stove door and tossed it in. It was not enough to make much difference. “Do you want me to bring in more wood?”
“Ain’t more, unless you’re going to chop it. You just bring me my medicine and old Frank Thorne can take care of himself.”
Having work to do and feeling uncomfortable, I turned to walk out. “Goodbye, Mr. Thorne.” However hard it was to leave Tucker behind, I was glad to be out of there. Bending down before opening the door, I pulled Tucker close to me and whispered, “One way or another, I’ll get you out of here.”
When I stood up and turned back around to face Thorne, Icouldn’t help but sneak a glance at the picture of my dad and Thorne. It still made no sense: the man I respected the most and the man I respected the least in the same picture.
I climbed back onto the maintainer and headed east. Having so much work to do helped to reduce the number of times a day I thought of running away with that dog.
All of our neighbors were grateful to see me, and they wanted me to come in and get warm, but I told them that I did not have time. They all wanted to know what they could do to help. I explained about the food and the staying off the roads, and they handed over any extra food or supplies they could spare—matches, bacon, flour, lanterns, and more.
I pulled into the Fisher driveway next. Hank Fisher knew everyone in the county. It occurred to me that he could confirm the suspicions I’d been trying to push to the back of my mind. “Mr. Fisher, do you know a man named Tom Turner who lives someplace called Blackberry Hill?”
He was quiet and looked at me in a perplexed way. “Now, tell me this, George, why do you need to know that?”
“Frank Thorne asked me to pick up some medicine from Mr. Turner and deliver it back to him.”
Hank Fisher rubbed his mustache like it itched something terrible. His eyes narrowed as if he were trying to make a decision. “George, I guess you’re old enough to know this, so I’ll tell you straight. Wild Tom Turner is a lot worse than Thorne. Stay away from him. Let Thorne run his own errands. The medicine that Thorne wants is alcohol.”
I figured as much. I knew this was not something I should do for Thorne. On the other hand, if he was going to drink anyway, maybe it wouldn’t hurt anything for me to help him out, particularly if doing so might bring Tucker back to me.
Doubting that Mr. Fisher understood my dilemma and what was at stake, I climbed back onto the maintainer and continued my work, trying as best I could to put Thorne’s demands out of my head.
A boy driving a maintainer loaded with food and supplies must have been a strange sight, but each house where I stopped held friendly and grateful people who somehow knew me even though I did not know them. Invariably, they asked about their neighbors and wanted to know if there was anything they could do to help me or anyone else.
As the day progressed, I was reminded that the citizens of Cherokee County were one of a kind—generous, compassionate, and self-sacrificing. I was proud to be one of them, and I knew it would be hard to leave this community—my community—behind. I pushed Minnesota out of my head again, as I had done so many times in the last few weeks, and wondered at the number of people who wanted to lend a hand to their neighbors. Many offered to take a turn on the maintainer, but I knew that things would have to get much worse before Grandpa would accept help from anyone who wasn’t a McCray.
Many folks, hardy as they were, seemed frightened by the extreme weather. For some, my grandfather and I were the only contact they had with the outside world that week. Whether friend or stranger, they all wanted news and information, but most of all they wanted Grandpa and me to know how much they appreciated what we were doing for them. Several commented that it was so quiet without television, radio, or phones and that all they had heard for days now was wind and snow
“Ain’t more, unless you’re going to chop it. You just bring me my medicine and old Frank Thorne can take care of himself.”
Having work to do and feeling uncomfortable, I turned to walk out. “Goodbye, Mr. Thorne.” However hard it was to leave Tucker behind, I was glad to be out of there. Bending down before opening the door, I pulled Tucker close to me and whispered, “One way or another, I’ll get you out of here.”
When I stood up and turned back around to face Thorne, Icouldn’t help but sneak a glance at the picture of my dad and Thorne. It still made no sense: the man I respected the most and the man I respected the least in the same picture.
I climbed back onto the maintainer and headed east. Having so much work to do helped to reduce the number of times a day I thought of running away with that dog.
All of our neighbors were grateful to see me, and they wanted me to come in and get warm, but I told them that I did not have time. They all wanted to know what they could do to help. I explained about the food and the staying off the roads, and they handed over any extra food or supplies they could spare—matches, bacon, flour, lanterns, and more.
I pulled into the Fisher driveway next. Hank Fisher knew everyone in the county. It occurred to me that he could confirm the suspicions I’d been trying to push to the back of my mind. “Mr. Fisher, do you know a man named Tom Turner who lives someplace called Blackberry Hill?”
He was quiet and looked at me in a perplexed way. “Now, tell me this, George, why do you need to know that?”
“Frank Thorne asked me to pick up some medicine from Mr. Turner and deliver it back to him.”
Hank Fisher rubbed his mustache like it itched something terrible. His eyes narrowed as if he were trying to make a decision. “George, I guess you’re old enough to know this, so I’ll tell you straight. Wild Tom Turner is a lot worse than Thorne. Stay away from him. Let Thorne run his own errands. The medicine that Thorne wants is alcohol.”
I figured as much. I knew this was not something I should do for Thorne. On the other hand, if he was going to drink anyway, maybe it wouldn’t hurt anything for me to help him out, particularly if doing so might bring Tucker back to me.
Doubting that Mr. Fisher understood my dilemma and what was at stake, I climbed back onto the maintainer and continued my work, trying as best I could to put Thorne’s demands out of my head.
A boy driving a maintainer loaded with food and supplies must have been a strange sight, but each house where I stopped held friendly and grateful people who somehow knew me even though I did not know them. Invariably, they asked about their neighbors and wanted to know if there was anything they could do to help me or anyone else.
As the day progressed, I was reminded that the citizens of Cherokee County were one of a kind—generous, compassionate, and self-sacrificing. I was proud to be one of them, and I knew it would be hard to leave this community—my community—behind. I pushed Minnesota out of my head again, as I had done so many times in the last few weeks, and wondered at the number of people who wanted to lend a hand to their neighbors. Many offered to take a turn on the maintainer, but I knew that things would have to get much worse before Grandpa would accept help from anyone who wasn’t a McCray.
Many folks, hardy as they were, seemed frightened by the extreme weather. For some, my grandfather and I were the only contact they had with the outside world that week. Whether friend or stranger, they all wanted news and information, but most of all they wanted Grandpa and me to know how much they appreciated what we were doing for them. Several commented that it was so quiet without television, radio, or phones and that all they had heard for days now was wind and snow
Similar Books
