Seventh Son: The Tales of Alvin Maker, Volume I by Orson Scott Card Page A

fight all the time, but you never fight about what you think you’re fighting about.”
    “What are they really fighting about?”
    Alvin could see just the opposite thing this time. Measure thought of telling the truth, but he changed his mind. Stood up tall and tousled Alvin’s hair. That was a sure sign to Alvin Junior that a grown-up was going to lie to him, the way they always lied to children, as if children weren’t reliable enough to be trusted with the truth. “Oh, I reckon they just quarrel to hear theirselfs talk.”
    Most times Alvin just listened to grown-ups lie and didn’t say nothing about it, but this time it was Measure, and he especially didn’t like having Measure lie to him.
    “How old will I have to be before you tell me straight?” asked Alvin.
    Measure’s eyes flashed with anger for just a second—nobody likes being called a liar—but then he grinned, and his eyes were sharp with understanding. “Old enough that you already guess the answer for yourself,” he said, “but young enough that it’ll still do you some good.”
    “When’s that?” Alvin demanded. “I want you to tell me the truth now, all the time.”
    Measure squatted down again. “I can’t always do that, Al, cause sometimes it’d just be too hard. Sometimes I’d have to explain things that I just don’t know how to explain. Sometimes there’s things that you have to figure out by living long enough.”
    Alvin was mad and he knew his face showed it.
    “Don’t you be so mad at me, little brother. I can’t tell you some things because I just don’t know myself, and that’s not lying. But you can count on this. If I can tell you, I will, and if I can’t, I’ll just say so, and won’t pretend.”
    That was the most fair thing a grown-up ever said, and it made Alvin’s eyes fill up. “You keep that promise, Measure.”
    “I’ll keep it or die, you can count on that.”
    “I won’t forget, you know.” Alvin remembered the vow he had made to the Shining Man last night. “I know how to keep a promise, too.”
    Measure laughed and pulled Alvin to him, hugged him right against his shoulder. “You’re as bad as Mama,” he said. “You just don’t let up.”
    “I can’t help it,” said Alvin. “If I start believing you, then how’ll I know when to stop?”
    “Never stop,” said Measure.
    Calm rode up on his old mare about then, and Mama came out with the dinner basket, and everybody that was going, went. Papa took Alvin Junior out to the barn and in no time at all Alvin was helping notch the boards, and his pieces fit together just as good as Papa’s. Truth to tell they fit even better, cause Al could use his knack for this , couldn’t he? This altar was for everybody, so he could make the wood fit so snug that it wouldn’t ever come apart, not at the joints or nowhere. Alvin even thought of making Papa’s joints fit just as tight, but when he tried, he saw that Papa had something of a knack at this himself. The wood didn’t join together to make one continuous piece, like Alvin’s did—but it fit good enough, yes sir, so there wasn’t no need to fiddle.
    Papa didn’t say much. Didn’t have to. They both knew Alvin Junior had a knack for making things fit right, just like his Papa did. By nightfall the whole altar was put together and stained. They left it to dry, and as they walked into the house Papa’s hand was firm on Alvin’s shoulder. They walked together just as smooth and easy as if they were both parts of the same body, as if Papa’s hand just growed there right out of Alvin’s neck. Alvin could feel the pulse in Papa’s fingers, and it was beating right in time with the blood pounding in his throat.
    Mama was working by the fire when they came in. She turned and looked at them. “How is it?” she asked.
    “It’s the smoothest box I ever seen,” said Alvin Junior.
    “There wasn’t a single accident at the church today,” said Mama.
    “Everything went real good here,