Read Online After Eli by Terry Kay - Free Book Online

string of fish for supper.”
    Dora dropped the shamrock she held onto the table and stared coldly at Michael.
    “Whenever you’re ready,” she said.
    * * *
    Michael’s presence filled the day, with the playfulness of his stories, the booming of his song, the drum of his laughter. And Sarah circled him like a butterfly, awed by the exaggerations of his endless adventures. She was girlish and giddy and her small voice, flooding with questions, was as free as a bird sitting on the shoulder of a limb, singing into the ear of a tree.
    Rachel worked inside at the quilting frame and listened. She could feel the power of exuberance building like a parade, with brass and cymbals, march-time and costumes of shimmering colors. The parade was a man very like Eli, whose step had the heavy sound of an announcement and whose shoulders seemed to crowd even the out-of-doors. It was good, she thought. It was very good. She wondered only if Sarah would become intoxicated by the man, as she herself had become intoxicated by Eli. No, she decided. No, he was far too old. Sarah would see him only as someone who was fascinating. And that, too, was good. Dora’s warning did not matter.
    At night, Rachel and Sarah sat on the front porch and listened as Michael recited Irish poetry and told them of his years on the tent Chautauqua. His voice was that of a man who had been often alone and was unashamed to speak aloud for the joy of his own sound. It was a time that passed quickly, too quickly, before Michael went to the barn to sleep.
    * * *
    Rachel woke before morning to the sound of a lusty Irish tune whistled in the field below her bedroom window. She wrapped her cotton robe around her and peered through the window. Michael was in the field with a shovel, marking the ground with shallow holes.
    “You’re up early, Mr. O’Rear,” she called through the screen.
    Michael whirled on his heel and faced the window. He could not see Rachel through the screen.
    “True,” he replied. “I’ve rested my fill, I suppose. Couldn’t stay asleep another minute, not with all that’s waitin’ to be done, and with the day screamin’ to be lived.”
    “You feelin’ better?” she asked.
    “Better, Rachel. Better. A fellow once told me that a man what lived in the mountains would be a bit of a loon to want to be anywhere else, and I’m believin’ I know what he meant. It’s a lovely time of the day, it is. Like lookin’ into the face of the Almighty. Take a breath, Rachel. You can feel it.”
    Rachel breathed deeply, obediently. The air was sweet.
    “What’re you doin’?” she asked.
    Michael raised his shovel like a flag and pointed along a line from the road across the field.
    “Well, I’m doin’ somethin’ that should’ve been done a long time ago, Rachel,” he answered. “I’m markin’ out for a fence. Put in a fence and there’d be grass aplenty for grazin’, and it’d be a help to the land. It struck me last night, when I found the rolls of barbed wire in the barn, just sittin’ there. It’s the least I can do before movin’ on.”
    “That’s doin’ too much, Mr. O’Rear,” Rachel protested. “You don’t owe us—”
    “Only my life,” he interrupted. “Only my life. And it’s Michael. Save the ‘mister’ for the preacher.”
    * * *
    Dora moved noiselessly into Sarah’s bedroom to stare out the side window of the house. Sarah sat on the edge of her bed, listening to the conversation between Michael and her mother.
    “What’s goin’ on?” Sarah asked Dora.
    “Nothin’,” Dora answered.
    “Why’s he up so early?”
    “He had somethin’ to say.”
    “What?” Sarah was confused and sleepy.
    “He’s tellin’ the world that he’s here and that he’s to stay around awhile,” Dora replied bitterly. “As long as he wants. That’s what he’s sayin’.”

5
    MICHAEL’S FENCE WAS not an ordinary fence.
    He did not build it as other men would have. Other men would have cut and set the posts and