Froelich's Ladder Read Online Free Page A

the schoolhouse and had to wait outside on the lawn, Gordy had relayed information by stomping his heels. Not long after turning sixteen, when Binx had replaced Harald under-rung, Gordy also quit school, claiming to be bored and determined to become famous. But Binx had known the truth: without his brother to provide basic services, such as cooking and cleaning, Binx wouldn’t have lasted a week. The ladder was balanced in the center of the meadow, far removed from any amenities, and Binx could not avail himself beyond arms’ reach.
    Since there was nothing better to do, he resumed his weary banter:
    What’s the weather like, Froelich? I’d ask if you can see rain, but that joke never gets old, does it? Surprise—you’re all wet! Hope you weren’t eating! Or reading! Or sleeping! Hey, you know what else is funny? Rot. These pants are practically falling off my body. It’s not so bad during summertime, but have you ever tried mending your own clothes? Try holding a piece of hair between your thumb and finger and stitching a seam—that’s what it’s like for me! Better yet, try having a conversation with a piece of wood.
    By the time Gordy arrived with their breakfast, the better part of an hour had passed. “Morning, Binxy,” he said, failing to acknowledge his brother’s despondency. Gordy was dressed for town, from his bowler cap to his red suspenders. The only thing missing were socks and shoes.
    “I hope you’re hungry,” he continued, “because Miss Sarah has labored under that assumption.”
    In his hands, Gordy was carrying a tidy parcel. When he unwrapped the linen napkin, Binx saw it contained bacon, eggs, and bread, as well as a jelly jar of lard. As was her habit, Miss Sarah had provided a triple ration: one for Gordy and two for Binx, commensurate with his size. It was a tempting sight, to say the least, and Binx’s stomach rumbled again, but a fleeting detail nagged at him.
    “You went all the way to Miss Sarah’s farm? Why not Luther’s?”
    Gingerly placing the eggs on the ground, Gordy stoked the fire and grinned. “That’s a good question!” he said, picking a fleck of dirt off the bacon. “I can see the early hour hasn’t affected your brain. Me, I get some of my best ideas before it’s even light out. A darkened sky is like thinking with your eyes closed!”
    The smell of rendered lard was making it hard to concentrate. Still, Binx persisted: “You didn’t answer my question.”
    “Didn’t I? What was the question again?”
    “Miss Sarah’s farm. Why’d you go all the way—”
    “Oh, yes! Did you know she’s got a cousin visiting? Hiram, his name is. A reporter from Philadelphia. Well, he was a reporter. But since he’s here, and the job’s back there, I can’t imagine he’s a reporter any more. Not that there’s a shortage of stories to be found here in Oregon. Even in Boxboro—”
    “No.”
    Pursing his lips, Gordy flipped the bacon on the skillet, hissing and flinching when it spat grease.
    “Too provincial?” he said. “But what good is news, if not news of oneself? You can write about the Pope in Rome, but I’d rather read about Luther’s barn—whether or not he’s patched that hole. Or if the late thaw will mean hungry bears, or—”
    “The answer’s no, d—n it, just like last time and the time before. Don’t you ever listen?”
    Tipping the contents of the skillet onto two plates, Gordy tossed the bread in last to fry. “Just for conversation’s sake, do you know what an article could mean for us?”
    “Shame?” Binx snorted. “Embarrassment? Do you want to be the butt of every last joke, or for people to learn how Harald died?”
    “Attention’s not always a bad thing, you know. And not just local attention— national attention. Traveling dignitaries. How’d you like to meet Johnny Appleseed?”
    “What I’d like to meet is my d—ned breakfast. Give it here!”
    Grunting with frustration, Gordy surrendered the plate—tending to the