damaged some valuable pieces.”
Charles quaked, choking against his father’s misunderstanding. “No, he put me into the brank, and—”
“He put you in your place, didn’t he?” The corners of Mr. Carter’s mouth turned up.
“He hit James and put him in the pillory—”
“You teased him, and you know you’re not supposed to.”
“We didn’t!” Charles cried, nudging James. “Tell him.”
But James only held on to their father’s hand silently. He was staring beyond their father, and Charles followed his eyes; Jenks was approaching.
“You’re in trouble,” Charles hissed. Jenks ignored him.
“Mr. Jenks, I apologize for the boys’ behavior,” Mr. Carter said, taking out an envelope. “Boys, before you wash up, I think you have something to say.”
Charles teared up. His father wasn’t listening.
James whispered, “I’m sorry, Mr. Jenks.”
Jenks didn’t move. His eyes were on Mr. Carter’s envelope.
Mr. Carter said, “You’re a big boy, James. Now go wash up. And take care with my nightshirt.”
James limped up the back stairs and into the house.
Charles spat it out: “I’m not apologizing.”
His father grabbed him by the collar. “Young man, you live a life of privilege and when called upon, you will behave with respect and humility and self-control.”
It was in the words his father used that Charles found a swell of unexpected freedom. He wasn’t just a rich man’s son; he was a master conjurer. Though it made his mouth tremble, he forced himself to say it. “Mr. Jenks, I apologize to you.”
He awaited acknowledgment, but there was none. Jenks watched Mr. Carter pull bills from the envelope. Mr. Carter said, “The storm caused a run on gold, I’m afraid. So I hope silver certificates will be all right.”
Jenks nodded. Mr. Carter passed a one-dollar bill to his son. “Look what the Treasury is up to. They call this the Educational Series.” There was a movement to edify the masses, to promote classical civilization in all governmental pursuits. “So the architecture from now on will be Greek Revival, and the greenbacks, the ones, twos, and fives, they’ll depict important scenes from historical, scientific, and mythological viewpoints, the creation of the steam engine, and so forth.”
For once, Charles didn’t listen. He didn’t even bother to look at the bill between his fingertips. Instead, he focused on his father: the brilliantly polished surface of his shoes, the neat pressing and starch to hisshirt, the easy smile on his face as he counted a stack of five-dollar bills into Jenks’s palm.
“And here, just for watching the boys,” Mr. Carter dropped a final bill onto the stack.
When he became aware that Charles was still there, Mr. Carter waggled his fingers at him. “Go wash up,” he said.
Charles watched the money slip into Jenks’s pocket. He wished he could vanish it. Instead, he entered the house. He walked up the staircase, holding the banister tightly, feeling that he was more tired than he had ever been.
In the bathroom, steam was rising, clouding the windows. James sat on the rim of the bathtub as it filled with water. The remains of his costume were on the floor, including their father’s soiled nightshirt. Charles removed his own clothing; when he was done, he saw that James was holding the white rock, the egg rock, between his fingers.
“Here,” James said. “You can be the magician.”
Charles took the rock, and covering it with his fingertips, made it disappear. James made no response, so Charles pulled the rock out from behind James’s ear. “Father was right, you are dirty,” Charles said.
James snorted. Then he was quiet.
“I’ll need an assistant sometimes.”
Their eyes met, and James’s watered. He looked away.
“It’s all right,” Charles added. “I can do it alone.”
James slipped into the tub, under the water, and then resurfaced.
Later, Charles, too, would get into the tub, but for now he stood
Charles quaked, choking against his father’s misunderstanding. “No, he put me into the brank, and—”
“He put you in your place, didn’t he?” The corners of Mr. Carter’s mouth turned up.
“He hit James and put him in the pillory—”
“You teased him, and you know you’re not supposed to.”
“We didn’t!” Charles cried, nudging James. “Tell him.”
But James only held on to their father’s hand silently. He was staring beyond their father, and Charles followed his eyes; Jenks was approaching.
“You’re in trouble,” Charles hissed. Jenks ignored him.
“Mr. Jenks, I apologize for the boys’ behavior,” Mr. Carter said, taking out an envelope. “Boys, before you wash up, I think you have something to say.”
Charles teared up. His father wasn’t listening.
James whispered, “I’m sorry, Mr. Jenks.”
Jenks didn’t move. His eyes were on Mr. Carter’s envelope.
Mr. Carter said, “You’re a big boy, James. Now go wash up. And take care with my nightshirt.”
James limped up the back stairs and into the house.
Charles spat it out: “I’m not apologizing.”
His father grabbed him by the collar. “Young man, you live a life of privilege and when called upon, you will behave with respect and humility and self-control.”
It was in the words his father used that Charles found a swell of unexpected freedom. He wasn’t just a rich man’s son; he was a master conjurer. Though it made his mouth tremble, he forced himself to say it. “Mr. Jenks, I apologize to you.”
He awaited acknowledgment, but there was none. Jenks watched Mr. Carter pull bills from the envelope. Mr. Carter said, “The storm caused a run on gold, I’m afraid. So I hope silver certificates will be all right.”
Jenks nodded. Mr. Carter passed a one-dollar bill to his son. “Look what the Treasury is up to. They call this the Educational Series.” There was a movement to edify the masses, to promote classical civilization in all governmental pursuits. “So the architecture from now on will be Greek Revival, and the greenbacks, the ones, twos, and fives, they’ll depict important scenes from historical, scientific, and mythological viewpoints, the creation of the steam engine, and so forth.”
For once, Charles didn’t listen. He didn’t even bother to look at the bill between his fingertips. Instead, he focused on his father: the brilliantly polished surface of his shoes, the neat pressing and starch to hisshirt, the easy smile on his face as he counted a stack of five-dollar bills into Jenks’s palm.
“And here, just for watching the boys,” Mr. Carter dropped a final bill onto the stack.
When he became aware that Charles was still there, Mr. Carter waggled his fingers at him. “Go wash up,” he said.
Charles watched the money slip into Jenks’s pocket. He wished he could vanish it. Instead, he entered the house. He walked up the staircase, holding the banister tightly, feeling that he was more tired than he had ever been.
In the bathroom, steam was rising, clouding the windows. James sat on the rim of the bathtub as it filled with water. The remains of his costume were on the floor, including their father’s soiled nightshirt. Charles removed his own clothing; when he was done, he saw that James was holding the white rock, the egg rock, between his fingers.
“Here,” James said. “You can be the magician.”
Charles took the rock, and covering it with his fingertips, made it disappear. James made no response, so Charles pulled the rock out from behind James’s ear. “Father was right, you are dirty,” Charles said.
James snorted. Then he was quiet.
“I’ll need an assistant sometimes.”
Their eyes met, and James’s watered. He looked away.
“It’s all right,” Charles added. “I can do it alone.”
James slipped into the tub, under the water, and then resurfaced.
Later, Charles, too, would get into the tub, but for now he stood
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