Among the Barons

Luke drew out the pictureless I.D. for Stanley Goodard. Smits didn’t look surprised to see it. He reached out and touched it gently

“Lee’s,” he said. He stared out at the leafless trees at the edge of the yard.

“Lee knew there was danger,” Smits said. “He said our country was going to change, and it might not be safe anymore for us…. So he gave me the fake I.D., just in case. He showed me that he had a fake I.D. of his own. And then he left.”

“So how did you get Lee’s?” Luke asked.

“I stole it from Dad’s desk,” Smits said, and gave Luke a defiant look, just daring him to tell Smits that stealing was wrong.

Luke didn’t.

“So this was the identification Lee was carrying when he died,” Luke said. That fake I.D. was what made it safe for Luke to pretend to be Lee. The Government soldiers would never have known that they’d killed the real Lee Grant.

“The resistance group must have given it to your parents,” Luke said. “As proof.”

Smits shrugged, as though none of those details mattered.

“But what happened to the picture?” Luke asked.

In answer Smits reached inside his shirt and peeled a small, battered piece of clear tape off his chest. He held it out to Luke.

“Mom and Dad got rid of all the pictures of Lee,” Smits said. “For protection, they said. So — this is all I have.”

The tape — badly bent and grubby — was stuck to a picture of a boy who looked vaguely like an older, darker-haired version of Smits. Luke gingerly took the taped picture from Smits and studied it. It was hard to tell anything from such a small picture.

“You’ve been carrying this around for a long time, haven’t you?” Luke asked, carefully handing it back.

Smits nodded.

“I won’t have to keep it with me all the time now, will I?” Smits asked.

^MNo,~ Luke said.

“But if I put it down, that won’t mean I’m forgetting Lee.~

“Of course not,” Luke said. “You’ll never forget him. And I won’t, either. And someday it’ll be safe to tell the whole world what really happened to Lee. How brave he was and what he believed in.

But even saying that, Luke knew that he’d never truly be sure what the real Lee had believed. Had he joined the rebels, as Oscar said, simply to get revenge on his parents? Had he been as nonchalant as Oscar about harming innocent people? Or had he been a true believer, longing to extend freedom to everyone?

Luke couldn’t blame Smits for always wanting more answers about the dead. Luke would probably never know, either, if Mr. and Mrs. Grant had intended to kill him for real or if they’d just meant to send him back into hiding. If they’d wanted to kill him, how could he mourn their death?

But how could he hate them as Oscar did, when they’d given him Lee’s identity?

Smits didn’t seem to notice Luke’s confusion. He bent the tape over the back of the picture and tucked it and the two fake I.D.’s into his pocket Then he glanced back at Luke.

^TMLuke? After the chandelier — after it fell, when I yelled, ‘My brother is dead,’ I didn’t mean to betray you. I don’t think that anyone understood. But — it felt good, you know? To finally tell the truth, out loud, in front of lots of people. I feel… I feel better about Lee now.~

“You didn’t betray me,” Luke said. He wondered how good it would feel for everyone to finally tell the truth. Someday he and They and Nina and all his other friends could stand up proud and finally tell the whole world their true names, their true stories. But somehow, even now, sometimes truth slipped out in the midst of all the lies and confusion. ^TMAnd I really meant it when I said you were my brother now.”

— I know,~ Smits said. ABut you’re not going to stay with me here, are you?”

It was amazing, Luke thought, that Smits had figured that out. That Smits realized that Luke, like Lee, couldn’t make it his top priority to be Smits’s brother.

“No,” Luke said. “But you’ll be safe here. You’ll be ordinary old Peter Goodard, whoever that is. It’s good that Mr. Hendricks is the only other person who ever saw that I.D. We can make up a story about you, about why you’re here. And you don’t look like the rest of the family, so no one will think that you’re actually a third child with a fake I.DY He almost said, aLike they would if I stayed.” But he swallowed those words and smiled at Smits. “You’ll have Matthew and Mark. They’re horrible brothers, but — well, they’re better than nothing. And I’ll stay tonight. But then tomorrow—”

“I know,” Smits said.

Tomorrow Luke would march across that tiny backyard that separated his family’s house from Mr. Talbot’s. And then the chauffeur would take him back to the Grants’ house or back to Hendricks School or maybe even someplace else. Wherever he went, there’d be danger. But there would also be a chance to work toward that day of truth he longed for.

“Hey,” Luke said. “I’ve got an idea.”

He went in the side door of the barn and emerged with a rusty old wagon.

“It’s not red, and I’m not Lee, but — I made you a promise.”

And Luke sat down in the little kiddie wagon. His knees were practically in his ears. Smits laughed and stood up, then grabbed the handle and pulled. Luke instantly tipped over onto the ground.

‘Wow,” he said. ~No wonder Lee never let you pull.”

They goofed off with the wagon for a long time after that, taking turns jerking on the handle and sitting in the wagon. It became a game to see who could stay in the wagon the longest, who could dump the other boy the fastest. Luke’s dad came out and stood on the step and laughed at them.

“Here,” he said, 'I'll pull you both.”

And Luke and Smits piled into the wagon, barely fitting in. Luke’s dad tugged hard, and for just a minute Luke could believe again that he was just a little kid letting a grown-up determine which way he should go. But then he was on the ground again, and his dad was groaning and rubbing his arm.

“You’re too heavy together,” he complained jokingly “Just the little guy this time.”

And Luke stood back and watched Smits play with Luke’s dad. Smits wasn’t a Grant anymore, and Luke was. But now Smits would have Luke’s parents, and Luke wouldn’t. Luke knew he’d made a bad trade. And with all that he’d risked, he still hadn’t done anything grand for the cause.

But he’d helped Smits. And for now that was enough.