The Forgotten Door Read Online Free PDF Page A

fall — fallen. I did not know my name until last night, when you asked me. Everything was strange. The mountain, the trees, everything … only the deer. I—” He stopped, all at once aware of the dog he had glimpsed last night.
    The dog was thirsty. It was almost a hurt to feel the dryness of its throat, the craving for water.
    He told Mary Bean about the dog, but she shook her head. “Oh, I’m sure he was taken care of. Thomas wouldn’t forget Rascal. Anyway, how could you possibly —”
    â€œBut he did forget the water. How could Rascal think a lie?”
    â€œJon!” There was something like fright in her eyes. “Are you trying to tell me that you can —” She shook her head, and said, “We’ll go out to Rascal’s pen and see —”
    They had started through the doorway when they heard a car coming down the road. Instantly she drew him back inside and closed the door. They stood waiting for the car to pass. It slowed, then went on.
    â€œThe Johnsons,” she said. “They would have stopped if they’d seen us. Thank goodness they didn’t.”
    Almost in the same breath she said firmly, “Rascal will have to wait. Jon, I’m going to cut your hair, and I’m going to give you some different clothes to wear. I hope you don’t mind, but I want you to look as much like other boys as possible. It’s terribly important.”
    â€œI don’t mind,” he said, giving Rascal a quieting thought. “I’m sorry to — to make so much trouble.”
    â€œI don’t mind it in the least. In fact, if I can only get used to you, I believe I’m going to enjoy this. But getting used to you …”
    She got scissors and a comb, and started to cut. She found the nearly hidden clip holding his hair together at the nape of his neck. “O-o-oh!” she gasped. “What workmanship! Thomas will be interested in this.”
    She put the clip carefully aside, and very expertly cut his hair. “I’m the family barber,” she explained. “You’d be surprised what it saves. Costs a dollar-fifty in town, and nearly double that in cities. That’s six dollars a month for Brooks and Thomas. Now, let’s see. Clothes. Most of Brooks’s old things went to the charity collection, but I saved the best for Sally to play in. They ought to fit you.”
    When he was finally dressed in faded jeans, a fairly good shirt, and a light zipper jacket, she surveyed him critically.
    â€œWe’re short on shoes,” she said, “but I think your boots will pass, if you keep your trousers pulled over them. Next, we’ve got to think up a story to explain your presence here. I know — Thomas had a pal in the Marines named Jimmy O’Connor. He married a French-Moroccan girl when he was stationed in North Africa. They were both killed in the trouble there recently — so who’s to know if they didn’t have a son about your age? You do look, well, a bit foreign. I don’t see why we couldn’t call you Jon O’Connor, and say we’d sort of fallen heir to you for the time being.”
    â€œBut — but that would not be truth,” he said, wondering.
    â€œOh, dear, there we go again.” She sighed, and sat down, frowning. “Jon, in this day and age, with the way things are, truth — the exact truth — is often a hard thing to manage. There are times when it could cause needless trouble and suffering.”
    â€œThings must be — very wrong if — if truth can cause trouble,” he replied simply.
    She sighed again. “You’re probably right — but that’s the way the world is. Even in little things, we often tell white lies to save people’s feelings.”
    â€œWhite lies?”
    â€œWell, take Mrs. Johnson. She makes her own clothes, just as I do. But she’s never learned to sew well, and she makes the