The Silent Boy by Lois Lowry

machines.
    One Sunday afternoon in May, when the sun was shining, he brought the camera out to the backyard and attached it to its tripod so that it stood there like some strange three-legged creature.
    "My land," Nell said, and began smoothing her red hair with her hand. She was sitting on the steps holding Laura Paisley, but Laura Paisley, who was almost three years old, wiggled from Nell's lap and scampered toward the camera.
    "Don't let that child touch anything!" Mr. Bishop ordered. But by then Laura Paisley had spotted Pepper, my dog, whom she loved, so she chased after him instead.
    "I don't suppose it takes moving pictures, does
it?" Nell asked, watching Mr. Bishop set things up.
    Paul was there. He often wasn't. Paul liked to be off with his friends, and sometimes his mother complained that she had no idea what that boy was doing, or who his companions were, and she feared for him. He was already enrolled for Princeton, where his father had gone, but if he didn't do well in his high school studies, Mrs. Bishop said, Princeton wouldn't want him for a nickel.
    Now, teasing Nell, Paul knelt and pretended to be an actor, waving his arms around in a dramatic way before the camera. He made as if he were proposing to her. "Marry me and come to Paris!" he said in a dramatic voice.
    I noticed Peggy watching Paul and her sister. She had been standing quietly with me, beside the flower garden, both of us interested but a little shy. Laura Paisley was frolicking with the dog, and Austin was chasing them both, carrying a ball he wanted to throw for Pepper to fetch. Baby Mary, bundled in blankets, was sleeping in her carriage, parked in the corner of the yard under a tree. Our mothers were on the porch, talking to each other, not really listening as Mr. Bishop gave out important information about the camera: "Now this Delmar has a ground glass focusing screen, and a Bausch and Lomb lens. That's the very best." If my father had been there, he would have paid
attention. But Father had been called to tend a patient.
    I could see Peggy bite her lip when Paul did the acting in front of Nell. I could see she was embarrassed and hoped that her sister wouldn't encourage it.
    I knew it was true, though, what I had told Peggy, that Paul and Nell were sweet on each other. I knew it for a fact. I had come on them—this had been some months before—in the early evening, in our stable, which could be reached from the Bishops yard by a break in the hedge. I had heard the horses stir and stamp, and I thought perhaps Jacob might be there, as he so often was.
    But when I slipped through the partly opened door, I saw it wasn't Jacob at all, but Paul and Nellie standing close together. I thought they were holding hands, but when I entered they pulled apart. Paul explained quickly that they had come over to borrow some harness oil. It looked like rain, he said, and they wanted to waterproof some old harness so it wouldn't crack. He turned and picked up the can from the shelf. Nellie didn't say anything. She looked flushed and nervous.
    At first I thought it quite romantic and was glad I was part of their sweet secret now. From time to time I saw the two of them together, sometimes simply talking on the porch, and once on the
corner near the grocery store, as if Paul had happened by as Nellie was starting home.
    But my knowledge of their romance turned uncomfortable after I came on them in the Bishops barn one afternoon when I was looking for Austin and thought he might be hiding from me. When I opened the barn door I could see right away that Austin wasn't tthere.But I heard a sudden frantic whispering from the corner where the hay was kept, so I went there without thinking, to see who it was and why they were hiding. They drew apart quickly, and Paul stood up. Nellie turned her back to me as if to fix her clothes. Paul was angry and told me to get lost. Nellie just looked away. There was hay caught in her red hair. Her apron was untied and