The Kept by James Scott Read Free Book Online

and Caleb felt at home there, safe. Two days after seeing the man die, Caleb ventured to his private spot to try to arrest the hammering in his chest and stop the nightmares that had plagued him once he finally managed to sleep. The peace had been shattered, though, by a new mound where the turf sat in clumps amid freshly exposed earth.
     
    E LSPETH HAD GIVEN Jorah the money she’d earned in town, and he’d wrapped it in a kerchief and left for a period. During those quiet nights, she held the baby in the rocking chair, sometimes not getting into bed before a pink flush crept over the sky. She stared out the windows, walking from one to the other, awaiting his return, restless. He came back with a cow and two wicker baskets full of chickens. In his hat, he ferried half a dozen chicks. By then, Mary had begun to walk and burbled the beginnings of words. He placed the hat in the grass—the chicks chirped and squawked and tried in vain to mount the edge of the hat and escape—and he knelt down, holding his arms wide for his daughter, whose lurching steps filled him with laughter.
    Her brown hair grew long and fine and curled at the tips. More and more Elspeth left the care of the child to Jorah, who relished it all, every soiled diaper, every burping. Mary tottered on her feet and chased the chickens around the yard, but they’d turn on her, and—with useless wings flapping—knock her to the dirt. Jorah would drop his shovel or his pitchfork and scoop his tearful Mary up in his arms and place her on his shoulders. She would press her cheek against the top of his head until she cried no more. Elspeth observed this with worry and envy. When the days grew shorter, she left again.
     
    P AST NIGHTFALL, C ALEB sparked the tinder and lit a handful of hay. It reflected off the ice and made everything sparkle. He let it burn. Then, as it illuminated Emma’s face looking up at him, he dropped it onto his brothers and sisters. He shut his eyes and ran.
    The sound came first, a whooshing like a bat flying close to his ears, but all around him. Next came the sudden rush of heat, and he fell. Before he could pull himself from the snow and ice, the smell hit him, the noxious odor of burning hair and flesh. He scrambled to his feet and—vomiting on his way—fled from the pyre. He followed the path he’d made to the barn, back to safety, and from two hundred yards away, in its shadow, the fire looked like any other. With a ball of snow, he wiped the bile from his chin. He picked up another tight fistful and sucked the water from it.
    With no warning, the wind tugged his hair so hard it hurt his scalp and brought with it particles of ice that stung his face and neck. It drove the flames along the ground, following the tributaries of oil and kerosene, low and slinking like fog. The fire covered his twenty paces in an instant as if following his trail. The house withstood only a couple teasing licks before the roof ignited, the wooden shingles and gutters clogged with pine needles. The attic window, shuttered for the winter, popped behind the wood. He was already running toward his mother. The roof had proved to be little but tinder, and—weakened—it dropped down onto the rafters in less than a minute. The gap between the barn and the house had never seemed so vast. The ice cut his ankles above his boots. He held his scarf to his face against the smell.
    Once through the door, the house roared around him. The heat was astonishing. A section of ceiling closest to the pyre caved in on the living room, and he saw the rocking horse they kept in the corner—though they were all too old for it—crushed by a beam. His mother did not move, despite the stifling smoke and the thunderous noise of the house falling down around her. Caleb screamed, urging her up, his mouth an inch from her ear. He slapped her cheeks. Sweat beaded and rolled down her forehead. He took her under the arms, and dragged her from the kitchen table. She yelped as her