and brushing his lips across her left temple, where her birthmark was, brought tears to his eyes. “Thank you for everything,” he said, and left.
Chapter 28
Solomon made his way back to the room he shared with Elijah—the room he had shared with his brother since they were born. The candle was out, and Elijah was lying on his side facing the wall, but Solomon could tell that he wasn’t sleeping. Last night at the posting inn, it had been the same; but then he had let Elijah pretend and gone directly to his own bed. Not tonight. He lit the candle. “Li?”
After a moment, Elijah turned over and sat up. Except for his boots, he was still fully dressed, wearing his old bottle-green coat. For a jolting moment Solomon thought maybe it was all a dream, that Elijah was dead and not sitting here a few feet away. It couldn’t be a dream, he told himself. I would never dream that new darned place in the corner of Elijah’s pocket.
Then he remembered Serena saying that very first night, You didn’t just dream it, and holding up the corner of her quilt, and the strange sense of vertigo receded. It was all real, and he had been ready to let it slip away without trying.
“Li,” he began, “I’ve been a fool. I ought never to have said what I did—any of it.”
Elijah’s eyes shot up to meet his. “What?”
“Don’t look so surprised. I know I’ve failed you—and if you don’t want to speak to me again, at least this time I’ll know you’re all right—”
To his surprise, Elijah exploded. “Damn it, Sol, what the hell is wrong with you? Of course I want to speak to you again!”
Solomon sat down on the edge of his bed with a thump. “Thank God.”
“How could you ever think I wouldn’t?”
Solomon rubbed at his temple. “Well—you did without me before, didn’t you? I didn’t know it, but in a way you’ve been doing without me all our lives. I thought I knew you like the back of my hand, and now—I don’t know what to think. I remember being jealous of you when we were boys because you’d wink at pretty girls in the street when I was afraid to, and I feel as if I must have been blind—”
Elijah said a French word Solomon was sure couldn’t be translated in front of their mother. “Afraid—you were afraid? It was easy to wink at girls in the street because I didn’t want them! When it came to what I did want, I was so terrified I could barely see straight. After I kissed Alan the first time, I was sick in the bushes on my way home. I was sure he’d never speak to me again, and he’d tell everyone, and you’d never speak to me again either because there was something wrong with me, something twisted and diseased.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Solomon said fiercely.
“Thank you,” Elijah said with a rueful smile.
“God, how did I miss this? All those years—was I not paying attention? Didn’t I care? How could I have failed you this badly?”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Elijah broke in. “We failed each other—you didn’t know anything was wrong, but I did, and I didn’t fix it. God, I was always so jealous of you, too.”
Solomon stared. “Jealous of me?”
“Yes, you! You always knew where you belonged. You wanted to work for Uncle Hathaway and you wanted to be a chemist and you were good at it. You always knew exactly what you wanted and you always seemed to know what was right. Father approved of you. You didn’t while away your hours tinkering in the blacksmith’s shop and reading immoral French poetry. And he had no notion of the sick, shameful things I was really doing there. When I found out you were all going to think I was dead, I thought, ‘At least it’s me and not Solomon. None of them would know what to do without him.’” Elijah stopped for a moment. “You had no idea how lucky you were.”
So Serena had been right; Elijah didn’t think he was the dull, conventional one at all. His brother thought he was the lucky one, the one who had always known what to do. They had both been such blundering idiots. “I wish you had told me,” he said at last. “You didn’t have to do this alone.”
“I know that now. But I was afraid. I’m not the dashing, enigmatic one,” Elijah