Snow in Red

The light of morning woke him, but his father's coughing pulled him from his bed. At dawn, he recited his routine, moving through it like a fish caught in a current. His father needed to be tended to first, then he could begin cooking. It used to be his mother did that, then his sister. He was the only one able now. Once breakfast was made, he saw his sister at the table. She lingered there after eating, pretending to be lost in thought. Her weakness was apparent in the paleness of her face. With a complexion like snow, he feared she was one heartbeat away from haunting. She would slowly move about the house doing what little chores she could before returning to bed in frustration and fatigue. Without a word between them, he picked up her chores and all the ones she claimed from their mother. What he could not do was still left to her. He could mend the holes and loose buttons on their clothes, but could not continue his sister's weaving as he didn't know how. She worked for as long as she could in the times she was able to get out of bed. The hours of her daily labor grew shorter with each passing night. What work she managed to finish, he would sell in town along with furs and leather he'd gotten from his regular hunts. After breakfast, he would tend to the chores outside, feeding the animals in the barn and the coop. Once the feedings were done, he sat in silence underneath the old lime tree. There, in the morning light, he would sit with his mother and leave her another meal she could not eat. He never heard her voice there, nor did he sense her presence; but he always hoped, if even for only a moment, he might. When he was finished with the morning chores, he returned to the bedroom he shared with his sister and wrote. His sister, Lily, would watch him work. "Another pamphlet? What's this one about?" "Same as before." He said. Lily turned in her bed to better watch him. "I don't think anyone around here likes them very much." "I know." He said. "But if I can change at least one person's mind...I don't understand. I don't understand why this is difficult at all." "Perhaps it's wrong of me, but I've started to think some people are simply evil and they enjoy it." Lily said. "I don't want to believe that." Isaac sighed. "There must be a reason they can't see it, that it's wrong." "They see it, Brother. They simply do not care." Lily went into a coughing fit. Isaac got up from his writing desk and rushed to her side. She pushed him back. "I'll be alright. Get back to work. You need to spread the message, right?" He put his hand to her forehead. She was burning hot. "It can wait." Isaac brought a bowl full of water and snow into the room. He wet a rag with the mixture and placed it on her head. Lily had already slipped back into a deep sleep. He kissed her on the forehead and held her hand. She seemed so fragile in his grasp. He felt, like the snow, she would vanish by spring. Before Isaac could get back to his writing, he heard a knock at the door. He closed the bedroom door and went to see who had come. To his displeasure, his visitors were the last people he wanted to see. Two men pushed their way into the house. One of the men was Isaac's neighbor, Tom Bower, who had gotten into frequent spats with Isaac's family over the years. The other was Pastor Moore, who oversaw the nearest church. Most of the town was part of his flock. Most, except for Isaac's family. "Good morning, Mr. Linwood." Pastor Moore greeted him with a cold smile. "Good morning, sir. Is there something I can help you with?" Isaac asked, his heart in his throat. "Yes, Mr. Bower and I were speaking after my sermon yesterday about some concerns he has about your family." The pastor said. "I know you have professed your love of Christ, but we both fear for your soul. Not once since your family moved to this town have any of you attended church." Isaac recited a script he had memorized for this constant questioning. "Yes, I understand your concern, but I assure you am I fine. We prefer to study scripture at home quietly. I know it is not how most do it, but I feel a deep connection to God just the same as you do, Pastor." "I know you feel that way, young lad, but the devil is always lurking and waiting for opportunities to enter a weakened heart." The pastor put his hand on Isaac's shoulder. "I fear you are being steered into darkness in your family's isolation. Mr. Bower has shown me the strange things you've had printed, and the much worse ones your sister has published. I implore you to please come to my sermon this Sunday. I know you have goodness in you. Please, join us then." Isaac forced a smile. He bowed slightly. "I will try to come if I can, but I can't promise it. My father and sister are so ill right now, I fear leaving them alone for too long. If you could forgive me, perhaps we can try attending once they've recovered their health some." "Why not have them come to the sermon as well? What better place to heal than in the Lord's most holy place? That might be why they're so sick." Tom Bower added. "My father cannot walk right now. If God wishes for us to be there, then a miracle will have to happen before we make it to the church, not within it." Isaac's paitience was growing thin. He did his best to maintain his composure. "I will bring them round when they are well. I'm sure they will be quite happy to get out and see everyone. If I think they are well enough, I'll come Sunday. Please, forgive me if I fail you. You can come visit me Sunday if I am unable to attend and we can discuss God together here, if you'd like, Pastor Moore." "That might be good. If you cannot make it, I will come and give your family a private sermon." Pastor Moore agreed to the idea. "Thank you so much for understanding, sir. I truly am afraid to move either of them out of the house. They both look the way Mother did at the end." Isaac looked away from them. He didn't want either of these men to be in his house a moment longer. "Your poor, poor mother. I didn't get to see much of her near the end. Do you mind if I pay my respects to her before I leave?" Pastor Moore asked. Isaac nodded. "She's around back by the lime tree, with the little ones." "I shall go see her." The pastor put his hand on Isaac's shoulder again. "I will pray for your family. Have faith. I'll see you Sunday." "I look forward to seeing you then, sir." Isaac escorted them out of the house. He watched them from the windows, patiently waiting for them to leave. As they left, another figure through the pane caught his gaze. Her. Tim Bower's beautiful daughter, Annette, waited for her father at the edge of Isaac's father's property along the old road. He rarely spoke to her these days. Tim had been a constant nuisance to Isaac's family, growing ever more hostile to them as time went on. The visit from the pastor was yet another subtle harassment against their private space. He could not hold any ill will against her though, no matter what her father did. When he saw her in town, he would speak with her and help her with her errands when her father wasn't around. Secretly, he wished to ask for her hand, but he knew her father hated him too much for her to even allow an hour of courting. He kept his feelings for her silently within, having made peace with the knowledge he would likely be one day invited to her wedding. Being kind to her and seeing her from time to time was enough to satisfy his heart. He wished her well in his own prayers, though he never granted the same words to the rest of her family. He felt a little guilty about that. After the unwanted guests left, Isaac went out into the snowy woods to hunt and check the traps. He used to work in town selling books, but as his family members became ill one by one, he needed to stay closer to home and it was too late in the year to grow anything. The woods behind his home brimmed with life even in the coldest, cruelest days of winter. And so he came into that sacred space to kill. Each bullet pierced his heart, but he dragged the bodies through the pure snow nonetheless, leaving a trail of red mixed with his footsteps. The lifeless eyes haunted him. He begged for forgiveness before he gutted the bodies. Today, he managed to kill a young buck. When he had finished tending to the body, he lit a lantern outside the house and came inside to wash off. He fed his father and sister a stew made from the meat and dried herbs. For the life he took, he hoped that sacrifice could extend, if only for at least another sunset, the lives of those within his home. He made more than enough for his family tonight. He was expecting guests at midnight. When the old clock struck the right hour, he took another lantern and walked outside to greet them. He brought the welcomed strangers to the barn where the family horses rested and fed them the rest of the stew. Tonight, he houses seven. The leader of the group had brought three adults, two children, and a baby in tow. He had laid down extra hay and hidden blankets in the barn to keep them warm through the night. Lily, dressed in only her night gown, joined him in the barn with the strangers. She carried a small blanket in her hand, one she had made herself. Before she was sick, Lily used to bring in a good amount of money with her seamstress work. Most days, she was too tired to work. With the little strength she had, she finished the baby blanket and gifted it to the guests. Isaac scolded her for coming out in the cold. One of the guests asked in a voice barely above a whisper. "Is it really safe here?" "Don't worry. I'm a friend." Isaac reassured them. "Sleep well and do not lose hope." Returning to the house, Isaac slept in Lily's bed instead of his own. They had always shared a room and shared a bed until Isaac was twelve, but often they would share that space again when the night had a strange air about it. The siblings had many friends over the years, but there was no one Isaac was closer to than Lily. Under the veil of night, they often whispered secrets to one another, shared laughs no one else could hear, and huddled together close in fear of strange noises beyond their shutters. When Isaac was fifteen, their home was broken into one night. The burglars beat his father unconscious, violated his mother, and attempted to do the same to his sister. Somehow, in the confusion darkness gifted to sight, Isaac had managed to wrestle the gun out of one of the men and shoot them both dead. For three months, Lily clung to Isaac at night, quivering like a fawn lost from a doe. He took pride in being her strength that night as that night haunted him in his sleep. Retelling the story, he became a knight in shining armor rather than the shaking, crying boy he had really been. That was not the first night he had taken life. He had hunted and fished before then. But it was the first time he understood what he was doing when he pulled the trigger. The empty eyes by dancing candlelight in the aftermath, the bits of brain and skull splattered around the room. Tonight, Lily's body was colder than the night before. She whispered to Isaac. "I finished writing a pamphlet. Could you have it printed in town tomorrow?" Isaac laughed quietly. "If they'll let me print it. Your words get as much anger as mine do. I may have to print it in the next town over. You could tone it down a little." "I don't know how much nicer I can be that women shouldn't be glorified pieces of property passed between men with no say in government. It is what it is." Lily laughed a little louder. "I don't know. Seems most men here view almost anyone that is not like themselves something they should we allowed to own." Isaac said. Lily had a small coughing fit. She pulled the blankets up higher. "Isaac, promise me you'll get it printed." A heavy, sinking feeling hung in his chest. He tried to ignore it. "I promise." Isaac silently said a prayer before he slept. The next morning, Isaac was woken by banging at his front door. A group of men stood outside. He didn't recognize them as anyone in town. Isaac hid his pistol in his coat before he answered the door. "Hello. Can I help you?" Isaac asked in a fake friendly tone. "Good morning, sir. We're looking for some runaway slaves. We heard they may have come through this area. We'd like to check your property. They have a habit of hiding in places they have no right to be." The man at the front of the group said. "I didn't hear anything last night. I wouldn't think there'd be anyone hiding here." Isaac answered, his heart racing. "They're real sneaky like that. We should check, just in case. Unless there's a reason you don't want us to see." The man raised a gun. "Stealing another man's property is a crime, you know." "I'm well aware. I've been burglarized before. Which is precisely why I am afraid I cannot trust a group of random men to rummage through my land without properly identifying themselves." Isaac stood his ground. "Is there any way you can prove you are here for the purposes you claim?" "We don't need to prove that to someone like you. Just show us around the property or we'll show ourselves in anyway." The man stepped closer. Isaac exited the house. He locked the front door. "I will not allow you inside my home. My family are very ill and I cannot risk them being exposed to anything else, but I can show you the rest of the property." The men chuckled amongst themselves. The leader of the group said, "Oh, we'll come back to that. But let's see the rest then." Isaac led the men around the back of the house to where the barn and a storage shed were. He took them to the shed first intentionally knocking over several things inside it to be as loud as possible while there. Isaac slowly picked up the items. "As you can see, there's nothing in here but shovels and food." "Alright. Let's see about the barn." The man said as he took one of the jars of preserved fruit off a shelf. The other men each took their own prize. Isaac walked slowly toward the barn. He didn't know what to do. He contemplated if he should attempt to kill the men, but they outnumbered him. If they found the guests in the barn, they may kill him anyway. Isaac was not the first to draw blood. A gunshot, then another, and a third. Isaac drew his own gun and fired as soon as he heard the first. Within the length of a short breeze, all of the men were dead on the ground. Lily, gun in hand, called out to her brother from a window. "Are you hurt?" "No. I'm alright." Isaac said. "But I've got quite a mess to clean up." "I'll help you." Lily offered. "No, you stay inside. There could be more of them and I'd rather you not come out in the cold again." Isaac told her before checking on their guests. He quietly said, "Stay hidden for now. If you hear any commotion again, use that window to the side to escape. The view of it is blocked from the front." The guests huddled together close to the window. Isaac locked the barn while he tended to the bodies, dragging each out into the woods to a ravine. He couldn't hide the red trail in the snow, but he could pretend the blood was from deer. He scattered the bodies amongst the mix of bones from others days. To most eyes, time hid well what once was. Only the skulls would give away what rested there. After sunset, their guests hurried along into the night to another friendly home. Isaac's father, Jeremiah, had finally gotten out of bed. Lily was in unusually good spirits as well. Three of them sat by the fireplace while they had dinner. Isaac was happy to see them so energetic. He hoped the worst of it had finally passed. The siblings told their father of what happened earlier in the day. "The country's already at war, and most men close their eyes to it." His father said with a hoarse voice. "A powder keg beside a growing flame born and bound by avarice. The days will only grow darker from here, my child. Whatever comes, do not let your heart be bent by evil. Do what you know is right." "I will try." Isaac added another log to the fireplace. "But I do not understand it. How can they come round to our door come to crucify us over our church attendance when that same church is preaching for the will of the devil. How do they not see it? How can one sit and listen to a man who supposedly is in touch with the divine argue that a man should get to sell another man?" "They twist old words to fit what they desire." Jeremiah said. He turned in his chair to face the fire. "Truly, what they desire is to be gods themselves. That is why they judge so much, and seek to control. That is what they see God as, a tyrant to admire. No tyrant could create such a beautiful world. Do not lose hope, my son. Whatever comes, you'll have no regrets if you always follow your heart." Isaac nodded. He helped his father back to bed, then retired to his and Lily's room. Lily put her latest pamphlet in her brother's winter coat pocket. "You didn't go in town for me." "I could hardly help that today." Isaac sat at his desk and read through some scripture. "I'll do it tomorrow." Lily started to cough. "Do you think more will come tomorrow?" "I don't know." Isaac got up and made sure the shutters were closed tight. He put a board over them. "Get some sleep. I'm sure everything will be fine tomorrow." Lily got in bed. "Goodnight. And don't forget." "I won't." Isaac promised. The following morning, Isaac went in town to buy two coffins. He spent most of the day between that and digging the graves alone. He prepared the bodies, dressing them in their most comfortable clothes. With his sister, he placed one of her pamphlets in her left hand and a branch from the lime tree in the other. For his father, he cut his father's favorite verses out of a bible and scattered them within amongst leaves from the same tree. Isaac kissed them both goodbye before closing the lids and covering them in earth. As dusk drew near, he took a gun out into the woods for one last kill. His feet had no direction. Isaac wandered aimlessly as night sunk the sun and the cold snow deepened from a fresh storm overhead. Somehow, his body had brought him to the ravine. The wind bit at his face, but did not deter him nor did the steep height he looked down from. He didn't need to jump. If he leaned a little farther out, gravity would do the rest of the work. He stood there, swaying with the wind in a trance-like state, unable to commit to either future. A branch broke behind him. Isaac turned around. As dark as it was, he saw her clearly. A young woman dressed in a white dress with hair that matched the snow lay on the forest floor. Her bare feet and hands were covered in blood and bruises. The sight of her snapped Isaac out of his dark thoughts. He rushed over to her. "Miss, are you alright?" The young woman looked up at him. "I've never been good at answering that question." Isaac looked closer at her feet. He took his scarf off and cut it in half with his pocket knife, then wrapped each end around her feet. He removed his winter coat and put it on her. "We must get you out of here. You'll freeze to death dressed like this. My home isn't far. You can stay there for tonight and I'll take you to the physician in the morning." The young woman sat up. She felt over the coat. "Won't you be cold?" "I'll be alright. I've at least got shoes on." Isaac turned around. "Here, I'll carry you on my back. I wouldn't want you walking through that snow without proper shoes." The woman accepted his offer. Isaac carried her back towards his house. "How did you get out here? Is someone after you?" "I'm simply foolish. I don't know where I'm going or why." The woman said. Isaac took her words to mean she didn't want to tell him the truth. He politely accepted that. "Oh, I see. By the way, I'm Isaac. What's your name?" "Meh, it doesn't matter." She answered. "I should think it does. What am I supposed to call you if I don't know your name?" Isaac forced a friendly laugh to ease the tension between them. "Hope." She said. "You can call me Hope, if you wish." "Hope? That's a beautiful name." Isaac said. The dark woods somehow seemed brighter than before. He glanced up. A part of the storm had cleared. The moon, full and as white as the snow beneath his feet, shone down on the path ahead of him. "It won't be a long walk. My home is close. I'll set a cot for you down by the fireplace." "That won't be necessary." She said, resting her head on his shoulder. Isaac raised an eyebrow at that. "You're a strange one. But it matters not. Whatever would suit you best, I'll see to it as best I can." "Are you sure?" She asked. "Seemed like there was somewhere else you wanted to go tonight?" Isaac thought back to the ravine and the bones below. He stared down at the red amongst the white he had unconsciously been following. Snow had covered more of it since he set out, but the moon revealed all too clearly how much still remained. He carried on forward, noticing the young woman's weight suddenly felt much heavier. "I can always go back tomorrow." Ahead of them, Isaac noticed another light. A bright, blazing light where the trail of blood began. Isaac hid himself and Hope behind an old lime tree while he peered out to search for the source. A crowd of townspeople were gathered at his home with torches and guns. The house, the storage shed, and the barn were in flames. The family horses and chickens were dead in the backyard. There, over the corpse of the very horse he had rode into town earlier, stood Pastor Moore. "Search the woods. Isaac Linwood can't be left to roam free. Seventeen slave catchers have disappeared in this town. No doubt these devil worshipers have been the cause of that." The pastor held up several pamphlets. "The proof is in his words. And his sister's, that harlot who sought to cut down man's power like that vile woman of Philistia. God has taken judgement on her and the wicked ones who bore her. Only one remains. We must cleanse the town of the last demon." Tom Bower stood next to Pastor Moore. He raised his torch. "That man seeks to overthrow our way of life, our very economy with his evil. He refuses to accept the order of the world, like many of those bastards to the north. We must defend our land, our wealth, our freedom! We cannot allow one man to participate in the theft of another man's means of feeding his family, his children, his wife!" Not far from Tom, the man's children and wife stood. He saw Annette there, cheering on her father, a gun at her side. "Seems it would be best for neither of us to go this way." Hope whispered to Isaac. "I'm sorry. I won't let them hurt you. I didn't think they..." Isaac turned to flee. He didn't know how far he would be able to get carrrying Hope on his back. The snow was already making it hard for him to walk. The brief guiding light of the moon vanished behind dark clouds. He prayed for a miracle to let at least Hope be spared that night. The wind howled, blowing the snow up around him and blocking his vision further. When it cleared, he found himself at an old road. He blinked and looked around. This road shouldn't have been there. The nearest road was in front of his house. To get to any road through the woods behind his home required careful travelling and that road should have been an hour's walk away. From the familiar trees and bushes, he knew without a doubt he could be nowhere else. "How..." Isaac whispered under his breath. A light approached from down the road, accompanied by the sound of hooves. The moon returned above him, showing the approaching wagon. The wagon stopped. An old man greeted him. "Hello, there. Do you need some assistance, young ones?" Isaac's heart raced. He feared the stranger might bring him back in town or could have even worse things in mind for them. "Don't worry. I am a friend." The man looked ahead. "Is this not a wise road to travel?" "No, it isn't. This town is dangerous to outsiders, and those who disagree with them." Isaac said. The old man motioned to the back of the wagon. "Come. Take shelter. We'll go another path. I have precious cargo I must take north, and I cannot allow a single one to be lost. We'll find another way through. Is there somewhere you wish to be let out at?" Isaac thought on it. "No, there's nowhere I need to be. Ah, Hope, do you...?" "I don't mind where we go." Hope said. "Your wife?" The old man asked. "No, she's...um..." Isaac wasn't sure what to say. "You're not running off with someone's daughter, are you?" The old man laughed. "She's my sister." Isaac lied. "Our parents are dead." The man gave Hope and Isaac gentle smile. "I see. Then it's best I ask no more. Go on. Get warm inside the wagon. There are plenty of blankets." Isaac decided to trust the old man. He carried Hope into the wagon. Inside, he met the cargo the old man was so protective of. Ten runway slaves, mostly covered by blankets, hid inside. Isaac and Hope joined them, covering up together under one of the blankets. The old man led them out of North Carolina, travelling north to New York. It took them a while to get there. The old man had heard some slave catchers would be roaming around the railroads. They took the long way, through paths the old man knew visitors wouldn't know of. Isaac got to know the runaways on their journey together. Five were children, split between two women raising them. They were not their mothers. The mothers had passed away already. One was an aunt, the other a grandmother. Both had their own children separated from them and sold to different plantations. The other three were men, one the current husband of the aunt. Her previous two husbands had also been sold. In the eyes of the man who owned her, none of her marriages counted as real. Some of the children she birthed were not by any of her husbands. Two were from men the mistress had arranged to breed with her and ensure a supply of milk while she was pregnant herself to alleviate herself of the burden of breastfeeding. He had heard tales like this before from escaped slave women, of these arrangements where they were forced to be pregnant solely to have milk to breastfeed the children of their owners. "She always said it was beneath her. Work for servants and slaves." The woman said. She hoped to keep her family together now. The children, she already treated as her own. She hoped this would be her last marriage. The grandmother was covered in more scars than the others, her resilience etched into her skin. She had worked out in the fields all her life, since before she could remember, had five husbands, been forced beneath ten others, and bore sixteen children. She knew none of them anymore. The grandchild was the last of her blood relatives she still knew. The child's mother had tried to escape only to be caught and tortured to death. On her knees, the old woman had begged to let the child be spared from punishment. Her last remaining daughter was tied over a fire, boiling oil slowly pouring over her. There were rumors among the other slaves the family had dined on unusual meat that night at the mistress's request, but none knew the truth. That evening, the usual slaves were not allowed to cook. She never saw what they did with the body when they were done with her daughter. At night when she was close to sleep, she still heard her daughter's screams echoing in the darkness, but the noise vanished when she rose. The other two men had been used for the mistress's whims. One was frequently used to get women pregnant. He was seen as one of the strongest on the plantation. The master viewed him as a source of future stronger workers. The mistress was attracted to his strength. She often required certain things of him when the master was away. The other man was the mistress's favorite. She considered him to be quite handsome, for his unusual blue eyes. They were eyes he had inherited from his white father, the current master's father and the father-in-law of the mistress. It was known he was the half-brother of the master, but that didn't grant him much in the way of special treatment. When the master was off on business, the mistress would have him chained by a collar to her bed post to have him near whenever an urge came over her. Isaac recalled how the people in town would counter his arguments against slavery with claims that the slaves lived happy lives, that cruel owners were rare, and after all, they were much too simple and stupid by nature to be independent anyway. They were too lazy to work without being forced, too violent to not be under control, and too lustful to not be used for breeding more. This was the only way to protect everyone, and it kept the economy running smoothly. It would be far more cruel to take away the money from the economy than to free people who couldn't care for themselves. Isaac tried to get them to read writings by Frederick Douglass, but they were uninterested. When they reached the home of the old man in New York, he introduced them to locals who could help them get established. The grandmother and her granddaughter continued onward to Canada. She told Isaac before leaving, "I ain't dying in this land. I won't let them have the flowers that will grow from me." Isaac and Hope stayed together at the old man's house. The old man, Jebediah, and his wife, Mary, shared much in common with Isaac. Isaac spent many mornings with Jebediah in quiet studying of scripture. The family, including the couple's adult children who had moved out, did not attend church. None in the small town did. He made many friends in the community, finally meeting some people outside his family who he could have spiritual discussions and debates with that didn't end in accusations of insanity and death threats. He took a job at the printing shop Jebediah ran. Finally, he printed copies of his sister's last pamphlet, the only item of hers he still had. Having been tucked away in his winter coat for him to take into town, it had survived the fire. The small collection of words were all that remained of her body of work other than the one he buried with her in her coffin. Here, her words gained more favor than their old home. He wished she was with him now. In the time since leaving, he had gotten closer to Hope. She wouldn't tell him much about her. Her past was a mystery to him, but he didn't mind. She made him laugh, and think on things no one else did. They often stargazed at night, her questions to his questions always bringing him to new thoughts and fears. He could not fully enjoy his new life. The tensions between the states had only worsened since he left. The country was on the verge of war. He wasn't sure what would cause it, but he sensed it wouldn't be long before something set it into motion and the land would split. A new weight came over him. He spoke with Jebediah one morning about it. Jebediah was at the kitchen table, reading a new book edited by L. Maria Child. He turned a page. "Isaac, good morning." "You haven't put that book down since you've gotten it." Isaac sat down across from him. "I cannot. You should read it when I'm done. But I must warn you, it's not a pleasant read." Jebediah marked his page and shut the book. "As often the truth is not." "Yes, unfortunately." Isaac looked over the title of the book, Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl. "Jebediah, what do you think is coming? There's going to be a war, isn't there?" Jebediah lowered his head. "Seems inevitable." "I've been thinking, I don't know if I should join or not. I've written much to promote abolitionism, given shelter to runaway slaves, and taken the lives of several slave catchers. But the act of killing haunts me. I am haunted by the killing of deer. Since coming here, I've stopped eating meat entirely. I don't wish to cause any more death, but..." Isaac put his hands together. "I don't know what I should do. Can there really be no other way to move forward than violence?" Jebediah put his hand on the book. He spoke with a quiet sadness. "I understand your pain. A good man always wishes to avoid causing pain, even to those many would deem unworthy, but sometimes some people do not allow you any other option. As it is now, many are already suffering and dying, tortured and confined, dehumanized, worked to the bone, violated...the ones who are causing all this harm do not seem interested in being reasoned with. The ones who could be reasoned away have likely already joined us. Murder is a sin, but defense is not. It is up to you to decide how you will move forward. You could always continue to support in other ways, as I have. I am much too old to join a battle, but my home can be a safe house. You could always learn medicine or do work in supplies or communication. You don't necessarily have to take life to support the battle." "But in doing all those things, I am still supporting those who are killing. It makes no difference whether I pulled the trigger personally or not, I am advocating for death by aiding any army." Isaac answered. "That is true." Jebediah said. "I know you wish for peace, child. As do I. But some will not allow it. There are many men who take comfort not in helping themselves but in hurting others more than they are hurting themselves to avoid looking at their own pain. It's a kind of failure to them to admit fate has not been kind to them or they have been used by monsters. Others are simply cruel because they enjoy it. You cannot change such minds through peaceful means when those types are themselves already causing suffering and death. They respond to no reasoning." "I know." Isaac's shoulders sunk. He looked at the old man. "When it starts, could you look after Hope for me? She doesn't have any family." "Aren't you her family?" The old man laughed. "I..." Isaac tried to think of a lie. "It's alright. I knew from the start she wasn't your sister." Jebediah laughed again. "But I suspect you have not yet wed her." "I haven't even asked." Isaac blushed. "The old man shook his head and smiled. "You don't have much time. I would ask her soon, before it starts." Isaac spent three days thinking on how and when to propose to Hope. On the second day, Jebediah lent him the book he was reading. Isaac's thoughts were caught between those two spaces, his thoughts and ethics and war, and the woman he had fallen in love with. The third night, he finally got up the courage to ask her. He took his out to their usual space where they watched the stars. "You wish to marry me?" She laughed with a smile. "I know we haven't known each other for very long, but..." Isaac's heart pounded in his head. She kissed him on the cheek. "If you wish." "Are you sure?" He asked. "Time is too fast a weaver for mortal desires." She said. "You shouldn't waste your brief moment in this world worrying about not waiting long enough to be happy." He kissed her. "If war breaks out, I'm going...I'm going to fight." "I know." She put her hand to his face, her eyes full of sadness. He had never seen such a look on her face before. The depth of her sorrow somehow engulfed him, as if he had been pulled under an ocean current struggling to breathe. She put her hand on his left arm. "Do as your heart tells you. But it is a shame you must lose to gain for others." "Lose?" Isaac asked, confused by her words yet again. "Worry not. I'll be here with you, always." She put her arms around him. "Come, let's go to bed." The following week, a small wedding was held. The bride and groom, along with all of the guests, were dressed in simple clothes. In spring, the war began. Isaac kissed his wife goodbye before heading south to fight. Two years passed with hundreds of letters exchanged. He always felt her with him, but he never wanted her to see him fighting. He felt shame at the blood he stained the earth with. He didn't want to kill anyone. But, he told himself, they brought the battle to him by their refusal to end their crimes against humanity. He couldn't understand it, how a man could relish in and defend so much senseless violence against another for profit and pride. There were no differences between the races, only justifications by greedy, wicked men and women to allow the theft of property, land, and personhood from others for their own gain. He had heard from natives a word for cold-hearted, gluttonous, cannibalistic creatures that could never be satisfied. From his eyes, he saw the south had been infested with them. Of course, they too had seen much cruelty against them. Even the side he was fighting for cared little for the people who's very land they had stolen. He found it strange some could see the humanity in some, but selectively ignore it in others. If need be, he would fight for that cause too and the liberation of women his sister rallied for even while she lay dying in her bed. The world was full of hypocritical half-kind, half-cruel people. With every bullet he fired, his heart broke a little more. He returned home in his second year of fighting after he was shot in his left arm. The arm became infected and was amputated. Losing the arm was painful, but he could still continue at home. After all, he still had the right one. He could keep writing at least. Weary and tired, Isaac made his way home to his wife. Hope was waiting outside the front door when he arrived. She had a kind smile on her face and sadness in her eyes. "How did you know I'd arrived?" Isaac asked. She kissed him. "Why wouldn't I know?" He laughed. "I should've expected you'd say something like that." "Come inside. They're waiting to see you." Hope led him inside the house they had inherited from Jebediah and Mary. The old man had passed away a year into the war, and his wife followed a few months after him. As their children all had their own homes and lived outside the town, the couple had left the house as a gift to them. Hope had left the house as it was when he left. Isaac looked over at the dining table they used to eat around. Jebediah's favorite chair at the table, where he was always reading, was half pushed in the way he always left it. A spider had took up making a home between the spaces in the wood. The rocking chair Mary often sewed at sat still by the window. Hope led him past those empty spaces to the one they were meant to share. He heard voices he didn't recognize. Isaac slowly entered the room, then rushed over to the children playing on the floor at the foot of the bed. In the time Isaac had been away, Hope had given birth to a pair of twins. She named the boy Mercy and the girl Peace. Tears fell from Isaac's face. He fell to his knees and kissed each child on the forehead. "I'm home." The war ended two years later, having lasted only four years. Many lives were ended during the war, but slavery had ended. It wasn't a perfect victory. Those in the south were quickly working on ways to limit the freed of those who had been liberated. The battle was far from over, but at least some progress had been made. He wished he could talk to Jebediah again and ask him for advice on what he should do now, to share with him the things he saw on the battlefield, and about the nightmares that plagued him. But the chair at the table remained unoccupied. He couldn't bring himself to sit in it. He knew Hope would listen to what he had to say, but he didn't want to tell her about it. He didn't want her to know the things he had done or what he saw. He wanted the things they shared to be happy memories only. One night, while they were in the bath, Hope said to him as she washed off what remained of his left arm. "You don't have to hide your pain from me. I know the depth whether you say it or not. You'll feel better if you say it to someone." "But I don't want you to see that part of me. I've taken so much life, maimed so many." Isaac said. "Do you regret fighting for that cause you told me you believed in?" She asked. "No." Isaac let a tear slip from his face. "Why does it have to be this way? After all that bloodshed, they're still...they still want to go back. So many people I met on our side died beside me. So many people I knew here have died without me getting to say goodbye to them...I took so much life and after all this, they're trying to regress backwards already. Did I even succeed at all? Did I cause death for nothing?" "I can't answer that for you. Only you can." She washed off his face. "But I know that there are far more people born today free than four years ago." He put his hand over hers on his cheek. "There's still so much to do...Why is there so much resistance to kindness and fairness? They even steal that word, fairness. That is somehow unfair for another man to be equal to themselves. What sort of nonsense is that?" "Funny, isn't it? They're quite good at making up down and down up, then leaving you to argue about it." She kissed him. "You alone cannot right everything wrong in the world. And nothing will change either if you give up." Isaac drew her close against him. "I know. I just wish...it wasn't this way. Life is so short and full of sorrows. I don't understand why there are so many people who make it their raison d'être to worsen the lives of others." She looked up at him, her eyes full of the starlight that poured in from the window. "Perhaps, I am to blame. Free will is a heavy burden." "What? What are you talking about?" She put a finger to his lips. "Let's rest. I'll ensure you sleep well tonight." For the first night since the war ended, Isaac didn't dream of death. Over the years, the nightmares began to fade. He worked with Jebediah's oldest son, Gabriel, at the print shop. After his father's death, he decided to move back into town to run the shop more easily. Isaac came to see the man like a brother, and eventually all of Jebediah's children as part of his family. He raised the twins alongside Gabriel's children. He continued on his writing. While he was quite popular in the community, he was less so outside of it. It was difficult to get people to extend their sympathy to the slaves. He was finding it another uphill battle to get people to question their thoughts on the positions of women and the indigenous people they had displaced and stolen from. But he did sway some every now and then. He tried to hold onto those small victories, but it was a constant struggle to keep his sadness at bay. Humans were quite reflective of nature, he thought, full of strange and unnecessary cruelty with small reprieves. When he looked up at the sky, he wondered how long it would be like this. Human life was brief. The trees outside his home were older than him. What memories, he wondered, were etched into them by Time's quick pace. What blood had been spilled before them, what bodies became food for their roots? When he was at his lowest, he wondered if god might be evil, or if god existed at all. He would begin to tell himself everything he did was for nothing, and perhaps life had no meaning. In these moments, when nothing within him could bring him comfort, Hope would find him. She always knew when he was like this. Like a ghost, she would appear behind him without a sound. She would hold him against her chest and tell him to rest in bed. When he would fall asleep with her in those times, he knew it couldn't be, but he felt as if a light had wrapped around him and he was floating. The dark thoughts would fade for a while and he would write more in the morning. His children also helped keep the dark thoughts away. Simply watching them play or cuddle up beside him to nap midday always filled his heart with warmth. Peace, at seven, had written a little pamphlet of her own. Mercy helped distribute copies to their neighbors. The children, even when very young, noticed their mother was a bit strange. "Why is Mother how she is? She says such odd things at times." Peace had said to her father once when she was fourteen. "That's just how she is. But that's what I like about her." Isaac watched her in the garden from the window. "I don't think I'd be here without her." "Sometimes, I wonder if she's a bit mad." Peace said. "You know, she once told me no one would be here without her. When I asked her what she meant, she said it didn't matter." Isaac put his hand to the glass. "Well, perhaps she might be a little. That's no reason to not love her." "I didn't say I don't love her." Peace joined her father by the window. "Do you think we should take her to a hospital?" "No. She says odd things at times, but she's never hurt anyone or herself. Leave her be." Isaac suspected something else about her, but he chose not to say it. When the twins were twenty-four, Mercy moved to Georgia. He hoped to change the perspectives of the people living there. He wrote to his family often, and visited on Easter and Christmas. Peace stayed home, unmarried. A young woman moved in with her, Joy Evergreene. She co-wrote pieces with Peace at times. Their words, intertwined upon blank sheets in black ink shared the same proximity the women did at night in bed. Isaac was a little sad he would have no grandchildren from his daughter. He was certain she could raise wise children. But he accepted it. Whether by blood or by bonds of beliefs, she could influence the future. Mercy married a woman, Jessica Locke, before he left the state. They had three children together, a girl named Love, a boy named Honest, and another boy named Justice. When the children were adults, Mercy moved back to be near his aging father. Love and Honest never had any children. Both were infertile. Justice would eventually marry a woman named Patience and have two children with her, but Isaac would not live long enough to see his great-grandchildren. In winter of 1915, Isaac spent his last night at home with his wife. The world was at war. It pained him to think of how many lives would be lost by the end of it, and he feared worse would be coming in the decades after. He wished he could do something to end it, but his body was too weak to leave the bed. Hope stayed at his side, holding him close. The dark thoughts filled him. "I haven't done enough. I can't do enough." Isaac felt his eyes becoming heavy. "What is enough?" She asked him. "Do you think you're a god?" "No. I suppose I'm not. Have I done good?" He smiled slightly. Isaac looked up at his wife to find her young again. Her eyes grey eyes were full of stars. Isaac couldn't speak. "You've done much good. And now, it is time to rest." She put her hand to his face. "I won't let you have a nightmare at the end." Isaac held tightly to Hope. A calm came over him as he drifted off into a deep sleep he would not wake from. Isaac was buried in the town cemetery not far from Jebediah's family. Seven days after Isaac's death, when all the business of dealing with his passing had ended, Peace found Hope outside at the place she and Isaac always stargazed at. She was unresponsive and smiling. Hope's body was laid to rest beside her husband's. A hundred years after Isaac's death, two of his descendants stopped by to visit the cemetery after attending a funeral. The two visitors came from Georgia, descendants of Justice Linwood. Amanda Strickland, born five generations after Isaac, like most of her family in between those generations, had spent much of her time advocating for the advancement of civil rights and did extensive charity work. She had a son with a man she met abroad, but did not marry. Her change of surname came from her relationship after that. Due to a mistake made by the doctor who oversaw her son's birth, she was left unable to have any children with her husband. The man she married, Eddie, was a very involved father to her son anyway. The son, Alex, kept the last name Linwood. As would be expected of a seventeen year old, he was uninterested in both the wedding and the family's history in the town. Alex entertained himself at the cemetary by trying to take spooky photos to show his friends when he got home while his mother and stepfather were busy talking to other relatives. He took a few of the headstones that bore his surname. "Justice, Love, Peace...what kinds of names are these? People were so weird back then." "People in that time period often named their children after qualities they hoped the child would embody." Someone said behind him. Alex turned around. A young man in white with white hair and grey eyes sat against the headstone of Hope Linwood. Alex didn't recognize the young man. He wondered if the person was a distant cousin of his, as he noticed they had some facial features in common. "Ah, sorry, who are you?" "Meh, it doesn't matter." The young man answered. "What?" Alex laughed. "Alright, then don't tell me. Are you stuck here too?" "Not really, but I'm kind of everywhere anyway." The young man answered. 'Someone's on something.' Alex shook his head and laughed. He felt a buzz in his pocket. Alex took out his phone and saw a text message from his friend, Eric. Alex quickly replied, then agonized over whether the text he sent sounded potentially flirty. He had sent Eric at least a hundred messages over the weekend. Alex was too embarrassed to count how many there were at this point. He wanted to call him, but was worried he would sound too needy over the phone. Alex looked through the photos in his phone to find one of Eric. "Is that your boyfriend?" The young man asked, now standing beside Alex. Alex moved away from him. "No. Uh, do you mind? I really don't know who the hell you even are. Are you...here from the wedding or not?" "We're related. I'm not a stranger." The young man grinned. "Am I bothering you?" "Yeah." Alex said point blank. "Sorry to get on your nerves." The young man walked back to Hope's grave. He knelt down in front of it. "You don't have to worry, you know. You're going to marry him." "What makes you so convinced, Mr. Psychic, that I'm even gay?" Alex asked. The young man stood up. He smirked. "I don't need powers to know that." Alex blushed. "Whatever. So, we're getting married, huh? When's the wedding? Why don't you tell me my future?" The young man put on a performance of pretending to see a vision, closing his eyes and putting his hand to his forehead. "You'll be married when you're both in your mid-twenties. You'll adopt a boy born on the seventh day of the seventh month, making that child the seventh generation down from the couple that rests in the graves behind me." Alex looked at the two graves behind the young man, Hope and Isaac Linwood. "Seven generations, huh? July 7th? That's a lot of seven's." "A lot of things happens in sets of three's and seven's. It's just how things balance out." The young man shrugged. "Riight...Well, thanks for the information, Mr. Psychic. Afraid I don't have any change on me to tip you with." Alex returned to looking at his phone, reading what Eric had texted back to his last message. He sent another one in response. "Eric will take your last name, and so will your son." The young man added. "Uh huh." Alex ignored him, then a shiver went down his spine. He never mentioned Eric's name. Alex looked back to ask him how he knew that name, but the young man was gone. Alex calmed himself. He reasoned the young man must've seen his text messages and saw Eric's name. He likely was hiding now on purpose to scare Alex. Alex rolled his eyes. He sent Eric another message, but he began to get paranoid. After the young man left, the section of the cemetery he was in suddenly had a cold, unnatural stillness about it. Alex ran off to look for his mom. Alex was right to think the young man was not far away. The young man in white now watched Alex from Isaac's headstone. "Poor thing. Your life will be filled with much pain in your heart, just as his was. But I don't see you living as long as him unless I interfere again. I shouldn't." The young man looked down at Isaacs grave. "Or should I? What would you want me to do?" A breeze rushed through the trees. "His mother won't live past next year. I can't save them all. I'm supposed to observe and let you all be." The young man stared at the ground. "I couldn't answer you why this world is the way it is. Perhaps it's wicked because I must be. They all end up destroying everything in the end." Alex wandered back over to the section of the cemetery Isaac rested in. He had dropped his wallet somewhere. Alex looked at the young man and rolled his eyes again. "So, you are still here. Have you seen a wallet around here?" The young man handed Alex a wallet. "You dropped it when you ran off." Alex took the wallet and put it in his back pocket. "Hey, why were you trying to scare me?" "I wasn't." The young man looked at Alex. "You sound a lot like him." "Like who?" Alex asked, expecting a nonsensical answer from the strange man. "Him." The young man pointed to Isaac's name. "Your eyes are the same color as his too. But I suppose that makes sense since you're related." "Sorry, I don't think I ever met him." Alex said. "He died a long time ago." The young man glanced at the flowers on nearby graves. "You don't believe in any god, right?" "Nope. I'm a hard atheist." Alex answered. "Why?" "I have a question for you. Suppose something did convince you there was some kind of higher power, do you think a being like that could be considered evil?" The young man asked. "If a god did exist, given what I know goes on in the world, he'd have to be evil, apathetic, or completely uninvolved for things to be the way they are. So what'd even be the point in calling something like that a god anyway? Sounds pretty worthless to me." The young man stood back up. "I suppose that makes sense. So, what gives you purpose and direction in life?" "I was born with this trait called empathy. Natural selection gave me that and higher consciousness to deduce what to do with that. My choices are my own, based on my own thoughts. I don't need the threat of hell or the promise of heaven to want to help people. I try to do what's right because I want to help people of my own free will." Alex's words came tumbling out in an almost rehearsed manner, as if he had said these same words many times before. "That's good to hear." The young man put his hand on Alex's shoulder, then walked past him. "I've always been disturbed by people who say they need the threat of punishment to not want to murder and rape children. But I suppose if the only way they can stop themselves is by inventing eternal punishments for themselves, at least it's stopping them." Alex was surprised by the man's answer. "Oh, are you an atheist too?" "Hmm...It might be more accurate to say I'm agnostic. I know there is a lot I don't know, but I haven't been convinced of any of Earth's religions either." The young man looked up at the sun. "Are you heading back home after this?" "Yeah. We need to get to the airport in three hours." Alex responded to another text message. "I guess I probably won't see you again for a while. Are you on Facebook or Instagram?" "Nah, I don't really keep accounts like that." The young man laughed. "You could say I prefer lurking more than posting online." "Ah, yeah I don't really post much on my Facebook. It's mostly for job and school stuff. I really only post a lot on Instagram." Alex opened the app for it and showed his account name to the young man. "If you ever get one, this is mine. Do you want my number?" "I don't have my phone on me right now. I'll ask someone for it later. I'm sure someone will be able to get it for me." Alex put his phone away. "Yeah. Hey, you still haven't told me your name. I can't exactly ask my mom how to get in contact with you without it." "Hope Linwood." The young man said. "Hope? Isn't that a girl's name? Not that I can talk. My mom named me Alexis." He sighed. "Just call me Alex though. Only my mom calls me that." Amanda called for Alex from far away. Alex waved back to her. "Looks like it's time for you to go." The young man said. "Yeah. I guess I'll see you around. Bye!" Alex waved goodbye and ran over to his mother. "Isaac, I can't decide. Should I intervene or not?" The man in white sat back down. "Maybe if it's only one. I'll let things play out in all the versions of him except one. Or should...I should resist. But he's different. In all futures I see for him, he doesn't make it to forty. I've never encountered a soul who's fate was so tied to a young death no matter what actions were taken by him and around him. A mathematical tragedy." Alex talked with his mother. He looked back over at the young man with a horrified face when he learned he didn't have cousin named Hope. The young man waved to him and walked away. "I'll decide when death comes for him in this one." Alex frantically asked if any of his relatives knew who the young man in white might be. But no one saw any man in white in the cemetery. On the plane ride home, Alex looked through the photos he took for the wedding and the cemetery visit. He noticed a familiar name amongst the graves, Hope Linwood. Alex sighed. 'So that's where he got the name. Who was that weirdo?' Alex privated his Instagram account for a month. He didn't think about the incident much after that, having already reasoned the person was just a stranger who thought it would be funny to mess with him. By graduation, he had forgotten the incident entirely. Years after that day, Alex married Eric Thomas. Three years later, they adopted a boy named Sky, born July 7th, who changed his last name to Linwood. As Isaac had spent his life heartbroken by the suffering he saw in the world, < href="/dust.html">so would Alex. He spent much of his adulthood working himself to death trying to save as many people he could until he had stretched himself so thin his heart began to give out on him. Protecting his son, however, would be what brought him fully to death's door in the heat of a summer field at night in the year 2033 when Alex was only thirty-five. As to the decision of interfering or not in fate, it was left to the final moment. Main