The Boy Orator by Tracy Daugherty Read Free Book Online Page B

them.
    â€œLook at him—always up on stage,” Olin said. “I’m just as good as you, Shaughnessy, any day of the week.”
    Harry’s side began to ache. When he reached for his books he felt his skin burn. He untucked his shirt, examined his scar. It hadn’t split, but in the fight he’d bruised himself again. That day the ride home in the school wagon, over spidery tree roots exposed in the road, pained him so much he nearly fainted. His mother was too busy to pay him any mind when he reached the house. She was haggling with the salesman, the man Andrew called the “Jew Peddler,” who rode by once a month in his red-painted hack offering sleeve holders and garters, thimbles, pins and ribbons, K. C. Baking Powder, soda, salt, and Cloverine Salve. He wore a flat black hat and a long black shirt that looked too hot to Harry. His beard formed a thick, round pad on his chest. When Harry first saw him, years ago, he laughed, but Andrew shushed him. “That old fellow has more stamina than you and me put together,” he said. “He works hard and I wouldn’t be surprised if he earns enough money someday to rent him a building or two in Oklahoma City. Then we’ll be traveling to him .”
    As his mother counted her coins, Harry washed his tender wound in the kitchen. The chicks in the pen were getting downy and big. Harry cooed to them to take his mind off the soap’s subtle sting. He remembered Olin’s words, about the stage. Usually Harry kept quiet around his classmates. He sensed their jealousy and tried to fit in, but he couldn’t. They mocked him: “Come speak to me, Boy Orator.” “Oh, open your honey lips.” Loneliness pierced his chest. Never, he thought. Never again will I give another speech.
    He fed Halley some day-old bread then went to check on his dad. Andrew was sleeping with the shades pulled. He always slept these days.
    Annie Mae ran inside, her arms full, hoping to reach her kitchen shelves before she dropped all the powders, thimbles, creams. She didn’t make it. Jars rolled across the wooden floor, frightening the chicks, who fluttered brainlessly against the twisted wire of their pen. Their thrashing excited Halley; he flitted around the table, barking, kicking jars out of Annie Mae’s grasp. “Harry! Get this infernal creature out of here!” She’d been short-tempered ever since Andrew came home hurt. Harry stepped carefully around her. “That old Jew,” she murmured, gathering her stuff. “I swear, he jacks his prices every month.”
    She put up her jars. Harry waited until she’d calmed herself, brewing dark tea. “Mama?” he said.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    He looked at the floor. “Is Daddy going to get better?”
    â€œOh, honey.” Annie Mae swept a curl off her forehead. “You know what I think? I think he’s saving his strength for—Harry, your shirt’s soaked.” She lifted the ragged tail, discovered the bruise. “How on earth—?”
    He told her about school.
    Her face went gray. She knelt beside him. Her long skirt bunched at her knees; he caught a rare glimpse of her ankles, milky in her stockings. “What am I going to do with you? What’s all this fighting?”
    â€œI didn’t start it.”
    She patted his cheek. “It’s those rough towns your daddy’s been taking you to. Lord knows what you’ve seen.”
    â€œIt’s not that, Mama. No one likes me at school.”
    â€œWell, you won’t be taking any trips for a while.” She primped his shirt. “Maybe if you spend regular time here, you’ll make some real friends. Will you try?”
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    â€œMeanwhile, you have to help me out, okay? With your daddy down, I’m counting on you to stay out of trouble. I need you.”
    â€œAll right.” He smiled. He liked his mother’s