The river ran between the two at a steady clip and Whitney pointed at it, telling Caleb that the water was seeping into his home. He had dug a levee a good ten years back but now he needed to reinforce it. It had to be deeper, with some ditches so it would drain right. It would be a few months of work, once the sugar was sold off. “I could use the help of a boy like you,” he said. “I gather you’re learned. Know numbers and whatnot. You’d be a mighty help.”
Caleb put his hands in his pockets, spied the land suspiciously, wondering what trouble, or fortune, lay in the proposal: the choice between the ease of acquiescing to another man’s desires over his own and the difficulty of chasing something beyond the horizon, the cradle of the unknown and the intangible, the possibility that he might follow his own path, as he had done when he rescued Prentiss, with a result, whether right or wrong, never to be undone. When he looked back at Prentiss for guidance, he was scratching the scruff of his beard, staring at the ground, abstaining from the decision.
“I think you might have the wrong man,” Caleb said, more weakly than he’d intended to. “Perhaps you’ve misjudged my condition. I don’t have the heart to lead others. Never have.”
Whitney ran his thick tongue across his gums, what few teeth he had left.
“That’s a learned skill. And anyway you ain’t leading no one. I’d be out there with my pant legs rolled up just like you, and I’d keep them boys in line. I just need a fellow with some brains at my side.”
Caleb imagined the life: waking each morning in the cold of the attic, and outside the window that lantern, a floating orb cutting through the fog. Then the muddied shores of the river, reinforcing this levee. Then the heat of the mill when the season returned.
“I plan to be gone from here,” he said, and the certainty of his voice surprised even him. “I might change my mind tomorrow, as I’m prone to indecision, but that is my want. To find a spot of my own somewhere. I’d like this man behind me to come along, but I can’t say that he will. He seems content these days, and I can’t blame him for wanting a little contentment. If he stays, I’d recommend him for your job. He’s double the worker I am, with double the smarts. I should be getting on for the evening now. Though I thank you for the opportunity.”
Caleb tipped his head in respect, although Whitney failed to acknowledge it.
“There be more like you,” he said. “Reckon I’ll manage.”
“I am sure you will,” Caleb said. When he turned, Prentiss uncrossed his arms and sidled up next to him. They walked together with the whoosh of the river in their ears.
Prentiss spoke only once they’d gone past the mill and landed on the road.
“Bet she made that nephew of hers some dessert.”
“What’d you have in mind?” Caleb asked.
“Chocolate cake. That’s what I’m seeing.”
“You can do better than that. I see six layers. Chocolate and vanilla, one on the other.”
“Got my mouth watering. Think she’ll set aside a slice for us?”
“Her nephew’s a twig. And he seems like the sort that’s too proud for sweets. Thinks they’re just for children.”
“We’ll get our fill, then,” Prentiss said.
“I’ll say,” Caleb told him, rubbing his hands together. “We’ll eat till sunup.”
“Till our stomachs burst.”
Caleb’s muscles ached, but the chill of the day was like pinpricks on his skin, distracting him from the pain. They would be back in Convent shortly and would sleep until dinner. Get some tinned meat at the general store, eat in the attic before falling asleep once more. And then, in the predawn, he would be woken by the bell. The lantern outside the window.
*
The sound of a clanging, an announcement of metal, woke Caleb in the night. Yet it wasn’t the bell he’d expected. Out the window he found only darkness. Beyond him, gripped in layers of shadow, a shirtless Prentiss sat in the lone chair of the attic, leant over, holding his straight razor, with the bowl on the ground beneath him.
“Prentiss?”
Prentiss reached down, then stood up, a blanket in hand. He folded it to the size of a cloth and opened the window, the cold flooding in.
“What are you doing?”
He unfolded the blanket, giving it a shake, closing the window once more and turning to face Caleb’s bed. Even in the dark he could see the nakedness of his face. Back at the chair—the bowl on the ground.