“Why aren’t we supposed to go in the garden?”
“I don’t know, Peter. Your grandfather said it doesn’t belong to us. He said not to go past the rose bushes, because none of it belongs to us, and they might think we’re trespassing.”
“Well, who does it belong to?”
Mom’s face clouded over a bit. “I’m not sure, but I think there’s a bunch of hobos who eat the food.”
“Hobos?”
Mom caught herself and smiled. “Homeless people, honey. I’m sorry, hobo isn’t the accepted word these days. But ‘hobo’ was what we called them back then…they used to ride the trains all around the country and live on the really poor side of life. I think Grandfather kept the garden for them, I’m not sure.”
“Did you see the hobos?”
Mom cocked her head, as though trying to remember. “Only once…it was night, and I saw somebody…or something in the garden. I didn’t go find out what it was because I was scared. But there’s no need to worry, I lived here eighteen years until I was in college and nobody ever bothered us. Hobos are harmless, kid. Just don’t go in the garden, and don’t make any problems with grandfather, okay?”
Peter nodded. “Okay, Mom,” and he meant it.
Whatever it took to avoid Grandfather’s anger, that’s what Peter was going to do.
*********************
Mom finished putting Beth to bed at 8:30. After that, she and Peter read in the den. Read, because there was no TV.
“He doesn’t have a TV?!”
“Don’t make a fuss, Peter. Once I find a job maybe I can talk him into letting me buy one.”
Peter grumbled as he looked around the room for something to read.
All he could find was a wicker basket full of National Geographics. But not anything recent – in fact, not a single one had pictures. They were all from the 1940’s and just full of writing.
Peter groaned and went upstairs to get some comic books of his own instead. After he returned, they both read quietly until Grandfather lumbered in.
“Time for bed,” he announced as he pointed at Peter.
Peter glanced at the huge wooden clock on the fireplace mantel: 9:45. He was supposed to meet Dill at 10 o’clock.
“But – ”
“Time for bed!” Grandfather repeated angrily.
“Dad…” Mom sighed. “Peter’s been used to going to bed a little later than this – ”
“I’ll not be questioned in my own house, Melissa,” Grandfather warned.
Mom stared at Grandfather. He stared back.
“Go get ready for bed, Peter,” she said in a dull, flat voice.
“But Mom – ”
“Peter, just do it.”
Jeez.
<< previous page | next page >>
Copyright © 2008 Darren Pillsbury. All rights reserved.
No comments:
Post a Comment