AFTER DETERMINING WHETHER EACH PEW HAD THE SAME NUMBER OF boys (two did not) and figuring out what animals the water stains on the ceiling of the chapel most closely resembled (horse and pigeon), Charles was so desperate for distraction that he actually started listening to the visiting minister’s Sunday sermon.
“. . . and so it is written, ‘the Lord had regard for Abel and his offering, but for Cain and his offering he had no regard. So Cain was very angry, and his countenance fell.’ It is here that we see the emergence of evil in man. Even before his act of violence against Abel, it is his anger against God’s judgment that reveals his true nature.”
Horseshit, thought Charles. He recalled this story from his sporadic visits to church with his mother, one of the few interesting stories in that whole big book. Who wouldn’t be angry with God for that? Perhaps the story had stuck with him because the minister had pointed out that there is no explanation as to why God rejects Cain’s offering. Of course, the man blathered on with his own ideas about how Cain was lazy and brought God inferior goods, but there was no actual evidence of that in the Bible. What if Cain’s offering was top-notch and God just rejected him anyway? Nobody standing in the pulpit ever saw it from Cain’s point of view. Besides, thought Charles as he looked at the minister, this harp polisher wouldn’t know evil if it snuck up behind the podium and bit him in the arse.
Charles had been out of sorts ever since his conversation with Aidan at evening swim, although he didn’t really know why. Last night, he and Aidan had slept in separate beds for the first time now that Thayer had left. Merton Poole had taken on the task of horse-trading beds with the other boys so that Charles and Aidan could end up next to each other. Although they had talked all week about how comfortable it would be to have their own beds, Charles had slept poorly. As he was falling asleep, he’d wished he were out in the barn, curled up on a couple of hay bales, listening for sounds of Lucifer moving around in the dark.
After morning chapel and dinner, Charles and Aidan went their separate ways without a word.
“Hey, Sully, you gonna tend that garden of yours today?” Dec called out as he headed that way, seeing Aidan leave Bulfinch.
“Be there in a little while.”
Once he was sure that Charles wasn’t around, Aidan trotted down the incline to Laurel, holding his school satchel close to his body in a way that he hoped looked unobtrusive. He startled a bit upon opening the door to see Sumner at the table. He had expected to find the cottage empty; most boys seemed to want to be outdoors after the confines of morning chapel.
Sumner nodded at him without a sound and resumed his letter writing. Well, thought Aidan, at least I won’t have to worry about him telling Charles what I’m doing.
Aidan opened his satchel and brought out his school inkpot and pen, as well as his first and only purchase from the school store: two sheets of stationery and an envelope. Only now did he realize he had left himself no room for error, since he would need both sheets. He should have bought more paper in case the ink ran down the pen and blobbed his words, as happened frequently in composition class. Well, there was nothing for it now—he’d just have to be careful.
But the more pressing problem, he soon realized, was what to say. For days he had been putting together the elements of this letter in his mind, but now those elements skittered away like a shy animal every time his mind approached them. He looked over at Sumner, who was writing at an impressive clip, a pile of several sheets to his left already filled. Apparently everything Sumner didn’t say came out in his letters.
Sumner felt Aidan’s stare and looked up. Aidan immediately averted his gaze down to his empty paper.
After a few more minutes, Aidan began.
Dear Ma,
I am fine hear. I been thinking about you and Ella alot. The food is real good and there is plenty of it so you dont have to worry none. I don’t have no money to send you but I hope I will someday. I hope your coff isn’t too bad. I am learning alot. Dont worry about me.
Aidan
His stomach was in knots. He realized that he now had three separate fictions he needed to maintain: the one that Bradley and most of the boys knew, the one Dec knew, and the one Maeve knew. A little over a week ago, none of these stories had been written yet, and Aidan had never told a lie he hadn’t copped to in the confessional. Even working with Charles had not required that he lie to Maeve, since she drew her own assumptions and hadn’t asked questions.
He dipped his pen in the inkpot to start on the other piece of paper, his stomachache easing a bit as he wrote to the only person with whom he could be truthful.