My brother kept his promise, sure as I did mine, until one morning I awoke on my pallet and rolled over to see if Allen was awake yet. I shivered, for all I felt was cold floor, and stood up. My brother was not anywhere to be seen, and, being the care-worn boy that I am, began to panic.
"Mother," I cried, running over to her bedside, "Mother, wake up, did you see Allen leave?"
She rolled over, brushed the hair from my face, and whispered, "Go back to bed, Ty, your brother will be back soon."
"Are you sure, Mother?" I asked, very nervous by this time.
"Yes, little Ty Gordon, just go back to your bed."
I didn't want to disobey her, but I had one more question, "Mother, where's Father?"
"He just left, he said he had to get something."
"Get what?"
"Ty Gordon, why are you being so nosy?"
I looked up at her, "He's not going to drink anything, is he?"
"No, I made him promise."
I climbed up into the bed next to her and lay my cheek against her shoulder.
"Ah, Ty Gordon, my blond little puppy," she said and touched her hand to my face.
I smiled and kissed her cheek before I crawled off the bed and out of the room. I went to the window, lit a candle, and set it on the sill. After watching it burn for a while I went and sat by the door, laying my head on my knees.
I had just about fallen back to sleep when someone came in the door.
"Thomas, is that you?" Mother called.
Father didn't answer her, but instead grabbed the collar of the grimy shirt I had on, "Boy, why don't you put on clean shirt, this one's filthy."
"Sir, this is the only one I have," I replied, a bit cautious. He was acting too nice for my liking. He had never acted anything but awful before.
"We'll have to go get you one then," he said. "Martha, I'm going out to get this boy a new shirt. We'll be back in a while."
"Alright, be back soon."
He drug me out the door with a hand still gripping the back of my shirt. "Father," I asked, "where're we going?"
"Didn't you hear me, boy?" he replied gently. "We're gonna get you a new shirt."
"Where?" I asked again.
"At the market, son," he answered.
I'd never been to the market before, although Allen had often told me of the many people he had seen and dealt with there.
When we arrived at the market, all I could see as a walked alongside my father was people. People standing behind many stands of fruits, vegetables, jewelry, clothing and anything your brilliant mind could think up, along with thousands of others browsing at these stands. I could just imagine my brother dodging around the many people, talking to the ones he knew, and checking out the pretty town girls. It was amazing.
"Which one you want, kid?" my father asked when we stopped at one stand with every size and color of shirt that had ever been invented.
"I'm not sure," I mumbled back, fingering each and every one. My fingers finally stopped on a particularly soft light green one.
"This one, Father," I said.
"This one?"
"Yes, sir."
My father paid for the shirt without even a grunt at the price. Then led me down an alley where I stripped off my old, ragged, down to nothing, shirt and pulled on the new one. I was in heaven!
"Boy, you got your mother's eyes, you know that?" he said after studying me for a while.
"No, sir."
"Son, you got to stop calling me sir, call me Father. I am your father, correct?"
"But you said-"
"Forget what I said, I drink too much. I've got to stop."
"Yes, sir-" I caught myself, "I mean, Father."
"Thatta boy," he said, patting my shoulder gingerly. There was a long pause as we stood there in the alley before he finally said, "You know the whereabouts of your brother?"
I tossed this over awhile in my head before I answered cautiously, "What do you mean, Father?"
"Don't play dumb with me, son, you know perfectly well what I mean."
Did I dare tell? "Father, please," I tried, looking him straight in the eye. I could bet that his hand would fly up from its position at his side to cuff me any minute now.
"Ah, I know the ways of young boys, he made you promise not to tell, didn't he?" His hand didn't move.
I didn't answer.
"Boy, you answer your father when he asks you a question," he said forcefully.
"Don't hit me," I whispered.
His hand moved.
I cringed, ready for the blow, but instead of giving me a good whacking, both his hands came to rest on my shoulders.
"Boy," he told me, "son, Ty, listen, the reason your brother left was because I hit him. I know he's not coming back, your mother will be heart-broken, and I wouldn't want her to lose you, too."
Whoa! This hit me harder than any smack would have.
"Father…" I mumbled, dumbstruck.
"Let's get home now, see what your mother is doing," he said, leading back down the alley toward home.
The first thing my father did when we entered the house was to give my mother a big hug.
From my spot in the shadows, I heard them whisper to each other quietly I and saw Mother's eyes well up with tears, but this time not tears of pain or fear. Beautiful tears of joy and still, of sadness at losing her oldest son. I walked over and through my arms around them both.
Mother smiled and said, "Ah, Ty Gordon my blond little puppy."
