Never Too Far by Thomas Christopher Read Free Book Online Page B

jack-in-the-box. He pointed his rifle at them. Joe flinched and turned his head away in anticipation of another rifle report. When nothing happened, Joe peeked up the hill again.
    The man was no longer aiming at them. On the contrary, he looked completely at ease. He held his rifle under one arm while he cupped his hands to his face and lit a pipe. After puffing on it, he shook the match out and flicked it away. He puffed some more. The smoke clouded his face for a moment. The man was short and scrawny with thin bandy legs. He looked akin to a half-starved elf—and he didn’t look particularly frightening, either, but rather peculiar. His ragged clothes hung off him in tattered strips. Squashed on his head was a stovepipe hat. His straggly hair fell from the sides of his head like fringe. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned or nervous. He acted as if he was all alone on that hill and he was simply enjoying a smoke without a care in the world.
    He pulled the pipe from his mouth and shouted, “Good day,” in a high gruff voice.
    Joe sat up a little.
    “I say good day to you,” he said again. “Cat got your tongue?”
    Joe got to his knees and stared at the man, still unsure of what to make of him.
    “That shot was just to see if you were on your guard.” He laughed. “Which you weren’t. Could’ve killed you and robbed you blind. Never let your guard down.” 
    The man walked down the hill in a bizarre way. His short bandy legs appeared to swivel out in front of his torso as if his top and bottom weren’t connected right. His stovepipe hat wobbled on his head.
    While Mary stayed curled in a tight ball behind him, Joe got to his feet. The man was a great deal shorter than Joe, but something about his gregarious nature made him seem larger. His skin was brown like clay and his cheeks shallow and streaked with hairs. A stringy billy-goat beard hung from his chin. He held his pipe clenched in his stained teeth when he smiled. His eyes gleamed.
    “Nahum’s the name,” he said
    He extended his hand, and as soon as Joe grasped it, the man’s fingers clamped tight. He squeezed Joe’s hand hard enough to make his bones grate together. 
    “Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?” Nahum said.
    “Joe.”
    “Joe? That’s it? Joe? Nothing else.”
    “Nope. Just Joe.”
    He could’ve kicked himself for saying his real name. Frank told him to never tell anyone, or else make up a phony name. But he was so taken aback by this strange man in the stovepipe hat that he couldn’t think to make up a phony name for himself.
    “Fine. Joe, it is. No need to be formal here.” Nahum flicked his pipe to the other side of his mouth while still smiling. 
    “Who’s that behind you?”
    Joe nudged Mary with his heel.
    “She’s an orph—” He caught himself. “She’s my girl. She’s pregnant and I’m taking her to the city to give birth.”
    “Pregnant, huh? The city, huh?” Nahum narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “You sure she is okay?”
    Joe looked at Mary. She still hadn’t moved from the tight ball she was curled into.
    “She’s kind of afraid of people.”
    “Afraid? She looks downright petrified.”
    Joe bent down beside her, his hand on her shoulder, and lowered his head to where her ear was hidden by the brim of her hat.
    “It’s okay,” he said, “you can get up.”
    He glanced up at Nahum who pursed his lips. He sucked hard on his pipe and then peeled open a corner of his mouth to let the smoke escape. Mary finally unrolled herself and stood up. Her head was bent so low it appeared as if it was growing out of her chest. At the full sight of her, Nahum stepped back and widened his eyes.
    “Jumping Jehoshaphat,” he said. “That tiny thing really is pregnant. She’s about to pop.”
    “That’s why she needs to get to the city. She’s breech.”
    “Jumping Jehoshaphat.”
    “We need to find the bridge. We’re off course.”
    “I’ll say you are. The bridge is that