Chapters (76)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- PROLOGUE
- PART I
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- PART II
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- PART III
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- INTERLUDE
- PART IV
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- INTERLUDE
- PART V
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- PART VI
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- INTERLUDE
- PART VII
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- PART VIII
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- Newsletter Sign-up
“I had a son, about that boy’s age,” Guy said, and his eyes instantly watered. “I had two sons. Every man should have children. They make you a better person. My sons … they both caught sick around the same time. John was always the stronger one, he could … he came through it alright.” Guy couldn’t feel his fingers or his feet now. There was nothing but a muted world and the patch of ground he was staring at, and the memories. “But Henry was smaller. He was only a little thing. You can’t do anything to help, you know, when they’re sick. When they cough, they don’t know what’s wrong. Henry fought, but … the sickness won.”
Henry had been a kind boy with an adventurous spirit, quick to giggle. Watching that joy leak away from him was the most wretched thing Guy had ever lived through. His throat was clenched, he couldn’t keep thinking about it.
“There was a moment,” he continued, “when Much fell into my arms, that he felt exactly like Henry.”
The dark all blended together and in it was the boy’s face, Much’s face—just as it was the first and only time he had seen it, held aloft by the knife in his own hand. He felt the boy’s weight, suspended.
He blinked, freeing the tears to roll down his cheeks, so that he could look Will Scarlet in the eyes. “Do you honestly think I would intentionally kill a child?”
He didn’t answer.
“You’ve been in enough fights before, you know how they work. You saw it happen, it was over before I even realized it was happening. I understand why you hate me, because we have to blame someone. But I didn’t mean to kill him. And you know it.”
He didn’t look away.
“I was the same when Henry died, I had to hate someone. Someone had to be responsible. I hated—” a lump in his throat choked him, he bit his lip against all of it, “I hated my wife. She didn’t deserve it, I didn’t want to hate her, but I did. She did everything right, too. I should have hated the sickness, but I blamed the wrong thing.”
Will’s eyes were wetter.
“You know I’m not to blame. And you know you’re not to blame. And you’ve probably figured out by now that the Sheriff wasn’t to blame, either. Everyone, every damned one of us was trying our best. But who wasn’t there, Will? Who caused this thing to happen? Who was the sickness?”