorously. “Of course I tried to help them out. The Taylors are—were—good people. I wish I’d known what those monsters from the House intended to do. I’d have done more. Burning up a whole family … Stars bless their poor souls.”
Though I knew it wasn’t my fault, not really, I couldn’t help feeling sick that fellow Children of Industry had done something so vile. I’d wanted so badly to be a Transistor, and had I gotten my wish, it might have been me laying waste to a farm. Despite the heat, I shivered.
Francis patted my hand. “We’re safe now. Folks saw them riding off.”
I didn’t bother correcting her. What could I possibly say? That I’d narrowly avoided being the kind of person who would ride to a small town and commit mass murder?
A violin began to play in the distance, and I turned from Francis, surprised to hear the fine instrument out here—so far from a proper city. The girl playing couldn’t have been more than ten, and she sang a soft, haunting song as Ezra and several others from the town dug four graves.
“I haven’t heard a violin in a long while,” I murmured.
Francis corrected me gently. “It’s a fiddle. She’s playing our pain. Go on and listen with your friend in the shade. The sun will have you fried right up before you know it.” Picking up her pail, she headed for the grave sites.
Bolstered by the water and her kindness, I dusted myself off and went to Julian.
He sat with his back to the tree trunk, gaze unfocused.
Maggie’s blood stained his gray shirt. Hesitant, I sank to the ground, out of reach.
The fire had not crossed this part of the field, and the grass was as soft as a carpet.
In the shade, with the smoke finally dying down, this could have been mistaken for a beautiful day—perfect for a picnic or a nap. High clouds crossed the sky, and a steady breeze kissed my sweaty skin.
“Julian,” I said, aching.
A slow shudder ran through him. I didn’t expect to hear his voice, but it broke out of him like a creaking hinge.
“This was meant to be my home. I wanted to go home. It’s all I’ve thought of, day and night.
In that lonely Mission. At the House. Everything I did was to get here.
” He covered his eyes with trembling fingers. “I didn’t arrive quickly enough.”
My breath hitched.
His voice cracked. “What do I do now?”
After crawling forward on my knees, I gathered him close and let him shake against me. His skin was clammy, his grief like a sickness. I ran my fingers through his hair, working out the snarls. I could feel his humid breath against my chest.
“They’re gone.” He gasped out strange soft sounds—as if he didn’t know how to cry properly.
I spoke no words of comfort, because I had none to give.
The townspeople gave us space, averting their eyes and focusing on digging and honoring the dead with mournful, soft music.
After a long while, Julian went still, not peaceful with sleep, but boneless and spent.
I shifted around to sit and eased his head against my lap.
As the song of the fiddle washed over us, I continued to stroke his damp hair.
Dirt-streaked and flushed, Ezra approached like a sneaking cat. He favored his side, one hand absently held against it. I found myself wishing for the river and the hot spring in Frostbrook. All of us could use a good scrubbing.
Ezra wobbled to sit with his legs crossed, close enough that I could smell his sweat and the scent of freshly turned soil. “Is he …?”
I shook my head. Julian wasn’t asleep. I wondered if he’d ever sleep again, or if he’d fear seeing the flames every time he closed his eyes. “You look exhausted.”
He leaned back on his hands and looked at the scraggly apple tree shading us. “I am.”
“Did you reopen your wound?”
“No.”
“Have you always been able to do that? Heal so quickly?” I asked, glad for something to think about—and hoping it would distract Julian from whatever thoughts he was trapped in where he lay quiet against me.
“Yes.” Ezra let out a sigh and shifted to lie on his side, his head propped in one hand.
“I suppose that’s why I became interested in the healing arts.
I can’t do this for others, but I can learn what plants help and what measures can be taken to try to save a life or heal a wound.
Or ease pain. I wish I’d had supplies with me. Something for Maggie’s pain. Anything.”
“I imagine some pain cannot be eased.”
His gaze shifted to Julian’s face. I wondered what he saw there. “Not by anything but time.”
For all the House had trained us, they hadn’t given us guidance on how to work through grief or anger—or even love.
“I’ve never wished I had a mother particularly often,” I said, surprised to find tears wetting my lashes.
I scrubbed them away with one hand. “But today I think … I could use the help. If that’s what mothers do. ”
Ezra met my gaze with a soft, tired smile that felt different. Something usually kept under lock and key. “It is, if you’re lucky. I think your mother must have been good and strong.” His wistful smile shifted to the grin I knew, the one I could see even with my eyes closed.
But his grin faded as his attention turned to Julian.
Scooting closer, he appeared to try to get into his line of sight.
“They’ve told me there’s room for us in town, and someone’s got a wagon to carry us there.
But you’ll have to get up to lay Maggie to rest before we can sleep,” he said with terrible gentleness.
I remained quiet, feeling as if I were intruding on something private despite the fact that my hand was currently resting on Julian’s head. Julian shifted, slowly sitting up. He shuddered with a deep, cleansing sigh that made my ribs ache.
“Thank you for making arrangements,” Julian said stiffly, the formal words at odds with the redness of his eyes and the wild tangle of his hair.
“Come on.” Ezra stood with some effort, took Julian’s hand, and pulled him to his feet.
I remained seated, observing the silent conversation that happened as they looked at each other for a long moment.
With an exhale that sounded like surrender, Julian tucked himself into Ezra’s arms and allowed himself to be held.
Something eased in my chest at the way Julian fit into Ezra’s embrace like he belonged there.
Julian glanced down, offering me his hand. When he pulled me up by my wrist, we stood in an awkward circle. He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”
I could only nod, not trusting my voice.
Now that Ezra had told us we’d have somewhere to sleep, my body wanted nothing more than to collapse and rest for days.
With the heavy exhaustion came the feeling that I might start to cry and never stop.
It was absurd. These weren’t my losses. I needed to hold myself together, give Julian something solid to cling to.
When Julian began to walk toward the grave sites, Ezra lingered and brushed his elbow against mine gently. “You’ve got a stubborn look in your eyes.”
“I’m trying to stay on my feet.”
He let out a breathy shadow of a laugh. “Just a bit longer. If either of us swoons now, I fear they’ll leave us behind.”
“They will certainly leave you. I’m a bit more portable.”
When he took my hand, I flinched, and he let go quickly. We both looked down at our palms and the sticky, ragged blisters there. Mine were worse—my hands were used to a particular sort of work. “I’ll find something to make a salve for that,” he murmured.
“Thank you.” Acknowledging the wounds awakened my pain. Both hands throbbed with every beat of my heart.
We were the last to walk up to the grave site—four gaping holes in the dark soil. Maggie lay swaddled in a casket that smelled like fresh sap, and Julian stood beside it silently, swaying every so often and catching himself.
A woman who resembled the girl playing the fiddle put her hand on the girl’s shoulder and looked at Julian. “Maggie spoke of you like a son. I know she’d welcome any words you had to say.”
I looked at the faces around us, all kind-eyed and somber.
Faces streaked with soot and dirt and sweat.
People of all ages—one woman with a babe strapped to her back and a man so old, his skin hung in folds.
I knew, to my bones, that these were good people.
We’d never have a proper way to thank them for this—for bearing witness to Julian’s grief and for sharing their own.
Julian nodded, looking back over his shoulder for a moment, lost and unsteady. He found me and Ezra in the crowd and straightened, relief bare in his eyes.
“Maggie Taylor is—was my mentor,” he started, slow to find his voice.
When he went on, it deepened to the sure, confident tone I associated with him.
Except now there was no knife-edge of condescension.
“She began exchanging letters with me many years ago, when I was struggling with my beliefs and much in need of her wisdom.” Though he wisely did not say where he’d been or what kind of wisdom she’d offered him, I could picture it.
A young Child of Industry too clever to accept what he was taught, too inquisitive to resist looking between the lines of every repetitive doctrine.
“Maggie’s mind—she is the most brilliant person I know.
The work she’s done will shape our future for generations to come.
She believed that people are capable of tremendous kindness.
Science is a discipline of curiosity. Curiosity …
” Grief thinned his voice before he found it once more.
“And love. Maggie taught me that, and I will never forget it.”
The words made my heart trip. Of all the things I’d expected him to say, none were this. Despite the pain from my blisters, I found Ezra’s hand, and we stood closer, drawn together in what felt like a shared desire to prop Julian up.
Time moved slowly after that, the group from town using long ropes to ease Maggie’s casket into the ground.
They filled the grave quickly, several working to heap black soil onto the pale wood.
Julian shoveled diligently, mouth set in a hard line, eyes dry but anguished.
Ezra worked beside him, neither relenting until a smooth mound covered the grave.
The fiddle wailed.
As dusk gave way to night, Francis found me and ushered me to an open wagon.
My arms trembled as I crawled into it with her help.
I was dimly aware of hunger and thirst, but more than anything, I ached for Ezra and Julian.
When they arrived, staggering and quiet, I reached for them, and we sank into the bed of hay that smelled like sweetgrass and sunshine.
The wagon began to move, bumpy on the rough road.
Where we touched, I felt a faint vibration, like a gentle purr or a low hum.
I was too tired to ask them if they felt it, too.
Bracketed by their arms, I turned onto my back. The sky stretched over us forever, every cloud painted vivid scarlet with the setting sun. Full and empty at once, I cried silently, rocked by the wagon’s relentless sway.