Part 4 (1/2)

out.”Mama gets mad 'less I use the outhouse.”Winn suppressed a smile.”Women sometimes have foolish notions but it's best to accommodate them.””Yeah,” agreed the child knowingly.”Can you lead me to the outhouse, sir?”Greg giggled again. He had never been called sir before.”Me and Mama put a rope from the back door. Mama's in the kitchen fixing breakfast. That's where the back door is.”

”Is there another way around? It's embarra.s.sing to need help with somethinglike this, you understand?” ”I don't need help with nothin' much,” Greg a.s.sured him, leaping from the bed.

Winn pulled on his boots, which Greg had found and handed to him. He stood

up and felt the boy's small hand wrap around his finger. Winn began towonder if this had been a good idea after all. ”You'll have to tell me what's in front of me so I don't b.u.mp into things,”

he reminded him.

”nothin's in front of you for four steps.”

”Your steps or mine?” Winn questioned.

”Your steps.” Greg responded quickly to the odd question.”I can't walk for you.” As Winn started forward he added, ”But take littlesteps.”

They made it out of the bedroom and into the front room with littledifficulty. Cynthie heard her son's voice and stepped to the kitchen door toinvestigate. Greg had evidently gone straight to Mr. Sutton's room thismorning. He had put on a s.h.i.+rt, which he had mis b.u.t.toned, and half tuckedit into a pair of short pants. His feet were bare, as usual, and hisstraight black hair was sleep-ruffled. He looked so tiny next to the big manbut was very intent on directing him step-by-step toward the front door. Sheput her hand to her lips and watched them.

”There's a table right there,” Greg said, pointing.”Remember, I can't see where 'there' is.” Winn's voice was patient.”Here.” Greg smacked a little hand on the tabletop, rattling the gla.s.s bowl that sat there.Winn moved slightly to the left.”Will I miss it?””Yeah.” Greg tugged on his hand again.”Now you can go a long ways.” .”How big is this room?””I guess it's huge,” Greg sympathized.”We can go faster outside.””How come you can't see?” Greg asked. He had stopped Winn and was opening the front door.

”My horse threw me and my head hit a rock.” He moved forward as Greg tugged his hand.

”Your eyes don't look broke. The bandage is up above them.”Cynthie watched them step out onto the porch. When she heard Winn send Greg to close the door, she ducked into the kitchen so he wouldn't know she had been watching.

She went back to work, glancing out a window from time to time. She saw them

on the way to the outhouse, and deep in conversation later. It seemed like along time before the two of them appeared at the back door. When Greg ledhis charge inside, she saw why. They had made a trip to the well.

Greg's s.h.i.+rtfront was damp, and drops of water glistened on Winn's beard.

”Good morning ma'am,” Winn said, standing stock-still where Greg had put him, fearful that any movement could knock something over.

”Good morning Mr. Sutton,” Cynthie answered, winking at Greg. The big man

couldn't know that the little boy had planted his feet wide apart and clasped

his hands behind his back, mimicking his new friend.

”We washed,” said Greg, wanting to be sure he received proper credit for this extraordinary deed.

Cynthie smiled.”You both look very nice. Show Mr. Sutton to his seat, Greg.””I'm supposed to take Winn...””Mr. Sutton,” Cynthie corrected.”He said he was Winn,” Greg responded stubbornly.”It's true, ma'am,” Winn said.”Under the circ.u.mstances I didn't see the need to be so formal.” The dimples deepened beneath the beard.

”I see.” Cynthie watched the pale blue eyes that

seemed to watch somethingfar away. At least he wouldn't see how fl.u.s.tered she was by his charmingsmile. She was grateful the little boy provided her with a distraction.

”He calls me sir,” Greg announced.

”So much for informality.” Cynthie laughed and Winn shrugged, his dimplesdeepening again.

”Please sit down.”

”I'm supposed to take him back to bed,” Greg insisted.

Winn hastened to explain.

”If it wouldn't be too much bother, could you bring something to yourfather's room for me? I'd be more comfortable eating in private.” He unclasped his hands, dropping them slowly to his sides, hoping to come incontact with Greg before he had to grope around for him.

Fortunately, Greg grabbed his hand eagerly and began to lead him forward.

”Mr. Sutton,” Cynthie said, ”I eat with a four- year-old.”

”I understand, Mrs. Franklin, but I'm not four.” Winn hoped she wasn'toffended but he had no way of gauging her reaction. As Greg led him slowlyfrom the kitchen and through the front room, he tried to remember how hervoice had sounded. She had laughed at him for calling the boy sir.

Otherwise, she hadn't sounded especially warm or friendly. He remembered how she had treated the neighbor they had ridden with the previous day and feltmildly apprehensive.

”Do you think we hurt your mother's feelings?” he asked when Greg haddeposited him safely beside the bed again.

”Naw,” said Greg, dismissing the notion.

”You better hurry back and have your breakfast.” Winn was sit ting on thebed, although he felt tired enough to go back to sleep. He heard purposefulfootsteps coming through the front room and stood up.

Cynthie carried the tray to a small table and set it down.

”Here's your breakfast, Mr. Sutton. There's a knife and spoon to the right,fork to the left, napkin in front. On the plate are scrambled eggs at twoo'clock, ham at six and biscuits at ten. Your coffee cup's above the knife.Do you take sugar or cream?”

”No, ma'am,” he answered, surprised by her efficiency. It was odd listeningto a voice that he could put no form to. How big was she?

What did her face look like? What color was her hair? Greg, with all hisopen chatter, was easier to picture.

Cynthie took his hand and led him to the table, counting the steps aloud ashe walked. She turned him so he was between the table and a chair. ”The bed is four steps to your right, Mr. Sutton.” She made sure he had located both the chair and the table. He stood hesitantly, fingertips lightly touchingthe tabletop next to the tray.

Cynthie waited a moment and realized he wasn't going to sit down until sheeither left the room or sat down herself.

”Where are you from, Mr. Sutton?” The question was out before she thought.He would think her as ill-mannered as her curious little boy, but he neithertalked nor acted the way she expected. Nor did he look like she had expected, but she dismissed that thought as foolishness.