Nicholas regarded him warily. He nodded.
“Swell, now we’re getting somewhere.” Mr. Harinton asked for more coffee, and when he had a fresh cup, he said, “My question to you, Jim, is what are you running from?”
Nicholas made no reply.
Mr. Harinton waited a minute, then resumed talking about himself. “It’s true, I haven’t had a proper home in years. My life feels awfully wearisome sometimes, but I like what I do. It’s important work, good work. I do hope someday to have a wife and family, though. Family is important, too, right?”
Nicholas could tell that Mr. Harinton was trying to put him at ease by talking about himself. At the same time, he was gauging Nicholas’s reactions to what he was saying. Nicholas kept his face entirely blank.
After a long, expectant pause, Mr. Harinton sighed. He leaned over the table, lacing his fingers together, and speaking very softly, he said, “Look, let me make you a deal. If you’re coming out of some bad situation, I won’t force you to go back. I’ll just try to help you. You have to understand my position, Jim. I can’t see a kid like you, a kid all on his own, and go on about my business and pretend that I didn’t. It wouldn’t be decent. You can see that, right? But you have to trust me with the truth. How else can I know what your situation is? How else can I help you?”
Nicholas carefully considered Mr. Harinton’s words. He was reminded of when he first met John, of how he had been forced to tell the truth, to take a chance on John’s decency. In fact, he suddenly realized that Mr. Harinton reminded him very much of John himself, if only John had been a grownup. The moment he realized this, his resistance began to soften.
He met Mr. Harinton’s gaze. “What will you do if I don’t tell you anything? Turn me in?”
Mr. Harinton’s brow wrinkled. “Well, I’ll have to do something, son. I’m to leave the country in a couple of days, and where I’m going, I can’t take you with me. It wouldn’t be safe, and anyway, it’s against policy. So, yes, I’ll probably have to tell someone.”
“Who? The police?”
Mr. Harinton scratched his head. “I’m wondering why this matters to you. Let me think. No, I don’t suppose I would call the police, at least not right away. You aren’t a notorious criminal, are you?” He narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion.
“Would I tell you if I were?” Nicholas said.
“No, I suppose not. You aren’t making this easy for me, are you?” Mr. Harinton shifted in his chair. After a considering pause, and in a tone of great seriousness, he said, “Jim, I promise that I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. No matter what you tell me, I’m going to help you. I give you my word.”
Nicholas felt his cheeks flush, and he looked down at the table in an agony of confusion. He was still weighing what to say—what to do—when he felt the heavy shawl of sleep falling over him. Oh no, he thought. Oh no, oh no. All of a sudden his decision was made for him.
“I have a sleeping problem,” he said quickly. “I have to take a nap. If I can trust you, Mr. Harinton, if I really can trust you…”
Nicholas couldn’t finish. Blackness overtook him. He slumped forward, knocking his plate off the table, and was asleep before it struck the floor.
The train rattled along its tracks. There was the murmur of conversation, the clink of dishes. Nicholas was still in the dining car. But he was lying down on a hard surface. The floor. And he was covered with something—a blanket, perhaps. Or no, it smelled like aftershave and perspiration. A man’s suit coat. He opened his eyes. He was wedged into the corner, beneath the table. He saw Mr. Harinton’s legs, crossed at the knee, and heard the telltale crinkle and snap of newspaper pages being turned and folded. He lay there for several minutes, assessing the situation.
He was safe.
He could feel it in his bones—a lightening, as if an enormous weight had been taken from him. He would not have to fend for himself in the city. He would not have to live in the woods like a wild animal. This man, Mr. Harinton, could be trusted. He was perhaps the first truly trustworthy man Nicholas had ever known—trustworthy and decent, as John had been.
When Nicholas got up from under the table, Mr. Harinton smiled and folded the newspaper he’d been reading. “So it really was just a nap,” he said, with evident relief. “I’m very glad. I thought I understood you, but you were mumbling. I worried I might be making a mistake not calling for a doctor.”
Nicholas handed him the suit coat. “Thank you.”
“That’s fine,” said Mr. Harinton, slipping the suit coat on again. “I thought you might get cold on the floor.”
“I don’t mean just for covering me up,” Nicholas said. “I mean for everything.”
“You are entirely welcome,” Mr. Harinton said. “Would you like a lemonade? I know I’m always thirsty after a nap.” Nicholas said that he would, and when he had drunk the lemonade down, Mr. Harinton ordered him another and set it on the table before him.
Nicholas took a deep breath. “I’ll tell you everything, Mr. Harinton. I’ll tell you the truth.”
Mr. Harinton looked even more relieved than before. Nicholas saw his shoulders relax. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that, son.”
Nicholas extended his hand. “It’s Nicholas, Mr. Harinton—Nicholas Benedict.”
Mr. Harinton took his hand and shook it warmly. “That’s a fine name, Nicholas. And I am honored to know it.”
For the next hour Nicholas told Mr. Harinton the truth—the truth about his narcolepsy, about the many orphanages he had known, about the Spiders, about his locked room at Rothschild’s End, about losing his only friend there and the cruel way Mr. Collum had arranged it, about his final humiliation before all the other children, about running away. He left out only the parts about Violet and the treasure.
Through it all, Mr. Harinton listened intently, with alternating looks of surprise and sympathy. Occasionally he asked a question, but for the most part questions were unnecessary. Nicholas was an excellent storyteller, and Mr. Harinton could tell that he was speaking truthfully.
Nicholas was nearing the end of his tale when the conductor passed through the dining car, announcing that Stonetown station was the next stop. He had passed through a few times before, each time with a disapproving glance in their direction. Nicholas had assumed the conductor thought he should be sitting with his family, not pestering a stranger in the dining car. Now the man was approaching their table. He cleared his throat, and Nicholas stopped talking.
Mr. Harinton looked up. “Yes?”
“Maybe it’s none of my business,” the conductor said. “But it seems to me the boy ought to be made to apologize. Kids don’t learn right from wrong otherwise.”
Mr. Harinton said, “I see your point, although I don’t quite agree that making someone apologize accomplishes much.” He turned to Nicholas. “What do you think? Do you believe you should apologize for lying?”
The conductor frowned. “And not just for lying—for hopping the train!”
Nicholas was taken aback. Clearly, the conductor and Mr. Harinton had spoken while he was asleep. “I’m very sorry,” he said to the conductor, without missing a beat. “It wasn’t right of me, and I do beg your pardon.”
“Well, now,” the conductor said, only slightly satisfied. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.” With a polite nod at Mr. Harinton, he left the car.
Mr. Harinton was studying Nicholas’s face with some amusement. “Why, Nicholas. I don’t believe your apology was entirely sincere.”
Nicholas grinned. “I guess you really are good at telling these things,” he admitted. “What happened while I was asleep? I take it he saw me and spoke to you.”
“He grew suspicious. He didn’t know what connection you had to me, or why you were sleeping beneath my table. I was compelled to tell him a white lie. I said that you were my nephew from Chesterton, that you had begged me to take you with me to Stonetown, and that when I refused, you must have hopped the train. I told him tha
t I would take full responsibility for you.”
“And he believed all that?”
“Not everyone shares our gift for sniffing out falsehoods,” said Mr. Harinton. “And at any rate, I believe he was more concerned about your ticket.”
“Oh no! Did you have to buy one for me?”
Mr. Harinton pretended to look distressed. “And from Chesterton, no less! Even though you didn’t board until Pebbleton!” He winked. “The price we pay for deceit, I suppose. Never worry, Nicholas. Consider it a loan, if you like. One day you can pay me back. Now let’s return to more important matters. Namely, what to do next.”
Nicholas sat up straighter in his chair.
“I have a cousin who lives in Stonetown,” Mr. Harinton said. “A kind, trustworthy woman. We’ve been friends since childhood. I’d like for you to meet her. She’s one of the very few people I would trust with your well-being. When she hears what you’ve been through, she’s going to want to take you under her wing—she’s that kind of person. I know that she can help find a home for you. A good home, son.”
Nicholas hesitated. It seemed a big decision, though he saw no better alternatives.
“Before you answer,” Mr. Harinton hastened to say, “I want to promise you something. I’ll be returning in a month for another brief stay in Stonetown, and I’ll check on you as soon as I’m back. I don’t expect there to be any problems, but if there are, you won’t be left to deal with them on your own. I’m not just abandoning you to the wind. What do you say?”
All hesitation had flown. Nicholas nodded emphatically. He could scarcely believe his good fortune.
Immediately upon their arrival at the station in Stonetown, Mr. Harinton telephoned the sheriff in Pebbleton to inform him that young Nicholas Benedict was safe. He asked the sheriff to pass the news to Rothschild’s End and to tell Mr. Collum that he would be phoning that evening to discuss Nicholas’s return.
“I said to discuss it,” he assured Nicholas, hanging up the telephone. “Not to arrange it.”
Nicholas needed no reassurance. He had no more doubts about Mr. Harinton. Not one. He trusted the man completely, and doing so gave him a tremendous feeling of lightness and relief. He had never experienced anything like it.
The next few hours were a whirl of activity. Mr. Harinton had his own matters to attend to, as well as dealing with the arrangements for Nicholas, and they left the station at a gallop, lugging their baggage with them. They made several stops around Stonetown, at a variety of government offices, before finally, late that afternoon, settling into a hotel room near the station. Nicholas, his belly full of soup and French bread, rested drowsily on the sofa as Mr. Harinton made one telephone call after another.
Despite his curiosity, Nicholas could not keep from closing his eyes. Now Mr. Harinton was speaking to his cousin for the second time; they had already agreed to meet the following morning, but then the cousin had called back, wanting to know if Nicholas liked waffles.
“I believe he’s asleep now,” Mr. Harinton said in a low voice, “but I imagine waffles are a safe bet.”
Nicholas smiled to himself and tumbled off to sleep. When he awoke half an hour later, Mr. Harinton was still on the telephone, though now he seemed to be speaking with an associate. Nicholas listened without opening his eyes.
“Yes,” Mr. Harinton said wearily, “I’m fully aware of when I’m expected to arrive. What can I tell you? Something important has come up. Yes, believe it or not, something as important as the job. Listen, I can take the overnight tomorrow and still be there in plenty of time. Yes, I understand perfectly well that I’ll have to make the arrangements myself. And pay for the ticket changes myself—yes, I know. Don’t do me any favors, Weber.” He sighed, listened to the person on the line, and said, “Calm down, Weber. I figured as much. I know it isn’t your fault. Yes, policy is policy. Tell them I’ll be there when they expect me, all right? I won’t be fresh as a daisy, but I’ll be there. Yes, good night to you, too.”
Nicholas cracked open one eye. He saw Mr. Harinton hang up the telephone and rub his face. He was leaning against the wall in obvious exhaustion, his eyelids drooping heavily. He seemed to be lost in thought. Then he seemed to be going to sleep. Then he started, shook his head, and shuffled into the bathroom. Nicholas heard bathwater running.
He rose and went to the window. The room was on the fourth floor, overlooking an alley. Far below, two cats were yowling at each other, and street sounds drifted up through the alley to his window. The rush of traffic and honking of horns. To Nicholas it all sounded as pleasant as the ebb and flow of ocean waves, of seabirds and laughter. He had been happy before, at least briefly so, on several occasions, and what he was feeling now was rather like that, only deeper and stranger. It was happiness amplified by hope—not just for himself, but for people in general—and anchored by something else, something he had yet to put his finger on.
Mr. Harinton was real. There were adults in the world who would actually make sacrifices for the sake of others—not just for their own families but for anyone who needed help. Nicholas had always had the impression that families looked after one another, and he had come to understand that, on rare occasions, children would do the same. Had not John made a sacrifice for his sake? But this was different. What Mr. Harinton was doing certainly helped Nicholas—but it also simply felt right to Nicholas. It made him want to be exactly like Mr. Harinton himself.
No sooner had he thought this than he realized what was anchoring his happiness. It was purpose. He knew what he wanted to do. He knew the way he thought things should be, and Mr. Harinton was proving that other people—even adults—could feel the same way. Nicholas had something to aim for now. He might not know what he wanted to be when he grew up, but he knew with absolute certainty how he wanted to be.
He felt so excited, he found himself wishing he could get started right away.
And then he sat down, shaken by the thought.
For having thought this, Nicholas suddenly saw with horrible clarity something that he should have seen long ago. It was awful to see it all—and even worse to realize what he was going to have to do. In his mind’s eye, he saw his dream of a new life drifting away like a lost balloon. And for some time he sat there, hating to see it go.
But then it was gone, and he began to invent a new dream, and he began to feel better.
By the time Mr. Harinton had finished his bath, Nicholas knew everything that he wanted to do—and almost everything that he needed to do. At the very least, he knew where to begin.
Mr. Harinton opened the bathroom door. He was freshly scrubbed and shaved, and he was wearing clean clothes, but he still looked exhausted. Seeing Nicholas awake, he smiled wearily and said, “What do you say to some dinner, Nicholas?”
“That would be very nice, thank you, Mr. Harinton,” Nicholas said, standing. “And perhaps over dinner we could discuss a few things. I’ve made a decision, you see.”
Mr. Harinton looked perplexed. “Is that right? A decision about what?”
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you’ve done, Mr. Harinton. But I hope to show you. And with your help, I think I can do it.”
“Do what, Nicholas? What are you talking about?”
Nicholas braced himself. He knew that once he said it, he would do it.
And then he said it.
“I want to go back, Mr. Harinton. Back to ’Child’s End.”
Once again Nicholas watched Pebbleton station approach from the window of a train. This time, however, he was the only passenger to disembark, and he did not see the Studebaker anywhere. He waited, nervously, on the empty platform. The late-summer evening was soft with twilight, the air warm and dry. The pungent odors of coal smoke and creosote that usually hung about the train tracks were carried off by a mild breeze, replaced by the more pleasant, earthy scents carried in from the town’s surrounding farm fields. Nicholas’s keen nose detected these traveling fragrances as if they were visible flotsam and je
tsam borne along a stream. And in the distance he heard the agreeable sound of cowbells clanking, all the area cows ambling home from their day in the pastures.
Nicholas was far too nervous to give much thought to the loveliness of the evening, however. He was only glad it was not raining.
The stationmaster was saying goodbye to the train conductor, who was wishing him luck with his egg dilemma. Then the train whistle was blowing, and then Nicholas was alone. He sat down on his suitcase to wait.
Immediately he stood up again and began to pace.
So much depended on what he accomplished in the coming hours; so many lives would be affected by his success or failure; and Nicholas felt more nervous than he ever had. (He also knew that he faced a harsh scolding and punishment, which was enough on its own to make any child antsy and fretful.) But there was nothing to be done except wait, and so Nicholas waited. Nervously.
He had been pacing almost an hour when the Studebaker appeared, coming along the main street. He squinted to get a better look at it and was disappointed to see Mr. Collum in the passenger seat. His terrible scolding would begin right away, then. He had rather hoped it would wait until he’d arrived at the Manor.
Nicholas picked up his suitcase, squared his shoulders, and marched reluctantly but resolutely to the street curb.
The hour-long ride to Rothschild’s End passed just as he would have predicted, with Mr. Collum constantly, endlessly, angrily reprimanding him for his irresponsible, inconsiderate, and mischievous behavior. “I say mischievous, Nicholas, for did I not, on your very first night at the Manor, point out that unsupervised children could be much tempted to mischief? And did you not assure me that you were never so inclined? Yet you appear to have gone to great lengths—great lengths!—to prove exactly the opposite!”
The Extraordinary Education of Nicholas Benedict Page 31