Listen to the Wind- Part One
Listen to the Wind
When the exhibition in Caoldale burned, it started at the end with the slave market. Before the fire sparked, it was the early hours of the morning and the moon had already set. It wasn’t until the flames had risen that anyone was able to see much of anything and by that point, most of the fair was in ruins. Fine art and valuables had been destroyed, supplies had been consumed and almost all of the slave stock held there had been wiped out. Whatever slaves hadn’t been suffocated by smoke inhalation or burned alive had escaped or were in too poor a condition to profit from.
The slave drivers whose particular caravans had been at the trading posts at the time of the fire had left town a day or two later without their supplies of slaves, money to show for them or any leads as to how or by whom the fire had been set.
There were rewards for leads and rewards for slaves caught and returned to the market, but most of the townspeople knew the slaves weren’t runaways and that they had gone up in ashes instead. Except for two slaves. Two of them they knew for sure were not dead. Two of them had most certainly escaped.
*==*==*==*
Brendon called Bogart back from the door for the third time that evening, but the terrier only glanced back at him before continuing to paw at the wood. Brendon sighed as he stood up from where he was reading and shuffled to the window.
“I don’t see anything out there, Bo,” he told the dog, but Bogart ignored him in favour of pawing and whimpering.
The truth was, Brendon did see something through the glass. He saw more snow than he’d seen in all the years since he’d moved to Wildelow. Wind was whipping up flurries that beat relentlessly on the windows and sent loud shrills around the small cabin. Beyond that, he saw a blue-black darkness where the road should have been. Brendon was certain it was still there, but he was also confident it wouldn’t be properly recovered until spring. Mostly though, he just saw icicles hanging from the edges of his porch roof and sheets of icy flakes billowing down. As a child living in a sea-side town, Brendon would have considered the spectacle of snow like this fierce or captivating, but after moving to Wildelow, he only saw winters as miserable.
Bogart whined low and placed his nose pitifully at the crease of the doorframe.
“Look,” Brendon told the dog as he opened the door just a bit and snow whizzed in at them. “It’s a mess. You don’t want to go out there.” No sooner than Brendon had gotten the words out of his mouth, Bogart had wriggled his way through the small opening and out into the blizzard. “Bogart!” Brendon yelled, trying to reel the animal back in, but it was futile. In seconds the terrier had dashed out into the snow and under the wooden porch, barking madly. “Bogart!” Brendon called again, but the only response was growling and a series of sharp, angry barks.
From where he stood there was no way Brendon could see beneath the porch. So, with a huff and a few muttered curses, he yanked his boots and wool coat on and went out after the animal. Outside the wind blew violently and snow clung to Brendon’s clothes and hair.
“Bogart!” he yelled again as he stomped down the steps. The icy particles that hit his eyes as he rounded the porch made them water and tears slid down his cheeks and were quickly blown away. The only sign of the dog was loud growling coming from beneath the edge of the porch. Brendon swore that if Bogart had led him out in this weather over a frozen fox he was going to be thoroughly outraged.
When he got to the side of the porch near Bogart, he bent over to peer underneath and immediately saw what all the fuss was about. Underneath the wooden slats that comprised the porch on Brendon’s modest cabin was a raised area of only perhaps two feet. Usually it would be fairly dark beneath it, but today the snow surrounded it and kept it illuminated. And in the middle, up against the base of the house, was a boy.
“Bogart!” Brendon called, a little softer this time. The dog had looked at him once before continuing to bark at the boy. “Bogart!” Brendon all out yelled once something occurred to him: the boy wasn’t moving. He wasn’t startled by Bogart’s scare tactics. He wasn’t upset by his hiding place being found out. He wasn’t even bothered by the weather. Instantly Brendon dropped to his knees and pulled Bogart away. He knelt down lower and reached for the boy, drawing him out by a hand clutched into the fabric he wore around his body. (Brendon couldn’t exactly call it a shirt.)
Up closer, Brendon shivered and let out a sigh of relief. The boy was breathing. Still, he was unconscious and Brendon didn’t even take a second to think things through before he was trying his best to haul the boy’s dead weight up into his arms. He was lighter than Brendon expected, but still heavy. Brendon wasn’t a very large man and though this boy seemed average-sized, he was still bigger. He appeared to be considerably taller and of a slightly more muscular build. Peering at him from this short of a distance told Brendon he was older than he first suspected as well - late teens maybe. Brendon tried to walk with him in his arms, carefully feeling every step solidly so as to not slip up or drop him. The steps were the worst part, but Brendon took them steadily and took a deep breath when he stepped off the last icy one. They made it onto the porch and through the front door much more easily. He almost got them stuck in the doorframe and Bogart almost tripped him as he ran under his feet into the cabin, but eventually Brendon got them all inside safely. He all but dropped the boy by the fireplace before returning to shut the door and lock it tightly.
It was quieter inside but Bogart was still barking. Brendon trod his snowy feet across the floor and back over to the fireplace, swatting Bogart away from the unconscious stranger. There was no way Brendon could go for a doctor in this weather and certainly no way a doctor would come to them. Instead, Brendon tried to think of what his mother would have done in a situation like this.
Brendon’s mother had passed away when he was thirteen and his older brother had cared for him until he’d been old enough to be out on his own. Thirteen seemed forever ago now, but what he did remember of her was that she was always a comforting presence to be around. Brendon headed to his bedroom and got the spare pillow from his bed. He placed it neatly under the boy’s head before going back for the stack of blankets he kept folded in a wooden chest at the foot of his bed.
In no time, he had the boy swaddled almost as tightly as a baby and lying comfortably on the rug. The fire cracked and popped and Brendon snapped out of the daze he’d fallen in to staring at the stranger. Where had he come from? Brendon couldn’t help but wonder. And why was he hiding? The clothes he was wearing seemed to suggest a field worker, but, at least from what Brendon could see, he looked well provided for and no scars, brands, or collars were visible so that assumption didn’t seem to make sense exactly.
When Brendon was certain that he’d done all he could for his strange guest, he went over to the chair by the table and sat down to take his boots off. Bogart stayed and sniffed around the unconscious boy but, after a few licks to his face, he apparently deemed him acceptable to stay because he curled up on the floor not far from him and kept watch.
Brendon had set his boots back by the door and shed his coat. He had to clean up all the water through the house from where snow had come off his boots and melted. Bogart got up and came to see what Brendon was doing with a rag on the floor.
“You probably saved him, you know?” Brendon told the terrier. Bogart only looked at Brendon and wagged his tail. “You’re gonna help me look after him, right?” Bogart kept watching Brendon as if he were taking in the conversation until Brendon held out his hand and said playfully, “C’mere,” and Bogart bounded into Brendon’s arms.
“Good dog,” Brendon assured him as he scratched down his ears and back. “Good dog.”
*==*==*==*
Brendon was playing guitar and waiting on his potatoes to boil for dinner the next evening when Spencer awoke by the fireside. Brendon was across the room by the table and wouldn’t have noticed except that Bogart barked once and almost startled him into missing a chord.
Spencer was sitting up - not completely, but a bit - and seemingly dazed as he peered around the room. Brendon stood up immediately and reached for the pocketknife he‘d just used to cut his guitar strings short. He glanced over at Spencer, then back down at the knife. He wondered if he should take it with him, maybe keep it in his hand, but then he figured if he had brought the stranger into his house that he'd sealed his fate already if this boy turned out to be a mass murderer or anything.
Brendon walked over cautiously to Spencer and waved a bit, shyly, hesitantly. Spencer made no reply except to start coughing violently out of nowhere. He struggled to get his arms free of the tightly bound blanket, but couldn’t focus on them for the wracking coughs and the effect they were having on his entire body.
Brendon raced to get him water and returned, holding the cup to Spencer’s lips. He knew the water was freezing; it had sat by the window most of the day. He just figured it didn’t matter what temperature it was when someone was coughing too much to properly catch their breath.
When Spencer finally soothed his throat enough to breathe properly, Brendon took the mug back to the small kitchen table. "Um," he cleared his throat from where he stood and the boy startled a little and turned his head Brendon's direction. "Hello," Brendon started.
Spencer said nothing.
"I um, I found you," Brendon continued, his voice obviously unsure of his words. "I'm trying to help you. Don't move." He came over again and dropped to his knees by the boy, seeming to startle him a little. Brendon cringed. "Sorry." Still no reply. "I brought you in from under my porch. It was freezing out there. I thought you were dead." He helped Spencer to get his blankets off from around him so his arms would be free. "You really scared me at first."
Spencer nodded a bit, more as if he were processing the information rather than responding to Brendon in any way.
“I'm so sorry," Brendon suddenly sputtered, a bit of a nervous laugh to his voice. "I'm so terribly impolite. My name is Brendon. What's yours?"
The man's brow furrowed for only a second before he replied hoarsely. "James." He cringed at the sharp pain the words sent up his throat.
Brendon noticed his voice immediately. “Let me get you something warm to drink,“ he mumbled before he jumped up and hurried over to another table by the kitchen area window. He picked up a kettle, pouring some warm tea for the boy before returning to him. He knelt down carefully near Spencer and held out the cup. “Here you go. It’s still very hot, but the warmth should help your throat.”
For a second, Spencer did nothing. Then slowly he untangled his hand from the blanket and reached in the direction of Brendon’s voice. That’s when Brendon noticed something he hadn’t before. Spencer couldn’t see him.
Later, Brendon would feel guilty that his first feeling was one of relief, but for now, the idea that this stranger was blind was comforting. It meant that his presence put Brendon in less danger. The night before Brendon hadn’t slept a bit, afraid of what might happen if this boy he didn’t know awoke in his home and wasn’t a nice person after all but maybe an escaped prisoner, a thief or murderer perhaps. Brendon’s fears weren’t ungrounded all that much anyway. He had found Spencer hiding under his porch and Spencer had to be hiding from someone.
Once Spencer had taken a few small sips (all his throat would allow him, really), he set the cup down next to him on the wooden planks of the floor.
“Where are you from?” Brendon asked, thinking maybe a little background information would help ease his paranoia.
Spencer shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
Brendon looked confused for a moment. He went to ask about perhaps how to contact Spencer’s family to make sure they knew he was safe, but Spencer interrupted him before he could say anything.
Spencer’s voice was still hoarse, but he didn‘t cringe as much when he said, “Where am I?”
“You’re in my home,” Brendon replied. “You’re in my home in Wildelow. By my fireplace.”
For a second Spencer’s face looked surprised. Then he schooled it back in to something disinterested. Brendon couldn’t read anything else from it and wasn’t sure what he’d said that had caused that reaction in the first place.
“Thank you for doing this,” Spencer said honestly. Brendon smiled a little and some tension seemed to be letting loose a little in this shoulders. Spencer coughed a few more times, a thick, wet, disgusting sound before adding weakly, “You didn’t have to.”
“It’s not a problem. I’ll uh, make us some soup, yes?” Brendon offered. He didn’t wait for a response, just got up and went over to the stove. He had to think a bit. This stranger had told him nothing besides a name. No information that might help Brendon gage what type of person he may be or why he may have been hiding. Brendon still wondered if perhaps he was an escaped slave, but he hadn’t panicked when Brendon had found him and Brendon hadn’t seen any marks of ownership. He wasn’t even sure who would keep a blind slave anyway or what use one could possibly be. Even if this boy were just traveling, why not with someone to guide him or a horse at least to keep him on some path? Brendon shrugged the thoughts away. It wasn’t his place to pry into the boy‘s background. His place was just to help out this stranger until he was recovered.
“Thank you,” Spencer said when Brendon placed a warm bowl of broth into his hands some minutes later. He sipped it carefully, taking a deep breath to get a strong whiff of the aroma it gave off. “This is enough really. I didn’t mean to interrupt your life and inconvenience you as I’m sure I must be-”
Spencer was cut off by Brendon saying, “Oh, no. You haven’t inconvenienced me at all. In fact, I have no plans for at least a few more weeks. I appreciate you being here to break up the frozen monotony.”
Spencer turned to set his gaze in the direction of Brendon’s voice over at the small table. “Farmer?” he asked.
Brendon smiled, “Not really, no. But I work seasonally much like one. I’d like to think if I were a farmer, I could afford to make the place look a little more appealing.”
Spencer smirked a bit sadly, “I can’t see it,” he reminded him.
Brendon ducked his head a little and replied, “Well, it’s a tidy place, but it’s a mess in other ways like, um, when the wind blows strongly you can feel it through the panes of the windows. It blows out candles occasionally. And the fireplace fire even darts around crazy-like and then there’s things like the lock on the door is old and it worries me sometimes that it wouldn‘t hold if I really needed it to. Little things mostly.”
Spencer’s head turned a few ways as if he were trying to figure out where the door might be. He had a vague idea since he knew the sides of the room based on what Brendon had done - made broth in one place, sat in a chair on another side to play guitar, and the fireplace was most likely against one so that didn’t leave a lot of options.
Brendon saw him and figured out what he was doing. “The door, right?” he asked and Spencer looked down, a bit embarrassed that he couldn’t just see where something as simple as the door was. Brendon didn’t let it bother him. He kept his coffee mug in hand as he walked over to the door and stood in front of it. “It’s over here,” he told his guest. “I had a time getting through it with you in my arms. Almost dropped you actually.”
Bogart jumped up from where he’d been lying and pranced over to the door excitedly, jumping up and pawing at Brendon’s leg.
“You have a dog?” Spencer smiled, surprised how easily he‘d recognized a noise he hadn‘t heard in so long, but the sound of tiny paws on hardwood floor was unmistakable.
“His name’s Bogart,” Brendon replied as he picked up the terrier and carried him over to Spencer. “He’s a Jack Russell and he always thinks it’s a good time to go outside. That’s how we found you yesterday actually. Bogart knew you were out there.” Brendon sat down near Spencer and held out the puppy a bit. “Say hello to James, Bo.”
Bogart did as told and happily went to see Spencer now that he was awake and Brendon felt so comfortable around him. Bogart jumped up, bracing his little body on Spencer’s arm and almost making him spill his coffee. Spencer almost wanted to laugh and the idea pleasantly surprised him.
“Hello,” he greeted the dog, setting down his drink carefully on the other side of his body and reaching for the puppy. “It’s very nice to meet you, Sir,” Spencer spoke politely and Bogart licked at his hands. “Thank you very much for finding me out in the cold.”
“He just knew you were out there and I had no idea. I let him out or, well, he squirmed his way out when I opened the door, and ran right to you under the porch. He just knew you were under the porch. I guess he heard you get under there or something because he’s much too small to see out the windows or anything. It was crazy and just-” Brendon waved his hand in a shaky, wave to indicate what he meant before remembering his guest couldn’t read hand motions any better than he could find doors. Brendon shook his head and added, “How did you get under there anyway? Certainly there must be better shelter nearby. Did you try to knock and I didn’t answer?” He couldn’t imagine that he would have missed someone knocking, but he was a deep sleeper and the winds had been strong so he couldn’t be sure.
“Well, I um -” Spencer replied, but stopped for a moment and seemed to collect his thoughts. “I usually know the path. I stay on it and I’m fine, but with the snow and the ice . . . I slipped.” He paused and licked his lips, then nodded once. “Yeah, and then I couldn’t find the path I was on. You know, the path I have memorized. It was snowed over. And, well, I was freezing and I just crawled for a bit, trying to stay out of the blizzard ‘till I found somewhere to hide. I didn’t know it was your porch.”
Brendon grinned. “I’m glad Bogart and I could be of some help. Do I need to contact your family and let them know you’re safe?”
“Oh, no,” Spencer replied quickly. “I, uh, I live alone.”
Brendon nodded. “Think the weather will let up by Christmas? Then you could get to any family you may have further off at least in time for the holidays next weekend.”
“Hmmm…” was all Spencer replied. Brendon wasn’t sure if that was affirmative or negative.
*==*==*==*
Brendon was pretty sure Spencer was lying to him. For three days they did little more than sit around in peaceful silence. Brendon had taken the chance to read to Spencer a bit and he’d played him a bit of guitar. He’d provided Spencer with a constant supply of warm honey, insisting that he drink it down every half-hour or so and sometimes even adding what smelled like garlic, but Spencer wasn’t about to complain because he was coughing considerably less. Mostly, they’d stayed in a comfortable tranquility.
Spencer played with Bogart and Brendon went about whatever it was that Brendon did when trying to busy himself during the winter holidays- mending clothing, scribbling limericks, playing music and doing sketches. He usually played a bit more with Bogart, but it seemed cruel to take the only form of entertainment Spencer seemed to have from him. Spencer had learned where he could toss the ball and Bogart would fetch it and return it to his lap. Brendon spent plenty of time just watching them. It would have been creepy if Spencer had seen him, but Brendon figured what Spencer didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
On the third day, in the middle of whatever Brendon was playing on a cheap harmonica, Spencer suddenly spoke up. “Was I alone?”
Brendon stopped his tune and looked to his guest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you. What was that, James?”
Spencer moved his lips, but no sound came out. He floundered for a second before saying, “Nothing, just, uh, you play well. I like it.” Then he looked down with a slight scowl on his face. Brendon watched him with concern for a second, but then seemed to find his manners.
“Thank you,” he replied, “My brother taught me.”
*==*==*==*
Every night, Brendon slept in his bedroom while Spencer was left on a soft pallet by the hearth. Some nights Bogart slept curled up next to Brendon, but some nights he couldn’t be bothered to move off the rug near Spencer.
On the fourth night there, the only peaceful one since Spencer had arrived, Spencer awoke to light tapping on the window. He could hear it clearly and knew it was coming from the window over the kitchen counter. Knowing the origin of the taps didn’t put him at ease though. Mostly, it just put him on edge. Unfamiliar things still did that to him. He’d just been getting used to Brendon and the area of the house that Brendon used as a parlor. He’d not ventured over to the kitchen when it was safe and he didn’t plan on doing so now, not when he didn’t even know his way around over there and there was something uncertain making noises.
He turned his head in the direction of the noise anyway and it stopped. A second later, a new noise began- almost a mix between a rubbing and scratching sound against the wood frame of the window. It took all of three seconds for a peace like he hadn’t felt in much too long to settle over Spencer’s body. He stood up from his pallet and took a step. He was thankful Bogart had gone with Brendon this evening and wouldn’t be there to trip him up as he tried to follow the noise.
Then at once the window opened. There wasn’t a squeak or anything, but Spencer heard it clearly.
“Spencer!” the voice called, quiet and desperate.
“Ryan,” Spencer spoke through his huge grin. “Ryan, Ryan, Ryan…”
“Careful,” Ryan told him. “There’s a table just a bit in front of you. Move to your right.”
Spencer took a deep breath. “Ryan,” he spoke again.
“Shhh,” Ryan whispered. “Just follow my voice.”
Spencer reached his hand out in front of his body carefully as if to feel for objects in his path. “I’m coming.”
“You’re getting closer. Don‘t run into that stool near your right foot.” Ryan spoke softly and Spencer maneuvered to follow the instructions. Then, all at once it seemed, Ryan’s frozen hand reached out and grabbed onto Spencer’s outstretched one.
Both boys let out shaky breaths and held on tightly to one another. The kitchen window, as Spencer discovered, was much too far over the counter to get a proper hug in, but just touching Ryan at this point seemed to do wonders for them both.
“I didn’t know where you’d gone. I thought someone might’ve found you,” Spencer spoke in a hushed, distressed tone.
“I thought the same when I came back and you weren’t where I left you.” Ryan whispered.
“Under the porch?” Spencer asked accusingly, but he had a smile on his lips.
“Protected, I thought,” Ryan corrected.
“You’re freezing,” Spencer noted and rubbed both of his hands against the hand he had of Ryan’s. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be alright,” Ryan assured. “I’ll be fine. How are you? Is he being fair to you?”
“I think I’m safe here for now.” Spencer said honestly, but he wondered if Ryan was only telling him what he wanted to hear so he asked more. “Have you eaten anything?”
“I’ll find something tomorrow,” Ryan replied which told Spencer he obviously hadn’t eaten anything in a day or two, possibly more, possibly since they‘d been separated.
“No, no,” Spencer sputtered, “Hold on, I’ll- I’ll find you something.” In the darkness, Spencer turned one way in the kitchen and then the other before turning back to Ryan. “Do you see anything? A pantry or jars or anything?”
“Spencer,” Ryan hissed, “Don’t risk it. You’re safe. Don’t risk anything.”
“But, Ry,” Spencer responded, a determined expression on his face. “You can’t just not eat. Help me out please.” He took one hand off of Ryan’s and began to move it carefully down the counter around the washbasin, but when he reached the end, he was unprepared for the jar Brendon had left setting there.
“Spence!” Ryan warned, but it was already too late. The ceramic jar hit the ground with a loud shattering noise and, all at once, Ryan jerked his hand away from Spencer’s and slammed the window closed. Spencer felt hollow. He heard Brendon in the next room and suddenly a hot-cold sensation ran through his body. He had nowhere to hide it and no way to explain why he’d been over there at all.
“James?” Brendon was heard calling sleepily as he opened the door from his bedroom and stepped out. His hair was mussed and his eyes tired, but he’d still grabbed the small knife he kept in his bedroom. He was relieved to see there was no need for it.
“I’m sorry,” Spencer immediately answered. “I’m so sorry.”
“James, oh,” Brendon spoke when he saw what the clatter had been. “It sounded much worse than this when I awoke.”
“It was an accident, Sir. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Spencer felt sick and less safe than he had during his entire time with Brendon thus far.
“It’s alright,” Brendon promised. “It wasn’t much. Just a simple jar of sugar. It wasn’t even half-full.”
Spencer still held his breath until he was sure Brendon wasn’t going to hit him.
“Were you trying to get some water?” Brendon questioned and Spencer heard something heavily scrape against the counter as Brendon picked it up. “The pitcher is on the other side of the wash basin.”
Spencer felt the sick feeling dissipate a little and the nerves in his shoulders loosened slightly. “Thank you,” he told Brendon instead of saying, “yes.” He felt it was better not to lie completely about what he’d been doing, but agreeing with Brendon wouldn’t hurt anything.
Brendon poured Spencer a mug of water and then one for himself and both men stood there silently drinking.
“When I first brought you in,” Brendon began after he finished his water and sat the mug down. “I thought I may wake up to find you had robbed me.”
“I wouldn’t. Sir, I- Brendon, I wouldn’t ever rob you.” Spencer told him and Brendon nodded even though he knew Spencer couldn’t see it.
“I know that now,” Brendon continued, “But at first, you were just a stranger and I wasn’t sure. When I wake up, I immediately assume the worse. I think it’s because I live alone and it’s something those of us alone constantly worry about. Now that you’re here, I- I fear less.”
“I wouldn’t be much help if someone were to try to rob you,” Spencer said. He felt a little guilty for trying to take something of Brendon’s to give to Ryan, even if Ryan had been in grave need of it.
“Don’t underestimate yourself,” Brendon laughed lightly. “You do usually walk the roads on your own. I think there’s more you could do if you set your mind to it.”
*==*==*==*
The second night Ryan appeared at the window, Spencer had stayed awake, prepared for him.
Ryan tapped lightly and Spencer was pushing his covers aside and standing up, trying to remember his way to the window without running into or tripping over anything. He managed to make it too. The only thing that he forgot to account for was Bogart.
Ryan and Spencer had barely gotten the window open and clasped hands before Bogart was up on his feet and jumping around barking. He yapped once, twice, then started growling in Ryan’s direction.
“Spence,” Ryan rasped weakly before extracting his cold hand from its lock with Spencer’s. “It’s not worth it,” he managed over the noise of the terrier. Spencer could tell Ryan’s voice was hoarse and he reached to quickly retrieve the bits of bread and carrots that he’d pocketed earlier when he was fairly sure Brendon wasn’t paying attention, but Ryan didn’t even give him time. He jerked his hand back again and slammed the window closed just as Brendon opened the door from his bedroom.
Spencer shoved the pieces of bread and carrots back into his pocket and they were gone before Brendon’s eyes even cleared enough to focus. As soon as Ryan was out of sight, Bogart settled down, growling only slightly until giving it up to lick up breadcrumbs that Spencer had dropped.
“Bogart, what’s the matter with you?” Brendon asked as he ambled over to the dog and guest.
“He’s upset about something. He scared me,” Spencer stammered. It wasn’t a complete lie. He had startled Spencer when he first barked at Ryan.
“Bogart, what is it?” Brendon asked, kneeling down to the terrier’s level and looking around a bit. Bogart looked back toward the window again and yapped once more for good measure. Brendon laughed a little to himself. “Stop looking at that window. There is no way you are going outside tonight. We‘re going back to sleep.” He looked at Spencer and stood up. “I’m sorry he woke you. He’s a crazy animal sometimes.” And with that, he scooped Bogart up and carried him off to the bedroom.
*==*==*==*
The afternoon after the Bogart incident, Brendon was putting away the morning dishes when he called over his shoulder to Spencer. “I’m going to go out back to get more firewood. I have it already chopped and stacked up against my shed near the tree line in the back. It’s not far. I won’t be gone long. I‘m just going to take Bogart so he can get some energy out of his system.”
Spencer agreed and before too long Brendon was out the door and Spencer was left alone by the fireplace. Spencer wondered if Ryan was keeping an eye on the place, if he would tap on the window while Brendon was gone or if the woodpile was perhaps too close of a distance to be safe for him to risk coming now. Spencer wished he could look out the window and calculate simple things like spacing.
He wondered how long until Brendon came back. He wondered how he’d finally get away without Brendon wanting to stay in touch or wanting to help him home. Sitting in front of the hearth with nothing else to do, Spencer decided it was going to drive him crazy. He settled back on his pallet and blinked a few times, his mind reeling and his ears trained to listen for Ryan’s tapping, just in case.
*==*==*==*
Brendon walked out the back door and stepped down the few steps he had leading to the ground there. He hadn’t had the time to build a porch in the back yet and the house had only come with the front one. Summertime was usually very busy for him even after a long day’s work. The evening load didn’t let up very much. His only free time was parts of autumn and winter and often then it was too cold or there were still other things to be done. Brendon supposed in the line of things he needed to do about his cabin, the porch was not a priority he should worry about before he fixed the windows or the doors. Right now, his only priority was getting more wood in the house to keep everyone warm.
Brendon looked out across the half-acre backyard and to the tree line. There, there was a small wooden shed where Brendon kept a few tools, a garden hoe, a few shovels, a handheld plow and such. He had also had a horse in a single stall there back when he’d first moved into the cabin, but he’d since gotten rid of her.
Brendon squinted more at the snow and the sun‘s reflection off it than the actual sunlight, but it hurt his eyes nonetheless. He shielded his eyes and glanced at where Bogart was running around a tree in the distance. “I hope you fall in a hole and get covered in on top with snow!” Brendon called to him, laughing to himself as he trekked along the yard.
When he got close enough, he could see something lying near the woodpile and sped up his pace. It was hard to run in his boots and in the snow, but he did his best. Bogart even noticed and raced to catch up. Brendon stopped once he got close enough, but Bogart didn’t. He ran right up to the object in question and Brendon could see immediately when Bogart realized what it was. The dog tensed and seemed to settle down, leaning down and sniffing instead. Brendon stared at the boy.
“Get away from him,” Brendon said sternly and unlike finding Spencer, Bogart moved right away. It must have been something in Brendon’s voice, but Bogart didn’t even try to bother him when he knelt down to get a closer look at what he was dealing with.
The boy was spread out, not curled up like Spencer had been, and he looked pitiful- poorly fed, poorly dressed, poorly kept in general. Brendon reached and moved one of the boy’s hands a bit, noting that his nails were blue. His lips were blue too. But after checking for a moment, Brendon was sure he felt a pulse.
“Where are they coming from?” Brendon asked Bogart who was watching the boy intently. Bogart took it as permission to sniff carefully again at the stranger’s foot and that’s when Brendon noticed that the boy had no shoes. His feet had been wrapped in cloth, but they were soaked cloths and it was still below freezing out. Brendon tucked the boy’s arm into his side and drew his other arm in too while trying to gage how he was going to carry the lanky creature. Once he tried to pick him up though he realized it would be much easier than he’s initially thought. It felt as if the boy’s body were hollow and all Brendon might be carrying were some wet rags covering his body instead.
He hefted the boy’s body until he was sure he had it and began to trudge inside without another thought about firewood. Bogart followed obediently and soon the two had made it back to the house.
Brendon was taking the stairs when the eyes of the stranger opened ever so slightly and tried to take in what was happening. Brendon only said, “I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you,” before they closed again.
*==*==*==*
It seemed like a lifetime from the time Brendon shuffled in with his arms full to the time he had his new guest all situated and swaddled by the fire, but once Brendon returned to his firewood voyage, Spencer practically flew over to the other side of the hearth to check that it was Ryan. A flood of relief washed over his when he grabbed the familiar hand, but a new fear crept through him as well. Without his eyes, he couldn’t see for himself how Ryan was doing and going off of what Brendon had said when he’d found him didn’t do much to comfort Spencer either.
“Ryan, you’d better goddamn live through this you skinny bastard,” Spencer breathed as he held Ryan’s frozen hand. “I tried to get you to eat something.”
Ryan slept by the fire and didn’t reply at all and Spencer reluctantly pulled away and settled back into place when he heard Brendon coming back with the wood.
*==*==*==*
“His feet are looking better already,” Brendon murmured to Spencer late that evening. “That’s good. Earlier, I wasn’t sure how bad they were, but he obviously hasn’t had them in this condition very long. A little warm water and care should fix them up with no problems.”
“How do you know these things?” Spencer asked. He made sure to sound half-interested, as if it didn’t make a difference to him if this newly acquired guest had ruined his feet or not, but inside Spencer was desperate to know exactly what state Ryan was in and if Brendon really had the ability to care for him like he was claiming.
“Eh,” Brendon paused where he was holding the bowl of warm water and looked at his hands. “Well, my mother wasn’t exactly what you’d call an honourable lady. She had my brother, Jon, with one man and two years later she had me by another- a sailor, I believe. Both of our fathers either never knew we were here or else never cared.”
Brendon stopped in his words just long enough to start swabbing Ryan’s reddened, frostbitten feet with warm water again before seeming to find rhythmic comfort in his work. Spencer was turned toward him and Ryan as if he could actually see what Brendon was doing and when Brendon was washing at Ryan’s feet rather mindlessly, he started back on his story.
“Our father’s- they might’ve even had proper families of their own or better standards to live up to or such. I’ve not given it much thought since I was quite young. But our mother, well, she didn’t want us either. She had too wild of a lifestyle to give it up and nurse infants. And she died in childbirth of her next child anyway. We never even met that one if it made it. Maybe there was a father still around. But Jon and I were left with the orphanage in Ashbourne. It’s actually not a large orphanage, not like the one here in Wildelow. They were decent to us, taught us, and when I was old enough I was told I had done well enough in my studies that the doctor wanted me to help with his practice. He tried to teach me, but in the end I only lasted a few weeks. My stomach can’t handle the site of copious amounts of blood, it turns out. My brother, however, became an apprentice there as well and actually did quite well for himself. Earned enough money to send himself to medical school and he’s the personal physician to a wealthy family in Ashbourne now. Takes care of their large household and slaves and all their worker‘s families and such. Lives in his own house on the family’s extensive property. He’s coming down for Christmas, if the weather permits. I fully expect we’ll see him in a day or two.”
Spencer was kind enough not to bring up Brendon’s choice of words, but Brendon cringed immediately and almost apologized. He was still getting used to how things must be for Spencer. Instead of repenting his poor choice of words, he just hoped the moment would pass them by and finished his story quickly.
“The things I know- medical things- are only the few things that I learned in the month or so I was apprenticing for the doctor.”
Spencer nodded. “I guess we’re both in good hands then,” he commented with a content look on his face and Brendon smiled down at the bowl of water.
“I hope so.”
Continue to part two.
When the exhibition in Caoldale burned, it started at the end with the slave market. Before the fire sparked, it was the early hours of the morning and the moon had already set. It wasn’t until the flames had risen that anyone was able to see much of anything and by that point, most of the fair was in ruins. Fine art and valuables had been destroyed, supplies had been consumed and almost all of the slave stock held there had been wiped out. Whatever slaves hadn’t been suffocated by smoke inhalation or burned alive had escaped or were in too poor a condition to profit from.
The slave drivers whose particular caravans had been at the trading posts at the time of the fire had left town a day or two later without their supplies of slaves, money to show for them or any leads as to how or by whom the fire had been set.
There were rewards for leads and rewards for slaves caught and returned to the market, but most of the townspeople knew the slaves weren’t runaways and that they had gone up in ashes instead. Except for two slaves. Two of them they knew for sure were not dead. Two of them had most certainly escaped.
*==*==*==*
Brendon called Bogart back from the door for the third time that evening, but the terrier only glanced back at him before continuing to paw at the wood. Brendon sighed as he stood up from where he was reading and shuffled to the window.
“I don’t see anything out there, Bo,” he told the dog, but Bogart ignored him in favour of pawing and whimpering.
The truth was, Brendon did see something through the glass. He saw more snow than he’d seen in all the years since he’d moved to Wildelow. Wind was whipping up flurries that beat relentlessly on the windows and sent loud shrills around the small cabin. Beyond that, he saw a blue-black darkness where the road should have been. Brendon was certain it was still there, but he was also confident it wouldn’t be properly recovered until spring. Mostly though, he just saw icicles hanging from the edges of his porch roof and sheets of icy flakes billowing down. As a child living in a sea-side town, Brendon would have considered the spectacle of snow like this fierce or captivating, but after moving to Wildelow, he only saw winters as miserable.
Bogart whined low and placed his nose pitifully at the crease of the doorframe.
“Look,” Brendon told the dog as he opened the door just a bit and snow whizzed in at them. “It’s a mess. You don’t want to go out there.” No sooner than Brendon had gotten the words out of his mouth, Bogart had wriggled his way through the small opening and out into the blizzard. “Bogart!” Brendon yelled, trying to reel the animal back in, but it was futile. In seconds the terrier had dashed out into the snow and under the wooden porch, barking madly. “Bogart!” Brendon called again, but the only response was growling and a series of sharp, angry barks.
From where he stood there was no way Brendon could see beneath the porch. So, with a huff and a few muttered curses, he yanked his boots and wool coat on and went out after the animal. Outside the wind blew violently and snow clung to Brendon’s clothes and hair.
“Bogart!” he yelled again as he stomped down the steps. The icy particles that hit his eyes as he rounded the porch made them water and tears slid down his cheeks and were quickly blown away. The only sign of the dog was loud growling coming from beneath the edge of the porch. Brendon swore that if Bogart had led him out in this weather over a frozen fox he was going to be thoroughly outraged.
When he got to the side of the porch near Bogart, he bent over to peer underneath and immediately saw what all the fuss was about. Underneath the wooden slats that comprised the porch on Brendon’s modest cabin was a raised area of only perhaps two feet. Usually it would be fairly dark beneath it, but today the snow surrounded it and kept it illuminated. And in the middle, up against the base of the house, was a boy.
“Bogart!” Brendon called, a little softer this time. The dog had looked at him once before continuing to bark at the boy. “Bogart!” Brendon all out yelled once something occurred to him: the boy wasn’t moving. He wasn’t startled by Bogart’s scare tactics. He wasn’t upset by his hiding place being found out. He wasn’t even bothered by the weather. Instantly Brendon dropped to his knees and pulled Bogart away. He knelt down lower and reached for the boy, drawing him out by a hand clutched into the fabric he wore around his body. (Brendon couldn’t exactly call it a shirt.)
Up closer, Brendon shivered and let out a sigh of relief. The boy was breathing. Still, he was unconscious and Brendon didn’t even take a second to think things through before he was trying his best to haul the boy’s dead weight up into his arms. He was lighter than Brendon expected, but still heavy. Brendon wasn’t a very large man and though this boy seemed average-sized, he was still bigger. He appeared to be considerably taller and of a slightly more muscular build. Peering at him from this short of a distance told Brendon he was older than he first suspected as well - late teens maybe. Brendon tried to walk with him in his arms, carefully feeling every step solidly so as to not slip up or drop him. The steps were the worst part, but Brendon took them steadily and took a deep breath when he stepped off the last icy one. They made it onto the porch and through the front door much more easily. He almost got them stuck in the doorframe and Bogart almost tripped him as he ran under his feet into the cabin, but eventually Brendon got them all inside safely. He all but dropped the boy by the fireplace before returning to shut the door and lock it tightly.
It was quieter inside but Bogart was still barking. Brendon trod his snowy feet across the floor and back over to the fireplace, swatting Bogart away from the unconscious stranger. There was no way Brendon could go for a doctor in this weather and certainly no way a doctor would come to them. Instead, Brendon tried to think of what his mother would have done in a situation like this.
Brendon’s mother had passed away when he was thirteen and his older brother had cared for him until he’d been old enough to be out on his own. Thirteen seemed forever ago now, but what he did remember of her was that she was always a comforting presence to be around. Brendon headed to his bedroom and got the spare pillow from his bed. He placed it neatly under the boy’s head before going back for the stack of blankets he kept folded in a wooden chest at the foot of his bed.
In no time, he had the boy swaddled almost as tightly as a baby and lying comfortably on the rug. The fire cracked and popped and Brendon snapped out of the daze he’d fallen in to staring at the stranger. Where had he come from? Brendon couldn’t help but wonder. And why was he hiding? The clothes he was wearing seemed to suggest a field worker, but, at least from what Brendon could see, he looked well provided for and no scars, brands, or collars were visible so that assumption didn’t seem to make sense exactly.
When Brendon was certain that he’d done all he could for his strange guest, he went over to the chair by the table and sat down to take his boots off. Bogart stayed and sniffed around the unconscious boy but, after a few licks to his face, he apparently deemed him acceptable to stay because he curled up on the floor not far from him and kept watch.
Brendon had set his boots back by the door and shed his coat. He had to clean up all the water through the house from where snow had come off his boots and melted. Bogart got up and came to see what Brendon was doing with a rag on the floor.
“You probably saved him, you know?” Brendon told the terrier. Bogart only looked at Brendon and wagged his tail. “You’re gonna help me look after him, right?” Bogart kept watching Brendon as if he were taking in the conversation until Brendon held out his hand and said playfully, “C’mere,” and Bogart bounded into Brendon’s arms.
“Good dog,” Brendon assured him as he scratched down his ears and back. “Good dog.”
*==*==*==*
Brendon was playing guitar and waiting on his potatoes to boil for dinner the next evening when Spencer awoke by the fireside. Brendon was across the room by the table and wouldn’t have noticed except that Bogart barked once and almost startled him into missing a chord.
Spencer was sitting up - not completely, but a bit - and seemingly dazed as he peered around the room. Brendon stood up immediately and reached for the pocketknife he‘d just used to cut his guitar strings short. He glanced over at Spencer, then back down at the knife. He wondered if he should take it with him, maybe keep it in his hand, but then he figured if he had brought the stranger into his house that he'd sealed his fate already if this boy turned out to be a mass murderer or anything.
Brendon walked over cautiously to Spencer and waved a bit, shyly, hesitantly. Spencer made no reply except to start coughing violently out of nowhere. He struggled to get his arms free of the tightly bound blanket, but couldn’t focus on them for the wracking coughs and the effect they were having on his entire body.
Brendon raced to get him water and returned, holding the cup to Spencer’s lips. He knew the water was freezing; it had sat by the window most of the day. He just figured it didn’t matter what temperature it was when someone was coughing too much to properly catch their breath.
When Spencer finally soothed his throat enough to breathe properly, Brendon took the mug back to the small kitchen table. "Um," he cleared his throat from where he stood and the boy startled a little and turned his head Brendon's direction. "Hello," Brendon started.
Spencer said nothing.
"I um, I found you," Brendon continued, his voice obviously unsure of his words. "I'm trying to help you. Don't move." He came over again and dropped to his knees by the boy, seeming to startle him a little. Brendon cringed. "Sorry." Still no reply. "I brought you in from under my porch. It was freezing out there. I thought you were dead." He helped Spencer to get his blankets off from around him so his arms would be free. "You really scared me at first."
Spencer nodded a bit, more as if he were processing the information rather than responding to Brendon in any way.
“I'm so sorry," Brendon suddenly sputtered, a bit of a nervous laugh to his voice. "I'm so terribly impolite. My name is Brendon. What's yours?"
The man's brow furrowed for only a second before he replied hoarsely. "James." He cringed at the sharp pain the words sent up his throat.
Brendon noticed his voice immediately. “Let me get you something warm to drink,“ he mumbled before he jumped up and hurried over to another table by the kitchen area window. He picked up a kettle, pouring some warm tea for the boy before returning to him. He knelt down carefully near Spencer and held out the cup. “Here you go. It’s still very hot, but the warmth should help your throat.”
For a second, Spencer did nothing. Then slowly he untangled his hand from the blanket and reached in the direction of Brendon’s voice. That’s when Brendon noticed something he hadn’t before. Spencer couldn’t see him.
Later, Brendon would feel guilty that his first feeling was one of relief, but for now, the idea that this stranger was blind was comforting. It meant that his presence put Brendon in less danger. The night before Brendon hadn’t slept a bit, afraid of what might happen if this boy he didn’t know awoke in his home and wasn’t a nice person after all but maybe an escaped prisoner, a thief or murderer perhaps. Brendon’s fears weren’t ungrounded all that much anyway. He had found Spencer hiding under his porch and Spencer had to be hiding from someone.
Once Spencer had taken a few small sips (all his throat would allow him, really), he set the cup down next to him on the wooden planks of the floor.
“Where are you from?” Brendon asked, thinking maybe a little background information would help ease his paranoia.
Spencer shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
Brendon looked confused for a moment. He went to ask about perhaps how to contact Spencer’s family to make sure they knew he was safe, but Spencer interrupted him before he could say anything.
Spencer’s voice was still hoarse, but he didn‘t cringe as much when he said, “Where am I?”
“You’re in my home,” Brendon replied. “You’re in my home in Wildelow. By my fireplace.”
For a second Spencer’s face looked surprised. Then he schooled it back in to something disinterested. Brendon couldn’t read anything else from it and wasn’t sure what he’d said that had caused that reaction in the first place.
“Thank you for doing this,” Spencer said honestly. Brendon smiled a little and some tension seemed to be letting loose a little in this shoulders. Spencer coughed a few more times, a thick, wet, disgusting sound before adding weakly, “You didn’t have to.”
“It’s not a problem. I’ll uh, make us some soup, yes?” Brendon offered. He didn’t wait for a response, just got up and went over to the stove. He had to think a bit. This stranger had told him nothing besides a name. No information that might help Brendon gage what type of person he may be or why he may have been hiding. Brendon still wondered if perhaps he was an escaped slave, but he hadn’t panicked when Brendon had found him and Brendon hadn’t seen any marks of ownership. He wasn’t even sure who would keep a blind slave anyway or what use one could possibly be. Even if this boy were just traveling, why not with someone to guide him or a horse at least to keep him on some path? Brendon shrugged the thoughts away. It wasn’t his place to pry into the boy‘s background. His place was just to help out this stranger until he was recovered.
“Thank you,” Spencer said when Brendon placed a warm bowl of broth into his hands some minutes later. He sipped it carefully, taking a deep breath to get a strong whiff of the aroma it gave off. “This is enough really. I didn’t mean to interrupt your life and inconvenience you as I’m sure I must be-”
Spencer was cut off by Brendon saying, “Oh, no. You haven’t inconvenienced me at all. In fact, I have no plans for at least a few more weeks. I appreciate you being here to break up the frozen monotony.”
Spencer turned to set his gaze in the direction of Brendon’s voice over at the small table. “Farmer?” he asked.
Brendon smiled, “Not really, no. But I work seasonally much like one. I’d like to think if I were a farmer, I could afford to make the place look a little more appealing.”
Spencer smirked a bit sadly, “I can’t see it,” he reminded him.
Brendon ducked his head a little and replied, “Well, it’s a tidy place, but it’s a mess in other ways like, um, when the wind blows strongly you can feel it through the panes of the windows. It blows out candles occasionally. And the fireplace fire even darts around crazy-like and then there’s things like the lock on the door is old and it worries me sometimes that it wouldn‘t hold if I really needed it to. Little things mostly.”
Spencer’s head turned a few ways as if he were trying to figure out where the door might be. He had a vague idea since he knew the sides of the room based on what Brendon had done - made broth in one place, sat in a chair on another side to play guitar, and the fireplace was most likely against one so that didn’t leave a lot of options.
Brendon saw him and figured out what he was doing. “The door, right?” he asked and Spencer looked down, a bit embarrassed that he couldn’t just see where something as simple as the door was. Brendon didn’t let it bother him. He kept his coffee mug in hand as he walked over to the door and stood in front of it. “It’s over here,” he told his guest. “I had a time getting through it with you in my arms. Almost dropped you actually.”
Bogart jumped up from where he’d been lying and pranced over to the door excitedly, jumping up and pawing at Brendon’s leg.
“You have a dog?” Spencer smiled, surprised how easily he‘d recognized a noise he hadn‘t heard in so long, but the sound of tiny paws on hardwood floor was unmistakable.
“His name’s Bogart,” Brendon replied as he picked up the terrier and carried him over to Spencer. “He’s a Jack Russell and he always thinks it’s a good time to go outside. That’s how we found you yesterday actually. Bogart knew you were out there.” Brendon sat down near Spencer and held out the puppy a bit. “Say hello to James, Bo.”
Bogart did as told and happily went to see Spencer now that he was awake and Brendon felt so comfortable around him. Bogart jumped up, bracing his little body on Spencer’s arm and almost making him spill his coffee. Spencer almost wanted to laugh and the idea pleasantly surprised him.
“Hello,” he greeted the dog, setting down his drink carefully on the other side of his body and reaching for the puppy. “It’s very nice to meet you, Sir,” Spencer spoke politely and Bogart licked at his hands. “Thank you very much for finding me out in the cold.”
“He just knew you were out there and I had no idea. I let him out or, well, he squirmed his way out when I opened the door, and ran right to you under the porch. He just knew you were under the porch. I guess he heard you get under there or something because he’s much too small to see out the windows or anything. It was crazy and just-” Brendon waved his hand in a shaky, wave to indicate what he meant before remembering his guest couldn’t read hand motions any better than he could find doors. Brendon shook his head and added, “How did you get under there anyway? Certainly there must be better shelter nearby. Did you try to knock and I didn’t answer?” He couldn’t imagine that he would have missed someone knocking, but he was a deep sleeper and the winds had been strong so he couldn’t be sure.
“Well, I um -” Spencer replied, but stopped for a moment and seemed to collect his thoughts. “I usually know the path. I stay on it and I’m fine, but with the snow and the ice . . . I slipped.” He paused and licked his lips, then nodded once. “Yeah, and then I couldn’t find the path I was on. You know, the path I have memorized. It was snowed over. And, well, I was freezing and I just crawled for a bit, trying to stay out of the blizzard ‘till I found somewhere to hide. I didn’t know it was your porch.”
Brendon grinned. “I’m glad Bogart and I could be of some help. Do I need to contact your family and let them know you’re safe?”
“Oh, no,” Spencer replied quickly. “I, uh, I live alone.”
Brendon nodded. “Think the weather will let up by Christmas? Then you could get to any family you may have further off at least in time for the holidays next weekend.”
“Hmmm…” was all Spencer replied. Brendon wasn’t sure if that was affirmative or negative.
*==*==*==*
Brendon was pretty sure Spencer was lying to him. For three days they did little more than sit around in peaceful silence. Brendon had taken the chance to read to Spencer a bit and he’d played him a bit of guitar. He’d provided Spencer with a constant supply of warm honey, insisting that he drink it down every half-hour or so and sometimes even adding what smelled like garlic, but Spencer wasn’t about to complain because he was coughing considerably less. Mostly, they’d stayed in a comfortable tranquility.
Spencer played with Bogart and Brendon went about whatever it was that Brendon did when trying to busy himself during the winter holidays- mending clothing, scribbling limericks, playing music and doing sketches. He usually played a bit more with Bogart, but it seemed cruel to take the only form of entertainment Spencer seemed to have from him. Spencer had learned where he could toss the ball and Bogart would fetch it and return it to his lap. Brendon spent plenty of time just watching them. It would have been creepy if Spencer had seen him, but Brendon figured what Spencer didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
On the third day, in the middle of whatever Brendon was playing on a cheap harmonica, Spencer suddenly spoke up. “Was I alone?”
Brendon stopped his tune and looked to his guest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you. What was that, James?”
Spencer moved his lips, but no sound came out. He floundered for a second before saying, “Nothing, just, uh, you play well. I like it.” Then he looked down with a slight scowl on his face. Brendon watched him with concern for a second, but then seemed to find his manners.
“Thank you,” he replied, “My brother taught me.”
*==*==*==*
Every night, Brendon slept in his bedroom while Spencer was left on a soft pallet by the hearth. Some nights Bogart slept curled up next to Brendon, but some nights he couldn’t be bothered to move off the rug near Spencer.
On the fourth night there, the only peaceful one since Spencer had arrived, Spencer awoke to light tapping on the window. He could hear it clearly and knew it was coming from the window over the kitchen counter. Knowing the origin of the taps didn’t put him at ease though. Mostly, it just put him on edge. Unfamiliar things still did that to him. He’d just been getting used to Brendon and the area of the house that Brendon used as a parlor. He’d not ventured over to the kitchen when it was safe and he didn’t plan on doing so now, not when he didn’t even know his way around over there and there was something uncertain making noises.
He turned his head in the direction of the noise anyway and it stopped. A second later, a new noise began- almost a mix between a rubbing and scratching sound against the wood frame of the window. It took all of three seconds for a peace like he hadn’t felt in much too long to settle over Spencer’s body. He stood up from his pallet and took a step. He was thankful Bogart had gone with Brendon this evening and wouldn’t be there to trip him up as he tried to follow the noise.
Then at once the window opened. There wasn’t a squeak or anything, but Spencer heard it clearly.
“Spencer!” the voice called, quiet and desperate.
“Ryan,” Spencer spoke through his huge grin. “Ryan, Ryan, Ryan…”
“Careful,” Ryan told him. “There’s a table just a bit in front of you. Move to your right.”
Spencer took a deep breath. “Ryan,” he spoke again.
“Shhh,” Ryan whispered. “Just follow my voice.”
Spencer reached his hand out in front of his body carefully as if to feel for objects in his path. “I’m coming.”
“You’re getting closer. Don‘t run into that stool near your right foot.” Ryan spoke softly and Spencer maneuvered to follow the instructions. Then, all at once it seemed, Ryan’s frozen hand reached out and grabbed onto Spencer’s outstretched one.
Both boys let out shaky breaths and held on tightly to one another. The kitchen window, as Spencer discovered, was much too far over the counter to get a proper hug in, but just touching Ryan at this point seemed to do wonders for them both.
“I didn’t know where you’d gone. I thought someone might’ve found you,” Spencer spoke in a hushed, distressed tone.
“I thought the same when I came back and you weren’t where I left you.” Ryan whispered.
“Under the porch?” Spencer asked accusingly, but he had a smile on his lips.
“Protected, I thought,” Ryan corrected.
“You’re freezing,” Spencer noted and rubbed both of his hands against the hand he had of Ryan’s. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be alright,” Ryan assured. “I’ll be fine. How are you? Is he being fair to you?”
“I think I’m safe here for now.” Spencer said honestly, but he wondered if Ryan was only telling him what he wanted to hear so he asked more. “Have you eaten anything?”
“I’ll find something tomorrow,” Ryan replied which told Spencer he obviously hadn’t eaten anything in a day or two, possibly more, possibly since they‘d been separated.
“No, no,” Spencer sputtered, “Hold on, I’ll- I’ll find you something.” In the darkness, Spencer turned one way in the kitchen and then the other before turning back to Ryan. “Do you see anything? A pantry or jars or anything?”
“Spencer,” Ryan hissed, “Don’t risk it. You’re safe. Don’t risk anything.”
“But, Ry,” Spencer responded, a determined expression on his face. “You can’t just not eat. Help me out please.” He took one hand off of Ryan’s and began to move it carefully down the counter around the washbasin, but when he reached the end, he was unprepared for the jar Brendon had left setting there.
“Spence!” Ryan warned, but it was already too late. The ceramic jar hit the ground with a loud shattering noise and, all at once, Ryan jerked his hand away from Spencer’s and slammed the window closed. Spencer felt hollow. He heard Brendon in the next room and suddenly a hot-cold sensation ran through his body. He had nowhere to hide it and no way to explain why he’d been over there at all.
“James?” Brendon was heard calling sleepily as he opened the door from his bedroom and stepped out. His hair was mussed and his eyes tired, but he’d still grabbed the small knife he kept in his bedroom. He was relieved to see there was no need for it.
“I’m sorry,” Spencer immediately answered. “I’m so sorry.”
“James, oh,” Brendon spoke when he saw what the clatter had been. “It sounded much worse than this when I awoke.”
“It was an accident, Sir. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Spencer felt sick and less safe than he had during his entire time with Brendon thus far.
“It’s alright,” Brendon promised. “It wasn’t much. Just a simple jar of sugar. It wasn’t even half-full.”
Spencer still held his breath until he was sure Brendon wasn’t going to hit him.
“Were you trying to get some water?” Brendon questioned and Spencer heard something heavily scrape against the counter as Brendon picked it up. “The pitcher is on the other side of the wash basin.”
Spencer felt the sick feeling dissipate a little and the nerves in his shoulders loosened slightly. “Thank you,” he told Brendon instead of saying, “yes.” He felt it was better not to lie completely about what he’d been doing, but agreeing with Brendon wouldn’t hurt anything.
Brendon poured Spencer a mug of water and then one for himself and both men stood there silently drinking.
“When I first brought you in,” Brendon began after he finished his water and sat the mug down. “I thought I may wake up to find you had robbed me.”
“I wouldn’t. Sir, I- Brendon, I wouldn’t ever rob you.” Spencer told him and Brendon nodded even though he knew Spencer couldn’t see it.
“I know that now,” Brendon continued, “But at first, you were just a stranger and I wasn’t sure. When I wake up, I immediately assume the worse. I think it’s because I live alone and it’s something those of us alone constantly worry about. Now that you’re here, I- I fear less.”
“I wouldn’t be much help if someone were to try to rob you,” Spencer said. He felt a little guilty for trying to take something of Brendon’s to give to Ryan, even if Ryan had been in grave need of it.
“Don’t underestimate yourself,” Brendon laughed lightly. “You do usually walk the roads on your own. I think there’s more you could do if you set your mind to it.”
*==*==*==*
The second night Ryan appeared at the window, Spencer had stayed awake, prepared for him.
Ryan tapped lightly and Spencer was pushing his covers aside and standing up, trying to remember his way to the window without running into or tripping over anything. He managed to make it too. The only thing that he forgot to account for was Bogart.
Ryan and Spencer had barely gotten the window open and clasped hands before Bogart was up on his feet and jumping around barking. He yapped once, twice, then started growling in Ryan’s direction.
“Spence,” Ryan rasped weakly before extracting his cold hand from its lock with Spencer’s. “It’s not worth it,” he managed over the noise of the terrier. Spencer could tell Ryan’s voice was hoarse and he reached to quickly retrieve the bits of bread and carrots that he’d pocketed earlier when he was fairly sure Brendon wasn’t paying attention, but Ryan didn’t even give him time. He jerked his hand back again and slammed the window closed just as Brendon opened the door from his bedroom.
Spencer shoved the pieces of bread and carrots back into his pocket and they were gone before Brendon’s eyes even cleared enough to focus. As soon as Ryan was out of sight, Bogart settled down, growling only slightly until giving it up to lick up breadcrumbs that Spencer had dropped.
“Bogart, what’s the matter with you?” Brendon asked as he ambled over to the dog and guest.
“He’s upset about something. He scared me,” Spencer stammered. It wasn’t a complete lie. He had startled Spencer when he first barked at Ryan.
“Bogart, what is it?” Brendon asked, kneeling down to the terrier’s level and looking around a bit. Bogart looked back toward the window again and yapped once more for good measure. Brendon laughed a little to himself. “Stop looking at that window. There is no way you are going outside tonight. We‘re going back to sleep.” He looked at Spencer and stood up. “I’m sorry he woke you. He’s a crazy animal sometimes.” And with that, he scooped Bogart up and carried him off to the bedroom.
*==*==*==*
The afternoon after the Bogart incident, Brendon was putting away the morning dishes when he called over his shoulder to Spencer. “I’m going to go out back to get more firewood. I have it already chopped and stacked up against my shed near the tree line in the back. It’s not far. I won’t be gone long. I‘m just going to take Bogart so he can get some energy out of his system.”
Spencer agreed and before too long Brendon was out the door and Spencer was left alone by the fireplace. Spencer wondered if Ryan was keeping an eye on the place, if he would tap on the window while Brendon was gone or if the woodpile was perhaps too close of a distance to be safe for him to risk coming now. Spencer wished he could look out the window and calculate simple things like spacing.
He wondered how long until Brendon came back. He wondered how he’d finally get away without Brendon wanting to stay in touch or wanting to help him home. Sitting in front of the hearth with nothing else to do, Spencer decided it was going to drive him crazy. He settled back on his pallet and blinked a few times, his mind reeling and his ears trained to listen for Ryan’s tapping, just in case.
*==*==*==*
Brendon walked out the back door and stepped down the few steps he had leading to the ground there. He hadn’t had the time to build a porch in the back yet and the house had only come with the front one. Summertime was usually very busy for him even after a long day’s work. The evening load didn’t let up very much. His only free time was parts of autumn and winter and often then it was too cold or there were still other things to be done. Brendon supposed in the line of things he needed to do about his cabin, the porch was not a priority he should worry about before he fixed the windows or the doors. Right now, his only priority was getting more wood in the house to keep everyone warm.
Brendon looked out across the half-acre backyard and to the tree line. There, there was a small wooden shed where Brendon kept a few tools, a garden hoe, a few shovels, a handheld plow and such. He had also had a horse in a single stall there back when he’d first moved into the cabin, but he’d since gotten rid of her.
Brendon squinted more at the snow and the sun‘s reflection off it than the actual sunlight, but it hurt his eyes nonetheless. He shielded his eyes and glanced at where Bogart was running around a tree in the distance. “I hope you fall in a hole and get covered in on top with snow!” Brendon called to him, laughing to himself as he trekked along the yard.
When he got close enough, he could see something lying near the woodpile and sped up his pace. It was hard to run in his boots and in the snow, but he did his best. Bogart even noticed and raced to catch up. Brendon stopped once he got close enough, but Bogart didn’t. He ran right up to the object in question and Brendon could see immediately when Bogart realized what it was. The dog tensed and seemed to settle down, leaning down and sniffing instead. Brendon stared at the boy.
“Get away from him,” Brendon said sternly and unlike finding Spencer, Bogart moved right away. It must have been something in Brendon’s voice, but Bogart didn’t even try to bother him when he knelt down to get a closer look at what he was dealing with.
The boy was spread out, not curled up like Spencer had been, and he looked pitiful- poorly fed, poorly dressed, poorly kept in general. Brendon reached and moved one of the boy’s hands a bit, noting that his nails were blue. His lips were blue too. But after checking for a moment, Brendon was sure he felt a pulse.
“Where are they coming from?” Brendon asked Bogart who was watching the boy intently. Bogart took it as permission to sniff carefully again at the stranger’s foot and that’s when Brendon noticed that the boy had no shoes. His feet had been wrapped in cloth, but they were soaked cloths and it was still below freezing out. Brendon tucked the boy’s arm into his side and drew his other arm in too while trying to gage how he was going to carry the lanky creature. Once he tried to pick him up though he realized it would be much easier than he’s initially thought. It felt as if the boy’s body were hollow and all Brendon might be carrying were some wet rags covering his body instead.
He hefted the boy’s body until he was sure he had it and began to trudge inside without another thought about firewood. Bogart followed obediently and soon the two had made it back to the house.
Brendon was taking the stairs when the eyes of the stranger opened ever so slightly and tried to take in what was happening. Brendon only said, “I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you,” before they closed again.
*==*==*==*
It seemed like a lifetime from the time Brendon shuffled in with his arms full to the time he had his new guest all situated and swaddled by the fire, but once Brendon returned to his firewood voyage, Spencer practically flew over to the other side of the hearth to check that it was Ryan. A flood of relief washed over his when he grabbed the familiar hand, but a new fear crept through him as well. Without his eyes, he couldn’t see for himself how Ryan was doing and going off of what Brendon had said when he’d found him didn’t do much to comfort Spencer either.
“Ryan, you’d better goddamn live through this you skinny bastard,” Spencer breathed as he held Ryan’s frozen hand. “I tried to get you to eat something.”
Ryan slept by the fire and didn’t reply at all and Spencer reluctantly pulled away and settled back into place when he heard Brendon coming back with the wood.
*==*==*==*
“His feet are looking better already,” Brendon murmured to Spencer late that evening. “That’s good. Earlier, I wasn’t sure how bad they were, but he obviously hasn’t had them in this condition very long. A little warm water and care should fix them up with no problems.”
“How do you know these things?” Spencer asked. He made sure to sound half-interested, as if it didn’t make a difference to him if this newly acquired guest had ruined his feet or not, but inside Spencer was desperate to know exactly what state Ryan was in and if Brendon really had the ability to care for him like he was claiming.
“Eh,” Brendon paused where he was holding the bowl of warm water and looked at his hands. “Well, my mother wasn’t exactly what you’d call an honourable lady. She had my brother, Jon, with one man and two years later she had me by another- a sailor, I believe. Both of our fathers either never knew we were here or else never cared.”
Brendon stopped in his words just long enough to start swabbing Ryan’s reddened, frostbitten feet with warm water again before seeming to find rhythmic comfort in his work. Spencer was turned toward him and Ryan as if he could actually see what Brendon was doing and when Brendon was washing at Ryan’s feet rather mindlessly, he started back on his story.
“Our father’s- they might’ve even had proper families of their own or better standards to live up to or such. I’ve not given it much thought since I was quite young. But our mother, well, she didn’t want us either. She had too wild of a lifestyle to give it up and nurse infants. And she died in childbirth of her next child anyway. We never even met that one if it made it. Maybe there was a father still around. But Jon and I were left with the orphanage in Ashbourne. It’s actually not a large orphanage, not like the one here in Wildelow. They were decent to us, taught us, and when I was old enough I was told I had done well enough in my studies that the doctor wanted me to help with his practice. He tried to teach me, but in the end I only lasted a few weeks. My stomach can’t handle the site of copious amounts of blood, it turns out. My brother, however, became an apprentice there as well and actually did quite well for himself. Earned enough money to send himself to medical school and he’s the personal physician to a wealthy family in Ashbourne now. Takes care of their large household and slaves and all their worker‘s families and such. Lives in his own house on the family’s extensive property. He’s coming down for Christmas, if the weather permits. I fully expect we’ll see him in a day or two.”
Spencer was kind enough not to bring up Brendon’s choice of words, but Brendon cringed immediately and almost apologized. He was still getting used to how things must be for Spencer. Instead of repenting his poor choice of words, he just hoped the moment would pass them by and finished his story quickly.
“The things I know- medical things- are only the few things that I learned in the month or so I was apprenticing for the doctor.”
Spencer nodded. “I guess we’re both in good hands then,” he commented with a content look on his face and Brendon smiled down at the bowl of water.
“I hope so.”
Continue to part two.