Justice Done by Jan Burke Page B

street nearly empty and the sun much closer to the horizon. He controlled a growing panic only by telling himself that Charlie and the men had undoubtedly tired of waiting for him and had moved on to wherever the fireworks were being sold. He hurried down the street in the direction they had been traveling. After a few yards he began to run, but quickly reached the limits of the small town without seeing any sign of Charlie and the men.
    Out of breath, he walked a little farther, feeling by turns angry and betrayed, then frightened for his brother, then worried and very alone. In this tumult of emotion his active imagination conjured up a variety of explanations for his situation:
    â€”They had grown tired of waiting for him, bought the firecrackers and were now journeying back to Jefferson Road. (A vision that left him wondering why they hadn’t called to him, or fetched him from the store.)
    â€”Charlie had become ill, and the men had rushed him to a doctor’s office. (Which led to a fruitless search among the few buildings of the small town.)
    â€”The men had taken a different road back into town, had called at the store and learned that Andrew had already left, and were at this moment on the way home. (That this situation was his own fault, he was too ready to believe.)
    â€”Charlie, angry over the gift of the quarter, had urged the men to trick Andrew, and they were at this moment laughing as they drank cool glasses of lemonade in the shade of the old oak. (Too unlike Charlie.)
    Andrew, although cosseted and sheltered, was not a stupid child, and one last possibility took hold of his young mind. Perhaps the men had tricked both boys, and for reasons Andrew could not fathom, had stolen Charlie.
    He felt hot tears fill his eyes, but dashed them away quickly. He wanted no harm to come to his brother, but he did not know what to do next. The thought of returning home without Charlie was unbearable.
    He began to ask the few people he met on the street if they had seen Charlie or the men. Invariably, they had not. To his surprise, they were rude and brusque in their answers. These were hard people, he thought, nothing like the folk who surrounded him at home. The town and its few inhabitants suddenly seemed mean and low to him. He went back to the one place where he had been treated with courtesy.
    The shopkeeper was less friendly this time, but politely told him that he knew nothing of anyone named Phil or Jack, had not seen a five-year-old boy named Charlie. When asked if he knew where firecrackers were sold, he proclaimed one could find them locally only in Andrew’s hometown.
    â€œWould you please take me there?” the boy asked.
    â€œTake you there? I suppose I’m to close my shop and hire a rig?”
    â€œMy father would be willing to . . .” He stopped before saying “pay you,” because the phrase made him realize why the men might have stolen Charlie. His father would pay for Charlie’s return—but Andrew, much cast down, certain he would be blamed for all that had gone wrong, wasn’t sure his father would want his willful eldest son back at all.
    â€œI’m sure your father would be willing to take you wherever you like,” the store owner was saying, “but I can’t leave my place of business.”
    â€œPlease, sir, how far am I from Jefferson Road?”
    â€œBy the main road? About ten miles. Of course, as the crow flies, it’s only about three.”
    â€œWhich way does the crow fly?”
    The man laughed. “Oh, westward over the oil fields, I suppose.”
    Andrew brightened a little at this. His father had taken him to the oil fields twice, most recently just two days ago. The oilmen knew his father. He might see someone there who would help him return home.
    He thanked the proprietor and began walking toward the forest of wooden derricks he had seen on the way into town. When he reached them, he again became