VII. A New Acquisition
The bouts of H.W.'s erratic, inconsolable behaviour waned that afternoon after he awakened to her at his bedside. Snapping out of his troublesome calenture and near catatonic state, he roused with little or no memory of his obstinacy over the passed week. The poor memory was likely credited to Daniel's consistency in keeping him drunk on the goat's milk and whiskey nostrum but nevertheless Mary was overjoyed to have her companion returned to her at any capacity. The last few days of nothing but sitting and waiting for the highlight of father arriving to check on son were repeats of pre-Plainview boredom.
When the boy's eyes flickered open she was the first thing he saw and he gifted her with a sweet smile. His new perception of her was a godsend. Not remembering his deafness, she asked if he was hungry. His blank expression jogged her memory and she pointed to her open mouth. Immediate understanding prompted a shake of his head then his gaze drifted to the window. Tapping his shoulder to regain his attention, she gestured to herself then to him then to the door. He nodded and crawled from the bed.
Peregrine revelry carried them to the hills, staying far from the drilling site in his unwillingness to revisit the location where his unspeakable suffering originated. Spending the day apart from everyone except each other, they ventured high into the hills and far into the desert untill they reached the coastline. Isolation would do them good, considered Mary, as they watched the waves roll onto the beach in blissfull, frothy peace.
Sneaking a glimpse of her playmate, she recalled what his father told her: H.W. liked her. Liked like, not just liked to play with. Encouraged, she sidled closer to the boy but was unnoticed untill her head fell upon his shoulder. For several minutes they remained in that pose as he tossed stones into the tide, but before long he grew weary and removed his shoes, coercing her to follow his example. Rolling the legs of his trousers up to mid-shin, he grabbed her hand and led her toward the water. In perfect imitation of a courting couple, they ambled a few yards before he squatted down to scoop an armfull of water, splattering her with it. Laughing in girlish glee, she returned the whimsical gesture and the splashing game commenced untill both were drenched to the bone.
For the rest of the day their enjoyment revolved around the water and lazing on the beach to dry while the sun bid temporary farewell in the ruddy west in the day's final moments. On their trip back, Mary was pleased when H.W. again secured her hand into his untill the cottage came into sight. He was brought to an abrupt standstill and, not paying attention, she ran straight into him. Following his line of sight to the cottage, she saw Daniel standing outside with a smaller, mousey looking fellow.
"There they are!" the oil man exclaimed jovially. "Come here, don't just stand there. Join us."
H.W. trudged forward to take his habitual place at his father's side, his footsteps cautionary, and Mary trailed close behind, eyes never leaving Daniel's companion.
"This is Henry," he introduced. "Henry is my brother. He'll be staying with us for a while. He's come a long way to meet us. Henry, this is H.W. and the pretty lady is Mary."
The stranger greeted the children with a toothy grin and scratchy hello. Mary didn't know what to think of the new man. He gave her the uneasy feeling of a new parolee who has trouble going straight on the outside No prior mention of any estranged family members was ever made by the oil man. Was this Henry really Daniel's brother or a new scoundrel intending to cash in on his recent wealth?
Daniel was a prudential man, rapier sharp in the ways of the world and business. A newcomer would not be permitted to rob him of what he fought to have, Mary trusted. If a clandestine scheme was afoot then she would leave the matter in his hands without uttering a word, for his years and experience rendered him far more judicious than she.
"Mary," addressed her father figure, "would you be ever so kind as to leave us to our business? We must get acquainted. You're welcome to join us again tomorrow if you like."
Hurt by the sudden exclusion, Mary was slighted. If she was considered part of the family then why was she being turned away? Mother's typical excuse rang as clear as a bell: men's business, and she hated him for it. Incapable of disobeying his wishes, she mumbled good night sooner than she'd planned, leaving Daniel to whatever diabolical men's business he needed to tend to.
Embarked on the trip home, Eli's earlier ambush bubbled up from a corner of her memory and she kept a shrewd scrutiny in case he repeated the act. If he did, she'd be motivated to run straight back to the Plainviews and request their help. It would serve Eli right to be mauled by the almighty Daniel Plainview for a second time.
However, her irascible brother was nowhere in sight untill she approached the drilling field where he and a handfull of his female congregation members were harassing a group of roughnecks who were marked with the white cloth crosses his parishioners wore to indicate which God of Little Boston owned their souls. A significant population of the oil workers had converted; but dedicated to their arduous toils for Daniel's material God of enterprise, they snatched little time to worship Eli's version of the Christian God. Rumour was that some of the men sympathised heavily with Eli but that hearsay was never proven and too delicate a topic to voice if they did. On his side or not, Eli welcomed them zealously and their pay checks from Daniel were expediently cashed into his pockets as tithes to the church.
The cycle was observed by her with unbridled repulsion with knowledge that he was siphoning all he could get to recover the loss suffered because of father's hasty $6 an acre sale of the ranch. His boyish face was ameliorated, healed by the time of day, and, as usual, he was dressed impeccably in a stunning new suit, courtesy of the roughnecks' long hours of work. The contrast of this holy visage with Daniel's image made the girl decide it was, in essence, an unholy mockery of her father figure. Here was Eli, standing as rigid as a soldier during a drill, head high and hands before him with fingers interlaced over his stomach. Young and unblemished without a crease in his clothing or a perspiration stain on his shirt, which was miraculous in the ungodly heat, fingernails manicured, face baby-skin smooth, not so much as a hair out of place, he was a perfect representative for his cause: a spiritual salesman glorifying himself through God. Ambition was fierce fire in him, although he manipulated everyone into thinking it was to benefit the Lord and his occupation called for him to never dirty the flesh of his hands, though the hands of his spirit were as black as tar. Eli hid his sins from the world and from those who did not know him with an immaculate visage. If cleanliness was next to Godliness then Eli was the epitome of his Lord.
The one person who saw through this chicanery was the man who was Eli's antithesis in every possible aspect. If the aforementioned cleanliness was an attribute of godliness, then what was the merit of hands soiled by tough hands-on work? Was it Satanic, in converse nature? Also well-dressed in expensive suits, Daniel was not intimidated by the hard manual labour that yielded his success and was unable to ever completely wash the grime from his hands. He was older, wiser, his handsome face often coarse from a lack of grooming and his hard, lithe body gritty from several unwashed days on end emitting the combined signature odours of sweat, smoke, alcohol and oil. At any given time, some part of him, usually his hands, was always dirty and it seeped into his inner being too as if he was born dirty. An abysmal man to most on a personal level, his louche business practises cheated people out of what they had, kept it as his own then flaunted to the former owners how he profited off of their loss. Despite Eli's veritable habit of doing the same thing, he was silent in voice but less subtle in his action of showing off his material profits. Soiled body and soul, Daniel wore the stains of his oily sins on the outside for the entire world to see and made no atonement for anything.
Choosing the lesser of two evils, Mary of course sided with her father figure. At least people knew what he was when they set eyes upon him. He was a roaring lion in his prime whereas Eli was a serpent under the guise of a lamb desperate to hold on to whatever power he had left. She walked passed the group, knowing that from the corner of his eye Eli watched her with interest. Immune to anything he said or did, for the first time in her life she felt that he was beneath her.
Relentless worry for the Plainviews' welfare plagued Mary that night, horrid thoughts beating against her like Egypt's locusts. Already a surfeit of bad dealing was underway and apprehension that the mysterious stranger's well-timed appearance signalled trouble refused to leave her. Dawn's arrival stretched into eternity and only came after her eyes closed for what she believed to be a brief stint of time. Mother vented protest at the table when she wolfed down breakfast then fled the house without excusing herself. First father was puzzled by her behaviour but within seconds realised that it was best to keep his mouth shut.
On this occasion Eli was nowhere to be found, attributed to the residual lowness from his very public humiliation. Nor did he pop out in front of her to impede her way. The finesse of a coward was unfailing. It was just as well since she was going to where she was loved and wanted and nothing could stop her, however belligerent.
By daily visiting the Plainview cottage, she always expected to find the early-to-rise master of the house outside smoking either his pipe or a cigarette while watching the sunrise and ideally waiting for her. This morning was a disturbing exception. When she did not see his gangly form posted outside the threshold, she nearly died of fright. Standing at the door, she peeked through the dusty window and immediately found Daniel's fully dressed body lying prone across the floor. Unable to see anyone else in the obscure gloom, the worst was assumed and she wildly pounded on the door, shouting his name at the top of her lungs, it not occurring to her in her manic state that if Daniel's alleged brother was guilty of murder then her clamour would no doubt make her his next victim.
Movement rustled inside but her eyes brimmed with too many tears to clarify the dark shape. The door was thrown wide open but it was the murderer himself who stood between her and the crime scene. Screaming, she teetered backwards off the porch, nearly falling on her butt in effort to flee. Awakened by the vibration the commotion produced, H.W. sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes as a befuddled Henry stepped outside after her, inquiring what was wrong. Discovering his friend's terror, H.W. rushed passed the guest to quiet her.
"You killed him!" Mary incriminated, illustrating with an accusatory point beyond them to Daniel's unresponsive figure. "You killed him!"
With his arm clutched in her vise grip, H.W. did not need to hear a single syllable to comprehend what was happening. Henry was at a loss for a course of action and watched with the dazed countenance of one roused from sleep and cast into the midst of pandemonium as H.W. calmed the girl. Gesturing for her to follow, he intended to lead her inside but she would not budge, shaking her head briskly. He validated her security with a smile then tugged her along with him, her widened eyes scarcely leaving Henry when she staggered passed him and into the cottage. H.W. brought her to his father's body and pointed at his chest, showing her that he was breathing.
Understanding suddenly struck the obfuscated Henry about why the girl's reaction was one of such prodigious horror. He re-entered the cottage, distraught to pardon himself and make amends. With a hand on her shoulder, he questioned, "You think I killed Daniel? No, no, no, young lady! He's my brother! I couldn't do that! He's just asleep. Had a little too much to drink last night and apparently sleeps like the dead."
He leant down and jostled Daniel's reposed form, calling the name of the heavily asleep oil man who moved not a muscle.
"Daniel, wake up!" he shouted. "Mary Sunday is here!"
Mention of her name helped; a sudden great sigh expelled from his heaving chest and he rolled half way over; his eyes, swollen from sleep, opened as the thinnest of lines to see her.
"Mary?" he called, his voice gruff and hoarse. "What happened? Did your father or jackass brother touch you again? I'll kill them if they did."
Mary believed him wholly. Tempted to lie that one of them had, she thought better of manipulating him. Crying wolf would get her nowhere if she truly needed his defence one day.
"No," she wept with reprieve, hurdling herself at him when he sat up, his unbuttoned shirt opened and hair unkempt. "I thought he killed you!"
Embracing her back, he made the inquest, "You thought who killed me?"
"Evidently me," Henry elucidated, bemused. "You should take this as a sign that you sleep too soundly. You scared the day lights out of the little lady."
"Mary, my sweet Mary," Daniel soothed, stroking her back as he rocked her. "Nobody can hurt me. I'm not going anywhere."
His knack for persuasion was not one she was immune to. There was truth in what he said, just like there was truth in her belonging to him. Like her, he was a paradigm of resiliency and was unassailable, especially while they were together.
He solemnly kissed her cheek and there was the verifying smell of whiskey that foulled his breath overnight accompanying the permanently affixed stench of oil when he pressed her against his bared, hairy chest, wetted by the streams of tears streaking her face. Locked in the fierce embrace for several long minutes, they left Henry and H.W. to stand by with nothing to do but fidget in awkwardness.
"Let me go now, my sweet Mary," he muttered after an epoch of time elapsed. "I have a lot of important work to do today." He pried free and braced her with his strong hands. "Are you going to be all right?"
She nodded and a swipe of his calloused thumb erased her tears.
"Go and play with H.W.," he instructed. "Henry and I have business today that will require most of our time."
The girl nodded and Daniel rose from the floor, stamping the circulation back into the left half of his body. H.W. claimed her hand with his, earning a warm smile of approval from the patriarch.
"We'll see you both later," he assured Mary before an eager H.W. yanked her out of the cottage.
A fortnight passed and two auspicious bonds swiftly developed. Henry barely left his gregarious elder brother's side, determined to quickly absorb a lifetime's worth of Daniel's successes, so that it seemed they had fused into one person. Impossible it was to think of one and not the other. The dedicated right-hand man and long-term business associate Daniel shared in Fletcher was traded for one in brotherhood with his newfound sibling. Among the select elite who Daniel trusted, Fletcher was bewildered by the seditious attachment that strained the friendship between the business partners. Fletcher, who had always joined Daniel on business trips, was now ousted by Henry's companionship, left behind to tend the fields and mind the children.
"This is a family business," Daniel reminded him one evening while the five of them ate supper in the mess hall. "It's only right that Henry learns how to run things."
A harsh thing wanted to be said about how he had been the one there from the start and was therefore more valuable than a know nothing Johnny-come-lately brother, but not a single word was uttered from Fletcher's tightly clenched jaw. Deprived of familial ties, he had no choice but to let his long-time friend fail if need be. It was Daniel's business to do with what he pleased, even if it was an explicit mistake. Arguing with him would be detrimental to any future interests and to his livelihood.
To Fletcher's dismay his segregation was not exclusive to business matters. Henry replaced him in personal affairs as well. Notwithstanding the haemorrhage in the relationship with his business partner, a dramatic change in Daniel's attitude occurred. He was happier, perhaps owed more to having a close blood relation than a new friend to ease his daily pressures. But long periods of time with him enabled Mary to soon detect things were amiss. Beneath the cheery decorum, she sensed a diabolical plot mulling within Daniel's mind. She had known him longer than Henry had and, doubtless, this was Fletcher's worry too. His knowledge of Daniel's modus operandi spanned the course of several years and, though he was not privy to the scheme, his intuition was certainly fine-tuned to it.
The same feeling resonated throughout the town. The atmosphere thickened as Mary imagined it must've been like running through a blanket of heavy wet snow, and only Henry seemed ignorant of it. Unless he assumed that his strangeness to the parts was the reason for it, he verbally wrote it off as stress over H.W.'s impairment. The self-reassured nescience was appropriate but those who knew Daniel better couldn't write it off as that being the sole source of his irritation.
Even Eli's agitation exceeded as if he too portended something worse was on the rise. The dissension was a static electricity that sizzled and snapped, standing their hair on end but his ordained gospel warned against abiding by every whim of Plainview avarice. The enemy was doubled in number with Henry's presence, increasing the young preacher's vulnerability. Wisely iterating his callous reproof behind Daniel's back, he still exchanged scathing glares with his rival in passing. Mary thought Eli was as dumb as a goat if he believed that the roughnecks who had joined the church kept their employer in the dark about his sermon tirades. They were God-fearing men and cared about their afterlife, but often to man the here and now supersedes the hereafter so simultaneously they feared Daniel more, since he signed the pay checks that paid for their earthly needs and wants. Thus, Eli lost their loyalties where land was cheap but souls were cheaper.
The second relationship that flourished was the one between H.W. and Mary. Often they were caught secretively holding hands while walking along the beach or through the fields, huddled together somewhere in discretion or H.W. would sneak her hand into his beneath the table during meals. In the back of her mind the remarks Ruth had teased her with were a nagging sore muscle. Her original intention was to hide it, holding with tight fist to her childish fantasy of being with the father rather than the son, but H.W. bonded to her with affection that transcended the sibling tie Daniel wanted of them. Once when all of this was noticed, Daniel cracked a light-hearted jest referencing them. It succeeded in embarrassing Mary who shied from the boy, snatched her hand out of his and scampered a foot away from him. Although she sustained a profound love for Daniel, she gradually came to terms that it was best to abandon the hope of having the father and concentrate on her burgeoning love for the son.
The innocent romance widened the already profuse rift between her and Eli more drastically than ever. He lurked about, hoping to catch the young pair together alone and chastise them about their new interest in each other. For all of his patient efforts to accomplish this goal, someone always came along and foiled him. One day, she and H.W. foolishly played too close to the church and their luck ran out when their jocund commotion summoned the preacher from within. His cold eyes pinpointed H.W. in specific as if he was the scourge of Little Boston.
"Mary," he addressed reprehensibly, eyes trained severely on the boy he abhorred, "you are betraying your family by being with him. He's not anything to you. You are my sister, not his. I am your true brother, not him. Do you wish to betray your real brother so quickly in favour of this little hellion?"
"He's more to me than you've ever been," Mary snipped, steadfast. "You've never been my brother, Eli."
"I have always been your brother. If you persist acceding to their every whim you will be excommunicated and you will go to Hell. Is that what you want, Mary? To go to Hell? Your soul will burn for your insol—"
"Eli!"
The sudden stentorian voice startled both Mary and her brother but neither had the identical effect at seeing Daniel emerge from out of the hot desert, stroll nonchalantly into his adversary's territory and divide the space between the young pair and the sanctimonious evangelist. The reciprocated glares were laced with mutual consuming hostility and she knew that letting this act play out without her participation would be smart.
"Daniel," Eli returned, retaining his disrupted serenity. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
If one could actually choke on a lie Eli would have been dead on the spot.
"I need to ask a favour of your mother on your behalf," Daniel disclosed succinctly.
"We will be happy to assist you however we can, Daniel."
"I have business to conduct in town tonight and Henry is coming with me so that I can show him how things are done. We're a family-run company so it's only right that my brother be there. That means H.W. will need looking after. I was wondering if she would be able to care for him while we are out."
In the interim, H.W. sought the succouring long legs of his father, imitating a toddler rather than a boy his correct age. Mary joined him in a crucial move that she deepened her brother's fury. She nurtured the protective consanguineous instinct of blood she did not own but was dangerous to Eli.
"Yes, Daniel, I'm sure mother would be delighted to watch your son for the night," Eli replaced what he really wanted to say with.
"It won't be for the whole night, just a few short hours. I won't impose on her time and generosity by having H.W. overstay his welcome."
"H.W. is always welcome at the Sunday ranch. Having him won't be an imposition."
"Yes, well, I'm sure it won't be. I'll be indebted to your mother for her hospitality."
Daniel's astringent glower reflected his pensive suspicion. The wizened older man saw straight through his callow foe's transparent cant. He edged away, steering the children to follow with hands upon their backs. Just when Mary expected Eli to be pardoned this one time, Daniel stopped and turned back to confront him. He knew what kind of a man Eli was and was having none of his pinchbeck tendencies.
"Oh, and Eli. Unless you want to wallow in your quagmire again you might want to be carefull what you say around my son. He might not be able to hear you but I can."
"I assure you, Daniel, I don't know what you mean…"
"You know damn well what I mean, Eli, don't insult my intelligence or you will be buried alive in something worse than mud."
A patronising rebuttal was curbed by recollection of the upsetting incident and the men's bitter conversing stagnated.
"When will we expect your young prodigy?" the jeer was modified with a polite question.
"I'll bring him by around seven o' clock."
Eli gave a curt, obsequious nod, subconsciously paying homage to one he innately knew was superior.
"Very well. Seven it is then. We look forward to having him."
"Thank you, Eli. Like I said, I will be indebted to her."
Satisfied, Daniel sauntered away, guiding the children with him by a protective hand upon a shoulder of each one.
H.W.'s promised delivery to the Sunday doorstep was with the earmarked punctuality of an ambitious businessman. Daniel compensated mother with a nominal fee for her time and H.W.'s board, informed her that he'd already been fed, then provided a small bottle of whiskey with instructions that H.W. should be given a half glass mixed with goat's milk before going to bed. Love-starved, Mary watched the father stoop down and exercise futility when he assured the deaf boy that he would be back later and that he was to behave. Her soul yearned as Daniel gave H.W. a parting kiss then a genial wave to her before returning to Henry who lingered in the night for whatever dastardly business awaited them. Only because of the money did father sit quietly and watch things unfold without his input.
Barely able to contain her thrill at having H.W. spend the night under the Sunday roof, the girl snatched her friend's hand and led him into the sitting room where she entertained him while mother and Ruth made up a cot in the storage room. When finished, mother directed her to usher the belated H.W. into the back so that the girl too could retire for the night. His hand was reclaimed and Mary followed through with mother's request, finding Ruth doing last minute preparations to the makeshift bed nestled in a cool, dark corner. Mary gestured for the boy to lie down; he complied with a yawn before Ruth tucked him in. The infernal theriac of goat's milk and whiskey was administered by mother who made certain he drank untill it was gone.
"Good boy," mother praised, stroking him on the forehead. "Don't stay up too late, Mary. You need your rest too."
Then the mood suddenly darkened when Eli slinked into the room. Nothing good was going to come of this visit.
"Might I have a word alone with him?" he requested of the female Sundays.
"Be quick," mother advised. "It's a late hour and he was just given his elixir. He'll be out soon enough."
"Of that I have no doubt. I'll be just a moment."
When mother motioned to escort the girls out of the room, Mary took a refractory stance, afraid of leaving her vulnerable friend alone with her unsaintly brother. The matriarch objected but Eli insisted that his little sister might stay as it was in her best interest to do so. Conceding to the notion, mother and Ruth left Mary and the Plainview scion to the wolf in sheep's clothing.
The holy vessel crossed the floor, hands arranged piously before him, and frowned at their visitor. Determined to be his father's son and remain unintimidated, H.W. looked Eli dead in the eye but Eli crossed him in the form of a simple blessing. Looming over the child he softly lectured in a frosty tone: "There is only one father and there is only one son."
"He can't hear you," Mary reminded.
Eli threw daggers at her with his eyes. "Yes he can."
"Eli, he can't hear you. He doesn't..."
"Quiet!" Invading the oil prince's personal space in distressing proximity, he averred, "You listen to this, boy, because I know you can hear me. Your father has provoked me…and he has provoked God. You should save yourself before it's too late."
In combustion of arrogance, Eli skulked from the room, strong in conviction that he had one-upped his nemesis with the badmouthing of his son. She wanted to play her part in returning the care her adopted family gave her. Livid that Eli was an insolent bully to a sick child, Mary planned to tell Daniel the moment a fresh opportunity arose. Payment would be dear for the unwarranted blessing.
Thus persuaded to sit with H.W., she recited stories more to divert herself than him as he drifted away to Nod. His impairment did not ruin his appreciation of her company and she stayed at his side untill his eyes closed and did not open any more. A new fear rendered her reluctant to leave: what if Eli snuck back in to exact a fiendish plot against the amenable boy? In the wild, males kill the children of other males and there didn't seem to be much of a difference in mankind lately. If it occurred in her absence, how could the sleeping deaf boy defend himself? The room was unsafe for H.W. to occupy alone.
Night's hours ebbed away, the inevitability of her nodding off too threatened her faithfull vigil. The last thing anyone needed was more trouble from either Sunday male for her being found lying with that Plainview boy come morning. Yawning and stretching, she sojourned off, entrusting God with H.W.'s wellbeing. She crawled into her own bed with sore, puffy eyes and a determination to remain awake, anxious to fill Daniel in on Eli's threat so that she could see justice enforced upon the clergyman yet again. Regardless of her valiant battle against the sandman, her aching eyes closed briefly, reaping the consequence of sleep.
In the later hours of the night her body was jolted by an excited electricity when the voice of a returned Daniel pierced her dreams. Anchored by interrupted sleep, her eyes were forced open and met the crack of light trickling into the bedroom. Through that light she strove to catch a fleeting glimpse of her hero but went unsatisfied. All she had was the sound of his voice and it was painfully indicant by his slurred words that he was intoxicated.
"I'd like to thank you for taking care of my son tonight," he was relaying to mother. "Your kindness is appreciated. Here's something extra for your trouble and your time."
"No, Mr. Plainview, I couldn't."
"Please. I insist."
"Why don't you both stay the night? You're in an unfit condition to find your way back to the cottage in the dark alone with a child. There are wildcats roaming around out there. You're welcome to stay."
"Thank you so very much for your generous invitation but I must be on my way. We'll be fine, Mrs. Sunday, don't worry. Henry is with us, we won't be alone."
The creak of the door meant that Daniel was on his way out, fending off mother's tenacity for his consent to spend the night under the Sunday roof. But he was too gallant to accept the charity. At the close of the door she heard his voice outside, neither loud and rowdy nor soft and gentle, and resisted the impulse to gaze through the window. Henry responded and, though he sounded worse, comfort was taken in knowing that her beloved adopted father was not alone in the dark desert. Possibly two drunken men had the brains of one who was sober.
The thought eased her back asleep although there was difficulty with repressing her want of tattling Eli's actions toward H.W. during his stay. Just desserts were due and reason dismantled her trepidation of Daniel after his violence upon the Sunday twin. It was acquitable. If Eli had not provoked the tycoon while he was in his weakened, upset state then he would've never had a hand raised against him. Hindsight always bears insight.
Tonight Eli's craven behaviour targeted an innocent child, indirectly attacking Daniel through his son because he lacked the courage to confront the real offender. What Eli was too thick to realise was that tampering with Daniel's intense love not only for H.W. but for children in general, his sole accomplishment was adding fuel to hellfire. If she did not tell Daniel, it was likely that H.W. would find a way to do so. By whatever method, Eli's fate was grim.
Dawn sun rose on an impatient Mary dying to visit the Plainviews but hesitant to express it after Eli turned up for breakfast. Expedient with chores and eating, her cautionary methods meant to not attract interest from an observant brother who already watched her from the corners of his eyes. The plan was a mute communication between them, his eyes following her when he thought she was not looking back. Chores complete, she burst from the house with a terse good-bye, zenithward to the Plainview cottage. Father shot her a disapproving glare for the waywardness but spoke not against it, understanding her destination. Conversely, Eli didn't stop scowling though he struggled not to.
Desire to evade unfinished issues with her sibling kept the pace to the cottage brisk, aimed at putting as much distance between herself and her family as possible before Eli chased after her, sending her into accepting Plainview arms. But emptiness awaited her when she reached the cottage without even Daniel, who every morning reliably watched the sun rise while having a smoke, there. Rushing to the window, she thought that perhaps they'd slept late due to their belated hour spent out the night before. H.W. was probably as inebriated as his father had been and she now was aware of how heavy a sleeper Daniel was.
Yet nobody occupied the inside either. The entire cottage and surrounding perimeter were vacant. Convinced still that something was off about Henry, her upset committed her to try the door and it swung open without trouble. One step into the shadowy abode was taken, she timidly calling first for Daniel then for Henry but received an answer from neither. No sign of struggle found, the floor was clean of the telltale redness of blood. In its place was a section where the wood was scorched, revealing that a fire had broken out. The breath she'd imprisoned expelled in an irate sigh. If they were not here then they must have been down at the field because if the fire was death's culprit then their charred, lifeless bodies would still be in their beds; that they were not was conclusive that they were at least alive.
Turning on her heels, she left the cottage, responsibly shutting the door behind her again then headed to the active field, determined to uncover the secret of the fire. She surveyed the field for any member of her foster family, even if it was the shady Henry, but found none. Unsettled nausea along with speculation that perhaps someone did get injured seized her. They would be working in the field if everything was fine.
For the first time Henry, ersatz while blasphemously sitting behind Daniel's desk, was a welcome sight when she reached the office. With no choice but to question a man she mistrusted, she gathered her nerve, prepared for the worst and entered, reticent but ready to listen to the story.
"Hello, Mary," Henry greeted, his toothy smile contradicting the dolefull appearance of his worn face. "Good morning to you."
"Morning," she returned. Then, without wasting time, struck at the heart of the matter: "What happened at the cabin?"
"That's right, you go there first thing every morning, don't you?"
She nodded.
"There was an accident last night," Henry told her. "H.W. set a fire. We don't know why; probably because of all the damned whiskey Daniel keeps forcing down his throat. Kid's as drunk as his father most of the time. I feel sorry for him."
"Is he all right?"
"He's fine."
"How about Daniel?"
Henry smiled again and shook his head, daring to ask, "You have a thing for him, don't you?"
Discomfort shifted her weight.
"No I don't," objected she.
Henry chuckled and teased, "Yes you do. You turn red whenever you're around him, like you turned red just now when you heard his name. Don't worry, he's fine. Nobody got hurt."
"Then where are they?"
The breach of mirth retracted from Henry, bleakness enveloped him again.
"At the train station," he replied. "Taking care of a private affair. It's better you ask Daniel about it when he comes back."
The information subdued her fears for one thing but piqued them for another. Had the father and son made a foray to the train station on business as they often did? Today it was Henry who'd been left behind while H.W. accompanied Daniel, which was odd because ever since the half-brother's arrival he and Daniel had been inseparable.
"Where's Mr. Hamilton?" she pursued, unrelenting with the hunt for facts.
"He went with them," answered Henry simply.
"Oh." Fletcher's readmission into Daniel's transactions intrigued her.
"You can wait here with me if you want. I won't bite."
Mary gave a negative shake of her head.
"No, I'll see how my sister is doing. I'll come back later."
"Suit yourself."
Worries tamed, she quitted the office, wanting alone time at the beach to think, wishing her lost companion was at her side.