The Color of Shadows

By JanissaB

©2005

Let it be known that I have prepared my case. I know that I shall be vindicated. (Job 13:18)

I. 

The angle of the sun was wrong. Too low, later than he’d figured. He stood up straight, taking off his hat to wipe the back of one hand across his forehead. Yep, late. Almost suppertime. He’d be hard-pressed to make it back to the house before dark.

With a sigh Heath replaced his hat and gathered his gear. It had been Nick’s idea, working this far out to the north of the property, but nothing had forced him to ignore the time and work like a slave. That was his own doing, and he wasn’t real sure why. Work had charms, maybe, work hard enough and you didn’t have to think. Just focus on the job, let everything else fade away.

He walked over to where Charger stood, nosing without much interest at the summer-dry grass, and found a smile on his face. "Yeah, I’m hungry, too," he murmured, giving the bay an affectionate slap on the shoulder. "’Bout that time, isn’t it?"

The horse regarded him with dark, liquid eyes, and then snorted loudly. Heath laughed.

As he feared, it was dark enough by the time he got back that the house shone like a lantern in the gloom. Heath felt a familiar prickle, seeing it. Not sure if it was happiness or foreboding. Both, most likely. He kneed Charger in the direction of the stable.

He smelled food the minute he walked into the house, and his stomach gave a rattling gurgle. They’d waited supper on him, and at his entrance Jarrod looked up from his papers, smiling.

"Starting to get a little worried there, brother Heath. Working late."

Heath nodded, suddenly aware of being sweaty and sticky and probably stinking, too. "Sorry ‘bout that. Guess I lost track of time. Y’all oughta go ahead and eat, I should clean up."

"Nonsense," came Victoria’s warm voice. "We won’t starve." She walked up to him, immaculately dressed as always, serene smile in place. "Go ahead and wash up," she said with a pat on his arm. "There’s no hurry."

"Maybe not for you, Mother. But some of us worked up an appetite today."

Heath met Nick’s inscrutable gaze and didn’t waste time trying to figure out whether or not the man was joking. Never knew, and besides, didn’t much matter. "I better skedaddle then," Heath said furtively.

It didn’t take long to wash up. He put on one of the fresh new shirts he’d gotten, still smelling pleasantly of starch and crackling-stiff over his shoulders. Downstairs everyone was just sitting down, and he slid into his place in time to watch Silas bringing in the roast. Heath’s stomach growled again, and Audra giggled.

"Sorry," Heath said automatically.

"Plenty for everyone," Victoria told him quietly, and looked around. "Nick, would you say grace for us?"

Nick’s grace was short and not very sweet, and soon the plates were loaded and everyone was tucking in. Heath ate fast, old habit, and let the suppertime conversation wash over him, listening, not saying much. Didn’t feel as awkward as it had when he’d first arrived, but to say it was comfortable would be at least mostly a lie. He wondered when it ever would feel like he was living there and not just a visitor.

When the dessert was gone, he trailed the rest of them into the library, and took the snifter of brandy Jarrod offered him. Wasn’t sure he really liked the stuff yet, but he’d earned a drink, even if it was served in a glass so fine it made him nervous all over again.

"Oh, Heath." Jarrod sat up. "I have something for you." Walking over to the desk, he picked up a brown-paper-wrapped parcel. "Meant to give this to you earlier, but it slipped my mind."

Startled, Heath took the package, hefting it without thinking. Solid, on the heavy side. "What’s the occasion?" he asked, shaking his head.

"No occasion, really. Open it."

Aware of his family’s scrutiny, Heath tore off the wrapping. His mouth opened in a silent "oh."

"I saw your interest a couple of weeks ago." Jarrod settled back into his seat, lacing his fingers together. His smile was warm. "So I got you your own copy while I was in San Francisco."

"Oh, Lord," Nick moaned, theatrically rolling his eyes. "Not that Verne fellow again."

"He’s the man who writes those fantastic stories, isn’t he?" Audra asked. Her eyes were bright with interest. "I heard they’re very exciting."

Nick snorted. "Waste of time. Man’s gonna read, he oughta be reading about useful things. History, and things like that. What use is all this claptrap?"

"Not all reading must be technically useful," Jarrod retorted mildly. "I read for pleasure quite often. Maybe you shouldn’t criticize it until you’ve tried it, Nicholas."

Heath let the banter go by, still staring down at the book in his hands. It felt rich to him: fine smooth leather binding, the letters engraved into the cover. He swallowed and looked up at Jarrod. "This is mighty white of you, Jarrod, thank you."

"My pleasure, Heath." Jarrod’s smile broadened, took on an indulgent cast.

Victoria reached out to pat Heath’s hand. "And with that, I think I’ll retire for the evening." She smiled. "Good night."

It started an exodus, and a few minutes later Heath was sitting alone with his oldest brother. Jarrod finished his brandy and sighed. "I’m glad you like it," he said slowly. "I was thinking of the discussion we had some time back. About reading."

"Ain’t too good at that."

Jarrod lifted a finger. "I’m not very good at that."

Heath dipped his head. "All right, not very good. Still, don’t get much call for reading and writing when you’re punching cattle or mending fence."

"Understood. But I think it’s marvelous that you’re interested in bettering yourself."

"Don’t think I oughta be reading history and important stuff like that?"

Jarrod laughed, a low sound. "History’s important, and laudable. But this book -- It’s possible to read just for fun, Heath. It doesn’t always have to be about intellectual edification."

"Boy howdy, Jarrod, listenin’ to you’s like listenin’ to a dictionary."

That got him a much heartier laugh. "Nick says I’m the most pompous man he’s ever heard, and he’s probably right. But words were meant to be used, I always say. And that’s enough for me; I’m heading for bed. You coming up?"

Heath nodded. "In a second. Yep."

"Enjoy the book."

"Sure I will. Thanks again."

"Don’t mention it."

Alone in the quiet library, Heath opened the book’s leather cover. Inside, he made out Jarrod’s handwriting, the perfect Copperplate script Heath had never fully mastered. "To my brother Heath, Quidquid discis, tibi discis. Jarrod." "Don’t just say the big words, you write ‘em, too," Heath whispered, wrinkling his nose. What was that, Latin or something? Beyond the inscription, he flipped over to read the book’s title. 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. The book Jarrod had been reading, when Heath happened upon him out on the porch. Now he had his own copy. Felt nice. Felt real nice.

He scooted a little closer to the lamp and turned the page. The brandy snifter went on the table, and his brow furrowed as he began to read.

He didn’t see Jarrod at the top of the stairs, watching silently. Or the faint pleased smile before Jarrod disappeared into his own room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before long he was being teased about his bookish ways by Nick, and sometimes Audra as well, although to their credit it wasn’t ever mean teasing. In fact he’d already promised Audra she could read the book when he was done, although as he told her, at his pace that might be a long while. She laughed and shook her head. "Doesn’t matter if you’re fast or slow. Isn’t the end the same?"

Heath had considered, and then smiled and nodded. Was, indeed.

But privately he was entranced. What a way with words this Verne man had! Such imagination! Heath wasn’t given to flights of fancy – wasn’t any money in it, by his experience, and took up time he’d always needed for work – but reading, it felt as if suddenly he saw things differently. Noticed more things, maybe. And he jealously protected his reading time. No chance for it during the day; there was work to be done, no matter how much he’d rather keep on visiting Verne’s magical creations. But in the evening, he raced through supper and took his place on the sofa, book in hand, humoring Nick’s comments with good grace and soon forgetting all about them as he dove in once more.

His surprising level of interest had not escaped his family’s attention, that much he knew. But one evening a week after Jarrod’s impromptu gift, he was completely unaware that he was the subject of some conversation.

"I tell you, Mother, it’s quite amazing. Heath takes to reading like a dry plant drinks the rain." Jarrod crossed his legs and shook his head. "If I’d known he would enjoy it so much I would have gotten him more books. He’s not a fast reader, but I’ve never seen a more devoted one."

"It’s easy to mistake lack of experience for lack of interest," Victoria responded mildly. "He’s a very intelligent man. Maybe he’s simply never had the opportunity to read for pleasure."

Nick cleared his throat. "Pretty soon he’s not gonna want to work the ranch, you know. Be too busy with books. You sure you aren’t creating a monster, Jarrod?"

Jarrod gave him a quick smile, and returned his study to the man reading in the other room. "I’m not afraid of that, no. I admire it."

"Well, you would."

"You know," Audra said in a thoughtful tone. "Heath’s birthday isn’t far away. We should think about what we’ll get him. His first, here with us. I think that’s important."

"It is, darling." Victoria nodded. "Any ideas?"

"Needs a new saddle. His is so old I think they still used Roman numerals when it was made." Nick shrugged. "Reckon I’d get him a new one."

"Perhaps it should be something not quite so…useful."

"Who wouldn’t want a new saddle?" Nick flared.

Jarrod lifted a hand. "I’m sure he’d love a new saddle," he said. "But I think Mother means gifts are often appreciated because they’re the things a person wouldn’t normally buy for himself."

"Things like books," Audra said, smiling.

"Books, yes. Brother Heath certainly seems to enjoy his. Tell you what. I’ll have a look around when I get back to San Francisco next week. See what new titles I can turn up."

"Just as long as it isn’t this fantastic stuff." Nick’s jaw jutted stubbornly. "Man’ll waste his life away reading fairy tales. Grown men don’t have time for such things."

"Maybe a little of everything. I want to encourage Heath’s interest, not stifle it with dry boring things."

"Well, I say –"

"Humor me, Nick. Please?"

Nick sniffed.

"You can still get him a saddle, darling," Victoria told him, smiling. "You’re right. He does need it."

"And I’m sure he’d love it," Audra added. "I’m certainly not getting him books. Jarrod can handle that part. I think he needs a new suit."

"And how are you gonna get him that when you can’t fit him for it?" Nick asked tartly.

Audra gave him a lofty look. "Don’t you worry about that, Nick Barkley. You just mind your own business. Mr. He Needs a Saddle. So he can work harder, isn’t it? Well, I think he works hard enough, myself."

Nick’s features took on an aggrieved cast. "Now did I ever say once that I didn’t think he worked hard enough? Man does the work of three men on a good day! Mother, you haven’t heard me complain, have you?"

Victoria gave a soft laugh. "No, son, not recently. Let’s not overwhelm him, though. Remember Heath is new to most of this. We don’t have to bury him with gifts all at once."

A long silence followed her words. Finally Audra said, "Do you think he’s happy?"

Victoria glanced at her. Slowly she replied, "I don’t think he’s unhappy. It takes time to get used to things, I think."

"Works both ways," Nick observed. But there was no heat to his words.

Jarrod nodded. "If we’ve finished plotting," he said in a light voice, "I’m going to join Heath in the library for some slightly heavier reading. I do have cases on the docket, you know." He stood, stretching. "Time for coffee."

II.

Reading was a funny thing. Of course he could do it; he wasn’t unlettered, although he’d known plenty who were, and didn’t think the less of them for it. But his mother had made sure he stuck with school long enough to learn his letters. "No son of mine is leaving this home without reading and writing," she’d told him, so long ago he couldn’t remember when it had actually happened. "Poor is one thing. Havin’ to make a mark where your name should go is another. I won’t have it."

And so he could read, and sign his name, and write, although his penmanship was in the opinion of the schoolteacher sorely lacking. But nowhere in school had he ever heard that reading could be, well, fun.

But it was. Exciting, in ways he never knew to imagine. Never had time for imagining, only these days that had changed a bit. And his mind felt different, felt lighter somehow. Airier. Like sifting flour, the way his mama used to add air to make her cakes lighter. His brain had room for things now, that weren’t just useful. But enjoyable.

Which wasn’t to say it didn’t have its trying moments. He gave Jarrod’s dictionary a workout for a while, looking up words he didn’t know. But somehow he didn’t mind it. And about halfway through Verne’s miraculous novel, he looked up and thought about all the other books he hadn’t ever read. So many – so very many! He’d never get through a fraction of them at his snail’s pace.

"I need to go faster," he said awkwardly to Jarrod, one cool June evening. Softly, so no one else would overhear. "I’m too slow."

Jarrod regarded him inquisitively. "You mean, reading? Heath, speed comes with experience. Besides, there’s no rush. What’s your hurry?"

Heath considered, then shook his head. "I ain’t gonna have –" He paused. "I’m not gonna have time if I don’t get faster," he corrected. "What I mean is, well, I’d like to read more, but I’ll be old and gray by the time I finish three books. That make sense?"

"Well, yes. Listen, I don’t think you have anything to worry about, though. Give it time. That’s all it takes."

"Reckon you might be right," Heath mumbled. Still didn’t feel quite right.

"Heath, it’s marvelous the way you’ve taken to reading. And I promise you – a year from now you’ll be galloping through books the way you beat that train, first time I saw you. Relax. Enjoy yourself."

"Reckon so."

"I’m off to San Francisco tomorrow. Anything you’d like me to bring back?" Jarrod’s blue eyes twinkled. "Besides the rest of Mr. Verne’s ouvre, that is?"

Heath flushed, but found a pleased smile on his face. "Don’t want to be a bother, but if you happen across ‘em…."

"Consider it done."

"Thank you, Jarrod."

"No thanks needed, I promise you."

~~~~~~~~~~

As his birthday drew near, he felt a familiar distant tension building. All his own, nothing to do with the people he now lived with, called family. It was two days before the date when he identified the feeling for what it was.

"Penny for your thoughts."

Heath turned, seeing the woman he now called Mother walk out to join him on the porch. Dressed in dove gray, a color that would have suited his real mother, too. "Ain’t sure they’re worth a penny," Heath said thickly. "Not sure, that is."

Victoria’s mouth curved in a slow smile. "Worth at least that much, surely." She stopped next to him, gazing out into the dusk. "Your birthday’s soon. I’ve never asked you if you want anything in particular."

"Don’t reckon so. Got a lot already."

"You’ll be twenty-four?"

"Yep."

"What were your birthdays like, when your mother was living?"

"When I was young?" He waited for her nod, and then shrugged. "Well, Mama, you know, we never had much. But she always made a cake. Best cakes I ever tasted, still think so."

Victoria’s soft laugh felt soothing, and for a second Heath felt a savage jolt of grief, wishing for another woman’s kind voice. "We’ll have a cake, too, I promise. What’s your favorite flavor?"

"Don’t reckon I got a favorite. If it’s on a plate, I’ll eat it."

"You miss her, I know." Her fingers were cool, touching his hand. "Very much right now, if I’m not mistaken."

"No," he said thickly. "You’re not."

"Tell me?"

"Ain’t -- Not sure what to tell." He stared out at the gloom, musing. "I liked birthdays better than Christmas," he added without planning to. "Mama said it was my special day. Supposed to feel special. It ain’t felt too special, last few years. Just another day."

"Then we’ll have to change that, won’t we?" Victoria linked her arm through his, leaning her slight weight against him. "Chocolate, I think. Do you like chocolate?"

"Sure do."

"Good. Then you’ll like this. If we can keep Nick from eating the whole thing himself," she added with a laugh.

He smiled, and thought that maybe this birthday wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The house was a-twitter two days later. From the moment he got up, he smelled it in the air: plans, secrets. Not bad ones, though. And it embarrassed him that they were to do with his birthday. As he tried to explain to his excited sister at breakfast, he might be a year older, but it really was just another day.

"That’s not true, Heath, and you know it. It’s your birthday! And we’re celebrating. No," she added when he drew a breath. "No, you just hold your tongue. Go read your book. We have work to do, and you’ll just be in the way."

Wondering, Heath bit into a biscuit and held his tongue.

Nick had announced Heath was forbidden to work today, and one look at his pleased face told Heath that wasn’t up for debate any more than Audra’s words. So he took his book out into the garden and felt guilty for a few minutes, before the story banished all worries. At mid-afternoon he ventured back into the house, feeling odd for returning to the real world. The house was filled with delicious smells, but when he tried to go into the kitchen to see what was cooking, Victoria and Silas summarily dismissed him.

"You’ll see soon enough," were Victoria’s crisp words. "Now we’re busy, Heath, so you go on."

He wandered up to his room instead, and puttered around for a few minutes before he gave in to temptation and opened the book again. Engrossed, it startled him when Nick gave a booming knock to the bedroom door. Heath sat up guiltily on the bed, holding his place with his finger.

"Well, you gonna join us or not?" Nick trumpeted. His face was flushed with pleasure. "Guess I could eat all that cake myself, seein’ as how you –"

"I’ll be down directly!"

"Hah! Now that’s more like it."

He washed up fast, and went downstairs with his wet hair sticking to his skull. The good smells were positively agonizing now, and his stomach snarled indignantly about his skipped lunch. In the front room his adopted family stood with matched broad smiles, dressed more formally than usual. Heath was glad he’d put on his good suit, instead of clean work clothes as he usually did.

"Happy birthday, Heath," Victoria said with a radiant smile. She kissed his cheek, her faint perfume sweet.

"Thank you, Mother."

Jarrod and Nick shook his hand, and Nick clapped him on the back so hard he stumbled a little, and then Audra gave him a hug, actually bouncing a little with excitement. "Can he open his gifts first?" she asked Victoria.

"Certainly."

With Jarrod at his side, Heath whispered, "Gifts? Jarrod, there’s no need for –"

"Now you hush that. We wanted to. Didn’t you know gifts please the giver as much as the recipient?"

No, he didn’t know that, really, but he followed their lead. In the library were several gaily wrapped packages, and one much bigger one, crudely covered with brown paper and tied with twine. By its shape he figured he knew what that one was, and felt a surge of emotion he couldn’t put a name to. Throat thick, he mumbled, "Aw, boy howdy. Now y’all didn’t have to do this."

"Boy howdy we surely did!" corrected Nick. "Now sit yourself down, boy, I want to see, too."

With each present he opened, the thick tightness in his throat grew. But how to tell these people that there had never been a birthday like this one? Where he didn’t have to work, just like any other day, and for his sloth he was grandly repaid? That didn’t happen to folks like him. That was for rich folks.

But wasn’t he rich now, too? Wasn’t all this partly his, now?

From the women, there was clothing. A new coat from Victoria, good heavy leather, not winter-thick but designed to protect his arms from the brush, and chaps to match. He had enough tears in his jeans to deeply appreciate the gifts. Audra’s choice was a lot fancier, predictably; a good suit, far nicer than the one he wore now, in deep gray flannel.

"We’ll fit it after supper," she told him, eyes sparkling with delight. "Oh, that color is perfect! Your eyes will be the bluest ever in that!"

There were books from Jarrod, and that made his voice go away, knowing Jarrod understood. And he was right about the big package: a saddle, fancy enough for special but sturdy, too, and much-needed.

"Now can we finally throw away that old saddle you been using?" Nick asked, although he couldn’t hide a beaming smile. "Thing’s held together with spit and bob-wire."

"Reckon so," Heath agreed hoarsely. "Thank you, Nick."

"Don’t mention it," Nick objected, looking as if he didn’t mind at all.

Surveying the pile of gifts, Heath shook his head slowly. "Ain’t never seen so much, just for a birthday," he managed. "Don’t that beat all."

Jarrod held up a finger. "You’re not quite done yet." His mouth twitched as if he held back a grin. "Come with us."

The parlor was a room reserved for company, and thus rarely used by the family themselves. Mystified, Heath let Audra guide him in, and waited while Jarrod lit a lamp. Between the fading light from the big window and the lamp, it was possible to see a startlingly huge crate, sitting out of place in the middle of the room.

"Figured you wouldn’t see it tucked away in here," Jarrod told him with a flash of white teeth. He went to light the remainder of the lamps, while the rest of the family stood near Heath. "Mother, if we’re careful, is it all right to open it inside here?"

"Mind the carpet," Victoria said sharply. "You boys be careful."

Nick and Jarrod did most of the opening, using a crowbar. But it was Heath who stood in front when the crate’s contents were revealed.

"My God, Jarrod," Nick said unsteadily. "Think it’s big enough?"

"Here, help me take the rest of this down."

Silently Heath watched while the item was uncovered. Wood, so darkly glossy that it seemed to have a furtive inner light of its own. Part bookshelf, part desk, it was discreetly ornate, gleaming with good treatment and obviously not new. His mouth dry, Heath tried to swallow.

"Room to grow," Jarrod told him effusively, hand warm on Heath’s shoulder. "I suspect you’ll have it filled up before you know it."

"What is it," Heath tried to ask, but all that emerged was a wheeze of air.

"It’s called a secretaire. Combination, you see, plenty of space for your library, and a writing surface, with storage below." He gestured in the appropriate areas, his face visibly flushed in the soft lamplight. "I wasn’t planning on buying it, but I happened to visit a shop I know in San Francisco, and when I saw it -- Well. I couldn’t think of anything better to house your growing library. What do you think?"

"It’s – amazing," Heath managed, nodding slowly. "Must be the grandest thing I ever saw."

"As far as I’ve been able to determine, it was built in about 1790. Reign of George III, brought over early in this century. I’m not sure whom it belonged to."

"Jarrod, it’s magnificent." Victoria seemed mollified now that her more ordinary furniture was safe. "But where will we put it?"

"Why, in Heath’s room, of course. I measured; it’ll be a tight fit, but we should just manage it."

"Thank you, Jarrod," Heath said in a strangled voice, still staring at the massive secretaire. "Think you just plumb knocked the socks off me."

Jarrod gave a satisfied laugh. "Tomorrow we’ll get it moved up to your room, and you can put it to use."

Heath nodded, and watched Jarrod and Nick begin tidying up the crate remains. His mouth was still ashy-dry, but he didn’t dare say anything else. How to tell Jarrod, so proud of his gift, that just looking at the thing made Heath’s blood run cold? No explanation for it, no reason, and yet one thing struck Heath now, as clearly as anything in his life.

There was something wrong about Jarrod’s secretaire. Something terribly, dangerously wrong.

Swallowing, Heath turned away.