The Love Letters by Beverly Lewis Page B

men after a long, hot day in the hayfield. No, for now, Boston was getting along just fine, washing up in the creek. Small Jay certainly wouldn’t be allowed to go without washing at least every other day during the summertime. Mamma sees to that, he thought, wondering suddenly how long it might be before someone from the community might just burst into the store and see him with Boston.
    Once he’d made his purchase of black licorice, Small Jay reached to open the door and smiled at the familiar jingle. Then, forgetting himself, he opened the door a second time . . . then a third.
    â€œYou sure like that bell, don’t ya, Jake?” asked Joe, his expression pleasant. Pleasant with a stiff sort of pucker around his lips, that is—which made Small Jay wonder if he was only pretending to be pleasant.
    â€œSounds mighty nice.”
    Again, Boston opened his wallet. “Do you happen to sell such bells here?”
    â€œAin’t any ’cept that one, I’m afraid.” Joe was looking hard at Boston, scrutinizing him like the bishop did a wayward church member.
    It made Small Jay nervous. “That’s all right. We’ll be on our way.”
    Boston stuffed his purchases into his shoulder bag, which he must have emptied out before they left the mill.
    â€œYou two travelin’ together?” Joe was really frowning now, one hand rubbing his light brown beard.
    â€œI gave him a lift here, is all.” Small Jay felt he’d betterspeak up, or the grapevine might grab hold of his secret and spoil everything.
    â€œI see.” Joe suddenly seemed his old agreeable self again. “Have a wunnerbaar-gut day, then. Both of yous.”
    â€œSame to you,” Small Jay said, eager to open the door right quick. This time not to hear the bell ring but to escape.

Chapter 11

    O n the ride back to the mill, Small Jay felt like talking, but Boston didn’t reprimand him for talking a blue streak, like Dat sometimes did. “Razor sure likes getting out and trotting fast,” he said, gripping the reins.
    Boston nibbled on his beef jerky, his hand trembling, but he seemed to enjoy the ride. “I might have gone hungry today, had it not been for you.”
    Small Jay sat up straighter. Besides his Mamma, few people ever said such nice things to him. His former neighbor, Timothy Martin, had been one. And more than once, he recalled. The older man had been the kindest person ever.
    The pony was really going to town now, and Boston held on to his side of the cart, his hair blowing back over his ears. “I do so wish to remember this day . . . this amazing ride!” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
    Small Jay was as pleased as pudding. “We can ride again, if ya want,” he told his friend.
    â€œThank you kindly. I believe I’ll take you up on that.” Boston was grinning.
    Small Jay had always liked the tickle of the wind on his face, and he was glad he’d thought to push his straw hat down under his knees. It was the best way to cool off on such a warm day.
    â€œIf you have the time, I’ll show you around my place,” Boston said as they pulled into the driveway later.
    â€œYour place?”
    â€œMy waterfront property. A mansion, young man!”
    â€œI see.” Small Jay smiled, reminding himself of Dat just then. “ Jah , I’d like to see where you and Allegro stay.”
    The man’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”
    â€œYour dog—Allegro.”
    Sassy had crept into Boston’s lap during the ride and was still sitting there, looking content. Boston had to hand her over to Small Jay so he could get himself out of the cart. He carefully heaved his heavy shoulder bag, making no further comment about the dog’s name.
    Before they went in, Small Jay tied the pony to a tree, and Boston pulled out a sugar cube and gave it to Razor, holding his hand out flat for the