The Bone Garden: A Novel

— Well, I never saw it. —

— Children don't see anything, don't know anything. There's a lot you'll never know about your mother. —

— Why did she leave you? —

— She left you, too. —

Norris could think of no retort for that painful truth. Yes, she did leave me. And I'll never understand it. Suddenly exhausted, he returned to the table and sat down. Watched as his father refilled his glass with brandy.

— What don't I know about Mother? — asked Norris.

— Things I should've known myself. Things I should've wondered. Why a girl like her would ever marry a man like me. Oh, I'm not a fool. I've lived on a farm long enough to know how long it takes for a sow to? — He stopped and lowered his head. — I don't think she ever loved me. —

— Did you love her? —

Isaac lifted his damp gaze to Norris's. — What difference did it make? It wasn't enough to keep her here. You weren't enough to keep her here. —

Those words, both cruel and true, hung in the air between them like spent gunpowder. They sat silent, facing each other across the table.

— The day she left, — said Isaac, — you were sick. You remember? —

— Yes. —

— It was a summer fever. You were so hot, we were afraid we'd lose you. Dr. Hallowell went to Portsmouth that week, so we couldn't call on him. All night, your mother stayed up with you. And all the next day. And still your fever wouldn't break, and we both thought for certain we'd lose you. And what does she do? Do you remember her leaving? —

— She said she loved me. She said she'd be back. —

— That's what she told me. That her son deserved the best, and she was going to see that you got it. She put on her best dress and walked out of the house. And she never came back. Not that night, or the night after. I was here all alone, with a sick boy, and I had no way of knowing where she'd gone. Mrs. Comfort came to watch you while I searched. Every place I could think of, every neighbor she might have visited. Ezra thought he saw her riding south, on the Brighton road. Someone else saw her on the road to Boston. I couldn't think of why she'd go to either of those places. — He paused. — Then a boy turned up at the door one day, with Sophia's horse. And the letter. —

— Why have you never shown me that letter? —

— You were too young. Only eleven. —

— I was old enough to understand. —

— It's long gone now. I burned it. But I can tell you what it said. I'm not good at reading, you know that. So I asked Mrs. Comfort to look at it, too, just to be sure I understood. — Isaac swallowed and looked straight at the lamp. — She said she couldn't be married to me any longer. She'd met a man, and they were leaving for Paris. Go on with your life. —

— There must have been more. —

— There was nothing more. Mrs. Comfort can tell you. —

— She explained nothing? She gave no details, not even his name? —

— I tell you, that's all she wrote. —

— Was there nothing about me? She must have said something! —

Isaac said, quietly: — That's why I never showed it to you, boy. I didn't want you to know. —

That his own mother hadn't even mentioned his name. Norris could not meet his father's gaze. Instead, he stared down at the scarred table, the table where he and Isaac had shared so many silent meals, listening only to the howl of the wind, the scrape of their forks against the plates. — Why now? — he asked. — Why did you wait all these years to tell me? —

— Because of her. — Isaac looked toward the upstairs bedroom, where Rose was sleeping. — She has her eye on you, boy, and you have your eye on her. You make a mistake now, and you'll live with it for the rest of your life. —

— Why do you assume she's a mistake? —

— Some men can't see it, even when it's staring them in the face. —

— Mother was your mistake? —

— And I was hers. I watched her grow up. For years, I'd see her in church, sitting there in her pretty hats, always friendly enough to me, but always beyond me, too. And then one day, it's as if she suddenly sees me. And decides I'm worth a second glance. — He reached for the jug and refilled his glass. — Eleven years later, she's trapped on this stinking farm with a sick boy. Of course it's easier to run away. Leave this behind and take up a fancy life with a new man. — He set down the jug, and his gaze lifted toward the bedroom where Rose was sleeping. — You can't take 'em at their word, that's all I'm telling you. The girl comes with a sweet enough face. But what does it hide? —

— You misjudge her. —

— I misjudged your mother. I only want to save you from the same heartache. —

— I love this girl. I plan to marry her. —

Isaac laughed. — I married for love, and see what came of it! — He lifted his glass, but his hand paused in midair. He turned and looked toward the door.

Someone was knocking.

They exchanged startled looks. It was deep into the night, not an hour for a neighborly visit. Frowning, Isaac picked up the lamp and went to open the door. The wind gusted in and the lamp almost went out as Isaac stood in the doorway, staring at whoever now faced him from his porch.

— Mr. Marshall? — a man said. — Is your son here? —

At the sound of that voice, Norris rose at once in alarm.

— What do you want with him? — asked Isaac. He suddenly stumbled backward as two men forced their way past him, into the kitchen.

— There you are, — said Mr. Pratt, spotting Norris.

— What is the meaning of this? — demanded Isaac.

Watchman Pratt nodded to his companion, who stepped behind Norris, as though to cut off his escape. — You're returning with us to Boston. —

— How dare you push your way into my home! — said Isaac. — Who are you? —

— The Night Watch. — Pratt's gaze remained on Norris. — The carriage is waiting, Mr. Marshall. —

— You're arresting my son? —

— For reasons he should already have explained to you. —

— I'm not going until you tell me the charges, — said Norris.

The man behind him shoved Norris so hard that he stumbled against the table. The jug of apple brandy toppled to the floor and shattered.

— Stop it! — cried Isaac. — Why are you doing this? —

— The charges are murder, — said Pratt. — The murders of Agnes Poole, Mary Robinson, Nathaniel Berry. And now, Mr. Eben Tate. —

— Tate? — Norris stared at him. Rose's brother-in-law murdered as well? — I know nothing about his death! I certainly did not kill him! —

— We have all the proof we need. It's now my duty to return you to Boston, where you will face trial. — Pratt nodded to the other Watchman. — Bring him. —

Norris was forced forward, and had just reached the doorway when he heard Rose cry out: — Norris? —

He turned and saw her panicked gaze. — Go to Dr. Grenville! Tell him what's happened! — he managed to shout just before he was shoved out the door and into the night.

His escorts forced him into the carriage, and Pratt signaled the driver with two hard raps on the roof. They rolled away and headed down the Belmont road toward Boston.

— Even your Dr. Grenville can't protect you now, — said Pratt. — Not against this evidence. —