The Boy on the Porch Read Online Free Page A

music. It sounded like nothing else Marta or John had heard. It was as if he were re-creating the sounds of the forest and the dawn and the mountains, all rolled together. The sounds moved John and Marta greatly. One minute they would be smiling and soon after they were close to tears. It was as if the boy had control of their minds and bodies.

17

    T wice a week John drove farther afield to towns small and large, sifting through gossip and local papers. What he was discovering was that boys were as likely to go missing as cows were.
    â€œGeorgia’s boy run off, but came home with his tail between his legs.”
    â€œMy cow broke right through the new fence.”
    â€œCarl’s kid—that one with the hair—he was gone for four days and you know where they found him? In the hayloft over at Aggie’s place.”
    â€œMy prize Blackie cow, you seen her, right? Gone for two days, comes home with a big smile on her face.”
    Â Â Â Â  MISSING: 12-YEAR-OLD BOY, MEAN AS A STICK. YOU CAN KEEP HIM.
    Â Â Â Â  MISSING: PRETTY BROWN COW, ANSWERS TO BETTY.
    Â Â Â Â  FOUND: 12-YEAR-OLD BOY, MEAN AS A STICK. COME GET HIM.
    Â Â Â Â  FOUND: BROWN COW, NOT SO PRETTY.
    All the boys and cows that were lost seemed to turn up again, though, unlike the boy at John and Marta’s, who had been found, but oddly, wasn’t lost.
    In all the time he had been at John and Marta’s, the boy hadn’t seemed afraid, didn’t seem to miss anyone, slept soundly, and ate heartily.
    â€œIt’s like he was dropped right out of the sky,” John told Marta.

18

    A lthough John was as impressed as Marta was with Jacob’s talents, he was beginning to worry that the boy wasn’t learning any “boy things,” and he said as much to Marta.
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” she said. “What kind of boy things? He rides a cow , doesn’t he?”
    â€œTrue. That’s good, I guess.”
    â€œWhat else do you want him to do? Chop down a tree? Burn up the barn?”
    â€œI don’t know—get a little dirty, I guess.”
    â€œFor heaven’s sake, John, he gets dirty. I ought to know. I’m the one trying to get the dirt out of his—and your—clothes.”
    Still, John was bothered. So one day he took Jacob and the beagle and two fishing rods with him to the creek. His plan was to show the boy how to dig for bait and bait a hook and catch a fish.
    Along the way, Jacob snatched a maple leaf and folded it into the shape of a bird. He picked up a stick and drummed it on tree trunks. He bobbed and jigged along the path with the beagle by his side. At a puddle, he stopped to trawl his fingers through the muck at the bottom and painted his arms with stripes of mud. At the edge of the creek he gathered a pile of stones and rocks and then threw them into the water with a rhythmic plip-plop-plop-plip .
    When John dug up an earthworm and reached for his rod and hook, Jacob put his palm out, as if asking for the worm, and once he had it, he reburied it.
    â€œBut—that’s our bait,” John said.
    Jacob tapped lightly on John’s arm, tap-tap-tap-TAP , and returned to gathering more stones. He dug a trench along the creek bank and lined it with stones and packed the sides with mud. John watched as the boy collected twigs and leaves and built a strange sort of elfin bridge over the trench. Then Jacob climbed up on a boulder and jumped into the creek with all his clothes on. He splashed and laughed his silent laugh and then climbed back up on the rock and jumped again and again into the water. He crawled back up the muddy bank and took John’s hand and beckoned the beagle, inviting them to join him.
    Marta took one look at the wet, muddy man, boy, and dog as they returned to the house. “Well, John,” she said. “Is he dirty enough for you?”

19

    M ore weeks passed.
    â€œWhy doesn’t anyone know