Read Online The Fires of Spring by James A. Michener - Free Book Online

energy in the world. One night a peach tree would appear frail and green. Next noon it was bedecked with flowers, like a young girl painting her cheeks with abandon in her first attempt.
    “Were you ever married?” David asked on the last day.
    “Me?” the old man asked, his knees shaking with pain. “Sure I was married.”
    “The gypsy girl?”
    “No!” the wasted fellow laughed. “No, I married a big woman in Detroit. We had three children. One was a fine boy, like you.”
    “Where are they now?”
    “I … Well … It’s this way, David. There are many things that can’t be explained. But remember this thing that you can understand. It’s better to marry any woman at all than never to marry. This is what I mean. It would be much better for your withered-up aunt to marry Toothless Tom than to live the way she does. If you tell her that, she’ll fizz up and bust. But it’s true.”
    Now sovereign pain gripped at the old man with final fury, for this time there also came the ally death. Daniel must have seen the terrible pair, for he jerked his head back and raised his hands as if to fight once more against them. But now the visitors would not be denied. Shaken in their icy grip, the old man writhed in mortal torment.
    David clearly perceived what was happening. He knew that this pain was different from the others. This was all-possessing pain.
    “Sam! Sam!” the old man shouted, and the boy wondered: “Who is Sam?”
    “Sam! Goddamn you, Sam!” the dying man roared.
    Back in some distant passion Old Daniel died. He forgot David, and his pain, and the poorhouse, and all the wonderful things he had seen and read. “Sam!” he pleaded. Then he whispered the word again: “Sam!” Getting no response, he summoned his final energy, raised his gaunt neck and bellowed mightily: “Sam!”
    This cry brought the nurse, and David said, “He’s dead.”
    “Poor old man,” she said, and methodically she covered up the ancient face.
    But the picture of the man was not erased from David’s mind. For a long time he could see his old friend, beset by more than human pain, alone, his children gone from him, lost in a country poorhouse, fighting death to the last wildcry. David did not clearly reason out what he instinctively knew to be true: Daniel had known something in life that was sweet beyond words; he had never quite described it for the boy, but he had proved its presence in the world.
    On the day of Daniel’s burial Mr. Paxson said that he would come by for David on Sunday and take him to Quaker Meeting. When David told the men on the long hall about his good fortune, they were strangely silent. He repeated his message and finally one of them asked bluntly, “What are you going to wear?”
    “I’ll wash up, and Tom can mend my shirt.”
    “But you can’t go to the Paxsons’ that way!” a man from Solebury said. “Why, the Paxsons …”
    David interrupted. “I don’t think Mr. Paxson would mind.”
    “But look at you!” the man protested. The men of the poorhouse studied the boy. Old shoes, scuffed beyond repair. Harry Moomaugh’s pants torn on a stone fence. A bedraggled shirt, and a mop of untrimmed hair.
    “I’ll tell you what!” Tom said brightly. “Old Daniel gimme somethin’ before he died. Said to spend it on you when you needed it. Looks like now’s the time.” He went to his room and returned with a Bull Durham tobacco pouch. Toothless emptied the pouch into his hand. It contained more than two dollars!
    “Won’t be enough for shoes, too,” an old man said.
    Tom scratched his chin. “Tell you what, David. You go beg some money from your Aunt Reba.”
    “Not me!”
    An old man said, “You go, Tom. I’ll cut the boy’s hair.” So Tom left while the men made a stool for David to sit on while experimenting barbers trimmed his long hair. At Aunt Reba’s door Tom said, “ ’Scuse me for buttin’ in, but your boy needs shoes.”
    “
He’s
got
shoes!
” Reba