Reverend of Silence Page 2

  “They are?”

  “Indeed,” she said. “Your papa’s first day was also yesterday. He spent the whole day visiting as many people in this town as he could, wanting everyone to like him. Same as you. I’m also having to start over, hoping to make new friends here.”

  I hadn’t thought about it like that.

  “It’s difficult for all of us, but we’re in this together—you, me, and your father,” she said. “And each day, we have to get up and keep trying to make our way in this new place. We can’t give up after one day. Can we?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “Good,” she said, standing up. “Now, hat or no hat?”

  “No hat. Why cover up all this marvelous hair?”

  She laughed, and then mussed my hair even worse than it was. “You need a haircut. It looks like a family of birds slept in it.”

  “It’s my best feature, don’t you think?”

  “Mm, you get that trait from your father . . . a headful of blond hair. Get dressed.” She patted my knee. “Breakfast is ready. You don’t want to be late, do you?”

  No, I did not. But only my mother could take me from not wanting to go to school to not wanting to be late.

  “Mama?”

  She reached for the door handle. “Yes, love?”

  “Thank you.”

  “I would never let you give up on yourself,” she said. “Ever.” And with that promise, she left, closing the door with a snick.

  I wasn’t late this time. Some of the kids were still standing around talking to each other when I walked in. Mr. Goulrich wasn’t in the schoolroom yet, so I stood by the door awkwardly, hoping someone would introduce themselves to me, but after a minute of standing, looking foolish, I went ahead and moved toward the back of the room where Lucy was already seated. She had barely looked at me since I’d walked in. I’d noticed her immediately upon entering. She sat alone, looking down at her slate, doodling. It made me frown to think none of the other kids talked to her. And I had no idea why I cared.

  But for my own behavior, I decided I should apologize to her before the day got started, so as soon as I sat down, I leaned over and said, “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

  She stopped her doodling when I drew near, her eyes cutting to the side, but again, she said nothing.

  I tried again. “I didn’t mean to scare you . . . or make you nervous . . . or whatever—”

  “Why are you talking to her?” a boy asked, his brows pulled tightly together. He was standing between our desk and another, looking down at us.

  “Pardon?” I asked.

  “She’s deaf, you know. She can’t hear you.”

  “And stupid,” another kid said from across the room.

  There were giggles coming from some of the others, and I couldn’t help swinging my gaze to Lucy. Her sharp, golden eyes searched everyone’s faces. Did she know they were talking about her . . . laughing at her? The thought of her knowing made my stomach clench.

  The boy who had told me she was deaf pointed his finger at the others. “Don’t laugh! Just because she can’t hear you doesn’t mean you can laugh at her.”

  Another boy stepped between the desks. “But Noah, she is stupid.” He flicked his eyes to Lucy’s slate and back to Noah. “She can’t even read. Why do you bring her with you?”

  Noah grabbed the boy by his shirt, anger making his face red. “That’s my sister you’re talking about, and she’s none of your business!”

  Lucy stood up so fast that she knocked over her chair. These boys were scaring her. I got up, too, and placed myself in front of her, blocking her view of them.

  “It’s all right,” I told her. “It’s all right.” Her eyes were darting back and forth, back and forth, touching on every corner and crevice of the room. She couldn’t hear my words of comfort, and everyone was staring at her.

  No one likes to be stared at.

  I took her hand, held it, stroked my thumb over her fingers. It was what my mother did for me sometimes and . . . I don’t know . . . I just did it. It’s all right. It’s all right.

  Those golden eyes stopped their darting and locked on mine, then drifted down to her hand, where my thumb still caressed her fingers. It’s all right. It’s all right.

  “Talk about my sister again and I’ll—”

  “What is the meaning of this?” Mr. Goulrich said, walking in and finding two of his pupils about to engage in fisticuffs.

  Noah let go of the boy’s shirt. “A misunderstanding.” Though Noah’s face was still red.

  Mr. Goulrich’s eyebrow arched high. “Is that right, Fredrick?”

  Fredrick smoothed down his shirt. “Yes, sir,” he said, a smirk on his face. “Just a misunderstanding.”

  “Then get back to your seat, Fredrick, and in the future, we keep our misunderstandings out of the schoolroom. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Fredrick and Noah said.

  I guided Lucy back to her chair. She sat, brushing the hair out of her face. For a moment, I stood behind her, looking around the room, daring anyone to swivel their heads our way. When they didn’t, I took my seat and let out a breath.

  Deaf. She’s deaf. It made sense now. . .why the slamming door and the slate hitting the floor hadn’t startled her. She couldn’t hear. I sort of felt like an idiot.

  I squirmed in my seat, feeling Lucy’s gaze on the side of my face. I focused on the wall above Mr. Goulrich’s head, my leg bouncing nervously. I had Lucy’s attention again and it made me feel things—the kind of things I had felt yesterday. But what things? I didn’t understand why she made me squirm.

  Maybe it was her silence that made me uncomfortable. As soon as that thought entered my head, I shut my eyes, thinking I was a horrible person. She couldn’t help being silent. It wasn’t her fault.

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

  Then she smiled at me, and when she did, her whole face went soft. And something inside me went soft too.

  “Hi,” I breathed. “I’m Sam.”

  Her smile got bigger. And something else occurred to me.

  When she smiled like that, she was even prettier than my mama.

  Samuel

  I slid my hand inside my lunch pail, pulled out the slice of dried beef Mama had packed for me, and took a bite. Resting my arms on my knees, a trickle of sweat ran down my spine. I wished I could take off my shoes, roll up the legs of my trousers, and dip my toes in the cool water I looked out over.

  This was where I took my lunch every day—on the bank of the stream behind the schoolhouse—by myself. A week had passed and not a single classmate had made it a point to befriend me. The only person who had tried was Lucy—when she had smiled at me. My heart still did a funny little thud whenever I thought of her that day.

  I chewed on the dried beef and tried to think of something else. Because she hadn’t smiled at me like that since. And I missed it. Now, we just sat beside one another, barely exchanging glances. Whenever I felt her staring, I looked her way and she would quickly move her eyes back to her slate. The same could be said about me. For some reason, we couldn’t seem to meet each other’s gazes without losing courage and looking away. I didn’t know why.

  My mind must have been far away, because I never heard Noah and Lucy coming up behind me. “Mind if we sit with you?” Noah asked.

  “S-Sure,” I murmured, moving my pail closer to me, hoping I didn’t seem overeager for company, but happy to have them all the same.

  Noah was the first to sit, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his feet crossed at the ankles. Lucy followed, sitting down close to her brother, her legs tucked neatly underneath her, her eyes cast low to the ground. Where Noah was tall and gangly, Lucy was small and not gangly. They us
ually sat by themselves underneath a giant tree that offered plenty of shade. I wondered what had brought them over now.

  “I’ve seen you sitting by yourself all week,” Noah said, as though he knew what I’d been thinking. “Thought we’d come over and sit with you.” He bit into an apple. Lucy bit into a pear. “Not making any friends?” he asked.

  I could have attempted to make a few friends. I could have introduced myself instead of waiting for someone else to do it. I didn’t have to sit alone. I had chosen to.

  The other kids were laughing and eating together, playing hopscotch, and for a moment, I observed them. Then, an admission left my lips. “I don’t want to be friends with them.”

  Noah stopped mid-chew and eyed me. I couldn’t say I blamed him. I think I was a bit surprised myself having that admission slip out. Uncovering the bread Mama had packed, I bit off a piece. Noah resumed eating after a time, and the three of us ate together while we gazed out over the glistening water as the laughter from the others went on without us. But eventually, Noah came back to what I’d said.

  “Why don’t you want to be friends with them?”

  My eyes drifted to Lucy. She was sitting with her knees bent up to her chest now, her skirts tucked securely underneath, her arms wrapped around them. Her head was tilted up, the sunlight glinted on her face, her eyes were closed, and she seemed . . . content. A slight breeze picked up a wayward curl and tickled her face with it. Her lips tilted up at the corners, and I felt my own lips tilting up as I watched her.

  Noah snapped his fingers and my focus cut to his brown eyes sweeping over my face. My cheeks burned hot—even my ears burned hot from embarrassment, having been caught staring at his sister.

  “They’re not nice to her,” I blurted, my head bobbing in Lucy’s direction, hoping to direct us back to our conversation.

  Noah nodded one slow nod, but his eyes remained steadfast on mine. “You’d rather eat alone—be friendless—because of the way they treat my sister?”

  I shrugged and looked away. I had realized while we were eating why I’d said what I’d said. I didn’t want to be friends with kids who weren’t nice to Lucy. Worse than that—kids who would laugh about someone unable to hear. It was mean and it was . . .

  I picked up a rock, held it in my hand for a minute before tossing it out into the stream. “They’re cruel,” I mumbled. “I think I’d rather eat alone—be friendless as you say—because . . .” I turned my head to look at Noah and caught Lucy staring, boldly, not shying away for the first time in a week.

  “Because . . . ?” Noah prompted.

  I hadn’t realized I’d stopped talking. I blinked. “Uh . . . because . . .” I swallowed. “Because they’re idiots,” I squeaked.

  Noah laughed. “That’s not a very Christian thing to say, is it, for a son of a pastor?”

  I chuckled. “I suppose it isn’t.” My heart was doing that weird thumping thing again. Lucy wasn’t even smiling. She was just . . . watching . . . openly observing me.

  “You’re right, though. They are idiots.” He nudged my shoulder. “I like you, Samuel.”

  “You do?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I think I do.”

  “Thanks. I, uh, I like you too.”

  “Listen, you don’t have to be friendless. Lucy and I will be your friends.”

  “You and—Lucy?”

  “Well, if you get me, you get her. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “I didn’t think you would. I had to ask, though. You never know.”

  “Is that why you don’t have friends?” I hitched my thumb over my shoulder. “They don’t want to . . .” Again, my words trailed off. I hated talking about Lucy like she wasn’t there.

  “Who wants to be friends with people like that?” he said.

  I nodded, agreeing with him. Who indeed?

  Mr. Goulrich pulled on the bell that hung outside the door, calling the kids back to the schoolroom.

  “We’ll talk later,” Noah said, gathering up his and Lucy’s things. “We’ll meet after school. I’ll show you a shorter way home.”

  “All right,” I said.

  Noah smiled and helped Lucy to her feet. “All right,” he said.

  The rest of the school day went about the same as the others. I did my assignments. Lucy doodled lines. We bumped elbows once and both of us kind of froze. Stupid, really. It was a small thing, nothing to get weird about, but touching Lucy, even her elbow, made me feel strange, weird, stupid things; a flutter in my chest that dropped into my belly. I didn’t like it, and so I did the natural thing. I scooted my chair further apart and went back to my assignment.

  When Mr. Goulrich dismissed us, I gathered up my things and waited for Noah and Lucy outside. Noah greeted me with a grin, his sister tagging along beside him, hugging her slate to her chest, her lunch pail dangling by her fingers.

  “Shall we?” Noah said.

  “After you.” We stopped first at the stream for a drink of water before leaving and then we were on our way. “What happened to her?” I asked as Noah showed me the shorter way home. It was definitely a road less traveled, as in . . . not a road at all. A line of trees with low-hanging branches that blotted out the sun made the journey a bit cooler. I wished I’d known this way before.

  “Who? Lucy?” Noah reached up and picked a leaf and feathered it across his cheek. “She caught a fever when she was three. When she recovered, she could no longer hear anything.”

  Lucy walked in front of us so we could keep an eye on her. She knew her way, Noah assured me. She had grown up here, same as he had, but she couldn’t hear anyone coming up behind her, or anything that could alert her to danger, and because of that, he always kept her in front of him or beside him, never behind him.

  My chest felt tight, him telling me that. How much Noah cared about his sister was staggering to me. While I had been grateful for Noah’s offer of friendship, I was more grateful for the love he had for a girl I barely knew.

  “I’ll have you know her first word after Mama and Papa was my name,” he said, boasting. “I was her favorite sibling. I couldn’t go anywhere without her following me. Same as now, I suppose, but different. The minute she learned to walk and talk, she was on my heels. Noah, Noah, Noah,” he mocked in a little girl’s voice.

  I laughed, trying to imagine Lucy toddling along behind her big brother, calling out his name, a part of me wishing I’d known them then.

  “We’re the closest in age. I don’t know if that was why she attached herself to me, but even when Lucy was a baby and Mama couldn’t get her to stop crying, I always could.” He shrugged his shoulders like it was nothing to bluster about, but I could see the pride he wore, even if he tried to hide it. “It’s always been Lucy and me. Probably always will be.”

  “She’s lucky to have you,” I said.

  Picking another leaf off a tree we walked past, Noah grew quiet. Then he said, “Is she?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have you ever regretted anything, Samuel?”

  His eyes skimmed the horizon while he toyed with the leaf in his hand before casting it to the ground. “What I mean is—have you ever done anything and felt so badly about it that nothing you do will ever make up for it?”

  I searched my mind for something that might have made me feel that way before realizing that if I had to search, then the answer was obviously no. “I don’t think so. Why? Have you?”

  He nodded. “I was five. Lucy was three.” He stared at the back of Lucy’s head while he spoke. “I’d lost one of Papa’s tools and had gotten in trouble for it. I’d wanted to go for a walk—by myself—lick my wounds, you know? But Lucy—she’d wanted to go with me. I’d told her to stop following me. When she didn’t, I’d yelled at her—told her to go away.” Noah picked another leaf. “Yelled at her, Samuel. I’ll never forget the look on her face before she turned around and ran back home.” He turned his head and mumbled, “The n
ext day was when she got sick.” He picked another leaf. “The last time she ever said my name, and I didn’t want to hear it then. Do you know what I would give to hear her say it now?” he asked. “That day plays in my mind so often, I get ill from it.” He stopped, picked up a stick, and threw it sidearm. It landed a good distance away. Lucy continued walking straight ahead, completely unaware of the battle her brother fought behind her.

  I wish Noah had just punched me in the gut. It would have hurt less than his story. “Why did you tell me this?” I asked.

  “I didn’t intend to.” He lifted a shoulder. “I’ve told no one that story before. Not my parents . . . not anyone. But I’ve been needing to tell someone for a really long time. You looked like a good someone.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I said nothing for a time and followed Noah’s lead by picking a leaf off a tree. We were headed into a clearing, fields ahead, and above us, the sun sat fat in the sky like a giant summer fruit.

  “Your house is right over there. See?” Noah pointed, as if he was eager to change the subject. And I was eager to let him.

  “Where is your house?” I asked.

  “Right behind yours.”

  “We’re neighbors?”

  “You didn’t know?” I shook my head. “Come on, then. I’ll introduce you to our family.”

  “I’ll need to tell my mother first where I’m going.”

  “May Lucy and I come with you?”

  “Of course. Follow me.”

  We were almost to my front porch when I found the words that I thought he might need to hear.

  “You didn’t know Lucy would get sick. You were only five years old. She was only three. I doubt she even remembers, Noah.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  I stopped walking, which prompted Noah to stop walking. “She loves you,” I said, watching Lucy take the steps up to my front porch. “You need to forgive yourself. That’s what my father would say.”

  “Is it now?”

  “It is.” I felt fairly confident I was right about that, although I knew Noah needed more than a few comforting words. He needed a friend. And I intended to be one.