Rat Song

Chapter 4

A few days later, all the shops closed, and the farmers abandoned their fields as everyone in Hamelin gathered in the town square to celebrate the children's return. Mrs. Norton set out a table full of freshly baked bear bread, and Mr. Stein put on a puppet show with the toymaker. Thanks to Mr. Farnsworth, a gentle old mare with dappled flanks offered the little ones rides around the town square, her hooves clopping in a regular rhythm.

Much to his father's annoyance, William played his guitar for the gathered crowd. His fingers danced over the strings, seamlessly weaving from one song to the next. More than a few of the adults danced along, whooping with laughter as they pranced through the square. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen everyone so happy, so carefree.

Yet despite the adults' merriment, the children paid him no mind. Usually William's songs garnered thunderous applause and shouts for an encore, but today he'd lost much of his audience to a buffet of all the baked goods and candy the children could stomach. Though she was usually the first to beg for an encore, Emma didn't glance his way as she and her friends swarmed Mrs. Norton and her rapidly disappearing loaves of bear bread.

Once his calloused fingers started stinging from too much strumming, William slung his guitar over his shoulder with a sigh. Neither his music nor the festivities could lift his spirits. Though the children were home at last, the shadow of the year they'd spent missing hung over every last one of them.

Little Peter Farnsworth's breath whistled in and out of the gap where one of his front teeth used to be as he cast his gaze around the square, constantly on the alert. Jennifer Baker's hands bore countless new scars, her skin a tapestry of scabs and scrapes. Emma jumped at the slightest sound, hiding behind the other children each time a crow cawed overhead.

He had to tell Mother. As relieved as he was to finally have Emma home, William would never be able to forgive himself if he didn't say something about how strangely she and the other children had been acting.

William quietly excused himself from the crowd to grab a mug of ale. He grimaced as the sickly sweet liquid pooled in his stomach, but though he despised the taste, he hoped the alcohol would loosen his tongue. It certainly had that effect on the adults clustered around the refreshments table, most with ruddy cheeks and easily flowing laughter as they indulged in his drink. Only his father's spirits seemed unaffected. If anything, the alcohol worsened his temper as he glowered at William over his mug.

William startled as Pastor Abrams clapped him on the back. "Very well played, William," the Pastor said, his words and smile as warm as a homespun blanket. "It's wonderful to see you making good use of the gift the Lord has given you."

"You're too kind," William said. Father's gaze burned him like a cattle brand from where he stood chatting with Mr. Farnsworth. Regardless of the praise anyone else gave him, Father would never approve of his music.

"There is no such thing as being too kind, but remember to give yourself the same courtesy," Pastor Abrams said. "Enjoy the festivities. I'm sure everyone will understand if you rest your fingers for a while. You've more than earned it."

"I will, thank you." At least, he would try to after he told Mother about what was on his mind.

Finding her was none too difficult. With Father seldom allowing her to leave the house except to go to market or to sell the garments she knitted, Mother had few friends of her own, but since Emma and Peter were so close, it was to be expected their parents would get along as well. As such, William was not surprised to find his mother engaged in a conversation with Mrs. Farnsworth on the other side of the square.