Preacher was poring over a Latin book with Sophia. The words . . . well, as he’d joked to her, they could have been Greek for all he understood of them. He knew Latin, of course. At this moment, though, his mind was otherwise too occupied to translate them to English. He was trying to distract himself from what was happening at the community house and it was not working.
His wife was also trying to distract him, and had been since he’d explained when he came home.
“You can do nothing about it,” Sophia said. “They must make their own choices and their own mistakes.”
Which is what he’d told himself. Yet he could not shake the feeling that he ought to have done more.
“You cannot,” his wife said, as if reading his thoughts. “You dare not, under the circumstances.”
Again, she spoke true. His position was precarious enough of late, worse now with the baby on the way. If he were to argue against listening to these men when his daughter had survived and his wife was with child . . . ? Who knew of what they might accuse him.
“I’m going to start teaching Latin to the younger children,” Sophia said, thumbing through a well-used book. “Simple words, as I do with French. The names of animals and such.”
What younger children? he wanted to ask. The three below the age of eight who’d survived? He knew they could not think like that. Better to focus not on the loss but on those that remained, on how the smaller class would mean more attention for each pupil, more work they could do, such as starting Latin sooner.
Preacher was saying just that when the front door banged open, Addie rushing in, words spilling out so fast that they couldn’t decipher them. Both Preacher and Sophia leaped from the table and raced over, thinking she was injured.
“No,” Addie said. “I’m well. It’s the men, what they’re offering. To bring back the children.”
“Yes, we already know,” Sophia said, leading the girl inside. “It’s terrible and—”
“Terrible?” Addie pulled from her grasp. “They say they can resurrect the children. It’s wondrous.”
Sophia winced.
Preacher moved forward, bending in front of the girl. “Yes, it would indeed be wondrous . . . if it was possible. It’s not. They’re taking advantage of our grief. Promising the impossible because they know we’re desperate enough to pay the price.”
“You’re wrong,” Addie said, backing away.
“So they aren’t charging a fee?” Preacher asked softly.
Addie said nothing.
“Adeline?” Sophia said, her voice equally soft but firm. “Did they say there would be a cost?”
“Yes, but they’re reducing it, on account of there being so many children—”
“How much?”
She hesitated. “Three hundred apiece.”
“My Lord,” Sophia breathed. “That’s . . .”
“Exactly the right price,” Preacher said grimly. “As much as they can charge and still have people pay it . . . with everything they have.” He turned to the girl. “You see that, Addie, don’t you? These families have lost their children and now they may lose everything else, in a desperate and hopeless attempt to regain them.”
Addie shook her head. “It’s not like that. He’s going to do a demonstration. Free of charge.”
“What? That’s not poss—” Preacher began.
“It’s a hoax, Addie,” Sophia said, laying her hand on the girl’s arm. “Swindlers have many of them. They’ll conjure up some trick and—”
“And what if it’s real?” Addie said, crossing her arms. “You don’t know that it isn’t. You don’t.”
“Yes, we do, sweetheart. They cannot—”
“You’re wrong,” Addie said. “They’re going to do the demonstration. They’ll bring Charlie back. And I’ll be there to see it.”
She turned and raced out the door as Sophia and Preacher stared at one another.
“Charlie?” Sophia said finally. “Oh, Benjamin. Of all the children . . .”
“I know,” he said. “She does not need that. I’ll go and be there for her when she’s disappointed.”
“Not disappointed,” Sophia said. “Heartbroken. I’ll go with you, too. I’m well enough, and I ought to be there for her.”
He nodded and gathered her bonnet and coat.