The Gravesavers Read Online Free PDF Page B

fuss.”
    Thomas should have known better. “Scrub!” repeated Mum.
    All around the room our belongings were stacked in piles. Things to go to family and friends, things to go to St. Michael’s parish for folks with less, things we weretaking with us. Simple enough. But simple does not mean easy. Not at all.
    “Feels like I’m throwing away bits of myself,” muttered Mum. Mostly we were down to linens and dishes and a few books, including the Bible.
    “I brought it with me from Ireland,” Dad said, “when I was about the same age Thomas is now.”
    “There isn’t a hope” Mum snapped, “that a lifetime is going to fit into two wooden crates.”
    It seemed the closer we were getting to leaving, the crosser she was getting.
    “That’s the point, Mare,” Dad said patiently. “They’re only
things.
We have a new life ahead, so we take only what is absolutely necessary of the old life. We’ll get what we need when we get there.”
    Mum snorted and disappeared into their bedroom. A few minutes later a scraping sound made us wince as she hauled a cradle out into the middle of the room.
    “Now, about this, then.”
    “Now that, I was thinking, could fetch me a good price.”
    “Patrick, you made that cradle with your bare hands practically and hardly a tool save a saw, a hammer and a knife. Look at that carving! You’ll never get what it’s worth. Besides, my babies were rocked to sleep in that cradle and now I’m going to rock my grandkids in it. Yes, I am.”“Mare, there’s no room. Two crates, I said.”
    “If it’s money that’s the problem, fine. One crate then, and this strapped to the top of that.”
    He sighed. “All right. One crate and the cradle.”
    Thomas and I exchanged amused glances.
    That was the end of their squabble. As always, Dad put up the best argument he could but Mum won him over to her way of thinking. I never heard them fight fierce, not like my chum Michael’s folks. Underneath their angry words was hate, you could tell. Hindley folks didn’t know about that kind of wounding. Sometimes Michael didn’t even go home nights. I couldn’t imagine that.
    Unlike Thomas. He had no sense of family loyalty from what I could tell. He was acting like some traitor in my eyes. He was still torn between coming and going. And he was hardly home.
    “Where you going now?” I’d ask.
    “Out,” he’d say. Or, “Mind your business.” Or just slam the door.
    I spent my last evenings in Ashton-under-Lyne gathering memories. I shuffled past the row houses in our neighbourhood, peeking in the amber windows where families were snuggled in. The sounds of laughter and even quarrels tugged at me. It would be strange leaving. I glimpsed Tom from time to time on these outings, but he didn’t see me. He was otherwise occupied, you might say. He walked arm in arm with Rebecca, her head against his shoulder.
    He stayed out a lot later than me. He often could not sleep and began a strange sort of ritual. He’d get up after tossing and turning about and go out for long runs all the way to Lord’s fields he told me. He’d come back, breathless, his lungs still bursting from the cold March air.
    “Let him be,” I heard Mum warn Dad one night. “He’s just chasing after his heart’s truth.”
    “A new life in a new city with your folks and your brother? What’s more important than that?” I asked one night when he woke me up getting into his bed.
    “She cried.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Rebecca cried when I told her. Cried until the collar of my shirt was soaked with her tears.”
    “You going to let a few tears lock you in this place forever?”
    But the picture was disturbing, even to me. Rebecca was bright eyed and cherub faced. And always smiling—especially around Thomas.
    Thomas seemed to read my thoughts.
    “She’s got a smile that could crack your heart wide open.” He sighed. “A new life without Becca would be like a sunrise without sun.”
    I groaned. “I thought I was