Patchwork Dreams Read Online Free PDF

remember a word of it tomorrow. But then, maybe the old idiom was true that a burned hand teaches best. He glared down at his sore, reddened fingers. Not that they’d been burned yet. Daniel had warned him that there is no such thing as a first-degree burn in a blacksmith shop. It would be either second or third degree. Neither appealed to him. He would have to remember to wear his work gloves.
    Daniel showed him how to heat the metal, holding it in the fire. “You want an orange-red color, because that is the temperature that is best to work with. Any hotter will melt the metal.” He nodded with satisfaction at the color on the tip of the metal piece he held, then picked up a farrier’s hammer. “See how this is flat on one side? I like using this type the best, because I can get it more even.” He laid the metal piece on an anvil, pounded a few times with a clanging sound, then reheated the metal. He handed the hammer to Jacob. “You give it a try.”
    Jacob swung the hammer a few times, stopping when Daniel told him to reheat the metal. Finally, Daniel stopped and examined it.
    “Ser gut. Now, dip it into this solution. This will harden it up. It is a mixture of blue Dawn dish soap, salt, and water. I’ll show you how to make it in a few days.”
    Jacob dipped it in the solution, watching as the hot metal sizzled.
    “Gut. Now, dip it in that barrel of rainwater.” Daniel pointed to another black bucket in the corner of the room.
    Jacob’s family didn’t do any blacksmith work. They took broken buggies down to old Mose, who’d been in the business for years. Everyone in their district went to Mose. But here, the popular blacksmith seemed to be Cousin Daniel.
    While Daniel might have been up to the challenge of both teaching the job and doing the work, Jacob wasn’t up to learning it and doing it. His head hurt. The thick smoke clung to the insides of his throat and lungs, making him feel strangled.
    Wasn’t this black coal stuff the thing that caused disease in miners and killed them? Maybe Daniel should be providing him with a breathing mask and oxygen tanks. Jacob coughed.
    Daniel heated something and grabbed the hammer, swinging it down, talking all the while. The words seemed to go over Jacob’s head. In one ear and out the other. Or, nein, maybe they got stuck in his brain and swirled around in a bunch of confusing nonsense.
    The seemingly constant clanging as they pounded a piece of orange-red metal on the anvil got on his last nerve, and Jacob dashed toward the open shed door and fresh air. Pure, cold, invigorating air. He gulped it in, praying that the headache would depart. He rolled his neck and tried to rub the tension out of his temples.
    Would he ever grasp this?
    At that moment, he thought not.
    Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the movement of clothes flapping on the line in the wind. He turned in that direction, hoping to catch the attention of whoever was hanging them. Maybe she’d be kind enough to fetch him a glass of cold water to quench his parched throat. But no one moved near the clothesline. Apparently, whoever had done the laundry had already gone inside.
    Daniel poked his head out of the doorway of the shed. “Jacob?”
    Jacob cleared his throat. “I need a glass of water. I’ll be right back.”
    “Water. Jah. If you’re getting frustrated, you need a break. I don’t want you getting hurt.” Daniel grinned. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it.”
    Jacob thought the “You’ll get it” was in reference to his new job as a blacksmith apprentice, but he wasn’t sure. And he didn’t ask. Instead, he nodded and headed toward the house. He could have gotten a sip from the outside pump, but he bypassed it in favor of a full glass from the kitchen. He was further enticed by the thought of the sweet scent of baked goods that lingered there. At home, the kitchen always smelled like cinnamon. Mamm specialized in apple cinnamon treats, as they always had apples in abundance.