Stumptown Kid Read Free

get going.” He hoisted his bag over his shoulder. “See you, Charlie.” He started walking toward the road along the side of the park.
    “Hey, Luther?” I called. He turned back. “My mom might know of someone wanting to hire a man. You want to ask her? She’s probably home by now.”
    He looked like he was thinking about it. Then he nodded. “All right. I’d be much obliged.”
    “My house is this way.” I nodded in that direction.
    We headed through the park and down the sidewalk. A car drove past and the people in the back pasted their faces onto the window glass, staring at Luther. I guess I wasn’t the only person surprised to see a colored man in Holden. I was kind of embarrassed for Luther, and I hoped he didn’t see them. If he did, he didn’t let on.
    “That sure is a big sack,” I said. Up close now, I could see it was made of a couple of gunnysacks sewn together. I was wondering what he was lugging in it, but it seemed kind of rude to ask. I was hoping he’d tell me.
    “Just got into town last night,” Luther said. “Haven’t found a place to stay yet.”
    “Where’d you stay last night?” I asked him.
    “Oh, I built a camp south of town on the river. Fixed me a lean-to and caught a catfish for supper. You got pretty good catfish in that river.”
    We walked along in silence while I chewed on what he’d just told me. Why didn’t he just get a room somewhere instead of camping out? Maybe he didn’t have the money.
    I looked over at his big sack. Maybe he used it because he had too much stuff and it wouldn’t all fit into a suitcase. But the sack didn’t look too heavy.
    I wanted to ask him where he came from and why he was here in Holden. But I didn’t want be nosy, so I kept still.
    We walked some more, crossed the railroad tracks, and headed into my neighborhood. The houses here are pretty small, with just one floor and four or five rooms.
    “This is Stumptown,” I said. “My house is about three more blocks, down by the river.”
    “Interesting name, Stumptown,” Luther said.
    “Yeah. I guess a long time ago when people came up the river, they stopped in Holden and cut down trees for houses. They moved on with the wood and left the stumps. So when my neighborhood was built, the stumps had to be pulled out little by little, and everybody started calling the place Stumptown.”
    “Makes sense,” Luther said.
    A few more minutes went by, and then I pointed to my house on the corner. It’s one floor and white. Dad used to keep the grass mowed, but since he’s gone, it’s been my job. It looked pretty good. Especially with the flowers blooming and the maple in the front filled out with leaves. “That’s where I live,” I said.
    “Looks nice,” Luther said.
    We walked up the gravel drive and over the grass to the front stoop. I opened the screen and the hinges squealed. The big door inside was standing open.
    “I can wait out here,” Luther said, backing off a ways.
    “How come?” I asked. “Mom works downtown, but she’s always home by now. Come on in and meet her.”
    Luther smiled and set down his sack. “Oh, I’ll just stay here and enjoy the sunshine.”
    I shrugged. “Okay. I’ll go get us some lemonade and have her come out.”
    “That’ll be fine,” he said.
    I went inside. The living room smelled of lemon oil, and the doily over the back of the davenport was straightened, so I knew Mom had done her usual Monday tidying up after work. I went to the kitchen, opened the Frigidaire, and pulled open the freezer compartment. When I took out the metal ice cube trays, my fingers stuck a little on them. I pulled up the lever, and the ice squeaked and crunched as it came loose. I filled a couple of glasses with ice and poured the lemonade from the pitcher in the Frigidaire.
    Mom came in the kitchen door from the backyard, brushing a strand of dark hair out of her eyes. She was wearing the old housedress she puts on after work and an apron over that. She carried