Standing in his study, George sighed and made it clear to August that he knew he was lying. His son could lay claim to many traits, but bravery was not one of them. This single comment was all it took for the varnish of August’s act to peel away; he stumbled over his words, crossed his legs, checked his timepiece, desperate for an exit that George would not provide.
No, no. His son had died. And he deserved to know the truth of what had happened.
George had not seen Landry start the fire before him, but light from the flame overtook their corner of the forest and cast the bigger man in relief; he retrieved the skinned rabbit and spitted the bloody mess on the end of a shaved branch for roasting. The clouds had parted and the sky was full of stars so clear, so magnificent, it was as if they’d been arranged just for the three of them.
“I should be heading home,” George said. “My wife will be worried. If you could give me some assistance…I’d make it worth your while.”
Prentiss was already standing to help.
“I mean, you two could stay here, if you wished to. For a time.”
“Let’s not worry about that right yet,” Prentiss said.
“And if there is something else I could assist you with, perhaps.”
Ignoring George, Prentiss put a hand beneath his arm and lifted him in one swoop, before the pain could set in.
“Just like that,” Prentiss said. “Slow-like.”
They walked as one through the trees with Landry trailing them. Though George needed the stars for guidance, it was all he could do to keep his sight straight ahead to stop himself from falling over, from giving in to the pain. He placed his head in the nook where Prentiss’s chest met his shoulder and allowed the man to balance him.
After some time had passed, he asked if Prentiss knew where they were.
“If this is your land as you say it is, then I’ve seen your home,” Prentiss said. “It’s a beautiful place, isn’t it? Not far from here. Not far at all.”
George realized as they reached the clearing how absolutely exhausted he was. At once, the entire night, which had been suspended in time, unspooled itself before him, and reality presented itself in the form of his log cabin, standing before him and the black outline of what could only be Isabelle carved in shadow against the front window.
“Can you make it?” Prentiss asked. “Best you go it alone from here.”
“Might we wait a few moments longer?” George asked.
“You need to rest, Mr. Walker,” Prentiss pleaded. “There’s nothing for you out here.”
“True, but.” How unlike him. It must have been the dehydration. Yes, he was disoriented, a bit confused, and the tears were merely a symptom of his predicament. It was only a few of them at that. “I’m not myself. Excuse me.”
Prentiss held him. He did not let go.
“I don’t—I haven’t told her, is all,” George said. “I could not bear it.”
“Told her what, now?”
And George thought of the image August had left him with that morning of his boy abandoning the trenches he’d helped dig, so gripped with fear as to soil himself, to cower and run toward the Union line as though they might pity his screams of terror, might see him through the glut of smoke and grant his surrender and not shoot him down with the rest. It occurred to him that Caleb might have inherited some flawed trait from his father. For who was the bigger coward, the boy for dying without courage, or George for not being able to tell the boy’s own mother that she would never see her son again?
“Nothing,” George said. “I’ve been alone for such long periods, sometimes I speak to myself.”
Prentiss nodded, as if some reasoning might be found in his words.
“That animal you spoke of. Mr. Morton taught me some tricks through the years. Tomorrow, perhaps, I can help you track it.”
There was pity in his words, and George, sensing the irony of a man living with so little offering him charity, straightened himself up and harnessed what little energy he still possessed to regain his composure.
“That won’t be necessary.”
He looked Prentiss over once, considering that this might be the last time they ever laid eyes on each other.
“I do appreciate your assistance, Prentiss. You’re a good man. Good night, now.”
“G’night, Mr. Walker.”
George hobbled to the front steps, the cold already slipping away from his bones before the front door had opened and the heat of the fire found him. For the slightest moment, before going inside, he peered back at the forest, silent and void of life in the darkness. Like there was nothing there at all.