Stop playin deaf, Emmi, I says. Mercy says are you happy to stay here an help her out while I go find Lugh?
Emmi lifts a blank face. Shrugs. She drops her head over her bowl agin.
I shake my head. She’l come round, I says.
I hope so, says Mercy.
She won’t give you no trouble, I says. I promise.
What was our ma like? says Emmi.
Tracker’s got his head laid in Mercy’s lap. She rubs behind his ears an his eyes close in bliss. Nero dozes, huddled on my shoulder.
Of course, Mercy says, you never knew her. But Saba must remember.
Not so much, I says. Not no more. It’s like … she’s faded.
She laughed more’n anyone I ever met, says Mercy. There ain’t a lot to laugh about in this life, but Al is always found somethin. I think that’s why Wil em, why your pa, loved her so.
Lugh’s like that, I says. He takes after Ma. Pa never laughed after Ma died. Not that I can remember anyways.
No, says Mercy. I don’t suppose he did.
We’re quiet fer a bit. Then, It’s my fault she’s dead, says Emmi. She’s bin drawin in the dirt with a stick an now she pushes at it hard. It snaps in half.
Mercy looks at me with her keen eyes. I look away.
Wel , childbirth’s a dangerous thing, says Mercy. An you arrived a month early. I’l tel you somethin, sometimes I think it was my fault.
Yer fault? says Emmi, lookin surprised.
Yes, says Mercy. I was al set to come an help. It was planned. I was gonna be there two weeks before you was due an help with the birthin, just like I did with Saba an Lugh. Sometimes I think, if only I’d come earlier, if only I’d been there, maybe Al is would have lived.
But you cain’t think like that. If you do, you’l make yourself crazy. I did get there in time to help keep you alive, red lit le scrap that you were, an I comfort myself with that. With the thought that Al is might be gone, but her daughter lives. I see her in you.
You do? says Em, her eyes wide.
I most surely do. Except for the eyes, you favor your pa, but you’re like her here. An here. Mercy touches her heart, then her head. I can see it. Would you like to know somethin else?
Yes, says Emmi.
Your ma wanted you so much, says Mercy. She couldn’t of been happier when she found out you was comin … her an your pa.
I never knew that, whispers Em.
Wel , says Mercy, now you do. An I know she’d be proud that you turned out so fine.
Wel , says Mercy, now you do. An I know she’d be proud that you turned out so fine.
Emmi looks at me an then quickly looks down at the ground agin.
I always blamed Emmi fer the fact that Ma’s dead. I never made no secret of it. Now, hearin what Mercy says, I start to think about the fact that nobody asks to be born into this world. An nobody can stop theirselves bein born. Not even Emmi.
Babies keep their own time, says Mercy. She takes Emmi’s hand. It ain’t no one’s fault your ma died. There ain’t no one to blame.
Pa said it was writ in the stars, says Emmi.
Oh child, says Mercy, there ain’t no plan writ en in the sky. Some people just die too soon.
But Pa was a star reader, I says. He always told us how everythin was set in the stars the moment the world began. The story of everybody’s life is right up there.
That’s where Wil em an me fel out, she says. Why we didn’t al stick together when we left Hopetown. He looked to the sky for answers. I look at what’s in front of me, what’s around me, what’s inside of me.
Lugh thinks it’s al jest somethin Pa made up in his head, I says.
What do you think? she says.
Saba always thinks what Lugh tel s her to, says Emmi.
I do not! I says.
Yes you do, she says.
Wel , says Mercy, maybe it’s time you started makin up your own mind about things. As far as I’m concerned, stars is just … stars.
She tips her head back. She stares at the sky so long, it’s almost like she’s up there with the stars an the moon an the planets, like she’s fergot we’re here. I clear my throat. She gives a start. Smiles at us.
Of course, she says, there’s always a chance I could be wrong.
It took ages to git Emmi to lie down inside on Mercy’s cot, even though she was pret y much to sleep on her feet. Mercy’s laid on the red bench, her arms behind her head. Tracker’s stretched out nearby.
I sit by the fire. Poke at the embers with the toe of my boot.
Why didn’t Pa bring us here? I says. I keep my voice low, so’s Emmi don’t wake.
Mercy says, So things was bad at Silverlake.
Yeah, I says. An git in worse al the time.
I asked him to come, she says. After Al is died. I might not be the most sociable person, but I’d never turn away a friend in need. There would of been room here for al of you. We could of rubbed along al right. But he wouldn’t hear of it. Told me he didn’t want my help.
I says, Lugh thinks he wouldn’t leave Silverlake because of Ma.
Mercy sighs. That’s partly true, she says. But there was more to it than that. He thought you’d be safe there. They both did.
Safe? I says. Safe from what?
Mercy says naught fer a moment, thinkin.
You know nuthin of the world, she says at last. It’s a hard place. A dangerous place. Your ma an pa knew somethin of it. Enough to make em set le so far out of the way at Silverlake. Not many passersby. No neighbors. Like here at Crosscreek.
I think about how hidden away Mercy is here. No trail from the trackway, no way of knowin where to turn o if you didn’t know about the windchimes high in the tree.
Are you … hidin from somebody, Mercy? I says.
I wouldn’t say hidin, she says. More like … keepin out of the way.
I frown. Out a the way of what? Is that why Pa kept us at Silverlake? To keep us out a the way?
He meant to, says Mercy. It didn’t turn out that way, though, did it?
Somethin in her voice, in the way she says it makes me go al stil inside. I stand up, my sts clenched. D’you know somethin? I says.
About who took Lugh?
I don’t know, she says. I …
Tel me!
She glances at the cabin where Emmi lies sleepin. Let’s walk, she says.
Tracker starts to git up. Mercy raises a hand. Stay boy, she says an he lays hisself back down with a sigh.
I fol ow her over the bridge an into the meadow. We keep to the creek bank an head on up the lit le val ey. The moon lights us a silver path. The creek sparkles an murmurs over the stones. I breathe in the sharp, sweet air of the night.
Tel me what happened that day, Mercy says. Tel me everythin. Don’t leave anythin out, no mat er if you think it’s important or not.
So I do. I tel her what happened that day. From Lugh an me goin to the land l at dawn to Lugh shoutin at Pa an then the duststorm an the four horsemen showin up with Procter John.
Four of ’em, she says. Dressed how?
In long black robes, I says, with … like, heavy leather vests over top, an leather bands from their wrists to their elbows.
Body armor, she says. It sounds like the Tonton.
The … what? I says.
The Tonton, she says. They’re … wel … they’re al kinds of things—couriers, spies, informers, bodyguards. Sometimes even executioners.
What? I says. I dunno what yer talkin about. How d’you know about these … Tonton?