Sleeping Dogs: Chapter II

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When Tom woke up, everything felt strangely... normal. As if the previous day hadn't happened. Or if it were some bizarre dream. After he put on his shirt and overalls, and as he was putting on his socks, he looked out his still dark window, towards the village. Hills of the valley were tinged grey with pre-dawn light, and the black shape of Kinvale was still fast asleep. If Tom squinted, he thought he could see the rough shape of The Cobalt Knight's dragon, Zetreus, sleeping just outside the south gate. But with everything muddled in shadows, he couldn't be sure.

Yesterday, when they had met The Cobalt Knight, he had been polite to everyone, in spite of their reactions to his identity. He had smiled at Tom's parents, and greeted them as if they hadn't thought him dead for years. Ma's brothers Roth and Brent had gone pale, their cheerful flushes giving way to a sickly palor. Even their wives, his aunts, had held a whispered conversation out of Tom's earshot. His cousins Sammy and Carol had just stood there, mouths open in shock and confusion. And himself? Well, Tom hadn't been sure how to react to learning that not only was his dead uncle, his father's brother, alive and well, not only was he a Knight of the realm, but he was The Cobalt Knight, the savior of the kingdom, and a legend even in the small village of Knivale!

If Grandpa Jean, the Mayor, had been at all surprised, he hadn't shown it. He had offered him a room in his home, but the Knight had graciously declined, claiming to sleep better under the stars. Grandpa relented after a polite amount of wheedling, but insisted that The Cobalt Knight need only ask for any food or other accommodations, and they would be granted! Grandpa's servants had taken some of the Knight's supplies back to the house, but Tom couldn't tell what they could be, especially if the Knight wasn't staying there.

The Cobalt Knight had then thanked them all for taking time out of their days to greet him, and said he hoped to talk to all of them more at a later time. But that Zetreus, his dragon, needed time to recuperate from the long journey. Tom wasn't sure, but when he glanced up at the large, intelligent, golden eyes of the blue dragon, they seemed to be giving the Knight a similar look Ma sometimes gave him, when she knew he was lying.

The walk home had been quiet. And dinner had been completely silent. Tom had been bursting with questions, but hadn't known how to say them. He had, however, gotten a piece of his Ma's strawberry pie, as she'd promised. And as she sent him to bed, she hugged him just a little longer than usual. Once in his room, he held his ear to his door, hoping to hear his parents talking. But all he heard was whispered words, in between very long silences. He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Ma crying. Discouraged, he'd finally gone to bed, his racing thoughts keeping him up until, at last, sleep claimed him.

Today, as Tom went about his morning chores, he kept shooting furtive glances toward the village. Was anyone else up at this hour? Had anyone else had trouble sleeping last night? As the last bit of feed dripped out of the bag into the chicken's trough, he made a mental note to tell Pa they needed to buy more. He counted the chickens as he went: Henrietta, Georgia, Portia, Lisa, as well as the rest were all there. He collected the eggs into his basket, just as the pink fingers of dawn crept into the valley. The sun was peeking over the hills as he brought the eggs inside, and found Ma cooking up ham for their breakfast.

Like last night's dinner, Ma and Pa barely spoke, other than to ask for something on the table. As he finished the last bit of ham off his plate, Tom steeled himself to ask just one question.

"Pa?"

"Yes boy?"

"Is uncle... is the Cobalt Knight going to stay here in the village?"

His parents glance at each other, but they seemed just as confused as he was. "I don't know, Tom. We haven't had a chance to talk since yesterday."

"But he's your brother, right?"

"Well, yes. But we haven't seen each other in a long time. Not since before you were born, even."

"But then you should talk to him! You must have missed each other! And you thought he was dead, and now he's alive. Aren't you happy?"

"It's complicated, Tom." Ma answered this time. "Because Thomas... because the Cobalt Knight... because we thought he was dead for so long, we sort of stopped worrying about him. And now that he's back... We loved him, even though he was gone. But we were able to move on."

Tom thought this over. He knew they were trying their hardest, but he still couldn't quite figure out what they were saying. If he'd thought Sammy or Carol had died, only for them to come back, he knew he'd be overjoyed and laughing with them. Not... whatever this was. Ma seemed to know what he was thinking, and took his hands in hers. "Think of it like this. You remember that splinter you got in your hand playing down by the creek last year?" Tom nodded, as Ma continued.

"Let's say, you got a splinter. A really, really big splinter, that hurts so much. You won't die from it, and it doesn't stop you from playing, but it hurts. But, after a while, you get used to it. It still hurts if you touch it, but it's fine if you leave it alone. Now, imagine that after everything around it healed, it gets yanked out hard!" Tom cringed, clenching his fists at the thought. Ma nodded. "And now it still hurts, even when you aren't touching it, and now there's a hole where it was. You'd have to heal all over again, right?"

Nodding, Tom rubbed his palms at the unpleasant memory. "So, what you're saying is, you and Pa need time to heal, right?"

"A little time, sweetie." Ma hugged him close. "We are happy he's alive. But there are a lot of grown up feelings and questions mixed into everything, which makes things hard right now. Just give us a little time, okay?"

Tom nodded, and cleared his place from the table. He and Pa spent the next couple of hours working in the garden. After a quick lunch of one sandwich and an apple each, Tom got ready to go back to work. However, Pa said that he could take care of the rest on his own. Tom asked if he was sure, to which he replied, as always, "Sure as sure!" Taking the hint, Tom was more than happy to take off!

He started out towards town, until he could see the mill, churning slowly and grinding whatever was needed. Once he crossed the bridge, he turned and followed the river along its bank. The river ran through the whole valley, starting as a waterfall in the hills, but with a few inlets that brought water in from other places. One of these was the creek, which led off to the north, before taking a sharp bend into the woods. It was here that Tom and some of the other children of the village had found what looked like an old fort, at the base of a huge sycamore tree. It had been built between two mounds of earth at the tree's base, with several thick, trimmed branches acting as a crossbars over the top, and packed with mud in the cracks. It had been falling apart when they found it, and they had spent the last two summers building it when they had the time.

It wasn't huge, barely enough to fit all of them at once, especially since some of them had grown since they'd found it. So they'd fashioned a lookout platform in the fork of the sycamore, held together with rope, and a few nails that Mark the carpenter's son had gotten from his father's shop. He hadn't been allowed to use his hammer, so they'd had to settle with a round river stone with a flattened side to fix the nails in. He'd also managed to nail some pretty simple rungs onto the tree, using scrap wood or other branches.

The other kids didn't much like going up in the "crow's nest," but Tom rather enjoyed it. It was a bit thrilling to feel the tree sway in the wind, and it was sort of exciting to be considered brave by the other kids for volunteering as a lookout. Still, he was always careful to tie the safety rope around his waist, in case he slipped. And he'd always been extra careful after he'd gotten that really bad splinter in his palm, which had made climbing down almost impossible! Ma had bandaged it up, but he hadn't been able to be lookout for a whole week, not until he could climb properly again!

As the crow's nest came into view, with the red ribbon they'd adopted as their flag blowing in the breeze, Tom could hear the excited chatter of voices just over the bend in the stream. As he trotted up, he saw that Sammy and Carol were surrounded by some of the other kids. Apparently, they'd just been talking about what had happened yesterday, and Tom had barely waved a hello before they practically jumped him, throwing dozens of questions all at once, enough that he felt the need to duck!

"Is The Cobalt Knight really your uncle?" Ruth the cobbler's daughter squealed in excitement! "Can you introduce us?"

"Did you really get to ride his dragon?" There was an accusatory and somewhat hurt tone from Billy, the baker's son. Tom had barely told him "no" before someone near yanked him off his feet!

"Did you see what his face looked like under his mask?" Cassie's big brown eyes bored into into him, and Tom felt his face heating. Cassie continued, "All the drawings of him only show him in his mask. My Dad says that he's hiding a burn under there, and only has one eye!"

Tom floundered, but eventually managed to answer most of the questions flung at him. No, he hadn't seen under The Cobalt Knight's mask. No, he hadn't ridden the dragon. But yes, apparently he was his uncle, his father's brother. Tom figured he'd also explain what Pa had told last solstice: that Pa's brother had gone off to fight The Tides, and died in the war years ago. And, deciding he may as well empty the whole bucket, that he'd actually been named after him! This had elicited several oohs from the others. Sammy looked impressed, but Carol looked downright annoyed.

"Why didn't you tell us about your uncle? Our uncle," She sulked.

"Well I didn't know he was The Cobalt Knight, did I? I thought he was dead! That's what Pa told me." Tom explained, a little miffed she'd taken some of his bluster. "And whenever I tried to ask about him, he'd get real quiet. So, I stopped asking. You always get annoyed at me if I ask you the same questions over again, don't you?"

"I just get annoyed I have to explain something really simple to someone even simpler!"

There was more bicking, and funny names. Carol made Sammy laugh by calling Tom a "gnat-brained grumblemonkey." Tom made Cassie laugh by calling Carol a "zip-wit." After Carol asked what a zip-wit was, Tom could only shrug, since he'd only just made up the word, which made her laugh too! After they had run out of things to call eachother, the excitement of yesterday had settled a bit. Billy reminded everyone why they had come to the creek that day.

One of the branches acting as the roof had begun to sink in crooked. And so, they got to work to dig it out. After an hour or two of digging and scraping mud away, the beam was almost exposed. They had all just sat down for a short break, when Jack the butcher's son came around the bend in the creek. This caught everyone's attention, as he almost never had time to play with them, since he had to help his father run the shop. Tom guessed he'd gotten permission, but for some reason, he didn't look too happy.

"What's wrong?" Billy scoffed. "You sad about getting a day off?"

"No, it's just.... Dad's thinking about moving."

Understandably, this caused an uproar! No one had moved away from Kinvale, not in their lifetime! Comments and questions came thick and fast at Jack, and Tom couldn't help but feel sorry for him, knowing very much how it felt. Sammy was patting Jack's shoulder, while Jack was bravely holding back tears, and Ruth was continuing her gabbling barrage!

"... and where would we get all our meat if you weren't here? Could we come to wherever you move to and get it there? What about us? Don't you like us?"

"Quit yapping and let him talk!" Carol snapped. Ruth's excitable nature had always seemed to annoy her, which Tom would usually agree or disagree with, depending on who was actually right at the time. "Jack, are you okay?"

Jack nodded, his voice husky. "Yeah, I'm okay. Dad says he got a letter from one of the dragon couriers yesterday, about a good place to set up in Mosswell. He says it could be a good opportunity for us."

"And... what do you think?"

Jack sniffed hard, fiercely jerking his hand across his nose. "I think if he wants to go to Mosswell, he can! And Mom, and Benjamin! I've been doing half his work anyway, I can stay here and run the shop!" He started shaking, speaking only between suppressed sobs. "I always lived here, and I'll always stay here! Why do we have to move because of a stupid piece of paper?"

"Who sent the letter? Did he say?"

"No, he didn't really. Something about a Guild, or something."

Carol frowned. "Why would a Meat or Market Guild want a butcher from another city? Mom runs the Merchants Guild here, and she never sent out letters looking for anyone outside of town. I'll ask her tonight, maybe there's a rule or something!"

That seemed to calm Jack down just a little, and after a while, he joined them in building their fort. Tom scurried back up to the crow's nest, rope around his waist, and scanned the horizon for any threats. As he watched, he half-listened to the conversations going on below. Ruth was grumbling about how bossy Carol was, which Carol ignored just a bit too politely. Sammy and Billy were just finishing up digging out the lopsided beam, and were getting ready to move it.

Tom, eager to help, lowered down some of the extra rope they had in the crow's nest just in case, passing it over a thick branch just above his head level. Here, Jack came to help, expertly tying the rope to the sunken beam, which Sammy and Billy held it steady. After some muttered conversation Tom couldn't hear, Billy signaled they were ready. Tom pulled down on his end of the rope, watching it crawl through the fork, and the branch was slowly pulled out of the mud, as the others pushed up from below.

It pulled free with a jolt that nearly toppled Tom from his perch! The branch, still attached to the rope, bounced and danced wildly, as whoops and cries of triumph came from below! Knowing his duty, Tom sidled around the platform, winding the rope around the tree as he did. He wrapped the end three times around the nub of a broken branch, then held on tight, his palms stinging.

A shadow passed over all of them, and Tom looked up! Squinting up at the sun, he saw a dragon and rider soaring high overhead, completely unaware of their little fortress. He watched it soar on past the mountains, back to whatever town or city was its next stop. As he continued to look, he caught distant flash a blue scales, high up in the clouds at the other end of the valley. He was straining to see if it was The Cobalt Knight's blue dragon when, even through the rope and the tree, he felt something give, and heard a loud thump from below!

Billy was kneeling on the ground, his muddy hands to his head, groaning and cursing up a storm that could turn back the Tide! He glared up at Tom. "Get your butt down here, Tom! I'm going to thrash it!"

"What happened," Tom called down.

"Some edjit in the crow's nest let go of the rope is what happened! What, did your hands get tired? Did you get scared by a shadow?"

"I've got the rope right here!" Tom was heated now, and not one to be doubted, showed them the knotted end still firmly clutched in his hands. "Maybe your head's just too fat to not hit something anyone else can duck!"

Ruth, who had been packing mud inside the fort to raise the new beam, was comforting Billy, and glared up at Tom. "It was an accident. The branch slid out of the knot."

Peering straight down, Tom could see the branch still attached to the rope, but the loop Jack had tied had slid nearly off the end, caught only on a small notch. Still annoyed at the insults, Tom nevertheless called back. "Is Billy bleeding?"

"No. But he's got a pretty good lump." She glanced over at Jack. "A pity butcher-boy over here can't tie a proper knot.

"I told him I wanted to put a loop at both ends, but he got all huffy with me! Said I was being a know-it-all!"

"You are a know it all!" Billy growled through clenched teeth. "All you had to say was it might slip, but no! You just had to make a point."

"I tied that knot the way you wanted, Billy! Not my fault you were wrong!"

And, just to hammer the point home, the dangling branch finally slipped free of the loop, and clattered down through the gap in the fort's roof.

There was a stunned silence, as all wondered who it had fallen on. Then, they all realized that none of them had been inside. Carol, Ruth, and Cassie had all been inside to fill up the old hole where the beam had been, but they'd come out when Billy had started hollering. The relief was short-lived, however, as a handful of mud smacked Jack in the side of his face.

And, without another coherent word spoken, mud was sent flying through the air. Tom scrambled down to help Sammy, who had Ruth's arms wrapped around his neck. The lot of them toppled over, rolling through the thick trough of mud that lead down to the stream. They were quickly joined by Billy, who managed to pry Tom's fingers from off of Ruth's leg, only to get a face full of mud from Cassie. Carol hadn't entered the pit, but was hanging at the edge, sending a handful of mud their way sporadically. The ball of mud and fury rolled around itself, until Tom wasn't sure if he was getting attacked by Billy, or Sammy by mistake. The ball rolled just a bit too far, teetering for a moment on the bank before the whole lot of them ended up dumped into the stream.

Coughing and spluttering, they stood up as best they could, scraping mud and dirt from their eyes. Looking around at them all, Tom remembered his father's words about him being too dirty to tell if he was wearing clothes. He stifled a giggle at the sight of all of them, dressed lavishly in black, grey, and brown goo. Apparently, he didn't stifle it hard enough, and Cassie started laughing too! Once she started, Sammy, Ruth, Jack, and even Billy soon followed, sitting down hard in the stream, pointing and laughing at how ridiculous each of them looked! Through some logic known only to himself, Sammy held two smooth river stones to his eyes, and pulled such a ridiculous face that Tom's stomach ached from laughing as hard as he did.

None of it was really as funny as it seemed. But somehow, that made the whole thing just that much more silly!

After thoroughly soaking themselves in the stream, washing away as much mud, grime, and gunk as possible, all of them lay down on the grassy bank to dry off in the sun. Billy was in a much better mood, now that his head had stopped hurting. He was talking about how his parents, both bakers, had received an order from Tom's grandpa for several fresh loaves of bread for the next day! He asked if Tom, Carol, or Sammy knew anything about it, but none of them were quite sure what to make of it. "Maybe it's for our uncle," Sammy suggested.

There was a knowing silence, before Jack piped up. "Which uncle?"

"I mean," Sammy said, looking confused. "The Cobalt Knight."

Jack sat bolt upright, flabbergasted. "The Cobalt Knight is your uncle?"

Sammy and Carol caught Jack up to speed, but all eyes once more turned to Tom, since he was most closely related. Feeling his face begin to heat, Tom shrugged. "Ma and Pa don't talk about him much. They thought he was dead until yesterday! I don't know all that much about him, other than I'm named for him."

Jack furrowed his brows. "Wait... So if you're Tom, then he's also named Tom?"

"He's Thomas," Tom shrugged. "I'm just Tom. I think."

"But I've heard of him!" Jack exclaimed! "Just last week, my Dad was talking about how your Dad and his brother would get into all sorts of mischief! People called him 'Trouble Tom!'"

This revelation made Tom sit up straighter. "Really? Did your Dad say anything else about him?" At this, the other children were eagerly listening to Jack's every word. Frowning, Jack bit his knuckle as he thought.

"I don't think Dad liked him, much. He always told me 'you'll turn out like Trouble Tom if you don't do as you're told!' He talked about how he would always be picking arguments or even fights if anyone looked at him funny, and your Dad would have to chase after him all the time. Apparently, his mom, your grandma, couldn't keep him under control."

Tom frowned. He hadn't heard any of these stories, not from the adults or other kids. "Did he say what happened to Trouble.... what happened to my uncle?"

At this, Jack paused. It finally seemed to dawn on him that he had an audience. But there was no backing out now, not without all of them hounding him for an answer. He lowered his voice to a whisper, as if saying it quietly might not be as bad as saying it aloud. "My Dad says, that everyone just thinks Trouble Tom ran away to join the war. And that what really happened, is that he got in too much trouble, and your grandpa had him conscripted into the army, just to get rid of him." He faltered, but pushed on. "And, this is only what my Dad says, mind. He said: Your parents helped him to do it!"

A chill settled over the sunny day. No one said a word, in either direction. The chill gave way to a hot prickly fear that swept up from Tom's stomach to the top of his head. His insides felt hollow, like he hadn't eaten in days. The Cobalt Knight, his uncle Thomas, had been a trouble maker. Had been called Trouble Tom. And he had been named after him. Did people think of him the same way? Did his parents think he was trouble?

"I have to go." Tom stood up, and started walking quickly back towards the road. Back towards home.

"What? It's not even third bell!" Sammy came chasing after him, trying to catch his sleeve.

Tom lied. "I forgot to weed the radish patch before I left. I need to do that quick."

"Okay." Sammy didn't seem to believe him, but let go anyway. "Are you coming to help with the fort?"

"I don't know." Tom quickened his pace, not wanting to make up more excuses.

Once h was out of sight, he started trotting along the creek. When he reached the river, he began running along the bank. When he finally reached the bridge, he began sprinting along the road. His feet slammed into the ground, kicking up orange-brown dust behind him. His still damp clothes clung to him, the wind chilling him as they dried. His lungs ached, his eyes streamed, and his heart throbbed in his throat. He didn't stop until he stumbled at a dip in the road, and sat down hard. He tried desperately to catch his breath, trying not to be sick. His throat felt coated with gunk, and he spat several times, trying to get rid of the acrid metallic taste lingering in his mouth.

Questions raced 'round and 'round, chasing each other in his head. Did grandpa really send away his uncle? Did his parents help? Was The Cobalt Knight back for revenge? Did he hate them?

Did he hate Tom?

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, trying to breathe properly. At last, he managed to get to his feet, and made his way along the path, back to home. As the house came into view, he was breathing deeply, his mind still racing.

He saw Pa kneeling in the garden, his back to him. Tom wanted to ask his questions, to let the dam holding them back burst. He was scared that Jack's dad was telling the truth. He was scared at being named after someone the town didn't like. He was angry that Ma and Pa still weren't telling him what was happening! His arms folded tightly across his chest, trying to hold everything in, he started marching towards Pa. He was half way tthere when he heard Pa give a loud sniff, and a choked, nasal sounding cough.

Tom froze. Not daring to take another step, not even to breathe, he watch as Pa's shoulders jerked up and down. His left sleeve, which he had habitually used to wipe the sweat from his brow for as long as Tom could remember, was wiping something else from his face. Tom couldn't see Pa's face. He couldn't hear Pa's sobs. But he knew that's what they were.

Tom had never seen Pa cry. And he didn't want to.

Careful not to make a sound, he moved quietly around the house to the back door, which Ma always left cracked in the summer to let in the breeze. His arms still tightly folded, he wasn't sure what he was going to do, or what he was going to say. Maybe go to bed, and hope that when he woke up, it would all be just a dream. He stepped quietly through the open door.

"Tom?"

He froze at the sound of Ma's voice. He looked up at her, her hands kneading dough in a bowl.

"Are you done working on the fort for today?" She didn't look at him, focused as she was on the dough. "Supper won't be ready for a few more hours, but I'm sure your Pa would appreciate some company in the garden."

Tom's mind raced, trying to find some excuse that didn't sound lazy. That didn't sound cowardly. He didn't want to have to face Pa. Not right then. Apparently, his mind couldn't race fast enough, as Ma looked up from her work. "Tom, did you hear me?" Her hands worked, but her eyes bored into Tom. He tried not to crack, tried not to let his stinging eyes best him. Ma's hands stopped, and she looked at him fully. "Tom? Tom, what's wrong?"

The dam broke.

Tom couldn't remember how he had wound up sitting on the floor. He only knew he was in Ma's arms as he heaved muffled sobs into her shoulder. He tried to explain what had happened. What Jack had said. But every time he tried, he just stammered out nonsense noises, which embarrassed him into more sobs. Ma gently rocked him, shushing him not to quiet him, but in the way all mothers do to calm their children. She held him tight in her flour caked arms, and he pushed himself closer in, letting his fear and anger melt a little.

They stayed that way for a while, interrupted only by Tom's sporadic, hiccuping gasps of air. Eventually Ma took the corner of her apron, and dabbed at his still streaming eyes. "There, there. You're safe." After letting him get a few more deep breaths, she gently turned him to face her. "You don't have to speak, now. Just nod or shake, okay Tom?"

Nod.

"Are you hurt?"

Shake.

"Is someone else hurt, or going to be?"

Shake.

"Is someone angry with you?"

Shake.

"Are you angry at someone?"

Half of a shake. Then a shrug.

"Okay. Did they do something?"

Shake.

"Did they say something?"

Nod.

"Can you tell me what it was?"

Tom sat there for a while, trying to swallow the sob in his throat that threatened to come out each time he tried to speak. It took some time, and it was muddled a bit in the telling. But eventually, still cradled in his mother's arms, he told her what Jack's father had said. Throughout the telling, Ma never stopped rocking, never loosened her grip. And when he was done, she didn't say anything. Finally, Tom worked up the courage to ask: "Is... is any of that true? Was I really named after Trouble Tom?"

There was a pause, before Ma answered. "No, sweetie. you were named after Thomas, your Pa's little brother. Who he loved so very much. You were named Tom, instead of Thomas, so that you could have that name all to yourself, while still carrying his spirit." She rested her chin on top of his head, still stroking his hair. "And we should never have put that on you. You should be having your own life, not living someone else's."

"I saw Pa outside when I came back. I think he was crying, too."

Ma stopped stroking his hair, but her hug didn't loosen. "Your Pa is having a lot of big feelings right now. And he feels like he's not supposed to have those feelings, which just makes them all that much bigger. But you should know," she turned him to face her, her eyes soft, but insistent. "You should know that he loves you very much, too. He shows it a bit differently, but that doesn't mean he loves you any less for it."

Tom hesitated, before asking the question he dreaded most. "Did grandpa really send Uncle Thomas away? Is Jack telling the truth?"

"Jack's father," Ma emphasized the last word, "not Jack. He's just repeating what his father said, and while some of it's true, he did not like your Uncle Thomas all that much. And no, sweetie. We didn't send him away." She stood up, wiping Tom's face with her apron again. "And I don't think you should be listening to any more rumors about your uncle. There's plenty of people in Kinvale who knew him years ago, but enough time has passed that I'm sure he's quite different.

"Different?"

Ma paused a moment, but she still answered. "Your father and uncle had a hard time as children. Thomas liked to play jokes, while your father was more concerned about keeping the farm up and running." She looked Tom over once more. "But that isn't my story to tell, and mostly because I don't know all of it. What I want to know is, why do all these clothes, that I know were clean this morning, look like they were rolled in mud and thrown into a pond?"

Tom gave a sheepish grin. "There was a bit of an argument down at the stream. I won, though! I think..."

Ma raised one eyebrow. "Well then, I think it's about time you had an 'argument' with that tub out back, don't you think?"

"Aw, but Ma..."

"No buts! I'll have no buts in this house unless they've been cleaned! And make sure you do a good job washing behind your ears. And your hands, too!"

Tom made the mistake of looking pointedly at her hands, which were still caked in flour. Seeing his gaze, Ma smirked evily. "Good point. I should wash my hands at the pump, and while I'm at it, I can make sure you get good and clean as well!"

Without another word of protest, Tom zipped out the door, leaving the flowers in Ma's garden swaying in the tunnel of wind he created! He pulled the metal basin over to the pump, and started filling, thanking his stars that the day was still quite hot. It wasn't completely better. He still felt like there was a hollow spot in the pit of his stomach. But maybe that was just him waiting for dinner. He saw Ma watching from the door, though she didn't make any move to follow through on her threat. As he pumped, Pa come around the side of the house with a basket. Tom couldn't see if there were more turnips, or if Pa was just using it to carry tools. He met Ma at the back door, pecked her on the cheek, and made his way over to the shed where all the tools were kept.

Tom thought about running after him, about asking more about his uncle. But after a few more hard pumps, he decided that whatever had happened, it had been long ago. Rushing to learn it now wasn't going to change that. And he would find out eventually, anyway. Ma and Pa would tell him everything when they were ready.

---------

Jareth thanked his lucky stars that Tom hadn't seen him crying. He couldn't bear the thought of breaking his son's heart. He glanced back at Mara, still framed in the door of their beautiful little house.

It wasn't quite the same house he'd grown up in. Some of the wood was the same, but he'd made extra space for him and his family, even if it dug just a bit into their garden. It was worth it, though. For Mara, and for Tom.

The shed, on the other hand, was exactly the same. Weathered and bleached grey, but still sturdy even after all these years. He'd thought about rebuilding it, starting from scratch. But after rebuilding the house, it just didn't seem worth the time or effort. He supposed, eventually, that he would have to tear it down when he couldn't ignore it any longer. But that was a long way off fore sure.

He carried the basket of tools into the shed, and got to work cleaning each of them with the rag and oil he kept there. Some of these tools were almost as old as the shed, and he wanted to make them last as long as possible. He heaved a shuddering sigh, letting the tears begin to flow again, though they were much more gentle now.

After he had cleaned each tool, and hung each of them back on their proper hook, he stayed in the shed for a while. He got off the small three legged stool, and sat himself down against the back wall, staring up through the sunlight seeping through the cracks. A nostalgic dread welled up in him, one he hadn't felt in years. Running his hand along the wall to his right, he felt the scratches on the wall. Scratches too coarse and rough to be left by tools. Scratches that, he knew, marked days spent locked in this shed, sometimes with nothing but a blanket.

With another shuddering sigh, he hauled himself back to his feet, and came to terms with a decision he knew he'd already made that morning. Tom was right. He should talk to Thomas, the first chance he got. Properly this time. They were family, no matter how much time had passed. The shed door swung shut onto its latch as he left. He knew Tom had spoken truth, that he should be happy Thomas was alive.

Yet, it seemed, just as Thomas had returned from his past, so too, had that feeling of dread that had so often visited them as children.

The feeling of not just thinking, not believing, but knowing, that something was very, very wrong.