Reverend of Silence

by Pamela Sparkman

  “Mama?” I called. “Is it all right if I go home with Noah and Lucy for a while?”

  The Hallisons’ front room wasn’t particularly small, but the large pianoforte in the corner took up a good portion of the space, as well as other large pieces of furniture: a tall case clock and a box sofa with matching chairs ate up the center of the room. While the furnishings were nice enough, the room itself appeared worn, faded, and tired. Much like the face staring back at me.

  “Mama, I’d like you to meet Samuel Burke, Reverend Burke’s son.” Noah beamed like he was introducing royalty to his mother. Lucy slid in behind her brother, her lunch pail loosely held by her fingers, nearly forgotten, stealing glances between us. “Samuel, I’d like to introduce you to my mother, Mrs. Hallison. My sisters are around here somewhere, I imagine. And my father and brother will be along shortly.”

  “H-Hello, Mrs. Hallison,” I said. “Y-You have a very nice home.” I found that I stuttered a bit whenever I was nervous, a detail I’d never realized about myself.

  Mrs. Hallison stepped forward and smiled. Hers wasn’t as soft as my mother’s. My eyes instantly cut to Lucy, and I wondered where her smile had come from.

  “Samuel,” she said. “I’m pleased to meet you. Your father speaks highly of you.”

  “He does?”

  “That surprises you?”

  “No ma’am. I mean . . . I suppose I never thought about it.”

  She gestured toward the box sofa. “Would you care to sit?”

  Noah nudged me forward. “Of course he would. I want him to meet everyone.” Before I could take a seat, however, his sisters entered the room. They were much older than Noah and Lucy. They looked very much like ladies, old enough to get married soon.

  “Oh, there you two are,” Noah said. “I’d like you to meet Samuel Burke, my new friend. Sam, these are my sisters, Celia and Louisa.”

  “Hello,” the redheaded one said softly. “I was just on my way to bring in more wood.” She dipped her head. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  “Celia, I can do that. Go sit,” said Noah. “I’ll be right back, Samuel.”

  I found myself seated between Mrs. Hallison and Noah’s other two sisters, feeling a bit like a sandwich. Lucy perched herself on one of the matching chairs, all by herself, her feet not even reaching the floor, and I compared it to the space I had, which was to say none, and I found I was extremely jealous of all the space she had to herself. My leg bounced nervously.

  Mrs. Hallison asked about where I grew up and I answered. She asked about school and I answered that as well. When the side of my face grew warm, I knew . . . knew . . . Lucy was staring.

  But when my eyes found hers, I found she was . . . laughing . . . though she tried to hide it. Her hand covered her mouth, her eyes crinkled around the edges, and there was a sparkle in them that wasn’t there before. I leaned forward a bit to look around my seat companions, who were speaking among themselves now. I wanted to know what she thought was funny. However, that seemed to make her eyes sparkle more until she had to turn completely away from me. I leaned back, confused.

  What was so funny?

  When she turned her head my way again and she glanced at my bouncing knee, I saw her biting back another smile.

  She was laughing at my being uncomfortable, wedged between her mother and sisters. I willed her to look at me so I could scold her with my eyes. I knew how to do it. My father had given me the look enough, I was ready to give it to her when she finally lifted her eyes to mine. But instead of being reprimanded, her smile only brightened. Perhaps I wasn’t as good at giving the look as I’d hoped. Or . . . maybe . . . I was a sucker for her smile. Either way, something in me weakened and I found myself smiling, too, even laughing at my own situation.

  “Something funny?” one of the sisters asked. Louisa, I think.

  “No,” I said. “Just thinking of something that happened today.” I looked away from Lucy. I had to or else I’d laugh again.

  “Hello?” a tall, broad-shouldered man said, entering the room, wearing a topper, tan pantaloons, and a linen shirt. The floorboards creaked as he walked across them.

  “Oh, there you are, Jasper,” said Mrs. Hallison. “This here is Samuel Burke. Noah brought him home from school—to meet the family,” she finished.

  “Burke,” he said, removing his hat. “Reverend Burke’s boy?”

  Right away, I could see where Noah got his looks from—his father. Dark hair, dark eyes. He had a stern set to his jaw. I recalled how Noah had stood up to Fredrick that day in the schoolroom and how stern his jaw had been. And he would grow to be huge. I swallowed. “Y-Yes, sir,” I answered, standing to shake his hand, remembering my manners.

  “Pleased to meet you,” he said. “We saw Noah gathering wood when we were coming inside. James is helping him. They’ll be in in a moment.”

  I nodded and reclaimed my seat.

  “James is our other son,” Mrs. Hallison explained. “He and Mr. Hallison make and repair saddles and sell them down on the wharf.”

  I noticed Mrs. Hallison’s appearance then, not having paid much attention to it before, other than to notice she seemed tired. Even her brown hair seemed tired, hanging around her face, having fallen out of its pins that were holding it up. While Mr. Hallison wore fine clothes, she wore a faded dress that had been patched and sewn several times.

  “All done,” Noah said, re-entering the room, seating himself in a chair by the window. “We stacked the wood where you said to, Papa.”

  Mr. Hallison had taken the other matching seat across from Lucy, his hat resting on his knee. James leaned against the doorframe after he’d introduced himself. He, too, had the look of his father. The sisters, Celia and Louisa, I guess I could see a little of both of their parents in them.

  As for Lucy, to me . . . she just looked like . . . Lucy. I didn’t see either parent in her.

  “How was your day, Jasper?” Mrs. Hallison asked.

  Mr. Hallison and James spoke about the saddles they made. I had to admit, I was wholly fascinated by what they did. I even thought it might be something I’d want to do. Everyone needed a saddle, after all.

  Soon everyone else began to talk about their day. The ladies spoke of their knitting and food preparations. Noah discussed his lessons at school. I discussed mine when asked of them. But no one engaged with Lucy. Not even to smile in her direction. She just sat there, like a piece of furniture, an object in the room no one paid attention to.

  I looked around at her family as they chattered on about this and about that. It was Noah who finally observed his sister had left the room.

  “Where did Lucy go?” he asked.

  “She left,” I said, throat so tight, I had to push the words out.

  “When?”

  I shook my head and stood, feeling like I might crack down the middle. “Half an hour ago. Mr. and Mrs. Hallison,” I said, “I must be going now. It’s getting late. I told my mother I’d be home in time for supper.” It wasn’t a lie, and for that I was grateful, but that was all I was feeling grateful for at the moment.

  “I’ll walk you to the door,” Noah said.

  “I know my way out.” I was upset and wasn’t sure who I needed to be more upset with—Noah and his family, or the illness that’d made Lucy lose her hearing, or the stupid kids at school, or the world in general. So I said I’d see him tomorrow and slipped out the door before words I’d regret later could slip out of my mouth.

  I was halfway home when I heard footsteps coming up behind me. I turned, expecting to find Noah. Instead, I found Lucy.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, feeling outside myself. Lucy stopped, her eyes dropping to my mouth, her eyebrows pleating together. I realized my folly and moved toward her while pointing toward her house and then toward the sky. It was getting dark. She should be home. Not out here, chasing me through the fields. “Go back, Lucy.”

  She stood there for a moment, looking at me, doing nothing else.

 
; “Lucy?” I whispered.

  And then I realized—she wasn’t looking at me. She was wanting me to look at her.

  “Honey,” I murmured. “Your eyes are the color of honey.” The golden color I couldn’t name before. “I wish they didn’t look so sad.”

  She looked over her shoulder, at the house she called home. A tear slid down her cheek.

  “Lucy,” I whispered again. I knew she couldn’t hear me, but saying her name was more for me. I inched forward, touched her hand, same as I had before, caressed her fingers, and promised her that it would be all right. Whatever it was . . . it would be all right.

  I’d thought being stared at was the worst thing for someone to be exposed to. I was wrong. Being invisible was. And Lucy Hallison had been invisible to mostly everyone.

  But not anymore.

  “I see you, Lucy. I promise I do.” I squeezed her hand. “Go,” I said, and pointed to her house. “It’s getting dark.”

  She squeezed my hand back and left me standing in the fields between her house and mine.

  I watched her until she was safely home before making my own way home again.

  Later that night, after I crawled into bed, I wiped my own tear from my cheek, thinking about Noah’s story—how Lucy had toddled after him, calling out his name, and for a split second, when I’d heard her run up behind me, I’d almost thought Lucy was going to call out my name.

  Sam, Sam, Sam!

  I punched my pillow, and then I punched it again, because I knew she would never call out my name.

  And, oh, how I wanted her to.

  I rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Another tear fell, tracing a path to the whorl inside my ear. I stared at the ceiling until my eyes grew heavy. But before I drifted off to sleep, I asked God one burning question:

  “Lord, am I old enough to have a broken heart? Because I think Lucy Hallison broke mine tonight.”

  I fell asleep before I heard His answer.

  Samuel

  I had awakened early the next morning, earlier than usual, the sun just barely rising, but because I could no longer sleep, I’d gotten myself out of bed, dressed for the day, and proceeded down the stairs, my footsteps not yet heavy enough to cause the wooden stairs to creak and whine underneath my weight like my father’s footsteps always seemed to do. About midway down, I heard my mother’s voice. She stood in front of the hearth, stirring something inside the iron pot that hung from a hook above the grate. Papa sat at the table, reading from a book. When I heard my name, I paused on the steps a moment.

  “I’m worried about Sam,” Mama said as she stirred.

  “He’s fine,” Papa said.

  “He barely ate any of his supper last night. And he looked so . . .” Mama’s words trailed off as she reached for three wooden bowls from the cupboard.

  Papa lifted his eyes from his book and prompted her with, “He looked so what?”

  She turned to face him. “Sad. He looked sad.”

  “Maybe he was just tired, Sarabeth. He’s making friends now. You need to stop worrying over the boy so much.”

  Mama set the bowls down roughly and said in a tone I wasn’t used to hearing from her, “You worry over your parishioners and I don’t tell you how or when to manage it. I’ll thank you kindly if you do not tell a mother not to worry over her son, Jonah.” She turned her back to my father and began to stir the contents in the pot again with a bit more vigor than she had done before.

  My heart beat faster. I didn’t want my parents to argue. Especially over me. I was debating whether I should interrupt them when I saw how my father’s face changed after my mother turned her back. His got soft too, but in a different way, gentler than I’d ever witnessed before.

  His voice gentled. “You are an excellent mother. I didn’t mean to be dismissive. Forgive me.” He stood from his chair when she didn’t respond and came over to her, wrapped his arms around her, and said, “I may worry about a great many things and a great many people, as you said, but I do not worry about Samuel. Do you know why?” She shook her head. “Because he has your courage, your spirit, Sarabeth. I do not worry about him because of who his mother is.”

  Mama turned in his arms, and I could see even from my spot on the stairs that her eyes glistened. She touched his cheek and Papa leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers. “Oh, I think Sam has a bit of his father in him too,” she said. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “Which bit?” he asked.

  She laughed. “All the best bits of you, he has. Even your crooked little toe.”

  “Great. He gets your courage and my crooked toes.”

  She laughed harder. “Oh, stop. You know he has your sense of right and wrong. It practically seeps out of his skin.”

  Papa smiled.

  My heart had moved to my throat. I never knew how well my parents thought of me until that moment. But I loved that I knew now.

  I continued my journey down the stairs, stepping extra hard to alert them to my presence, and then made my way across the room. Mama looked up.

  “Good morning, Mama. Papa.”

  My mother pulled away from my father and reached for one of those wooden bowls she’d set down. “Morning, Sam,” she said. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  The earthy scent of cooked oats wafted in the air and my stomach growled in anticipation. “I am, actually.”

  With everyone now seated at the table, Papa said a quick blessing over our meal. Mama sat quietly across from me, eating her own oats as I ate mine in earnest, which made her smile.

  “So, how was the Hallison visit yesterday, Samuel?” Papa asked. “Noah seems like a good boy.”

  Still sorting out my feelings regarding the Hallison family and still seeing Lucy’s tears whenever I closed my eyes, I decided discussing their furniture was an easier topic. “The visit was fine. They have a pianoforte.”

  “Oh, that reminds me,” Papa said. “Ours should be delivered this week, Sarabeth.”

  “It’s taken long enough, hasn’t it?”

  “It takes time to move a piece of furniture that big from Darien to Bridgeport and with limited funds.”

  “I know,” Mama said regretfully. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant . . .” She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, never mind. I didn’t mean anything.” Then, looking to me, she asked, “Not impressed with their pianoforte, Sam?”

  “Huh?” I said, lifting my head.

  “You’re frowning. What is it? What’s bothering you?” she asked.

  I sighed and let go of my spoon. “I just have something I’m trying to figure out.”

  “Is it a big something or a little something?” Papa asked.

  “A big something,” I said.

  “Do you want to tell us what it is?” he asked.

  “I want to help someone. But I don’t know how.”

  “Ah, I see. Do you want to tell us who?” he pushed.

  I looked up from my empty bowl, looked him right in the eye and said . . . nothing. I wanted to tell him. I did, but I was afraid he wouldn’t understand, and I needed understanding, because I didn’t even understand myself.

  “We can’t help you if you don’t tell us,” Papa said softly.

  “If I told you it was Lucy Hallison, would you tell me I was wasting my time—that she was hopeless because she’s deaf?” I didn’t look away. I held his gaze.

  “No, Sam, Lucy isn’t hopeless.”

  “Why didn’t you ask me about Lucy, then?”

  “What?”

  “Before, you said ‘Noah seems like a nice boy.’ Which he is, but you didn’t say anything about Lucy. Does she not seem like a nice girl to you?”

  Papa shifted in his chair, his eyes veering to Mama’s before returning to mine. “Of course,” he said. “Me not asking you about Lucy doesn’t mean I don’t think she’s a nice girl.”

  “I’m just trying to figure out why everyone, including her own family, excludes her from everything.” My small fist came down
hard on the kitchen table. “Why is that?”

  “Hey,” Mama said gently, reaching for my hand across the table. “Look at me.” I did, while trying to keep my bottom lip from trembling. “Talk to me. What’s happening with Lucy?”

  “You didn’t see her face, Mama. Last night. You didn’t see her face.” I felt the first tear trickle down my cheek. “She looked so—”

  “Sad?” Mama finished.

  “Yes.”

  “Then be her friend, Sam,” Mama said. “That’s how you can help her. Show her you care. Sometimes a friend is all we need.”

  “Be friends how? How am I supposed to get to know her like how a friend knows a friend if I can’t even talk to her?”

  “She didn’t have to tell you with words she wasn’t happy, did she?” I shook my head. “I think she’s already communicating with you, Sam. I’ll bet you’ll learn a lot about her if you pay attention.”

  There was a knock at the door and Mama stood. “It’s too early for visitors.”

  I wiped my face with my sleeve as best as I could and stood to retrieve my slate and lunch pail.

  “Samuel,” Mama called. “Noah and Lucy are here to walk with you to school.”

  Papa got up from the table and walked with me to the door, his arm around my shoulders. “That’s awfully nice of them,” he said to me.

  I took that moment to apologize to him. “I’m sorry about what I said. I know you didn’t mean anything by it when you didn’t ask about Lucy.”

  “No, I didn’t mean anything by it. But there was no reason not to ask about her either. I was being absent-minded, and for that I apologize.”

  I felt myself smiling. “I guess we’re both sorry, then.” He ruffled my hair. “Hey,” I said. “I had it just how I liked it.”

  “Good morning,” Noah said when Papa and I stepped onto the front porch. “You ready?”

  “Yes, I am.” I kissed my mother on the cheek and hugged my father. “Bye, Mama. Papa.”

  “Goodbye, Reverend Burke. Mrs. Burke,” Noah said.

  “Have a good day,” my parents said. But before we turned to go, my mother touched Lucy’s hand, smiled at her, and waved bye. I knew it was my mother’s way to let Lucy know she had been seen, noticed, and counted.