Promise Me This Read Online Free PDF

ribs. The tall young man before him looked nothing like the man in the dream, nothing like Uncle Tom or Jack Deegan.
    “Get off!” Michael spat.
    “Steady, lad. Steady on, now.” The man spread his hands as though gentling a wild beast. He raised the tarp. “Have you slept here the whole night, then? Out here in the cold?”
    Michael couldn’t get his bearings, couldn’t answer for the rattling of his teeth.
    “The shrubs will do. It didn’t freeze last night. We’re lucky, that way.” The man’s frown deepened. “But surely you’re nigh frozen!”
    Michael looked from the man to the tarp, to the bushes, back to the tarp, and then to the man. “I . . . I’m sorry, sir,” he chattered. “I didn’t know it was wanted. I didn’t take it all the night. Just after midnight—not even all of that.” He stood, edged along the wall, one eye on the man, one eye on his route of escape. “I’ll be going now. Begging your pardon for the trouble, sir.”
    But he tripped over the man’s lunch pail and sent the precious contents skittering along the ground. It was too much. “Ach! I’m sorry.” Michael stooped to pick up the buttered bread, the cheese tossed from its cloth, but the moment he leaned over, his eyes spun back in his head and he dropped to one side.
    Strong fingers grabbed him before he slumped to the ground.
    “Wake up, lad! Wake up!”
    A burning shot through Michael’s limbs and chest as the man lifted him upright by his armpits. He cried out.
    The man nearly dropped him.
    Michael felt himself drowning, drowning, but forced his eyes open, willed them to focus.
    The man shoved his face close to Michael’s but turned away in a grimace. “Have you been after the drink, then? And here you’ve come to sleep it off!”
    Michael swiped his lips with his sleeve. Anger swelled in his chest—to be accused of following in Uncle Tom’s footsteps by a stranger! “I never—!” And then he caught himself. “I took a drop but only to warm me through. Let go of me now. I’ll be on my way.”
    But Michael stopped, looked down at the ground at the man’s lunch still spread across the soil, and groaned. “I am sorry for your lunch, sir. I never meant . . .”
    The man stood back, considered Michael. He frowned and rubbed his chin. “Well, it’s more than I can eat, anyhow, and it’s no good shoving it back in the pail now it’s soiled. I’ll have to toss it away.”
    Michael’s panic brought a light to the man’s eyes.
    “If you can use it, take it up. But sit yourself down on this slab to eat it.”
    Michael’s mouth watered at the thought. “I’ve nothing to pay you for it, sir.” It was more a plea than an apology.
    “No need to pay me—”
    Before the words were fully spoken, Michael had grabbed the bread and torn into it with fervor.
    The man’s jaw dropped, but he turned away and busied himself with the righting of the tarps.
    Michael gulped the smooth cheese until he choked, and when he couldn’t seem to get hold of himself, the man turned and slapped him on the back until the bulge of bread and cheese dislodged itself from his throat.
    Michael knew he meant it kindly, but it didn’t keep him from crying aloud—just as if the man had clubbed him.
    “Take it easy, lad. The bread’s not walking away. You’ve all the time in the world to eat it.”
    Michael tried to nod, to reassure the man he was all right.
    “Just off a ship, are you?” the man asked.
    Michael nodded, never slowing his chew, but cast the man a worried glance. He couldn’t afford so many questions. He cursed his Irish brogue.
    “And do you have family here?” The man asked casually enough, but Michael knew he was curious.
    He swallowed, wiped his sleeve across his mouth again. “Me granddad’s off to London. I’m waiting for him to come back.”
    It was a pitiful lie. Michael knew by the tilt of the man’s head that he didn’t believe him. But he chewed on, barely slowing for air.
    The man, tall and