His seeking hands found a post, and he sank down, leaning his shoulder against the sturdy wood and stretching out his legs. The air was cool, still a little dewy, but heat from the sun soaked through his britches to his legs underneath. A bird sang from somewhere nearby. Wind whispered in the trees. The river added its song. The morning sounded beautiful.Behind him the door latch clicked, and then boots clomped across the porch—Mr. Jonnson. He stopped, so close his pant leg brushed against Tommy’s arm. Tommy hugged the post.A sigh, then the man spoke. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me? You’ve been alone quite a bit already this week.”He’d sometimes been lonely, staying in the house by himself while Mr. Jonnson traveled upriver to retrieve logs for cutting. But being lonely was better than letting himself get attached to Mr. Jonnson again. Getting attached meant getting hurt all over again. He’d protect himself from now on. “I’m fine.”“Well …” A slight creaking sound told Tommy the man had shifted in place on the porch boards—a sign he wasn’t certain what he should do.“Just go on.”
