Promise Me This Read Online Free PDF Page B

broad of shoulder, sat down next to Michael. He tossed a stone from hand to hand and stared into the distance. “I suppose you’ll be needing a place to stay until then.”
    Michael stopped his eating, sure he hadn’t heard rightly. He looked at the man, taking his measure in half a moment. “I will, sir.”
    “And I suppose you’ll be needing food and a job to earn your way—just until your granddad returns.”
    Michael nearly choked again. “I will, sir. I’m a good worker, sir. I’ve swept chimneys and hauled coke for years, sir!”
    The man nodded again, his eyes on Michael’s calloused hands. Grime under broken nails surely showed he was fit for hard labor.
    “Do you know of anyone needing a hand, sir?” Michael tried not to hope.
    The man stood. “Well, I might. But it’s sober work and hard. I can give you no wages, but I could share my lunch and the room where I board.”
    Michael stared at the man, not quite believing he was real. “Do you mean it, sir?”
    “I do.” The man looked away. “But you must work hard, and it’s only for the week. I’ll be sailing on Titanic , come 10 April.”
    Michael gasped. “ Titanic ? You’re sailing on Titanic ?”
    “I am,” the man replied, frank as a butcher.
    Michael blinked. “To America?”
    “Yes, I’ve work in New Jersey. Why do—?”
    “She’s a lovely ship, governor,” Michael interrupted. “You’ll have a wondrous sail; I’m sure of it.”
    The man half smiled, his brow furrowed in question. “So you’ve seen the grand lady, have you?” He tossed his stone to the ground. “I thought she’d only docked.”
    Now Michael looked away. “Yes, sir. Well, you hear things—don’t you, sir?”
    “That you do. My name’s Owen Allen, and I’m pleased to meet you.” The man extended a strong hand. “What is your name, lad, and do you go to school?”
    Michael swallowed hard, wiped his hand on his britches, and clasped Owen’s hand in return. “Me name’s Tim, sir—Tim Delaney. And I have gone to school, when I get the chance. But I’m smart enough—reading and writing and all of that—if you’re worried. I’ll not be slack on the job!”
    Owen shook his head. “I’m not worried, Tim. The job doesn’t require it. You just seem an odd mix.”
    “Oh, I’m a veritable prodigal with the books and ciphers, sir!”
    “A prodigal?” Owen puzzled, then nodded, clearly amused. “A prodigy, perhaps?”
    “Yes, sir! That, sir! I learned to read at me mother’s knee when I was just a lad.”
    “Well then, young prodigy—” Owen straightened his grin—“if you’ve finished eating my lunch, what do you say we remove the rest of these tarps and set to work?”
    “Yes, sir!” Michael wiped his mouth a final time and set the lunch pail carefully against the wall.
    All morning the two worked a steady pace. By noon the sun shone bright. They’d dug holes, finished planting and watering the shrubs, and had piled the extra planks next to the road to be collected by the rags-and-bones wagon the next day. Michael knew his work had pleased Owen. He could see it in the grin Owen gave him from time to time, hear it in the ragtime tunes he whistled.
    When Owen tugged a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his brow, Michael laid down his spade.
    “Do you think you could stomach a bite to eat, then, Mr. Tim?”
    Michael dragged the last of the unwanted roots to the rubbish heap and pulled his sleeve across his forehead. “I could, sir.” His stomach rumbled. “Only I’ve eaten your lunch, sir.”
    Owen took coins from his vest pocket. “I believe I’ve enough for two cups of tea and the sharing of a fish pie, God bless us. What do you say?”
    Michael felt his eyes widen in disbelief. “I say that’s a wonder, sir!”
    Owen laughed out loud. “All the world’s a wonder!” He cuffed Michael gently on the back.
    Michael winced and pulled away.
    Rebuked, Owen stood back, cocked his head, and squinted. But he asked no