Winters' 3 Dears- The 12: Book Three

5. The Cutlass

            Silas yawned as he entered the house and dusted his feet. He could tell by the glow coming from the office room that his brother was up grading papers. "I'm home," he announced. He entered the office to find Reuben where he expected him.

"You're later than usual," Reuben said glancing at the clock.

"I'm going out again," Silas said. "Remember, I have a friend coming in by train tonight."

"Yes, yes that," Reuben said. He put down his pen and removed his glasses. "You know, Silas, I realize that we were never really close when Mother was alive. You were her baby boy and I was above it all."

Silas leaned on the door jamb. "That's what happens when siblings are born so far apart."

"I think I was twenty-four when you were born," Reuben said. "Children didn't interest me and I wasn't thrilled with Mother's new marriage."

"That was twenty-three years ago, it doesn't matter," Silas said.

"Well I've been thinking about it a lot lately and I'm sorry for being so cold towards you all those years. I suppose I was bitter that my father ran off and left me the way he did. But after that homeless boy drowned in the Narrow Lake that year I've come to realize I regret not getting close to you when it mattered."

Silas stood in the awkward silence that hung between them. "I think I turned out all right." He shrugged. He turned to go then stopped. "And, Reuben, none of that was your fault. You were aloof but you were a good son to our mother and I know she always appreciated that." His older brother gave him a weak smile and Silas left him to grade his papers.

Going to the back of the house he took out his keys and unlocked the white door to the backmost room of the house. He gently closed it behind him and lit the gas lamps in the wall until the room was bright. The hot amber glows reflected off the polished steel that decorated all four walls in the forms of blades going every which way.

Among them were paintings of knights in heavy armor and warriors bringing down prey with long deadly spears. He crossed the room to a narrow side table and picked up the sheathed sword that rested there. His fingers danced around the hilt as he pulled the cutlass from it. The light illuminated the designs etched into the blade.

He closed the blade with a loud scrapping sound and proceeded to change into his boots and cloak. Flipping up the large hood he fastened the sword to his belt. When he heard a noise he glanced briefly over his shoulder. Walking over to the door he opened it slightly and checked the hall for his brother. Seeing no sign of him he slipped out of the sword room and took the back door out of the house.

As soon as he was down the five steps he was running through the nippy night like a shadow released from the body that formed it. The cobblestones sounded beneath his feet as his boots struck them and a dog barked as he passed a wooden fence.

When he reached the dark park he slowed down and walked to the lake edge where is hardly visible reflection starred back at him. He couldn't help but think back to the antics of earlier that day and he had to laugh to see such a proper woman as Ladybird Winters soaked through.

"Is it you, Silas?"

Silas turned around and looked up the embankment at the dark figure that stood among the fallen leaves.

"It's me," he said joining the other person. "You made it." They shook hands.

"Of course I made it," the second man said. "I've talked of nothing else but this for years."