HE SHOULD HAVE GONE HOME.
It was after eleven, so he’d have been home already. Arguing with his wife. Lying to his son about work and the hours of his work and the kind of work he said he did back in Lichport.
Amos Umber’s lies had become habitual. He would invent something about the corpse to tell his son. That’s what Silas always wanted to know. The grisly details. What happened to them? How did they die? What did it take to put all the pieces back in place?
How did he treat the flesh so the family wouldn’t be reminded there was anything other than sleep waiting for them at the end of days?