As he’d expected, Elena got up the next morning to go to the hotel. Joe walked with her in silence, trying to figure out how to convince Mr. Thomas to let him stay on. Elena’s lips were pursed in a frown; she didn’t want him working. But she was too weary to argue.

The hotel lobby was empty, and Elena went to the kitchen while Joe went back to Mr. Thomas’ office. The hotel owner looked up at his knock on the open door.

“What is it?” he asked.

“My ma is back to work today…” Joe began. Mr. Thomas cut him off.

“Good. Go on then, back to school or wherever you go.” He looked back at the papers in front of him.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could stay on.” Joe shifted nervously.

Mr. Thomas snorted. “And do what?”

“Anything.” This wasn’t going very well.

“I don’t need anyone else, and more importantly, I can’t pay anyone else. Now get going.”

He still didn’t look up, the light from the window shining brightly on his bald head, but Joe didn’t move. Finally Mr. Thomas raised his eyes.

“Why would I want Cal Greyer’s son working for me?” he demanded. “It’s bad enough having his wife, but at least she keeps the occasional cow hand coming back. What could you possibly offer me?”

Joe’s throat went dry. “I can work. Hard. I can…”

“No Greyer knows the meaning of the word. You’re your father’s son whether you know it or not. Give it a few years and you’ll be just like him.”

“I won’t! I…”

“Just get out.” Mr. Thomas looked back down, and Joe knew the interview was over. He turned, trembling with rage. For a moment he considered knocking his fist into Mr. Thomas’ bald head, but instead he let the door slam shut behind him as he stalked out onto the street.

He had known it was coming, but it still didn’t make the blow any less painful. But he wasn’t giving up; not yet. Maybe Miss Ellie knew someone who would hire him. Sure, she didn’t want him to get a job, but she would help him anyway. She had to. Joe bit his lip against the hope and took the porch steps in one stride.

“Can I help you?” an unfamiliar woman opened the door, and Joe stepped backwards, startled.

“I…” he glanced around to make sure he was at the right house, though he didn’t know how he would have gone to the wrong one. “Is Miss Ellie here?”

The woman’s eyes clouded over, and Joe felt as if he’d been struck by a blast of icy wind.

“I’m sorry.” She said.

“How?” he didn’t want to know, but the word slipped out before he could stop it.

“Her heart just stopped.” The woman didn’t seem to want to talk about it anymore than Joe wanted to hear. He turned and walked back down the street away from the house.

The rage that had been burning inside him had been destroyed by the chill that had swept through him. That was gone now too, and all he felt was empty and flat. He wandered through the woods aimlessly, not really seeing where he was going. It wasn’t like it mattered anyway.

His feet carried him over the rise to the schoolhouse, but he paused at the top of the hill. Miss Ellie had wanted him to go back. For a moment he considered descending the hill and joining his classmates, but it was like his feet were rooted to the ground like the trees around him. He sniffed the air. A storm was coming. He couldn’t be inside right now. Couldn’t sit by other children who shuffled slightly to the side, as if sitting to close to him would give them a contagious disease or who looked down their noses at his patched clothes and worn out boots. Not today. Miss Ellie may have had good intentions, but she hadn’t known everything. No one did; Joe made sure they didn’t. He’d take scorn over pity any day of the week and twice on Sunday.

Still, Miss Ellie had known more than almost anyone, not necessarily because Joe told her things but because she’s been able to read his silences and put paragraphs behind his short sentences. And she hadn’t offered him pity or scorn; she’d offered him a refuge, a momentary reprieve from being Cal Greyer’s son, a place where he could go and simply be. Now, with a weight heavier than the storm clouds overhead threatening to crush him, Joe wondered if he would ever find another person who offered him the same thing.

He’d never told her that. Joe turned and went back into town. The same woman answered the door when he knocked.

“Please.” Joe cleared his throat. “Can I see her?”

She hesitated. “Who are you?”

“I’m…”

“Don’t let him in.” A man stepped forward, and Joe frowned, trying to place the face.

“That’s the son of the town drunk, the boy who’s been leeching off my aunt for almost a year now.”

Joe felt temper flare, and he opened his mouth, but then another person was at the door.

“Mr. Travis, if I can be of service…” then the reverend looked down and saw Joe. “Oh, it’s you.”

Joe bit his cheek. “I just wanted to tell her something.” He said. Reverend Foster had always treated him with a sort of detached kindness; surely he would understand. But Miss Ellie’s nephew was shaking his head.

“You’re not coming in so that you can make off with any more of her things when I’m not looking. This has been hard enough for us without having to deal with worthless rascals.”

“If we’re going to start calling names…” Joe started, but Reverend Foster stepped between him and Mr. Travis.

“Joe, just go. Please. I realize you’re upset, but so are these people.” There was understanding mixed with compassion in his light blue eyes. Joe looked away. Miss Ellie wouldn’t have wanted a ruckus; she had always hated when people got worked up over nothing. If her nephew wanted to dishonor her memory, that was his business. But Joe wouldn’t. He shot one last withering look at the lofty man and then retraced his steps. Thunder rippled overhead and echoed inside his mind. His eyes swam with a darkness that didn’t come from tears, but from anger. It didn’t matter though; he didn’t need to see where he was going. His feet took him right where he wanted to go: back to the schoolhouse.

He stopped halfway down the hill and waited. Thunder rolled again, but the rain held off. He knew it would. If it rained the students would eat inside instead of outside, and then he wouldn’t see Jack, but the world had always been against him, and it wouldn’t avoid another chance to beat him down, even if this time it was what he wanted.

The bell rang, and students began filing out into the yard, but Joe didn’t move. When one of them looked up and hollered, pointing, he still remained where he was. A few of the boys separated from the rest of the students and started up the hill. Joe felt his fists clench, but other than that he remained the way he was.

“What are you doing here, Greyer?” Jack demanded.

“Don’t call me that.” Joe said. He’d never let anyone know how being called by his pa’s name irritated him like salt rubbed into a cut, but suddenly he didn’t care. As Jack and the other boys circled like stray dogs, Joe felt the rage inside him begin to swell like a cloud with too much water. It was three to one, but he barely thought about the odds as he struck the first blow.

He barely felt the retaliating punches, or if he did it was like wind to the flame of wrath that burned inside him. There was a red haze in front of his eyes, and he struck out like a madman, not caring where his fists landed as long as they made struck skin.

Suddenly he was on the ground with the others on top of him. He rolled away, kicking back against their blows, but they were punching in earnest now. He stopped hitting to cover his head, and the blows stopped. He could see again. Joe glared up at the boys and staggered to his feet. His fists remained clenched.

“What, you want to go again?” Jack’s eyes glittered behind a slight swelling. He stepped forward and knocked Joe down with three punches that Joe couldn’t move fast enough to avoid. Joe spit out some dirt and then dragged himself to his feet again. This time he didn’t wait for Jack to hit him; he simply swung out. Another fist, this time right below his ribs. The air went out of him, and once again Joe was on the ground, gasping for breath like a fish out of water. The air went through him like a knife, but the pain only made him stand back up. Jack’s eyes widened, and he knocked Joe down again.

“Just stay down, Greyer.” A boot covered his head, pressing his face into the dirt. Joe closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. It felt like his nose was being driven into his skull. But he pushed back.

“Never.” He muttered. He grabbed the leg and pulled himself free. And then he was up again, staggering slightly. His heart was pounding inside of his head, and Jack’s image swam before his eyes. It only took one punch to send him back to the ground.

It felt like he was pushing up against the world. For a moment he didn’t think his arms would support his weight. Then he straightened and stood. His legs shook beneath him.

Jack grimaced slightly, and Joe took a step forward. It nearly sent him crashing back to the ground, but somehow he remained upright.

“What? You don’t have the guts to keep fighting?”

“It’s not fighting when you can barely stand.” Jack snapped. But he punched again, and Joe didn’t bother trying to dodge. Instead he let it hit him and push backwards, down once more. As he staggered up, Jack was walking away. There was another roll of thunder, and Joe looked up. It had started to rain.

He dragged himself back a little to where he could lean against the tree. Within minutes his clothes was plastered to his skin, and he wrapped his arms around himself and drew his knees up. He didn’t think he was up to walking very far even if he’d wanted to – which he didn’t. He was already wet; no point in going inside now. Besides the only shelter around was the schoolhouse, and there was no way he was going in there.

Water rolled down his forehead and over his nose where it dripped down onto his drenched arms. He shivered and then winced as the movement required using his aching muscles. His bottom lip felt like twice its size, and it along with his left eye were on fire, but every other part of him felt cold.

After a while the bell rang again and the children ran from the schoolhouse, not bothering to look anywhere but where they were going. Joe remained unnoticed huddled under his tree.

It really wasn’t fair, he thought. They were all going home to warm fires and hot meals and parents who wouldn’t smack them across the face. What did he have to go home to?

Nothing. He decided. He might as well just sit here for the rest of his life. At least the tree didn’t seem to mind his company.

Eventually the rain dwindled away to a fine mist. Joe shivered again, but he barely noticed his protesting muscles now. In fact his whole body was numb. It wasn’t a bad thing, he decided. By now the cold had seeped from the ground and the air right into his bones, and he didn’t feel cold anymore, just heavy. He closed his eyes. Maybe in the morning he would wake up and be dead too. Because it seemed like the only way to get out of this place.