A Difficult Boy (32 page)

“He's not! He's not!” Ethan tore away from Lizzie's touch. “It wasn't money we were looking for. We were looking for Mr. Lyman's account books. We thought we could prove that Mr. Lyman owed Daniel enough to buy her.”

“We?”
Lizzie's eyebrows rose. “So he dragged you into it after all. Oh, Ethan!” Her hand rose to her mouth. “If Mr. Lyman finds out—”

“He's the one that's the thief. I can prove it if you let me out.”

Lizzie shook her head. “It's not my place—”

“Please, Lizzie. You know what he'll do when he gets back. You saw what he did to Daniel, didn't you?”

Lizzie winced and looked away.

Ethan clutched her arm. “If I don't get out, nobody will ever know the truth. Daniel will go to jail. And he'll die. You know he can't stand to be shut up anywhere close. Please, please . . .”

Lizzie looked around as if she expected to find someone spying on them. Finally, she said, “Show me this proof, and then we'll see.”

Ethan ripped the lining from his vest and took the paper out. He hesitated before turning it over to her. “You have to promise not to give it to Mr. or Mrs. Lyman. You have to promise to let me out first.”

“All right. I promise.”

Ethan fidgeted while she read the paper. How much time had they already wasted? Why couldn't Lizzie just trust him?

“This is terrible. Just terrible,” Lizzie said finally. She got up quickly and put the paper into her pocket. Ethan grabbed for it, but she pushed his hand away. “If anyone tries to stop
us, they won't be looking through
my
pockets, will they?” She pursed her lips. “But who do we tell?”

Ethan heard the sound of hoofbeats in the yard below. He tugged at Lizzie's sleeve. “Come on, Lizzie. We have to go now. Somebody's coming—maybe it's Mr. Lyman.”

She stepped over to the window and looked out. “No. It's all right. It's Silas come back. We'll tell him. He'll know what to do.”

“And where do you think
you're
going?” Mrs. Lyman demanded as Lizzie and Ethan came downstairs into the kitchen.

“We need to talk to Silas.” Lizzie took Ethan's hand and headed for the door.

“You'll do no such thing.” Mrs. Lyman stepped in their way, her arms folded across her chest, her tall, thin frame a solid barrier to their escape. “That boy is being punished, and you have no right to take him.” She reached for Ethan's free hand.

Ethan jumped back as if she were a snake. Just as quickly, Lizzie stepped between him and Mrs. Lyman. “Don't you touch him.” Although Lizzie held her head high and her eyes flashed angrily, her hand on Ethan's was shaking.

The slap sounded like a thunderclap to Ethan's anxious ears. He gasped and looked up to see Lizzie's cheek reddening with Mrs. Lyman's handprint.

“What do you think you're doing?” Silas's deep voice resonated through the kitchen.

Lizzie was wrong, Ethan thought, watching Silas's eyes darken with gathering ire. Silas would take Mrs. Lyman's side after all.

“What she's doing is defying me,” Mrs. Lyman said. “This insolent baggage is—”

“Not her.
You
,” Silas said, pointing to his stepmother. His mouth was set in a thin, angry line, and his hands opened and closed at his sides. “Do you think Lizzie's a bound girl for you to strike as you please? Apologize to her.”

Ethan had never heard Silas defy his stepmother before, let alone order her to do anything. Neither, apparently, had Mrs. Lyman. For all the heat of the fire and the sweltering day, a cold trickle crept down Ethan's spine as he watched her face turn as red as the pickled cabbage that sat in a bowl on the table. She snatched up one of the wooden spoons from the table and struck Silas so hard across the jaw that the handle cracked.

Silas raised a hand to his cheek. A spot of blood appeared where a splinter from the spoon had scratched him. He stared at the blood on his fingers as though he didn't know what it was.

“You've gone too far,
boy
.” Mrs. Lyman's hands flailed about as she talked, as if she yearned to strike the young man again. “You'd think the farmhands and the dairymaids were in charge of things around here.”

“Farmhands? I trust I'm more than that, ma'am.” Silas's voice remained cool, but it was a dangerous chill.

“Oh, yes. You're no more than a glorified farmhand. No more than that”—she snapped her fingers under Silas's nose—“to Mr. Lyman and me. You're only here on my sufferance—you and those—those
boys
.” She said
boys
the way she would speak of vermin and wrinkled her nose at Ethan as if he were a piece of filth from the bottom of the slop-bucket. “And all because your father has a soft heart. He's endured you and those—creatures—out of pity. And look where it's gotten us. Robbed last night, and heaven knows but we might have been murdered as well. It wouldn't surprise me to learn you had a hand in it.”

Silas blinked and shook his head. He looked suddenly confused by the course his stepmother's tirade had taken. “This is absurd.”

“Is it? I know what you're capable of. I do indeed.” Her eyes narrowed into glittering slits. “Your father may be blinded by sentiment, but I know his mind
and his memory
.”

The last three words seemed to lance through Silas, draining the color from his face.

“Silas?” Lizzie said softly.

With a visible effort, Silas straightened and collected himself. “Come along, Lizzie. I see we're not wanted here.”

“You're not taking that boy,” Mrs. Lyman said, moving toward Ethan.

Silas brushed her aside and took Ethan's free hand. “A thief takes what he pleases.” He turned, and he and Lizzie marched out of the house with Ethan between them.

“Go, then!” Mrs. Lyman shouted after them. “But you'll answer to Mr. Lyman before long. I'll see that you do.”

Ivy was tethered in the yard, still saddled and bridled. Silas took the reins, looking for a moment as if he wanted to leap on her back and race away. Then he shook his head and ran a hand across his face as if he were putting on a mask, his expression changing to an unreadable blank.

“What is it, Silas?” Lizzie asked. “What does she mean?”

He shook his head. “You heard nothing in there. Nothing. Understand?”

“No,” Lizzie said.

Ethan tugged her sleeve impatiently. “We're wasting time, Lizzie,” he whispered. “Daniel—”

“Daniel?” Silas repeated. “Yes, I've heard. The whole town seems to know.” He spoke slowly, as if it took an effort to redirect his thoughts. “Turned thief. Well, I hardly have any right
to judge him, have I?” He started to lead Ivy toward the barn.

“He's not a thief,” Ethan said.

Lizzie took the reins out of Silas's hands and wrapped them back around the hitching post. “There's something you need to see,” she said, taking the paper from her pocket. She glanced back at the house, where Mrs. Lyman watched from the kitchen window. Lizzie moved behind Ivy, so Mrs. Lyman couldn't see her.

If Silas had looked stricken before, he looked crushed after reading the paper. “My God, what sort of lie is this?” He clenched his fist around the document.

Ethan jumped forward to snatch it back, but Lizzie's hand was already on Silas's, gently uncurling his fingers and extracting the document. “I think it may be the truth. Ethan says it was in your father's desk. I think—I think it may be genuine.”

Ethan blurted out the story of how he and Daniel had plotted to save Ivy, how Daniel had been caught, and how Ethan had escaped with only one piece of paper to show who the real thief was. “There's more in his desk. Those black books of his—I think the truth's in there.”

Silas shook his head dizzily. “I don't know what to believe.”

“Then look for yourself.” Lizzie led Silas and Ethan around to the front of the house, so they wouldn't need to go back through the kitchen and face Mrs. Lyman again. As they entered Mr. Lyman's study, his wife bustled down the hallway, her wooden spoon raised like a truncheon.

“Out! Out of my house!” she shouted.

Lizzie stood in the study doorway, her chin lifted haughtily. “That's odd, ma'am. A moment ago, you didn't want us to leave.”

“Why, you—you—you—” Opening and closing her mouth like a newly landed fish, Mrs. Lyman fumed her way down the hall. Just as she reached the study, Lizzie slammed the door in her face.

Numbly, Silas sat at his father's secretary while Lizzie bolted the study door against Mrs. Lyman. She pounded on the door and shouted for several minutes before giving up and going away, probably to fetch help.

“I don't know where the key is,” Silas said, looking about the room. “No doubt He keeps it with Him.”

“I—um.” Ethan twisted his shirttail in his hands. “It's broken. It broke when we—” He fumbled helplessly, looking to Lizzie for assistance.

Silas raised a weary eyebrow. “And I'm to believe you're not thieves?” He pulled down the flap and looked at the row of books before him. As Ethan had the previous night, he reached for the first one and began to read.

Lizzie took a second book to examine for herself. “Look,” she said, pointing out some entries to Silas. “Look at all the debits next to Daniel's name for new shirts and trousers. And a greatcoat? He doesn't have any of this.”

Two sets of footsteps thumped down the hallway now, and two sets of fists pounded at the door.

“You see?” Mrs. Lyman's voice said. “Locked up in there, all three of them, searching your desk for banknotes, no doubt.”

“Silas!” Mr. Lyman called from the hallway. “Open this door! What have you done to your mother?”

Silas slammed the ledger down on the desk, stomped across the room, and threw open the door. “My mother, sir, is dead. And it appears that Mr. Flagg has arrested the wrong man.”

“Now, son, what lies has this—this boy been telling you?” Mr. Lyman waved a contemptuous hand at Ethan.

“It's you who's the liar,” Ethan said, taking courage from Silas's and Lizzie's presence. “Daniel just wanted to prove it, that's all.”

“I knew he'd lead you astray, boy. Well, he's going to prison now, where he'll do none of us any more harm.”

“He'll die in prison!” Ethan said. “Wasn't it enough that you took his land? Do you have to kill him, too?”

Mr. Lyman took a second to control his face. “Took his land?” His laugh cracked around the edges. “What sort of foolishness is that? His father couldn't mind his books and couldn't pay his bills. I bought that land with a mortgage that Irish fool never repaid.” Mr. Lyman's eyes darted around the room as though he thought Matthew Linnehan's ghost might jump out of a corner and challenge him.

Mr. Lyman was afraid, Ethan suddenly realized. A hopeful spark kindled in his heart. “He
did
pay you. I found the paper that says so. Only there was the fire, and he died. And then you never told anybody, so you got to keep his land. Daniel's land.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Mr. Lyman said, stepping toward Ethan. “These things have to be witnessed. If there were any such paper, somebody else would know about it.”

Ethan backed away. “Mr. Palmer witnessed it, but he doesn't live around here. Nobody would think of asking him.”

At the mention of the teamster's name, Mr. Lyman's lips pressed into a tight, thin line. “That's absurd. There's no paper. I destroyed—” He caught himself too late.

“Destroyed what? This?” Silas said. He held up the discharge of mortgage. “Does this look familiar, sir?”

The storekeeper's face turned nearly the same yellowish parchment color as the paper.

“What—what is it, George?” Mrs. Lyman asked. “He's lying, isn't he?”

“Would you like me to show her, too?” Silas said. “Or does she know?”

“It's nothing, Mercy, nothing,” Mr. Lyman said, his voice ragged. “It's all right.”

His wife took his arm. “Of course. He's trying to blackmail you. You owe him nothing, dear. Nothing.” She lifted her
chin and looked down her nose at Silas.

“Nothing but the truth,” Silas said. “That you're a liar and a thief.”

Mr. Lyman's hand cracked across Silas's face. The young man stood as still and solid as granite. Ethan winced, but the only evidence that Silas had felt the blow was the growing patch of red on his cheek. Mr. Lyman's hand came up again. Silas caught his wrist, clenching it so tightly that Mr. Lyman's fingers spread wide and he let out a hoarse cry of surprise. Silas dragged him toward the secretary, sending him reeling into the chair.

“Stop! Help! He'll murder us all!” Mrs. Lyman shrieked. She ran toward the door.

“Oh, be quiet, you old cow!” Lizzie snapped, quickly stepping in her way.

Rising from his chair, Mr. Lyman clutched his son's elbow. “What are you doing?”

Silas shoved his father back down. He grabbed the arms of the chair, trapping Mr. Lyman in his seat. He jutted his chin toward the stack of black ledgers. “I'm going to take these to Constable Flagg. Maybe I should see what else is in here as well.” He released his father and attacked the desk. Drawers crashed to the floor as he pulled out more papers and account books and stacked them in a pile. “Perhaps we'll find out who else you've been cheating.”

The storekeeper recovered himself and stood up, fists doubled. “You're not too old for a thrashing, boy.” He shook a fist under Silas's chin.

Silas stood his ground. “Nor are you.” He parried his father's fist and shoved him away, returning to his assault on the secretary.

“You ungrateful lout!” Mr. Lyman said. “You mean to ruin me, don't you?”

“You're a fine one to talk about ruin, after cheating a ten-year-old out of his inheritance.” Silas looked as though he was tearing the desk apart only to keep from doing the same to his father. His hands twitched as if they'd like nothing more than to turn into fists and pound at something.