thirty-eight

Loyal hadn’t planned to come to this spot along the river, he just found himself here. The scene of the crime, he thought. He shucked off his shirt and shoes and waded out into the water. Although the September day was still plenty warm, the water felt icy cold. Goose pimples rose all over him, but he pushed ahead until he could dunk his whole body. The water was a shock against the heat of anger lingering in his face. He surfaced and inhaled a long, deep breath that reached all the way to his fingers and toes. It felt good—like he’d been suffocating and now could breathe at last.

He stood in the water and looked toward the place where Eddie Minks had died. It had changed since that midsummer day. A few leaves were starting to color, and the tangle of undergrowth was dying back. He didn’t suppose there would be even a hint of the blood he’d seen there back in July. He moved closer and startled when he realized there was a man sitting under a tree, watching him. He lifted a hand, and Loyal saw it was Otto. Sloshing over to the riverbank, Loyal climbed out. Otto nodded once, and although he didn’t smile exactly, he looked welcoming. So Loyal decided to go and sit down next to him—he had a question for Otto.

While Loyal was chewing his lip trying to think how to communicate, Otto touched him on the arm. Thank you, he signed. Surprised, Loyal signed back Why?

“This is my only sign,” Otto said. It was a little hard to follow his lips since he spoke in a different way, but Loyal concentrated and thought he was getting most of the words. “Miss Rebecca showed me. In case I see you.” Loyal lifted his shoulders, furrowed his brow, and gave his head a tiny shake. “Why do I thank you?” Loyal nodded. “It was you who, how do you say, got me off the hook.” He hooked a finger in his mouth like a fish, and Loyal smiled.

The two sat in companionable silence for a while. A breeze stirred, drying Loyal’s damp skin and making him shiver. He picked up a stick and smoothed a spot in the dirt. Why did you confess? he wrote.

Otto nodded, his expression serious. “It is difficult to explain.” Loyal sat back to wait. Otto spoke carefully, as though plucking his words from the air one by one. Loyal was glad since it made it easier to follow him. “Mr. Hadden gave me a home when I had no home . . .” He paused, searching. “They do not like that I am different. I am German.” He puffed his chest out as he said it. “My leg, it slows me down.” He thumped the foot that Loyal could see was twisted. “But Mr. Hadden, he tell me he is different, too.” He looked to the wind-stirred leaves above him as if they might whisper what he wanted to say. “He did not tell me how, but I see.” Otto pointed to his eye. “His wife is gone. People want much from him but give little. He is lonely in a big house.” Otto shrugged. “I could see a way to give him much.”

Loyal considered the young man’s words. He picked his stick up again, wiped out the earlier question, and wrote sacrifice. Otto smiled and picked up his own stick to write opfern in the dirt. “Now we have three languages between us,” he said.

Loyal snuck back home expecting his parents to be angry. But neither of them was there. He’d missed lunch so he dug around and found a tin of cookies, then went out back to choose an apple from the tree. Mother would be making pies and apple butter soon, and she’d need his help. Maybe he should stay. Maybe he should be like Otto and figure out what the people he cared about needed. He’d been trying to impress Father and persuade Mother to let him stay in Beverly to attend school here. And he wanted to stay in Beverly so the three of them could be a real family—not just on Sundays or Christmas—but all the time.

Of course, that had changed when he made such an idiot of himself in front of the whole town. But if feeling embarrassed could change his mind . . . No. While he wanted to be part of a normal family, that wasn’t what he’d really been after. He’d just wanted to be normal. Or at least to prove he could pass for normal.

He bit into the apple, the crisp, sweet flesh crunching between his teeth. Apples were always better right after you picked them. He took another bite and noticed there was a wormhole he needed to eat around. Even apples weren’t perfect. God made the apple, and God made him. And neither of them was perfect. He took a bite from the opposite side of the fruit. Still good. Still sweet, even if there was a worm lurking on the other side.

Maybe he didn’t have to be normal. Maybe all he needed to be was the person God made him.

Movement caught his eye, and he turned to see his parents walking around the house hand in hand. They were deep in conversation, and for just a moment Loyal felt like maybe they were complete without him. Then Mother looked up and saw him. Her mouth formed an O and she hurried to him, clasping him to her. He felt the rumble of her voice and then her laughter. She took a step back and began signing. Funny that I forgot you can’t hear me! I’m so glad you’re home. I was worried. Her expression changed. Grew serious. I knew you would be fine. You are brave and smart. I know you can take care of yourself.

Loyal didn’t know what to do. He thought he’d be in trouble. He thought Mother would lecture him about not going off on his own, about how it wasn’t safe for a boy who couldn’t hear.

He looked to Father and saw that he had an expression of deep pleasure on his face. He lifted his hands and began signing. It was stilted and simplified and not altogether correct, but it was sign language nonetheless. Happy me, you home. Proud me, you my son. You strong. You brave. He paused and seemed to take a deep breath. He shook his fingers like it was hard work, this signing business, and he needed to loosen them up. I hope you stay. Go school here.

Loyal stared in shock. Father wanted him to stay in Beverly. And he was proud of him. Thought he was strong and brave. He realized he was shaping the words with his hands as they tumbled through his mind. He glanced at Mother, who was smiling and wiping at tears.

Then it really and truly hit him. Father was learning sign language. He’d learned a sign or two here and there, but now he was attempting full sentences. Complete thoughts. He didn’t expect Loyal to be like him. He was trying to be like Loyal. Without thinking he ran as hard as he could and crashed into his father, wrapping his arms around him. He was sobbing, but it didn’t matter. Father wasn’t ashamed. Father loved him just the way he was.