Nameless

by Sam Starbuck

  "So," Carmen said to Sara, a middle-aged woman who ran a dairy outside of town. "What are we thankful for?"

  "Safe cattle and good milk," Sara replied.

  "No major repairs to the industrial dishwasher," Carmen agreed.

  "Snow days!" the boy insisted, and glanced at me.

  I shrugged. "Good company and good health? Lucas?"

  Lucas, caught with his mouth full of pumpkin pie, tried to indicate that he was chewing. Carmen laughed, then subsided quickly when he flinched. He swallowed hastily.

  "Dry roofs," he said.

  "Amen!" Sara toasted him with her plastic water-glass, and turned to their next victim. I kept eating, unaware for a second that Lucas had leaned towards me.

  "You, alive," he whispered in my ear.

  "Take it for granted. I'll be around a while," I answered.

  "Excuse me," Richard called, standing at the front of the room and clapping his hands together. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sure we are all grateful for this food we've received – if I could have a brief round of applause for the Farmer's Association and the Low Ferry Christian Ladies' Committee – "

  He was interrupted by the requested accolades, with hoots and cheers from some of the rowdier participants.

  " – thank you. And of course, the giver of plenty..." he jerked his thumb towards the ceiling, getting a round of laughter.

  "I hope he's not going to ruin everything with a sermon," Carmen whispered across the table.

  "He hasn't yet," I whispered back.

  "Now, as many of you know we are holding a prayer meeting in the sanctuary tonight, not only to give proper thanks for the bounty visited on Low Ferry this year but also to pray for the Harrison family. As you may know," he said over a wave of low muttering, "we are already concerned for their wellbeing, considering how their welcome arrival into this world was followed closely by a loss to our village family. If you'd like to join me upstairs in about fifteen minutes, we will be saying a prayer for the children, followed by a christening for both little Abe and little Noah."

  "Well, they didn't pick those out of a Bible or anything, did they?" Paula observed.

  "Faithful men of God. No, no symbolism there," I agreed, folding my napkin. "Care to accompany me to the symbolic naming ritual and ceremonial placebo for emotional unrest?"

  "Don't mind if I do, Christopher."

  "Excellent. Lucas?"

  "Of course," he said.

  People drifted into the sanctuary in twos and threes, casually, as if they hadn't really meant to attend, they just sort of found themselves there. Nobody in town would have missed it. Things like this, especially if something amazing happens, are talk of the town for months and years to come. I'd have laid money that they'd still be talking about me collapsing at Halloween when Noah and Abe Harrison were starting high school.

  I lost Lucas for a moment in the crowd gathered at the side-entrance to the chapel, then gave up as one of the older townspeople asked for help pushing through to get to a pew. When I went to find Lucas again he had retreated to the back of the high-ceilinged sanctuary and was staring out the wide windows on the front door.

  "What do you see?" I asked, looking over his shoulder.

  "Guests," he answered, pointing through the glass.

  There was the glimmer of headlights in the dark, moving up the main street. At first I could only see two or three cars, but eventually more appeared behind them, until I wondered how many people could possibly have missed the Low Ferry Thanksgiving extravaganza but still be attending the prayer meeting.

  Then I realized whose cars they were, as they began to pull into the little turnaround in front of the church and park haphazardly wherever there was room.

  "Richard," I called over my shoulder. He was struggling into his vestments at the front of the room, but he lifted his head and gave me a questioning look. "You might want to come say hello to a few people."

  The rest of the village drew close and Richard had to push through the crowd somewhat. I stood aside so he could see. The Friendly were just climbing out of their cars. Gwen, I saw, was helping Christopher out of a back seat.

  "Are they Christians?" Richard asked. "They've never come to church before."

  "I honestly don't know," I replied. "They call me Saint but I don't think that means much."

  "Well, it hardly matters, I guess. You aren't Christian either, after all," Richard winked at me. "Go on, Lucas, open the door."

  Lucas silently swung the door open, and Richard walked out into the cold. I followed, and Lucas darted through – probably to escape the onlookers inside.

  "Good evening," Richard said, meeting them on the steps. Tommy and Pete were in front, most of the Friendly families behind, and Gwen was with a knot of young men and women further back. Even the children were there.

  "Evening, Reverend," Christopher said, making his way arthritically up the steps.

  "Call me Richard, please," Richard said, holding out a hand. Christopher took it gratefully and hauled himself up the last few steps. "What can Low Ferry do for you this evening?"

  "Won't mince words," Tommy said, joining Christopher on the landing outside the front door. "We've come about the boys."

  "Abe and Noah?" Richard asked.

  "S'right, Reverend," Tommy said. "Come to help see to them, with you folks, if you don't mind."

  Richard smiled. "Nobody's turned away from this door. Come along. You there, inside, move back! We have some friends who've come to pray with us for the boys. Move along, make room – that's the spirit."

  "I don't know about pray, exactly," Christopher said to me, as I helped him down the central passage of the chapel.

  "I'd guess more than half the village isn't really interested in praying either," I answered. "Seat down front?"

  "Please," he said. Behind us, the townspeople were settling into pews and making room for the Friendly. Gwen pushed past the crowd and wrapped her arm around my waist.

  "You'll sit with us," she said firmly. Paula made room for Christopher and me; Gwen squeezed in next to me, with Lucas next to her on the aisle.

  "Do you think they're cursed?" Paula asked. "Everyone's saying they are."

  "Well," Christopher said, leaning back. "I don't know. This midwife of yours wasn't a young woman, eh? Could be, as some of our skeptics would have it," he elbowed me, "that the stress of helping at a birthing was just too much."

  "I don't think they're cursed," I said. "I think Nona's just a tired new mother who caught a bad break."

  Steve Harrison and his wife hadn't been at the dinner, but they were walking in from a side-entrance even as we all settled down. Nona did look tired, and her husband and his brother were the ones carrying the boys. They stopped near the altar, uneasy in their Sunday-best clothing. Richard said a few words to them, over the wailing of the babies.

  "Are they sick?" Carmen asked, leaning back from the pew in front of us and turning her head so I'd hear her.

  "Sometimes children cry," Gwen replied for me. "They sound healthy enough."

  "Shhh," Christopher said to them, as Richard turned to the assembled...well, congregation, I suppose, though it felt more like an audience.

  "There's been talk in Low Ferry, of late," Richard said, "that the death of Bertha O'Brien has some significance for these two children. Now we all know that losing Bertha was a tragedy, both for those who were her friends and for those who depended on her services. But we've eulogized Bertha and committed her into the hands of God, so tonight we gather here to consider these children. Some would even tell you they think the children are cursed from that death."

  "Or they're the cause," someone called from the back. Richard stared in their direction with all the vigor of a man who's given sermons to unruly congregations for a decade. Nona, onstage, wrung her hands.

  "No-one," Richard said, his voice ringing sharp and clear, "wants to blame two infants for the death of a grown woman. No-one here should think for one minute that these children someh
ow chose for Bertha to die. So I would like to suggest that we are here tonight to reaffirm our commitment, as a village, to cherishing Low Ferry's newest citizens as welcome sons of ours and of the Heavenly Father."

  "He goes a little heavy on God," Gwen whispered.

  "He's a preacher, that's what he does," I whispered back. All over the church, people were shifting fretfully, uncomfortable with the pair of wailing babies before them.

  "Christopher," Richard said, and both myself and the Friendly's patriarch looked up. "Christopher Dusk," he amended, smiling. "Would you come up here, please?"

  "You...uh...me?" I asked. He nodded. "Okay..."

  I stood and edged past Gwen and Lucas, then hesitated.

  "Come up," Richard said. "They won't bite you."

  Nervous laughter. I joined him near the altar.

  "What are you doing?" I hissed at him.

  "Christopher, as all of you know, has been something of an intimate of death, lately, isn't that so?" Richard said to the congregation. I blinked at him, uncertain whether I was insulted that he'd brought it up now or confused that he'd brought it up at all. "And Low Ferry respects your opinion, Christopher, as an educated man. I'd like you to have a look at these children and see what you think of them."

  "I really don't..." I began, but he was already leading me inexorably towards the Harrison twins. Nona touched my hand as I passed.

  I leaned over first one baby and then the other, trying to ignore their continued wails of discontent. They had feathery baby hair, dark eyes, wide mouths, snub noses, ears of regulation size. They were not especially beautiful babies, but they weren't disfigured or particularly ugly, either. They looked like babies to me. Unhappy babies, but that was all.

  "They, uh, don't seem unusual to me," I said, loud enough for the rest of the congregation to hear. "I mean, Kirchner's looked at them, right? They look fine."

  "Not familiar at all?" Richard asked.

  "Familiar? I – no, of course not. I've never seen them before," I said. "They favor the Harrison side, though."

  Steve gave me a strained smile.

  "I mean, they're...you know, they're kids," I continued. Richard nodded encouragingly. "Just kids."

  "Just kids," he repeated. "Thank you, Christopher. Would anyone else like to examine them? Make sure they have no horns, that sort of thing?"

  Awkward silence from the congregation. Richard gave me a gentle shove back towards my seat.

  "I am going to lead you all in prayer," he continued, as I slid past Lucas and Gwen. "And when we have finished, I hope you will stay to witness Abe and Noah Harrison being christened and welcomed into the church. Let us pray. Our Father, who art in heaven... "

  As the villagers mumbled their way through the prayer, Richard trying to ignore the increased crying of the children, Lucas started to fidget next to Gwen. I reached behind her and clamped a hand on his neck, which startled him into stillness for a moment, but then he shrugged it off and began again. While the last rumbling Amen was dying away, he cleared his throat.

  "Uh," he said, and every head turned to our pew. Next to me, Christopher gave a low ha! of approval.

  "Yes, Lucas?" Richard asked. Lucas stood up.

  "Can I look at them?" he asked.

  Richard glanced at Nona. Lucas smiled uncertainly at her, and she nodded. He stepped out into the aisle and walked up to the altar, giving Richard a brief nod as he passed. He studied one of the babies for a long minute while everyone in Low Ferry, and probably most of the Friendly, held their breath.

  "Your midwife," he said to the Harrisons. "She was an old woman. I think she was tired. I think it's a hard job."

  There was an emphatic mm-hm from the congregation. Bertha's former assistant, now her replacement.

  "I don't think there's anything wrong with them," Lucas continued. "And I believe in that kind of thing. Not like Christopher."

  A ripple of nervous laughter was cut abruptly short when Lucas reached out and touched one of the children, pressing his broad, paint-spattered hand over the baby's chest. It wouldn't have been easy to see from any further back, but there was a look of thoughtful concentration on his face. The baby abruptly stopped crying, subsiding into gurgles. He reached out for the other one and took him from his uncle's arms, rocking him gently.

  The silence when the baby stopped crying was sudden and surprising. Outside, the wind howled. He carried the baby to Nona, set him in her arms, gave her a reassuring smile, and stepped back.

  "Excuse me," he said, and walked quickly down to the congregation, hurrying out through the same side-door that the Harrisons had come from. Gwen, I discovered, was gripping my hand tightly.

  "Well," Richard said, staring at where Lucas had just disappeared into the maze of back-rooms behind the sanctuary. "God be with him."

  Nobody was looking at Richard, though. They were all looking at me, as if I was somehow Lucas's keeper. Gwen silently scooted her legs to one side and gave me a significant look.

  I stood up again and edged past her, then sort of sidled my way down to the altar and around to the side-door. As it closed behind me I heard Richard clear his throat and announce that it was time to christen the boys.

  Lucas was leaning against the wall outside, both hands over his face, breathing deeply. I walked slowly, not wanting to startle him, and coughed to let him know I was there. He nodded, but he didn't look up or take his hands from his face.

  "You okay?" I asked. Another nod, and I moved to stand in front of him. "I think that's the first time I've seen you talk to more than two people in an hour."

  "Oh, my god," he mumbled, into his palms, but he laughed a little, too. "I won't be able to look anyone in the eye for a week."

  He was trembling slightly, and I touched his arm for permission before pulling his hands down, holding his wrists between us.

  "It's fine," I said. "That was really good, actually. Did you see the way they – "

  "Looked at me? Yeah, I saw that," he said, chewing on his lip. "Did I say anything especially dumb?"

  "Lucas," I said. "You know you really almost never say stupid things. No more than anyone else does."

  "Not to you, maybe."

  "You were great. Nobody's going to look at you funny, I promise."

  He almost managed to make eye contact for a second before looking away and drawing another deep breath.

  "Think about it," I said reasonably. "Remember when you were Fire Man? You weren't afraid of anyone then."

  "I had my mask," he muttered. "That was different."

  "Not so different. Anyway, they weren't looking at you just now, they were looking at the babies," I said. I wanted to ask how he'd done it, but he was in no kind of condition to answer, and I could wait. I let go of his wrists and he crossed his arms, tucking his hands under them.

  "You want some water?" I asked. "Or we could go back to my shop, you can sit down for a while."

  "No, I'll...I can walk home, it'll do me good," he said, starting to pull away.

  "At least wait until the christening's over, one of the Friendly can take you back."