“Thank you,” she said. “Now please put that away.”
Finally, I put the gun away.
Esra and June had known about us living in the cabin and they never tried to hurt us; they hadn’t turned us in like the people at the farm; Esra could’ve shot us at the supply cabin; he could’ve been shooting at us right then from the treehouse, but the empty elevator was being lowered for us instead.
Maybe Thais was right this time.
THAIS
I held my breath the whole way up as the elevator swayed and made awful noises. I thought about the cable pulling our weight. Was it strong enough? How old was it? I thought about the wooden box with a chain-link door that was the only thing separating us from the ground. Was it strong enough? How old was it? Was Atticus too big? Maybe we should’ve taken the elevator separately. Yes, he is quite tall and muscular; surely he weighs more than June and Esra combined despite losing weight.
As the elevator climbed closer to the top, I saw the supply cabin, and the dirt path and the edge of the bluffs; another series of paths snaked through the woods in different directions. And as we ascended higher, I glimpsed the roof of our own cabin, and had a clear view of the pond just beyond it.
June and Esra had known all along we’d been there; they’d been watching us since day one; they’d left us alone. And because of that, I felt at ease. And I think maybe Atticus did, too, even if only just a little bit.
I couldn’t get the elevator door open fast enough, and the moment I stepped out, a colorful bouquet of wildflowers filled my view. A man with a smile so broad it showed a set of crooked teeth, stood in front of me with the flowers in his hands.
“Hi,” the man said, and stepped forward, held the flowers out to me.
I beamed and took them, brought them to my nose and smelled them. “They’re lovely,” I said. “Thank you so very much.”
“My name is Jeffrey John Langston,” he said with a bright and cheery personality; he was more like a child than a full-grown man. “But you don’t have to say the whole thing; I’m just called Jeffrey.” His head had been shaved; there were scars and fresh nicks where he must’ve cut himself.
“It’s nice to meet you, Jeffrey. My name is Thais.”
Jeffrey’s eyes gleamed with wonder. “Very pretty,” he said. “Thay-us.”
I smiled, and then motioned at Atticus standing behind me. “This is Atticus”—I turned—“Atticus, meet Jeffrey.”
ATTICUS
I reached out my hand, but Jeffrey wouldn’t take it—his eyes hardened instead; he shook his head and his mouth crumpled like a petulant child’s.
Jeffrey was tall and skinny, but his arms were fit with small muscles, probably from climbing the treehouse so often. He may not have been the brightest, but I thought he was probably strong enough physically to give me a problem if he wanted.
“Go on, Jeffrey,” Thais encouraged, “it’s all right; Atticus is one of good guys. He won’t hurt you.”
Jeffrey’s big eyes went back and forth between us.
He’s not afraid of me, Thais; he’s jealous of me.
“Oh, Jeffrey,” June croaked from behind, “don’t be so rude, boy; shake the man’s hand.”
“No, it’s okay,” I insisted. “No need to force him.”
Finally, Jeffrey lumbered over to me and wrapped both arms around my back, squeezing me. “My name is Jeffrey.”
“Good to meet you,” I said; I glanced awkwardly at Thais, and her smile grew. “I’m Atticus.”
“Nice meet you, At-ti-cuss.”
Then just as unexpectedly, Jeffrey took Thais’ hand, ignoring everyone else, and practically dragged her inside with him, to which she happily followed.
“I show you my house,” he told her with a childlike delight.
It was the first time I trusted Thais to be alone with anyone other than myself.
46
THAIS
I thought Jeffrey would give me the grand tour of the treehouse with all of its elaborate woodwork and maze-like floorplan and the spiral staircase that led upstairs to an open loft. But it wasn’t the house he wanted me to see. Taking my hand, Jeffrey led me through a spacious front room and into a den, where, instead of furniture, a small-scale house and landscape sat on a three-foot wide, three-foot long, one-inch thick sheet of plywood in the center of the room.
My eyes grew wide; absently I took off my backpack and placed it on the floor, reached out and ran my fingers lightly across the moss-and-rock-covered ground that blanketed the plywood. Across the landscape there were miniature trees and bushes; a couple of hills had been raised; there was a small pond near the little house with a dollop of real water; and a horse stable and a barn.
I leaned over the tiny house, peered in at the intricately-placed sticks; a little door had been carved out on the front, and a few windows; there was even a tiny porch the size of a matchbox.
“You made this?”
Jeffrey nodded. “I make it.”
He leaned over next to me and pointed at the moss and trees first.
“I find it one day. Grandpa said it was fake grass. He showed me how to make it. So I make it.” Then he pointed at the house. “It’s not a real house; too little to be a real house, but I make it with sticks. See? I glued it with sap. It’s very sticky.” Then he made a face. “But don’t eat sap.”
I made a face, too.
“Now don’t be a’keepin’ her too long, Jeffrey,” said June from the living room. “Would ya like somethin’ to drink, dear?”
“Yes, ma’am, thank you.” I stood with my hands folded down in front of me.
When June moved out of the way, I glimpsed Atticus sitting in the front room talking with Esra, and I regarded him for a moment.
ATTICUS
I felt Thais’ eyes on me, turned to see her from across the room, and smiled back at her with adoration.
“So where were yens comin’ from?” Esra asked, pulling me back into our conversation.
Esra adjusted his old bones to make himself comfortable. “Not to be nosy,” he went on, “but I was just wonderin’ if yens were run out of your last home. Happens a lot I ‘magine, with the wicked runnin’ ‘round like they do.”
“Ran out—yeah, you can say that.”
“Ah, well, yens are probably better off out here anyways. June, get me a smoke will ya!”—he turned back to me—“We was livin’ up in Mt. Vernon when it all happened. Before things got real bad we high-tailed it here. Been here ever since.”
“And you’ve been living off the supplies in the cabin?” I asked, still not understanding how any of this was possible. “Not to be nosy, either, but that cabin is well-stocked. After six years, I’d think more than half of it would be gone by now. Even if you frequently went out in search of more supplies”—I shook my head with disbelief—“Not even your grandson could pull that off by himself.”