The Glass Village Read Free Page B

three-step granite pedestal had been cleaned and hung with bunting.
    â€œThat’s too bad,” said Johnny, wondering why it should be.
    â€œThis is where I preach my sermon,” said the Judge, setting his foot on the second step of the pedestal. “Old Asahel Shinn led an expedition from up north in 1654, massacred four hundred Indians, and then said a prayer for their immortal souls on this spot. … Morning, Calvin!”
    A man was dragging a rusty lawnmower across the intersection. All Johnny could think of was a corpse he had once stumbled over in a North Korean rice paddy. The man was tall and thin and garmented in hopeless brown, topped with a brown hat that flopped lifelessly about his brown ears. Even his teeth were long and brown.
    The man shambled toward them in sections, as if he were wired together.
    He touched his hatbrim to Judge Shinn, jiggled the lawnmower over the west corner marker, and sent it clacking along the grass of the green.
    The Judge glanced at Johnny and followed. Johnny tagged along.
    â€œCalvin, I want you to meet a distant kinsman of mine. Johnny Shinn, Calvin Waters.”
    Calvin Waters stopped deliberately. He set the mower at a meticulous angle, slewed about, and looked at Johnny for the first time.
    â€œHow do,” he said. And off he clacked again.
    Johnny said, “Brrr.”
    â€œIt’s just our way,” murmured the Judge, and he took Johnny’s arm and steered him into the road. “Calvin’s our maintenance department. Custodian of town property, janitor of the school and Town Hall and church, official gravedigger … Lives halfway up the hill there, past Aunt Fanny’s. Waters house is one of the oldest around, built in 1712. Calvin’s outhouse is a museum piece all by itself.”
    â€œSo is Calvin,” said Johnny.
    â€œAll alone in the world. Only thing Calvin owns is that old house and the clothes on his back—no car, not even a buggy or a goat cart. What we call around here a real poor man.”
    â€œDoesn’t he smile?” asked Johnny. “I don’t think I ever saw a face with such a total lack of expression outside a military burying ground.”
    â€œGuess Calvin thinks there isn’t much to smile about,” said the Judge. “Far back as I can remember, Shinn Corners youngsters have called him Laughing Waters. Fell out of a farm wagon when he was a baby and’s never been quite right since.”
    They crossed Shinn Road to the south corner. Burney Hackett, who owned the corner house, Judge Shinn explained, was not only the local constable, he was the fire chief, town clerk, tax collector, member of the school board, and the Judge didn’t know what all. He also sold insurance.
    â€œBurn has to keep hopping,” said the Judge. “His wife Ella died giving birth to their youngest. His mother, Selina Hackett, keeps house for him, but Selina’s pretty old and deaf now, and the three children have kind of brought themselves up. Hi, Joel!”
    A stocky boy in jeans came slouching down Shinn Road toward the Hackett house, looking curiously at Johnny.
    â€œâ€™Lo, Judge.”
    â€œBurney Hackett’s eldest, Johnny—junior at Comfort High. Joel, this is Major Shinn.”
    â€œMajor?” The boy left Johnny’s hand in midair. “A real major?”
    â€œA real ex-major,” said Johnny, smiling.
    â€œOh.” The Hackett boy turned away.
    â€œAren’t you up kind of early, Joel, for a summer’s morning?” asked Judge Shinn pleasantly. “Or was the thought of today’s excitement too much for you?”
    â€œThat corn.” Joel Hackett kicked the sagging picket gate. “I’d a lot rather take my twenty-two and go huntin’ with Eddie Pangman. But Pop made me go over and ask Orville for a job. I’m startin’ tomorrow—strippin’ his darn-fool cows.”
    He went into the Hackett house and