Lure by Deborah Kerbel

fast. It was the most incredible thing anyone had ever given me. Dare I say it was even better than my precious books? The sharp prick of oncoming tears stung my eyes, but I swallowed hard to banish any sign of weakness before Father’s keen gaze could spot it. I looked up at my mother, searching for a way to thank her without surrendering to my emotions. She must have sensed the difficulty I was having, for she immediately came to my rescue.
    “You’re welcome, John,” she said, speaking first so I wouldn’t have to. Her lips were pressed into the tiniest of smiles. “I purchased it from Mr. Ostertag’s shop. You’ve been admiring his lures for so long now.”
    I nodded again. Mr. Ostertag was a local tinsmith whose shop was across the street from the forge. Inside his shop were all sorts of wonderful items that he’d created from tin: kitchenware, decorative boxes, tools, candle holders, and toys (even an army of tin soldiers like Frankie Wilson’s). And, of course, the fishing lures. In the years since I began working in the forge, I would often wander into his shop during my brief lunch breaks to admire the display of lures Mr. Ostertag kept inside a large glass case near the back counter. But I’d never once dreamed of having one of my own.
    “Thank you,” I finally managed to say when my emotions had been brought well under control. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my father scowl as I leaned across the table and placed a grateful kiss upon Mother’s cheek. I could hear his thoughts just as clearly as if he were shaking me by the shoulders and shouting them in my face.
    You are spoiling the boy with such an extravagant gift! His mind should be focused on working on the forge and not on idle pastimes like fishing!
    I avoided his eyes for the rest of the evening, determined not to let him ruin my fifteenth birthday with his dark mood. So intent was I on evading Father’s wrath, I didn’t even notice that my cousin William was being unusually silent that night. Nor did I notice the way his nose wrinkled as if there was something rotten beneath it when I removed the lure from its box to admire it from a closer angle. Yes, if only I had been more aware, fate might have played out differently that summer. But, there I go getting ahead of myself again.
    As it was William’s final summer in the village, he had vowed to catch Sir John A. before moving back to Kingston at the end of August. Certainly, I was happy to join him on this quest, for I was eager to take advantage of every fishing opportunity to try out my new lure. As a result, we found ourselves on the shores of the mill pond every weekend that summer. We planted ourselves among the reeds and rocks and we fished for hours — all day long, regardless of the cloud of heat that had fallen over the village. And of course, every time without fail, William asked to use my lure.
    “Come, just once. I can show you how it’s supposed to be done.”
    And every time without fail, I steadfastly refused. The lure was the most valuable thing I’d ever owned. I certainly wasn’t going to take the chance of losing it by lending it to William. I must admit, I did have another reason to keep the lure for myself. As you might imagine, I was secretly hoping to catch the prize fish for myself and win what was most certainly to be the final competition with my cousin.
    I caught many fish that summer, as did William. But Sir John A. continued to elude our fishing lines.
    “Perhaps he’s dead?” I suggested at the end of a long, hot afternoon as we dragged our feet back up the muddy road toward home.
    “Stupid!” replied William, slapping me across the shoulder. “Sir John A. is the biggest fish in this pond. Who could kill him?”
    “Well, perhaps somebody else has caught him, then?”
    But we both knew that was unlikely. There was nobody else in the village foolish enough to spend those terribly hot days chasing after a silly fish. Nobody but me and