by Sam Starbuck
Relief filled his face. "Is it that easy?"
"Do you mind if I talk?"
"That's fine."
"Good," I smiled, and then immediately came up blank with anything to say. He glanced out the window, and I grasped the first thing that came into my head. "It's starting to cool down out. Won't be long before winter this year. Should have snow before Halloween."
"I look forward to it. The start of winter, I mean," Lucas said. "Thank you," he said again, as Carmen put two bowls of soup down in front of us and added a dish of fresh hot rolls. He buttered one neatly, not spilling a crumb, while I dug into the soup.
"So you like long winters?" I asked.
"Yes," he replied eagerly, then stammered a little. "I like snow."
"You won't like it after three months of it," I predicted.
"That's what they always say in the city, too. I don't like storms," he added, making spirals with the back of his spoon in his soup.
"Exciting, though."
He looked up and a rueful look crossed his face so quickly I nearly missed it. "They don't say that in the city."
"It's quieter here. Less excitement to begin with. You must like quiet, though, living all the way out at The Pines."
"It's all right. I've only ever lived in apartments. Houses just seem vulnerable after living in a building with other people all your life. You're so much more of a target."
"A target?" I asked, laughing a little.
"Well, you know. In an apartment building, if someone breaks in, they might pick someone else's apartment to rob. If someone breaks into a house, it's just you."
"You have lived in the city too long," I said. "The last theft we had was – oh, two years ago, someone stole a few bicycles the feed store was trying to sell."
"Did they catch them?"
"No – we guess it was an out-of-towner."
He laughed a little. "So the last theft you had was two years ago and it wasn't even someone who lives here?"
"I have a theory if you want to hear it."
He gestured with his spoon, so I continued.
"Small towns have a maximum capacity. The ratio of people to jobs is pretty steady – I didn't even open a new bookstore, just renamed the old one. When there are more people than the town can support, some go away. Chicago's a big temptation. People only steal when they can't afford something, or when they're discontented and think whatever they steal is going to make them happier."
"And everyone's already happy here?"
"Well, if they aren't, they think it's the town's fault and they leave. It's not perfect, but on the whole, yes. I think people are happy here."
"You left the city," he said. Then he winced, as if at his own stupidity.
"So did you. But that's two people in three years fighting the flow, and ten or fifteen going the other direction. Happy people don't steal bicycles. Unhappy people leave, if they can. Besides, nobody in this town is stupid enough to do that, everyone would notice they had a new bike. But if you really want to feel safe you could get a dog."
"I could," he agreed, and then lapsed into silence.
"I hear you bought some firewood," I said, to change the subject. "That boy's been selling it all over town. He says you offered to tutor him for it."
"It seemed fair."
"You won't mind?"
"It gets me into town. He seems smart. He wouldn't really take no for an answer."
I laughed and scraped up some soup with a bit of bread. "He's a good salesman."
"Yeah," he said, still drawing odd patterns in his soup, only occasionally taking a bite. "He gave me a ride in, too."
"Charge you for it?" I asked. He smiled.
"No, but I'll have to get back again under my own power. I don't mind."
We ate in silence for a while, his eyes flicking up to my face every so often, apparently to see if I really was fine with being quiet. I gave him a reassuring look and kept eating.
It was dark by the time we'd finished. The wind, hot during the day, was turning cold and sharp. Lucas eventually paid and left me to my coffee, turning his coat-collar up and setting out for The Pines. I lingered, watching through the window as he headed south. About five minutes after he disappeared, while I was still placidly sipping my coffee, Elaine – older sister of Nolan, and therefore a secondary spoke in the gossip wheel at the moment – slid into the chair Lucas had left.
"Hi Elaine," I said. "How's your evening?"
"Oh fine, fine. Sip of your coffee?"
I offered it to her and she drank from the other side of the cup, leaving faint lipstick marks.
"How's yours?" she added, passing it back.
"Very interesting. Had some wood delivered. Phil MacKenzie's been driving around all day, they drop any off at your place?"
"Nah, we cut our own this year," she said. "Saw they gave that new man a ride into town."
"Lucas? Well, it's a long walk in from The Pines," I said. "Boy sold him a cord of wood. Maybe more like strong-armed, though."
"Who is he?" she asked. "He's nobody's relation in town."
"Well, I wasn't when I moved here, either," I pointed out.
"But you were buying Ferry Books, that's almost like being family. Why's he here?"
"Couldn't say," I said, grinning a little into my coffee.
"Bet you could, Christopher. You had dinner with him, didn't you? Is he a friend of yours?"
I glanced around. People at nearby tables were ducking their heads slightly – subtly listening in. When a village regular has dinner with a mysterious stranger, it's almost as good as television.
"He bought a book from me about a week ago," I said. "No, not quite that long, since Jacob brought me his dad's old Farmer's Guide to be rebound right after that – you didn't hear that, though, because it's a birthday present – and that was – "
"Christopher!" she said, annoyed.
"Elaine, if you're going to pump me for information, at least be subtle and give me a chance to enjoy myself," I replied. "I don't know much about him. He moved out to The Pines from Chicago, he's pretty good with his hands but doesn't know much about carpentry, and he's shy. Leave him alone – he won't like being talked about."
"He'll just have to get used to it," she said.
I rolled my eyes. "Do me a favor. Tell everyone who asks you that Lucas at The Pines is a stranger from Chicago and if anyone starts rumors about him I'll write scurrilous anonymous editorials to the Weekly Ferryman libeling them."
Elaine smiled. "Point taken. Come have dinner at our place sometime, Nolan says you eat too much cafe food."
"I'll take you up on that. G'night, Elaine. Goodnight, Low Ferry," I added loudly, and several people turned back to their dinners without a hint of shame in their faces.
***
Jacob came to pick up his father's rebound copy of the Farmer's Guide four days later, when the glue was barely dry on the binding. He came at a decent hour this time, after his deliveries, and loitered for a while.
"Hear you had dinner with the new boy," he said, while I signed for a package delivery and set the small box aside.
"I invited myself," I replied. "I've since eaten lunch with Charles and made plans to have dinner tomorrow night with Elaine's brood."
"Grumpy," Jacob grinned. "Didn't mean anything by it, Christopher. Just curious like everyone."
"Yes, well – hey! Hey!" I said, as several children raced into the shop, bringing a breeze and a flurry of dead leaves with them. "Backpacks by the counter! I see you, Culligan, don't think I won't tell your father if you don't listen to me."
Jacob chuckled as the children trooped back to the counter and dropped their bags, digging in them for grubby notebooks and shucking their coats and hats on top. I went to the workbench to retrieve the Farmer's Guide and presented it to him while the children flocked around the comics rack. He smoothed a callused hand over the embossed leather admiringly.
"Looks brand new," he said, opening it. "Dad'll think I threw hi
s old one out till he sees the family page. How'd you do it?"
"A lot of paste," I said. "Careful, the cover's still curing. Let me wrap it up for you."
"Sure all I owe you's some cheese?" he asked, as I carefully tied the book up in brown paper and twine.
"It's really really good cheese," I repeated.
"Got myself a bargain, then. Thanks," he said, holding up the paper-wrapped book. "See ya round, Christopher."
I turned around to watch the children, who were still arguing by the comic books, though most of them would probably settle down in a little while and start at least pretending to do their homework. Some were avoiding chores at home, and others had parents who worked late and wanted them under a watchful eye, so they spent plenty of afternoons in the store. I didn't mind – they amused themselves, worked, scuffled a little when they thought I couldn't see, and their parents were loyal customers. It got the kids in out of the cold and kept them out of trouble and that was what counted.
The boy was there that day too, though he wasn't always. I guessed he was from one of the far outlying farms where at twelve he would already be considered a paid farmhand, doing any odd jobs his parents couldn't, and probably wanted to put them off as long as possible. I hoped he had started his tutoring with Lucas, since it seemed like it would be good for both of them. Farmers are friendly but quiet, and I thought Lucas would fit comfortably with people who didn't see the need to talk much.
When most of the kids were finally ready to leave, he seemed to hang back – stood behind the others, paid last, and insisted on going over the "book" I'd been keeping of his credit, checking the deductions for comic books against the amount I would have been charged for the firewood. By the time he'd satisfied himself most of his friends were already in their coats, hopping up and down impatiently by the door.
"Come on, come on!" one of them ordered, as the boy placidly signed off on the new deduction and packed his new comic books away into his bag.
"Are you coming or not?" another yelled.
"Keep your pants on! This is business."
"He's waiting for his boyfriend," one girl announced.
"You want to go? Go," I said. "Go on, shoo, there's no teasing in my shop."
"Doesn't matter," the boy said. "They were only playing."
"So who are you waiting for?" I asked, leaning on the counter.
"Lucas, duh," he said. "They're just jealous. He's really cool. Have you seen him?"
"Not today, but he ought to be here soon if he's coming at all," I answered. The boy's face brightened. "Have you started your tutoring with him?"
"Twice a week. Done two already. He said he'd meet me here today."
"Enjoying it?"
He gave me an oddly mature look – one I've wondered about many times since – and said, "Well...some of it's confusing."
"Such as?"
"History." He set his bag down and leaned against my counter, hands shoved in his pockets. "See, Mr. Blake – he's my history teacher – "
"I know," I said. "He likes model trains. He buys books on electrical engineering sometimes."
"Yeah, him. He says you have to learn the dates and the names and things, and then you know History."
It wasn't an unusual sentiment in preadolescent history classes, especially out in the country. I didn't like Blake, but it wasn't good to meddle in the boy's opinion of him. He still had to learn from him, after all.
"And Lucas disagrees?" I asked.
"He says History is always happening," the boy complained. "And you can't really know anything about an Event until you know why it happened, which is a bunch of other Events. It makes my head hurt."
"Good," said a new voice. Lucas, who must have passed the rest of the boy's classmates on his way up the walk, was standing in the doorway. Now he stepped inside and shut the glass door behind him. "Shows you're using it."
"Hi," the boy said.
"Not giving away my secrets, are you?" Lucas asked. The boy shook his head. "Hi, Christopher."
"Hi, Lucas," I said. "We were just talking about your tutoring. How's the roof?"
"Sealed and holding," he replied, eyes straying over the displays before he moved to his favorite defensive position, behind the cookbooks. From there he could see the doorway and out through the window, but nobody in the shop could see him unless they sat in the chairs at the front. I resumed my conversation with the boy, who had settled in a chair and was watching Lucas while trying to pretend like he wasn't.
"Which theory do you like?" I asked the boy.
"Theory?" he asked.
"Of history."
"Um." His eyes darted to Lucas. "I dunno. Memorizing a bunch of names seems a lot easier."
"Not according to your grades, I bet," I said. He grinned.
"It's not as much fun," he said.
"Admitting history is fun? Lucas, what have you done to him?" I called. He put his head around a shelf, smiled at me, and went back to his browsing.
"I guess..." the boy said slowly, "I mean. I've got to learn the names and dates for school. So I might as well do that. But I can remember them if I know other stuff about them, you know? They're more real."
"They're stories," I agreed.
"Yeah."
"Does Lucas like history?" I asked mischievously.
"I think so," the boy answered.
"What kind?"
"I can hear you, you know," Lucas called from the back, where he was adventuring into Horror and True Crime.
"Well, you won't talk," I answered. That earned me a soft laugh as he emerged into an aisle, still keeping the edge of a shelf between himself and the open space around the counter.
"I like stories," he said. "I don't mind if the books aren't completely true. A little truth in a lot of lies makes for the best stories, I've found."
"Try telling Mr. Blake that," the boy muttered.
"Which reminds me that we should go," Lucas said, tipping his head at the doorway. "Come on."
"Man," the boy whined, but stood and shouldered his bag, following Lucas like a puppy. "Where're we going?"
"Out to the river."
"What for?"
"What do you think?"
"Biology class," the boy said.
"Come along. See you, Christopher," he added.
"You know where to find me," I said, and gestured to the rest of the shop.
Lucas nodded to me, and I watched him put a hand on the boy's shoulder as they left. I stayed, surveying the shop and thinking about what Lucas had said.
I'm not so blind to my own nature that I can't admit impure motives. Information is power in a little town, and I was a keeper of information. As much as I didn't want people talking about Lucas, that made the tidbits I could get out of him all the more valuable.