Free No Story to Tell by K. J. Steele

that it looked like she would begin to cry, but she laughed instead, an old laugh from another time.
    “Johnny Woodstaff, you little rascal you. You just teasing me again, ain’t you? Just like your pa, you is boy.” Her eyes grew serious, her voice low with concern. “How are your parents doing anyhow, Johnny? Your maw feeling any better these days?”
    Elliot’s hand patted the top of Mrs. Spiller’s, echoing the soothing rhythm that she herself must have performed thousands of times over the years in nurturing up her young family. “There, there, Mrs. Spiller, don’t you worry yourself one bit. My mom’s feeling really well now. Better than ever she says.”
    “Oh, well thank the good Lord. I’m so glad to hear that. She’s a fine woman your mom is . . . a very fine woman.”
    Elliot reached out and fussed with the brown toque that had slid half off the gauzy white head, smiling at the compassion she still held for these folks who had been dead and gone already for years. “Here, let me help you . . . your toque is falling off. There, that’s better.”
    “Why, thank you, young man. I was wondering why I was catching such a chill.”
    “Can I offer you a ride somewhere, Mrs. Spiller? Over to your sister’s maybe?”
    “Oh no, that’s very kind of you, Johnny, but I was just looking for my boys. Can’t find them anywhere and a big breakfast I made them, too. I called all over town, but no one’s seen ‘em. Gone like snow in summer they are. Have you seen them, Johnny? Did you see my boys?” She turned her face up to him, hands clasped in front of her trembling in the silent prayer that he would not say no. Elliot looked down, swept the gravel with his hand and picked up a small stick, snapping it between his fingers. His head began a slow-motion nod, and Victoria strained to hear the whisper of his words.
    “I did, ma’am. Yes, I did. Not so long ago in fact.”
    “You did! No teasing me now, Johnny. No teasing now.” A forgotten joy lit her face, erasing for a moment her pain, the black void of her mouth split in a magnificent hollow smile.
    “No, ma’am. No teasing,” Elliot said, smiling with her, fully sharing this brief moment of lifting the cross that crushed her.
    “And what did they say, my boys? Will they be home for lunch?” Her hand was wrapped around his wrist now like a claw, her eyes shiny with anticipation, eerie in one so close to death, like a cadaver awakened.
    “No, not for lunch . . . so they don’t want you to go to any work, okay?”
    “But they got to eat, my boys do. They’re growing boys, they are. They got to eat.”
    “They will . . . they will. Don’t worry about them, ma’am. People are always saying they’re the best-behaved boys in the whole valley, always helping out. People are more than happy to make them a meal when they stop by so you shouldn’t worry yourself, okay?”
    Mrs. Spiller sagged visibly under her blanket as if her muscles had simply given way, but she appeared serene, a look Victoria had never before seen on her face.
    “Oh, they’re good boys, they are. Good, good boys. A blessing from above them boys are.”
    “And they’re lucky to have you for a mom, too.” Elliot looked toward the sky as if struggling with himself. “They told me to tell you something else, ma’am.”
    “What’s that, dear?” Mrs. Spiller asked in a small and immensely tired voice.
    “They said I should tell you that . . . they asked me to tell you that . . . that they love you. Love you very, very much. More than life itself.”
    “They said that, Johnny? My boys said that?”
    “Yes ma’am, they sure did. And they said if I saw you I was to be sure and tell you.”
    “Oh, that’s nice. They’re good boys. Such good boys.”
    Elliot shifted his position and helped gather her to her feet, carefully keeping the filthy blanket wrapped around her despite the objectionable heat. “Can I give you a ride, now? Over to Doris’s maybe? You’re a long