crossed to Davy’s bed. The boy was on his side facing the wall, curled up into a tight little ball.
Tom sat on the edge of the bed, not at all certain what to say to him, or if he’d even listen. He reached out and gently shook him awake.
Davy uncurled and rolled onto his back. “Tom?” his voiced croaked.
“Hi, there. Your sister tells me you’ve been off your feed. She’s worried about you.” He could understand why. Davy looked thin and pale.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I know. I haven’t had much of an appetite myself.” He stroked Davy’s matted hair. “Still feeling bad about Jack, huh?” When the lad nodded, he continued. “Yeah, me too. It’s lonesome without him. I catch myself glancing behind the forge a thousand times a day, but he’s not there. Makes me feel like crying.”
Davy’s eyes opened wider. Tom figured he had never heard a grown man admit to such a thing. Bill had likely told him only sissies cried.
He held the boy’s hand. “And now you don’t come over any more.” He let the words spill out, hoping beyond all hope they were the right ones. “It’s almost like I lost my two best friends at once, Jack and you. I miss you.”
Davy’s bottom lip quivered and then a flood of emotions broke through and he sputtered, “I miss you, too. And I d … didn’t mean it. I don’t hate you.” And then with a cry that almost tore the man’s heart from his chest, he begged, “Please, don’t hate me.”
“Ah, Davy, I could never hate you. Not ever.” His voice choked with emotion. “I was kinda hoping that maybe we could be buddies again. Would you like that?”
In answer, Davy jumped onto his knees and wrapped his arms in a strangle hold around Tom’s neck, hugging him fiercely. It was the best kind of hug, the kind that squeezed the heart. In return, Tom held him tight against his chest.
“Now, how about something to eat?” he asked softly when the boy eventually released his neck.
“Can you stay and eat with me?”
He was caught off guard by the request. “Ah, I don’t know … ”
“There’s plenty,” Beth said quietly from the doorway. “You’d be more than welcome.”
“Well, thanks, but I’d better not.” Bill already hated him. No point in aggravating the situation by forcing him out of his own home. “I’ve already eaten.” He carried Davy to a chair in the kitchen. “I sure hope you can come to the smithy tomorrow. I’m getting behind without your help.”
“You are?”
“Darn tootin’! Don’t know how I managed without you.” He named all the tasks awaiting the lad’s return.
When Beth set about warming some food, Tom turned to leave. “I’d better get going. I got things I have to do at home.” Like sit alone and listen to the clock ticking.
She accompanied him to the door. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
They stood there on the front step, Tom reluctant to leave the company of those who understood his grief. Finally, he stepped back. “I guess I’d better go. You’re going to catch a cold standing out here.” He sauntered away a few yards, stopped and then said in a loud clear voice, “I’m leaving now, Bill.”
Beth watched the blacksmith’s receding form and she couldn’t help being impressed. He had spoken honestly and openly with Davy about his own grief, when most men would have denied having such feelings. Considering all the trouble she and her brothers had been to the man, he really didn’t owe them the time of day. His kindness gave her something to think about.
• • •
The snow stayed, and more followed as the weather became increasingly colder. Beth started going to the school half an hour earlier each morning to fire up the stove.
The heat in the classroom was never evenly distributed. Students sitting nearest the heater virtually cooked and students furthest away shivered. Often Beth would swing a towel around and around like a windmill to circulate the heat about
Tom sat on the edge of the bed, not at all certain what to say to him, or if he’d even listen. He reached out and gently shook him awake.
Davy uncurled and rolled onto his back. “Tom?” his voiced croaked.
“Hi, there. Your sister tells me you’ve been off your feed. She’s worried about you.” He could understand why. Davy looked thin and pale.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I know. I haven’t had much of an appetite myself.” He stroked Davy’s matted hair. “Still feeling bad about Jack, huh?” When the lad nodded, he continued. “Yeah, me too. It’s lonesome without him. I catch myself glancing behind the forge a thousand times a day, but he’s not there. Makes me feel like crying.”
Davy’s eyes opened wider. Tom figured he had never heard a grown man admit to such a thing. Bill had likely told him only sissies cried.
He held the boy’s hand. “And now you don’t come over any more.” He let the words spill out, hoping beyond all hope they were the right ones. “It’s almost like I lost my two best friends at once, Jack and you. I miss you.”
Davy’s bottom lip quivered and then a flood of emotions broke through and he sputtered, “I miss you, too. And I d … didn’t mean it. I don’t hate you.” And then with a cry that almost tore the man’s heart from his chest, he begged, “Please, don’t hate me.”
“Ah, Davy, I could never hate you. Not ever.” His voice choked with emotion. “I was kinda hoping that maybe we could be buddies again. Would you like that?”
In answer, Davy jumped onto his knees and wrapped his arms in a strangle hold around Tom’s neck, hugging him fiercely. It was the best kind of hug, the kind that squeezed the heart. In return, Tom held him tight against his chest.
“Now, how about something to eat?” he asked softly when the boy eventually released his neck.
“Can you stay and eat with me?”
He was caught off guard by the request. “Ah, I don’t know … ”
“There’s plenty,” Beth said quietly from the doorway. “You’d be more than welcome.”
“Well, thanks, but I’d better not.” Bill already hated him. No point in aggravating the situation by forcing him out of his own home. “I’ve already eaten.” He carried Davy to a chair in the kitchen. “I sure hope you can come to the smithy tomorrow. I’m getting behind without your help.”
“You are?”
“Darn tootin’! Don’t know how I managed without you.” He named all the tasks awaiting the lad’s return.
When Beth set about warming some food, Tom turned to leave. “I’d better get going. I got things I have to do at home.” Like sit alone and listen to the clock ticking.
She accompanied him to the door. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
They stood there on the front step, Tom reluctant to leave the company of those who understood his grief. Finally, he stepped back. “I guess I’d better go. You’re going to catch a cold standing out here.” He sauntered away a few yards, stopped and then said in a loud clear voice, “I’m leaving now, Bill.”
Beth watched the blacksmith’s receding form and she couldn’t help being impressed. He had spoken honestly and openly with Davy about his own grief, when most men would have denied having such feelings. Considering all the trouble she and her brothers had been to the man, he really didn’t owe them the time of day. His kindness gave her something to think about.
• • •
The snow stayed, and more followed as the weather became increasingly colder. Beth started going to the school half an hour earlier each morning to fire up the stove.
The heat in the classroom was never evenly distributed. Students sitting nearest the heater virtually cooked and students furthest away shivered. Often Beth would swing a towel around and around like a windmill to circulate the heat about
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