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

when he crept back to Daniel’s room. The old man had found an empty jar that could almost have been a vase, and he got Toothless to arrange the flowers so that they looked large and important. Then mad Luther Detwiler was sent to ask Aunt Reba a question while David slipped into the women’s building through the back.
    “Where’s Mrs. Krusen’s room?” he asked in a whisper. The old women, pleased with any conspiracy against Aunt Reba, led him to the right door. He knocked softly and a low voice said, “Come in.”
    David stepped into the room, and he was unprepared for what he saw. Mrs. Krusen had lived there only a few days, but already it was a fine, clean room, different from any he had previously seen. There was no smell of bedbug juice. Instead, some kind of sweet smell dominated. About the windows were small strips of colored cloth, tied back in bowknots. Over the bed there was cloth of another color, and on it rested a pillow with a knitted cover. The bed was very neat, and above it on the wall were four colored pictures from the
Ladies’ Home Journal
.
    “I brought you some flowers,” David said.
    The little old woman rose and curtseyed. “Thank you,” she said. With three or four touches of her fingers she made the flowers look different, more spread out, perhaps.
    “I’m sorry about yesterday,” the boy added. “I’m sorry for you, left behind.”
    The little woman smiled. “Oh,” she protested. “Don’t besorry for me. It’s poor Jonas. He’s going to a house with no love. He’ll die. He’ll die.” Tears effaced her smile, and David had to look away.
    On the wall he saw a picture of a mill on a hillside with handsome trees about. “That’s a pretty picture,” he said.
    “It’s from a magazine,” Mrs. Krusen explained. Then she patted David on the head, although she wasn’t a great deal taller than he. “They tell me you do well in school,” she said approvingly. David grinned, for the little old woman made him feel at ease. “So the boys who do well deserve presents!” And she jumped up on the neat bed and pulled down the picture David had admired. “This is for you,” she said happily, “and here’s the tack, too!”
    “I didn’t mean I wanted it,” David protested. Mrs. Krusen rolled the picture into a trim tube and placed the tack inside.
    “Now you have a picture, too,” she said. David nodded and-started for the door. “Aren’t you going to say, ‘Thank you’?” Mrs. Krusen asked.
    “I forgot,” David admitted. “Thank you for the picture.” He stepped out into the hall and a very old woman hobbled up to him.
    “Miss Reba coming!” the old woman whispered.
    “Day
wid
!” came the searching whine.
    “Oh, my gosh!” David cried.
    “Hide in here,” the very old woman suggested, shoving the boy into her room.
    “Don’t bend that picture!” David cautioned.
    “Iss
Day
wid up
here
, yet?” Aunt Reba probed.
    “No,” the very old woman lied.
    Reba stormed past and into Mrs. Krusen’s room. “
Somebody
chust
said
my
boy
wass up
here
,” she whined.
    “Now!” the very old woman cried to David. He slipped from her room and hurried downstairs. He could hear his aunt threatening Mrs. Krusen. Carefully he crept behind the milkhouse and through the woods behind the barn.
    “Daywid!” his aunt bellowed.
    Old Daniel’s window snapped up. “He’s up here, Miss Reba,” the thin voice cried. Breathlessly David dashed down the hall to his friend’s room. Sticking his head out the window at the last moment he cried casually, “You want me?”
    “
Where
you been
at?
” his aunt shouted.
    “Talking with Daniel,” the boy lied.
    And when the threat was over he showed Daniel the picture. “That’s by Rembrandt,” the old man explained.
    “I’m going to put it over my bed,” the boy replied. Then he shared his bewilderment with Daniel. “I don’t think Mrs. Krusen was sorry for herself yesterday. She was sorry for Mr. Krusen.”
    “I was