by Lea Wait
“That’s sad, Simon.”
“But I do have a friend here, Jake.”
“You have me.”
“Another friend. At night the moon is my friend. He was my friend when I was little, like Violet and Zeke. He always listens to me. And he never laughs.”
35
Jake and Mr. Holbrook were the first ones at school on opening day, November 26. Jake had cleaned the small yellow schoolhouse and brought a burning firebrand from the kitchen at the jail to start a fire in the stove. The room was cold and drafty, despite the heat from the stove, and Mr. Holbrook had arranged the desks so they were as close as possible to the fire. “We don’t want the ink freezing this early in the session,” he said to Jake.
At first Jake had been embarrassed to wear the thick multicolored socks his mother had knit for him, but now he was glad of their warmth. He pulled his trousers down so they covered most of the colors. He’d remember to wear a heavier wool shirt under his vest and jacket the second day of school.
Students began to gather outside. When the fire was burning well enough, Jake joined them. There were eight school districts in Wiscasset, and this was one of the smaller ones, with only about sixty students. Of course, some students attended the academies and private schools in the village itself too.
He watched for Nabby and Violet and Zeke, but they weren’t among those who’d arrived. Several four-and five-year-olds were clearly at school for the first time. One boy was sucking his fingers through wool mittens. A small girl with red hair held tightly to her older brother’s hand. Another little girl in pigtails strutted about the school yard, showing off her new hair ribbons and blue checked blouse.
Tom arrived with Ed, who had slept in rather than come to school early with his father and Jake.
Three other boys about Tom’s age joined them, and the group strolled over to where Jake was standing.
To his surprise Tom clapped him on the back as though he were greeting an old friend. “Good to see you, Jake. Boys, this is Jake Webber. He’s from Boston, but he’s a regular fellow. A good runner, too. I see him run by our farm a couple of times a day.”
Jake waited for Tom to point out he was running back and forth to his job at the jail, but he didn’t.
“Jake, you know Ed Holbrook. These other handsome gents are Jon Chase, Fred Pendleton, and Ben Tarbox.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Jake. He waited for Tom to make one of his scornful remarks.
But Tom just talked with the other boys, who clearly knew each other well. They’d probably always lived in Wiscasset. Jake listened quietly as they shared local news and gossip.
“Weather was good for haying this fall; we’ve got a barn full, and it seems dry. No sign of rot.”
“My sister Nellie is keeping company with Willis Brewer. Ma’s not pleased, but Pa likes Willis.”
“Did you hear—Simple Simon was arrested for stealing wine from Whittier’s? Never thought he was smart enough to steal anything.”
Jake’s fingernails ground into his fist when Simon’s name was mentioned, but he didn’t say anything. The boys were right. Simon had been arrested.
When Mr. Holbrook rang the bell, they all went into the schoolhouse together. Tom and his friends might not be so bad after all.
36
“It was good of Mr. Holbrook to give you Thanksgiving day off, Jake,” Mother said as she added a rabbit Jake had caught to the stew. She’d been cooking Thanksgiving dinner since the afternoon before and had already made an apple pie and a loaf of pumpkin bread. Her cooking skills were definitely improving. “No work, and no school. I’m so glad you’ll be here all day.”
Neither she nor Jake mentioned Father’s absence, but they both looked at the door often throughout the day. They’d never had Thanksgiving without him. And they’d never had Thanksgiving without turkey and vegetables and pickles and an assortment of pies.
“Your stew smells like the best yet,” said Jake, peeking into the iron kettle hanging over the fire.
Frankie banged his arm on his pallet, and Jake thought he saw him smile.
“Look at Frankie! He thinks it smells good too!”
Mother laughed. She reached over and tweaked Frankie’s nose. “Frankie and I miss you while you’re at the jail and at school. You get up so early in the morning and come home so late in the evening that I worry you don’t get enough sleep.” She paused for a moment. “Mr. Holbrook sounds very kind, but I do wish you were going to a more advanced school.”
“Father said maybe next year. Truthfully, I don’t know what I want to do in the future. I had thought about working in a bank, the way Father did, but after the last year I’m wondering if it might be better to take up a craft. Learn to do something people will always need.”
“You don’t have to make up your mind today.” Mother picked up Frankie and rocked him. “Just keep your eyes and mind open as you learn. Education is never wasted.”
“I wonder what Frankie would be like. If he weren’t . . . Frankie,” said Jake.
“I think about that too,” said Mother. “Frankie, would you have wanted to be a banker, or a soldier, or a lawyer? Or maybe an artist?”
“I think he would have liked to be a musician. He always gets calm when you sing to him.”
“He does. You’re right.” She moved Frankie so she could look directly into his face. “My son, the musician.” She held him close.
Thanksgiving dinner was tasty and filling, but there was no word from Father.
Jake saved a piece of apple pie to take to Simon at the jail.
37
On Friday morning two days after Thanksgiving, Jake got to the schoolhouse early to start the stove, and then went out into the school yard where the other students were waiting for classes to begin.
The first snow of the season had fallen, and although it was only six inches deep, a small amount for Maine, there was enough to make snowballs. Tom and the other older boys were throwing them at the five- and six-year-olds, who ran in all directions, screaming with delight or panic, depending on whether or not they’d been hit yet.
Jake aimed his so they just missed the little ones, but Jon and Tom cheered when they landed a packed snowball on someone’s head or face. Several of the smallest children were in tears. Jake was beginning to hope Mr. Holbrook would ring the school bell, when Nabby and her brother and sister walked down the hill from the road. Violet and Zeke were each wearing two pairs of the multicolored wool stockings Nabby had knit, but no boots or shoes. Their feet had to be cold and wet from the snow.
Jake raised his arm in greeting.
Tom saw the newcomers and aimed a snowball directly at Violet’s face. She wasn’t watching him, so she didn’t dodge out of the way. The snowball hit her nose, and blood poured down her face. Violet and Zeke both started to cry. Nabby pulled a cloth from her pocket and tried to staunch the bleeding.
The school yard was silent. “Bullies!” Nabby yelled. “You think it’s fun to hurt someone half your size?” She picked up some blood-stained snow, formed it into a snowball, and threw it directly at Tom. He ducked, but the ball hit the schoolhouse in back of him, narrowly missing the window.
Mr. Holbrook appeared in the doorway and Nabby’s second snowball hit him in the chest. “What’s going on out here?”
No one said anything.
“Nabby McCord, come here,” Mr. Holbrook said sternly.
Nabby walked to him, looking angrily at the boys who had started it all. “Tom Neal hit my sister in the nose with a snowball.”
Violet’s nose was still dripping blood. “Take her inside and get her cleaned up, Nabby. Boys will be boys. You need to teach your sister to stay away from them if she can’t take care of herself.” Mr. Holbrook looked at everyone in the school yard, especially the older boys. “And I won’t have anyone throwing snowballs at the schoolhouse, or at me. Do you all hear?” The school yard was silent, with a few nods.
“If one of these windows broke, we’d al
l have to spend the winter term with snow blowing into the classroom.”
He looked around. “Jake, put some more wood on the fire. Everyone else, come inside and get settled down. School is in session.”
“Hey, Tom! Great throw!” Ed whispered loudly as he passed the others on his way in. “You showed those dumb McCord kids.”
Jake looked over at Nabby, but she was still staunching the blood from Violet’s nose. When he managed to catch her eye, Nabby looked away. Could he have done anything to stop Tom? Probably not. But he wished Nabby hadn’t seen him with the others who were making trouble.
By the nooning break Violet’s nose had stopped bleeding, but it was still red.
“Are you going home for dinner?” Nabby asked Jake as he added enough wood to the stove to keep the classroom from cooling off while they were gone. “You could walk with us as far as our house.” Most of the children went home at noon; no one lived more than two or three miles from the school. School would resume at two, and then end for the day at four. At this time of year students who lived a distance would be walking home in the dark after school.
Jake was about to agree to walk with them, when Tom moved between Nabby and Jake. “Jake has more interesting things to do than protect little girls.” He then turned his back to Nabby. “Jon and Fred and I are thinking of starting a running club for boys. We could practice in Fred’s barn during the winter. His pa decided not to grow wheat this year, so their barn is empty.”
Tom gradually moved Jake away from the stove, and Nabby, and toward the door. “We’d like to have four people in the club. It would be private, of course, but you’re the one we’ve chosen to join us. You will, won’t you?”
A club for running! Jake had dreamed of being friends with boys who shared his joy of running. “I’d like that, Tom. Thank you for asking me. When will the club meet?”
Jake was halfway home, still listening to Tom’s plans, when he realized he’d left Nabby behind.
After he gulped down dinner at home, he ran back toward the school, hoping to see Nabby along the way. But the McCords didn’t go back to school after the nooning.
Jake worked at the jail both Saturday and Sunday, doing the work he had no time for during school days, even though he worked at the jail both before and after classes. Just keeping all four stoves in the jail burning well was a full-time job in winter, but cells still needed to be cleaned, and of course there were chores at home, too. He couldn’t let Mother and Frankie run out of wood. Jake passed Nabby’s house each morning and evening in the dark, but he didn’t see her, and there wasn’t time to stop.
He’d been foolish to listen to Tom’s plan about a running club instead of walking with Nabby. Tom hadn’t been his friend all fall. Nabby had.
Sunday afternoon Mr. Holbrook suggested, “From now on why don’t you take your noontime dinner with Mrs. Holbrook and me at the jail during the school week? That way you can check the stoves and serve the prisoners their dinners before the afternoon session of school begins.”
It was clear that Jake was going to be spending more and more hours away from home. He was no longer working every other day at the jail. He was working every day at the jail, and every school day at the schoolhouse, too.
38
Monday, December third, a nor’easter was blowing. It had snowed heavily since early Sunday night, and the blowing snow had drifted high. In some places the road was hidden; in others, it was nearly bare. Snow blew down Jake’s collar and up his sleeves despite his scarf and hat and mittens. No doubt many students would be kept to home today by families concerned they’d lose their way in the whiteness.
Jake’s feet were cold, his face was cold, and there was hardly any feeling left in his hands.
It took him twice as long as usual to get the fire started in the stove at the schoolhouse. The building had been empty all weekend, and winds blew down the chimney, keeping the heated air from rising.
The students who had come to school wore their coats and mittens during classes that morning. Some had brought hot bricks from home wrapped in blankets to put under their feet. Others stamped on the floor to keep their toes from freezing. Jake wrestled with the stove. Finally he gave up.
“Mr. Holbrook, the winds have blown the fire out.”
There was a groan from the classroom.
“I’m cold,” chattered Susan Weeks. “I want to go home.”
Mr. Holbrook handed Jake the small metal box they used to carry the firebrand and hot embers from one building to start a fire in another. “Go back to the house and get more fire from the kitchen stove. Be as quick as you can.”
Jake headed back to the jail and house. The winds had let up, and less snow was falling. At least now it was easier to see the road.
Jake smelled the wood smoke from the jail chimneys as he approached the building. “Those stoves have kept lit with no problems,” he thought to himself. But they’d been burning all night. He hadn’t had to start the fires in a cold box.
Even so, the smell of wood smoke seemed stronger than usual.
As Jake came around the corner and headed up the familiar hill to the jail, he saw why. The wooden roof over both the jail and the jailer’s house was in flames.
Jake ran into the house filled with smoke.
“Mrs. Holbrook! Mrs. Holbrook!” Neither she nor the two little girls were on the first floor. He ran up the stairs. He’d never been in the Holbrooks’ private rooms before.
The second-floor rooms were filled with dark smoke from the roof. Flames filled one bedroom. Mrs. Holbrook was lying on the floor near the stairs next to little Margaret. Annie sat on the floor, crying and gasping for breath.
“Mrs. Holbrook, get up! You have to get out.” Jake picked up both Margaret and Annie, and ran down the stairs with them.
Annie coughed as he put her far out in the yard and gave her the baby. “Stay here, Annie. Don’t go anywhere, and take care of Margaret.”
The little girl nodded numbly and stood, coughing and holding her screaming sister.
Jake ran back into the house. Already the flames had reached farther, and the smoke was darker. He pulled Mrs. Holbrook up and half-dragged and halfcarried her heavy body down the stairs. All he could think about was getting her out of the building. The roof could fall in at any time. Jake tried to balance himself and her body on the narrow steep steps as he reached the first floor. He’d left the main door open. The draft from the door was fanning the flames above, but it was also pulling some fresh air in to the first floor.
He staggered into the yard, holding Mrs. Holbrook. She coughed, shivered, and woke up a little as she breathed the cold air. He had no time to look for blankets. There were still men in the building.
He needed help.
Annie stood holding Margaret, round-eyed but aware.
“Annie, do you know how to get to the school?”
She nodded.
“Run there as fast as you can and get your pa.” Thank goodness the wind had died down. The fire wouldn’t spread as fast. It had probably started when hot ashes blew onto the wooden roof shingles.
Annie looked at her mother, who was trying to sit up in the snow. She put the baby in her mother’s lap and ran.
Jake raced back into the house. He’d never touched the keys to the prison, but he knew where they were kept. He’d seen Mr. Holbrook open the doors in the prison many times, but he’d never paid attention to which key on the large ring fit which door.
He had to try three keys before he could open the door into the jail itself. Smoke was filling the jail, too, but not as quickly as it had filled the house, since the jail’s roof was above the fourth floor, not the second.
He had to get to everyone. Quickly. David Douglas was now the only one on the first floor. He’d been moved there a week before. Simon, Westley Barter, and Thomas Wilson were on the second floor. And the two lunatics were on the third floor. They should be rescued first, because they were closest to the roof, but their behavior was
unpredictable. Although Jake had lifted Mrs. Holbrook and gotten her outside, he knew he couldn’t carry one of the men.
Besides, they were prisoners. He couldn’t let them loose.
He needed help from someone he could trust.
Jake pulled two lengths of rope off the wall where they hung, inside the jail door next to the iron handcuffs and ankle restraints, and threw them over his shoulder. Then he wrestled with the keys, finally opening the door into the second floor of the prison. Smoke was already beginning to fill the corridor there. He found the key to Simon’s cell. “Simon! It’s Jake.” The key was stiff in the lock, but it turned. Everything seemed to take much longer than it should.
“There’s smoke, Jake,” said Simon.
Jake opened the cell door. “There’s a fire. We need to get everyone out of the jail.”
Simon hesitated. “I’m supposed to stay here. Sheriff Beals said so.”
“Sheriff Beals will understand. Come with me.”
Jake handed Simon one rope.
Simon followed Jake to the next door. Thomas Wilson was coughing badly, his weak lungs irritated by the smoke. “Thomas,” said Jake. “The roof of the jail is on fire. I’m going to get you out.”
When he opened the cell door, Thomas was bent over, coughs racking his weak body. Jake hated to bind the hands of someone so ill, but he pulled the rope off his shoulders, looped it around the prisoner’s hands, and tied it. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
The two men followed Jake downstairs and through the doors he’d left unlocked. Mrs. Holbrook was now standing in the snow, trying to cover Margaret’s head with her apron. Jake took the shivering Thomas through snowdrifts to a tree near the road and tied the rope around it.
“Simon, come with me. We need to get Westley and David out, and the men on the third floor.”
They ran up the stairs. The second floor was still unlocked. Jake found the key to Westley’s cell.
“I know what’s happening. I smell the smoke,” Westley said. “Just get me out of here however you can!”