"In here, Mr Patterson?"
It was Carter and not the Sheriff, and not McCarthy's voice either that asked the question from behind the locked door.
At last, he knew who his jailor was, although only by name.
When at first, he woke up from the noise of someone working in the barn next to him, he'd thought it had been Delaney who had locked him in, but then when the person didn't respond to his knocking and calling, he had a look around and realised that Delaney must have packed up and gone. From what he could see in the windowless dark room that was lit only by the little light that came in through the gabs in between the wooden slats of the walls, except the sparce furniture that consisted of a dresser, a bed, a chair and a small table, it was completely empty and cleared of any personal belongings.
Only once did the man answer John calling him to be let out.
"Quit your darn hollering boy. You'll be let out soon enough," he called back, and then when John wouldn't stop shouting and demanding to be let out, the man told him that if he didn't quit it, he'd get the sheriff and reminded John that his office was only across the road. John didn't want that, so he piped down and waited, hoping that whatever awaited him was going to be less unpleasant than being handed over to the sheriff.
"Come on John, let's get you home," Carter called as he removed whatever it was that had been put in front of the door to keep it shut.
"I'm not going back. McCarthy's going to kill me," John called back from inside as he quickly barricaded himself into a corner with whatever was available to him.
"McCarthy's not going to kill you, but I sure will so help me God if you are not coming out from behind there," he then heard Lee shout into the room. "We've got better things to be doing than go looking for you all over in the freezing cold. My balls are shrivelled to the size of walnuts and I tell you this for nothing, if McCarthy is just going to send you back out to sweep up some leaves again, and is not giving you a proper hiding this time, I'll do the fucking job myself, no matter what he or his missus are saying," Lee ranted angrily, standing beside Carter in the entrance to the shack.
"Well, I'm not coming, and you guys can't make me, and McCarthy doesn't want me anyway. Just tell him you couldn't find me. He'll be glad about it," John called out from his hideout. He wasn't scared of Lee nor Carter, even if their silhouette in the doorway against the early morning sun made them appear older and more like real men. Of course, they were stronger than him, but McCarthy had told them several time they weren't allowed to touch him, no matter how much he rubbed them up the wrong way.
"You need a hand?" the other man that Carter had called Mr Patterson earlier, asked as he appeared behind them. He sounded old and seemed a good bit smaller but also wider than McCarthy's lads.
"Nah," Carter answered. "McCarthy is on his way and should be here any minute. He got talking to the sheriff on the way and send us ahead."
"A handful, is he?" he heard the man ask with a light chuckle in his voice, and Carter laugh in reply.
"Ark, you know. He's not that bad. Just a bit 'high-spirited' if you know what I mean. Not unlike that filly you sold me when I came here first," Cater laughed. Carter loved that horse despite it being troublesome and only he was able to ride it. He believed it a good thing. He wouldn't have to worry about horse thieves, he told everyone including the farrier who told him to have the horse shot because she kept trying to bite him and wouldn't stand still for him.
Patterson laughed with him. "If you ever have enough, working for that grumpy old carpenter, you come to me boy. I could do with someone like you," Patterson said, and then turned to head back into the barn.
Carter laughed. "Ah no, thank you Mr Patterson. You're alright. If I had wanted to work with horses I could have stayed at home on the farm," he shouted after the man.
"Fuck this, I'm not waiting around here any longer in this ungodly cold," Lee said, spat on the ground and then left.
On hearing McCarthy and the sheriff were on their way, John was considering his options. Maybe it would be best to play along for a bit and come out for Carter and Lee. Let them think he'd go with them. He imagined he should be able to run away from them easily enough. Of course, they were faster than him too, but he doubted that either of them was sufficiently motivated to make a real effort in running after him if he got away. He would hide somewhere until the coast was clear and then head for the train station.
He was just about to move some of the furniture to the side and climb out from his fort, when he saw Lee reappear in the door armed with a thick stick, so that John swiftly retreated behind his barricade again.
It would have been too late though anyhow, as next he heard McCarthy roar outside, like he never had heard McCarthy roar before. "Put that darn stick down, boy, if you know what is good for you!"
John's heart sank.
"Where is he?" McCarthy barked, and got a low "in there," as a reply from a rather contrite sounding Lee. Another time John would have enjoyed this, but for obvious reasons, not this time.
"John, where are you?" McCarthy barked again, this time the voice was much closer. McCarthy had reached the entrance of the shack, as a result of which, John crawled deeper inside his den.
"Get out of there this instance, John," McCarthy hollered into the room angrily and then, when there was no movement from behind the barricade, he added, "I am warning you boy, if I have to go in there and get you, I am going to bring you straight across the road to the sheriff, you hear me boy?".
"Jesus, McCarthy, what the fuck," Carter said sounding annoyed and a good bit sharper than he normally would have dared to, quickly adding a quiet, "Mister McCarthy," while also lowering his head remorsefully when McCarthy's angry eyes found his. As if how he addressed his master was the actual issue and not the swear word and tone of his voice he had just used or even the fact that he so openly had criticised him in the first place.
He was saved though by John cautiously starting to appear from behind the pile of furniture which distracted McCarthy enough to let it go.
"Get a move on, boy. I don't have all day," McCarthy told him with a somewhat more reasonable but still impatient tone of voice and then looked back at Carter and Lee with a self-satisfied nod and smirk as soon as John had fully climbed out from behind his fortress. To his surprise however Carter and Lee looked back at him in anger.
"What?" McCarthy asked irritated, but then dismissively put his hand up, letting them know he didn't want to hear it after all.
Lee however spoke up, nevertheless. "There was no need for that, Mr McCarthy" he argued, no longer sounding contrite at all.
"What do you mean? No need for that? You were going after him with a darn stick," McCarthy gave back angrily.
"Yeah, well, he deserves a bit of a clopper, alright, I wasn't exactly going to beat him to death though," Lee argued.
Annoyed McCarthy turned his attention back into the room, where John warily stood not quite sure if he was brave enough to get any closer.
"Pick up that darn furniture and put this place back in order before you come out," McCarthy barked into the room at John and then walked away to his horse without giving Lee a response to what he had said.
"Christ," Carter muttered more to himself than Lee, "can't either of you not see what this is like for him? He doesn't deserve any of it." He then made his way into the shack where he helped John who struggled to drag the furniture back at its place with just the one arm. Upending it was a lot easier it seemed.
When they were finished Carter guided John out, protectively putting himself in between McCarthy and the boy as they walked out of the barn and towards their horses. When he tried to put him up on his horse however McCarthy, who until then had just quietly watched intervened.
"You are not putting him on that crazy animal of yours, give him here," he said, and took hold of John by the good arm, and before either one could even protest, John found himself lifted up onto McCarthy's broad-shouldered horse, and McCarthy sitting behind him.
John had been sure McCarthy had enough of him this time, just as much as he had enough of McCarthy. He'd hoped McCarthy wouldn't bother coming after him, but feared he'd hand him over to the sheriff if he did. He was surprised he took him back again and wasn't quite sure if he should feel relieved or disappointed by this. In the morning when he woke up in the freezing cold, and reality hit, he wasn't quite so certain on wanting to run away anymore. He wanted to get back to Jeremiah and the others of course, that hadn't changed but he also wanted to get there alive, if they were still alive that was. The cold the previous night had been something else. Ungodly Lee had called it earlier which was a good description. It took your breath away and stung on your skin and inside your lungs.
McCarthy wordlessly stirred his horse towards the gate of the livery yard, but before they could move out Mr Patterson, the owner made an appearance again.
"Hey, Matthew," he called, "Wait up! Here, you'll need this."
McCarthy turned his horse around to face the other man who held an Indian blanket up.
John's heart ached when he saw it. He immediately had to think about the plundered village Numees and Matunaagd were talking about and wondered how the man had come about a blanket like it. If it was traded or stolen, although if it was the latter it wouldn't have been even seen that way.
"Thanks," McCarthy said to the man, as he took it of the man and wrapped it around John in front of him, "I'll bring it back to you tomorrow after church," but the man waved him off.
"No need, Matthew" Patterson said, "the missus likes making them. Reminds her of home, I suppose."
A remark that made John feel better about wearing it, and again wonder about McCarthy. His friends seemed far too nice for him.
"Apologies, Eric. Didn't think it was you, working in the barn so early on a Saturday morning. Thought it'd be that new man of yours. What's his name?" McCarthy replied.
"Delaney?" Patterson replied, with obvious distain. "He lit out yesterday evening. Had me pay him out his wages and still took one of my horses too, but that's the least of it. By the looks of it, that bastard hadn't even cleaned out any of the stalls in the back since I gave him this job last Monday. Poor animals were left standing in their own waste for almost a week now. Didn't even clean their hooves."
"You can tell a lot about a man how he treats the animals in his care," Carter threw in.
"And plays cards," Lee added, and Carter nodded in agreement and so did Patterson.
"Yeah, I heard about that. He won't be missed around here," Patterson told them.
He then addressed McCarthy. "The boy called out for him this morning. When he first woke up. Must have thought I was him, when he heard me work in the barn next door to him," Patterson said, and then added. "Thought you should know."
"Huh," McCarthy went. He'd been surprised by the fact that John decided to hide in the livery in the first place but put it down to being desperate and having nowhere else to go. Delaney had come in with the marshal and Mr Harris when they brought the boy to him. John knew him but this was no reason to believe that he would look favourably at the man, if anything that gave him even more reason to dislike him if having given him a split lip the day before wasn't reason enough. That he would actively go looking for Delaney made no sense to McCarthy, and it showed in his face.
"Maybe the boy was planning to run away with him. Maybe Delaney had promised to take him with him but then changed his mind and left without him?" Patterson speculated. "Wouldn't put it past him. Delaney is an out and out liar and a thief."
"Huh," McCarthy went again, without giving away what he was thinking, while John did his best to avoid everybody's eye contact. He had to think of what Jeremiah had said about liars and thieves. He didn't like being seen in the same light as Delaney. Not all liars and thieves were the same. He wouldn't have stolen a horse if he had money to pay for it.
"I just thought you should know, Matthew," Patterson repeated, "not sure exactly why."
"Thanks Erik, you did the right thing," McCarthy said, "thanks for sending your boy over to us and holding onto this one for me instead of getting the sheriff involved. Appreciate it."
They left the livery and started to make their way home. McCarthy kept his horse at a slow pace, purposely letting more and more distance grow between him and the lads. Carter looked back a few times to see what was keeping them but eventually McCarthy gave him a little nod and a wave with his hand, gesturing for them to go on ahead.
John didn't like it, so he tried to hurry the horse on a little himself, by gently digging his heals into its sides and lightly moving his hips the way Matunaagd had showed him to. The horse noticed and danced on the spot a little, confused and not sure who he should listen to. McCarthy had it under control again in no time though, and the next time John tried it, he scolded him severely, "You are not in charge of this horse, John. I am." So John gave up and accepted his fate, even though he had no idea what that was.
McCarthy had good reason wanting to put as much distance between him and the lads. He needed to set the boy straight, and he expected him to argue back. It was an argument that he had to win however, once and for all, and he didn't fancy the lads putting their oar in. He wasn't quite sure what he wanted to tell him, but if he would let the boy stick around things had to change.
It wasn't that he was opposed to having the boy. Not anymore. Over the last week he had in fact grown somewhat more accustomed to the idea of keeping him. He started to like the plucky little fellow. Even though he didn't let on, at times he felt sorry for having to correct him all the time, for being lippy and too impulsive. It had to be done though, he didn't want the lads, and even less so his son pick up bad habits and neither did he want to run the risk of the boy saying the wrong thing to the wrong person and bring trouble to the house. God knows they had enough enemies.
There was nothing wrong with the boy's work ethos, no one could say he was lazy or opposed to learning. He was smart and able. With a bit of training and some discipline he would eventually make a nice addition to the team. But therein lay the crux of it. The boy had no discipline and didn't accept his authority, and without that it just wouldn't work in the long run.
McCarthy had been livid the night before. How dare he tell him they were treating him like a slave. How dare he lash out at him. They've been very good to him as far as he was concerned. All night he'd been brooding over it. In his internal monologue, he told himself that he had a good mind of locking him into one of their sheds for a few days, give him only the minimum of food, keep him by bread and water for a few days, put him in shackles, work him from dawn to dusk, and whip him for the slightest bit of disrespect. A Slave! That would show him! Of course, he had no intention to actually carrying out any of it, but the repulsive thoughts came turning up in his head, nevertheless. John had struck a nerve that had always been there. And McCarthy knew it, but despite that he kept tossing and turning in his bed. Until in the early morning hours he finally had enough and got up to do some paperwork, because the tormenting anger wouldn't let him go back to sleep.
And that was when he found his desk open, and the boy's bed and his trunk empty, which made him even more furious than he already was. How dare he run off again. If they wouldn't find him right away, they'd lose another day's work.
And that was when it struck him. How right the boy had been as well. It was still dark out, the wind was howling, the temperatures had plummeted to a dangerous low, who knew how long he had been out in this. If the boy didn't find a proper shelter in time or hid in the wrong place he might already be frozen to death, yet his first thoughts were about the time he would lose having to look for him.
Of course, McCarthy recognised he wasn't altogether uncaring. After all, he did feel responsible for the boy. There was no question about it, he would go out and search for him. He didn't want anything to happen to him, but had it been Horace who'd gone missing, the urgency would have been a different one. The lost time would never even have entered his mind and that had made McCarthy feel sad. Not for himself of course. He was certain, he didn't owe the boy anything, nor did he feel obliged to care for him in any other way, but it still moved him to know that there was no one who cared about this child in that way. He wondered if the boy was aware of it and had there ever been someone who cared for him in that way.
McCarthy sighed. None of this mattered and didn't change a thing. If he allowed him to stay, the boy would need to learn to obey him, and that included to take a punishment when McCarthy or a teacher decided he was to get one. He couldn't afford this kind of drama every time the boy needed correcting.
"You know you will be getting a whooping when we get home?" McCarthy said, which made John adjust his seat a little. McCarthy smirked, glad that the boy wasn't as unaffected by the threat as he was trying to make out to everyone, even if he didn't give him a reply.
"You are not trying to tell me you weren't running away again?" McCarthy asked and lightly tapped John's bulging bag that was hanging down by his right thigh.
John huffed and brought his bag around the front holding it protectively against his belly in lieu of an answer. No, of course he wasn't, but why admit it.
"Huh, at least you are not trying to deny it this time," McCarthy said after a while, starting to get annoyed with the boy's uncooperative stance.
"I can't let you get away with things that I wouldn't even let Horace get away with," McCarthy eventually said, and when John didn't respond again, he added, "Hell, I'd give Carter and Lee a whooping if they had me running around after them in the middle of the night," McCarthy said defensively, despite feeling well justified to give the boy a hiding. He more than deserved it and he wasn't alone in that opinion. Even Clarissa had given him free reign this morning.
John huffed again, and McCarthy took a sharp breath.
"You wouldn't go after them the way you do me," John at last replied defiantly.
"I would so," McCarthy countered instantly, and then added, "if I thought their lives were in danger I would."
John blew out air in a huff again. He didn't believe McCarthy, and neither was he going to admit that his life was in danger, not to McCarthy and not to himself.
"They wouldn't have to run. You'd let them go if they wanted to leave," John answered back.
McCarthy was quiet for a bit. The way the conversation was going frustrated him and reminded him of last night's episode.
"You are right, I suppose," he conceded after a while nevertheless, "I probably would let them break their contract with me if they wanted to leave. It would depend on how busy we'd be, but we would probably work something out. The difference is, they are almost grown men. They can fend for themselves, and both of them have family they can go back to."
McCarthy knew that the next bit would hurt, but said it anyway, "but you don't, John. For you it's me or the orphanage, that's all there is. And I suppose that is an alternative neither of us wants for you, am I right?" McCarthy wanted to know, being brutally honest even though he wasn't even sure if this was really the case. There had to be somewhere where the boy was trying to run off to.
John ignored him, and McCarthy sensed that John was everything but in agreement with him. So he too was quiet for a while.
They continued to ride in silence, despite the discomfort between them which was made worse by the uncomfortably freezing cold gusts of wind that periodically hit them in their faces and that had John involuntarily turn his head to the side and into McCarthy's chest and McCarthy slightly hunch over and bow his head to protect himself from it. John closed his eyes to shut out the morning sun. He'd wished it was night. He'd wished it was Jeremiah, or Matunaagd behind him. He wished it was that night that Matunaagd brought him to Jeremiah.
"Was Patterson right John?" McCarthy picked up the conversation again after a while.
Despite knowing what McCarthy was referring to John kept stumm and ignored the man.
"I asked you a question, John. Answer me," McCarthy instructed sharply, having enough of the boy's obstinance.
"Was he right about what?" John asked sullenly, making it obvious he knew full well what McCarthy was talking about but choosing to be uncooperative.
"About you wanting to run away with Delaney. Were you at the livery because you were going to leave with him?" McCarthy wanted to know. His voice was cold and intimidating, so that John felt compelled to answer.
"No, sir," John said quietly.
"Good," McCarthy replied, genuinely relieved, "glad to hear it, boy. Being friends with men like Delaney can get you acquainted with the wrong end of a hangman's noose real quick."
John huffed. As if McCarthy knew anything about men like Delaney. He shuddered thinking about the man he saw being lynched for stealing a few cows. He didn't seem like Delaney at all. He was crying and protested he was innocent. He was frightened and begging for his life to be spared. He couldn't quite picture Delaney like this.
"It's not just men like Delaney who'd get hanged, you know," John volunteered eventually, "plenty of people just get hanged for being the wrong colour, and hanging out with them can get you acquainted with the hangman's noose just as quick."
They were silent again for a while. John brooding over people that were prepared to lynch for no good reason and found it entertaining, and McCarthy trying to figure out what John had meant by that last remark.
"John," McCarthy asked in a worried voice, "have you got a problem working under Mr Phelps as your master?"
John was as much surprised as offended by McCarthy's remark. He liked Phelps.
"No, of course not. That's not what I was talking about. I wasn't even thinking of Phelps," he said defensively.
"Huh," McCarthy went, not sure if he should believe him, but decided to let it go for now.
"I was thinking of Jeremiah," John said sadly after a while. He just couldn't hold it in any longer. He had to tell someone, "I think he's dead."
"That trapper you've been with before they brought you here?" McCarthy wanted to know surprised.
"Yeah, him and his friends, my friends," John replied meekly.
"Those Indians?" McCarthy asked cautiously.
John couldn't say it but nodded.
Again, they were silent for a bit as McCarthy's kept his horse walking on at a slow pace.
"What makes you think that?" McCarthy wanted to know.
"Because Delaney said so. He said that the men he was with, the ones that had come to the ranch with the marshal to take me away, had really come just to lynch them. He said someone told him they'd done it too, he said they got what they deserved," John paused, he wasn't exactly sure how to explain this in a way that it made sense to McCarthy, "only, he was drunk when he told me, so I am not sure if he meant it, or if he was lying or even was telling the truth, and I was so angry at him so I didn't really listen either, but I am pretty sure that is what he had said," John said sadly.
"Huh," McCarthy went again, not sure what to tell him, so he asked a question instead. "Is that why you went back to Delaney? To find out more?"
John nodded. The words were stuck in his throat. He wanted to tell McCarthy that he was scared for them, and that the pain he was going to inflict on him with his stupid belt was nothing in comparison of the pain he felt inside right now but instead he kept quiet.
"Tell me John, what kind of men are they?" McCarthy wanted to know.
"Good men," John answered and then corrected himself, "the best."
"The best, eh," McCarthy reflected with a little chuckle.
"Yeah, the best," John said petulantly, "they were real good to me, even though keeping me around meant nothing but trouble for them, but they didn't mind and they didn't even want nothing in return. Jeremiah said we were as good as a family and called us a tribe, and told me to call him Pa," he said, and McCarthy could hear him trying to hide the fear and pain in his voice.
"He did, did he?" McCarthy said, but John wasn't able to say anything else, so he just nodded. They rode on in silence until McCarthy could no longer hold on to what little he did know, although he wasn't sure if it was better to keep it from the boy.
"John, Delaney was lying, or maybe he was lied to," McCarthy interrupted the silence between them. "Your Indians were not killed that day you were took from that ranch. And nor was that Jeremiah fellow. In fact, the newspapers a few days ago reported on them doing all the killing. My guess is that it was self-defence, but it seems not everyone agrees they had the right to defend themselves. They fled and half the county is after them. Some big shot rancher from down there even put a price on their head, so who knows what has happened in the meantime but up until a few days ago they were still very much alive," McCarthy said.
John looked back up at McCarthy with wide eyes, grateful and glad to be given some positive news about his friends for the first time since he had come to be with him, but also noticed McCarthy's concerned eyes looking squarely down on him.
"You needn't worry Mr McCarthy. Honest you don't. They are good men. They wouldn't hurt any of you. They will come and take me with them, and I'll be out of your hair," John tried to reassure the man. "They are not into hurting people. Jeremiah is a Quaker, and I think that means he doesn't kill people but I am not sure because he also was a soldier, and fought in a war as well, so that makes no sense. But you needn't worry, honest you don't," he spurted out hastily.
McCarthy sighed, that they would come to get the boy had not been on his mind at all. He'd been worried the boy had an idea where they were and would go looking for them.
"John, I am not worried about that," he said honestly.
"Good," John replied, "You don't need to be. Honest you don't. Unless you'd try fight them that is, but that would be stupid you know. Matunaagd and his sister are real warriors, and Enkoodabooaoo too. He's old but he is warrior too," John said cheerfully, but then worried again for having said the wrong thing. "but they are not violent. Being a warrior doesn't mean you have to be violent. It's more about being prepared to give your life than taking one, Enkoodabooaoo says."
McCarthy chuckled a little about the boy's rant and enthusiasm, but then he got serious again. It wasn't good for the boy to hold on to false hope.
"John I am not worried about that because I very much doubt they come here to get you. It would make no sense, it would be far too dangerous. Everyone's talking about it. People want that price money. They wouldn't get in and out unnoticed, and if they did, they'd be followed and found," he said.
McCarthy's statement turned John's mood dark instantaneously, so that he kicked the horse hard and rocked his hips forward, to make it go faster. As far as he was concerned the conversation was now over and he wasn't going to talk to McCarthy again about it until Jeremiah and the others came to collect him. McCarthy did not know what he was talking about. He didn't know Jeremiah the way he did. He did not know their ways, that they were able to make sure they weren't followed. They were warriors, they were brave. They weren't scared of some palefaces.
The horse danced again, and McCarthy this time had to work a lot harder to get it back under control, and when he did, he gave John a stern warning.
"You do that again, and I give you a whooping right here and now, you hear me, boy. You are not in charge of my darn horse," McCarthy said angrily.
John huffed in frustration, but settled down sufficiently, for the horse to walk quietly again, alas a bit faster. Obviously, McCarthy had enough as well and wanted to get home too.
"They are going so going to come and get me," John muttered to himself resolutely "Jeremiah promised, and he always keeps his promises." He didn't like what McCarthy had said.
"I have no doubt he does, John," McCarthy said quietly, trying to appease the boy who he felt sorry for as well. He slowed down his horse again, as he wanted him to hear the next bit. "But saying he'd be your Pa and you are family that is a promise in itself, don't you know? A father's job is to keep his family safe. A father doesn't put his family in danger if he can help it."
Again, John tried to move the horse to walk faster, but this time the horse hardly responded, possibly because McCarthy had expected it and corrected it right away. This time McCarthy chose to ignore it though. He didn't feel like punishing the boy anymore.
The horse kept walking on at a steady pace and because John no longer protested, McCarthy felt the need to talk some more on the topic of fathers and sons that John until recently knew nothing really about.
"A father wants what is best for his son. Any parent does for their child. If this Jeremiah is as good a man as you say he is, and I have no reason to doubt your word, he will want you to be safe, and well looked after. He wouldn't take you along on a dangerous trek to God knows where, where you could starve or freeze to death, or be shot. A parent wouldn't do that to his child, not if they can help it, no matter how painful it is for them both to be separated," McCarthy said.
John had nothing he could say against it. Somehow, he knew it to be true even though it made no sense to him on the inside. His Da had just up and left, not caring for him at all, or at least that was what it had always felt like. Or was that his way of keeping him safe? Leaving him and his Ma behind? He should have known that his Ma wouldn't have been able to do the job by herself. She tried but it was just too difficult. His Ma would have never been able to walk away like that. She would have never given them up. She held on tight no matter how hard and scary sometimes things got. She'd never let them go. She loved them too much.
But Jeremiah didn't think like his ma, he thought more like McCarthy, and John didn't like it. He felt betrayed, even though he knew he shouldn't.
"And another thing boy," McCarthy said, when there was only silence from John in front of him, "a son doesn't put his family in danger either. If you have any idea where they might be, you better stay well away from them, because you might lead the wrong persons straight to them and get them all killed. You get what I am saying, boy?" McCarthy asked in a stern tone, but John did not reply, and did not even stir.
As they went on, the boy's continued silence increasingly irked McCarthy. It was part of what he had been wanting to address with the boy in the first place. His disrespect and lack deference. So just before they got back to the house McCarthy picked up the lecture again.
"John, you need to decide if you want to be staying with us or not. I won't be running after you and taking you back home a second time. The next time you run away that is it. You go back to the orphanage, no more second chances. Understood?" McCarthy asked, but the boy did not answer nor even move a muscle.
McCarthy sighed. This was not going his way.
"John, you and me both know that I thought you to be too young to by my apprentice, but I changed my mind on that and have taken you on and because of it will not shirk my responsibilities towards you, and this means I make sure no harm comes your way, and that includes not letting you run of into the wilderness to get yourself killed. I won't just turn a blind eye to it. I'll catch you and hand you over to the sheriff. Is that clear?" McCarthy wanted to know, but the boy still continued not to answer and to McCarthy that meant he wasn't listening, wasn't taking no heed.
"Well be like this then," McCarthy said exasperated by the lack of resonse from the boy, "I'll make sure you hear what I am saying when we get home. I was far too lenient with you up until now and things are going to change. From now on you are going to feel the consequences when you are disrespectful towards me or anyone else in my household. As I said I am taking my responsibilities as your master serious, and that includes teaching you what you need to know for being a good carpenter just as much as teaching you right from wrong. You will obey me, and some day you will thank me for it," McCarthy finally said and coming to the conclusion that actions sometimes talk louder than words.
McCarthy kicked his horse into a trot, he had enough and wanted to get home, to get this done and over with. Had it been his decision, he would have brought the boy to the sheriff, but Clarissa had begged him to bring him back home, "punish him all you want, make sure he doesn't do it again, but bring him home again. For Horace' sake," she'd said.
When they got back to the house the first snowflakes started to fall. It was Carter, followed by Lee that walked towards them in the yard. They had come out of the house just as they passed through the gate having obviously been waiting for them.
Carter took hold of the horse, while McCarthy dismounted first. He then turned to offer John a hand to help him down, but John turned away from him, lifting his left leg over the horse in front of him getting ready to jump down of the large horse despite his sore shoulder. McCarthy was too slow and couldn't stop him, but Lee managed to do so just in time, catching John by the waist just before he let himself slide down of the large horse. John tried but he couldn't hide his dirty tearstained face from him.
"Ah for God' sake McCarthy. Could you not have waited until you got him home at least," McCarthy heard Lee say from the other side of the horse.
McCarthy walked around his horse where he saw John averting his face, trying to pull away from an angry looking Lee, who held onto him by the left arm.
"Beating him like a mangey auld dog at the side of the road," Lee said disgusted, looking at Carter for support, but Carter didn't get a chance to respond.
"The boy got no more than he deserved, Lee. Now mind how you are talking to me," McCarthy warned resolutely. He was in no mood to argue with Lee and could see in John's defeated facial expression that he did not want him to give them an explanation about what had happened either.
"Did you lads have had your breakfast yet?" McCarthy asked redirecting the conversation in a strict tone.
"Yes sir, your wife sorted us out," Carter answered respectfully.
"Good, we'll leave the shop closed for today but get started on chopping the wood for our winter supply. The boy and I will join you as soon we had our breakfast," McCarthy told them.
"Mr McCarthy, we have been up since half four," Lee protested, "We'd be hoping you'd let us go back to bed."
"We're knackered, Mr McCarthy," Carter agreed.
"You have the boy to thank for that," McCarthy said coldly and then added, looking challengingly at Lee in particular, "still feeling sorry for him?"
Lee looked down at John, who just passively stood there, head bowed, lost, not like himself at all, as McCarthy took hold of him by his good arm, taking over from Lee to bring him inside the house. Having to go looking for him in the early hours of the morning in the freezing cold weather sure had been no fun and had him raging earlier but despite this, Lee still felt sorry for John, and Lee knew that Carter felt the same. They knew how stubborn and feisty their little apprentice could be sometimes. They both had complained about him but didn't really want McCarthy or Phelps do something about it, despite of what they said, as John was a source of much amusement in the shop as well. He had livened things up a little. They liked how he was in awe of them. How he looked up to them and listened to them tell their stories, bragging about their drinking, card playing and going with girls, when McCarthy wasn't listening. They liked the bit of cheek he gave back to them despite of what they said, and liked it even more when he did it to McCarthy or Phelps. Lee had often told McCarthy the boy deserved a trip to the woodshed, but he never actually wanted him to do it.
"I'll try and make it up to you boys, but I have a feeling this can wait. It looks like this snow might actually stick already, and the more wood we have ready the better," McCarthy said in a more reasonable and pacifying manner.
The lads weren't really appeased but then what could they say. McCarthy was the boss, and he knew best, even when he didn't.