Charcoal A chimney salted A\wso me sky floor and his baggy blue levis swayed from side to side around his thin legs. Tom curled up on a pile of blankets that were on the floor. climbe: with snow erioke. His — CLAUDIA father had a bed on the other side of the room, but he usually slept in the chair in the living room. afternoon ; Tom sat up and whispered softly, “God, please forgive me for wanting to go to school and make friends. Please forgive me for think- TURNER ing of myself instead of listening to Pa. Thank you, God.” IF YOU'RE WORTHY It was June of 1958. Young TomSmithers and his father, Joseph, lived alone in a square three-room shack in the backwoods of Kent tucky. A fence hooked onto the back of the house, holding in their most valuable possession, three pigs. The Smithers also owned eight chickens, which roamed the yard and house at will. Tom was ten years old and very timid and small. He looked much like his father, with his dark hair and bony face. Tom lay on the wooden floor of the living room, looking at some pictures in a book he had found. His father came: into the room, rubbing his long black beard with the fingers of his right hand. “Pa,” Tom said timidly, looking up from his book. “Yes, son?” his father answered, as he sat down in the only chair | in the living room. school, Pa. I want to learn how to read like to go me let “Please everyone else. I might even make some friends. Mr. Smithers glared at Tom. ‘““That’s enough, boy,” he said harshly. His fists tightened. His voice was loud. “You learn the ways ol God right here at home. Learn the ways of God, and God will take care of you. If your mother had followed my words she would be here today. God would have let her live.” A tear came to Tom’s eyes as he remembered finding his mother in front of the house that cold winter morning, lying face down in the snow with blood seeping from under her stomach. The pitchfork lay by her side with red stains half way up the four prongs. “I prayed for her while she was dying,” Mr, Smithers said sternly. | “But she wasn’t worthy, so she’s better off dead.” > Tom wiped his’eyes on the sleeve of his tattered green shirt and stood up looking at his father. “I’m sorry, Pa,” he said. “I'll try harder to depend on God. I just forget sometimes.” “You won’t be sorry,” his father said, rubbing his beard. “God takes care of those who are worthy.” Tom walked into the bedroom. His bare feet slapped against the 24 | The next morning Tom was awakened by his father chopping wood in the back yard. Tom got up and looked out the bedroom window. There was no glass in the windows. A pig grunted from outside and looked up at Tom. The back of the house was one side of the pig pen, and the window in the bedroom looked directly out the back of the house. Tom saw his father beyond the weeded yard in a clump of trees, cutting firewood for their black tin stove in the kitchen. Tom picked an apple core off the floor and threw it in to the pigs. Tom climbed through the window and splashed into the muddy manure in the pen. The sun glistened off the pen as it shone brightly above. The chickens cackled as they walked around the yard. Tom slid from one foot to the other as he made his way across the pig pen. He climbed the four-foot wooden fence and jumped to the other side and ran over to his father. “Good morning, son,” Mr. Smithers said, without looking up from the branch he was chopping. “Good morning,” Tom answered. “Can I help?” “Don’t bother me, boy. Your Pa’s working.” The axe cracked deep into the branch. ‘Please, Pa, lemme help?” Mr. Smithers looked over his shoulder at Tom as he took a swing at the tree. The axe came down hard. It glanced off the tree and buried itself deep in Mr. Smither’s leg. He fell to the ground, and his face wrinkled with pain. Blood gushed out of his leg as he pulled the axe tree. Tom began to cry. “Pa, you all right?” he cried hysterically as he fell to his knees by his father’s side. | “Get me in the house,’ Mr. Smithers said with his teeth tight together. Sweat poured off his father as he ripped his blue shirt off and wrapped it around his leg to stop the bleeding. In seconds the shirt was bright red with blood. . Tom managed to drag his father into the house, leaving a trail of blood. Tom lifted his father into bed. He grabbed a blanket from the floor and hurriedly wrapped it around the throbbing wound. “Run for a doctor,” Mr. Smithers said weakly. “Got to stop the bleeding.” ! “Bat, Par >? “Go, hurry!” Lom sprang to his feet and ran out of the house. Cackling chickens scattered as he ran through the yard and into the woods. 25