“It is a small peaceful place in the middle of a big land,” he had told me.
It was true. No voices, only the animals, their breath and bodies so warm. I fed John’s horse last, stroking his nose.
“Where did you come from?”
He stared at me, his eyes dark.
“And who is he?”
There was only silence in the barn. Papa was right.
The barn, so small in a big place.
Peace.
“John is awake,” announced Cassie when I returned to the house.
“I can see.”
John sat at the table, drinking tea. Seal sat at his feet. Min was now sleeping in Seal’s basket.
“You look better,” said Sarah.
“I am better,” said John.
Cassie studied John closely. Finally he put down his cup of tea.
“What?” he said gruffly.
“Are you a robber?” asked Cassie.
“Cassie,” warned Sarah.
“No,” said John. “I am not a robber.”
Sarah carried an armful of laundry upstairs. I opened my book.
“I’m writing about you,” I told John.
John frowned.
“There is nothing to write about me,” he said.
“But I have already written some things.”
I pushed the book over for him to read.
John’s lips were set in a thin line. He didn’t even look at my book. He turned to Cassie, who had been staring at him all this time.
“Doesn’t she do anything?” he asked me.
I smiled.
“She’s little. She doesn’t do much. She draws. She plays hide-and-seek.”
“Hide-and-seek! Good idea. Go hide,” he said to Cassie.
Cassie waited.
“You have to count,” I said.
“Ah. One, two, three, four . . .”
“Slower,” I told him.
John sighed.
“Fiiive, siiix.”
Cassie ran off. John leaned back, looking pleased.
“There,” he said. “She’s gone.”
He lifted his cup of tea.
“Ready!” called Cassie from somewhere in the house.
“Now you have to find her,” I said.
“You go find her.”
“I’m coming!” I called.
“Not you,” came Cassie’s voice. “Him.”
John stared at his teacup. Then, muttering under his breath, he got up and left the room.
“I’m coming!” he called. “I’m coming,” he repeated softly.
I looked at my open book. I wrote.
He didn’t even look at it. Why wouldn’t he look at what I wrote? Maybe he’s afraid. But what is he afraid of?
We ate with the oil lamp throwing light across the table.
“Grace, Cassie?” said Sarah.
John stopped, his spoon halfway to his mouth. Cassie waited for him to put it down.
“God is great.
God is good.
And we thank him
For our fuud,” said Cassie.
“Food,” corrected Sarah.
“Foood,” repeated Cassie.
John ate quietly, not looking at anyone. Especially Cassie.
John didn’t look at Cassie, as if he knew what I knew. When you look at Cassie, she asks a question. Always.
This didn’t work for John.
“Do you have children?” asked Cassie.
“Don’t pry, Cassie,” said Sarah.
“What does ‘pry’ mean?” asked Cassie.
“It means not poking into the life of someone who doesn’t want it,” said John briskly.
“But I want to know,” said Cassie matter-of-factly.
“What I want is for you to eat your dinner,” said Sarah sternly.
I smiled.
“Cassie makes me think of you, Sarah. When you first came here. You asked lots of questions.”
Sarah smiled, too.
“I did, didn’t I? And your father grew very tired of it. I came here from Maine,” she told John. “After Jacob’s wife died. Jacob wrote an advertisement in the newspaper for a wife. I read it. I came.”
“And she stayed,” I told John. “Anna and I were afraid she wouldn’t. She missed the sea. But she stayed.”
“That was a brave thing to do,” said John.
“I thought so, too,” said Sarah. “It seems a long time ago now.”
“She brought Seal,” said Cassie. “Now I’m here!”
“I’ll say,” said John.
Sarah got up and went to the window.
“I’m sure Jacob won’t be home tonight. He’ll stay in town. You can talk to him tomorrow, John.”
John didn’t answer. He took a medicine bottle out of his pocket when Sarah wasn’t looking and took a pill. When he saw me watching, he quickly put the bottle back in his pocket. There was no more talk. No more questions.
The wind howls outside, the snow and sleet hitting the windows like stones tossed there. Inside it is peaceful. But John doesn’t look peaceful at all. He looks like he has secrets.
I will find out what they are.
4
The morning was bright and clear when I woke, no snow or wind. I could smell coffee. John’s room was empty. The bed was made, his small carrying pack by the window. I looked into Cassie’s room and she was still asleep, one arm thrown back, her hair in a tangle.
Downstairs the coffeepot was hot to the touch. Through the window I could see John gathering wood from the shed. Nick watched and Lottie leaped through the drifts and barked. John tossed a small piece of wood and Nick picked it up. They began walking back to the house.
“Caleb? Did you make this coffee?”
Sarah was in her robe, a cup in her hand. I shook my head.
“It must have been John,” I said.
The door opened and John came in with the dogs.
“This is wonderful coffee,” said Sarah.
John nodded. “I’ve had years of coffee making,” he said, dumping wood into the bin.
“That’s Caleb’s job, bringing in wood,” said Sarah.
“Caleb took care of my horse yesterday,” said John.
He sat down suddenly, his face pale.
Sarah looked alarmed. “Are you sure you’re well enough for this?” she asked.
I wondered if John would tell Sarah about the pills he had hidden in his pocket, but he didn’t.
John got up and poured coffee for himself.
“I’m well enough,” he said quickly.
“The animals, Caleb. They need to be fed,” said Sarah.
John held up his hand.
“No, Caleb. I’ve already done that.”
“Thank you, John,” said Sarah.
“I like this work,” said John. “I used to farm a long time ago.”
“Did you?” asked Sarah. “You know, I never asked you where you live, where your home is.”
John took a long drink of coffee. He didn’t answer. He looked over Sarah’s head at Cassie on the stairs.
“Ah, the queen,” he said.
Cassie came over and sat on Sarah’s lap.
“The queen of what?” asked Cassie.
“Questions,” said John. “The Queen of Questions.”
Cassie smiled. She liked that.
The dogs sat up suddenly, listening. Lottie ran to the door and Nick followed her, barking.
“Hush,” said Sarah, putting Cassie down. She went to the window.
“There’s Jacob,” she said, her face bright. “He’s early!”
Sarah opened the front door, and cold air rushed into the warm kitchen. Papa came in and put his arms around Sarah.
“I’m glad you’re home,” said Sarah, her face in Papa’s neck.
“I’m glad, too,” said Jacob.
Very slowly John stood.
“Papa!” cried Cassie.
“There’s my girl,” said Papa.
He picked her up
and came into the kitchen.
“Hello, Caleb.”
“Is there school, Papa? Was anyone there when you went by?” I asked.
“No horses. I don’t think there’s school today,” said Papa. “The snow has drifted pretty deep in places.”
“Jacob, you have a visitor,” said Sarah. “He came to see you yesterday.”
“Oh?”
Papa looked at John.
“Do I know you?”
“You and I knew each other a long time ago, Jacob,” said John.
Papa bent his head to one side thoughtfully. Then, as if he couldn’t find any other words, John repeated softly, “a long time ago.”
Suddenly, Papa stepped backward as if he had been hit. He put Cassie down.
“Jacob?” asked Sarah. “What’s wrong?”
Papa stared at John. Everyone was quiet. Even Cassie. When Papa did speak, his voice was so soft I could hardly hear him.
“You . . . ? How can it be . . . ?”
Papa’s voice broke.
“Jacob? Jacob, who is this?” asked Sarah, stepping closer to Jacob as if to protect him from something. What?
Cassie moved closer to me and I took her hand. Then Papa saw us.
“Caleb. Take Cassie upstairs,” he said sharply.
“Do you mean now?” I asked.
I was not used to his sharp tone.
“Yes, Caleb. Please get Cassie dressed,” said Sarah more softly.
“Come, Cassie,” I said.
“But Caleb—” Cassie began.
“Hush,” I said.
Cassie and I went to the stairway, where we were out of sight. But Papa’s voice stopped us, and we sat on the steps, listening.
“You were dead! Dead!”
Papa’s voice sounded ragged, as if it hurt to talk. Startled, Seal ran past us up the stairs.
“Is that what she told you?” John asked softly.
“Jacob, who is this?” asked Sarah.
There was a moment of silence.
“This is my father. This is John Witting!” said Papa, his voice growing louder.
“But you told me he was dead,” said Sarah.
I could hear the confusion in her voice.
“That’s what I thought.”
Cassie tugged at my sleeve.
“Who is he, Caleb?” she whispered.
“He is Papa’s father. Our grandfather,” I whispered back to her.
“Grandfather,” whispered Cassie slowly, as if trying out a word she’d never used.
My heart began to beat so fast in my chest that I could hardly breathe.
Grandfather.
Then I heard the front door slam, Papa leaving. It opened and closed again. Sarah going after him. Then silence. I heard John walk across the kitchen and pull out a chair and sit down. Very faintly I heard the rattle of the pill bottle. My grandfather was taking a pill.
My grandfather.
5
From an upstairs window, Cassie and I watched Sarah and Papa talking outside. I had never seen Papa so upset. Maybe, once before, when he was afraid Sarah might not stay and marry him. But that had been a long time ago.
“Papa’s mad,” said Cassie.
She leaned against me.
“No, Cassie. He’s upset. He thought his father was dead.”
“Why isn’t he glad to see him?”
Cassie looked up at me.
“Where has Grandfather been?”
I smiled at how natural the word “grandfather” was to Cassie.
I shook my head.
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe he was lost,” said Cassie.
“Maybe.”
“That’s what happened,” said Cassie firmly. “He was lost.”
We watched Sarah talking to Papa. Papa stood silent, not even looking at her.
“Will everything be all right?” Cassie asked at last.
She sounded so sad.
“Everything will be fine,” I said. “You’ll see.”
“I like Grandfather,” Cassie said after a moment.
Cassie left, and I knew that she was going downstairs to ask Grandfather more questions.
“I like Grandfather, too,” I said out loud in the empty room. “I do.”
Outside, Sarah reached out and put her arms around Papa. But after a moment Papa walked off to the barn, leading Bess. Sarah stood still for a moment, then she pulled her coat around her and followed Papa into the barn.
I could hear Cassie’s voice down in the kitchen, going on and on like the wind. Sometimes Grandfather would say something, his voice low, his sentences short. Slowly I walked down the stairs and into the kitchen.
“I am almost four and a half years old, you know,” said Cassie.
“You told me that,” said Grandfather.
“I was born here.”
“So was I,” said Grandfather grumpily.
“And I was very little,” said Cassie.
“I was little,” said Grandfather.
Cassie took a breath.
“I was very little. So little,” said Cassie, “that I had to sleep in a little box by the stove. And I ate every hour. And I cried. And I threw up.”
Grandfather grunted. “You win,” he said.
“It will be nice to know my grandfather,” I said.
Grandfather looked at me, his eyes so sharp and blue. He walked to the door and put on his coat.
“I’m not nice,” he said. “Don’t go thinking that, Caleb.”
The kitchen door opened and Sarah came in.
“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” she said to Grandfather.
“I didn’t know if I would be welcome in your house,” said Grandfather.
“You are Jacob’s father,” said Sarah. “Of course you are welcome.”
“Does Jacob welcome me?” he asked.
Sarah didn’t answer. She walked to the stove to pour a cup of coffee.
“That’s what I thought,” said Grandfather. He put on his hat.
“Where are you going?” asked Sarah.
“Taking a walk,” said Grandfather.
“I’ll go with you,” said Sarah.
“No,” said Grandfather. “I know the farm. It was once mine, you know.”
“I’ll go,” I said. “I’d like to.”
“Aren’t you late for school?” asked Sarah.
“There is no school,” I said. “Remember?”
“Then help Jacob with the chores, Caleb.”
“What about me?” asked Cassie.
Grandfather peered at all of us for a moment. Then he turned and went out the door.
“Grandfather doesn’t like us,” said Cassie.
“No. He doesn’t,” I said.
Sarah sighed and walked to the window to watch Grandfather walk down the road by the paddock fence.
“He doesn’t know you,” she said softly. “He will like you.”
“Does he like Papa?” asked Cassie.
Sarah didn’t answer.
“Does Papa like him?” asked Cassie.
Sarah turned from the window.
“Have you brushed your hair, Cassie? Chores, Caleb,” she said briskly.
I knew there wouldn’t be any more questions. Or answers.
Papa was in the barn, but he wasn’t cleaning the stalls. He was standing in the open doorway, looking out over the meadows and the slough, filled with snow. He was also watching Grandfather walking down the road.
“Papa?”
Papa didn’t answer me right away.
“The paddock gate needs fixing,” he said, his voice soft.
“Papa? Cassie wonders . . .”
I stopped as Papa looked straight at me.
“Cassie wonders what?” he repeated.
I took a breath.
“Cassie wonders why you aren’t happy to see your father. If you thought he was dead.”
Papa knew I was asking for me, too.
“Cassie’s life is simple, Caleb. She
thinks life is good and fair. And everyone does the right thing.”
We both watched Grandfather walk away down the road.
“But life is good and fair,” I said. “Isn’t it?”
Papa sighed.
“Sometimes, Caleb. But sometimes people do the wrong thing.”
“Did Grandfather? Do the wrong thing?”
Papa winced at the name “grandfather.” It did not come as easy for him as for Cassie.
Papa looked at me again.
“You know, Caleb, you’re almost as tall as I am. When did that happen?”
Papa turned and walked back into the barn and picked up his shovel.
“The gate, Caleb,” he said, his voice soft.
He bent over and began to clean out the stalls, his arms rising and falling in a regular rhythm. Up and down, up and down, up and down.
I mended the gate and looked up once to see Grandfather far away in the west meadow. When I looked up again he was gone. Later, when I went to the barn to put away the fence wire, Sarah and Papa were talking. They didn’t see me and I didn’t mean to listen. But I was afraid to move.
“You should talk to John,” said Sarah. “Perhaps if you just talk about it—”
“That’s your way, Sarah,” interrupted Papa.
“I thought it was our way, Jacob.”
Papa dropped his shovel and looked at Sarah.
“There is nothing to talk about. He walked away from us, Sarah. I was younger than Caleb. He walked away and left us to wait. And wonder.” Papa’s voice got louder. “Every day I looked down that road for him. Every day!” Papa was shouting now. “That shouldn’t happen to a boy. That shouldn’t happen to anyone.”
Sarah put her arms around Papa.
“He’s old and tired, Jacob. Please talk to him.”
“What does he want after all this time?” asked Papa. “He could have written me a letter! Why didn’t he write me a letter?” Papa’s voice sounded sad.
Papa walked over to the barn door to look outside. He didn’t see me in the shadows.
“I could forgive him for dying. But I will never, never forgive him for walking away,” he said.
“Talk to him,” whispered Sarah.
I stood still as a stone.