The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

The Lost Provider

Able stalled in the doorway of the kitchen. Ma was grinding dried beans at the counter. Her rhythmic motion had shaken a strand of her graying brown hair loose from her kerchief, and it bounced against her back. This would be a bit simpler if he had hair like that. Noble and Practical both had these same wispy fine locks the color of umber, while Able stood alone with his darker, coarser waves. Alone, because the man he had inherited them from was gone.

She'd argued with Pa. For weeks, Able had lain awake in bed listening to her arguments when they were loud and sneaking down the stairs to eavesdrop when they were hushed. As if it were yesterday, he could recall the sound of her skirts brushing against her pants to the rhythm her bare feet slapped on the tile. It faded when she crossed to the far side of the cottage and loomed when she approached the staircase her sons huddled behind.

Her voice strained around the urge to shout. She mustn't shout. Shouting would wake the children. Shouting would make Pa soothe her instead of listening. She must make him listen.

She began by pointing out that treason to the Crown is punishable by execution. Then that the Larbant navy was blockading all the ports in Borealund. Then that certainly there were land patrols to the same effect elsewhere. And finally, that the whole plan hinged on Dagbruir, a godless land not known for its integrity, cooperating.

Did she even notice she'd undone weeks of her own secrecy? Did she think her sons were still asleep, were ever really asleep to this plot? Maybe that didn't matter when there was only ever tonight. Tomorrow would be too late.

These aren't the sort of men you go back on, was all Pa said.

The rustling fabric collapsed into a fluffle and stillness filled the room like a held breath. ...what was I thinking, encouraging you?

That we were running out of time to do something. I can't promise this will work, Lo. Or that it will be all right. But I have to try. For the boys. And not only the two who were supposed to be in bed, but the ones already out in the fields of blood, the ones already in the training camps preparing to join them, the ones trying to enjoy their lives with their families as they counted down the days to their sixteenth birthdays. A grand plan. One that failed.

But the plan of Uncle Noble taking Practical on as heir? That had been Ma's. And when she had presented it to Pa, he...well, he had looked at Able and said, That only solves one problem. He had also said—had held Practical's face in his hands that last midnight and said, None of this is your fault. No matter what happens, never blame yourself. I'd always do this for you. This and more. It's my choice.

He had reached for Able and said, You too. He never meant to leave Able out of it. Leave Able alone. Ma neither. But getting into the university had been Able's idea. And as much as he'd needed his family's support, he was the one who'd gotten accepted and stayed enrolled throughout the war. He'd done that. He'd succeeded. He needn't carry Pa's failure, no matter how linked he might be to it in Ma's mind.

Ma was watching him, perhaps had been watching him for some time judging by how she leaned against the counter with her cheek resting in her hand and an amused smile dancing on and off her face. "You were doing it again," she said fondly.

"Staring into another world," Able finished. When he'd been a child, she worried about him thinking so much. She tried to get him to stop, saying it was disrespectful to elders or dangerously unmindful, but as he moved into manhood and his career, she had accepted it. She did not understand, but she had still accepted it and, therefore, him. And this is how he repaid her. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I uhm...I have an assignment."

"Leaving by ship, then." She took a long breath to steel herself. Able was the only one in the family who had even set foot in a boat since that night. "Where then? Chalicefrey? Bridgebay?" She was definitely making this as hard as she could.

Best get it over with. "No, I'm going north. To the new territory."

"Borealund?" Her eyes just about popped out of her head, and she barked a short laugh. "No, you're not."

"Ma—"

"They can send someone else!" As if he were still thirteen. As if he had not paid for the new roof and resealing the pilings and replacing the upper floor windows. Could she not at least argue with him?

"They will not send someone else, as I will not let them." Not knowing what tone would be useful in this discussion, Able hoped his words were devoid of one. "This is my chance to do some important work and get a real career started so I'm not stuck another year in this dead-end job—"

"Steady work should be good enough for you—good enough for anyone!"

"Okay." He just about bit his tongue to keep from raising his voice to match hers. "But why? Why would you ask me to settle now, after everything I've done to get here?"

"It's too dangerous!" Her eyes were wide and insistent.

"Ma, it really isn't." Able shut his own eyes so he would not roll them. "It's nearly dead north of here. Follow the North Star until you sight land, then head west until you reach the port."

"That's exactly what your f—" She turned away, hands balled into fists. She tried to never let her sons see her cry.

"Because it's true." He came up behind her and cautiously rested his hands on her shoulders. "Whatever happened to him, it's unlikely he got lost. And I'll be boarding a trade ship with docking papers, not sneaking away like a thief in the night."

She shook her head and wiped her eyes before she turned to beg him face to face. "Please don't go. I couldn't bear it if...if..."

"I'll be fine." He hoped squeezing her shoulders was a reassuring gesture. "There's no reason to be afraid."

"It was clever of you to tell me while your uncle and brother are at work." She shook her head again, helplessly accepting her inability to dissuade a Houser man from his foolishness. Or maybe Able still wasn't a man in her eyes.

"Clever is usually one of the nicer words people use to describe me."

Ma turned and stopped Able's wry smile by cupping his face in her hands and staring, almost as though to memorize. He couldn't help that he had the same pale eyes, heavy brow, and square cheeks as his father.

"Don't you dare be the second Houser to fail to land in Fairbanks," his mother said lowly, finally. "Don't you dare."