I BORROW HIS PAIN

2

CHAPTER 2: FIRST ENCOUNTER

LENORA drew back the curtains, letting pale morning light creep into the room, and dust motes danced in its course. Hearst groaned from under a fortress of pillows, burrowing deeper as if he could make the sun go away by sheer will. Lenora had long since put on a lavender gown, which brushed about her ankles, as she made her way to her son's bed to gather his things-a smart uniform, shining shoes, and a little lunch box she had prepared the night before. It was the first day of small tutor school, an exploratory academy meant for children to thrust their toes into the world of learning. Lenora knew well how important beginnings were.

"Come on, sweetheart," she whispered, smoothing the hair from his forehead. "It's morning, and your first day. You don't want to be late."

A sleepy groan escaped Hearst. "Why must morning be so awful? Early?" His voice was muffled beneath the pillow. "I am not ready yet!" He pulled the blanket tighter, as if it were a shield against responsibility.

Lenora chortled softly. "Yes, sweetie, but life can't wait for you to be ready."

Mr. Kinsley entered the doorway of the hall, in robe and broad shoulder and soft eyes from which fatigue was never absent; his son he drew up into a smile of such warm good fellowship that he might have surveyed this moment-his boy resisting the inevitable-countless times before. He did not hesitate but strode over, swept Hearst up into his arms.

"There we go," said Mr. Kinsley, bouncing him gently. "Up you get, my boy. Time to put on your formal clothes and step into a new adventure."

"New adventure?" Hearst pouted, squirming. "It's just school!"

"Well, every adventure starts with something small." Mr. Kinsley smiled, ruffling the boy's messy hair. "Now let's get you ready before your tutor decides you've dropped out before the first day."

The family still wore their nightclothes, and it would be some time before the house truly came alive, but tradition lingered even in the smallest moments. In their little Aurora village, routines were sacred.

Lenora had been wearing dresses since she could walk, as all women in the village did-flowing, simple garments in soft colors. Men were always expected to wear coats or polos, a mark of dignity that began early. But Commodore, their youngest, was different. He has only ever worn a white shirt from the time he was a baby and objects to anything else.

Just as Hearst began getting dressed, it came to him in a flash. He looked up, he brightened, turned toward the door. "Wait! Commodore! I have to tell him!" He leaped from the bed, slid just one arm into his shirt, and ran toward his brother's room.

He rapped on the wooden door as if he had something important to hand over: it was his new service day. "Commodore! You awake? It's my first day!" He waited for an answer but nothing came. Hearst frowned, twisted the handle, and pushed open the door to peer in.

The room was still.

"Commodore?" asked Hearst, his voice touched with a little edge of concern. He peeked under the bed and behind the curtains and even glanced into the little window where his brother could often be found, gazing out at the village.

No Commodore.

Perplexed, Hearst returned to the verandah where Mr. Kinsley sat, sipping coffee and reading the broadsheet. His thick, rounded glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, and he adjusted them as Hearst approached.