Son of a Jailbird: Learning to Live

Copyright 2002 R.D. "Jobey" Ellison

(Prequel to "Why This War"/Companion to "Dream Weaver: Finding Alice Mae")

Chapter One - Love of Challenge

Jeremy Wilkes might only be a storeowner in the farming glen of little Danielsville, but he had a way of getting his name all over Nova Scotia. Had he lived just forty years later, he'd either have been a businessman's nightmare or a dream come true. Yes, while everyone knew of Wilkes's Store, what people knew of Jerry could be a little… controversial.

When Jerry was four and an important member of the English Parliament had graced Dannyville with his presence, Jerry had put salt in the sugar shakers and managed to get his mother's grape jam on Mr. Doeskin's bottom. Long after the young havoc-wrecking years were supposedly over, he was still a topic of conversation at every tea table, every Ladies' Aid Meeting, every church gathering. Jerry, who had stood up and criticized Mr. Dorr's sermon loudly right in the middle of church. Jerry, who wasn't able to marry Catherine Flower and sent spoiled goods to the service in sulky retaliation. Jerry, who had gotten into a fistfight scuffle with a rich Madison gentleman. Jerry, who sent a year's worth of profit to a British slum. Jerry, who nearly killed himself running a farm and store single-handedly.

Jerry, who had decided to take in a child… not just any child, naturally… Timothy Edwards's son.

If Dannyville hadn't been used to tolerating him, Jerry Wilkes would have been the first person to be forcefully evicted from the village. As it was, Jerry got many dark warnings and "Are-you-insane?"s from his neighbors, which he met with an amused, almost lofty, smile.

Jerry was giving Mrs. Catherine Kirk the same superior smile as he hitched his carriage the day he went to Fairhill Junction to fetch the Edwards lad.

"You always doubt me, Cathy."

"I wonder why," Catherine retorted dryly.

"Have I ever failed at anything I attempted to do?"

There was a pause. "Well… depends on what you consider 'failing' and what you consider 'succeeding', Jerry."

Jerry's reply was that maddening smile. More like a smirk, as Catherine reflected almost wearily.

Over at Fairhill Junction, the Edwards lad was not smiling. For a child of eleven, he looked unusually grave. Tow-toned, limp, sandy bangs cut carelessly stopped just after concealing deep blue eyes. Troubled deep blue eyes, they were sad, hesitant, and confused. And, truth be told, he was nearly all eyes.

Never mind his first name. All anyone on Nova Scotia needed to know was that his father's name was Edwards -

"No! Do come on, there must be plenty of Edwardses -"

"Indeed! No, I'm referring to Timmy Edwards, true's you live -"

Which might continue -

"And that boy - that one over there -"

The reply would be a vigorous nod.

"No!" And once the initial shock passed, a suspicious, sharp: "Say, what's he doing here?" would emerge.

And then - well, young Edwards preferred not to think of what happened then, although it played through his head anyway. He visibly began to shrink into himself as he relived those moments, and he was altogether far too small to begin with.

Dannyvillers - oh, they would have taken one look at him and would proclaim that no way in this world or that of which is to come was the boy going to survive the workload Jerry Wilkes intended for him.

Young Amy Colton fancied she knew Jerry Wilkes and (while she didn't as well as she supposed) arrived at a similar conclusion, but joyously looked past that trifling minor detail.

"Hullo!" she said brightly, with a brilliant smile after spotting him. "I'm Amy Colton and in four months and sixteen days I'll be eleven."

The boy, whom Amy had been convinced was her new best friend for the past month, didn't receive this news as enthusiastically as she had hoped. With a quick-as-a-flash startle, he blinked slowly and raised his eyes just long enough to take in Amy Colton's damp deep red hair, coal black, snapping eyes, and sunburned skin before quickly lowering them. "Yes'm, Miss Colton," he replied in a voice so soft that Amy had to strain to hear it above the passengers waiting for the five-thirty.

It was Amy's turn to blink. "Uh, you do know that when someone introduces themselves, you should do the same back, or at least say 'hello'?" He was completely out of step with the mannerisms of the world… and that was part of his charm. Son of a famous jailbird - he had a wild, dark, dangerous edge to his very existence that captivated Amy, who was starving for anything to fire her overactive imagination.

Yet he had called her "Miss Colton" - the first "Miss Colton" of her life, what a thrill! Even Mr. Jerry wouldn't go farther than an occasional "Miss Amy", and her Aunt Stella firmly (weepingly, as usual) told her that if she didn't stop being such a little imp she would never be a young lady. But yet, it sounded wholly unnatural from his mouth. They were going to be neighbors, after all.

Young Edwards was completely at a loss of what to reply with. "I'm sorry, Miss Colton." He fixed his eyes on a crack in the makeshift platform and hoped very hard that if he stared at it hard enough, that this elfin creature might disappear.

Amy didn't. Rather, she studied him for a moment, considering. She saw that he was not outgoing like herself; he wasn't even a little withdrawn like Luke MacIntyre. He was downright shy. This would require tact. This would require all the young lady-like delicateness and gentle consideration Amy possessed.

"So, what's you name?" she inquired cheerfully, sitting down on the bench next to him, very pleased with herself for not letting on that she already knew. Surely little things like that would win his trust. She would make Aunt Jenny proud yet.

"Roger… Edwards," Roger half-mumbled, trying very hard to leave off the "Edwards" and not quite succeeding. She might as well know now rather than later. His shoulders stiffened as he spoke. He wished Amy Colton wouldn't sit so close to him. He had taken as little room on the seat as possible - indeed, it was only exhaustion that prompted him to sit at all - but it was a small bench.

"That's better. Hullo, Roger!" she laughed blithely. She suddenly grabbed his hand and shook it. Roger's gasp of surprise was audible, and the prompt reddening of his too-pale face visible. There's no telling what Amy might have said to that - she was clearly incredulous at his unwelcome response - when the porter called: "All aboard for the five-thirty to Clairton!"

It was Amy's turn to gasp. "Oh, that's me! I'm sorry; I'll see you later, though, we're going to live right next to each other. I'll see you later, Roger, okay?" She skipped off, turning every couple of steps to wave.

Roger stared after her. Queerly enough, no matter how much he squinted at Amy Colton, she was still smiling and waving friendlily. Far too late, he came to the realization that it might only be polite to return the wave but felt foolish doing so.

"Okay, that was…odd," he mumbled to himself. He watched the train to Clairton huff with an exhale of smoke, steadily gathering its steam to start off, a red-clad conductor pulling the tired-sounding whistle, the train leaving off like a large metal, panting snake. He wondered where Amy had been going.

He wondered with grim amusement whether Mr. Chapman had recovered from his fury. Probably not. "Is this your son, sir?" indeed. It was a miracle of modern nature that conductor was even alive now.

It had been overcast and grey with a heavy overcast in Clairton; in Danielsville it was sunny, blue-skied, with birds chirping and other such details that made it seem like a setting in a fairytale, except of course that Danielsville was no fairytale. It was a hard, harsh, poor farming and fishing glen on rocky, thin soil where it was always too hot, according to Mr. Chapman.

Roger was sitting on a station bench in Madison, a good six miles from the outskirts of Danielsville. Madison was a small town compared to Clairton. Next to Danielsville it was large. He was in the middle. And compared to Clairton and what he had been told about Danielsville, Madison seemed nice enough.

It had always been sunny when he went to a new place, he reflected, the thought coming to him softly but unexpectedly. He had never considered that before, but always before, the sun was beaming when he was moved from one place to another. Except for Clairton, which didn't count. Perhaps because of all the factory smoke, the sun never seemed to light up the city. Still, by Clairton standards, it had been a fair day.

Sunny days always made one feel hopeful, optimistic, and expectant. But Roger Edwards was not falling into that trap again. It hurt too much to hope and then have them dashed, like the time at the Sheldons that he had dropped one of the best china tea saucers to the wooden floor and caused it to shatter and scatter into nearly a hundred pieces.

Roger, remembering the terrible punishment that had followed that, glanced down at his hands. They were especially hardened after nearly a year and a half of ceaseless factory work, and had thus gotten more awkward. What if he dropped something again? Danielsville sounded like Village St. James, where the Sheldons had lived… the similarity was uncanny. And in Village St. James, an old woman had dealt him with. Mr. Wilkes was a man about Mr. Chapman's age, or a little younger. Roger's heart began to beat faster.

Run away. Run away now. He was strong, he was smart - well, he couldn't read or write, but he could do enough figures to work in the Sheldons' store, why not any other? He could work hard - and if anyone tried to hurt him again, he could - well, he would be able to go off again, with no one to hold him back or tell him to stay. Mr. Wilkes wasn't here yet, he was late - this was his chance!

Roger had been slowly straightening in his seat; how he stood bolt upright and looked around the station and the green land beyond, swiftly yet carefully. He would have to be careful - walk past the passengers and stationmaster casually, so they wouldn't think he was doing anything wrong. Keep walking until he hit a village. Ask where Danielsville was and go the opposite way…

He still didn't move, even as he embroidered bits and pieces of his plan until it seemed a very good one. Why wasn't he? This was his chance! Fate, or even God - perhaps there really was one - something was giving him an opportunity, now it was up to him to take it!

Yet Roger had never been independent in his life, and subconsciously, he was frightened of the prospect as much as he was intoxicated by it. He stood for moments, shaking slightly, though he didn't understand why. After several moments, a gruff voice behind him spoke:

"Anything wrong there, boy?"

Roger nearly jumped a foot in the air. Hesitantly, he turned to face the red uniform of a station worker, but didn't look up to meet his eye. "N-No, sir."

"Looking for someone?"

"U-Uh, y-yes - Mr., Mr…" Darn. He couldn't seem to remember the man's name. It was on the edge of his tongue but he couldn't quite nail it.

"Oh, then." The stationmaster chuckled, although his voice suddenly changed. Not for worse or better, but a quality in it definitely changed. "You're the boy Jerry Wilkes is collectin'?"

Wilkes. That was it.

"Yes, sir."

"Don' fret, he's not leaving wi'hout you. You just sit and wait and I'll mind that he don' miss you."

Roger nodded in tight nervousness. "Yes, sir, thank you, sir." He practically scampered back to his bench, the beginnings of self-exasperation starting. Coward! Why hadn't he moved while he'd had the chance? Well, no doubt about it, he deserved what he was going to get from Mr. Wilkes in Danielsville now!

He almost felt like crying, but swallowed those tears. He was not a baby.

*

Jerry Wilkes would have begged to differ. He and Aladdin, the horse, drove up to the station rather late. He had intended to take young Amy to the station to catch her train to Clairton, but every customer at the store seemed determined to delay him, as if hoping that if he had to leave too late, he would give up the entire crazy idea of taking in Timmy Edwards's son. Jenny Bellinger took Amy to the station but didn't offer to take Jerry and bring him and the boy back; Jerry knew she was apprehensive about having Timmy Edwards's son so close to her young niece.

"He may be as decent as any boy, Jerry," she had said in the store one day, "but Amy is my niece and doesn't need corrupted - she's headstrong and bright, but doesn't know much of the world and doesn't need to just yet. I'm taking no chances." Smart girl, that Jenny had always been. It wasn't her fault her sister married a drunken layabout and that she had a sense of duty.

Jerry had no intention of leaving young Roger Edwards at the station even if he couldn't set offuntil midnight; it would have been as bad as losing to Ned Chapman. So he and Aladdin went, although the poor old boy was getting tired from the day and kept occasionally looking over his shoulder at Jerry reproachfully. Aladdin had more sense than most humans and capatalised every situation to his advantage, while Jasmine, Jerry's other horse, would snort and actually roll her eyes at her friend's antics.

But when Jerry finally arrived at that station, just as the beginning hints of summer dusk were falling, he was dumbstruck a moment. He had known Ned Chapman would lie to him, he had known Chapman would treat the boy badly, and he knew that Roger Edwards wasn't going to be a young clone of his father… but he still hadn't anticipatedthis lad. He did strike Jerry as a baby at first glance.

It couldn't be Timothy Edwards's offspring. Not this tiny-framed, large-eyed child. Yes, child. Chapman had said he was fourteen and built so that he looked older. It was a falsehood the size of which startled even Jerry, who could sometimes stretch the truth to his advantage.

Roger glanced upward at the sound of Jerry's wheels rolling over the gravel road and stared with his too-large dark blue eyes, expressionless. Timothy Edwards's wanted posters showed a man whose eyes so clearly held hatred of the world in general that it caused people to shudder. His son just looked blank.

Maybe, Jerry thought, it was the wrong one. "Hallo. Are you Roger Edwards?"

The boy stiffened as if Jerry had threatened him. His lips formed words that Jerry couldn't hear, but as he reluctantly stood, Jerry had to assume it had been a yes.

Aladdin, who had been begging for a rest, sniffed as Jerry tied him to a post. By the time Jerry had gotten to the platform, Sixton McHenry, the Madison stationmaster, had appeared near to the boy.

"Tol' you this scallywag Jerry Wilkes'd be here," Sixton told the boy genially.

"Awfully sorry I was late," Jerry apologised. "The store got hectic towards the end of the day."

The child who was by now obviously Roger Edwards transferred his gaze to his feet to Jerry at these words, eyes clearly showing dismay.

"I was pretty sure you'd be safe here, with Sixty to keep an eye out. Didn't have any trouble, did you?" Jerry asked Roger, cautiously, not entirely sure how to address him. He had decided just to treat him like Amy Colton until he got the measure of Roger, and Jerry had always talked to Amy as if she was an adult. Well, most of the time. She was too fun not to tease.

Roger shook his head. "No, sir," he said softly.

It was a long-standing joke that Sixty McHenry only heard what he wanted to hear; he had worked at Madison Junction so long that his hearing was damaged, and Jerry didn't think he had heard the boy. "Just fine," he assured Jerry. "Your boy here didn't cause a bit of trouble." Over Roger's head, Sixton raised an eyebrow, indicating slight surprise at that.

Jerry grinned in amusement that he had one-upped his critics already, and that Sixty had managed to make Roger Edwards sound like a cross between Jerry's son and Jerry's prisoner. In a way, there was an element of truth to that idea.

It turned out that Roger had brought no belongings. Sixton was again a little surprised; Jerry was not. He could just see Ned Chapman confiscating all of Roger Edwards's possessions permanently. Chapman had probably resented sending his slave off with clothes on his back. Not that Jerry would dignify what Roger wore with the word "clothes".

"Well, then," Jerry said cheerfully, "should we get going so us couple of hungry bachelors can have a nice meal 'fore dark, Roger?"

Roger looked rather bemused but followed him silently.

*

Well, then, should we get going so us couple of hungry bachelors can have a nice meal 'fore dark, Roger?

The words rang around in Roger's head. They did not fit in with his world, an unhappy one, but up until now, at least with the comfort of familiarity.

He was not going to start hoping anything. Mr. Wilkes had been taunting him, in a way that wouldn't be obvious to Sixty the stationmaster. If there was one thing he was very, very tired of in little over a decade of living, it was disappointment.

Besides, Mr. Wilkes had mentioned a store. Roger had hoped that he only worked there, but after the twilight trip to Danielsville, he was proved wrong. Mr. Wilkes had brought his attention to a sturdily built store with white paint proudly proclaiming "Wilkes Store" with an air of satisfaction, the way some men pointed out their children.

Roger nodded but threw the wooden-boarded store a glare over his shoulder as they rode past, Mr. Wilkes nodding to several people. His charge, however, avoided the faces of the people. Roger didn't want to see them gawking and craning to get a closer look at him, as if he were an exhibition in a circus. Roger had a funny suspicion that, like old Mrs. Sheldon in Village St. James, he, Roger, "hated people".

Mr. Wilkes had asked him questions at the beginning of his journey - how was the trip, did he seem to like Madison and Dannyville, what did he think of Clairton, how old was he, and such, but had given up after Roger gave shy and monosyllabic answers. It turned out that Jerry Wilkes was a very persistent man, however. As they were going down Evyn's Road, where both the Wilkes store and house were located, he started again.

"You're pretty quiet. Tired?"

Roger could scarcely remember a time he wasn't tired. "Not much, sir."

"I mean, it must be quite a day, going from the city to this little ole country bumpkin place between morning and ev'ning. That's a whole new life in one day, and now it's as if you were never in Clairton."

Roger shrugged. "Yes, sir."

"Oh, come on, Roger, that doesn't answer my question."

Somehow, Roger couldn't find the question in Mr. Wilkes's words and was feeling annoyed. He finally settled for replying: "I'm sorry. I'm pretty used to moving around to new places."

"Imagine that!" Mr. Wilkes glanced sideways at him and grinned. "I could've sworn you used a word with more than five letters somewhere in there."

Mr. Wilkes had to be insulting him now. The words, although Roger didn't quite understand them all, and tone were reminiscent of sneers he had heard again and again, and the sarcastic smile… but all the same, it didn't feel hurtful. Roger was frankly bewildered and stared at his lap.

"Gee, boy, I was only joking with you."

*

Jerry Wilkes's farm looked as though it never joked and never would have understood one if it had been slammed into one of its four large windows on its front by the wind. It was immaculate. No farmish clutter hid the starkness of the place and no curtains hid the impossibly clean glass windowpanes.

Yet it was a farm, and so was green. Roger's eyes were so tired from the unforgiving blacks and greys of the city that the farm's shortcomings were overlooked. He was aware that he liked thisplace; he was rarely fond of places. Most of them he did not live in.

Still, something was wrong. Roger squinted until he found it. It was bare. No children in the yard, no playthings on the veranda, no sign of life, not even the faintest hint of untidiness. Then the concept hit him like the train he had recently been on through the chest.

Jeremy Wilkes lived alone. He had said as much - a couple of hungry bachelors like us. There was no wife and mother, and no children; the absence of a rowdy family to hide him was conspicuous. It was him and Mr. Wilkes. No one to distract the man's attention from him. Roger gave an involuntary wince of apprehension. But he'd be damned before he said as much.

Mr. Wilkes showed him around the house and barn, including an introduction of the animals in it, which was handy, as they all had names, and both the animals and Mr. Wilkes seemed very particular about them. Roger crossed his fingers and whispered a witch-chant old Mrs. Henswath had often repeated in hopes that he could remember what each was called.

Dinner was quick, orderly, and lacked frills. In short, Roger enjoyed it, or would have, had the awkwardness not been at a fever pitch. Mr. Wilkes was running out of things to talk about, and Roger had runout of replies by the time he had said "eleven, sir". But it was nice not to have the women of the house and children badgering over them.

Jerry had intended to spend a quiet evening, at chores and perhaps getting to know his home boy. By the time they had finished washing the dishes, he decided that Roger needed rest. But wasn't handling a boy tiring! Jerry, with his usual brush-by-realism attitude, hadn't suspected that it might be this difficult.

It'll get better. He's shy. Once the boy gets comfortable it won't be as bad. Although he is annoyingly stubborn…Deciding the best course would be to announce bedtime, and knowing that Roger would no sooner protest than he would suddenly jump on the supper table and dance a two-step, Jerry lit a candle and led him up to the garret.

Catherine Flower had raised an eyebrow at this decision, but Jerry didn't intend for it to come across as Roger meaning nothing more than human labour to him. It was a clean garret, really: rather bare, but free from rodents, insects, and dust, sporting a nice view of the sunset, braided rug on the floor, a real feather mattress bed. True to his guess, Roger tried and failed to hide how his eyes widened. Ned Chapman, I'll get your throat one day yet.

"Well, um," Jerry began gracefully, looking around the attic rather than Roger, "it's warm up here, really… shouldn't have any trouble. I'm just downstairs if you need me, though. Er… I don't really have anything for you to, uh, sleep in. It's pretty hot, though, so if you just wanted to take your clothes off…" And the boy just stood there, face devoid of any expression. It didn't make things much easier. "I do own the store, after all" - ah, was that a flash of emotion on Roger's face? and what was it? resentment? - "so it shouldn't be so hard to get you some new clothes tomorrow. And maybe my friend Cath - Mrs. Kirk can sew up some of my old stuff. Although I'm not sure if it can be made to fit you. Er, I don't mean… So, uh, if you don't have any more questions…" He sounded like a teacher, Jerry thought in amusement. A very nervous one. If you have any more questions about your new home, indeed.

And Roger didn't so much as give indication he'd heard! Jerry's usual good humour was fast being replaced by impatience.

"So," Jerry said, more harshly than he had intended, "do you have anything to ask?"

Roger flinched and shrunk back as if Jerry had lashed a whip at him. "No, sir."

Now Jerry was angry with himself as well as irritated at the boy. Good grief. He inhaled. Cathy had warned this might be difficult. Sooner or later he'd learn to listen to that woman. Every time he showed the faintest trace of annoyance, Roger would take it as a threat. Just how bad could Chapman have treated him? "Well, then," he said, injecting false cheerfulness into his voice, "that's all together, now. Er - you are tired, aren't you?"

What a stupid question. What did it matter if Roger Edwards was tired? Not only would some write him off as unworthy of care, but if someone wanted him to be, Roger Edwards would become tired.

Another goal: get the boy some strength of will.

"Yes sir."

Point proven.

"Well then. I guess - well - " What did you say now? Whatever it is, Wilkes, make it good; you may be stuck saying it as long as you keep him. " - good night," he finished lamely.

Roger, mouth still set in that lethargic, stubborn manner, seemed to be digesting his words. "Um. Good-night, Mr. Wilkes."

Jerry felt as if he ought to say something more, but, unable to find anything suitable to say, simply turned for the door and left the attic, sighing as he left. That boy needed help, and Jerry Wilkes wasn't sure he was the one able to give it.

But, darn it. When did Jerry ever back down from a challenge? He'd never been beaten yet, and Timmy Rot-in-Hell Edwards's son wasn't going to be the one to change that.