approached the house and soon gave way to bare
dirt. A solitary chicken roosted in the back of an old wagon with a broken
wheel underneath a spindly dead oak tree.
“This place looks
like it has spooks,” Jordan whispered.
“You scared?”
Eamon asked.
“Are you?”
“Nope,” Eamon
said. “No such things as spooks.”
“But if they were
spooks, this sure would make a nice home for them,” Jordan joked.
The door was ajar.
Jordan stood aside and let Eamon go first. He could hear a man talking and Pa
mumbling.
The inside looked
as bad as the outside. Dead leaves and other debris covered the floor and the
sparse furnishings looked at least a hundred years old. The smell was just as
repulsive – wet dog and root cellar so strong, even the breeze coming through
the broken sash couldn’t blow it away. Jordan sat down on a tree stump made to
look like a chair and unlaced his boots. Eamon walked into the other room.
“Don’t lean on
that table,” a young voice said.
Jordan jumped. He
didn’t even see the boy sitting in the corner holding a fiddle.
“It only has three
legs,” the boy said.
“Who are you?”
Jordan asked then leaned over to look under the small table perched beside his
seat. Sure enough, there was a leg missing.
“I’m Gunner,” the
boy answered. “You must be Jordan. Pa says we’re the same age.”
Jordan looked at
the boy’s fragile limbs and skinny torso. How could they possibly be the
same age? Even sitting down, he didn’t look any bigger than Jake. His
breeches were way too short and he didn’t have any shoes on.
“Pa said Finnian
can play this,” Gunner said and held out the fiddle. “I’ve been waiting all
evening.”
“It ain’t got
enough strings,” Jordan said.
Gunner’s face
looked as if Jordan had punched him in the gut and Jordan felt ashamed of
himself.
“But I’ll be he
can do just fine,” he quickly added.
Gunner’s eyes lit
up.
“Where is Pa
anyway?” Jordan asked.
“They’re in the
kitchen but I wanted to wait for you and Eamon here. Pa made salt pork and tack
bread. You hungry?”
“No, not really,”
Jordan lied.
“We got your
letter just yesterday. Pa had to take it to the neighbor's place and ask him to
read it though. He sure was excited.”
“Where’s your ma?”
Jordan asked.
“She died,” Gunner
answered. “My baby sister too. It’s just me and Pa now.”
“I think I am a
little hungry. You hungry?”
“Follow me,”
Gunner said and stood up. Jordan towered over him by at least six inches.
The only light in
the kitchen came from a roaring fire in a large rock fireplace. A skinny man
leaned into the fire and turned large, sizzling hunks of pig fat in a pan.
Jordan’s stomach growled even though it looked like the scraps of fat Ma melted
down for lard. He looked in one of the steaming pots sitting the table. It was
either collards or cooked weeds. He couldn’t tell.
“Jim, this here’s
my boy Jordan,” Pa said.
The man stood up
as best he could but was hunched over so much that Jordan could look down at
him.
“So it is,” Jim
said. His voice was hoarse and scratchy. Jordan could hear the phlegm rattling
in this throat. “He looks just like you. I see you met Gunner.”
“Yes, sir,” Jordan
said. “Nice to meet you.”
“You hungry?” Jim
asked. Although his body was battered, Jordan could see a sparkle in his
brilliant blue eyes.
“A little,” he
answered.
“Gunner, get the
plates.”
“Yes Pa,” Gunner
said and set the plates out on the table.
Jordan was only
able to stomach one piece of salt pork. It wasn’t that he was full; it just
took too long to chew each bite so he could swallow without getting choked. The
water looked clear enough and he hoped they didn’t get it from the pond. He had
seconds on collards but they’d have been better with some butter and a dash of
salt.
“It ain’t what
you’re used to, is it boys?” Jim asked.
“It’s just fine,”
Finnian said before
dirt. A solitary chicken roosted in the back of an old wagon with a broken
wheel underneath a spindly dead oak tree.
“This place looks
like it has spooks,” Jordan whispered.
“You scared?”
Eamon asked.
“Are you?”
“Nope,” Eamon
said. “No such things as spooks.”
“But if they were
spooks, this sure would make a nice home for them,” Jordan joked.
The door was ajar.
Jordan stood aside and let Eamon go first. He could hear a man talking and Pa
mumbling.
The inside looked
as bad as the outside. Dead leaves and other debris covered the floor and the
sparse furnishings looked at least a hundred years old. The smell was just as
repulsive – wet dog and root cellar so strong, even the breeze coming through
the broken sash couldn’t blow it away. Jordan sat down on a tree stump made to
look like a chair and unlaced his boots. Eamon walked into the other room.
“Don’t lean on
that table,” a young voice said.
Jordan jumped. He
didn’t even see the boy sitting in the corner holding a fiddle.
“It only has three
legs,” the boy said.
“Who are you?”
Jordan asked then leaned over to look under the small table perched beside his
seat. Sure enough, there was a leg missing.
“I’m Gunner,” the
boy answered. “You must be Jordan. Pa says we’re the same age.”
Jordan looked at
the boy’s fragile limbs and skinny torso. How could they possibly be the
same age? Even sitting down, he didn’t look any bigger than Jake. His
breeches were way too short and he didn’t have any shoes on.
“Pa said Finnian
can play this,” Gunner said and held out the fiddle. “I’ve been waiting all
evening.”
“It ain’t got
enough strings,” Jordan said.
Gunner’s face
looked as if Jordan had punched him in the gut and Jordan felt ashamed of
himself.
“But I’ll be he
can do just fine,” he quickly added.
Gunner’s eyes lit
up.
“Where is Pa
anyway?” Jordan asked.
“They’re in the
kitchen but I wanted to wait for you and Eamon here. Pa made salt pork and tack
bread. You hungry?”
“No, not really,”
Jordan lied.
“We got your
letter just yesterday. Pa had to take it to the neighbor's place and ask him to
read it though. He sure was excited.”
“Where’s your ma?”
Jordan asked.
“She died,” Gunner
answered. “My baby sister too. It’s just me and Pa now.”
“I think I am a
little hungry. You hungry?”
“Follow me,”
Gunner said and stood up. Jordan towered over him by at least six inches.
The only light in
the kitchen came from a roaring fire in a large rock fireplace. A skinny man
leaned into the fire and turned large, sizzling hunks of pig fat in a pan.
Jordan’s stomach growled even though it looked like the scraps of fat Ma melted
down for lard. He looked in one of the steaming pots sitting the table. It was
either collards or cooked weeds. He couldn’t tell.
“Jim, this here’s
my boy Jordan,” Pa said.
The man stood up
as best he could but was hunched over so much that Jordan could look down at
him.
“So it is,” Jim
said. His voice was hoarse and scratchy. Jordan could hear the phlegm rattling
in this throat. “He looks just like you. I see you met Gunner.”
“Yes, sir,” Jordan
said. “Nice to meet you.”
“You hungry?” Jim
asked. Although his body was battered, Jordan could see a sparkle in his
brilliant blue eyes.
“A little,” he
answered.
“Gunner, get the
plates.”
“Yes Pa,” Gunner
said and set the plates out on the table.
Jordan was only
able to stomach one piece of salt pork. It wasn’t that he was full; it just
took too long to chew each bite so he could swallow without getting choked. The
water looked clear enough and he hoped they didn’t get it from the pond. He had
seconds on collards but they’d have been better with some butter and a dash of
salt.
“It ain’t what
you’re used to, is it boys?” Jim asked.
“It’s just fine,”
Finnian said before
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