In The Silence
~35~
Rachel is once again visiting her sister, but Teddy and Sarah are stuck inside the cabin, away from the fresh snow he'd left overnight. They sit at the table with their father, and Jack sits inside on the window sill because there are no children outside to play with — and it makes Thaddeus ridiculously happy having him nearby. Jack thinks it might not be entirely right, the man's happiness with Jack when his own children are before him, but having witnessed far too many scuffles between the brother and sister, he understands. He thinks he understands — but at other times he's not as sure, and its during those times he visits other towns up and down the river.
The children's heads are bent over books and Sarah's hand moves as she writes on a slate, the same pattern, over and again as her tongue pokes out from between her lips as proof of her concentration. Bored, he jumps from his perch and peers over her shoulder; tries to make sense of her complicated loops. It scarcely looks fun, but why else would she be putting so much effort into it, if it wasn't?
Thaddeus glances at him, then to his daughter's slate. "You're doing well," he tells her approvingly. "Quite well. Why don't you try the next letter?"
"Yes Papa," the little girl sighs as she wipes the slate clean with the edge of her sleeve, and the man's approval changes to a grimace that she takes care not to notice. "Then can me and Teddy go outside to play?"
"Teddy and I," her brother corrects her, turning a page of the book he's been glaring at since Jack first entered the cabin. He's looked at Teddy's book already, but it's not nearly as polite as Mr. Qwerty and it hadn't returned his friendly greeting, so he doesn't blame the boy for his surliness. Teddy's book doesn't look like it wants to tell any story at all.
"Teddy," Thaddeus reproves gently, tapping his fingers against the table. "There's a difference between correcting someone to make them better, and correcting them to make yourself seem better. You can both go out once you've finished today's lesson."
"Yes Papa."
He hadn't known there was a difference, but then, he's not sure anyone's ever bothered to correct him. He tries to recall, but all that comes to mind are endless hours spent beneath the surface of his lake, and he frowns. If he'd known he'd someday want his memories, he wouldn't have let the water wear them away. Annoyed, he climbs back up into the window sill and frosts the glass over. If Sarah can earn praise by drawing unskilled doodles — so can he.
þ. There's something wrong with his first attempt, and then he remembers that the marking had had two bulges. ß. It's closer, but not quite right — and he quickly pulls his tongue back into his mouth because the little girl had looked silly when she did it.
B. He grins, and stretches his fingers wide before filling the window with the strange, awkward shape.
B. B. B. B. B.
"Children!" There's an odd note in Thaddeus' voice, and Jack turns around to see what might be bothering the man. "You've done — well with today's lesson, and it is a lovely day. Put your books away, and you may go out early."
They cheer and quickly clear the table. Teddy helps his sister into her coat before putting on his own, and they run hand in hand out the cabin door. Grinning, Jack is one step behind them when the door is unexpectedly slammed shut. Before he can think he coats the wooden floor in ice, and it's begun to creep up the walls before he realizes Thaddeus has no anger on his face — only excitement.
"Child, you can read?"
Jack shakes his head slowly as he changes his grip on his staff, asking the ice to withdraw. It's a struggle, for frost wants to spread with each panicked gasp that escapes him, but as his breathing calms so too does his power. Thaddeus hadn't meant to trap him - had only wanted to ask a question... Read? He's learned that reading is how adults communicate with books, an odd language they share, but it's not a skill he's grown into. No. He doesn't know how to read.
"No? But you were writing the letter B, there in your frost on the window."
"Writing?" Writing is a word that's tied to reading; it's a word of cramping hands and aching eyes and the nose wrinkling smell of dust and must. But it's also connected to stories and achievement and the faintest recollection of a man, a large shadow of a man with a voice as gold and warm as the Sleepiest sand, saying...
That's it, Jack. Well done. Now, when you're asked to make your mark, you'll be able to write your name as fine as any clerk.
He shakes his head, trying to clear it of the — memory? How could it be a memory? The only man he's ever known is Thaddeus, and while Thaddeus calls him child, and spirit and they both pretend they do not hear the word son that sometimes slips out he's never, ever known Jack's name. Hail falls to the frosted floor and he hastily wipes at his face in confusion. He's neither sad, nor happy — so why is he crying?
"Child! Child, it's okay if you can't read. I was only surprised. Very surprised; I had not known you could write in the frost..." He paces the short distance between log walls, and eventually sits back at the table, spreading wide the book Sarah had been studying. "If — if you would like, though, I would teach you. I could teach you to read."
"Teach me?" He can't help his curiosity; he wants to see whatever it is that Sarah had seen in the pages of the book, so he walks up to the table and nods at Thaddeus. He's willing to give reading a try — and writing is bound to be easier, since it's just another form of art.
"Okay." Thaddeus nearly glows in his happiness; cheeks red and dark eyes sparkling as his finger rests below the squiggly symbol in the book that Jack had copied with various amounts of success on the window. "This is the letter B. It represents the 'buh' sound. As in boy. Or — bowl. Buttons!"
Over the next several days Jack learns the alphabet; learns the shapes and sounds and names of the letters as he hovers over Sarah's shoulder. And the little girl at first complains about going over lessons she's already learned, but soon enough it's Jack that's grown bored for the shapes seem simple enough to make, but Thaddeus will not let him practice until after the children have left to play.
There's something so familiar about some of the letters. And as Thaddeus helps Teddy find his missing mitten, Jack runs the tip of his finger over the glass, leaving behind swirling curls and straight angles. He can do more than make his mark; fine as any clerk.
"A. A is a vowel," he mumbles, carefully crafting the letter before feathering it in frost flowers. The mitten has been found under the bed, and the young boy fidgets through a lecture on taking care of his belongings. "K. K is for key — but not coin. Because..." He draws a few butterflies and brings them to short, snowy life as he tries to recall the lesson. "Because C is sneaky! C likes to pretend it is both K, and... and S!" He nods, glad to have remembered such a tricky letter. He adds it, liking the way it looks between his A and K.
"I declare, that boy goes through more mittens in a season than the three little kittens!" Thaddeus says as he closes the cabin door. "I've tried teaching him responsibility — but I'm afraid that's something Rachel is going to have to scare into him. So, how did today's lesson go, child?"
"It went slow," Jack drawls, absently swinging one leg for balance from his window perch. There's something missing from his collection of letters. He knows this, he does; there's supposed to be four letters, and if he can write them fine as any clerk it will make Thaddeus — was it Thaddeus? The only man he's ever known is Thaddeus — proud. "Just because... Just... That's it!" Clapping with delight, he adds the missing letter before smiling up at the approaching man.
"My God!" Thaddeus has gone pale, and he grips the sill for support as he gazes at his window in shock. "Child..." He blinks, and a single tear makes it way down his cheek as he says in a voice that shakes with some deep emotion, "...Jack?"
"Yes! Yes, that's me!" He jumps from the ledge and dances about the room, snowflakes swirling about him in his excitement. "I did it! I did it, Thaddeus! My name, fine as any clerk!"
And he preens as pride fills Thaddeus' face.
~o~
End Notes: o.o Erm. Okay, I'm scanning Mr. Qwerty right now because I keep forgetting. Go see him at calicodragon dot com slash mrqwerty dot jpg ^_^
Many thanks to Clio Ying, Twilight Cardmistress, Bookworm Gal, Tenshi Youkai no Yugure, whylime, XxDarkSongxX, DoomCabbit, DragonsFlame117, RandomKrazyPerson, UVNight, 1valleygirl4, Rahar Moonfire, FrostFan, myrddin767, Crystal Peak, Alaia Skyhawk, Star Fata, oceanlover4evr, Alana-kittychan, Sora Moto, Anne Camp, WordsSounds, hisokauzumaki, etherealloveliness, Dragowolf, bookworm, Eternal She-Wolf, ForeverWillEnd, and fourty-eight for their reviews! Huggles to all!
Umm, I so meant to get PMs out yesterday - but that didn't happen. So I'll try to answer a few questions here :)
Jack's old cloak: Yes, it does come back into play, somewhere around part 37-ish(?). I don't have it written yet ^^;; so I can't tell you for certain.
Why Thaddeus can't hear Jack: We find that out Easter Sunday of 1868. It is sad. As to why Thaddeus cannot touch Jack - he's not quite enough of a wizard, nor enough of a child. There's also his belief that 'spirits' can't be touched ^^;; And with Thaddeus, his beliefs truly work against him.
Jack's new coat: Is not a hoodie ^o^ I'll try my best to get a description of it put together. When does Jack get his hoodie? -cough Easter Sunday 1968 cough-
ForeverWillEnd: Huge huggles! I'd love to see any art you'd like to share! But if the picture doesn't work out for you, that's okay too =)
fourty-eight: I've tried to be careful with what Jack can and cannot touch. So far he's only really been able to sorta tug at things. He can hold his staff, and he can hold the chain. With Thaddeus' help he was able to accept the coat (and now it's much more in his reality than the mere mundane mortal realm). The more an item is the work of man as opposed to nature, the less chance Jack has of interacting with it.