Part 5 (1/2)

I spoke up then and said, ”How about Shorty? Is he going too?”

I don't know what there was in my voice that shouldn't have been, when I asked that question, but Mom said in an astonished tone of voice, ”Why, Bill Collins! The very idea! Don't you _want_ him to go to church and Sunday School and learn something about being a Christian?

Do you want him to grow up to be a heathen? What's the matter with you?”

I gulped. Mom had read my thoughts like an open school book. ”Of course,” I said, ”he ought to go to church, but--”

”But _what_?” Mom said.

”He's awful mean to the gang,” I said, ”He--”

”Perhaps we'd better ask the blessing now,” Pop said, in a kind voice, and right away we bowed our heads, while Pop prayed a short prayer, which ended something like this, ”... and bless our minister tomorrow.

Put into his heart the things he ought to say that will do us all the most good.... Make his sermon like a plow and hoe and rake that will make the gardens of our hearts what they all ought to be.... Bless Shorty Long and his mother and father, and the Till family, all of which we ask in Jesus' name. Amen.”

For some reason, when Pop finished, I seemed to feel like maybe I didn't actually _hate_ our new teacher, not very much anyway, and I thought maybe Shorty Long, even if he was a terribly tough boy, would be better if he had somebody pull some of the weeds out of him....

After supper, we all took our regular Sat.u.r.day night baths and went to bed, and the next thing we knew it was a wonderful morning, with the sun s.h.i.+ning on the snow and with sleigh bells jingling on people's horses, on account of some of our neighbors lived on roads where the road-conditioner hadn't been through yet, and couldn't use their cars and so had to use sleds instead. It was going to be a wonderful day all day, I thought, and was glad I was alive.

7

Just before nine o'clock, we all started in our car toward Little Jim's house, which was closer than Tom Till's or Shorty Long's. Little Jim came tumbling out his back door, his short legs carrying him fast out to the road. He got in and I was certainly tickled to see him. Mom and Pop and Charlotte Ann were in the front seat, so Charlotte Ann would be closer to our car heater and keep warm, on account of it was a cold morning.

”How is your mother this morning?” my mom asked Little Jim about his mom, and Little Jim piped up in his mouse-like voice and said, ”She's better than last night. Pop and I took breakfast to her in bed,” which is what _my_ pop does to _my_ mom when _she_ doesn't feel well. In fact, sometimes when Pop gets up extra early before Mom does, he sneaks out into our kitchen quietly and makes coffee and carries a cupful in and surprises Mom even when she is perfectly well, which Pop says is maybe one reason why Mom keeps on liking him so well....

Our car turned north on the road that leads to Tom's house, crossed the snow-covered Sugar Creek bridge, and went on. While we were on the bridge, Little Jim said to me, ”Look, there's an _oak_ tree that still has its leaves on, and'll maybe keep 'em on all winter.”

Then we came to Tom's weathered, old-looking house, and barn, and Pop pulled up at the side of the road in front of their mail box which said on it, ”John Till,” and honked the horn for Tom to come out and get in.

There was a new path which maybe Tom had scooped for his mom so she could get the mail. In a minute now, I thought, their side door would open and Little Tom would come zipping out, with his kinda oldish-looking coat on and he would come crunch, crunch, crunch through the snow path to where we were. Tom didn't come right away, though. Pop honked again, so Tom would be sure to hear, then when he still didn't come, and when there wasn't any curtain moving at their window to let us know anybody was home and that Tom would be here in a minute, Mom said to me, ”Bill, you better run in and tell him we're here. We have to stop at Long's yet, and we don't want to be late.”

Almost in a second I was opening the door and getting out. Little Jim tumbled out right after me, saying, ”I'll go with you,” and since neither his mom nor his pop were there to tell him not to, both of us went squis.h.i.+ng up the snow path toward their side door. There had been a little wind during the night, and some snow had drifted into the path, and I was glad we had on our boots, so our good Sunday shoes wouldn't get wet and spoil their s.h.i.+ne.

I knocked at Tom's door, and waited and n.o.body answered, and Little Jim and I listened to see what we could hear, but all I could hear was somebody moving around inside like whoever it was was in a hurry--like maybe there had been some things on the floor and they were in a hurry to straighten up the room or the house on account of company was coming.

Then I heard a door shutting somewhere in the house, and I knew it was the door between their living-room and kitchen, then I heard footsteps coming toward our door, and I wondered what was wrong. I was sure something was, but didn't know what.

The next thing I knew the door opened in front of me and there stood Little red-haired Tom, with his hair mussed up, and his old clothes on, and his eyes were kinda reddish, and it looked like he had been crying. ”I'm sorry,” he said, ”but I can't go. Mother's got the flu, and I have to take care of her, and keep the fires going.”

”Can't your daddy do that?” Little Jim asked in a disappointed voice, and Little Tom swallowed hard like there was a tear in his throat and said, ”Daddy's not home again. He--he's--not home,” Tom finished, and I knew what he meant, but he was ashamed to say it, and it probably was that his pop had got drunk again and was maybe right that very minute in the Sugar Creek jail.

”Where's Bob?” Little Jim wanted to know, and Tom stood there in the half-open kitchen door and said, ”He got up early and went over to Shorty Long's; they're going to hunt pigeons.”

I knew what that meant, 'cause sometimes some of the farmers in our neighborhood had too many pigeons, and the Sugar Creek Gang would go to their different barns and shut all the doors and windows quick and help catch the pigeons for them, and you could get sometimes fifteen cents apiece for them if you sold them.

If Shorty Long and Bob had gone hunting pigeons together, it meant that Shorty Long wouldn't want to go to Sunday School with us when we stopped at their house after awhile to get his mother to take her to church with us. It also meant that Shorty and Bob had maybe decided to like each other, since neither one of them liked the Sugar Creek Gang.

Little Tom didn't know what I'd been thinking, so he piped up and said to Little Jim, ”I'm sorry I can't go, but I can't. You tell Teacher I'll try to come next week, and tell her I studied my Sunday School lesson, and--wait a minute!” Tom turned and, leaving the door open, hurried back inside the house, opened the door to their living-room and went in, like he had gone after something. He shut the door after him real quick, like he was trying to keep the cold air in the kitchen from getting into that other room.