Chapter 16

 

 

There was a porch, big enough for some chairs, and steps to sit on in the cool of an evening. As Jacobi opened the door, I looked inside. The front room was a good size, with a stone fireplace, bigger than any I had ever seen. The kitchen was right off from the front room, with a table and chairs that had been left. Everything was dust-covered, but it was all in good shape.

I pulled out a chair and sat on it, watching Miss Laura walk around slowly, looking at the cabinets and shelves in the kitchen, and the wood stove that was practically new.

Jacobi had opened up a door, then disappeared. Miss Laura smiled at me and pointed toward a ladder I hadn’t seen.

“I bet there’s a loft room, Will. Would you like to have a look?”

She was right. As I climbed high enough to be able to look over the edge, I thought this must be the one thing I’d never seen in my dreams because I couldn’t have imagined how wonderful it could be.

A hardwood floor covered with braided rugs. A bed tucked into a corner with shelves built on the walls nearby. And those shelves were full of books—books that I would soon be able to read, once I started school.

I thought again of my life before. I thought about Mama, who had meant well, but could never stand up to my father. Papa had imposed his desire on the rest of us probably much in the same way his own father had done him. My sister, Lisbeth, had been my only companion in that solitary world, and had longed for changes she couldn’t have imagined, either.

My mother would have blossomed, showering love upon all of us, had she felt the freedom to do so. Instead, she’d tended her flower garden; her daisies, forget-me-nots, and tea roses becoming the objects of her attention since Lisbeth and I could not be.

My father had come west to try to escape the dictates of his own father. But in doing so, had he truly found the freedom he craved? I didn’t believe he had. And the price we had all paid had not been worth it.

Lisbeth was dead.

I lay on the bed, trying it out. I closed my eyes, letting my body absorb the soft comforting valleys of the mattress.

Lisbeth was dead.

I wanted to do something to show I remembered her. I would never, ever forget her. But I understood why Jacobi had done what he’d done. He’d protected her the only way he could have. Maybe just living free would be a good way to remember her, I thought.

The anger was gone. All I felt now was gratitude and sadness for him, having to live with the decision he’d been forced to make.

Maybe…I was a reminder of that decision. My heart sped up. Could that be the reason he’d been so determined to send me back to my grandfather in Boston? I had never thought of that. Now, I had to know.

I hurled myself from the bed and climbed down the ladder—the ladder that had only been twelve rungs long climbing up, but seemed like a hundred and twelve climbing down.

I was aware of Miss Laura humming contentedly in the kitchen. I thought of my dreams of the cabin, of the smoke curling up out of the chimney. Home, my heart seemed to whisper as I set my foot on the ground. But I had to know for sure.

I ran through the house, toward where I knew the back door would be. I crashed through it, Jacobi’s name erupting from me like a wounded mountain lion’s cry.

“Jacobi!”

I understood everything now. And there was nothing more important than letting him know it. I needed to give him his freedom; freedom my father never gave me. Freedom I’d never have gained if our lives had continued as they were. Would I have left home as he had, just to be who I was meant to be? If Jacobi wanted to go back to being a ‘citizen of the world’—then I had to let him. I didn’t want him feeling bound to me by guilt over Lisbeth’s death.

Just a few days earlier, I’d felt that forgiveness wasn’t mine to give him. I’d thought it would be wrong to even consider saying such a thing to him.

But suddenly, I wondered if understanding and forgiveness weren’t the same thing. Though he had nothing to forgive of anyone but himself, maybe he didn’t realize that…

He’d told me earlier he hadn’t understood about how we couldn’t allow Red Eagle to win. How, if we didn’t go on with our lives, it would be like letting Red Eagle kill our spirits. He said he’d never thought of it like that. Maybe he hadn’t thought of this, either—the fact that, though I still didn’t feel I needed to forgive him, maybe he needed to hear it from me in order to move on with his life.

I had to know for sure that he wanted me, and not just because of what had already happened and couldn’t be undone, no matter what. Our families had been murdered, our lives forever changed, but it didn’t mean that our lives were bound together now because of it.

“Jacobi!”

I tore through the door and down the back step, then drew up short.