A few days passed, mainly consisting of Thomas and his father getting settled into their new home. They cleaned the entire house and repaired a broken window in the back together, but there was still lots of room for improvement.
One afternoon, Thomas was cleaning out the stable when his father approached him.
"First thing tomorrow you will ride to the station and go to Charlottetown," he spoke "on your way there, you will return the horse and the wagon to the Bright River hotel, who were generous enough to lend them."
"Oh" was all Thomas uttered. He hadn't quite realised the horse and wagon were borrowed.
"Furthermore," his father continued, "the details of your assignment are listed in this letter."
His father handed Thomas an envelope, which he pocketed.
"Finish up here and get some rest, you'll need it," his father said before promptly leaving the stable.
Thomas had been so caught up in work had almost forgotten about his upcoming journey back to Charlottetown. For a moment he wished to examine the contents of the letter, but decided to leave it for another time. Hours later he was done clearing the stable and returned to his room, after a quick, quiet dinner of course.
If it weren't for the hard work over the past few days, Thomas might have found it difficult to fall asleep, but his weary body took precedence over his troubled mind and he drifted off quickly.
The next morning, at first light his father woke him in his bed.
"It is time," he said.
Thomas got up and donned his travelling clothes, whose prominent feature was the tailored coat with a hood that shrouded his face when worn. He left it down for now.
After a quick breakfast, he readied the horse and wagon. His father approached him.
"Here, you'll need this" his father pushed a pouch of coins in his palm.
Thomas gave him a nod and climbed on the wagon, taking the reins. His fathers gaze followed him. He cleared his throat.
"I expect this might be dangerous.." his father spoke "Be careful, son."
He gave his father another reassuring nod and with that, he was off towards the station.
The ride back to Bright River was uneventful. He passed by one or two other riders, who eyed him curiously, not recognizing him. When he arrived at the Bright River hotel, there was somebody already waiting for him. A lad, few years younger than him, the stable hand he assumed.
"Mr. Davenport, sir?" the boy spoke with a French accent.
Thomas chuckled to himself, over the fake last name his father had provided to the hotel. I guess when you put coin in the right man's pocket, no further questions are asked.
"Yes, yes. I'm Mr. Davenport, I guess." Thomas responded, hopping off the wagon.
The young stablehand took the horse and the wagon, and Thomas headed off in the direction of the station.
It wasn't too long of a walk and before he knew it, he was back at the small train station. He purchased a ticket from the station master and waited for his train to Charlottetown, which arrived shortly after. He boarded and found an unoccupied seat in the shaded side of the interior, next to a window.
Minutes later the train began its journey and Thomas' gaze wandered across the interior, briefly settling his eyes on a girl, who he recognized as the one who had bumped into him days earlier, in a seat on the far end of the traincar. However, his mind was occupied with the contents of the letter in his coat and the mission ahead of him. His eyes turned to the passing scenery outside the window, his thoughts wandering through the complexities of his current predicament.
Many days later, at the Bright River station, the doors to the afternoon train swung open and numerous people stepped out onto the platform. Amongst them was a hooded figure, blending in with the crowd. After exiting the station, he separated from the group of travellers and stepped into sunlight, removing his hood.
Thomas took a deep breath of the fresh countryside air, looking up at the sky and closing his eyes, letting the sunlight warm his skin. His right cheek adorned a fresh thin scar across it and both his knuckles were bruised. After taking a moment to recompose himself, he set off into the small town. Nobody was waiting for him.
Leaving Bright River, he set off down the road towards Avonlea. It was about an eight mile walk, so it'd take him about two hours or so. Some time later, Thomas heard the sound of a wagon behind him and somebody call out his name.
"Are you Thomas?" called out a young man, some years older than him, maybe around twenty.
"Who's asking?" Thomas questioned, shifting his body and steadying himself, eyeing the stranger.
"Your father, Mr. Rockport?" the man inquired "he asked me to pick you up at the station, but I never saw you there."
Thomas eyed the man up and down, suspicious that he knew his real last name. Would his father have actually sent him? The fellow looked harmless enough, kind of scrawny, with quite tanned skin, clearly from working in the sun a lot. His clothes were very plain and worn.
"So that's you, eh? Thomas Rockport?" the man asked again.
"Sure. You taking me home?" Thomas decided to approach, climbing onto the small wagon.
"That's right. Don't know you, you new around here, aren't you?" the man spoke "names Robert. Robert Sloane".
"Pleasure." Thomas reluctantly shook his hand, before the man began rambling again.
"Lived 'round here most of my life, know just 'bout everyone" Robert kept talking "yous maybe know my brother, Charlie? He's 'bout your age."
He didn't dignify Robert with a response, nor did Robert care, as he didn't even pause to let Thomas answer but kept rattling on. Every so often Thomas would interject with a ''right'' or ''uh-huh'', but hardly listened.
After a while Thomas relaxed, deducting that Robert wasn't a threat, but genuinely sent to retrieve him. The path they were taking straight to his house was also confirming that.
On the way they passed by one of the households Thomas travelled by before, only this time it was different. There was clear fire damage to the upper floors of the structure and there were some men working on restoring the building.
Robert caught Thomas' gaze and commented "Ah yes, the Gillis' residence, there was a fire. Awful horrible, but coulda been worse. Heard some little girl saved the day. Or night." Robert laughed.
Before long they had arrived where the path diverged to Thomas' house and the wagon stopped.
"Here we are,'' Robert said "fancy ol' house, that one. Nobody's lived there for a long time though.".
Thomas reached into his pocket, about to pay Robert, but he stopped him.
"Oh no no, no needs for that." Robert shot him a friendly smile.
"You sure?" Thomas raised an eyebrow, he wasn't used to people refusing coin.
"Positive. See yous 'round, neighbour." and with that, Robert turned the wagon around and was gone.
Thomas scratched his cheek, the thin scar still stinging from time to time and made the last 200 or so yards to the manor on foot. Everything looked about the same, however some of the more noticeable damage on the building had been repaired and there were some fresh supplies, mainly lumber, beside the stable.
Thomas headed inside, his father was sat by the hearth, reading a book.
"Father," Thomas spoke.
His father turned his head and there was a relief in his eyes and the hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth. He stood up and approached his son, placing his hands on his shoulders before looking him up and down. Then he pulled him into a quick, rare hug, which Thomas half-heartedly returned. His feelings about his father were conflicting.
"You are well. I know you would be. And I needn't ask if everything was a success?" his father looked him in the eye.
"Despite evidence to the contrary," Thomas raised one of his bruised hands "Yes, I got it done."
"Good. I trust you understand this is just the beginning." his father responded, before sitting back down by the hearth.
"In any case, while you were gone, I made some acquaintances in town and began some work" Mr. Rockport continued.
"So you have," Thomas responded, narrowing his eyes "I guess we're no longer using fake last names?"
"It varies. If we're going to settle here for the time being, being truthful to the locals here is unavoidable" his father replied, intertwining his fingers.
"But only so truthful, right?" Thomas asked.
"I've never known you to ask stupid questions, boy" his father lost his temper a little, before taking a moment to recompose himself.
Thomas lingered by the side of the kitchen table, glaring at his father.
"That being said, in a few days time you'll start attending the local school here in Avonlea. The school year's already started but you shan't be too far behind. I left some things in your room." he waved to his son, dismissing him.
Thomas took off his coat and walked upstairs. Odd, the nineteenth step was no longer creaking. Guess father had enough of the noise and fixed it. He walked down the hall and into his room, immediately noticing a change. The previously modest selection of furniture had been replaced, with a brand new desk, chair and closet. Only the old bed remained the same.
Thomas threw his coat on the bed and approached the table, where a neatly organised package was waiting. It was a tailored canvas shoulder bag, selection of books and a writing slate for school.