The Boy on the Porch by Sharon Creech Read Free Book Online Page A

boy?”
    The boy drummed on.
    â€œAre they keeping you penned up here in the barn?”
    â€œSheriff!”
    â€œDoesn’t he even nod ‘yes’ or ‘no’?”
    â€œSure, he does.”
    â€œThen why isn’t he doing that? Boy, did somebody else bring you here? Did somebody drop you off?”
    The beat of the tin drums was lively. The beagle thumped his tail.
    â€œWhere you from, boy? Come on, say something.”
    â€œHe doesn’t speak , Sheriff.”
    â€œSo you said. Maybe you threatened him, told him not to talk.”
    Marta stood. “Sheriff! We did not threaten him. Look at him. Does he look afraid? Does he look threatened? No, he looks content. He is happy here.”
    The sheriff walked around the property and checked inside the house. He saw the drums and paints and the small room that had been set up for the boy to sleep in.
    â€œAnd you say he just appeared on your porch one day, is that right?”
    â€œYes,” John said.
    â€œOut of the blue, just like that?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSorta like that cow that appeared one day?”
    â€œWell, sort of, but not the same, I mean the boy wasn’t tied up to the railing like the cow was. The boy was just asleep on the porch, and he had a note. The cow didn’t have a note.”
    â€œUh-huh.” The sheriff tapped his boot against the railing. “And how many days has he been here?”
    â€œDays? Well, now—let’s see—I can’t exactly remember—it’s been more like weeks—”
    â€œWeeks? He’s been here for weeks ?”
    â€œWell, now, I don’t exactly—”
    â€œAnd you’re just now getting around to reporting it?”
    John sank onto a chair on the porch and pressed his hands to his face. He did not want to cry in front of the sheriff, but that’s what he felt like doing. He wanted to sob like a baby.
    â€œSheriff, we didn’t mean to get attached to him, but—”
    â€œOkay, okay, I get it. I’ve got kids and grandkids. I get it.”
    â€œYou do?”
    â€œLook, it still sounds fishy to me, but the boy looks well cared for, so he can stay here for now.”
    It hadn’t occurred to John that the sheriff might take the boy away. That thought filled John with such dread that he thought he’d be sick all over the sheriff’s feet.
    â€œSheriff, you wouldn’t, you couldn’t just take—”
    â€œThis boy isn’t yours.”
    â€œBut, you couldn’t just take—”
    â€œI am the law .” The sheriff tapped his badge and returned to his car. “I’ll be doing some checking around. I’ll let you know if I find out anything.”

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    J ohn and Marta were rattled with worry. In front of the boy, they tried to remain calm and cheerful, as usual, but at night they lay awake.
    â€œI shouldn’t have gone to the sheriff,” John said.
    â€œYou had to do that, sooner or later.”
    â€œI wish I hadn’t gone. I didn’t like his tone, did you?”
    â€œNo. He acted as if we were criminals.”
    â€œAs if we had stolen the boy.”
    â€œAs if we were keeping him here against his will.”
    â€œThe nerve!”
    The next morning, the boy started a new painting in the barn. He had already filled the lower section of one side of the barn with a wide landscape: blue trees and red paths and purple animals and blue and red and purple swirls and bubbles in the air. He’d found some black paint and created an enormous black cloud hovering over the scene.
    Marta came running into the barn. “John! John!”
    â€œWhat? What’s wrong? Is it the sheriff?”
    â€œNo, no. I just realized—it just came to me—look—” She stood beside him, lowering her voice and indicating the painted scene. “Maybe that’s where he’s from.”
    â€œWhat? You think he’s painting