Oliver took a step forward, his jaw practically dropping. He dropped the heavy wooden crate he was carrying with a loud thud. "I heard the stories. The guys on the night shift talk about 'The Ghost' coming down from the swamp, but I... I told 'em they were crazy. I told 'em my brother was dead or gone to Blackwater."
"You shouldn't be here, Oliver," Silas said quietly, his eyes instantly scanning the perimeter of the dock, checking the shadows for Agent Wade's city watches or any prying eyes. "This pier isn't safe at night."
"Safe? I’ve been working these docks for a year, Silas!" Oliver's voice was a mix of awe and a deep, buried anger. He stepped closer, his hands shaking slightly. "You vanished. Ma died thinking that you were dead and gone. And here you are, sneaking around in the dark like a specter, hauling contraband for the speakeasies."
Silas didn't blink. The weight of his choices settled heavily on his shoulders, but his face remained a mask of carved stone. "The swamp did take me, Oliver. It keeps the law off my back. And it keeps people like you from getting dragged into my mess."
"I don't need your protection!" Oliver hissed, leaning in, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of an iron crate. "I'm working fourteen-hour shifts for pennies while you're a living legend. They sing songs about you in the tenements, Silas. But you left us behind."
Before Silas could answer, a sharp whistle pierced the humid city air from the end of the pier. A pair of city watchmen in blue uniforms were strolling down the boardwalk, their nightsticks swinging rhythmically.
Oliver glanced at the guards, then looked back at Silas. For a fraction of a second, the young dockworker looked like he might yell for them; might finally force his older brother to stop running.
Silas reached deep into his pockets. He pulled out the heavy canvas sack of silver and gold he'd just received from Mose, along with a stack of bills he'd kept hidden. Without a word, he grabbed Oliver’s hand and slammed the money into his palm, crushing his brother's fingers over the wealth.
"Take it. Buy a ticket out of this city. Go to college, buy land, do whatever Ma wanted you to do," Silas whispered, his dark eyes boring into his brother's soul with a fierce, quiet intensity. "But forget you saw me tonight. The Ghost doesn't have a brother."
The watchmen’s lanterns swept across the stack of iron crates, illuminating the spot where the two brothers stood.
"Hey! Who's over there?" one of the guards shouted, drawing his club.
Oliver blinked against the harsh yellow light, his heart hammering against his ribs as he gripped the heavy bag of coin. He looked down at his hands, then looked back up to face his brother.
But the space between the crates was empty. There was nothing but the damp yellow fog, the smell of river silt, and the distant, fading purr of a muffled inboard motor slipping silently back into the black waters of the bayou.
Silas was always quiet but Lem noticed something had shifted; that Silas was unusually quiet even for him. By the look in his eye, Lem decided to leave him to his silence but something was clearly troubling him.
In no time, they had anchored the boat right behind their moonshine shack and made their way inside. Silas didn't utter a word; he just found the coffee pot and poured himself a cup of hot coffee. Then he silently turned and made his way back out the door. Lem didn't know how he moved so noiselessly but upon hearing horse's hooves leaving the shack, he knew that something was very wrong. Lem looked at Maggie as she shrugged and then nodded her head. Lem raced out the door too and mounted his horse. He could be quiet when he needed to be.
PART ONE HERE
PART TWO HERE
PART THREE HERE
PART FOUR HERE
PART FIVE HERE
PART SIX HERE
PART SEVEN HERE
PART EIGHT HERE
PART NINE HERE
PART TEN HERE
