Read Online The Grandfather Clock by Jonathan Kile - Free Book Online

have. She said
she was going to throw all of my clothes away, and I said I wished
she wouldn’t but I couldn’t stop her. I planned to call Sam and
have him move my car. He’d have to get it from the airport for me.
I would want it in New Orleans eventually. I’d go back to St. Pete
and tie up loose ends soon enough.
    The second major event occurred later
as Brian and I struggled to maneuver the clock up the stairs to his
second floor apartment. The brick, French-style building wrapped
around a corner, and butted against a mirror image of another
building that had a corner grocery store. It was just a couple
blocks beyond the crowds of tourists. The clock was manageable for
the two of us. Unfortunately, the stairway was so narrow that we
couldn’t carry it with one of us on each side, going up the stairs.
We each had to grab an end and one person had to walk up backwards.
To make the turn in to his apartment we had to turn it on its side.
That’s when it happened.
    Inside the clock there was a hard
bump. I assumed it was the weights shifting, but it seemed larger.
It clacked against the glass door on the front of the main body of
the clock. Holding the base of the clock with one hand, I reached
up to hold the glass door in case it gave way. The weights were in
the bottom of the clock. Whatever was hitting the glass was
longer.
    “ It must be the pendulum,”
I said. We edged around the corner and into the door. We laid it
flat on the floor between the coffee table and television. I wiped
my brow.
    “ Nice clock,” Brian said.
“Does it work?”
    “ It used to,” I said. “I
have no idea how to make it work. I’m not too worried about that
right now.”
    Brian moved an artificial palm tree
that sat in the corner and slid the worn green love seat out of the
way. We gingerly leaned the clock upright. Again something thumped
hard inside. We shuffled it flush to the wall and I opened the
glass door.
    Wrapped in cloth and tape was
something long and heavy, like the poker for a fireplace, only
fatter. Brian got a knife and I cut away the clear packing tape
that secured the cloth around it. I carefully unwound the cloth,
which started coming off in sections. They were old kitchen hand
towels that I didn’t recognize.
    The object began to emerge. First the
silver bell-shaped end, then the flintlock, the trigger, and
finally the handle.
    Brian stood wide-eyed with curiosity.
“Wow.”
    “ Yeah,” I said. “No
kidding.” At the time I didn’t really know much about what I was
looking at.
    “ That’s a big old gun,”
said Brian.
    “ Yes it is.”

 
     
     
     
     
     
    4
     
     
    That Sunday was a big day. After
telling Christie that I was not coming back to St. Pete, and
finding an old musket inside the clock I felt obligated to call my
parents to tell them where I was. I was glad my mother
answered.
    “ Hi Mom!” I said with
cheer.
    “ Michael! Did you make it
home yet? Where are you?”
    “ Well,” I said, “I’ve got
some news.”
    “ Yes?” she said
hesitantly.
    “ I’m in New Orleans. I
stopped to see a friend yesterday. And I got offered a
job.”
    “ Um... wow. That’s
wonderful!” she said in a combination of shock and
relief.
    “ Bartending,” I
added.
    There was a pause. “Okay,” she said,
less enthusiastically.
    “ I know, it’s probably a
rash decision, but I’m burned out at Globe Bank and that isn’t
going anywhere. I need a change of scenery. It’s just until I find
something I want to do, someplace that I want to go.”
    “ Well, Michael,” she said,
her voice growing warm. “I think you should do what makes you
happy. But listen, I want you to take care of yourself, and don’t
get stuck. You can’t tend bar forever.”
    “ I know, Mom,” I said. I
was still a kid to her. “Let me ask you a question on a different
topic.”
    “ What is it?”
    “ When we were moving the
clock, we found this old gun... this old musket. It was wrapped up
in rags inside the