Papa shook his head. “I’m not proposing we hunt them. There’re too many and we don’t have nearly enough ammunition…which brings me to our biggest issue today. We must send out another group for supplies.”
There was a snorted scoff in the back of the room. “You can’t be serious. If you really believe those things are real, that they’re back, you can’t expect anyone to volunteer. It’s certain suicide.”
“No more than attempting to make it through winter without a run,” Papa said grimly. “Dr. Ambrose says his stocks are low. That bout of croup in May had children guzzling ipecac by the bottle. Are you confident you’ve got enough meat smoked to last till next spring? We need more bullets. More everything.” His face softened. “We’ll take better precautions. We’ll send more people.”
“More people to die,” the dissenter shot back.
I turned in my seat and spotted Calvin Buhrman. The tavern owner’s dark eyes burned brightly. Jebediah McCleary had been his brother-in-law. I was mildly surprised that Calvin hadn’t remained at home with his grieving sister.
“I see no children here today,” Cyrus said, peering about the crowd. “I take it we’re meant to vote on this foolhardy expedition?”
Papa turned to address the Elders. “Surely we don’t need a Deciding for a supply run? I called the adults here because we need to assemble a group of volunteers.” He looked over his shoulder, offering a small smile to us. “I’ll be the first to do so.”
“Papa, no!” I shouted, leaping to my feet. “What about Mama?”
“His own daughter doesn’t think it’s a good idea,” Calvin said, pouncing. “I vote no. Surely we can rough out one winter. Our forefathers did it all the time. Let the creatures starve. They’ll be gone by spring, off for better hunting grounds. We’ll send a supply train then. Hell, I’ll lead it myself.”
The room erupted into too many discussions, some shouted across the aisle, others hissed in fervent tones between spouses. Merry pawed at me, asking about Mama. I waved her off, knowing Mama would be disappointed if I didn’t keep her secret.
From the circle of Elders, Amos McCleary raised one dark and shaky liver-spotted hand. He was the oldest man in all of Amity Falls and the head of the Elders. Cataracts clouded his once brown eyes a milky blue, and he used a long walking stick to help him navigate the Falls. On its top was a miniature replica of the Founder Tree, before it had been struck down by lightning. The carved leaves had lost much of their detail, and were polished as smooth as a lake’s surface.
“It seems to me,” he said, speaking with a papery-thin creak, “several questions must be asked before the Deciding can begin.” Amos glanced toward the other Elders. “Are we in agreement?”
The men nodded.
“The first…do we believe that Gideon and others in town have seen these…creatures? Let those who do raise their hands now.”
My hand and Merry’s shot into the air, along with a little over half the room. Beside me, Rebecca hesitated, worrying her fingers around a twist of hair.
“Sam saw them too,” I hissed at her. “You’ll have to start dividing your loyalties eventually.”
After a long beat, she raised her hand, though her fingers curled with timidity and she immediately looked down, avoiding her father’s glare.
“All counted,” Matthias said, marking the number down in his ledger.
“Very good,” Amos said. “And those who do not believe them, will you now raise your hands?”
A smaller amount did. Parson Briard not only hoisted his hand into the air but stood up, making sure everyone could see his vote.
“Then it’s decided,” Amos continued. “We believe the creatures exist. Now,…do we believe they seek us harm? Do we believe they are responsible for the deaths of Jeb—” His voice faltered, breaking. “Of my son, and the rest of the supply train? Let those who believe this to be true indicate it.”
Our trio of hands rose once more.
“And those who don’t?”
Cyrus Danforth and the parson were the only ones to move.
Amos gripped the handle of his cane, hoisting himself with obvious effort. “Very well. Now we are ready to begin the Deciding. As you all know, we cast our Decision publicly, so all the Falls may know our mind. We are one community, relying on ourselves and our neighbors, so it’s only fitting that we know each other’s true minds.”
Leland Schäfer stood up. “The Decision before you, then, is this: We believe the woods surrounding Amity Falls contain a pack of creatures, fast and large. We believe them to be deadly, having already killed some of our own. We have not restocked our supplies since April last, and the winter snows will soon be here. Should we send out a supply run now or wait until spring, when the creatures may have moved on?” He glanced at each of us before continuing. “Are we prepared to cast our votes?”
After a long pause, several heads nodded.
“Then come forward and ready yourselves accordingly. Yellow for a run now, red for waiting till spring.”
Row by row, the town of Amity Falls shuffled to the stumps of the Founder Tree. Beaten copper bowls rested across two of its ringed surfaces, and on the tallest trunk lay a book. Nearly four feet wide when opened, the book contained the votes of every Decision the town had ever made.
Papa cast his vote first, pressing the palm of his hand into one of the bowls. It came out a bright saffron, stained yellow by a mixture of turmeric powder and water. He stepped toward the book, then pressed his hand onto the right side. As he stepped back, allowing others to vote, he caught my eye and smiled encouragingly.
Merry watched the proceedings with rapt attention. It was her first Deciding, and when she got to the front, she hesitated before dipping her hand into the yellow dye. The handprint she left in the book was smudged, from nerves.
I stepped up after her, studying the two bowls before me. I absolutely believed that Papa and Sam had seen some sort of animals in the woods and that those creatures were responsible for the deaths of our fellow townsmen. But did I think there should be a run? Logically, one was needed. Supplies were low; supplies were necessary.
But at what cost?
What Calvin had said was true—our forefathers had made it through winters in the mountains with much less than what we had now. It would be a rough few months, but if we banded together, sharing with our friends and neighbors, sacrificing a little now for a greater good, we could manage it.
On the other hand, how did we know the creatures would leave before the spring run? How could we be sure that, as snow fell and game became scarce, they wouldn’t venture into town?
We couldn’t. We would need more ammunition, more guns, more bullets.
But if we sent a caravan now, Papa would be at the head of it. What if something should happen to him? Mama would never recover. Grief would kill the baby and then her.
The two bowls stared up at me. The yellow turmeric was to the right; the red liquid, made from the dyes of beets and crab-apple bark, to the left. The dyes wouldn’t easily wash away. The founders had wanted to make sure everyone understood that their actions affected the community as a whole. Whatever I decided now would be worn on my hand for days to come, like a brand.
I glanced toward the book, easily picking out Papa’s and Merry’s prints on the right. The left was evenly full of red marks, full of people who would rather wait and hope for a better spring.
Which was the right choice?
The weight of my decision crushed into my chest, like boulders falling down the mountain slopes, until I snapped into action.
My fingers pressed into the dye and onto the page, and it was done.
I stepped aside, allowing Rebecca to cast her vote. As I took my seat, I felt Papa’s eyes on the back of my neck, as persistent as a sunburn.
Once everyone in the hall had voted, making their mark
s in the great book, Matthias counted up the handprints and whispered the outcome to Amos.
“The Decision has been reached,” Amos said, standing before the crowd, clutching his cane as a tremble shook through him. “This was not an easy Deciding, I know, but a majority was reached and the majority will be carried out. The red marks outnumber the yellow by just one. We will stay in the Falls and wait until spring for another run. Amity Falls has spoken.”
* * *
We trekked home in silence, Papa between Merry and me but not actually walking with us. He was always a step or two ahead, eyes cast to the ground, lost in thought. Merry shot curious glances between us but remained silent, rubbing at her yellow palm.
Once, I tried reaching out to Papa. With a flick of annoyance, he jerked away, as if the mere sight of my red-stained fingers abhorred him.
I raked Papa’s shirt up and down the washboard, once, twice, three times, before stopping to examine it. I’d gotten nearly all the blood out of the cotton, but one stubborn spot remained. After running the bar of soap over the corrugated metal board once more, I started again.
Three days had passed since the Deciding, and Papa still wouldn’t look at me. I’d tried to make my penance, quickly volunteering for any household chores to most help Mama. I took the heavy knotted rugs to the laundry lines and beat them with switches, shaking free every bit of dust until my shoulders quaked. I’d flipped the mattresses, filling them with new straw, fresh feathers, and even handfuls of dried lavender to bring pleasant dreams. I wanted to volunteer to help with the bees again, but didn’t dare ask.
Today was wash day. I’d carried two metal tubs down to where the creek cut through our farm. There was a fire pit there, and I’d soon had one tub full of hot soapy water. The second was for rinsing. Once the clothes were free of soap, I hung them on the half dozen lines stretching alongside the stream. Lunch was still an hour off, but I already had four lines full. Our clothes shifted in the breeze like a troupe of ghosts come to dance. My fingers ached and my skin was scoured raw, but no amount of scrubbing would get rid of that damned telltale Deciding stain.
My knuckles scraped across the metal ridges, and I hissed, jerking backward. Papa’s shirt fell into the water, disappearing under the bubbles as I grabbed my hand, massaging the stiff muscles.
“Are you all right?”
I jumped, certain I’d been alone. Peering through the wavering lines of shirts and petticoats, I expected to see Sam, propped against a pair of roughly hewn crutches, but no one was there.
“Over here.”
My head snapped toward the creek.
Standing on the far bank and near the tree line was a stranger.
He was tall. Quite tall. Even from all the way across the water, I could tell I’d barely skim his shoulders if we stood side by side.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he continued. “It looked like you might have hurt yourself?”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.” I held up my hand in proof, though the knuckles were sore and red.
“That looks painful. Anything I can do to help?”
He stepped out from the shadows of the pines and dropped a large rucksack to the dirt. It landed with a heavy thud. Sunlight flecked across his dark hair, bringing out burnished highlights. His face was striking, long and chiseled with a proud, vulpine nose dominating his other features. It had been broken before, maybe more than once. The crooked lines of it gave him a piercing intensity at odds with his youthful frame.
I leapt to my feet as he took another step nearer. Warning bells rang in my mind, racing through my blood, and I fought the urge to flee. Visitors to Amity Falls were nearly nonexistent, and every possible worst-case scenario skittered through my imagination. I glanced over my shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of our farmhouse, but the laundry lines obscured it, which meant no one at home could see me either.
“Stay right where you are,” I shouted back, far louder than necessary. I hoped my words would carry across the field and over the hum of the bees. No matter how angry Papa was with me, he’d come running if he knew I was in danger. “You’re trespassing.”
The boy raised one eyebrow and looked back at the trees. “Am I? I wasn’t aware the forest belonged to anyone.” Amusement colored his deeply tanned face, and the corner of his lips twitched as if fighting an impulse to smile.
“It doesn’t, but our property starts right at the water’s edge,” I said, wishing I’d thought to bring along the family rifle. During the hottest months of summer, Papa had us carry the gun to the creek when we did the wash. Bull snakes and rattlers were drawn to the hot flat stones lining the riverbed. Mama usually brought it with her, but she’d been resting when I’d hauled the tubs and baskets down, and I’d forgotten all about it until now. Though I’d never actually killed a snake, he didn’t know that, and I longed for the reassuring heft of the barrel in my hand.
He looked down as though the boundary could be visibly seen, and checked his feet with exaggerated movements. “So…I’m not trespassing, then?”
My jaw tightened. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
He pointed over to a large rock overhanging the stream. “Just to be clear, that rock is on the forest’s side of the creek. I won’t be crossing any line if I sit there, will I?”
His voice was light, on the verge of laughter. I wasn’t sure if he was mocking me or trying to work his obvious charms in his favor.
Without waiting, the stranger plopped onto the lip of the rock and began removing his boots. Leather cords held the tops of them to his knees, and he whistled as he loosened the knots.
“What on earth are you doing?”
He took one boot off, then the other. “I’ve been hiking for hours.”
“Hiking from where? You’re not from Amity Falls.”
“I’m not,” he agreed, tossing aside a pair of mud-stained socks and flexing his toes. He rolled up the legs of his buckskin trousers, revealing a pair of muscular calves, and groaned in pleasure as his feet dipped into the rushing waters. “Oh, I needed that. I could stay here all day, just like this.” Leaning back on his forearms, he dangled his legs into the stream with a languid grace. Basking in the sunlight, without a care in the world, he looked like some god of old we’d read about in school. Pan, or the one who liked wine and dancing.
Dionysus, I remembered after a moment.
“Then where are you from?”
He peered at me through slitted eyes. “You’re awfully persistent.”
“And you’ve evaded every question I’ve asked.”
His right eyebrow raised into a perfect arch. “Have I? How rude of me! I’ll answer whatever you ask next, I swear it.” He swiped his fingers over his heart, making a solemn oath. “Go on; this is your chance. Ask whatever you like.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “What’s your name?”
The boy wrinkled his nose. “Oh, not that! You can ask me anything you want, and you choose something so wholly pragmatic? No, no, no. I’ll let you try again.”
I couldn’t help my snort. “Are you serious?”
“Always.” He clapped his hands. “There, I answered something for you. Now you owe me one.”
“I owe you nothing. That wasn’t even a real question!”
“I beg to disagree. You posed a challenge, daring me to give an answer. Is that not the very definition of a question? Besides”—he smirked—“your voice went up at the end. Everyone knows that’s the true mark of a question. Now, I gave you an answer. So give me one in return.”
“Fine. What do you want to know?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled as a smile burst across his mouth, full and wide and utterly incorrigible. “What’s your name?”
“Truly?” I raised an exasperated eyebrow at him before relenting. “Ellerie.”
“Ellerie…?” he drew out,
clearly seeking more.
“Downing.”
“Downing,” he repeated. “Your father is the apiarist in these parts, isn’t he? I was told I absolutely must purchase a bottle of honey from him if I found myself here come harvest time.”
“From who?”
He cocked his head as if he didn’t understand the question.
“Who told you about Papa? And the honey?”
“You get a chance to redeem yourself, and those are the questions you choose?” He sank back again. “You’re really, truly awful at this game, Ellerie Downing.”
“I didn’t realize we were playing a game.”
“Of course we are. Isn’t everyone?”
Though his voice was as light and breezy as ever, a trace of overfamiliarity set my nerves on edge, and I glanced through the lines of laundry once more, wishing a great wind would come along so Papa could see this strange boy.
“Then, what’s your name?” I asked, suddenly ready for the conversation to be over. “You know mine now; it’s only fair.”
“Games are rarely ever fair, honey-haired girl.” His teeth winked as he smiled.
His audacity was maddening. I turned away from him, busying myself by rinsing the shirt and hanging it on the line. I’d finish the rest after lunch, bringing Papa with me in case the stranger was still there. He’d be able to get answers out of this infuriating man.
“Ellerie?” he prompted, once it became clear I was ignoring him.
I stacked the empty baskets together and hoisted them onto my hip before daring to look his way. “I don’t need another question. I already know everything I need to about you.” With a satisfied puff of pride, I turned on my heel and pushed past the first line of clothes, going home.
“I very much doubt that,” he called after me, but I steeled my resolve and didn’t turn back once.
* * *
“There was a stranger down by the creek,” I announced after we’d sat down and prayed over the food before us.
Small Favors Page 6