THE HOUSE ON STATE STREET

THE HOUSE ON STATE STREET

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

PROLOGUE

Sparkling facets of pure light dance upon the face of the boy.  With his head propped-up by an exposed root, the mid-morning sun spreads it's summer glow and blankets the sleepy little town and creates laziness from immense power; lethargy from brute energy.  Chewing mildly on a blade of grass, he drifts in and out of a dream state spawned by the light play above him and the keen imagination of youth.  His thoughts travel between fishing the cool river that flows gently nearby and how to successfully avoid returning to work at Mr. Beal's grocery store up on Main Street.

Drifting shadows from the gently swaying oak leaves pepper the green meadow that spreads out from the river bank bathing the boy's small form with their mesmerizing dance.  The giant oaks fracture the river bank and surround the meadow.   With their large exposed root structures, like ancient giants breaking free from the warm soil, the boy is surrounded by the fantasy that only nature can supply.  Virtually flat, the gravel road meanders the natural layout of river and trees with generous curves drifting towards deep green woods to the east and the briskly growing little town located just west of the river.  Wildflowers sway in the breezes creating synchronizing dances of lavender, yellow and white keeping a languid tempo of lush softness and timeless motion. 

Following the distinct sound of the horse’s cadence, the boy suddenly opens his eyes and turns his head to face two chestnut mares emerging from the dense forest.  Standing to capture a better view, his youthful curiosity is peaked by the flatbed wagon being pulled by the powerful animals.  His intense blue eyes register the crew of eight men dangling their denim-clad legs over the flat edge of the wagon.  Axes, picks and shovels gleam in the sunlight and are piled high behind them while bulging cotton sacks tied off with twine rest alongside generous coils of thick, rough rope.  The mares are swiftly reined in and halt near a vast section of the meadow just off the north side of the road and the men gingerly step down crunching stones beneath their leather boots. 

The men spread out like a small colony of worker ants after relieving the flatbed of its load.  The boy modestly shields himself behind a young maple tree positioned between him and the unexpected activity across the meadowland.  He combs  golden blond hair away from is face with the spread fingers of his right hand and listens intently to hear the small talk from the men while attempting to filter out the sound of bird chatter and flowing river water that greatly impede his progress. 

Sharp wooden stakes emerge from one of the overstuffed bags and two of the men proceed to deftly pound them into the soft earth.  Twine is strung from one stake to another in a pre-determined pattern that reminds the boy of an elaborate adult game of cat's cradle.  The remaining men begin clearing the land by placing large rocks in piles and uprooting wild shrubs and smaller trees that initially inhabited the confines of the staked-out sections of the property.  Their teamwork is solid and anyone watching could only assume that these men have been working together as a whole for quite some time.

He twitches his freckled nose in rapt curiosity and begins to run along the riverbank until he makes his way to the small stone footbridge built several years before and connects the sparsely populated east side with the town on the opposite side of the shallow river to the west.  Before crossing, he looks back once more to make a mental note of the men working up the road now smaller in stature and almost ant- like to him.  This makes him smile.  He is almost certain that Mr. Beal, if not the unflappable Mrs. Beal, will be delighted to hear his sterling account of the activities he's recently witnessed and forgive him for his gross tardiness this morning.

He's a good lad and a hard worker when not distracted by youthful pleasures.  What the boy does not know yet, and will not be able to comprehend for some years to come, is how the events he's noted this warm, July day will affect his future in such a profound and meaningful way......