Read Online The Fires of Spring by James A. Michener - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James A. Michener
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Sunday morning they stationed Luther at the roadside to flag down the Paxson car, lest Aunt Reba see it. Then Tom and the other men dressed David in his new clothes and combed his hair. “Remember!” they said. “If you eat dinner at the Paxsons’, say thank you!”
The drive to Solebury that Sunday morning was magnificent. David had never before ridden in the rear seat of a good car. Nor had he ever ridden with a primped and pretty girl. The fields of Bucks County were superb, as if they too were in their Sunday best, and birds sang from every tree.
At the Meeting House the wealthy Quakers of the county stood solemnly on the porch to greet their neighbors. The Paxsons led David and Marcia to a bench and then assumed their own positions as heads of the meeting. Now the spirit of God descended on the place, and there was silence.
After many minutes a woman rose, a housewife from New Hope, and she spoke words David could not understand.But there was a calm and handsome beauty about her face. When she sat down, no one else spoke.
As the old men had predicted, the Paxsons invited David to Sunday dinner. Mr. Paxson said, “We have some other guests, too. This man’s a famous painter.”
“I have a painting on my wall,” David said. “It’s by Rembrandt.”
“Joe’s no Rembrandt,” Mrs. Paxson laughed.
“Tell me, son,” the painter said. “How do you like the Rembrandt?”
“It’s pretty dark,” David said thoughtfully. “Lots of it he didn’t paint, but where he did, the light shines.” Mr. Paxson and the painter nodded.
Then the painter asked, “How do you like my picture? That one by the fireplace?”
“Why, that’s the canal!” David cried.
“Do you know the canal?” the painter asked.
“I’ve never seen it, but a friend of mine used to work there. He said it was just like that picture!”
“David!” Marcia cried. “Look out here!”
The boy turned abruptly and ran into the yard. There was a swing, a pool for fish, a total world for children to play in. At dinner all the men, and David, had two dishes of ice cream.
On the way home, riding once more in the comfortable car, David tried to recall each joyous moment of the day. Men and women—not old poorhouse people, but men with jobs—had talked with him. There had been a room filled with books. There had been music, and a pond for fish. As the car neared the poorhouse David leaned forward and said, “It was a very nice day. Thank you.”
“Thee sees, Margaret,” Mr. Paxson whispered to his wife. “The boy’s all right. He doesn’t even know he’s living in a poorhouse.”
But this time Mr. Paxson was dead wrong. For when David leaned back after his thank-you’s, Marcia Paxson, black haired and deep eyed, had put her hand in David’s and whispered, “Thee can come to lots of parties now. Harry Moomaugh said thee had no good suit. But thee does.”
Crushed, David did not sneak behind the hedges to escape his aunt. With a great burden of discovery he walked stolidly up the lane where everyone could see him. “A good suit!” he muttered. “Because I didn’t have a good suit I couldn’t go to the parties. Now I have one and I can go!” He thoughtwith overwhelming bitterness of the music and the good food and the fun he had missed.
“Day
wid
!” came a strident voice. “Komm
here
!” He shuffled disconsolately on, ignoring his aunt.
“Day
wid
!” came a new command. “I said, ‘Komm
here
!’ ” The boy looked up as if he had never before seen his aunt and with studied care walked right through the bed of tulips.
“Och!” his aunt cried. She leaped from her chair and dashed across the lawn, catching her nephew by the hair. “
When
I say stop, you
stop
!” She gave him a stiff blow across the face. He stumbled back into the tulips. This infuriated her.
“
Church
, is it?
Party
, is it?” she cried with an angry, hopeless ache in her voice. “And who gave you new
shoes
, yet?” She struck at him
The drive to Solebury that Sunday morning was magnificent. David had never before ridden in the rear seat of a good car. Nor had he ever ridden with a primped and pretty girl. The fields of Bucks County were superb, as if they too were in their Sunday best, and birds sang from every tree.
At the Meeting House the wealthy Quakers of the county stood solemnly on the porch to greet their neighbors. The Paxsons led David and Marcia to a bench and then assumed their own positions as heads of the meeting. Now the spirit of God descended on the place, and there was silence.
After many minutes a woman rose, a housewife from New Hope, and she spoke words David could not understand.But there was a calm and handsome beauty about her face. When she sat down, no one else spoke.
As the old men had predicted, the Paxsons invited David to Sunday dinner. Mr. Paxson said, “We have some other guests, too. This man’s a famous painter.”
“I have a painting on my wall,” David said. “It’s by Rembrandt.”
“Joe’s no Rembrandt,” Mrs. Paxson laughed.
“Tell me, son,” the painter said. “How do you like the Rembrandt?”
“It’s pretty dark,” David said thoughtfully. “Lots of it he didn’t paint, but where he did, the light shines.” Mr. Paxson and the painter nodded.
Then the painter asked, “How do you like my picture? That one by the fireplace?”
“Why, that’s the canal!” David cried.
“Do you know the canal?” the painter asked.
“I’ve never seen it, but a friend of mine used to work there. He said it was just like that picture!”
“David!” Marcia cried. “Look out here!”
The boy turned abruptly and ran into the yard. There was a swing, a pool for fish, a total world for children to play in. At dinner all the men, and David, had two dishes of ice cream.
On the way home, riding once more in the comfortable car, David tried to recall each joyous moment of the day. Men and women—not old poorhouse people, but men with jobs—had talked with him. There had been a room filled with books. There had been music, and a pond for fish. As the car neared the poorhouse David leaned forward and said, “It was a very nice day. Thank you.”
“Thee sees, Margaret,” Mr. Paxson whispered to his wife. “The boy’s all right. He doesn’t even know he’s living in a poorhouse.”
But this time Mr. Paxson was dead wrong. For when David leaned back after his thank-you’s, Marcia Paxson, black haired and deep eyed, had put her hand in David’s and whispered, “Thee can come to lots of parties now. Harry Moomaugh said thee had no good suit. But thee does.”
Crushed, David did not sneak behind the hedges to escape his aunt. With a great burden of discovery he walked stolidly up the lane where everyone could see him. “A good suit!” he muttered. “Because I didn’t have a good suit I couldn’t go to the parties. Now I have one and I can go!” He thoughtwith overwhelming bitterness of the music and the good food and the fun he had missed.
“Day
wid
!” came a strident voice. “Komm
here
!” He shuffled disconsolately on, ignoring his aunt.
“Day
wid
!” came a new command. “I said, ‘Komm
here
!’ ” The boy looked up as if he had never before seen his aunt and with studied care walked right through the bed of tulips.
“Och!” his aunt cried. She leaped from her chair and dashed across the lawn, catching her nephew by the hair. “
When
I say stop, you
stop
!” She gave him a stiff blow across the face. He stumbled back into the tulips. This infuriated her.
“
Church
, is it?
Party
, is it?” she cried with an angry, hopeless ache in her voice. “And who gave you new
shoes
, yet?” She struck at him
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