other, staring wide-eyed and desolate into the encroaching darkness as they stroked, touched, soothed, sought answers that could not be found. They did not move until the fire died.
Later, when it was no more than a bed of orange-red coals, they rose and struggled into their clothes, tried as best they might to make themselves presentable. Conrad searched out more wood to build up the flames again.
They were leaping high, burning in hot tongues far up into the dark heavens, when Caleb found them.
<< >>
“Fight! Fight!”
Melly heard the cries from the street as she emerged from the semi-detached kitchen at the back of the boarding house. She had been heating water, getting ready to launder her petticoats that had been so mistreated the day before. She abandoned the task as the yelling broke out, and sick dread sent her hurrying toward the front porch.
Sarah was standing outside the mercantile with a shopping basket on her arm, shading her eyes against the morning sun as she stared toward the river landing.
Glimpsing Melly as she moved out onto the porch steps, the other girl swung toward her. “It's Caleb and Conrad!” she called, her face as green and pale as a patty-pan squash. “They're killing each other!”
Melly had suspected as much, but the anguish of it washed over her in a wave. It was her fault, it must be. She had to stop them. Or at least she had to try.
Picking up her skirts, she began to run. Sarah hesitated only a second before she pounded after her.
There was no way they could miss the confrontation. The shouts and whistles, the cries of encouragement, and the barking of excited dogs carried plainly down the street. Some idiot carried away by excitement was even ringing a bell as if the fight was a spectacle for all to come and see. Gray-beards, farmers, drummers in flat-crowned hats, and gentlemen wearing tailored frock coats gathered around the combatants in a wide circle. Some were laying bets while others spat tobacco juice and showed their companions how they had dealt with past opponents themselves. Several boys crowded between them, though one enterprising tow-head stood on a hitching post for a better view over the shoulders of his elders.
Melly did not pause but waded into the men with Sarah behind her. There were some scowls and mutters, but they made way for her. Every single one of them knew she was embroiled in this dispute between brothers.
Yet to call what was taking place a fight was totally wrong; the contest was far too one-sided. It was, instead, a punishment. One brother was dealing it out, the other taking it.
Caleb, his face a mask of rage, was pummeling Conrad with his fists. Conrad weaved and ducked, blocking the blows when he could, rolling with them when he couldn't. It was apparent that more than a few had connected for there was a spreading bruise on his cheekbone and a cut at his brow that streamed blood into his right eye.
“Stop it!” Melly cried out above the noise. “Conrad! Caleb! Stop it this instant!”
If either of the two heard her or noticed her presence, they gave no sign. They circled, one advancing, the other retreating, each identical gaze intent on the other's face. It was disorienting and even macabre to see them, like watching a man battle his mirror image.
“Stand and fight like a man!” Caleb growled, his expression twisting in frustration as he stalked his twin.
Conrad kept moving, his eyes watchful as he spoke. “What I did was wrong, and I've admitted the fault. If you want blood for it, fine. But I won't make a brawl out of it.”
“It never stopped you before.” Caleb's scorn was plain.
“I don't have anything to prove.”
“I think you do. I think that's why you took Melly out on the river, to spite me.”
Conrad shifted from his brother's path in a glide of well-oiled muscles. “Taking Melly off was a tom-fool trick that went wrong, nothing else.”
The last words were laced with pain and self-blame. Melly thought
Later, when it was no more than a bed of orange-red coals, they rose and struggled into their clothes, tried as best they might to make themselves presentable. Conrad searched out more wood to build up the flames again.
They were leaping high, burning in hot tongues far up into the dark heavens, when Caleb found them.
<< >>
“Fight! Fight!”
Melly heard the cries from the street as she emerged from the semi-detached kitchen at the back of the boarding house. She had been heating water, getting ready to launder her petticoats that had been so mistreated the day before. She abandoned the task as the yelling broke out, and sick dread sent her hurrying toward the front porch.
Sarah was standing outside the mercantile with a shopping basket on her arm, shading her eyes against the morning sun as she stared toward the river landing.
Glimpsing Melly as she moved out onto the porch steps, the other girl swung toward her. “It's Caleb and Conrad!” she called, her face as green and pale as a patty-pan squash. “They're killing each other!”
Melly had suspected as much, but the anguish of it washed over her in a wave. It was her fault, it must be. She had to stop them. Or at least she had to try.
Picking up her skirts, she began to run. Sarah hesitated only a second before she pounded after her.
There was no way they could miss the confrontation. The shouts and whistles, the cries of encouragement, and the barking of excited dogs carried plainly down the street. Some idiot carried away by excitement was even ringing a bell as if the fight was a spectacle for all to come and see. Gray-beards, farmers, drummers in flat-crowned hats, and gentlemen wearing tailored frock coats gathered around the combatants in a wide circle. Some were laying bets while others spat tobacco juice and showed their companions how they had dealt with past opponents themselves. Several boys crowded between them, though one enterprising tow-head stood on a hitching post for a better view over the shoulders of his elders.
Melly did not pause but waded into the men with Sarah behind her. There were some scowls and mutters, but they made way for her. Every single one of them knew she was embroiled in this dispute between brothers.
Yet to call what was taking place a fight was totally wrong; the contest was far too one-sided. It was, instead, a punishment. One brother was dealing it out, the other taking it.
Caleb, his face a mask of rage, was pummeling Conrad with his fists. Conrad weaved and ducked, blocking the blows when he could, rolling with them when he couldn't. It was apparent that more than a few had connected for there was a spreading bruise on his cheekbone and a cut at his brow that streamed blood into his right eye.
“Stop it!” Melly cried out above the noise. “Conrad! Caleb! Stop it this instant!”
If either of the two heard her or noticed her presence, they gave no sign. They circled, one advancing, the other retreating, each identical gaze intent on the other's face. It was disorienting and even macabre to see them, like watching a man battle his mirror image.
“Stand and fight like a man!” Caleb growled, his expression twisting in frustration as he stalked his twin.
Conrad kept moving, his eyes watchful as he spoke. “What I did was wrong, and I've admitted the fault. If you want blood for it, fine. But I won't make a brawl out of it.”
“It never stopped you before.” Caleb's scorn was plain.
“I don't have anything to prove.”
“I think you do. I think that's why you took Melly out on the river, to spite me.”
Conrad shifted from his brother's path in a glide of well-oiled muscles. “Taking Melly off was a tom-fool trick that went wrong, nothing else.”
The last words were laced with pain and self-blame. Melly thought
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