thirty-two

I don’t like it.” Delphy said, trying to help Creed as he resettled himself in bed. He grunted and flinched. She felt certain the strain of walking and sitting at the table with Virgil had exhausted him. For her part, the conversation itself was causing her mother’s heart pain and she could feel her patience thinning.

“What don’t you like?” Creed settled against the propped pillows with a sigh and closed his eyes. He looked pale, but this was no time to spare him. Delphy folded the clothes he’d traded for a nightshirt and tucked them in a dresser drawer.

“I don’t like the idea of Loyal having to testify in front of a courtroom full of people.”

“Why not?” he asked, eyes still closed.

She frowned. “What do you mean ‘why not’? Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not to me.” He patted the bed next to him. “Come sit and tell me what’s got you riled.”

Seeing him there in her bed, weak and tired, loosened something inside her. She eased down beside him, and he twined his hand with hers. “I’ve tried so hard to keep him safe,” she said, and even she could hear the tears in her voice. “And this summer he’s been anything but. I just want to tuck him away where nothing can hurt him.” She swallowed the tears. “Where no one can hurt him. People can be so cruel.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Creed squeezed her hand. “I don’t know, Delphy. After all the time I’ve spent with that boy the last few weeks, I’m beginning to think he’s a lot stronger and smarter than I ever knew.” His eyes were open now, and Delphy felt almost as if she was being lectured. “Seems to me it might be time for us to let him grow up a bit—stretch his wings. I think he’ll do fine.”

Delphy jerked her hand away and stood abruptly, ignoring the flash of pain her sudden movement caused him. “You think? Time we let him grow up? Where have you been all these growing-up years? What makes you think you have the right to parent him now?” The anger and fear she’d felt when she didn’t know where her son was bubbled up in her, and although she knew she should stop, she didn’t. “Seems to me the last time you made a decision about what was best for our son, he ended up deaf.”

The words dropped like stones. She froze as if she’d heard them strike the floor between them. The look on his face told her he’d felt them hit, as well. He seemed to be searching for something to say but she turned and fled the room before he could return her volley.

Delphy hid in the lavatory and closed the door. She caught a glimpse of herself in the glass hanging there and had to look away for shame. There was no excuse for her words, but she didn’t know how to take them back. She buried her face in her hands and remembered how it was in the beginning.

Once they’d finally learned what was wrong with Loyal, it hadn’t taken long for word to get around the community. People said things like “I’m praying for your family,” or “At least he can see,” or “Maybe he’ll grow out of it.” Each time someone commented, it felt like condolences, like there had been a death and people were offering cold comfort. Then Creed stopped spending time with neighbors or chatting with others at church and began spending more time in the old cabin up on the mountain. And eventually he stopped living with his family—with her—altogether.

She’d blamed other people for driving him up there. Had blamed his own guilt, which was palpable in those days after they knew Loyal would never regain his hearing. But hadn’t she pushed him away, as well? Didn’t she blame him more than she’d allowed herself to admit? The venom that had just poured out of her had taken her by surprise. She lifted her head and looked in the mirror. Perhaps it was past time she took a hard look at how she’d handled her marriage instead of lashing out at her husband.

“As much as I want Daddy to come home, I wish we could just stay here.” Rebecca and Loyal sat under the cedar in the backyard that had become the place they gravitated to when Mother ran them out of the house. Loyal had been telling her how the sheriff had come by the day before to explain that he would get to testify. Honestly he was pretty excited about it.

Rebecca had begun to use a combination of words and signs. Loyal was continuing to teach both brother and sister his language, and Rebecca in particular took to it easily. Of course, she also had that knack for understanding him—knowing what it was he wanted to say even without words. Not even Mother understood him so well.

Good, signed Loyal. I like you here. She smiled radiantly at him. “I know two languages now,” she said. “We can talk to each other, even if we’re not close together.” She made a movement that Loyal had learned was a giggle. “If you went to my school, we could talk in class or out on the playground and no one else would know what we’re saying.”

Loyal’s smile faded. If only. He’d rather go to school with regular kids. The school for the deaf was a good place, but he hated leaving home and it made him feel . . . different. Of course, he was different, but hadn’t he proved this summer that he could get along just fine in the world of the hearing? I want to go to school with you, he signed.

Rebecca furrowed her brow. “What’s this mean?” she asked, mimicking the sign for school. Loyal finger-spelled the word. “Oh.” She repeated the sign. “Kind of like stacking books or pieces of paper. That makes sense.” Then she looked at him with her head to one side. “Why can’t you come to school here if you want to?”

He signed, Mother, Father won’t allow. He made a face and rolled his eyes. Rebecca laughed. “That must mean your parents won’t let you go.” She looked serious. “Are they worried the other kids will make fun of you? Or that you’ll have a hard time learning?” Loyal shrugged. “Why don’t you ask them again? A lot has happened this summer—maybe they’ll change their minds.”

Loyal let his shoulders droop. Rebecca smiled. “Oh, come on. It can’t hurt to ask.” Loyal grinned. You help, he signed. “Help you ask your parents?” He nodded. Rebecca jumped to her feet. “Sure. Let’s do it now!” Loyal scrambled to his feet beside her. She grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the house. He could see she was laughing and so he did, too. She didn’t even flinch at the sound.

Inside, Mother and Father were drinking coffee at the kitchen table. They looked serious, and the air between them felt heavy—it had been ever since the sheriff talked to them the day before. Loyal hoped they hadn’t been talking about him or the upcoming trial. He figured it would be one more way to prove he could get along fine in a hearing world. But it seemed to worry his parents.

Rebecca must have spoken. But he wasn’t watching, so he missed whatever she said. Then she turned toward him and nodded. He realized his mouth was dry. He flexed his fingers and began signing to Mother, asking her to tell Father what he was saying. She nodded. Loyal worried the inside of his cheek as he thought how to phrase his request. Then he began signing, slowly, thinking through each gesture.

“I want to go to school here in Beverly with Rebecca and the other kids.” Mother was frowning but her lips kept moving. “I’ve done a lot this summer, proven that I can get along fine. I want to be like the other kids.” Mother’s expression got wistful, and Loyal let himself hope.

He looked at Father, who was already shaking his head. “Sign for me, Delphy.” He turned to Mother, only glancing at Loyal once he spoke. “That school teaches things Loyal can’t learn anywhere else.” Loyal wanted to tell Father he could talk to him rather than about him but didn’t want to rock the boat. “Teachers in Beverly wouldn’t know what to do with a deaf student. He probably wouldn’t learn half as much, and it’s not like the teachers would have the time to do extra to help him keep up.”

Mother nodded and began signing her own words. “That’s true. I think your father is right.” Loyal felt his hope fade.

Father looked Loyal in the eyes. “Son, you have done a lot this summer. But much of it has been running off to take matters into your own hands without telling anyone.” Father’s whole body looked taut. “I’ve not taken you to task before this, but three times now you’ve gotten yourself into trouble by running off when you’d been told to stay put.” Father made the sign for stay. Loyal was annoyed that he got it right. “You’ve caused your mother a whole lot of worry. I don’t think you’re ready yet for the real world.” He paused and forced a smile. “Hey, the county fair’s coming up soon—just before school starts. You can go to that with your friends this year instead of with your mother or me.”

Loyal flinched. Not only was Father denying him what he wanted most but he was also confirming what Loyal had long suspected. Father didn’t think his deaf world was “real.” He didn’t think Loyal or his way of speaking was good enough for regular folks beyond a silly county fair. He clenched his jaw and nodded, then turned and left the room.

Rebecca reached out to grasp his hand, but he shook her off. He could feel her sorrow hanging in the air behind him but ignored it. She probably didn’t think his world was real either. She just thought it was different or strange. Well. He wasn’t going to make a spectacle of himself anymore.

That night, Delphy slid into bed beside Creed. She’d been sleeping with Rebecca in the guest room but apparently thought him sufficiently improved for company. Her warmth and sweet scent made him wish he were more completely healed than he was. And that they hadn’t had words earlier in the week. He took her hand and tugged it until she curled into his side.

“You still need to take it easy,” she whispered.

“I know. I just want you near me.”

She sighed and tucked her chin against his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I. And you were right—I haven’t been here for Loyal.” He stroked her hair as she ran her fingers absently over his chest, sending chills up and down the length of him. “Or for you.” She stiffened, then relaxed. “Thing is, I want to be. I want to be his father.” His voice deepened. “And your husband.” She sighed, the puff of breath sliding across his skin. “As disappointed as Loyal was today, it felt good for the two of us to be in agreement.”

“It did feel good,” she said. “But I’ve been thinking. Maybe it would be good for Loyal to go to school here. There’s still time to get him signed up. School’s starting later this year, with times so hard and less money to pay the teachers.” Her voice was so soft it took him a moment to register what she said.

He huffed a laugh. “Why would you suggest that?”

Her fingers hesitated and then resumed their gentle caress. “We can’t protect him forever. I guess I realized that when I . . . said what I did. It made me consider what part I’ve—” she stopped and took a deep breath—“I’ve played in making his safety more important than anything else. Even than . . . us.” Creed felt his breath catch and longed to roll over and wrap her in his arms. “Maybe it’s time to let him start finding his own way.”

Creed laid a hand over hers, stilling the distracting sensation of her soft fingers. “Maybe he’s still too young. Has too much to learn.”

“Let him learn it here. With us.”

Creed sighed. “But like you said—people are cruel. They’ll treat him like there’s something wrong with him.”

“There’s nothing wrong with him,” she said. “In some ways, I think he’s stronger than people who can hear. Stronger than me. Maybe even stronger than you.”

“I’m beginning to think you’re right,” he agreed. “But maybe it’s enough that he’s going to have to testify at this trial. Let’s wait and send him to school here next year. Talk to his teacher about how that might work.” Creed smiled into the darkness and squeezed her hand. “Besides, it might be nice for the two of us to have some time alone.”

He thought he could feel her smile as she relaxed against him. He waited until he heard her breathing slow and even, then drifted off to sleep along with her.