Small Favors

by Erin A. Craig

  Wolves that Whitaker insisted were no longer there.

  “Ellerie?” Sam prompted, still waiting for my answer.

  “I’m sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”

  “It has been all morning.” Was his tone laced with accusation, or was that my worried imagination?

  “I didn’t sleep well.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t let Whitaker stay so late the next time he comes visiting. It took me an age to go down once he’d left.”

  I twisted my lips, uncertain if I should say what was truly on my mind or let it lie dormant. “It was good of him to return your pocketknife,” I said, landing somewhere in the middle. “I’m sure it’s a relief to have it back.”

  Sam hummed his acknowledgment before his face turned sour. “I don’t understand him. Living in the woods like that, when he knows those things are out there. And then to go poking around that site…” He shook his head.

  “I don’t think Whitaker was poking around. He was just checking traps.”

  He sniffed. “So he says.”

  “Why should you care, anyway?” It was like pressing at a loose tooth, gently pushing and prodding to see how much give it had before it finally broke free. No good would come of it, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  “Just don’t like it. He shouldn’t be nosing into things that don’t concern him. He’s not a part of the town. He didn’t know those men.” I must have made a noise he didn’t care for. “What? State your piece, Ellerie. I can see you’ve got something all worked up in your mind. Just spit it out.”

  “It just…I don’t understand why it bothers you so much—him being near the campsite….Is there something there you didn’t want him to see?”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Meaning what?”

  I ran my fingers over the tabletop, glancing into the kitchen to see if our sisters were listening in. Merry stood beside Sadie, showing her how to get the thinnest slices from the ginger root. “I don’t know. You’re just acting as though you’ve something to hide.”

  “Something to hide? Like what?”

  “What really happened, Sam? How did you get away from those creatures, all on your own? I don’t…I don’t see how you escaped. Without protection. Without even your knife.”

  He blinked in surprise. “I told you what happened.”

  “You did. Mostly.”

  “Mostly?” Sam bristled. “What else do you want to hear? Do you want to know what it sounded like when Joseph Abernathy’s chest ripped open? The color of his innards? The way he screamed for his mother?”

  I turned away, wincing as the images flooded my mind. “No! Of course not.”

  “Then what, Ellerie? What do you want to know?” He leaned over the table.

  “Only…”

  “What?”

  I squirmed. “It’s terrible.”

  “Tell me,” he growled.

  “If the attack was that devastating, that fast and awful—how are you here right now? You didn’t have a gun. You didn’t have arrows. You didn’t even have your pocketknife. So how are you alive right now?”

  He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

  “I’m so glad you are…obviously…but it just doesn’t make any sense to me.”

  “I ran,” he admitted quietly. “It was a cowardly thing to do, but I ran.”

  “How could you outrun those wolves? You said how fast they were. How there were so many of them.”

  A flicker of irritation lit his face. “Why aren’t you believing me? What did he say?” Sam asked, his voice turning dark and sharp. “What else did Whitaker tell you?”

  “He said…” I squirmed in my seat. “He said it was an absolute massacre. A bloodbath. No one could have survived it. But…”

  “What?” he demanded.

  “He didn’t see any traces of animals at the site.”

  Sam’s mouth fell open. “What? That’s absurd. What else could have…” He trailed off, putting the pieces together. “He thinks I…?”

  “He didn’t say that! He doesn’t think that at all!” I raced to amend.

  “Then who does he think did it?”

  I shrugged helplessly.

  “Answer me!” Sam struck the table with startling force.

  “Is everything all right?” Merry asked, peeking in from the doorway.

  “Go upstairs,” Sam ordered. “Both of you!”

  Merry’s face clouded with confusion. “But what about—”

  “Now!” Sam snapped.

  We listened to their footsteps shuffle up the staircase, then linger on the landing.

  “Shut the door too!”

  “Sam,” I tried.

  “You think I murdered those men?” He leaned over the table, glaring daggers into my eyes.

  “No, of course not! I—”

  “But he does! He told you I did!”

  “He didn’t say that. He said he didn’t see any evidence of wolves—of the creatures you saw.”

  “The creatures that were there,” he corrected me.

  “Yes.”

  “You believe me, don’t you?”

  I hesitated, and immediately saw it was the wrong choice to make.

  He shoved backward, nearly knocking his chair over. “I can’t believe you, Ellerie. I can’t…” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I can’t be here. Not right now. Not anymore.”

  “Sam—”

  “Save it.” He sprung into motion, racing to Mama and Papa’s bedroom and slamming the door shut. I heard motion inside, drawers yanked open, things tossed about, but I didn’t dare approach. He’d come out when he was ready, when he’d cooled off, spouting contrition.

  I was exhausted just picturing it.

  My sisters’ uneaten oatcakes were growing cold on their plates. I pushed myself from the table and took quiet treads toward the staircase. But before I could call them back down, the bedroom door whipped open and Sam stepped out, a rucksack slung over his shoulder.

  His eyes fell on me without recognition, and then he looked away. He stalked into the kitchen, and I heard him rummage about the shelves.

  At the top of the stairs, Merry peeked around the corner, scouting to see if it was safe to come down. I shook my head at her, and she slipped back into the loft with an audible sigh.

  I heard the porch door open and swing shut, then silence.

  I paused, listening closely.

  Was he still in the house?

  When I dared to check the kitchen, I spotted him through the window, his form dark against the new snow.

  He’d left.

  Again.

  A flicker of irritation kindled within me, and I was out the door in a matter of heartbeats, throwing my wool cloak over my shoulders.

  “Sam!” My voice echoed strangely off the falling snow.

  Thick flakes danced down from the clouds, heavy and wet. We’d have another two feet on the ground before twilight fell. Only an absolute fool would try to travel in such weather.

  Only Sam.

  “Go back home, Ellerie,” he ordered.

  I floundered after him, drifts calf-high and freezing. At least he’d had the sense to strap on his snowshoes before he’d left.

  “What are you doing?”

  He stopped, back to me, his sigh steeped in a deep plume of white breath. “What does it look like?”

  “Like you’re about to get yourself lost in a blizzard.”

  “I’m sure that’d please you.”

  “Sam.”

  He remained motionless. “It was hard enough living in that house with you, Ellerie, stomping about as if you were the head of everything, as if you know everything. You’ve no idea how much it hurt when Papa left the bees to you.”

  “I didn’t ask him to. I—”<
br />
  He whirled around, finally looking at me. “They were supposed to be mine!” He swung his arm out, gesturing toward the farm. “All of this was supposed to have been mine! I’m the oldest! I’m the son! What right do you have bossing me about, as if I’m stupid, as if I’m in need of your almighty guidance?”

  “What right?” I repeated, feeling the barrage of his words hit like bullets. But rather than shredding and stinging, they sparked, incinerating a scolding fury within me. “I’m the only reason the hives are still here. You nearly killed them all, trying to get those extra bottles of honey! How could you have been so thoughtless, Sam?”

  A cloud of breath flooded from his mouth, as though I’d pummeled him. “I had to—I needed—you wouldn’t even begin to understand.”

  “You’re right. I don’t understand. I won’t. Ever. It was too cold. It was too late in the season. And I can’t decide which is worse—that you were too stupid or you just didn’t care!”

  He shook his head. “I guess Papa was right, then. Maybe I am the weaker one, the lesser twin. Maybe I’m supposed to stick to the background while you reign supreme over your little hives. But I will not stay in that house while you accuse me of murder! While you believe another man’s word over mine.” His lips trembled, rage and sorrow whipping together into a tidal wave of misery.

  I faltered in the face of his pain, casting my anger aside. “Sam, I didn’t—I haven’t!”

  “I won’t!” He snapped and trudged off, leaving me behind once more.

  “Where are you going?” I called after him.

  “I don’t know and it doesn’t matter. I’d rather live in the forests, fighting off those damned monsters, than spend another second under that roof with you!”

  He disappeared in a curtain of snowfall before I could stop him.

  But even if he hadn’t, I don’t think I would have tried.

  * * *

  “I can’t believe Sam really left,” Sadie said, settling back into her seat, our cold breakfast laid before us. She stared at the empty chair with morose regard. “Do you think he’ll come back when Mama and Papa do?”

  I doubted it and didn’t feel poorly for saying so. My blood boiled, remembering his accusations.

  “Won’t he want to see the baby? And…me?”

  “I’m sure he’ll come visit,” Merry promised. “Cheer up, little love. You’ll see him soon enough.”

  “But why did he have to go? Is he mad at us?” A quick flick of her eyes in my direction made it clear who she truly meant by “us.”

  I bustled back to the kitchen and unhooked the kettle from the hearth. After grabbing the tea, I returned to the dining room. “I don’t think so…certainly not at you. This was bound to happen. Sam’s growing up. He wasn’t going to stay here forever. Remember when he hung the curtain in the loft? It’s like that—he just needs his own place. Space to become himself.”

  “But you’re twins,” she observed. “You won’t leave us too, will you?” Her eyes were as round as an owl’s, pleading and dark with worry.

  Sinking into the chair next to her, I grabbed her hand and pressed a fervent kiss to its back. “Of course not. I’d never leave my sisters.” Sadie twisted her fingers through mine, still miserable, and I gestured for Merry to join us. “Let’s say the blessing before the food gets any colder.”

  The three of us joined hands and closed our eyes. Before I could find the right words, there was a brisk knock on the front door.

  “Sam?” Sadie guessed, her eyes flashing open.

  “He wouldn’t knock,” I said, standing up.

  “Or use the front door,” Merry added.

  I pushed myself from the table as another flurry of knocks sounded. Across the lace curtains a silhouette swayed from foot to foot.

  “Ezra. Hello,” I said in greeting, opening the door, surprise in my voice. “Thomas,” I acknowledged, seeing my cousin standing behind him.

  “We’re terribly sorry to call at such an early hour—” Ezra began.

  “Did you forget something last night?” I swept my eyes over the sitting room, but nothing looked out of place.

  “No, no…nothing like that.”

  “My sisters and I were just settling down for breakfast. Would you care for some tea?”

  “We didn’t mean to interrupt,” Ezra said. He pushed his gold wire spectacles up his nose, looking lost. “We can come back another time…”

  Thomas placed a hand on his father’s back, bolstering him up. “We’re already this far.” My cousin turned to me. “We were attacked last night.”

  “Attacked?” Merry echoed. She’d wandered in from the dining room, fingers at her throat. “Are you all right? What happened?”

  His mouth opened as if to smile, but it contained no joy. “We’re fine, mostly. Calvin woke us in the middle of the night. Our wagon was being ransacked. Our supplies cast out and set on fire. It was too dark to make out faces, but we saw at least three shadows fleeing the scene. And the oxen…”

  “They eviscerated them,” Ezra filled in when Thomas could not.

  I took in a sharp breath, unable to keep from imagining the blood slashed across the newly fallen snow. Last night had been Christmas. Who would do something so horrific on such a holy night?

  My stomach ached as I remembered Rebecca’s wedding.

  The Elders had accused Ezra and Thomas of being behind all the strange events in town. Too many people had stood by, nodding in silent agreement. Any one of them—buoyed by a bit of holiday spirits—could have decided to take justice into their hands.

  “That’s terrible.” An obvious understatement, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  Ezra’s face was grave. “My notes and journals can be salvaged—it will take some time to put everything back in order—but the oxen…I’m afraid we’re stranded now. We won’t be able to leave the Falls without them, however much some may wish it.”

  “Leave the Falls?” Merry repeated with alarm. “In the middle of winter? Oh, Uncle Ezra, you can’t!”

  I placed a gentle hand on her forearm. “Why don’t you and Sadie start up some more oatcakes?” My fingertips worried over my thumbnail, tallying up exactly how many scoops of flour remained in the larder. I turned back to the men. “It’s freezing out here. Please, please come inside.”

  After they were ushered inside, I glanced about the yard before shutting the door. They’d walked here, through the snowbanks, carrying the last of their possessions with them. It must have taken hours. Four large packs, stuffed to overflowing, were on the porch, a small wooden trunk nestled between them.

  Of all the days for Sam to have stormed off.

  Thomas followed after Merry, leaning forward to attentively answer her flood of questions. Ezra hung back in the sitting room and gestured that I do the same.

  “You’ll stay with us, of course,” I said, jumping over whatever preamble he’d worked up in his mind.

  “Oh, I—we—”

  “You’re family,” I said firmly, settling the decision. “Family helps each other out. Always.”

  He squinted through his glasses. “I appreciate this kindness, Ellerie, you’ve no idea how much. We’d never dare to presume—but if you have space in your barn? Or an outbuilding?” He released a soft laugh. “Even a spot in an open field would be preferable to staying in town.”

  His thick eyebrows raised together with such hope, I felt powerless to say no. “Mama and Papa’s room is open,” I heard myself say.

  It was true enough. Sam had taken all of his possessions from it.

  He took a deep breath, relief evident on his face. “Oh, how good of you.”

  “There’s just the one bed, but…Sam stormed off this morning. I don’t know when he’ll be back. Thomas can use his bed in the loft till then. We’ll work out something after if
we need to.”

  He fidgeted with the spectacles, clearly flustered. “Oh, no. No. No, he couldn’t possibly. He can stay down here. He’s got a sleeping roll and we’ll clean it up each morning.” Ezra nodded, glancing about the open floor of the room.

  “Nonsense. He needs a bed, and it’ll be far warmer up there. Besides,” I said, forcing a smile. “We’re all cousins, right?”

  * * *

  After our meager breakfast, I escorted Ezra and Thomas down to the barn and showed them an empty stall where they could store their packs.

  “I suppose we ought to start going through everything, see what is truly left,” Ezra said, throwing one of the rucksacks onto the worktable with a sigh.

  He looked exhausted.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” I wandered over to where they’d piled their supplies at the barn door. The packs were bigger than me, but I picked up the small crate easily. “Pretty lid,” I said.

  Intricate patterns had been carved along the border with surprising detail.

  “Oh, let me take that,” Ezra said, swiping the box from me. “It’s so heavy.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Nonsense, you’ve already helped us so much.” He whisked it away to the stall before I could study it further.

  “Thank you again, Ellerie,” Thomas said, opening up a sack and removing a roll of canvas. He laid it out on the ground and began unfurling its length.

  “It’s no trouble at all.” I knelt down to help, flipping over the folds until the full expanse of the tent lay spread out. “Oh.”

  My mouth fell open as I caught sight of the picture crudely drawn on the tent’s side.

  It was a large, lidless eye. The paint—I refused to think of it as blood—had been heavily applied and streaked down from the drawing in eerie rivulets. Even more disconcerting was the eye’s pupil. Someone had dipped their hand in the blood—no, paint—and pressed it to the oilcloth. It seemed to see nothing and yet everything all at once.