‘Did you hurt your back?’ Samuel asked.
‘I hurt it badly a long time ago and it sometimes gives me trouble, today more than usual. Does it look hurt?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Samuel replied. ‘But not too bad. Not as bad as Jason was.’
His father laughed. ‘That’s good, because Jason was very sick, indeed, but now I think he’s almost better.’
Samuel nodded in agreement.
Father smiled and stood and then gave Samuel a firm pat on the shoulder. He lifted his spade back onto his shoulder and continued past the house towards the river, rubbing his back absent-mindedly with one hand. Before his father had even disappeared, Samuel decided his tiny pile of kindling was quite sufficient for his mother’s needs and wandered off to play amid the apple trees in the warm afternoon sun.
The next day, Jason finally rose from his bed for the first time in several days. Despite his weakness, he insisted on accompanying Father into the orchards to help and Mother had finally agreed after he had promised not to do anything more than sit and watch. At least the fresh air would do him some good. Samuel was delighted that Jason was almost better, for while his mother had been busy caring for Jason, he had been burdened with all the extra chores. When Jason was fully better, Samuel would be free to explore and play games and have adventures as before.
It was particularly fine later that afternoon and, as Samuel was engaged in the fine art of lining up sticks on the front step and then tipping them successively over the edge, the sound of horseshoes came clip-clopping up the road towards the house. There was a stranger perched atop a frisky young thing of a horse, which was trotting along between the apple trees. Upon spying Samuel, the visitor waved his hand in greeting.
‘Mother!’ Samuel called out. ‘Someone’s here!’ And he ran out to meet the stranger eagerly.
His mother came out after him, patting clouds of pale flour from her hands and apron, for with the others all gone to Tom’s house to help mend their fences, she had busied herself with some baking.
‘Good morning to you, Madam,’ the man hailed as he brought his mount to a stop before them, its flank glossy with sweat. He spoke strangely, deep-voiced, and curling his words as some of the foreign merchants did when they passed through the village. His clothes, once fine, were stained and more than a little dirty, as if he had been wearing them for a few days too many. His mouth was engaged in a constant chewing action and Samuel had no idea what he could have been eating.
‘Good morning to you, too, Good Sir,’ Samuel’s mother replied. ‘What can we do for you?’
The man was grinning. ‘I see you run a fine orchard, but it’s just directions I’m after. Could you kindly put me on my way towards Cotter’s Bend, if it’s at all possible?’ As soon as his words had stopped, his chewing resumed.
‘From which way did you come?’
‘From Lowren, Madam.’ His smile was far too big, seeming to almost reach from ear to ear-and his teeth were awfully yellow. Samuel kept staring up the man, open-mouthed, like a fish splayed out in the markets.
‘Then you go back up to the highway and keep on for a short time that way back towards Stable Waterford, and the road to Cotter’s is shortly after. Just ask further once you get to the village-if you find yourself getting confused.’
The man tipped his hat, still grinning, still chewing, and, turning his snorting mare, started her dancing back up the track. Samuel’s mother promptly lifted her skirts and returned inside to her baking, shaking her head and mumbling to herself. The man, almost out of view, leaned from his saddle and plucked an apple from a nearby branch. He then stopped a moment, and half-turning his mount, he touched his forehead in salute and waved back to Samuel. Samuel was sure he could see the man grinning even from here, but for some reason he found himself not inclined to wave back.
Turning once more, the man clicked his tongue and set his frisky ride trotting back towards the road. What a strange man he was, Samuel thought to himself, and what a strange healthy shine he had, too.
That night was fine and dry and crisply cold. The countless, tiny stars were bright and clear, far more numerous than usual, and looked like a glittering blanket strung between the mountain tops. They winked down at him and Samuel wondered what they really were-tiny holes in the veil of night, or swarms of fireflies hovering high in the sky? Everyone had their own explanation, but Samuel was yet to be convinced. His eyes grew fuzzy and he had to look down, rubbing them with his tiny fists. Quickly picking up some firewood, he hurried back inside and placed the pieces beside the crackling stove.
The music from James’ fiddle was making a merry tune and was complemented well by Sarah’s soft humming as she worked on her embroidery. Mother was busy at the stove, clanging the pots together as she cooked, while Father, Jason and Lee were at the table, discussing tomorrow’s work. The harvest was imminent and they would all soon be busier than ever. James would occasionally stop his playing and add something to the conversation.
‘Don’t you think it’s about time you taught your son how to shave, Peter?’ Mother asked from her cooking. Peter was what she sometimes called Father.
Father looked at an embarrassed Lee and inspected him for a moment. Lee self-consciously rubbed the wispy hairs that curled out from his chin.
‘Aye, so it is.’
‘What?’ Jason laughed. ‘There’s barely a hair there!’
‘That will do, Jason. Leave your brother be,’ Mother told him and Samuel laughed. It was funny when his family told each other off like that. Many of his friends told Samuel how their families argued and fought, but Samuel’s family seldom did so. At worst, there were some raised voices or a few bad words, but everyone was quickly happy again. It’s true, his mother would get very angry with him on market day and when he was lazy and he received the occasional spanking, but if Samuel tried very hard to be good, everyone was happy almost every day. He knew that his family cared about each other.
James abruptly stopped his playing and looked out the window. ‘I think there’s someone here,’ he said. Sarah stopped her sewing and there was a sudden eeriness in the house.
Father pushed his chair back and stood, clearing his throat as he did. ‘Well, I’ll have a look.’ He barely managed a step towards the door before it burst inwards and men came storming in, shouting at the top of their lungs and waving sticks wildly before them. Sarah and Mother both screamed and Samuel’s heart leapt up into his throat.
Father began to shout at them, when the first man struck him. Father raised his hands to protect himself, but fell to the floor as the man hit him over and over. The other ugly men hurried past. Samuel saw one of them was the man who had asked for directions and he still bore his wicked grin-wilder, more maniacal, than before.
Samuel’s brothers were wrestling with the men while Sarah was huddled up and screaming in the corner where the fiddle lay broken. Samuel scuttled under the table, watching the legs of his brothers and the men struggle back and forth amid their grunts and shouts. Father lay on the floor by the doorway, staring towards Samuel. His wide, white eyes glared through a mask of blood. His healthy shine was gone.
‘Peter!’ Mother screamed, just before being struck also.
In through the doorway stepped another man-tall and well dressed. He had short, neat, dark hair atop a high forehead and he bore just a hint of a smile upon his lips. He nudged at Father with his foot, then stood in the doorway and watched on with calm deliberation.
Something had Samuel by the back of his shirt and he was dragged out from under the table. In a moment, he was out of the back door and into the cold night air. The grisly scene, still visible through the doorway, shrank away from him as he was dragged away down towards the trees. He struggled and screamed until he was turned about and he found that it was his mother who had him. She plucked him up to her waist and they were once again running from the house and into the darkness.