To Live and To Breathe (Could Be #2)

Chapter 54

Timothy couldn't remember the last time that eating hadn't been a chore, but that night it wasn't. The bread didn't crumble dry in his mouth, and the soup had flavor he'd forgotten food could have. Even Thebault's meat pies couldn't tempt him like this simple meal shared with him as if he were family.

He soon lost track of the banter flying all directions over the table, but Timothy was content simply to watch the happy faces gathered in the firelight and see what life throbbed beneath this simple roof. Best of all, Mary sat next to him for the second time that day.

After dinner the family gathered together in the sitting area next to the table, and Timothy looked about himself. One large hearth occupied the left wall holding a fire that should have been too hot for this time of year, and above him stretched enormous, rough-hewn rafters. He didn't think this place had been built as a home, but the high ceiling didn't seem at all out of place with a family as piled atop one another as the O'Connors' was.

The conversation ran on about family matters and rumors and news, but then Kathleen got up from where she'd been sitting cross-legged in the middle of the circle with St. Vincent, and approached him shyly. "Mr. Wright, sir, would you tell us a story?"

The conversation ground to a halt, and so did everything in Timothy's head.

Mary looked as if she wanted to laugh from where she stood behind her mother's chair, but Mrs. O'Connor admonished her daughter. "Kathleen dear, you can't ask him such a thing! Mr. Wright doesn't—"

"I don't mind," Timothy interrupted, then wondered what had possessed him to say such a thing. He did mind. He hadn't written for days! What made him think he could honor such a request?

"Tell us a story then," Mary grinned, leaning against the back of her mother's chair. "We've missed your stories, you know."

Mrs. O'Connor glanced at her husband, but Timothy didn't see it. He was too busy looking beseechingly at the ceiling and praying for a miracle. That was when he noticed the shadows flickering above the rafters. There was something almost uncanny about it; something ghostly. Anything could lurk there. "A long time ago there was a house," he said slowly, feeling rather than understanding the story fragment he'd been given. "And in this house was a family of very fine people: one mother, one father, and one boy."

The hush that had settled over the O'Connors was palpable. He swallowed hard, hoping the story he'd begun would have an ending. "These people had everything they'd ever wanted, and wealthy relatives too. But one day the boy got into mischief and fell into the well." He glanced nervously at Mr. and Mrs. O'Connor, hoping they wouldn't think the story was too frightening. "There was no one around to help him, so he drowned while the cook washed the dishes, and the father went to work, and the mother embroidered handkerchiefs."

Mrs. O'Connor looked at the sock she'd been darning like she no longer had the heart for it, and Mr. O'Connor crossed his arms. Timothy rushed ahead, collar growing hot. Why couldn't he think up nice stories about decent people? "At first they thought the boy would come back. All the neighbors thought he'd run away. But when they realized the truth it was too late to hold a funeral, and life went on as if he'd never existed."

Mary was no longer watching him. Her eyes rested on one of her youngest brothers as if imagining he'd suffered that horrible fate. "But the boy did come back," Timothy said, voice rising. "He did come back. And though he wasn't the same, he haunted that house full of very fine people, and wished that he could be seen for just one moment. The candles never flickered when he passed by, and his mother always looked through him to what was behind. No one ever saw the child that had drowned in the well."

Kathleen choked back a sniff.

"One day a girl came to live in the house," Timothy went on, looking at Mary. "A bright girl, who was very fond of violets and pansies. One day when she was in the garden by the well, she saw him."

Mary's eyes widened. "It was the first time in many years that anyone had seen him." Timothy picked at his thumb. "And what a delight it was! The two soon became good friends, and told each other stories. But eventually she had to go away, and he was left alone again. Many years passed, and the very fine people moved out of the house, and a new family moved in. None of them seemed to see him, either—but that was when the door to the attic began to squeak."

Kathleen giggled at this unexpected turn, causing St. Vincent to mutter something under his breath. "The attic door?" she asked.

"Oh yes, the attic door," Timothy nodded as if attic doors were a well-known part of any good story. "The other doors in the house would not open for the boy, but this one did. It was in a little out-of-the-way corner of the house, and led to a dusty old room filled with odds and ends and medical instruments, and no one used the door but the boy."

"What did the boy want in the attic?" asked Mary's eldest brother, who seemed to be fishing for a plot hole.

Timothy thought about it for a moment. "He went to the attic because no one else did. He was so grateful that the door knew he existed that he began to go to the attic every day. The door was so glad to be used that it squeaked every time he went through it, like it would for someone whole."

"Did the boy and the door become friends?" Mary asked, expression softened.

Timothy picked at his thumb again. "Yes—good friends—even when one day the girl came back as a fine lady to inherit the house, and still managed to see the boy that had drowned in the well."

Kathleen squirmed, eliciting more grumbling from St. Vincent. "Did they live happily ever after?"

Timothy met Mary's gaze. "Yes—I do believe they were happy for a very, very long time."

Mary turned crimson.

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In What Is and Could Be Mary looks at the shadows flickering around the rafters of her family home and imagines what Timothy would think of were he to see them. In To Live and To Breathe she finds out.