Free Renewal 2 - Echoes of the Breakdown by Jf Perkins Page A

guarantee that we will continue to grow, and improve, and enjoy the fruits of our labors. Thank you all.”
    A more sedate round of applause spread through the square, proving that it’s always easier to cheer others than oneself.
    “A special thanks to Geoff Hill, our master gunsmith, and Larry Roper, our bladesmith for their fine work, and to our shop supervisor, Henry Hall, for getting the heck out of their way so they could finish in time,” Bill said, pointing the craftsmen out in the crowd as he spoke, and performing an exaggerated nod as the people laughed at his dig at Henry.
    The shop boss had a reputation for treating the machine tools like his own personal spoiled children. Rumor had it, he slept on the shop floor to keep the machines safe at night.
    “All right people. Thank you all for coming. Let’s eat!” Bill finished with a flourish, waving the waiting team into action.
    Within seconds, giant platters of steaks, baked potatoes, rolls and steaming vegetables were hoisted onto the tables. They ate family style, with plates being passed, filled, and sent back to hungry owners. The roiling waves of conversation churned into high gear, and the celebration was on. Terry said a silent prayer of thanks at his good fortune to be among these new friends on this fine clear evening. Only one thing was missing to make it perfect, and she was nowhere to be seen.
    Terry dug into the feast as Bill told him details about his gift. The gun was a hand-machined copy of a Springfield 1911 in 45 caliber, with a few subtle modifications to make it faster and a touch easier to keep on target. Bill explained that Terry had access to the armory and ammunition supplies, but that Bill had selected some special ammo for Terry to use for carry purposes. He promised that the selected ammunition would only take one round, if Terry could hit his target. They would work on that later.
    As the meal wound down, beer and whiskey replaced water and tea. Men brought out pipes and hand rolled cigarettes, and women moved into groups to talk and to avoid blue clouds of tobacco smoke. Children were sent home to bed, and a band began to assemble. Tables were moved to the sides of the square to make room. By the time everything was rearranged, there were two guitarists, two fiddle players, a bearded man with a huge upright bass, a collection of ethnic drums, and several different horns, none of which were familiar to Terry.
    He perched on top of his table, now positioned on the corner of the tavern, and sat with his hand on the box. He kept jumping off the table to greet the stream of people who came by to introduce themselves and to welcome him into the community. He was glad Aggie was only teasing about the test because he would have failed badly. He had met more people in the past hour than he did in half his life in Manchester. The stream rapidly dwindled to a trickle and then, just as quickly, he had met everyone at the gathering. He took a deep breath and settled in to listen to the music, left hand still resting on the box.
    The band started with a lively song, and seemingly random people stepped up to sing the lyrics, something about the end of the world and feeling fine. There seemed to be a race to see who could sing the fastest; the band picked up the tempo for each new singer. Meanwhile, most of the crowd was dancing around in wild circles, stopping at the railings for another swig of beer. Terry sat through several more songs, enjoying the rare treat of live music, or any music at all, for that matter.
    The band stopped mid song and changed tunes to something about cold as ice, willing to sacrifice our love , when a finger tapped him on the shoulder.
    “Think you can stop fondling your gun long enough to dance with me?” Sally asked him, all big eyes and pouty lips.
    “Frankly, I’m better at rope ladders.” Terry replied.
    “Well, I’ll take it easy on you, ok?”
    “I didn’t know you knew, ‘take it easy,’ but sure,