father protested.
"That hoop is not to be struck with anything unless there is a fire! Ever!"
Merrick Leonard still clutched the stick. It quivered in his hand now, and his face twitched, and he stumbled toward the veranda steps as if he meant to climb them for a confrontation. But Peter's father, arms folded, simply stood there, staring at him.
The man lost his nerve and lurched away, muttering.
Peter went to where his father was standing. "Dad, I wish the men hadn't told him about Zackie's pig," he said.
Mr. Devon nodded. "Peter, I've told you I don't want to become involved in this ugly business. We don't need other people's problems!" He paused, and then shook his head. "But at least the man thinks I have the pig. He doesn't know Lorraine is to sell it and give his boy the money."
They stood side by side, watching Merrick Leonard until he rounded a bend in the path and disappeared. "He won't go to the police, of course," Walter Devon said then. "In a way, I wish he would, but what he'll probably do is try to make some trouble for me, instead. Well . . ."
With an arm around Peter's shoulder he turned toward the door. "Lorraine isn't here yet, but you and I are up. So why don't we go down to the kitchen and make us some breakfast?"
Peter was pleased. "And after breakfast, Dad, can I get Mr. Campbell and finish up the field numbers?"
"Campbell is going to Portland this morning to pick up some coffee seedlings for that new part of field six. In fact, he's probably left already, or he'd have come running to find out what was going on just now."
"I can finish the job alone."
"Can you, do you think?"
"Sure!"
"Then all right," Mr. Devon said as they entered the kitchen and headed for the fridge. "But be careful, Peter. Please."
F I N I S H I N G the field numbers wasn't to be that easy, Peter discovered. He couldn't just pull the old field numbers off and nail up new ones. First he had to study the tree and judge whether it could still be seen easily from the track, because other shade trees might be blocking it now. Then if he decided to use a new tree for the number, he would have to select a young one in a good position. It was all pretty important, too. Suppose some new women were hired to pick coffee, and Mr. Campbell sent them to a certain field. Since they were paid according to how much coffee they picked, they had to be able to find the field without wasting any time.
When he was in field twenty-six, with only two more numbers to change, he began to feel tired and hungry. It was kind of spooky, too, being all alone in that high-up field, so close to what Zackie Leonard called the high bush. The last workers he'd seen were far down in field twelve, clearing away some debris left by the storm.
Of course, it wasn't as quiet as it seemed to be. If he really listened, Peter could hear all sorts of insects buzzing and humming and chirping, and lizards scurrying around in dead leaves on the ground. And birds. Awhile ago he'd even seen one of the big, beautiful doves they called mountain witches strutting ahead of him along a track, so sure it was safe up here that Peter'd almost been able to reach out and touch it before it took flight. How Mom would have loved to see that! But even so, everything seemed so quiet up here, he could be in another world.
Suddenly the quiet was shattered, first by a series of shrill yelps, then by a crazy bundle of energy that came racing between rows of trees to jump all over him. The dog actually leaped high enough to lick his face, even before he went to his knees, laughing, to welcome it. And after the dog came its owner, Zackie Leonard.
"Hi, Peter!"
"Well, hi, Zackie. What are you doing up here?"
"Going up to my garden. You want to come?"
"I thought you wouldn't show anyone where your garden is."
"I'll show you."
Peter glanced at the watch on his wrist, a present from his father on his last birthday. It was almost two o'clock. "Look. I have only two more numbers to put
"That hoop is not to be struck with anything unless there is a fire! Ever!"
Merrick Leonard still clutched the stick. It quivered in his hand now, and his face twitched, and he stumbled toward the veranda steps as if he meant to climb them for a confrontation. But Peter's father, arms folded, simply stood there, staring at him.
The man lost his nerve and lurched away, muttering.
Peter went to where his father was standing. "Dad, I wish the men hadn't told him about Zackie's pig," he said.
Mr. Devon nodded. "Peter, I've told you I don't want to become involved in this ugly business. We don't need other people's problems!" He paused, and then shook his head. "But at least the man thinks I have the pig. He doesn't know Lorraine is to sell it and give his boy the money."
They stood side by side, watching Merrick Leonard until he rounded a bend in the path and disappeared. "He won't go to the police, of course," Walter Devon said then. "In a way, I wish he would, but what he'll probably do is try to make some trouble for me, instead. Well . . ."
With an arm around Peter's shoulder he turned toward the door. "Lorraine isn't here yet, but you and I are up. So why don't we go down to the kitchen and make us some breakfast?"
Peter was pleased. "And after breakfast, Dad, can I get Mr. Campbell and finish up the field numbers?"
"Campbell is going to Portland this morning to pick up some coffee seedlings for that new part of field six. In fact, he's probably left already, or he'd have come running to find out what was going on just now."
"I can finish the job alone."
"Can you, do you think?"
"Sure!"
"Then all right," Mr. Devon said as they entered the kitchen and headed for the fridge. "But be careful, Peter. Please."
F I N I S H I N G the field numbers wasn't to be that easy, Peter discovered. He couldn't just pull the old field numbers off and nail up new ones. First he had to study the tree and judge whether it could still be seen easily from the track, because other shade trees might be blocking it now. Then if he decided to use a new tree for the number, he would have to select a young one in a good position. It was all pretty important, too. Suppose some new women were hired to pick coffee, and Mr. Campbell sent them to a certain field. Since they were paid according to how much coffee they picked, they had to be able to find the field without wasting any time.
When he was in field twenty-six, with only two more numbers to change, he began to feel tired and hungry. It was kind of spooky, too, being all alone in that high-up field, so close to what Zackie Leonard called the high bush. The last workers he'd seen were far down in field twelve, clearing away some debris left by the storm.
Of course, it wasn't as quiet as it seemed to be. If he really listened, Peter could hear all sorts of insects buzzing and humming and chirping, and lizards scurrying around in dead leaves on the ground. And birds. Awhile ago he'd even seen one of the big, beautiful doves they called mountain witches strutting ahead of him along a track, so sure it was safe up here that Peter'd almost been able to reach out and touch it before it took flight. How Mom would have loved to see that! But even so, everything seemed so quiet up here, he could be in another world.
Suddenly the quiet was shattered, first by a series of shrill yelps, then by a crazy bundle of energy that came racing between rows of trees to jump all over him. The dog actually leaped high enough to lick his face, even before he went to his knees, laughing, to welcome it. And after the dog came its owner, Zackie Leonard.
"Hi, Peter!"
"Well, hi, Zackie. What are you doing up here?"
"Going up to my garden. You want to come?"
"I thought you wouldn't show anyone where your garden is."
"I'll show you."
Peter glanced at the watch on his wrist, a present from his father on his last birthday. It was almost two o'clock. "Look. I have only two more numbers to put
Similar Books
A Passion For Pleasure
Nina Rowan
The Orphan Mother
Robert Hicks
The Hands-Off Manager
Steve Chandler
Back to Madeline Island
Jay Gilbertson
Thrall
Natasha Trethewey
Burn Down the Night
M. O'Keefe
Belle of the ball
Donna Lea Simpson
Agent of the State
Roger Pearce
The Price of Freedom
Carol Umberger
The Big Ugly
Jake Hinkson