Page 122 of The Reformatory

Robert pointed straight down the center of the cedar grove, or he tried to—but was he standing in the exact same spot where he’d been when he thought he saw a man? And had the man been standing just beyond the other side of the grove, or closer to the center, in the shade?

With the sunlight waning, the cedars’ trunks looked different now, the colors wrong. Too many shadows tricked his memory. Each new spot Robert studied looked like where the man had stood, the trunks separated just enough to hide half of his face.

“Don’t just point,” Boone said. “Show me.”

Robert walked toward the trees and Redbone started to follow, but Haddock said, “Not you. Stay where you are.” Robert looked back at Redbone, half expecting to see tears again, but Redbone was staring toward the sunset. Redbone probably didn’t think he would find the haint and was thinking over what to do next. Redbone always had a plan.

Robert’s stomach twisted. He should have marked the spot by the trees somehow! Why had he put all of his faith in Blue? If only Crutcher hadn’t made them leave, he would have remembered to mark the spot. Robert blinked away tears because he couldn’t turn back time and fix something so simple, just like he couldn’t go back to the road and not kick Lyle McCormack and sleep in his own bed tonight. Would he sleep in the Box with Redbone?

Dry leaves splintered beneath Robert’s boots as he walked in what he hoped was a straight line to where Henry Jackson had stood. This felt as hopeless as looking for blades of grass Blue had floated above on the way to church, every inch as vast as a mile. Was it here? No, wait—he didn’t remember seeing a rotted tree stump so close. Robert adjusted his position three or four feet to the right. The two trunks in front of him now seemed to be the correct distance apart, not too close and not too far, like the ones that had framed the haint. Robert tried not to notice how many other trunks also might be the right ones. He felt nauseous as Boone’s heavy footsteps followed him. And Haddock’s, moving more slowly.

“You sure?” Boone said. “You better be sure.”

“It just has to be close, right?”

“Better be within five, six feet,” Boone said. “That’s why they don’t trap easy.”

And Robert knew Boone was right because in the church Robicheaux had been caught at one end of the altar and the laughing boys at the other end hadn’t been touched at all, or at least he hadn’t heard them screaming. Robert surveyed the trunks and closed his eyes to try to remember where the man had been standing, and thought just maybe…

Robert pointed just beyond the twin trunks in front of him. “There. Right between.”

The spot was grass and twigs and dead leaves. Haddock leaned close, inspecting it. The soil was marshier here. “Hold on,” Haddock said, and reached into his shirt pocket for a small notebook. He ripped out a sheet of paper and gave it to Boone. “Set the dust on this.”

Robert braved another glance back at Redbone, and this time Redbone was watching too. Waiting. Neither of them smiled, but something in Redbone’s eyes, beyond words, was the only language that could make Robert feel less afraid, as if he were floating above it all like a haint.

A small brown beetle crawled across the paper Boone had laid on the ground. Robert watched its tiny legs scurry from one end to the other before forever passed and Boone finally said, “Here we go.”

Robert’s stomach cramped so tightly that he suppressed a cry and couldn’t keep from hunching his body like an old man. But Boone and Haddock didn’t notice, they were so busy over the spot beyond the cedar trunks where Boone was shaking out some of his dust. Robert heard every grain patter across the paper. The crow behind them seemed to laugh.

Then the awful, complete silence came again. No terrible screeching Robert would have welcomed with all of his heart. And no dancing ashes emerged anywhere near the paper where the haint dust lay still.

“Maybe this isn’t the exact right place,” Robert said. “But I know I saw him.”

Haddock’s eyes narrowed at him. “I’m very disappointed in you, Robert,” he said, gravel replacing the earlier kindness in his voice. “These other boys are too. But I’m quite sure you’ll do better tomorrow.”

Haddock turned to walk back toward the slaughterhouse. Toward Redbone, waiting on the other side of the cedars. Redbone backed away a step from Haddock before he remembered himself and stood still, his arms rods at his sides. Redbone was breathing fast. Haddock slowed, studied Redbone, and then walked past him. The other boys cleared a path for Haddock, avoiding his eyes. Redbone hung his head and sighed, relieved to be out of Haddock’s sight.

Boone spent some time arranging the haint dust on the paper, salvaging it by making a funnel to tap the dust back into his pouch. Robert watched him work, hoping his mood would improve. At least nothing had been lost! Boone groaned slightly when he leaned on the trunk to bring himself back to his feet. His brow and nose were sweaty.

“Go on back to the dorm,” Boone said. “Get washed up.”

“I tried my hardest, Mister Boone,” Robert whispered. “I swear I did.”

Boone wiped his brow with his shirtsleeve, still strangely calm. “Do what I said.” Boone sounded like Papa when he was too tired to lecture. Robert followed Boone back toward the clearing, where the crowd was still gathered. “All of y’all—show’s over! Go back for check-in.”

The boys scattered quickly to obey, some of them running, all of them veering far away from Haddock’s solitary path as he walked across the campus ahead of them. Redbone waited for Robert, shifting his weight nervously. They had taken only a step together when—

“Not you, Redbone,” Boone said. The quiet in his voice was awful now. Robert remembered Boone’s promise that Redbone would pay if anything went wrong.

“Mister Boone…,” Robert said, pleading. “It’s not his fault. We could try another tree. I did my best, I swear on my—”

Boone’s lip curled like he wanted to hit Robert, but instead he snatched Redbone’s arm so roughly that a joint cracked and Redbone hissed in pain. Crutcher was still watching from the shade of the slaughterhouse’s tilted rooftop. Robert hoped he would step in and say something like Mrs. Hamilton would, but Crutcher only watched. If only she were here! If only someone could see—

“Shut up and go do like I said, or I’ll break his arm,” Boone told Robert.

“Okay,” Robert said. “Yessir.”

He pressed his forehead to Redbone’s. Redbone’s skin was so hot, it felt feverish like Mama’s. He was so much more scared than he looked.