Eli the Good (28 page)

But when the sky turned crimson at the horizon and the gloaming began to tick closer and closer, he finally reached out and brushed away the ant and ran his hand over the top of my head. “Wake up, buddy,” he whispered. “Wake up.”

I didn’t say anything when I sat up, amazed that he had found my secret place but also realizing in that moment that perhaps this beech tree had been the same one he had spoken of in his letters. Maybe he had been talking about another tree, but I like to think that we had shared this hiding place, that it joined us.

“Hey,” he said, quiet, as if afraid of disturbing the oncoming dusk.

“Is it time for supper?”

He nodded and squatted down. Looked at the forest floor and then studied the sky, took his time in looking at the swaying branches of the beech, the trembling leaves. He was working something around in his mind. I could tell.

I sat on my haunches, too, dusting off my face, where tiny pieces of wood and bits of moss clung to my cheek. I ran my fingers through my hair and discovered two ants.

“There’s no other place I’d rather be than right here,” he said, and his face smoothed out, released the worry and hurt he had carried there for the last few weeks. Then he turned to me. “Everything’s going to be all right, Eli,” he said. His eyes stayed on mine. “I promise you that.”

I believed him. Somehow, I knew that everything
would
be all right, and a fist of grief and worry uncurled in my stomach, releasing itself. There was certainty in his words, but also in the curve of his shoulders, in his face. Daddy got up, dusted off the back of his work pants, and put his hand out to help me up. We were silent as we moved down the old path. I held his hand and we eased back down to the house where supper was waiting, where my mother would be standing on the back step waiting for us, where Josie would sweep her black hair out of her eyes to smile at us when we sat at the table, where the world shimmered and leveled, ripe with possibility.

I am indebted to so many good friends and family members who helped to make this book possible. I wish I could name them all, but chief among them were Pamela Duncan, Paul Hiers, Jason Howard, Denton Loving, Sylvia Lynch, and Neela Vaswani, all of whom read the book in its earliest stages. Jason Howard gave me the poem “I Think Continually of Those Who Were Truly Great” by Stephen Spender, which inspired the title of this book. I hope you will look it up. Neela Vaswani taught me so much about everything I can never repay her. One of my favorite things about this book is the way it looks at friendship; everyone in this paragraph is a true example of that. I don’t know what I’d do without them.

Larry Brown was the first person to read the first chapter of this book and encouraged me to keep writing. I miss you, bro. Clint McCown published the short story “1976” that was the impetus for this novel, so he was the first one to love the Book Family; thank you. Stephanie Tittle answered botanical questions with wit and grace. Kirby Gann played the guitar one night and inspired a scene. Lee Smith talked me through the hard times, and that’s just one more of the many, many things to thank her for. Lisa Parker’s poetry and spirit were both inspirations. I thank her for showing me the great beating heart of New York City. Glenn Cornett devoted an afternoon to me, graciously and patiently answering all of my questions about post-traumatic stress disorder. My sister, Eleshia Sloan, is a constant light in my life.

A special thanks to my people at Lincoln Memorial University, Spalding University, and the Hindman Settlement School. Keith Semmel and Marianne Worthington gave me ABBA albums and answered questions about the Beatles (and are pretty great friends to boot). My agent, Joy Harris, never lost faith in this character or this book. I thank her and Adam Reed for their hard work. Thanks to Gigi Amateau for her part in all of this. And special thanks to Karen Lotz and Nicole Raymond, who understood and loved Eli as I did. They, like everyone at Candlewick Press, worked hard on this novel, and I owe them.

My daughters, Cheyenne and Olivia, were instrumental in allowing me to go back in time and remember the wonder and sadness a child possesses. I thank them for taking photographs that informed my writing, for laughter that kept me going, and for being the strong, beautiful people they are. I’m so glad they exist.

Thanks to all of the above. In this life, I have loved them all.

SILAS HOUSE
is the nationally best-selling author of the award-winning novels
Clay’s Quilt, A Parchment of Leaves,
and
The Coal Tattoo.

About
Eli the Good,
he says, “This book is about the power of friendship and the joy of accepting yourself
as you are
. It’s also about how people can get through struggles if they have hope and the love of others, and most important, it’s about the fact that we don’t always have to agree with the ones we love. Finally, it is about the way a war lives on in people long after it’s over. Although the book is set in 1976, it’s also about right now. What I like about Eli most is that he’s trying so hard to be a good person, which is what most of us are doing all the time, especially when we are kids.”

Silas House lives in eastern Kentucky with his two daughters and two dogs.