A Difficult Boy

by M. P. Barker

  Pa leaned toward Silas. “I’ve kept my peace until now, sir,” he began, “only because Ethan and Lizzie begged me. But I need some explanations. Why should I help you hide what your father’s done? He lied to me—to all of us. If half of what Ethan’s told me is true—” He looked at Daniel’s wounded face. “Mr. Lyman needs to pay for his crimes.”

  “He’ll pay, sir,” Silas said. “I’ll make sure of that.”

  “How then, if you don’t hand him over for the law to deal with him?”

  “The law may see him locked up, perhaps impoverished as well, but it probably won’t see anybody paid back,” Silas said. “If he’s prosecuted, he’ll fight until he exhausts his appeals. Court costs and lawyers’ fees will whittle away his fortune until there’s hardly anything left to repay the people he’s cheated.” As Silas talked, Ethan noticed that his tone was different when he referred to his father. The hes and hims now seemed to begin with lowercase rather than capital letters. “If you let me handle things myself, I can use the income from the store and the farm, sell some land, perhaps, or even the house, to return what he’s taken. It will take some time, but I swear to you I’ll go over every page of those books and see that every penny’s repaid, with interest and damages. The law can’t promise you that. Which would you prefer, Mr. Root, to see him jailed or to see restitution paid to his victims?” He spread his hands wide. “The law may not have room for both.”

  Pa lit his pipe and mulled over it for a long time. “And how will you pay all those people back without them finding out the truth and bringing the law down on his head anyway?”

  Silas rubbed his jaw. “I’ve thought about that, sir. I think—I think they will hear Mr. Lyman has suffered a fit of nervous prostration, perhaps an apoplectic shock. If you saw him now, you’d not have a hard time believing it. It has unsettled his mind, caused him to become confused, agitated, accuse people of things they haven’t done. Become violent, even.” He gave Daniel a pointed look. “He will need to withdraw from his business affairs, of course, which I will take over. I expect I will find . . . mistakes in his bookkeeping. If he could manipulate the accounts to his favor, they can be manipulated the other way as well.” His mouth curled in an ironic smile. “If he recovers, he’ll not be able to return to his work. I expect he will devote the rest of his life to charity and philanthropy.”

  Ethan imagined how much it would torment Mr. Lyman to lose his power and to watch Silas give away his wealth to those he regarded as weak and undisciplined. But Silas would have to spend the next twenty years or more standing guard over a man he despised. The two would be virtually chained together for the rest of Mr. Lyman’s life, their grand white house becoming as much a prison for its masters as it had been for Ethan and Daniel.

  “New lies to cover the old ones,” Pa said, his tone heavy with disgust. “How do I know you’re not lying to me now?”

  “If I don’t satisfy you, go to Mr. Flagg. Tell him the truth.”

  “After you’ve destroyed those books, I suppose?” Pa raised a suspicious eyebrow.

  “Silas isn’t like that, Pa,” Ethan said. “I swear.”

  “You don’t know, Ethan,” Pa said. “He could be fooling you just as his father fooled me.”

  “Wasn’t I right about Daniel?” Ethan said.

  Pa studied the smoke drifting toward the ceiling.

  “There are the girls to think of as well, Mr. Root,” Silas continued. “And the baby. They’ve done no harm to anyone. I’d like to keep a home for them, at least.”

  Pa tilted his head toward the kitchen, where Ma was teaching the girls a song while they worked. Ethan wondered if he was trying to put himself in Silas’s place, considering what lengths he’d go to in order to keep a home for Benjamin and Maria and Chloe. And me, Ethan thought.

  “I think maybe—” Ethan began, then stopped, not sure quite how to say why he’d agreed to keep Silas’s secret.

  “What, son?”

  “Well, I wanted to hurt Mr. Lyman, too. Something awful, especially after what he did to Daniel. I even wished he was dead.” He glanced at Silas. “Sorry,” he said, then turned back to Pa. “But I was thinking of something Daniel told me once. Something his mother said: If you wish someone ill, it only comes back at you in the end. So you’re better to wish somebody good. So maybe Silas is right.”

  “Aye,” Daniel said. “From what I seen of that prison, I can’t say as I’d be feeling any sorrow to have him locked away there. But what good would that do, if it don’t undo the ruin he’s caused to folk like meself?”

  Pa made a little humphing sound and blew smoke out through his nose. “Very well, Silas. I’ll hold my peace for now. But I’ll be watching to see if you keep your promises.”

  “That’s all I ask, sir,” Silas said.

  The four sat in uneasy silence until the comforting sounds of Ma and the girls singing and laughing in the kitchen wore the tension out of the air.

  “What are you going to do now?” Ethan asked Daniel.

  “I don’t know.” Daniel’s shoulders sagged as if he couldn’t get out from underneath the weight of all that had happened.

  “You can stay with us. Can’t he, Pa?” Ethan tugged at Pa’s trouser leg.

  Pa gave Ethan a reluctant frown. “I’d like to say yes, son, but I can’t pay him. I can’t ask a man to work for just his board. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  “I’d not be minding, sir,” Daniel said. “It’s more than I got now.”

  “That’s not true,” Silas said. “You have ten acres of land.”

  Daniel laughed wearily. “And what’ll I be doing with that now? I hardly think your da’ll be wanting me for a neighbor.”

  Silas pulled a small cloth bag from his pocket. It clinked heavily as he pressed it into Daniel’s hands. “Sell it to me. I’ve counted out a fair price for it. And I owe you rent for all the years we’ve been using it. I still haven’t done the sums for that. Sell it and make a good start for yourself somewhere he isn’t. There should be enough to buy you some tools or some livestock or a little bit of land.”

  Ethan grinned and hugged his knees to himself. Now Daniel would be happy, he thought. Now Daniel could be sure everything was all right. Even Pa smiled at last.

  Daniel sat for a long moment, weighing the purse in his hand as if he were afraid to look inside it. Finally, he opened it and took a cautious peek. He pulled out one of the coins and held it in his palm, watching the sun sparkle across its copper surface. “Is there enough here to buy a horse?”

  Ethan turned the bone-handled knife over and over in his hands.

  “Mr. Bingham told me which one you fancied,” Daniel said.

  “It’s beautiful. I—thank you. Ta.” He grinned up at Daniel.

  “Take care of it. I’ll not be around to buy you another.” Daniel’s words smothered Ethan’s joy in the gift and replaced it with a heaviness that sat in his stomach like a stone.

  It was strange to see Daniel dressed in brand-new clothes made just for him. Ma had told him to have them made a little big, because he had so much growing yet to do. Even so, the bottle-green jacket looked especially fine. Lizzie’d been right about the color; it made his red hair seem a rich shade of copper rather than dull faded orange. The vest fabric she’d picked out was a soft fawn color shot through with copper threads that looked as though they’d been plucked from Ivy’s mane. He slipped on a new green cap that matched his coat.

  Perhaps he didn’t look like an Irish prince, but he looked respectable compared to the ragged, bruised boy Silas had brought back from Springfield three weeks since. He even wore a pair of boots, although he shifted from foot to foot as though he’d rather have gone barefoot. He would probably shed boots, coat, and vest as soon as he was shy of town, but he’d said he wanted to say his good-byes looking like a proper gentleman. He’d already given parting gifts to Ethan’s family. Now Ivy stood by him, ready for the journey, her saddlebags fat with supplies.

  “I don’t understand
why you have to leave. You can stay with us forever if you want,” Ethan said. He kicked at a stone and stubbed his bare toe. The dull ache matched his mood.

  While Daniel had stayed with Ethan’s family, his bruises had healed and his strength returned. He’d helped Ethan and his father harvest the rye and bring in a sparse second cutting of hay. Meanwhile, Silas and Lizzie had fitted him out with new clothes and goods for his journey. In between, the boys had somehow found time for swimming and fishing and, best of all, riding. Ethan had found it all great fun, until today. Until today, there’d been the hope that Daniel would change his mind and stay.

  Daniel had spent one long morning with the Lymans—Silas, George, and Henry. He’d returned with a dazed look on his face and a sheaf of legal papers in his hand: receipts for all his goods, so no one could accuse him of stealing; papers freeing him from his indenture to Mr. Lyman; letters of reference drafted by Silas, signed by George Lyman, and witnessed by Henry Lyman. Silas had wanted to make sure nobody would question Daniel’s right to go or to own the things he carried.

  Silas had proposed that Daniel go west to work for a business associate of Mr. Lyman’s. There was, indeed, a letter from Mr. Lyman to a Jonas Farrow in Parma, Ohio, but Ethan doubted Daniel would ever use it. He’d want to avoid anybody remotely connected with George Lyman. Silas must have known that, too, for he’d provided Daniel with reference letters from other people as well. It was no surprise that Silas had included a letter from Ethan’s father and an introduction from Mr. Bingham to his brother in Ohio. But he’d also managed to convince both Lizzie’s father and Constable Flagg to write about what a hardworking, upstanding young man Mr. Daniel Linnehan was.

  Daniel had read the letters over and over, shaking his head in amazement at the words. “I can’t hardly recognize meself in here,” he’d told Ethan. “You’d think I was Saint Daniel instead of me own self, wouldn’t you, now?” Daniel traced his finger over Mr. Flagg’s signature. “I’m surprised Silas didn’t try to get one from the minister. But I fancy Mr. Merriwether wouldn’t be recommending a bloody Papist for anything but a place in hell.”

  Daniel had carefully stored all his papers in a leather wallet and packed them away in Ivy’s saddlebags. All but the most important one: the bill of sale for Ivy, which Daniel kept safe in the breast pocket of his new green coat.

  Silas had brought the mare up from the Lymans’, and Daniel had given Ethan a daily riding lesson. Now, just as Ethan felt confident enough to ride Ivy without Daniel’s help, Daniel and Ivy were going away. It wasn’t fair.

  “Please stay,” Ethan said. “Then you could be my brother for real.”

  Daniel avoided Ethan’s eyes. “I’d be doing you no favors, lad.”

  “You can stay here, even if you work for somebody else,” Ethan said. “Pa said so. There’s plenty of folks around here who need a hand now and then.”

  Daniel shook his head. “And how would I be trading at Lyman’s store, with all that’s between us?”

  “He won’t cheat anybody again. Silas will make sure—”

  Daniel raised an eyebrow. “How will I be living in this town, with no one wanting to hire me or trade with me, for fear I’ll rob ’em or murder ’em should they turn their backs? Anytime someone’s goods go missing or some such happens, and there’s no one to hang the blame on, folk’ll be looking to me ’cause I’m the lad as tried to rob Mr. Lyman.”

  “But you didn’t do anything wrong. Everybody knows that now.”

  “And how will they be knowing, with you and Lizzie and Silas and your folks all keeping it secret?”

  “They’ll know ’cause you’re free. They wouldn’a let you go if you were guilty.”

  “Oh, is that the way of it, now? Or will they be saying I’m free only because Lyman’s a charitable and forgiving man, not because I done nothing wrong?”

  “But—but—” Ethan hated the way arguing with Daniel felt like swimming upstream. Couldn’t Daniel let him win just this once, when it really mattered?

  “Come on, lad. Let’s ride for a bit.” Daniel swung himself onto Ivy’s back. He kicked his left foot free of the stirrup and held a hand out to help Ethan get into the saddle in front of him. He pressed Ivy into an easy walk. “I know you mean well, but don’t you see? How can I live easy here with all that’s happened?”

  Ethan looked toward the Berkshire foothills. Once Daniel crossed them, he might as well be on the other side of the ocean. He thought of Mr. Bingham’s brother, who had always promised to return but never had. “Why do you have to go so far? Can’t you just go to Westfield or Pittsfield, or—or—”

  “Talk travels fast and far, lad. I want to go somewhere the talk won’t reach.”

  “It’s not fair.” Ethan’s lower lip jutted out.

  “Ain’t you learned that by now? Me da once told me that he come here so he could start new, with nothing hindering him from making his own way in the world. If he failed, well, he’d at least know it was all on his own account and not for someone keeping him back. I want to get far enough away so there won’t be no Lymans or talk of Lymans to poison me life, somewhere I can rise or fall on the strength of me own hands, where I got no one to thank or blame but meself.”

  “Is there really such a place, even out west?” Ethan twisted to look up at Daniel’s face.

  Daniel’s gray-green eyes were soft and distant. “I don’t know. But I got to find out, don’t I?”

  Daniel circled Ivy to the west, then turned south along the river, past their old fishing and swimming spots. When they turned back east, he gave the reins to Ethan until they reached Daniel’s thinking place. Daniel slid from the mare’s back and paced the foundation, then sat on the mound where the chimney used to be. He pointed up at the Lymans’ house. The sun sparkled off the big fan-shaped attic window.

  “The first time I went home from Lyman’s to see me ma and da,” Daniel said, “I told me ma I could see our house from me window. She said she’d put a candle out where I could see it, so I’d know she was thinking about me. I’d watch nights until the candle went out, and I’d fancy she was saying her good-nights to me. It made me feel better, thinking I wasn’t working up there for nothing, and there was someone as minded what become of me. But that was a long time ago.” Daniel walked over to the lilac bush; the brambles Silas had weeded out had grown back already. He gently separated the shrub from the prickly shoots and uprooted the briars. “Sometimes—I—I fancy maybe I can feel ’em here, and they can hear me. Daft, eh, lad?”

  “I don’t know.” Ethan squatted next to his friend and helped pull the brambles out. He grabbed the shoots carefully, trying to place his fingers between the thorns.

  Daniel didn’t seem to mind how the brambles bit his fingers. The lilac’s seedpods rattled against the boys’ shoulders as they worked. When they were done, Daniel started to wipe his hands on his trousers. He caught himself before he dirtied his new clothes. He gave Ethan a crooked smile and began to wipe his hands on the grass instead.

  “Here.” Ethan dug his handkerchief out of his pocket and gave it to Daniel.

  “Ta, lad,” Daniel said, brushing the dirt from his hands. “I just thought I’d come and tell ’em where I’m going. So they won’t miss me, see. It’s just a notion, mind.” Daniel went back to the chimney mound. He closed his eyes and sat in silence for a long time, his face quiet as if he were listening to someone that Ethan couldn’t hear.

  Daniel let Ethan take the reins all the way home. But there was no joy in the honor, even though it was a perfect day to ride: sunny and warm, with a breeze stirring Ivy’s mane. The light had made the shift from stark white to pale yellow that would eventually mellow into the gold of autumn. The whir of crickets and cicadas had risen to an anxious rattle, as if they knew they had less than a month left for singing. There would still be sweltering days ahead, but the season had crested and begun to slip toward fall. It seemed right to Ethan that the summer had chosen this day to begin dying.

  Ethan
could feel that Ivy wanted to run, but he didn’t let her. The sooner they got back, the sooner they’d have to say good-bye. They’d nearly reached Ethan’s house before he spoke. “Daniel—”

  “Aye?”

  All the way back, Ethan had been reflecting on what Daniel had said back at his thinking place: It made me feel better, thinking there was someone as minded what become of me. “I mind. I mind what becomes of you.” The words stuck in his throat as though he’d swallowed some of the brambles they’d pulled.

  “Do you, now?” Daniel took the reins and halted Ivy in front of the house. He slid off the horse and helped Ethan down. “That’s grand, lad. That’s what brothers are s’posed to do, ain’t it?”

  It was all Ethan could do not to fling his arms around his friend and beg him once more to stay. But he’d vowed he wouldn’t shame Daniel or himself with tears. He held himself stiffly, ready to shake Daniel’s hand like a man.

  Daniel took something out of his pocket and slipped it into Ethan’s hand. “Here. Take care of this for me.”

  Ethan unwrapped the knotted handkerchief. The little wooden horse nestled inside gleamed a mellow golden brown. He shook his head. “I can’t take this. Your pa made it for you.”

  Daniel knocked Ethan’s hat askew. “I didn’t say you was to keep it, you fool.” He swung himself into the saddle before Ethan could give the little horse back. “I’m just lending it to you. Until you can come and bring it back to me.” Ivy danced and reared underneath him, eager to run and play. He whirled her away and down the road before Ethan could recover his breath enough to say “Ta.”

  Acknowledgments

  As of this writing, A Difficult Boy is officially older than Ethan, its main character (although thankfully not older than Daniel!). Along the way I’ve accumulated a long list of people who’ve helped in various ways. If I’ve forgotten anybody, please forgive me.

  First, I’d like to acknowledge the members of the Long-meadow Writers and Poets and the Oak and Stone Writing Groups, without whom this book would not have even been started. Nearly half of the story was written during workshop sessions, and members’ encouragement and enthusiasm helped me see the book through to the finish. Their comments also helped immensely with the editing. Thanks to Julia Starzyk (for inspiring exercises and editing), Beth Clifford (for additional editorial advice), Lise Hicks (for yelling at me at a very critical stage), Anna Bowling and Melva Michaelian (my present Wednesday night support group, who’ve continued to see me through to the not-so-bitter end), Mary Jane Eustace, Maureen Kellman, Bill Lang, Amy Lyon, Melinda McQuade, Lauretta St. George-Sorel, Beryl Salinger-Schmitt, and Peggy Tudryn.