Matthew Corbett 03 - Mister Slaughter

soft laugh as if at the most secret joke.

Eleven

Outside Reverend Burton's cabin the darkness closed in, rain fell in sheets upon the wilderness, the thunder boomed and lightning streaked across the heavens. Just another night in New Jersey, some might have said.

Inside the cabin, though, the crackling fire issued forth a convivial warmth, the light of candles spread what in a tavern would have been a friendly glow, and the delicious smell of the rabbit stew bubbling in an iron kettle in the hearth would have made Sally Almond crave the recipe. Tom had shown himself to be a true gift from God, at least in terms of cooking; a few mushrooms, wild onions, potatoes and carrots into the kettle with the pieces of rabbit meat, a little added brandy from the flask that Greathouse had offered around to those who did not wear chains or have four legs, and for the moment a small cameo of comfort had returned to New Unity.

Wooden bowls were set at the table, and portions of the stew scooped into them with a wooden ladle. Tom set aside a smaller portion in a bowl for James, who Matthew noted was never far from the boy's touch. The two chairs by the fireplace were pulled over to join the two at the table, which left Slaughter to say, 'I presume, then, that I'll be eating with the dog?'

'You'll eat on the floor and be happy about it.' Greathouse put a bowl down for the prisoner. The great one's cap and coat hung on a wallpeg behind him, his shirtsleeves rolled up.

The reverend said with great dignity, 'May I remind you, Mr. Greathouse, that this is my home? In all the time I've lived here no guest has ever been forced to eat his meal from the floor. I'd take it very kindly if that hospitality goes unblemished, in the good name of Christ.'

'I think he ought to-'

'He can sit on the footstool,' Burton interrupted crisply. 'Would you help him up? Or shall you have an old man do it?'

Greathouse looked to Matthew for support, but all Matthew could do was shrug, for it was clear Reverend Burton was firm in his humanity, even to those who might be less human than others. Still, Matthew could tell Greathouse was restraining an oath behind his clenched teeth as he put the prisoner's bowl up on the table and then reached down to help Slaughter struggle up.

As Matthew brought the footstool over, Slaughter said to Burton, 'Thank you for your kindness, sir, but I might ask for one more Christian favor. These irons will make sitting at your fine table an exercise in torment for my back, and if you might see fit that I be-'

'No.' Greathouse had him by the scruff of the neck. 'You'll make do.'

'One moment. Mister Slaughter? Might I ask that, if your irons are removed, you vow to comport yourself as a gentleman and cause no trouble?'

'Sir!' Greathouse was starting to get red in the face. 'He's our prisoner, do you understand that? He's a killer. There's no sense in taking the irons off him!'

'I vow whatever you please,' Slaughter said. 'And it's true, pastor, that I've sinned much, but also true that I've been much sinned against.'

Burton nodded. Tom helped him ease into a chair at the head of the table. 'Remove his irons,' said the reverend. 'No man shall sit at my table in chains.'

'Oh, for the love of-' Greathouse stopped himself only by biting his tongue.

'Precisely,' said Burton. He tilted his head. 'Listen to that rain come down!'

Greathouse took the key from his shirt. 'Matthew, get the pistol and bring it over here, will you?' Matthew obeyed, and he held it ready as Greathouse unlocked first the leg irons and then the manacles. When the chains fell away Slaughter stood up to his full height and the bones of his spine cracked.

'Ahhhh!' Slaughter stretched, holding his arms toward the ceiling. It seemed to Matthew, disconcertingly, that the prisoner was an inch or two taller than he'd appeared at the asylum. 'Nothing makes a man hungrier than being out of his irons. I'm in your debt, parson.' He sat down on the footstool, which was between the chairs meant for Matthew and Greathouse and across from Tom's seat.

Greathouse took the pistol, sat down and kept his eyes on Slaughter as Tom went about pouring apple cider from a jug into small brown cups for them. Then, when everyone was arranged, Burton led them in a short prayer- during which neither Greathouse nor Matthew dared close their eyes-and Slaughter was the first to smack his lips and dig into his stew with a wooden spoon and his fingers.

They ate as hungry men do, without speaking. James finished his meal and came around to ask for more. Matthew noted that Tom resisted for awhile, but soon slipped a piece of rabbit from his own bowl down to his friend.

Matthew had been studying Tom while the stew was being cooked. The boy seemed silent by nature, closed up in a world of his own. Something about him resisted questions even before the questions had been asked. He had examined the visitors on first meeting, true, but after that he seemed not to care very much about them. He was a handsome boy, with a high forehead and a craggy nose that looked to have once been broken. His hair was more of a dark stain, being shaved to the scalp. Matthew had once worn his hair the same way, to combat the spread of lice. Tom had a strong square jaw and thick black brows above piercing light gray eyes. He was slimly- built, but nothing about him suggested weakness; in fact, he moved with a quickness and economy that said he was both physically strong and equally swift. Matthew thought the boy would've been a good candidate for Greathouse's sword-fighting lessons. Now, as Matthew continued to examine the boy, Tom looked up from his bowl and stared across the table at him, with a brief panther-like glare that asked the question What are you looking at? Immediately Matthew dropped his gaze and said, 'Good stew.'

There was no response from Tom, who went back to his eating as if nothing had been said.

'I saw evidence of a horse in the barn,' Greathouse said in between sips of the cider. The pistol lay beside his bowl, aimed in Slaughter's direction. 'My team will appreciate the oats, for sure. But what happened to your horse?'

'We had to sell her,' Burton offered. 'Tom rode her to Belvedere just last week, to trade for some things we needed. Candles, salt, sugar. Those things.'

'And how far is Belvedere, then?'

'Oh twelve miles, I suppose.'

'Fourteen,' said the boy, without looking up.

Greathouse paused with the cup at his lips. 'You're not going to tell me you rode a horse to this Belvedere place and walked back here fourteen miles carrying a sackful of supplies, are you?'

Tom shrugged. The silent answer was All right, I won't.

'A stout-hearted lad!' Slaughter raised his cup. 'This world needs more of them!'

'Reverend Burton told me how you lost your parents,' Matthew ventured. The boy seemingly paid him no attention. 'I lost mine in much the same way. Don't you have any other family?'

Tom said nothing. He was finishing his stew, but kept a bit of rabbit to hand down to James. Then he spoke, as if the question were of no consequence: 'A grandpa in Aberdeen. That's all.'

'Hail to the Scots!' Slaughter said.

'I can take care of m'self.' Tom lifted his gaze to spear Matthew with it, and then he drank down some more of his cider to put an end to this line of conversation.

Thunder spoke above the cabin. Rain slashed at the shutters. James, unperturbed by the roar of nature, sat down next to Tom's foot and scratched at a flea.

'Greathouse.' Slaughter had reached the bottom of his bowl. He licked juice from his fingers. 'I don't know that name, but I swear you're familiar. Were you ever a circus performer?'

'No. Were you?'

'Oh, absolutely. In my youth I was an acrobat. Quite accomplished if I might say so. I had a female partner, and together we jumped through hoops of fire. Have you ever seen a circus?' The last question was presented to Tom, whose only answer was to reach down and rub his dog's back.

'I regret your situation here,' said Greathouse to the reverend. 'Can we do anything to help?'

'No. I just thank God the suffering is over.' Burton rubbed his right temple, as if at the pain of memory. 'They were such good people. So hopeful. And we were doing so well, for awhile. New Unity started as an apple orchard.