That cherry tree was beautiful in the spring. And the window, and the front door…”
“But that’s not all,” I said. “They did things outside the house and put things through the letter box and rode around him and called him names in the street. They wrote stuff on the fence. And one night I went out and—Oh, it doesn’t matter.”
Uncle Stan shook his head. “Satan’s certainly testing us for all he’s worth.”
“I thought only God tested us,” I said.
He laughed quickly. “But that fence can’t stay there, can it? Your dad’s not going to leave it like that?”
“Father thinks it’s all right. It’s the man from the civil court who doesn’t.”
“Someone’s been to the house?”
“Yes.”
“Oh dear, oh dear.” Uncle Stan rummaged in his pocket and brought out a packet of Rennie’s. I was just going to offer him a cup of tea when we heard a car pull up. A minute later we heard voices coming up the back path. A man was saying: “I know, Mr. McPherson, but chasing them like that—what were you going to do if you caught up with them?”
Father’s voice said: “I hadn’t thought that far.”
Then the back door opened and Father came in with a policeman and a policewoman, and first he said: “Judith,” and then he said: “Stan.”
I jumped up and then I stopped, because there was blood on his shirt and his sweater was rolled up in his hand.
Uncle Stan said: “John, what’s going on?” and it sounded to me as though he was angry, and it was strange because he hadn’t sounded angry till then.
Father came up to me and said: “It’s all right. I carried Neil to the ambulance. He’s going to be all right.” He didn’t say anything to Uncle Stan.
I sat down and looked at my hands.
“We’ll leave you to sort yourself out,” said the policeman. He looked suspiciously at Uncle Stan, then turned back to Father. “Keep yourself available, Mr. McPherson. We may need to take some more information in the near future.”
The policewoman said: “And by the way, that fence is a complete safety hazard.”
Father showed the police out. When he came back into the kitchen, he put his sweater in the washing machine. Uncle Stan said: “John, we need to talk.”
Father said: “I know how this looks but, believe me, there’s another side to the story.”
Uncle Stan said: “What story? Have you seen out there”—he gestured to the front garden—“and that”—he pointed to the ax—“and this child, in a terrible state? And how on earth did this boy get hurt? What’s happening, John? Why didn’t we know about any of this?”
Father said: “Thanks for coming over, Stan, but I can’t talk any-more tonight. We’ll have to have this conversation another time.”
They looked at each other. Then Uncle Stan breathed in suddenly, put his hand on my head, and said: “Well. Good night, sweetheart. Everything’s all right now.” He picked up his car keys and followed Father to the door. I heard him say again just before he went out: “We need to talk,” and Father say: “Not now.” Then I heard the gate shut, then the front door, and Father came back into the kitchen.
His eyes were very bright and very dark. He pulled up a chair and sat down in front of me and put his hands on his knees. He said: “I can see you’re upset, and I’m sorry. I was chasing Neil Lewis and the other boys when Neil ran across a road. I didn’t do anything. The police know that. Neil is being taken care of. He’s going to be all right.”
When I still didn’t look at him, he breathed in and said: “I’m sorry, Judith. I really am. I shouldn’t have gone out. But it’s done now.” He raised his hands and let them drop on his knees. Then he stood up. “Well, I think it’s time for bed.”
He made a hot-water bottle like he used to when I was little and said: “Come on.” He went upstairs with me and put the bottle in my bed and I got in. Then he sat down on the side. I looked out the window and was glad it was dark so that Father couldn’t see my eyes.
Beyond the windowpane there were millions of stars, light spilling out of them as if they were holes cut in fabric and something marvelous beyond. I wanted to speak, but I had to wait because my throat was so tight. I kept waiting. I almost gave up, but in the end my throat let me and I said: “Are we going to be all right?”
“Yes,” Father said, and he, too, waited to speak. It occurred to me that he hadn’t said: “Of course we are,” or “That’s a silly question.”
Neither of us said any more for a minute, and my throat got tighter and my jaw began to ache. “Will you go to jail?” I said.
“No.”
I said: “I was so worried about you,” and my voice was not much more than a whisper.
Father looked down. He said: “I’m sorry, Judith. I shouldn’t have gone.”
I said: “What’s going to happen now?” and my voice was just air.
“Nothing. Nothing is going to happen; what happened was unfortunate, but it’s over now.”
He sat with me a little while longer, then he said: “I have to get up for work tomorrow. Are you going to be all right?”
I nodded because I couldn’t speak anymore.
I thought for a minute he was going to kiss me, but he just brought the blanket up to my chin and said good night.
The Best Day of My Life
THERE WAS ONE day when I thought Father loved me. On that day Father and I walked hand in hand for eleven miles.
We had been preaching and it was summertime and the evening was coming. We were a ways from here in a place called the Silent Valley, where there are not many houses and lots of trees. We hardly ever go, because not many people live there, so all the houses can be covered in an afternoon once or twice a year. The Silent Valley is full of fields. They lead down to a river. We walked down there, and sand martins were going into holes in the bank. There was grass long enough to wade through and a few flowers and some trees. It was one of those days when everything shimmers.
My hand was inside Father’s and his hand was inside his trouser pocket. Father’s skin was surprising. I could feel the veins in his hand and the hairs on his knuckles. I felt his leg muscles move. I remember thinking I must remember this moment, the weight of the sun, the feel of his hand. There was a quietness inside my head and between us, and I thought of the scriptures where it says the Men of Old walked with God and thought it must have felt like this.
Cars went by every now and then on the road, and the sound they made in the air, and the way the land seemed to wash around us, the cool grassy smell and the sounds of the earth breathing and the trees and green things swaying, did something to my stomach.
I don’t know how we came to hold hands, but I know if I had spoken or if we had met someone or had to stop or cross over, or get something out of one of our shoes, we might have stopped.
Moths were in the air when we got home. We made tea and ate leftovers, sitting on the back steps and watching the stars appear one by one. There were more stars that night than I had ever seen before, and they were shooting through the sky in some sort of shower. The street was so quiet, I think everyone else must have been watching too, because there were no sounds of dustbins and dinners and people shouting and kids yelling.
Father told me that without stars we wouldn’t be here and that everything in the universe came from them. He told me each star was a fire, and the fire burned out sooner or later and the star died, but before it did it made new ones. He said they collapse to form black holes, where the gravity is so strong that nothing can escape, not even light, so stars go from being the brightest things to the darkest of all. He said all these stars were ending and
