Shem had mounted his horse and was just leaving a rectory on the south side of Salem when he heard it.
He’d been reluctant to leave the Shins that afternoon, but felt a great sense of peace as he observed Mahrree and Perrin resting quietly on the bench by the orchard. His most pressing duties that day would take only a couple of hours—his assistants had offered to take care of the majority of his visits—then Shem would be back.
Calla promised she wouldn’t leave the Shins’ house, staying close by with Boskos should Mahrree need her.
But as Shem slowly rode Silver through the neighborhood to the main road of Salem, he knew what he’d find when he returned home. He marveled that no one else could hear it, and he half-heartedly waved back to Salemites who seemed oblivious. He fought back his tears as the noise grew louder every moment.
He made note of the date. The 63rd Day of Weeding Season.
For some reason that day sounded familiar. Then he remembered—it was the day Perrin stood again in front of Edge, as a thirty-one-year-old Major Shin, and assured them in a debate that nothing really had changed in Edge.
Then the Guarders attacked. Shem’s skull received the dent along his hairline which he could still feel, and the next day Hogal and Tabbit Densal died. Forty-one years ago.
The sound was now so loud it was almost deafening.
Voices.
Dozens of them. No, many, many more than that. Thousands of them. And they were all crying out in joy. Cheering. Shouting.
One voice, distinctive and familiar, filled Shem’s ears and produced goose bumps on his arm.
It was General Relf Shin. “He’s coming! Joriana, I see him! Our boy is coming home!”
---
It was so late that night when Peto went to bed that it was actually morning. But time had lost all meaning. He lay in bed knowing that sleep wouldn’t come, despite his fatigue and heaviness, and wondered why he even bothered.
He couldn’t get out of his mind the expression on his mother’s face when she looked up at him as he came out of the house. He was the first to reach her, Jaytsy right behind him.
All that afternoon he, Lilla, Jaytsy, Deck, Calla, and Boskos had watched his parents from the eating room. They sat at the table quietly talking while observing through the open side door as Mahrree stroked Perrin’s head, patted his chest, or ran her fingers through his hair. No one wanted to bother their quiet afternoon, but no one wanted to leave them alone, either.
They all saw Perrin suddenly writhe, and the women gasped in unison as Boskos lunged for his medical bag.
Peto ran out the door straight for the orchard.
By the time he reached her, Mahrree was trying to smile but her chin was trembling so violently that she couldn’t hold it. Peto knew immediately what happened as he kneeled in front of his lifeless father. He hadn’t expected him to go so quickly. He thought maybe in a week, not in a few hours.
Mahrree didn’t want to get up. She wanted to stay there, with his still head in her lap, for as long as she could. And while the family slowly filed past their Puggah again, she remained there, silently weeping and stroking his head or twisting a lock of his hair around her finger.
It wasn’t until Shem arrived that she finally agreed to get up. She didn’t go far, just into the arms of Jaytsy as they sat on the ground next to him and wept together. Peto wanted to sit and sob with them as well, but he felt a weight on his shoulders that didn’t let him do so just yet.
He was now the head of the Shin family.
That meant comforting the many children who kept coming to him for hugs, caressing his wife as she sobbed loudly, and exchanging encouraging glances with his brother-in-law who seemed to feel an equal weight on his shoulders as well as he held his children. Now the entire Briter family saw Deck as their head.
Yudit had arrived a short time later with a bundle of white burial clothing. She said she “just had a feeling.” It was her duty in their rectory to bring the clothing to mourning families, and Peto had never known her to not “have a feeling” when the time came. He wondered just how long she’d had the shirt and trousers, waiting. Yudit rushed to Mahrree and held her as the women wept together.
Nothing seemed real as Peto helped Shem and Deck with the dressing custom. Soon after a death in Salem, the sons and brothers of a man, or the daughters and sisters of a woman, dressed the deceased in pure white clothing to signify their passage to Paradise.
Peto had assisted and advised in the dressing of many men in his rectory, but never had he experienced the astonishing depth of sorrow of dressing someone in his own family. It was a good thing so many were there to help; at some point either he, or Deck, or Shem was so overcome that a grandson had to step in to help fasten a button or straighten a trouser leg for his father.
Several minutes later, General Perrin Shin was laid out peacefully on the bench in the orchard, his body growing cold.
Mahrree sat surrounded by the rest of the family on the ground, her chin quivering to see her husband in radiant white clothing that matched his hair.
At dinner time, which came and went unnoticed as the families sat in weeping clumps in the orchard, Peto made his way to the message tower. It was time to let Salem know.
One of the messengers came quickly down the ladder, followed by his companion. “Rector Shin, I couldn’t help but notice some activity in your back garden.”
Peto could only say, “The general is no longer in pain.”
The tower men sagged in disbelief.
“Please send up a message,” Peto said. “For all of Salem. Fly the general’s banner, then the white one.”
“Rector, I’m so sorry,” one of them whispered, and his younger companion sniffled.
“Thank you,” Peto mumbled. “I’ll be back later tonight with burial details. I have a feeling we’ll need to do something at the arena tomorrow. There may be a few people who want to say their goodbyes.”
The men nodded somberly and headed back up the tower.
Peto slowly walked back to the house. He heard the chimes as he reached the front porch and half-heartedly looked up at the tower to read the message he never thought he’d see.
First up was the red flag, meaning the message was for all of Salem, then the blue striped general’s banner, then the long, slim white banner signifying death.
A crowd would soon come.
Perhaps Perrin Shin had planned to pass away on that bench. It really was the best place to let people see him. Plenty of room, places for people to congregate and talk in the orchard. And it was a beautiful day.
He always had a plan, even up to the end.
Less than half an hour later somber Salemites started to arrive, with food that they placed quietly around the family they knew would forget about eating, and they kept coming, for hours.
Peto also considered that maybe Perrin passed away on one of the longest days of the year, just to give people more daylight. They were all a blur in his grieving mind as they hugged him and the family on their way to touching General Shin’s cold hand.
Except one face was hard to forget, and Peto couldn’t get her words out of her mind now as he laid in his bed and looked at the dark ceiling.
“A place of miracles! That’s what you said. Show me the miracle now!” Eltana Yordin had marched, furious, to Shem and Peto before she went to see Perrin.
Shem took her arms but she pushed him away.
“Is this what you brought me here for? To give him back to me, then present me with another dead general?” she shrieked to the astonishment of the reverent crowd in the orchard. “How many more do I need? What did you do wrong, Guide?” she sneered. “Your people starved themselves for a day, prayed for him, and still he died. Just what kind of Creator do you follow anyway?”
“Mrs. Yordin,” Peto said calmly, aware that the majority of Salemites were watching them, aghast. “We follow a Creator who has a plan for each of us. No matter how faithful we are, we cannot change Hi
s plans. It was His will that Perrin Shin return to him today.”
But Mrs. Yordin wasn’t accepting that. “No truly benevolent Creator would allow such a thing to happen, would allow the world to crumble this way! Where is He? Sitting on some distant planet watching us, thinking, ‘Oh look how peaceful that little world is. How lovely.’ If He really knew what was happening here, He’d stop it!”
Shem took her arm again and turned her gently to him. When he spoke his voice was powerful yet kind.
“Eltana, He knows what’s happening. More intimately than you could imagine. And He feels sorrow for the world, more powerfully than you can feel it. But this is the Test, and He will not stop it. But He will reward us when it is over. You can’t stop the pain a child feels when he’s suffering, but you can comfort and assure him the pain will eventually pass. Eltana, choose to be comforted. Trust that in the end, the pain will stop. Choose to have faith and believe. Then you’ll see miracles. Then you’ll feel joy.”
Peto would never forget the look on her face. How she could deny the power and warmth of Shem’s words was beyond his comprehension, but she did.
Enraged, as if all of this had happened merely to spite her, she said, “The only miracle I want to see is a dead Lemuel Thorne! He’s the last general who needs to die—so do it! You know how to use a sword, Sergeant Major, so use it!”
Those words turned nearly every head in the vicinity to stare at their gentle guide.
Shem recoiled, but stood his ground. “That’s not my calling, Eltana.”
“Then whose is it?” Her attention was caught by something just past Shem.
Peto turned to see who she gazed at, and his heart plummeted to his feet.
Young Pere stood several feet behind Shem, watching Mrs. Yordin intently. His arms were folded and he looked remarkably like his grandfather. If he were wearing a blue uniform the resemblance would have been jolting.
Peto turned to Mrs. Yordin. She must have had the same thought, because the ferocity in her eyes turned to calculated determination. She shifted her gaze back to Shem.
“Until I see a dead General Thorne, I cannot believe in miracles.”
The two elderly women she lived hurriedly came to her side. “Come, Eltana, let’s go say farewell to the general. The line’s shorter now,” one of them said, guiding her away.
The white-haired woman who stayed behind put a hand on each of the men’s arms.
“I’m so sorry about her,” she said to Shem and Peto. “She’s been going on and on about Colonel Shin ever since she arrived. But I think his passing may actually help. She hasn’t wept about what she’s left behind, but this might get her dealing with her losses. The Creator’s timing is always perfect, isn’t it, gentlemen? Don’t fret about her. We’ll take care of everything.” She patted the men’s arms and went to stand with her sister and Mrs. Yordin, who refused to look back at Peto or Shem.
Peto turned to Shem, but Shem was watching Young Pere behind him. Something passed between them, a look that only the original Perrin Shin might’ve been able to decipher.
“She’s right,” Young Pere said in a low voice. “We starved ourselves for him for nothing.”
“Not for nothing, Young Pere,” Shem said. “Now we know the Creator’s answer is ‘No.’ Now we know we did all we could, and we can live peaceably with that knowledge.”
Young Pere arched one eyebrow, sending a shiver down Peto’s back.
“Who feels like living peaceably?” Young Pere spun on his heel and marched to the barn.
Peto started after him, but Shem caught his arm. He should have caught his daughter-in-law’s arm instead.
“I’ve HAD it with him!” Salema announced as she appeared seemingly out of nowhere and, with shocking speed and gumption, broke into a waddling run after her cousin.
Peto and Shem were too stunned to react.
She reached the barn doors just as Young Pere did, and followed him in, shouting, “How dare you!”
“Oh no,” both Shem and Peto murmured. Unsure of how to proceed, they looked around for someone else intent on intervening, maybe someone else who’d have insight as to what to say to keep Salema and Young Pere from starting an all-out fight. But Jaytsy was holding three of her weeping children, Deck was engaged in a conversation, and Lek—who both of the men were hoping to locate—was nowhere to be seen.
Shem and Peto looked at each other with dread as they heard the snatches of muffled arguing from the barn. Fortunately, it was well built and tight, or thousands of Salemites would have heard General Shin’s grandchildren shouting at each other.
“—don’t need another lecture, Salema! I’m not your husband or your brother, so—”
Shem and Peto both cringed. A few others standing nearby in the orchard turned as they heard the angry noises come from the barn, and gave the guide and rector pained looks of sympathy before respectfully turning their backs.
“—you WILL listen to someone, before you cause—”
“Another war?” Peto whispered to the guide.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Shem assured him, patting Peto’s shoulder, but already it was too late. They saw Young Pere run out of the barn, at full speed, and head up to Deck’s pasture lands.
Peto lunged to follow him, but Shem gripped his shoulder tighter.
“No, Peto,” he whispered. “He’s not ready to listen. This is how he’ll grieve. Young Pere will return when he’s ready.”
Peto watched him rapidly become smaller on the hillside, and his chest tightened. He couldn’t bear to lose two Perrin Shins in one day.
Salema came out of the barn a moment later, her eyes red and puffy from weeping.
Lek appeared next to his father.
“What’d she just do?” he asked in a low tone as his wife penitently made her way back to them.
“I’m guessing a lecture,” Shem said quietly back. “And it didn’t go well.”
Lek sighed and turned to Peto. “I’m sorry, Uncle Peto. All of this has been . . . well, hard on her. On all of us. I don’t think any of us are reacting properly.”
“It’s all right, Lek,” Peto assured him as Salema neared. Her eyes reflected devastation. “I don’t think there is a proper way to react.”
“I am so sorry, Uncle Peto,” Salema whimpered. “I just was so angry . . . I shouldn’t have yelled at him, then . . .” She slumped into her husband’s arms, overcome with sorrow, regret, and probably some severely strained belly muscles from her jog.
Lek hugged her tenderly and said, “There are times for lectures, and there are times for love.” Then, demonstrating that he recognized the difference himself, said nothing more as he held her.
Peto had stayed up late that night waiting for Young Pere to return. He kept looking out the windows long after the last visitors left, and after the tower messages went up announcing the memorial service for Perrin the next afternoon.
He kept glancing at the hills as he picked up his father’s body, with Deck and Shem, and brought it to rest in the general’s office for the night.
There was something he noticed out in the dark evening, but was too wrapped up in grief and despair was he to do anything about it: Clark was down in the pasture.
He knew. Somehow, Clark knew.
Peto peeked out the windows again as they moved the sofa into the office so Mahrree and Calla could sit together by Perrin all night. Many of his other children came to him, and he and Lilla spent time with each of them in their bedrooms wiping their tears, kissing them good night, and assuring them that Puggah was fine and happy where he was, and that he knew how much they would miss him.
Peto finally assumed Young Pere might be asleep somewhere, probably in the barn.
Before he went to bed, Peto checked on his mother and Calla for the fifth time, and found them leaning against each other in a shallow sleep. Peto crept into the room so as to not disturb them.
He touched his father’s cold face, brushed aside
some of his hair, and sighed as he looked at him.
It was over so fast.
Peto leaned over and kissed his father, probably for the first time since he was a toddler. “I still need you, you know,” he whispered. “Please don’t go too far. Let me hear you from the woods every now and then, all right?”
He didn’t know if he expected an answer or not, but he sighed again and quietly slipped out and up to his bedroom.
That’s where he had been for the last hour, staring into the dark. It was useless. Dawn would be here in a few hours anyway.
He slid out of bed so as not to disturb Lilla and Morah, who was snuggled up against her mother, and walked over to the wardrobe. He opened it, felt for the old envelope he knew was still there, pulled it out, and went down to the kitchen where he lit a candle, then dropped the fading envelope on the small table.
General Perrin Shin was gone.
Peto stared at the envelope, wanting to read it again, yet also wanting to destroy it. He had treasured it and carried it for years, and now it felt as dead as his father.
He sat down heavily in a chair and, dropping his head in his hands, finally let the tears fall that he’d been fighting all evening. Now that the house was quiet he could finally grieve.
A warm hand gently touched his neck. “Oh, Peto,” Lilla said softly, and she wrapped her arms around his head and cradled him as he sobbed.
Eventually his weeping slowed, and she pulled out a chair next to him. “The Papa Pere Prophecy,” she sighed as she pulled the envelope to her.
Peto couldn’t help but scoff a chuckle through his tears. “You really should stop calling it that. Not very respectful.”
“He said he wanted me to remember him that way, as my Papa Pere,” she began to choke again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “It’s your turn. I’ve been so worried about you. What can I do for you?”
He shrugged and rubbed his eyes.
Lilla fingered the envelope. “So . . . what are you going to do with this?”
“I don’t know. He’s gone now, but it doesn’t feel like it was fulfilled. My grandfather Relf was so sure, Lilla, so sure. He wasn’t the kind of man do to anything lightly. ‘The greatest general the world ever saw.’ He was adamant about that.”
“Maybe he was hoping his son would be the general he wasn’t?” Lilla suggested. “Or maybe Perrin Shin’s legacy is the one he’s left for his descendants. All that he did to get them here, what he sacrificed for his family to grow, to know the truth? I know all of them think he was the greatest general in the world.”
Peto sat, despondent. “I thought about pulling it out yesterday, reading it to him, maybe guilting him into getting better so he could still fulfill it. Telling him his old wolf father would have been able to beat it, and live to tell me about a dream! But I couldn’t. I just felt it wasn’t the right time. And now there’s no time left at all. Only you and I know what he could have been. He was a great man, he did so much, but . . .” Peto nudged the envelope helplessly. “Lilla, he’s gone!”
He buried his face in his hands again, his shoulders shaking.
She leaned against his arm, tears streaking down her face as he sobbed.
“I just don’t get it. I just don’t get it,” he whispered. “My grandchildren are supposed to remember this document, but when? I’ve asked the Creator what this all means. All I get back is, Wait.” His hands came down to reveal his face blotchy with grief. “I really don’t appreciate that answer: Wait. You know how many times He’s given me that answer?”
Stunned to see him so low, she gripped his arm. “And how many times did He fulfill that promise, Peto? You’ve waited and you’ve seen the miracle?”
“Every time, Lilla,” he admitted. “But I just don’t see how this one will get answered. It just can’t be. There’s no final General Shin in the world to lead us into a great battle. Even he saw the pointlessness of being called General of Salem.”
“Rector Shin!” Lilla said in a shocked whisper. “Since when do you lack faith?”
“When my heart’s dead, Lilla.” Even he was stunned by his despair. There was nothing left. Nothing. They’d tried so hard to save him, and the Creator took him anyway.
She shook his arm frantically, as if that would shake hope back into him. “That’s when you need your faith the most, Peto! You need to believe that you simply don’t understand all that the Creator has planned for us. You of all people know miracles happen in ways we can’t understand. Your mother got her house and her dozens of children around her, didn’t she? What could’ve been more amazing than that? The Creator already knows the end of everything, so until we can too, you just have to trust Him, and stop trying to second guess Him!”
Peto couldn’t move, but stared at the old envelope.
Gently Lilla took it up, carefully removed the old document and laid it on the table, smoothing it flat. The high-quality ink was still as dark as it was the day the teenage Peto wrote down his grandfather’s words in Idumea. Lilla lightly fingered the signature of Relf Shin.
Peto touched it too.
“Keep it, Peto. Keep it safe. The time’s not right yet,” Lilla decided. “You will live to see the day. See, you wrote that right there. Terrible handwriting, by the way. Looks more like ‘Petu wil leve to sea tha daiu.’”
Peto’s shoulders started to shake, this time in weary laughter. “So maybe we just got it wrong so many years ago,” he chuckled, but immediately the tears fell again. “Ah, Lilla, do you really think so?”
“We have at least . . . thirty more years, I think. So much can happen in thirty years, you know.”
He picked up the parchment again. “It was just three years after this that we came to Salem. Jaytsy was married and expecting Salema. Father had resigned, we were going to be tried in Idumea, Mother would have been executed . . .” Peto shook his head at the memory of it. “So much happened in such a short time, I never would have guessed then.”
“Your grandfather said this was for you,” Lilla reminded him. “Perhaps you’ve held on to this for this very day, for this exact moment. It’s a message from Paradise, telling you that it’s not all over yet. You need to . . . wait.”
Peto analyzed his grandfather’s writing and the note he made in the margin. Where Peto had written “general in Idumea,” Relf had drawn a line to it and wrote instead in his more careful hand, “the world.” Peto felt a warmth he’d felt before and knew it was comfort from the Creator.
But then the feeling changed.
The warmth heated intensely until it burned throughout his entire body. Energy so overpowered Peto that he felt he could have leapt to his feet and run twenty miles in an instant. A smile came across his face that he couldn’t have fought even if he wanted to. New tears filled his eyes, but not of sorrow.
Joy. Pure joy.
He felt a presence in the chair next to him, remarkably like his father. He could even smell him, earthy sweet. The presence overtook him and his eyes closed, now feeling weakened by the sensation.
Lilla gripped his arm and gasped. She felt it too.
Wait.
The word came from inside both Peto and Lilla, surrounded them in the kitchen, then settled on the parchment before them.
As if a great bear wrapped his arms around them, the presence hugged them powerfully from the outside, taking away their breath. Then it seeped into their souls, settling in their hearts.
And it faded peacefully away, except for a small burning that promised to linger.
“Papa Pere!” Lilla whispered.
“Yes, Father,” Peto whispered. “Message received. We’ll wait.”
With his vision so blurry that he could barely see what he was doing, he tenderly picked up the parchment, kissed it, folded it again, slid it in the envelope, and held it to his heart where the flame continued to burn.
---
Young Pere was awakened by the sound of metal hitting stone, over and over again, tapp
ing rhythmically. He stretched and tried to focus on where he was. And why.
The barn. And because he didn’t want to sleep in that house last night.
He sat up and brushed straw off of his shirt. The tapping continued. Fully irritated, he got up, climbed down the loft ladder, and walked outside.
The sun had not yet risen over the mountain, and out of the corner of his eye Young Pere noticed that Clark was lying in the pasture. It wasn’t his normal state, but the old horse was getting old.
There was also enough light to make out Relf standing at the enormous boulder that straddled the dividing line between the Briter and Shin gardens. For years it had been the spot for gathering the family, for mothers to climb up to search the area for missing children, for children to climb and look for the mothers looking for them, and in the Snowing Season it was the base of icy slides and snowy forts.
But this morning Relf was chiseling it with his hammer. As much as he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, Young Pere was so aggravated that he needed to know why Relf was making such a racket. He strode over to the stone where he was startled to see two letters already there.
PE
“Do you realize how early it is?” Young Pere demanded.
“Do you realize how worried Papa was about you last night?” Tap, tap, tap.
Young Pere shrugged. “I was just in the barn.”
“He didn’t know that though.” Tap, tap. “Don’t you think he’s got enough on his mind right now without you taking off in a huff?” Tap, tap, tap, tap. “Papa needs us now. He doesn’t need to be up half the night fretting.”
Young Pere rolled his eyes. “What are you doing to the boulder?”
“It’s no longer just a boulder,” Relf told him. “It’s Puggah’s headstone.” Tap, tap. “We’re burying him here, between the two gardens.”
Young Pere groaned. “I thought it was going to be up on the hillside.”
“Muggah changed her mind.”
“But it’s so rocky here. This will be much harder to dig.”
Relf spun around to face his brother, a lock of his blond hair sticking to the sweat already on his forehead. “Who cares? If we have to dig a little harder, then we dig a little harder! If Muggah wants Puggah nearby, then we will bury him nearby! It’s not about what’s easier or more convenient for you, Young Pere—it’s about doing what is needed for the most good for the family!”
Young Pere was unmoved. “Digging in this isn’t going to do me the most good,” he mumbled.
Relf threw up his hands, nearly tossing his chisel and hammer. “There’s that word again—‘me’. Why should you care so much about yourself?”
“Because my grandfather died yesterday,” Young Pere snapped. “Or maybe you didn’t notice?”
“My grandfather died yesterday too, Young Pere,” Relf said gently. “None of us expected that. None of us are going to get over it soon. We all need to find our own ways to honor him and work through this. I know what you’re feeling—”
“No, you don’t!” Young Pere said sharply. “You just don’t know all there is to know.”
Relf took a step toward his brother.
Young Pere took two steps back.
“It’s all right to feel angry, sad, shocked,” Relf assured him. “It’s what you’re supposed to feel. Just let us feel with you. We can all help each other through this—”
“I don’t need anyone’s help, Relf!” Young Pere said with barely controlled rage. “I don’t need to sit and cry like a baby in the grass with anyone.”
“Well you need to do something, Young Pere,” Relf sighed. “Don’t you dare go into the house with that attitude. Papa and Mama and especially Muggah need our support, not our aggravation. You know what you need?”
“Yes, but you’re going to tell me what you think anyway, aren’t you?”
Relf smiled faintly. “You, my little brother—” he said to his sibling who stood several inches taller than him, “—need to go get a shovel and work out some of that anger. I’m carving now so I can get a start on his name. But I’m also out here so early because I have my own store of anger to take out on this rock. It’s helping, Young Pere. Just look how deep those letters are. When I’m in a good mood, I can never chisel that deep. I should be depressed more often when I work.” He wanted to give his brother a genuine smile but couldn’t find one yet.
Young Pere sighed and looked down at the ground below the boulder. “You’re dropping bits of rock on where we need to dig. That’s going to make it even more rocky.” But he nodded at his brother and went to retrieve a shovel that stood in the ground next to Aunt Jaytsy’s first row of potatoes.
Without another word Young Pere began to dig a few feet behind Relf.
The ground was hard. That’s why Aunt Jaytsy’s garden ended several paces before the boulder. Young Pere didn’t get too far before he had to stop to pull out a large stone and toss it by the boulder.
Relf stopped his tapping, smiled dimly at it, then put the large stone in a crevice of the boulder.
He had plans for that one.
---
“Peto, he’s back!” Lilla was looking out the eating room window toward the Briters.
Peto joined her by the window and sighed in relief as they watched their middle son digging the grave.
“What are you going to say to him?” Lilla asked. “Today’s really not a day for confrontations—”
“I agree. Just looks like he could use a little help.”
By the time Peto pulled on his boots, retrieved the pick axe and headed to the boulder where Young Pere was digging, Deck was already there with his sons Viddrow, Cephas, and Atlee.
Boskos and Zaddick Zenos arrived moments later, shovels in hand, and Hogal and Kew Shin followed their father. A lot of sons had a lot of grief to work out.
Peto put a hand on Young Pere’s shoulder and squeezed it. Young Pere looked up, nodded once, then went back to work loosening the dirt around another large rock.
None of the men and boys spoke as they worked. The only sounds were those of moving dirt, clashing rock, and Relf’s constant tapping on the boulder. The older boys and men dug while the younger boys retrieved the large rocks and stacked them near the boulder.
Finally, Peto put a hand on Relf’s shoulder. “You’ll need to step aside for a while, son. We need to dig at the base of the boulder.”
“That’s all right,” Relf said. “I have something else I can do in the meantime.” He took the first stone Young Pere had removed from off the boulder and sat down with it, tapping again.
After an hour the grave was ready, and a large stack of stones sat by the boulder.
As the men cleared out the last of the rocks, Peto walked over to Relf, wiping sweat off his brow. “We’re finished, Relf. What are you doing?”
Relf looked up from his work. “It occurred to me that wasn’t the first grave there. There’s another, on the side, but we never properly marked it. I thought I should take care of that. I think Puggah would appreciate it. I remember they were inseparable when I was younger.”
Peto squatted by his son and inspected the stone. The surface was already etched, to be chiseled deeper later. Peto smiled as he ran his fingers across the indentations.
The Cat
336-350
“I forgot his favorite pet was buried there. My father did it himself. Nice touch, Relf.”
“Thanks. And speaking of touch,” he nodded toward Young Pere who was walking back to the barn with Peto’s pickaxe. “I don’t recommend touching him. He’s not taking this well at all.”
“I know,” Peto said. “I think I’ll give him a moment. Maybe after he’s put away that pickaxe.”
Peto was waiting for Young Pere when he came out of the barn. “Sleep all right last night, son?” he asked as casually as he could.
“Sure,” Young Pere answered shortly and brushed past his father on his way to the house.
Peto jogged to catch up.
“I don’t think you’ve heard all of the arrangements for today. We’re bringing Puggah to the arena just before noon. That will give people time to see him again and it’s also where we’ll have the memorial service. Then only the family will bring him back here for burial. Your grandmother was hoping each of the boys would help move him.”
“Move him how?” he mumbled.
“Army tradition in Idumea. All of the soldiers help carry the fallen to their graves . . .” Peto couldn’t keep up the conversational tone, because the words coming out of his mouth sounded so wrong.
He was planning a burial? They shouldn’t have to do this; they shouldn’t have to do this—
He cleared the lump that choked his throat. “All of you were his army, you see, so it’s fitting that we each take turns carrying him.”
“Sure, Papa,” Young Pere curtly responded as he strode through the kitchen door.
Peto didn’t follow him.
He had wanted to grab his son and embrace him, but Young Pere put off a distinct air of not wanting to be touched.
“Father?” Peto whispered. “This was always the time that I’d look at you, and you’d follow him and get him to talk. What do I do now?”
Just show him you love him, Peto.
Peto smiled at the words that formed so clearly in his mind. He hoped he guessed correctly about who planted that in his conscience.
“How, Father?”
Only silence greeted him.
He strained to listen harder, not entirely sure what that entailed, but doing his best to clear his mind.
“You need to talk louder, Father. You’re too far into the woods.” In his mind’s eye, Perrin was a distant blur at the edges of the trees.
I’m not about to give you all the answers, son. Where’s the growth and learning in that?
Despite his misery, Peto smiled. That was definitely a Perrin Shin response.
“Thanks a lot. At least I know you haven’t gone too far.”
It was most likely his imagination, but Peto thought he heard chuckling, and a cat purring, in the distance.
---
“He’s going to know,” Kanthi Shin accused her cousin, but Tabbit Briter couldn’t control her tears. They were brushing Clark again, after coaxing him to take a little water from the bucket they brought him. He was flat on his side, ignoring them.
“He already knows,” Tabbit sniffled. “He’s mourning, just like us.”
Kanthi wiped her nose and looked up to see her brothers and cousins heading back to their houses after digging the grave. Each of them stopped to look at Clark, whose eyes were blank and unseeing.
Cephas sighed at his sister and cousin. “It’s not much longer now,” he tried to warn them.
“Don’t say that,” Kanthi said, trying to fight her tears.
Fifteen-year-old Nool Shin shook his head at his twin sister. “Cephas is right. This doesn’t look good—”
“You don’t know that,” his fourteen-year-old brother Kew insisted. “He could just be . . . depressed or something. Even Uncle Deck wasn’t sure—”
Their older brother Barnos paused on his way back to his house and put his arms around his brothers. To his cousin and sister practically draped over Clark, he said, “That’s true. None of us know. You’re doing all you can for Clark. He knows it, and Puggah knows it.” His words stumbled on that last part. “Come on, everyone. Time to get cleaned up. Long day ahead of us.”
Chapter 15--“We can do this for him, and for you.”