Forged by Fire Read Free Page A

become his favorite spot. It had launched toy cars and boats, and big-wheel riding toys when he was little; later there had been skateboards and, last year, a go-cart he had made by himself. Of course, he wasn’t
supposed
to ride a skateboard or go-cart down the ramp, but who could resist the temptation? Sometimes he liked to lie stretched out on the ramp, his face to the sun, dreaming. Today he was smiling, because tomorrow was his ninth birthday, and he was really, really hoping for a bicycle. It didn’t have to be new, just red—and fast.
    He was a quiet boy who listened more than he talked and who rarely shared his dreams or fears with anyone, even Aunt Queen, whom he adored. Since the day that she had taken him home when he was released from the hospital, he had lived here with her, under her loving, careful eyes. At first, he had cried for his mother constantly. Aunt Queen had hugged him and hummed old hymns to him and filled in the empty spaces in his heart. Later, he asked for his mother only occasionally, like on his birthday or Christmas. Over time, his demands for her had become weaker, until she had become only a foggy memory.
    Life at Aunt Queen’s was sometimes hectic, but some-how always comforting and reassuring. Because even though he might wake up and find a stranger sleeping on the sofa, or once, he remembered, in the bathtub (she was real big on showing hospitality to folks in need), he knew that she was always there, and that she would never leave him. Her very presence was like a power source, to be plugged into for love, or security, or a good fried-chicken dinner.
    And it wasn’t always easy. Gerald remembered times when the lights had been cut off, and the phone, and even the water. He figured getting the water cut off was the worst, because you couldn’t flush the toilet. But if it was winter, then doing without the heat and lights was pretty awful. But she managed to get them through it each time, one way or another.
    One time, he remembered, she had gone downtown to the gas and electric company because they had cut off the heat. He had been about five, and she had taken him with her. The lady at the desk, who had looked down her nose at them through her funny-looking glasses, had said, “Unless you can come up with a hundred and fifty dollars by five o’clock, there will be no heat.”
    Aunt Queen had replied quietly, “And unless you come up with some heat by five o’clock,
you
will be on the six o’clock news. I’m poor, not stupid. I know that you can’t cut off heat to disabled customers in the middle of winter, especially disabled customers with small children. If you look at my payment record, you will see that I pay on time when I have the money. This month, I just don’t have it. Something came up. You’ll have your money next month. You have my word on it. You can take my word as my promise, or you can let me take my word down the street to Consumer Alert at Channel Five. I’m sure they’d love to hear how you folks are treating the public, especially after that rate hike you just got.”
    The heat was back on by four o’clock.
    The “something” that had come up was Christmas. Aunt Queen believed passionately in many things, but Christmas was her supreme passion. She thrived on Christmas carols, delighted in decorations, and indulged in special treats and goodies. The tree went up, with a great deal of traditional fanfare (like making popcorn to string for garlands and making ornaments of soap and old Christmas cards) during the first week in December and stayed up until New Year’s Day. The house always smelled delicious this time of the year. One day it would be cookies in the oven when Gerald came home from school, and the next day it would be homemade cranberry sauce. Even in years when there wasn’t much money, they managed to have a wonderful Christmas, with Aunt Queenalways stretching the