SAM HAD HATED HIS TIME AT SCHOOL, WHERE THE other boys relished taunting him every day. They would push him into walls to see whether he would pass through, failing to understand that being able to see ghosts was not the same as being one.
"You must learn to ignore Them," his father had said.
"How can I ignore them when they push me into walls?" Sam had responded.
"I mean the spirits, son. You must learn to look through Them; try not to let others know you can see Them."
Easy for him to say. He wasn't plagued by this disease. Once, Sam had even tried wearing a patch over his right eye to hide the visions, but that drew yet more ridicule from the other children. It was a relief when, at age thirteen, he had been able to stop going to school altogether. It was easier to avoid the existence of the living than ignore the presence of the dead.
Sam sprinkled a pinch more pepper into the soup and gave it another stir. He lifted the ladle and tasted it. It definitely still needed something.
"Your son cooks like a woman, Charlie," said Jack. "All tastin' and no dishin'. Come on now, enough of your delayin', boy. This ain't no royal banquet. Give your Uncle Jack some of that."
"It's not ready yet," said Sam.
"It's ready enough for me. I don't like my cooking too fussy, and I don't trust all them little jars you keep going to. I like to know what's in my food. It's too easy to drop in something that wouldn't agree with me, something along the arsenic line."
"Strangely, we don't keep arsenic in the kitchen," replied Sam. He slammed a bowl down in front of his uncle and dished a spoonful of soup into it, carelessly splashing it onto the table.
"Mind what you're doing now, lad," said Jack. "There's no point wastin' it, is there?"
Sam grabbed a cloth and sullenly wiped up the spilled liquid.
Uncle Jack tasted a spoonful. "Tastes like warm pond water," he said, gulping it down. "Ain't you got no meat?"
"The butcher shop has been shut since Mr. Grant died," said Sam.
Uncle Jack shrugged. "He looks like 'is mother, Charlie," he said. "Where is she? Not upped and left you, I hope."
Mr. Toop turned to Sam. "Sam, you can go. Your Uncle Jack will be leaving after his soup."
"Stay where you are," ordered Jack, a little fire burning in his eyes. "I only asked after Liza."
"My mother's dead," said Sam.
"That's a pity. She was a sweet girl," said Jack. "What took 'er?"
"Liza died of a fever," said Mr. Toop. "Sam was still an infant."
"I'm sorry to hear that," said Jack.
"I think you should leave, Jack," said Mr. Toop.
"Charlie," moaned Jack. "We're still blood, ain't we? You're all I've got."
"Blood is one thing you never seem short of," snapped Mr. Toop.
"You don't want to go believin' everything they say. These official types, 'alf of them are more corrupt than the criminals they're after." Uncle Jack shoveled another spoonful of soup into his mouth.
"Murdering a policeman is what he said," said Sam's father. "I'd be relieved to hear you say you played no part in that, Jack."
Jack smiled. "Oh, it's so black-and-white for you, ain't it? Livin' up here in the hills, away from the smoke. With your clerks and your gentry takin' the train into London by day, then back 'ere before the city comes to life. The true London is lit by gas, not by sunlight. Down there, nothing's black nor white. It's all just gray."
"Murder's murder," said Mr. Toop.
"Some people don't deserve life," said Jack, spitting soup across the table.
"I don't want my son subjected to any more of this. You'll leave now if you know what's good for you."
Sam had never heard his father speak so sternly.
"Please, Charlie," whined Jack. "They'll string me up if they catch me. You know they will. So I've done wrong. I admit it. But I 'ad my reasons. And someone's done me over. I know they 'ave."
"I'm glad to hear you had a good reason to take another man's life," said Mr. Toop angrily.
"Things 'ave changed since we were lads," said Jack.
"You'll speak no more of that," interrupted Mr. Toop.
"No, I suppose you've forgotten, ain't you?" replied his brother. "You listening to this?" said Jack, addressing Sam. "Your father would throw his own flesh and blood to the wolves. His own flesh and blood."
Sam said nothing.
"If they found you here, we'd all hang for harboring a criminal," said Mr. Toop.
"As it is, you'd rather it was just me that felt the squeeze of the 'angman's rope, wouldn't you?" replied his brother.
"Two nights, Jack," conceded Mr. Toop.
"A week. It'll give time for the heat to die down," said Jack. "After all, as I see it, you still owe me."
Mr. Toop glowered at his brother. "I'll have to ask Mr. Constable, and you won't take one step outside. You don't even come downstairs. You're as silent as a mouse; then you leave, and you never come back. After that, we're no longer brothers. And you'll leave the boy alone, as well."
The shop bell rang, and Jack shot up from his seat like a startled rabbit.
"That will be Mr. Constable now," said Mr. Toop. "Stay here."
"You were working for 'im when I last saw you," said Jack. "How did you wheedle your way into 'is business, then?"
"He made me partner."
"He'll turn me in if he knows about me."
"No, he won't."
"It'll be in 'is interest not to." Jack spoke in a threatening whisper.
Sam's father left the room, leaving Sam alone with his uncle.
"Any more of that soup, boy?" Jack held his bowl up.
"I thought you didn't like it."
"Sensitive soul, ain't you? Funny you should act so much like a woman when you've been brought up entirely by men."
As Sam took the bowl, he saw the ghost of a young woman in a nightgown step through the wall and fall to her knees, sobbing loudly. "Oh, I've found you. Please, you must help me. How could he do it? How could he? With my own sister, too? He said he'd be mine forever, and now he's with her," she wailed.
Sam glanced at his uncle. He had no desire to reveal his gift to him. He tried to ignore the ghost, but she continued to go on. "They say you're a Talker. You can hear and see us. They say you'll help us. Please help me. I must tell my Tom not to marry her."
Sam disliked the maudlers and the mopers most of all, always coming to him, begging for help. At least this one was pretty. A few years older than Sam—twenty, perhaps—but even in death he could see she had been a beauty.
He shifted his eyes to indicate that he would speak with her outside, then poured a ladleful of soup into the bowl and placed it back in front of his uncle.
"You shouldn't listen to your old man," said Uncle Jack. "We used to be as thick as thieves, me and 'im. I don't know what he's said about me, but every story has two sides. Most have more."
"He's never mentioned you," replied Sam honestly.
Jack swallowed a mouthful of soup. "This tastes better now, lad. You'll make someone a good wife someday." He laughed. "Oh, there you go again with your sulky looks. It was a joke."
The lady in the nightdress sniffed.
"And pay no attention to her, neither," added Jack in a hushed voice. "I'll bet 'er chap's better off with the sister than with that moaning old trout."