Free Dust by Arthur G. Slade Page A

tumbling laughter that rolled out of Samuelson every time he shook a hand. There was no sign of Abram.
    When they reached the very front, Robert knew what was worrying him the most. He wanted to grab his father's arm and pull him away, because signing your name was like putting a piece of yourself down on paper. It was a promise. For all eternity.
    His father, grinning, reached for the pen and dipped it in ink.
    Don't, Dad, Robert thought. He even lifted his arm to stop him, but it was too late. His father had scratched out his signature and immediately shook Samuelson's hand, as though they'd been buddies all their lives.
    "You're a good man, Steelgate," Samuelson said, "great to have you aboard."
    Robert had heard his father curse Samuelson a thousand times. Now they were shaking hands. Samuelson muttered a joke so Robert couldn't hear it. Robert's dad burst into laughter, then he steered Robert over to the lemonade and cookies.
    "Hi, Robbie," Mrs. Juskin said. "Looking forward to having you back in class. You're a good student."
    Robert silently clutched the cookie in his right hand and nodded to her, because it was better not to say anything. His father had already finished his lemonade and cookie and was wiping his mouth. He led Robert back to the Roadster, saying, "Let's go get that candy."
    "I don't want any." Robert couldn't believe what he'd just heard himself say.
    His father laughed. "All the more for me and Mom," he said, striding jauntily to the pool hall.
    Robert poured the lemonade onto the dusty road and dropped the cookie behind the Roadster's back wheel. He watched as the line in front of the bank grew even longer.

CHAPTER TWELVE
     
    Sky was the first god. Robert knew there was only one God and he had a Son who was also God, but there were gods who had vanished: the gods of thunder, of fire, of the wide oceans, of the earth. The ones God was talking about when He commanded, "You shall have no gods before me. No false idols."
    Robert stood in a sparse wheat field of Uncle Alden's. The sky was cradled by the Cypress Hills on one side, and ahead lay the flat prairie. Storm clouds had gathered like an army in the distance, bolts of lightning displaying their strength. He had never seen clouds like this, as black as the hide on an Angus bull. The air was hot and humid, waiting to be split asunder.
    "I'll be damned if there isn't hail in them clouds," Uncle Alden said. He stood a few feet away from Robert, sweat on his brow. He had been working on the plow, trying to sharpen shovels worn from being dragged endlessly through the soil and banged into rocks. He looked down at his nephew. "Sorry for the swearing, pal. I've got the addled brains of a peacock, some days."
    Robert shrugged. He had to admit to himself that he enjoyed hearing the swear words—they were real, weighty. Old and powerful. They grabbed your attention. Of course, there was Someone's attention you wouldn't want to attract. "God might zap you with lightning," Robert warned.
    Uncle Alden laughed. "I'll lie low next time," he promised. "Or carry a lightning rod. Maybe sell the electricity. Could be a new line of work." He grinned, then shook his head. "Guess, I shouldn't laugh too hard on a day like this. That storm's gonna make ol' Reverend Gibbs's funeral a real mess. Looks like it's heading for Horshoe."
    Robert was at his uncle's farm because his parents were attending the funeral. His mother had given him a choice: come to the service or go to Uncle Alden's. It was an easy decision. He didn't want to see a dead person in a casket or hear the weeping and gnashing of teeth he'd read about in the Bible.
    And what if it all started him to weeping and gnashing about Matthew? He might never stop. He felt sad every morning when he got up and saw that Matthew's bed was empty, the sheets straight and neat. Once he'd awakened and thought they were mussed up, but that was a long time ago and had to have been part of a dream.
    His mom didn't mind Robert