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CHAPTER 4-James
Three weeks after James' visit to Red Door Cottage, Erik heard the alarm bell ring, indicating that someone had opened the front gate. From his bedroom window, he saw James walking up the lane towards the main door.
"Someone is in need of extra money," he thought, remembering Mrs. Oliveer's money-loving character, and he threw the latest threatening note he had received onto his desk.
"Living in the shadow of evil, you risk more than your peace of mind..."
A cynical half-smile formed on his face. Risk his peace of mind? What a joke!
In the past weeks, Erik had wholeheartedly welcomed every bruise, every strained muscle, every physical pain his work at the Twin House caused as long as it provided him a few hours of dreamless sleep at the end of the day.
What peace of mind?
He traced the poor-quality parchment paper. "Hard days for ghosts!" These notes had become his only source of amusement. The best letter of all was one supposedly written by one of the ghosts herself, Jane, and she had ordered him to evacuate her house immediately. If Jane had not known how to spell the word "evacuate" correctly during her life on earth, she obviously hadn't had any luck learning it during the ten years since her death, either.
Erik opened the door before James had the chance to knock.
He allowed his visitor to take in his shiny and polished boots, his dark green brocade waistcoat and the bright white shirt with its sleeves rolled up, but when James' eyes lifted to his face Erik took an aggressive step forward.
"Excuse me, sir. I'm James Oliveer, Mrs. Oliveer's son…"
"I know who you are, boy. I'm not senile!" the masked man said in an irritated tone.
"I'm sorry if I disturbed you. I know it's early, but I came yesterday and the day before later in the morning and then around noon, and no one was here."
The masked man narrowed his eyes and looked at him for a moment seriously.
Erik realized he hadn't checked his alarms for visitors around the house. It had been negligent of him.
"I wasn't here. I was working at the Twin House."
A spark of interest appeared in James' eyes before he managed to hide it. Erik inwardly cursed himself. Why had he explained his absence to this filthy child? Apparently James had made some effort to clean himself up, for his hands and his face were not as dirty as the last time he had seen him, but the boy surely needed a swim in the lake and a long hot bath afterwards to start resembling a human being.
"Why didn't you leave me a note? I'd have waited for you yesterday," Erik said impatiently.
He watched James' shoulders shrug briefly at his suggestion, and a gleam of shame flashed in the boy's eyes.
"Have you eaten breakfast?" This was familiar ground.
The boy nodded, saying a shy "yes," but clearly there was no honesty in his answer, just pride.
"Follow me," Erik ordered with a challenging gaze, testing him to see if he still dared to come into the house.
James accepted the challenge and the breakfast proposal at the same time. He straightened his shoulders and walked inside the door and into the hall. They shared a simple breakfast in the kitchen in absolute but not awkward silence.
When they were both finished, Erik left the kitchen for a moment and came back with a piece of parchment paper in his hand, which he placed on the kitchen table in front of James.
"Here is a list of items I require. Read it, and tell me what you don't understand or you don't know. I need to know if the items can be found in the village market, or if I shall need to make a separate order for Mr. Hamilton."
The boy lifted the paper with trembling hands. Blushing, James gazed at the list for a while with a miserable look on his face. Suddenly he looked at Erik with hopeful eyes.
"Can Mary help me do the shopping?"
"Certainly not!" Erik's tone was grave. "I want YOU to fetch these items for me. No one else."
The familiar miserable look reappeared on the boy's face.
"Then I am afraid I can't help you, sir," he whispered, lifting his chin.
Erik looked at him, furious. He couldn't believe this insolent boy would not obey his orders. He was mad at himself for trusting someone in his house, and even angrier because he desperately needed someone to undertake such an easy task!
"What's this nonsense? I won't tolerate impudence from you, boy. Don't waste my time!" He was fuming.
"Let me get this right." He began to pace around the room in a fury with long strides. "You won't do as I ask - as I pay you to do if your…friend won't be with you? Isn't that a little extreme? Do you want me to pay her, too? Is that what this is all about?"
James hung his head, the list still in his hands. Hearing the last words, he raised his chin, and looked him straight in the eyes. Erik was impressed by the lack of fear he saw there. Adults had recoiled with nothing but a stare from him, and yet this child was daring to look, daring to answer.
"Mary is just my friend. We go together to Hey."
If that was said to explain something to Erik, it hadn't any luck. He didn't know what "Hey" was or where it was, if it was a location. He remained silent to let James continue.
"The thing is…the truth is….I don't know how to read or write." By then, his voice was barely audible, and his face had flushed the same shade of red as before. He looked humiliated.
Erik sank into his chair, stunned. It wasn't the first time this boy had managed to surprise him. He probably should have guessed. After all, it was common among peasants and farmers not to know how to read and write, but he knew there was a kind of school in the village where Father John was teaching the children. James was a smart child, and even his mother knew how to read and write. He couldn't comprehend how James had been left out. Obviously it was something the child was extremely ashamed of.
"I can take the list to my mother and to Mr. Hamilton if necessary. I can come back, and tell you what happened." The tone of James' voice indicated he wasn't willing to lose this opportunity to work for him, and Erik couldn't guess the reason.
"I'll read the list for you now, but you can't come back and forth…That's ridiculous!
It isn't practical," Erik explained, seeing James' hurt look when he heard the word 'ridiculous." "Your mother won't let you do it. She'll need your help."
"She won't have a problem if you still pay what you said you will. She always says I'm in her way," James said, though his face brightened at this new chance. Erik stood again.
"We'll do that for now. But I can't have you working for me not knowing how to read or how to write. That's elementary knowledge, James," Erik said with an air of exasperation.
"I can't learn! I've tried. I just can't." He paused for a while. Anger and disappointment were evident on the boy's face again. "Mother and Father John said I'm too stupid," he added, as if this were a more than sufficient explanation.
"I can't believe that. You're certainly NOT stupid. I can teach you how."
"I can't! I told you I've tried!" the boy shouted. "Even Mary tried to teach me. She's the only one who doesn't laugh at me about it, but I really can't! I don't want to try anymore," the child whispered, furrowing his brow.
"This is unacceptable, James! You'll try with me. If I see that you 'really can't,' we'll leave it there, but you have to try."
Erik didn't know why he did this, why he insisted so much. He was certain he was going to regret it, but at this moment, he was determined to prove everyone wrong. Considering the issue settled, Erik started reading the list aloud, stopping to explain to James about the required items or their quality when it was necessary. Half an hour later, the work was finished with Erik's silent hope James would remember everything correctly.
*****************
"Do you eat snails?"
The question was totally unexpected. For the last five minutes, they had talked about the nails Erik needed and the size of their heads, depending on the material they would be used for. For a moment, Erik thought he had misunderstood James' question.
'Snails?" he asked, puzzled.
"Yes, snails! Mother said that Frenchmen eat snails and cheese. She said that's why you don't buy much food," James replied.
"Because I eat snails?" Erik sounded amused, and James was encouraged to carry on.
"Mrs. Johnson said that you don't have bread in France, only loaves like sticks, and Mother said that you don't eat beef. That's why your hands are cold. She said they are like there's no blood in your veins, like a serpent. I think Mother is afraid of you. She doesn't like serpents. She's afraid of them," James whispered in a conspiratorial tone, revealing his mother's secret fear.
While Erik was wondering how a small boy could speak so fast with one breath, his former good mood was gradually fading. People everywhere were the same. New people, new stories, but always the same result. He was the freak of the village! He didn't remember touching Mrs. Oliveer without gloves. He ought to be more careful in the future. Still, this was a novelty. He had never been compared to a serpent before. Erik didn't like the metaphor.
James must have noticed the mood change, and decided silence was the best policy.
"Do you like serpents, James?" It was Erik's turn to surprise James. The boy observed him for a while, trying to guess what would be the correct answer. After a fruitless effort, he reluctantly responded.
"They are interesting, but I prefer lizards." He waited for a reaction, and when there was none, he continued in an enthusiastic tone. "I saw an iguana in Mary's book. It looked like a small dragon! But she said I have to go to Africa to see one alive. Is it true?"
"Not necessarily. They usually live in hot and dry climates, though."
"I don't like poisonous snakes. Jasper, Mary's dog, got bitten by one, and died. Is it true there are water snakes, and some people eat them?" James inquired.
That seemed to be the bottom line in every one of James' thoughts: food!
"Yes, that's true"
"Have you eaten a snake?" he asked, pure wonder evident in his voice.
"No, but I've eaten snails. They are called 'escargot.' They're delicious cooked with garlic butter and rosemary."
James was looking at him with wide eyes. Erik had his rapt attention, as if he were speaking about the most amazing matter in the world.
"I haven't eaten escargot since I left France, or a baguette either. A baguette is a long, thin loaf. It's crispy outside. I daresay you'd like it." Erik could bet money on that!
"What do you eat here? Mother said you buy only bread and cheese."
"Bread and cheese and dried meat, some fruit maybe. They 're adequate food," Erik stated with a note of defensiveness in his tone.
"Adequate?" James asked, puzzled.
"I mean 'enough,'" Erik explained to the child. He was starting to feel uncomfortable, sending doubts of tutoring James through his mind.
"I see," said James with a thoughtful look "You don't like eating," he stated. The sad way he said it showed a great deal of disappointment. It was like discovering Erik to be capable of the lowest act, as if it were the worst kind of betrayal in his mind.
"I do like eating. As a matter of fact, I enjoy having a hot meal. It's cooking I'm not particularly fond of. After all, you'll see that in life... sometimes, simple things, simple tastes are the best ones."
Erik started gathering some of the previous night's sketches for the Twin House. It was a polite indication he wanted to leave, which James failed or chose not to notice.
"You can hire a cook! Imagine all the food she could make. Stew, roast beef, kidney pies, cottage pies, soups - even pastries, tarts maybe…" the child was obviously daydreaming.
"For now, I have to leave you. I'm late for work." Erik was searching for a small hammer he had brought home the previous night to fix its loosening handle. James found it on a chair nearby, and handed it to him.
"I can help you, you know. Free of charge," he added hastily.
"I can't have that, James. Your mother will miss you." Erik filled a satchel with the tools he'd need for the day.
"No, she won't. I'll tell her I waited for you till noon to give me the list."
Erik raised his one visible eyebrow in wonder and disapproval at the same time. Lying was one more of the child's hidden "talents"! He had to be careful. Mostly because he found this boy more and more intriguing.
"If I go back now, she'll send me to help Mr. Keal. He's so boring! He talks all the time about his cows. Cows are very boring animals, you know." James' voice had an adult-like tone.
Erik suppressed a smile. He was actually feeling flattered that James preferred to stay with him, working, than hearing about cows. What pathetic feeling was that?
"I have to warn you it's not easy work. There are a lot of things to be done there."
"Are you building something at the Twin House, sir?"
"For the time being, I'm tearing some walls down. 'Building' will come later," Erik explained, gathering some food supplies. Judging from his partner's appetite, they would be needed!
"That's great! Mother always said I'm very good at destroying things!"
"That's not what I have in mind, James. In buildings and masonry, you have to be very careful what you 'destroy.' It may fall on your head."
"I can learn easily, sir, if you show me what to do."
If someone had asked Erik at that moment (or in the following years for that matter) what held him back from refusing James' help that day, he couldn't have formed a decent, honest answer. All he knew was that James was available, and he accepted his offer. He didn't remember a lot about that day afterwards, except the child's chattering all the way to the Twin House. James was obviously daydreaming. He was describing what he would do if he were the master of the Twin Houses. First of all, how the village would be surprised at how brave he was for staying at the haunted houses. Erik suspected that was the main reason for his appeal to the boy. When he suggested, though, that there were no ghosts, James surprised him, repeating the words he told him three weeks ago: "That's only for me to know."
James rattled on in a dreamlike state about how horses and ducks for the lake would be his first purchases, right after he had hired a skilled cook. Zebras and eagles would follow later, while eagle training would take most of his time. His imagination was vast, and he had an ability to form and describe vivid, usually amusing, images.
For the next few weeks, a new routine was formed: James and his dog, Blue, would come three to four days per week to the Twin House, sometimes to bring Erik's various orders, but mostly without his mother's permission, helping with the reconstruction and taking reading lessons in the afternoon after a generous meal. It didn't take a genius to realize it would be extremely difficult to make this work.
When he suggested to James that he could officially hire him, and he could stay at the Red Door Cottage with him, Erik expected to be refused. He knew this situation couldn't go on forever, so he was prepared for the inevitable ending. What he could not have guessed was the boy's willingness to accept the offer. Erik insisted that he have Sundays off to stay in the village, see his mother and friends. Gradually, he realized that James, due to his alleged stupidity, didn't have many friends, except Mary, but he made it very clear that visitors were not welcome in the house…
********************
Dealing with Mrs. Oliveer wasn't a difficult task after all, although Erik felt the walls of the small store moving in on him the moment he saw her approaching with that fake smile on her face. She liked the opportunity for an extra source of income, even though she made it clear that James' stepfather would have to give his consent when he was back from his latest trip. Erik was prepared for that, since James had informed him about his violent stepfather's "trips," which could take years if everyone was lucky. James admitted one day that he hardly remembered his face or anything else about him except the distinctive sound of his heels when he entered the store at night for more port or whiskey. His frightened look let Erik realize the boy had suffered a lot at the hands of this man he already despised without even having met. He was angry with the boy's mother, too, for her lack of concern, even for accepting his offer without caring about her son's opinion or will. Erik deliberately wore only one glove that day, playing with the other in his hands. If she had gotten difficult, "a serpent's touch" might have been more helpful than a good argument, but it was totally unnecessary.
The woman would have agreed even if he had had horns on his head!
