“Because my partner saw it last night.”
This caught the group by surprise and several conversations broke out at once. Hadrian spotted Pearl sitting on the grass staring at him. Several asked questions at once and Hadrian waved at them to quiet down.
“What did it look like?” a woman with a sunburned face and a white kerchief over her head asked.
“Since I didn’t see it, I would prefer Royce tell you himself. He’ll be back before dark.”
“How could he have seen anything in the dark?” one of the older farmers asked skeptically. “I looked outside when I heard the scream and it was as black as the bottom of that well yer standing on. There’s no way he could have seen anything.”
“He saw the pig!” Tad Bothwick shouted.
“What’s that, boy?” Dillon McDern asked.
“The pig, in our house last night,” Tad said excitedly. “It was all dark and the pig ran, but he saw it and caught him.”
“That’s right,” Russell Bothwick recalled. “We had just put the fire out and I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, but this fellow caught a running pig. Maybe he did see something.”
“The point is,” Hadrian went on, “we’ll all stand a better chance of survival if we stick together. Now, the deacon has graciously invited all of us to join him behind the protection of walls and a solid roof. I think we should listen to his wisdom and start making plans to resettle and gather wood before the evening arrives. We still have plenty of time to build up strong bonfires.”
They were looking at Hadrian now and nodding. There were still those who looked unconvinced, but even the skeptics appeared hopeful. Small groups were forming, talking, planning.
Hadrian sat back down and ate. He was not a fan of blood pudding and stayed with the smoked fish, which was wonderful.
“I’ll bring the oxen over,” he heard McDern say. “Brent, you go bring yer wagon and fetch yer axe too.”
“We’ll need shovels and Went’s saw,” Vince Griffin said. “He always kept it sharp.”
“I’ll send Tad to fetch it,” Russell announced.
“Is it true?” Hadrian looked up from his plate to see Pearl standing before him. Her face was just as dirty as it had been the day before. “Did yer friend—did he really catch a pig in the dark?”
“If you don’t believe me, you can ask him tonight.”
Looking over the little girl’s head, he spotted Thrace. She was sitting alone on the ground down the trail past the Caswells’ graves. He noticed her hands wiping her cheeks. He set his empty plate on the table, smiled at Pearl, and walked over. Thrace did not look up, so he crouched down beside her. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head, hiding her face with her hair.
Hadrian glanced around the trail and then back up at the villagers. The women were putting away the uneaten food as the men gathered tools, all of them chattering quickly.
“Where’s your father? I saw him earlier.”
“He went back home,” she said, sniffling.
“What did he say to you?”
“I told you, it’s all right.” She stood up, brushed off her dress, and wiped her eyes. “I should help with the cleaning. Excuse me.”
Hadrian entered the clearing and once more faced the remains of the Woods’ farmhouse. The roofing poles listed to one side; the framing was splintered; the thatch was scattered. This is what shattered dreams look like. The farm seemed cursed, haunted by ghosts, only one of the ghosts was not at home. There was no sign of the old farmer, and the scythe rested, abandoned, up against the ruined wall. Hadrian took the opportunity to peer inside at the shattered furniture, broken cupboards, torn clothes, and bloodstains. A single chair stood in the center of the debris, beside a wooden cradle.
Theron Wood came up from the river a few moments later, carrying a shoulder yoke with two buckets full of water hanging from the ends. He did not hesitate when he spotted Hadrian standing before the ruins of his house. He walked right by. He set the buckets down and began pouring the water into three large jugs.
“You back again?” he asked without looking up. “She told me she paid you silver to come here. Is that what you do? Take advantage of simple girls? Steal their hard-earned money, then eat their village’s food? If you came here to see if you can squeeze more coins out of me, you’re gonna be disappointed.”
“I didn’t come here for money.”
“No? Then why did you?” he asked, tipping the second bucket. “If you really are here to get that club or sword or whatever that crazy cripple thinks is in the tower, shouldn’t you be trying to swim the river right now?”
“My partner is working on that as we speak.”
“Uh-huh, he’s the swimmer, is he? And what are you, the guy that squeezes the money out of poor miserable farmers? I’ve seen your kind before, highwaymen and cheats—you scare people into paying you just to live. Well, that’s not gonna work this time, my friend.”