"So, what does your father do?"
Alfred Wright, the newest pupil at Glenwood Academy, was endeavoring to amuse himself and annoy most everyone else by firing questions at the other boys during their afternoon break in the library. John Thornton was standing at the window, hoping he would go unnoticed and the conversation would continue by without pulling him in. He kept gazing out the window, over the open moor, until a throat cleared and a disgruntled voice snapped, "I'm speaking to you, John Thornton."
John turned slowly to the group, feeling, just as much as seeing the eyes of the other boys on him. Leonard Salisbury, a lad with a tangle of brown curls, sitting with his legs draped unceremoniously over the side of an armchair, laughed.
"John's father is so rich, he doesn't have to do anything! Haven't you heard of the Thorntons, Alfred?"
"I have not, sorry to say. So, John, your father does nothing? Hangs about all day I suppose."
John's jaw tightened, but his face remained calm.
"My father is in speculating."
"Is he now? Well, that is a fine past time, isn't it? Playing with his fortune like it's a game. Has he lost anything yet?" Alfred strolled up to John, smirking.
"No. My father is a wise man; he knows what he's doing."
Alfred's smile faded into a scowl. "No one knows what they are doing in speculating, at least, no one can assure a good outcome. My uncle lost every last shilling that way."
"Well, that's how my father made his fortune." Curtis Tallby, a ghost of a boy; pale, thin, with white blond hair, piped up. "Speculating can be very profitable."
"Or devastating."
"Oh, leave off it, Alfred." Leonard swung his legs out of the chair and got to his feet. "I think I hear them calling us for class."
The boys filed out of the room, all except for John and Curtis. John turned back to the window and let out a heavy sigh.
"No letter yet?" Curtis came along side and looked up at him.
"No letter." John replied with a shake of his head. There had been no word from home in a month now.
"Your father is busy, maybe he hasn't had time, or he forgot."
"He wouldn't forget. He said he would send news, good or bad. He promised to tell me how things turned out." John was very interested in his father's business, and the elder Thornton enjoyed seeing his son's enthusiasm over the matters that usually never entered most boys' heads. Something must have happened to cause this long a delay, but what?
"It could have got lost in the post."
"Could it?" John said absentmindedly, no longer listening to his friend. The grey of the sky foretold snow and the wind howled and clamored against the windowpane.
"Come on, we should get to class." John brushed past Curtis, heading out into the hall.
"I thought I'd find you here!"
It was the next morning, and John was in the library at a heavy oak table. He looked up from his thick volume to see Curtis in the doorway.
"You weren't at breakfast."
"I wasn't hungry." John closed the book and pushed it aside. Curtis took a seat across from him.
"You didn't miss much, it wasn't worth eating."
John raised his eyebrows and gave his friend a sideways smile. "If you don't eat anything, one day you'll just disappear in the fog on the moor."
"And no one would miss me."
John opened his mouth to reply, but Curtis continued. "You're lucky to have such a fine mother and father. And speaking of your parents, missing breakfast also meant missing the mail, and there was something for you this time." He pulled an envelope from his vest pocket. "It looks like you weren't forgotten after all."
In his greed for news, John leaned over the table and snatched the letter from Curtis's hand. He glanced at the front, reaffirming the intended recipient, and began tearing open the letter. Half way through he stopped, and turned the envelope over.
"Well, go ahead! Open it!" Curtis urged, but John stood still, looking over the writing with furrowed brows. It was not his father's sweeping, hurried strokes of a pen, but his mother's script, small and precise. A slight quaver in the lines of the writing induced a dread to creep over him, slowing his movements as he finished opening the letter and drew out the single sheet of paper it contained.
"My Dearest John," he read aloud; any other presence in the room forgotten.
"You are required at home immediately. A carriage will come for you the morning of the 5th of November. Signed, your devoted mother."
John sank into his chair, face drawn in consternation.
"That is all it says?"
At Curtis's question, John jerked his head up, meeting the other boy's gaze. He nodded his head, pushed the letter into his jacket pocket and got his feet. There was a knock at the door and one of the schoolmasters stepped in the room.
"Thornton, you are excused from classes today to ready your things."
How did the school know already? "What do you know of this?" John said, striding forward.
"There was only a brief notice from your mother of your needed leave taking from studies here. I do hope your family is in good health."
"So do I," John murmured, turning to the window as the teacher exited.
John's belongings were packed into his trunk before the clock in the hall struck nine. He could have gone down to class, but his knew his mind would be far from the lessons. The fifth of November was tomorrow. In a day, he would be on his way home, but even a day seemed like too long a wait. His mind whirled with unanswered questions. He had received his long awaited letter, but what did its contents reveal? Was it something of small importance, too trifling to warrant explanation? Or just the opposite; a matter of such weight, it had to be told to him in person?
He pulled on his overcoat and boots and headed for the front hall of the school. A walk would do him good. He had to do something other than pace in his room like a caged tiger.
A snowstorm had blown over during the night, leaving drifts over the fields. The sky was grey and heavy, almost smothering if the air had not been so brisk and chill. John turned up his collar against the wind as he tramped over the snow-blanketed meadows.
When he reached the top of a hill, he stood for a moment looking over the land. There was a village to the east, miniaturized by the distance; a cluster of grey cottages puffing smoke from tiny stone chimneys.
Why had the letter been from his mother? It had always been his father who wrote while John was off at school. And her message, so short and vague; what was its meaning?
Something must have gone wrong with the speculation, but then why didn't his father write himself? Had he been taken ill? That might explain why John was needed home, but it still didn't satisfy the anxiety that gnawed in his stomach.
His restless mind jumped to the worse. Something had befallen his father; a sickness, a carriage accident, a... He shook his head; he shouldn't burden his thoughts with this until he knew the truth. However, what was the truth? Why had the letter not said?
He continued walking. The school disappeared behind the hill, and the clouds sank lower until he was surrounded by a heavy mist. He paid no mind to where he was going, but he kept at a steady pace, head lowered against the wind.
How much time passed, John could not tell, but the sky began to darken, and he knew he aught to go back. The weight on his mind was no less, the questions still unanswered, but only tomorrow could bring resolution to all his conjectures.
"Why, master John! We were about to send someone after you!" The flurried housekeeper pounced on John as he walked through the door, stamping the snow from his boots.
"Just look at you, out in that horrid weather with hardly a thing to keep you warm." She reached up and ruffled his hair, dislodging the frozen droplets of water that clung to his dark locks. "You could catch your death of cold!"
John put a hand up at she began to brush at his coat. "There's no need, Mrs. Archer, I'm quite well. I'll just go up to my room-"
"No, no, no! You get yourself into the kitchen. There's blazing fire, and I'm going to get you warmed up and fed before you step one foot on those stairs."
John couldn't help but smile as he was bustled into the kitchen. "Yes, Mrs. Archer."
John waited in the entryway with his trunk all morning, but because of trouble with one of the coach's wheels, its coming was delayed until nearly noon. Mrs. Archer tucked a napkin wrapped package into his coat pocket as she gave him a brief hug farewell, wishing him and his family the best. Curtis was there to see him off as well.
"I hope you have safe travel home."
John nodded in reply.
"Will you be coming back to school soon?"
"I don't know," John shrugged, "I certainly hope I can."
"Yes, well then, so long old chap, until we meet again."
"So long, Curtis."