She took a deep breath. “Ronan’s only been Mr. Trouble for about a year. It’s not an easy job and he’s got some pretty big shoes to fill. My sister and I sometimes forget that.”
“I kind of get the feeling that you think you might be able to do a better job.”
She raised an eyebrow and then, after a few seconds, smiled. “Maybe, but it’s Ronan’s job, not mine. He’s a good Mr. Trouble. Someday he might even be great.”
“Should it concern me that he’s not great yet?”
She laughed. “Not at all. With all of us together, we’re an unbeatable team. You couldn’t be in better hands.”
He hoped she was right. “Has your family really been fighting the Makers for two hundred years?”
“Actually, two hundred and fifty. Great-to-the-seventh Grandpa Thomas Leatherwood became the first, back in 1762.”
“Leatherwood? Like you called yourself at school?” Eric asked, and then he suddenly remembered. “The pamphlet! Your family history. I knew I’d seen that name somewhere before.”
“So you did read it,” she said.
“Ah, well, I kind of half-read it, then fell asleep. Sorry. I don’t remember reading why you changed your name to Trouble, though.”
She rolled her eyes. “Did you bring it with you?”
“It’s in my backpack.”
“Then I suggest you take another look at it before you go to sleep.” She stood up. “Check out great-granddad to the third, Robert. You’ll find your answer there.”
“That’s probably a good idea. Maybe it’ll help me understand what’s going on a little better.” He yawned. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”
He leaned over to his backpack, unzipped the front section, and pulled out the pamphlet. As he sat back up, he was surprised to see Fiona still standing there.
“You won’t actually find all the answers in there,” she said, looking a little as if she’d been caught in a lie. “Most clients never even hear the name Maker so the details would only confuse them.”
“But I have heard the name. So I’m not like most of your other clients.”
“No, you definitely aren’t. In fact, I’d say you’re not like any of our previous clients.” She seemed to be lost in thought. “Hold on,” she finally said, then set her book bag on the table.
Out of the main section, she pulled out a dark purple purse, and from inside that, a worn-looking, business- size envelope that had been folded a few times. She hesitated, then handed it to him.
“It’s a copy of a letter Thomas Leatherwood wrote to his son before he died.”
“You mean the first Mr. Trouble?”
She nodded. “Don’t tell Ronan I have it. And especially don’t tell him I let you read it. I like keeping a copy with me. Helps remind me why we do what we do, and how important it is.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t say anything.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Now get some sleep. Tomorrow things will start turning around. You’ll see.”
“What about tonight? Do you think anything will happen?”
“Ronan and Uncle Carl are taking turns watching the neighborhood. We’ll be fine. Goodnight, Eric.”
“Goodnight,” he said.
He carried the pamphlet and the envelope over to his makeshift bed on the couch and lay down. Before he started the letter, he reread the pamphlet, this time paying more attention. But Fiona was right. It didn’t really have a lot of answers.
He unfolded the envelope, hoping it would tell him more. Inside were several sheets of paper that had obviously been handled many times. He started from the top, first reading the stamp that had been imprinted on the page above the letter, then the letter itself.
When he was done, he read it again.
And when he finished that time, he read it once more.
THIS IS A TRANSCRIPT FROM
THE TROUBLE FAMILY ARCHIVES
DOCUMENT LEVEL A TOP SECRET
***FOR FAMILY MEMBERS’ EYES ONLY***
Original Document Located in Archives Vault
May 29, 1780
My dear son Edward,
Forgive me for waiting until after my death to reveal the things I’m about to tell you. I worried that if you were told too soon you would not believe me. You needed to get some experience first, and see some of the things that I have seen before you would be open to the truth.
As I write this, you are only fourteen, but over the past year you have already joined me on several of what you call my “adventures” so I know that even now, you have seen things no other man has ever seen. By the time you read this, it is my hope that you will have completed several adventures of your own and, because of this, will be more open to believing.
As you know, your direction in life has been chosen for you, as it will be for your son, and his son, and his son’s son. Perhaps at this moment of reading you don’t even have a son, but you will. It is your destiny.
And all of this is my fault as much as it is anyone’s.
I’ve talked about the great shipping company I inherited from my father when I still lived in England. But the story I have told to you and to others — that in 1762 I decided to sell my ships and make a new life in what was then the colony of Massachusetts — is not the complete truth. It was a decision forced on me by an event that changed my life and put the Leatherwood family on the path you now find yourself.
In that fateful year, I sailed on one of my ships to the colonies, but my intent was only to conduct some business in Boston then return as soon as possible to London.
The trip was not an easy one. We encountered storm after storm, and I worried at times that we might never make it. Mostly, my ships carried items to sell in the colonies but, as usual, there were also a few passengers onboard.
One gentleman, an older man of perhaps fifty who was traveling alone, took an interest in me. He would often look for me so that we could pass the time in conversation. When we were only halfway across the ocean, I realized that he had an illness that would eventually take his life, and it was apparent the storms were not helping his condition.
One night, several days before we reached Boston, he knocked on my door. It being late, I did not want to let him in, but he insisted he needed to talk to me so I relented. We sat at my small private dining table, and when I asked him what he wanted, he said, “Mr. Leatherwood, we did not meet by chance on this voyage. I have been sent to you.”
I am not exaggerating when I say he seemed to get weaker and weaker as he spoke. Many times, he was stopped by a coughing attack or by the need for a moment or two of rest. When he did talk, what he said was unbelievable and troubling.
He told me that he had undertaken the voyage to pass a tremendous responsibility on to me. When I asked what this responsibility was, he said, “One that you cannot avoid.”
He said our family had been chosen to make up for crimes we had committed. When I told him I knew of no crimes and that our family was well respected, he laughed. Then, in some detail, he spoke of smuggling and bribes and price increases after deals had already been agreed on. This all happened when my father and his father before him had run the business. All things I knew about but had thus far avoided committing myself.
“But your biggest crime was one of inaction.” Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “The Noretta.”
There was no need for him to add anything more. I knew the story.
