Nathan Snake's Arc

Chapter 12 of 13

Nathan walked back to the alcove where he'd found the journal. He needed the page that showed J.F.'s final entry. The one dated two weeks before the fever killed her family. She'd written about paying a witness to keep quiet after the burials. A boy who'd seen them dig at night. The journal listed a name. Thomas Farrow. Age twelve when he watched them bury the dead. Nathan did the math. Fifty-two now if he was still alive. J.F. had written that she'd given the boy her family's timber shack at the edge of the plateau to keep him silent. A place to live where no one would find him. Nathan folded the page and tucked it into his coat. He needed to find that shack and the man who'd lived there for forty years. It took three hours of walking the eastern boundary before he saw it. A weathered structure with sagging beams and planks that had gone gray from rain. Smoke came from a pipe in the roof. Nathan knocked on the door and a man opened it. His face was lined and his hands shook but his eyes were clear. Nathan asked if his name was Thomas Farrow. The man nodded once and started to close the door. Nathan pulled out the journal page and showed him J.F.'s handwriting. The man's face went pale. He said she'd told him never to speak about what he'd seen or they'd bury him next. Nathan said the people who made that threat were dead now and he needed Thomas to tell the council what happened forty years ago. Thomas sat down on his front step and said he'd watched them dig by lamplight. Thirty graves in one night. The deacon's father had been there. He'd told Thomas that if he ever spoke about the fever or the burials they'd say he'd brought the sickness himself and hang him for it. J.F. had found Thomas hiding in the woods the next morning. She'd given him the shack and coin enough to live on if he promised to stay quiet. Thomas said he'd kept that promise until now. Nathan asked if he'd come with him to the council and show them where the graves were dug. Thomas looked at the broken tombstones scattered in the grass near his door. Markers he'd carved himself for the dead no one else would name. He said yes. He'd kept silent long enough.