American fiction -- 20th century; Railroad stories
“The garden stuff--peas and beets and squashes and so on?”
The dull look lightened. “Maybe we could--and it would seem good to eat
the same ones we raised, would n’t it?” He looked at him appealingly.
“We’d all like it, and it would be good for mother--to have the things
fresh from home.”
“So ’t would, Johnny. So ’t would. Who’ll we get to tend ’em?” The
thought puckered his forehead in anxious lines.
“There ’s Stillwell,” said John absently. He was not looking at the old
man, but at his mother’s face.
It was turned to him with a little smile. “I am glad,” she said, as if
he had spoken.
“You are tired?”
“Yes--it has been a long day--so much has happened.”
“I will help you to bed,” he said, thoughtfully, “and then I must go
back to the office for a little while.”
She looked at him inquiringly. “Tonight?”
“Only for a little while. The special goes back at eight--I want to tell
him.”
She made a swift gesture. “Don’t wait. Your father will help me.”
“I ’ll help her, Sonny. You run right along,” said the old man kindly.
“I am a little late,” said the hoy, looking at his watch. “I ’ll have
to hurry. But I ’ll be back before you ’re asleep.” With a little nod he
was gone.
They looked at each other across the vacant place. “I do know how you
’re goin’ to stand it,” said the old man slowly.
“I shall not mind.” She spoke with quick decision, “but it will be hard
for you--leaving the garden and the place.”
“We ’ve lived here thirty year,” he said thoughtfully.
“Thirty-one,” she responded.
“So ’t was--thirty-one last May.”
He came around and laid a clumsy hand on her shoulder. “You want I
should help you, Marcia?”
“No, Caleb, I ’ll sit here a little--perhaps till the boy comes back. I
like to look at the garden from here.”
The old man’s glance followed hers. “It is putty,” he said. “You see how
them squashes hev come on since morning?”
“Yes.” She smiled at him in the dim light. “Seems’s if you could most
see ’em grow,” said the old man with a little sigh. He took up his
battered hat. “Well, I ’ll go see Stillwell. Like enough he ’ll be glad
to do it.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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