The Fires of Spring by James A. Michener Read Free Book Online

pulling himself away from her.
    “They wrote to you, Jonas. I know.” He rudely thrust his way past her and David heard her cry. “I’m not sorry for me, Jonas. It’s for you! They’ll kill you, Jonas.”
    Angrily the big man hurried from the messhall without waiting for breakfast, and that night it was clear to see that Mrs. Krusen had been crying. But her husband would not look at her.
    On Saturday there were two visitors to the poorhouse, and they affected David deeply. The first was Mr. Paxson, from Solebury, with his daughter Marcia. They drove into the circle and asked for David. He was in the barn helping Tom, and when he appeared he was well dusted with the fine, smelly dust of hayseed.
    “Hello, farmer!” the tall Quaker said. “Thee’s been hard at it, eh?”
    “I help out on Saturdays,” David explained.
    “Is thy aunt about?” Mr. Paxson inquired.
    “She’s in there,” David pointed. “I’ll get her.” He ran for his aunt, and that lonely, antagonistic woman came out into the spring sunlight. Mr. Paxson introduced himself and his daughter and said, “I’ve come to ask thy permission to take thy nephew to Quaker Meeting in Solebury some Sunday.”
    “Hmmm!” Aunt Reba snorted. She quickly saw that this was some kind of trap.
    “His father, you know, was a Quaker.” The words fell heavily upon David, for he had not known this about his father. He looked quizzically at his aunt and she took his gaze to be condemnatory.
    “I don’t
want
Daywid traipsing about the
country
, yet,” she said stolidly, and the vast difference between her penuriousness of spirit and the calm dignity of Mr. Paxson was so great that David blurted out, “I’d like to go.”
    But Mr. Paxson was not to be so trapped. Bowing gently he asked Aunt Reba, “Then I don’t have thy permission?”
    Now Aunt Reba was cornered and she scowled at David. “All right,” she said and stomped back to her quarters.
    “I’ll call for thee some Sunday,” Mr. Paxson said, and shook hands with David, as if the boy were a man, but even as he spoke David stared into the car at the dark, confident girl who stared speculatively back.
    When the car left, Aunt Reba darted out in the areaway and shouted for her nephew. Reluctantly David went to her and she dragged him into her room. “
Look
here, young fellow,”she snorted. “You leave them Paxsons
alone
! Don’t go gettin’
ideas
.”
    “I didn’t know my father was a Quaker,” David protested.
    “There’s lots you don’t know,” she snorted. “Less you know about your father the better.”
    David was inclined to fight with his aunt. Seeing her beside calm Mr. Paxson had shown him how much he hated her, but his attention was diverted by a black car that came into the areaway. He dashed away from his ugly aunt to see what was happening.
    “They’ve come for the Krusens!” Toothless reported joyfully. The men on the long hall, all of them, were glad when one of their members escaped. Quickly David bounded up the stairs and into the hall. He banged noisily into his own room and then tiptoed back to Door 11 to eavesdrop.
    “You told me that before,” Mr. Krusen whined.
    The visitor replied, in an unpleasant, nasal voice, “I told you. Erma told you. That woman would bring you nothin’ but disgrace.” He spoke with a complaining Dutch accent:
tawld
and
nawthin
’. “But oh, no! You wouldn’t listen yet. Now see where you land.”
    “All right,” Mr. Krusen snapped. “You knew best.”
    “If you had only listened to me ’n’ Erma when we was up to Sellerswille …” The monitory voice droned on while Mr. Krusen stuffed his clothes into a bag.
    David had long before noticed a peculiarity about people who came to take other people away from the poorhouse. Young men who came could always explain exactly what mistakes their old relatives had made. Young men knew how to keep out of the poorhouse. But when old men came to take their friends away, there was no