Page 44 of Breaking Silence

Neither of us is happy with the answer, but I thank him anyway and start toward Mose.

The bishop stops me. “Katie, the children have been through a terrible ordeal. Do not cause them further suffering.”

Since it’s my policy not to make promises I can’t keep, I turn away and continue on toward Mose. Salome is standing beside him, speaking quietly, as if trying to calm him down. Her eyes are red, her cheeks shiny with tears. Mose watches me approach, as if I’m his executioner. He knows he screwed up.

I call out the girl’s name. She jerks around. Her mouth opens in surprise, then she looks down at the ground. “Go inside,” I say to her.

She looks at Mose, then back to me. “He was only trying to protect us.”

“Go inside,” I repeat. “Right now.”

Something in my voice convinces her I’m serious, because she takes a final look at her brother, then starts toward the house.

I stop a few feet from Mose. The belligerence I saw earlier in his expression slips away, leaving in its wake the expression of a young man who knows he’s going to have to own up to what he’s done.

“I don’t want to live with my uncle,” he says without preamble.

“At the moment, where you’re going to live is the least of your problems,” I say. “You struck a police officer.”

“I didn’t mean to. I thought you were—”

“You were out of control and itching for a fight.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“You assaulted your uncle. You assaulted me. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t cart you off to jail right now.”

Glaring in the direction of his uncle, Mose yanks on the cuffs binding his wrists behind him. “He killed my datt!”

It’s the third time I’ve heard that statement. Each time, the words sent a chill through me. “That’s a serious accusation, Mose. Do you know something about what happened that morning that you haven’t told me?”

He stares at the ground.

“What makes you think your uncle had something to do with the death of your father?”

“He hated my datt, and my datt hated him! I hate him, too!”

“Why?”

“Because he wants us. He wants to be our datt. He’s not! He won’t ever be my datt!”

I move closer, lower my voice. “Do you honestly believe your uncle killed your parents and your uncle?”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t meet my gaze.

“Did your uncle do something to make you believe that, Mose?”

“No,” he mutters reluctantly.

“Then why did you say it?”

Mose doesn’t answer, but for the first time he looks remorseful. Looking down at the ground, he drags his toe across the brown grass. “I don’t want to go with him.”

“You mean to his farm?”

He nods. “Don’t make us go with him.”

“That’s not up to me.”