Sweet Mercy by Ann Tatlock Read Free Book Online

coils of wire, vacuum tubes, batteries, dials, and any number of unidentifiable parts belonging to an odd collection of radios in various stages of assembly and disassembly. On the upper left corner of the table was a small pile of books. Wearing a pair of dark-framed glasses, Jones leaned over a pad of paper. In his right hand was a pencil poised for note taking, but instead of writing he appeared to be listening. A woman’s singsong voice drifted from the large cathedral radio directly in front of him; I strained to hear and caught something about sugarplums and teddy bears and the noontime train to Wonderland. As she spoke, Jones intermittently scribbled a few words before pausing to listen again.
    I wasn’t sure what to do, but after a moment Jones snappedoff the radio and continued scribbling. When I knocked on the doorframe, he sat up so abruptly his chair jumped several inches. He turned to look at me with his crimson eyes greatly magnified by the glasses.
    â€œWhat do you want?” he asked.
    My jaw clenched again. I stepped into the room. “A little old for bedtime stories, aren’t you?” I said.
    He looked at the radio and back at me. “I was just testing the clarity. I’ve been teaching myself about electronics, mostly radio, as you can probably see. I’m not going to work at the lodge the rest of my life, you know.” A few seconds passed in which neither of us spoke. He took off his glasses and laid them on the table. “So did you want something?”
    I had almost forgotten my reason for coming. “Uncle Cy said to give you these.”
    â€œInvoices?”
    â€œYes.”
    He nodded toward a rolltop desk on the other side of the room. “You can add them to the pile there.”
    I moved to the desk and laid the invoices down among several stacks of bills, receipts, and ledgers. “Do you keep the books for the lodge?”
    â€œYes,” he said. “Among other things.”
    â€œLike carrying canoes?”
    He almost smiled. “Whatever needs doing.”
    â€œA jack-of-all-trades, then?”
    â€œI suppose. Though mostly I’m here taking care of paper work.”
    We locked eyes then, and for several long seconds we seemed to be sizing each other up. Finally he said, “Anything else?”
    I started to shake my head and turn away, but I stopped. “Yes,” I said. “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry your mother’s sick and I hope she gets better soon.”
    Where that sentiment came from, I didn’t know. Jones looked suspicious as well. But after a moment his face seemed to relax and he said, “Thank you. I’m sure she’ll be better before long.”
    â€œYou must miss her.”
    He nodded but didn’t reply.
    â€œSo you’re learning how to put radios together?” I stepped closer to the table, and when I did, Jones closed up the notepad and pushed it aside.
    â€œYes,” he said. “I have a knack for things like that.”
    â€œI see.” My eyes swept the table as I tried to think of something else to say. I wanted to learn more about this mysterious person, but my mind was a blank slate, and I couldn’t find any words. “Well,” I said at length, “I’d better go. Good night, Jones.”
    He looked at me another moment. Then he nodded, one small lift of his chin. “Yup,” he said. He turned back to the table, put on his glasses, picked up a tool of some sort, and went to work. Our conversation was finished, and I had been dismissed.

Chapter 6

    S everal days passed and Mother, Daddy, and I quickly became accustomed to our new life. The local public schools let out and summer settled into full swing, meaning Marryat Island was hopping. People came from all over Ohio and Kentucky and even farther away to spend a weekend or several days or maybe a week at the lodge. Poverty was on the rise in a way the country had seldom seen, but plenty