Free While We're Far Apart by Lynn Austin Page B

on the street below as they stared silently at each other.
    That was when it dawned on Esther that Peter hadn’t spoken a single word since Daddy left a week ago. Peter had walked to school in silence, eaten his meals in silence, done his homework, read comic books, and gone to bed in silence. Her heart began to race as if she had just run up two flights of stairs to their bedroom. She jumped up in a panic and rummaged through their toy box in search of Peter’s small, square blackboard and a piece of chalk. When she found them, she pushed them into Peter’s hands. “If you won’t talk to me, then at least tell me why not.”
    He held the slate against his chest for a moment before lowering it to his lap and writing: I can’t .
    “You can tell me, Peter. I promise not to tell.”
    He shook his head from side to side, as if trying to shake off water, and rapped his knuckles against the board. When he had her attention he added one word to what he’d already written.
    I can’t talk .
    “Don’t be stupid. You talked fine a week ago – and the week before that. Is your throat sore or something?”
    He shook his head again, erased the words with his fist, and wrote: The words won’t come out .
    Dread rolled through Esther. She didn’t know what to say. Peter erased again and wrote: Please don’t make me .
    “Okay,” she said softly. “Okay. Everything will be okay.” But she wasn’t at all certain that it was true. What would she do if something happened to Peter? He was the only person she had left.
    She heard a knock on their bedroom door. Penny. “Please go away,” Esther said. There was a long pause, but she could tell that Penny hadn’t left. Esther could picture her biting her lip and twisting her fingers in that annoying way she did.
    “Um . . . Esther?” Penny’s voice sounded shaky. “I’m sorry I yelled. What happened was . . . I mean . . . all I did was ask Peter if he would dry the supper dishes because it’s his turn, and . . . and he wouldn’t answer me. So then I was trying to see if he was okay because he seemed real quiet all week, and . . . and he still wouldn’t answer me. You know I would never hurt either one of you, don’t you?”
    Esther felt a small measure of power. Penny was probably afraid that she would write to Daddy and give him a bad report. “I’ll be out in a minute,” she said. “And I’ll dry the dishes for him.” She turned to her brother and pointed to the chalkboard. “If you won’t talk, then at least explain to me what’s going on, okay?” Peter nodded in reply.
    Penny was standing right outside the door when Esther opened it. “Listen, is Peter okay?” she asked.
    “He’s fine.” Esther squeezed past her and went downstairs to the kitchen. Penny had already washed the dishes and piled them on the drainboard, so Esther pulled a dish towel off the hook to wipe them. Daddy had never made them dry the dishes when he’d been in charge. Sometimes they hadn’t washed the dishes for days and days, and when they finally did get around to it, they would let them air-dry. But Penny had given them chores to do, making them clean up and help with supper and wash the dishes. Esther resented it, even though Mama had given them chores to do around the house, too. But Penny wasn’t their mother. She would never take Mama’s place.
    Esther had just put away the last dish when the doorbell rang. Penny got there first, but Esther arrived in time to hear the man say, “Good evening, Mrs. Shaffer.”
    “She’s not Mrs. Shaffer,” Esther shouted before Penny could reply. “She just takes care of us.”
    “I see. Well, I’m Inspector Dalton from the fire marshal’s office.” He held up a silver badge. “I’m canvassing the neighborhood, looking for witnesses to last week’s fire at the synagogue across the street. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I may.”
    “I’m sorry,” Penny said, “but I wasn’t here that night. I came the day after