Chapter Four

Previously:

Carson put down the pencil. A part of him felt guilty at not speaking up and telling any of those he'd already seen who he was-guilty about those he would meet 'for the first time' when the dawn came. A part of him did want to tell everyone who he really was. Only, as far as they knew, he was dead-and it had been a year. Those who had cared about him, and loved him, would have gone through so much grieving. If his would be assassin did recognize him-or found out who he was before Carson wanted him to-the man would attempt to kill him again. If he succeeded, Carson did not want anyone to grieve for him a second time. No, as much as he hated it, as much as he wanted to change his mind-Carson promised himself yet again to remain silent in every way possible. He had to find out why his 'friend' had been willing to commit murder-even if it meant leaving those in the area he loved in the dark.

Carson, who had had a restless night, descended the stairs upon seeing Silas heading for the kitchen. The Barkleys' cook turned when he realized someone was coming down the stairs and was entering the kitchen.

'Why good morning, Mister Carson! I did not expect anyone up so early. Come into the kitchen, and I'll get you a cup of coffee."

Carson nodded as he followed Silas into the kitchen. When Carson spied paper and pen on the table, he felt another twinge of guilt-though he quickly pushed it aside. Sitting down, he once again scribbled Thanks on the top of the paper, and then waited until the kind gentleman gave him a cup of coffee before handing him the paper.

Silas smiled. "You're more than welcome though, if I may suggest, it would be easier if you simply made small cards for the phrases you wish a lot… like Thanks for example. It would save you some time." He might have suggested the Barkleys' guest remove his gloves as well, only he didn't feel like it was his place to say anything on that matter. It's not like the gloves were dirty. 'Must have washed them off last night or had another pair on him' was another thought Silas saw no reason to voice out loud.

Carson smiled and held up the paper he'd just written on-and then began folding it in such a manner as to create a small card. Though, when Silas quickly turned around-acting as if he was doing something else, Carson stopped. Something had startled the gentleman, but what? Not having gotten any sort of reaction out of Silas the previous evening, Carson had thought the man hadn't seen anything that made him uneasy. Now, he wondered as he sipped his cup and pondered on the matter.

Silas, who had indeed been startled, turned slowly back around to look at their guest. He could tell their visitor was deep in thought. While he did not down right stare at the man, Silas still managed to study the gentleman. Finally, he simply went back to what he'd planned on doing in the first place...starting breakfast. Victoria and Jarrod would expect breakfast when they came down, and he intended to have it ready.

For his part, Carson knew he had to ask Silas why the man had had the adverse reaction Carson had just seen. He had to know. After all, his 'friend' might notice the same thing. He once again wrote on the paper and, standing up, walked over to where Silas stood in front of the stove. He handed the gentleman the piece of paper; Silas took it.

'What's wrong? And, please, don't tell me nothing' Silas read the words, let out an audible sigh and handed the paper back to Carson. "I'm sorry, sir. It's just… it's your smile. It...it reminded me of someone I once knew."

His smile? Carson inwardly groaned. This was the first time he'd allowed himself to relax enough to do such a thing-smile that is. He had never thought anything of that, and he should have. How many times since regaining consciousness had he heard 'Your smile this,", "Your smile that," or "You know your smile,".

Silas could tell the man in front of him was upset, and he blamed himself. He started profusely apologizing only to have Carson wave his hand, write something on the paper, and then hand it to Silas.

'You did nothing wrong. Really, please, do not blame yourself. I'm sorry I upset you.'

"Oh, no! You did not upset me, sir. I… Look, let's just start over. You go sit over at the table, and I'll get you a little something to eat. That is, just enough to tide you over until the Barkleys come down for breakfast."

Carson nodded and went back to the table, still thinking on what Silas had said. 'Guess I best get used to being called sober and humorless for now, not going to be easy. In fact, a lot of things won't be easy.' With that thought he gazed upon his gloved hands. Truth was, while Silas had said nothing, Carson had still seen the look the older gentleman had given him when looking at the gloves. The truth was, he dared not take them off for two reasons. One reason was the laws that forbade scars to be seen in public-and he had a few scars from the fall off the cliff. Though, in all reality, those laws meant very little to him-as his hands weren't badly scarred. It was the other reason that made him hesitate the most...the fact that someone might recognize his hands.

Carson continued his silent pondering until Silas bought him what Mrs. James (the wife of the man he'd fought alongside of) called 'the appetizer'. He lifted up the small piece of paper he'd turned into a 'card'-the word THANKS on it- and showed it to Silas.

Silas beamed. "You are more than welcome, Sir. More than welcome,"

Carson wrote on the paper again and held it up.

Again, Silas smiled, "Sir is more than formal. Carson it is." He turned and went back to cooking while Carson began eating what food Silas had given him.