Go Tell It on the Mountains

Chapter 5 Getting Our Bearings

You want to look around? I signed.

Tony shrugged.

Come, I said. I’ll show you the house.

The foyer gave way to what I thought of as the grand entrance hall, a sort of large sitting room with various alcoves—it was like a hotel lobby—surrounded by balconies with a large marble staircase going up one side. There was a proper name for this room, but damned if I knew what it was. Even more damned if I cared.

To the left was the kitchen and dining room area. To the right was the spacious living room area. Straight ahead was Mr. Ledbetter’s “den” and office, plus the “his and hers bathrooms.” I had told Mama about those two bathrooms, but she did not believe me, not until she came out to Boston for the wedding. The bathrooms had little wooden placards hanging above them. Gents said one. Dames said the other.

All very homey, of course.

Beyond this area, in the back, were the master bedrooms, the “playroom,” the “TV room,” and more. In the very back was the real living room, which gave way to french doors and a verandah with a carefully tended garden.

Tony and I sniffed around in the entrance hall, stuck our noses in the living room area, wandered into the back of the house. He said nothing as he followed, his face solemn. He did not touch anything. He did not sit down in any of the fancy chairs, sofas, divans. He did not seem to think this was a place where you could actually live.

We went to the french doors and stared out into the garden, now buried in snow.

You like it? I asked.

He shrugged with disinterest.

Let’s go see your room, I suggested.

We retraced our steps and went up the marble stairs. Mrs. Ledbetter had “freshened up” two of the guest rooms next to each other. They had a connecting door. If Tony got scared during the night, he could slip out of bed and easily find us.

Jackson had already put Tony’s small suitcase on the end of his bed, and somebody—Mrs. Ledbetter, perhaps—had put toys and board games on the small writing desk under the window, including a Tonka truck that Noah used to play with in the garden.

The sight of that truck brought back a rush of memories.

This is your room, I said. Do you like it?

He shrugged again, as if indifferent to these material things, as if he thought it could make no difference how he felt about them. I’m just passing through was his message. None of this has anything to do with me.

Are you okay? I asked.

Scared, mister.

Don’t be scared, honey. J-a-c-k and I will take care of you. Okay?

He did not answer. Instead, he moved to stand a little closer to me.

You want to play with these toys?

I held out the Tonka truck to him, and he took it, frowning as he studied it in a rather serious manner. He was not like other children. He didn’t grab the truck from my hand and immediately start playing with it, excited, happy, very much in the moment. He looked at it very closely, turning it over in his hands thoughtfully, carefully, as if afraid he might break it or do something he wasn’t supposed to, or that he might want something he couldn’t have.

You can keep it if you like it…

He stared up at me through thick lenses, as if trying to decide whether I was telling the truth or not.

Do you like it? I asked.

He glanced down at it, a faint look of hope on his face, but then he straightened his shoulders, held it out, and gave it back to me.

He shook his head, would not look at me.

I returned it to the writing desk, frowned.

Can I get you anything? I asked.

He did not answer.

I crouched down, looked up into his face, trying to get him to look back at me.

Scared, mister, he signed, biting his lip.

Don’t be scared, I urged. But if you’re scared, then it’s okay. We’re here. We’ll help you. I promise. If you get scared, you tell me. Okay? And we’ll do what we have to do to make you feel better. Okay? I promise. I don’t want you to be scared.

For a moment he looked at me with solemn, sad eyes, as if trying to decide whether he could believe me. There was a little boy in there. I could see him for just a moment. A little boy lost in a storm, looking for a safe harbor.

Then he lowered his eyes and turned his face away, cutting off our communication.