But all I said was “Sorry.” Because I was. Sorry that she had lost so much. That she might lose even more.

“Say it to him,” she said, turning away.

I bumped into Esther as she bustled out of his bedroom, her arms full of wet bedclothes.

“That was a terrible thing to do,” she said. “Do you want him to get sick?”

Which I ignored. None of us wanted him sick.

But sick he was.

And after months of watching him lie there, I was suddenly convinced I could do something about it.

My mother would have called that pride.

My sister: stupidity.

My brother: silliness.

But it was my father whose opinion mattered most.

“Daddy,” I whispered into his ear, up close, though a sourness had replaced the good, clean sweat, woodsmoke, dusty dog smell he’d had before. “Mother says I have to apologize to you, so here: This is my apology.” I paused and took a long breath. “I’m sorry if that water was cold.”

But, like Esther had said before, if was quite a word.

“I’m sorry,” I amended, “that the water was so cold. But I wanted you to feel it.”

I told him about the puppy. About Quiet waking in the cold water.

“You felt it, too, didn’t you?” I asked, but he didn’t move again. Not even a little.

I leaned away from him, looked toward the empty door, leaned back. “We’re in a bad way without you, Daddy. Mother is tired all the time and never laughs. Never. Hasn’t sung or played her mandolin since you got hurt. Samuel acts like a kid, but he’s as sad as a stump. I can tell. And Esther thinks she’s got to be grown up all at once.” I paused and gathered myself.

“And I want to burn down every tree on the mountain.” And I did. Though I didn’t. I loved trees. Even the dead ones. Even the one that had hurt my father as it fell. “It’s terrible without you, Daddy. We need you back.”

It wasn’t a lullaby.

No more lullabies from me.

“And you’re the only one who knows it wasn’t my fault,” I said, my voice breaking.

Although that wasn’t really true.

I knew it, too.

And maybe someone else, watching from the woods.

But none of that would matter, if he woke up.

When he woke up.

Before I left the room, I kissed my father on his head. On the scar there.

It felt like a map against my lips.

So I followed it.

—

For lunch, my mother and Esther and Samuel ate johnnycakes and eggs fried in butter.

I ate gruel.

“You need to learn a thing or two,” my mother said, though there wasn’t much bite in her bark. “Next time you have a wild idea, maybe you’ll think twice.”