What Once Was Lost Read Online Free PDF Page A

calluses of his work-roughened hands.
    Blessed warmth surrounded him when they entered the house, and Tommycouldn’t hold back a sigh of relief to be out of the cold. He hoped Miss Willems could afford to buy him a coat. The walk to Mr. Jonnson’s outhouse was seventeen paces farther than the one at the poor farm.
    “Sit down here.” Mr. Jonnson pressed Tommy into a chair. Wooden. Spindle-backed. Tommy inched his hands forward, and his fingertips encountered a tabletop. A cool, smooth plate sat directly in front of him. He fingered the plate’s rim, searching for warm spots that would indicate whether it had been filled yet. A hand grabbed his wrist.
    “Stop that. You can’t eat with your fingers. Those beans are hot. You’ll burn yourself.” Tommy knew what he’d been doing, and he considered saying so, but what good would it do? Nobody thought a blind boy had any sense. Mr. Jonnson pushed a slim utensil into Tommy’s hand. “Use this.”
    He ran his thumb up the length of the utensil and found a smooth bowl instead of tines. A spoon. Good. He had mastered a spoon. He leaned forward, sniffing. Yes, the plate held beans. Gripping the spoon in his fist, he dipped, scraping the plate until he connected with something soft. He scooped and lifted the bite.
    Hot! With a startled gasp he spat out the beans and fumbled in search of something to drink to cool his tongue. The backs of his fingers collided with a mug, and he heard a clatter, followed by Mr. Jonnson’s sharp intake of breath. Chair legs screeched across the floor. Boots thundered. Tommy sat, listening, knowing what had happened, and waited for the scolding to begin. “Clumsy! You’re so clumsy, boy! Can’t you do nothin’ right?” The angry words rang through his mind.
    He let his burning tongue hang from his mouth while he hunkered against the back of his chair, his fists tight against his chest, ready for the blows to fall from the darkness. He yelped when fingers grasped his wrist, but then something cool and smooth was pressed against his hand. A glass. He groped for it. Liquid sloshed over its rim and splashed across his fingers. He gripped the glass with both hands and raised it to his lips, slurping eagerly.
    Tommy drank every drop of the water, then lowered the glass, panting. He bobbed his head in every direction, his ears tuned for a scrape or a bump that would tell him where Mr. Jonnson now stood. Finally the sound of Mr. Jonnson clearing his throat came from nearby. Hands plucked the glass from his grip, and a soft thunk let him know it had been placed on the table. Chair legs scratched the floor, muffled whisks indicated trousers meeting the seat of a chair, and then a wry voice spoke from across the table.
    “Before you put the next bite in your mouth, blow on it. Like I said before, those beans are hot.”
    Tommy stared straight ahead, his heart bumpity-bumping in amazement. Mr. Jonnson hadn’t hollered at him. Hadn’t whopped him. And he hadn’t called him “boy” this time.

    Midafternoon, Christina guided the horses up Mr. Jonnson’s lane. A trail of gray smoke rose from the rock chimney, flavoring the air. It was such a relief to know Tommy was safe and warm. And the clothes in the bag behind the seat would add to his comfort. The new mercantile owner, Jay Creeger, had carted in a good supply of ready-made clothing in all sizes when he and his wife, Mary Ann, had moved to Brambleville from the Outer Banks of North Carolina. After Christina told the friendly pair about the fire, Mrs. Creeger insisted on extending Christina credit. Thanks to the Creegers’ benevolence, all her charges now owned two pairs of underclothes, stockings, one complete outfit, shoes, and a coat. She hoped the mission board sent funds quickly so she could repay the mercantile owners without delay.
    She drew the team to a halt, set the brake, and grabbed the bag containing Tommy’s clothes. Holding the collar of her new wool coat closed beneath her chin,