The boy

A boy hides in the shrubs and peers into a brightly lit room. Two wingback chairs face a glowing fireplace. In one of them sits a man with an unruly shock of white hair; he tamps down the tobacco in a curved pipe, lights a match, puffs on the pipe. Newspaper sections lie scattered around him.

The boy stands outside and shivers under the fading sky. The bleak moon offers no comfort; the mountains surround the valley with dark stony faces. He hesitates; he is frightened. “Be sure to bring this to Mr Oliver, Eddie. Hear?” Grandma had rasped. Then she had another coughing fit and fell back on her pillow. She waved him away with her hand as she turned toward the wall.

Eddie looks again at the folded piece of paper in his hand. This is the place. Law Offices, Jebediah Oliver. He lifts the brass knocker, raps it twice. His heart races. Nobody comes. He knocks again. If he has to wait until morning, will it be too late by then? He could sleep in the henhouse, or sneak into a barn and huddle with the cows. But Grandma had whispered “Hurry”. He knocks one more time. Finally he hears slow, heavy steps. The door opens.

“Who is there?” The man’s pipe glows in the dark. Then the outside light comes on, the boy steps into it, timid.

“Excuse me sir,” he says, “I’m sorry to bother you so late. I came as fast as I could, but–” He fidgets with the paper.

The man looks him over. “Come inside, it’s freezing out here. What’s your name?” he asks. “And what …?”

“Eddie Barnes, sir; my grandma sent me. She said you would help. “Your grandma? Is that Nola Barnes? At the farm by Cold Creek?”

“Yes sir. You know her?” There is surprise, and a tiny spark of hope in his young voice. “She is sick sir. Really sick, in bed, coughing and sleeping, and she is so pale, and her hand felt so hot, it scared me, and–”

“Come in,” the man says. “You can tell me by the fire, before we both catch pneumonia.”

“Yessir.” The boy sits awkwardly on the edge of the seat. He leans toward the fire and rubs his fingers. He looks up at the man puffing his pipe, clouded in dense smoke.

The man meets his eye. “That sounds serious; you were out of breath, and you are rightly worried. But I am not a doctor, Eddie. What can I do for her? Why me? Does she want me to send for Dr. Olson?”

“No sir, “the boy whispers. “She said not to send for a doctor. She said it twice, she made me promise.” He wipes a tear from his raw cheeks. “She said to come here, to you, Mr. Oliver, and to give you this.”

He hands over the paper he was holding. It is neatly folded, but crumpled and damp by now. It is sealed with candle wax. In shaky letters, it says FOR MR. OLIVER, and below that for your eyes alone. The man looks at it, turns it over, and searches Eddie’s face. But his, too, is full of questions. Jeb Oliver sets his pipe in the ashtray, tears the seal, and reads. A frown appears, then a look of surprise. He wipes his brow with the handkerchief from his breast pocket and stares into the fire. He clears his throat. The boy waits.

Finally, he turns toward Eddie with something like tenderness. “I think I’m starting to see ,” he says gently. “You did well to come. And you were brave to come so far by yourself.” The boy shrugs. His school is nearby. He knows the way. “How long have you lived with your grandmother, Eddie?”

“Since I was three, sir.” Eddie looks at his wet boots, where a sock pokes through a hole.

Jeb Oliver puffs on his pipe. “And what are you now? Ten?” Eddie nods. “Your grandma is a good woman. You grew up at Cold Creek then? On the farm?”

“Yessir, and grandma says I am a big help, what with the sheep. But she is so sick, and...” He suppresses a little sob.

Jeb clears his throat again and takes a deep breath and levels a steady look upon Eddie. There is a lot to tell this boy. “Your grandma has had a serious lung condition, for a long time. Did you know that?” The boy looks up with surprise. “Right, well – I didn’t think so. It is called pulmonary fibrosis.”

“What is…?”

“It eventually makes the lungs too stiff to breathe, Eddie. She writes here that it first started a long time ago, but it was mostly lying asleep in her lungs. Only now, in the last few weeks, it has woken up ...”

“Oh!” says Eddie. “Maybe I should run for the doctor then, even if she said not to? Don’t you think so, sir? I’ll go quickly.”

Jeb reaches out a hand to steady the boy. “No Eddie, no. Your grandmother does not want any more treatment.” He jabs his finger at the paper in his hand. “She says it very clearly, right here, she doesn’t want any more treatments; she knows they will not – that there is nothing more the doctors can do.”

Eddie is on his feet. “But that cannot be true, can it?”

“I have known Nola for a very long time, Eddie. And when your grandmother makes up her mind, well .... ” He sighs. “Anyway. She wants to stay on the farm, in her home. No treatments, and absolutely no hospitals.”

“But…”

“No, I am sorry, I have to respect her wishes. She – what she asks for is only a little more firewood, enough for a few days. I will see to that in the morning.” He looks at the boy. “You can help me.”

“Of course, but –”

“No, listen, there is more. She has left some money in a savings account for you, and…” Jeb swallows. “She has signed some papers, Eddie. Legal papers. They are at the bank too, where your account is. She made me your legal guardian …”

Eddie stares at him blankly, this is all too much to take in. He drops his head on his arms, and cries silently. When the fire dies dow, Jeb puts his hand lightly on the boy’s shoulder. “Come,” he says. “You need to sleep. We both do. We will get up at dawn, to see to the firewood, and whatever else she might need.”