In Search of a Golden Sparrow

by Barnes, Kenneth Edward

• ISBN13: 9781463408787
• ISBN10: 1463408781
• Format: Hardcover
• Copyright: 2011-08-15
• Publisher: Author Solutions

Excerpts

The Meeting of Hermit Bill Breaking off a piece of the crawfish mound, Jeremy tossed it into the creek. As he did, there was a noise, like the snapping of a small twig. And looking directly behind him, Jeremy saw two, large brown shoes, standing only inches away. Then looking up, he saw a very stout, rugged looking man who was wearing worn, dirty bibbed overalls. A twist of chewing tobacco stuck from his left front breast pocket, and an old brown tattered hat was covering his head. The man's face was weathered with a rather large nose. He had a short white beard with a few darker whiskers scattered here and there. Jeremy also noticed that he had long white eyebrows and there were some long white hairs like his eyebrows sticking out from the inside of his ears. The man wore a blue checked shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, exposing his strong arms, which were also covered with fine white hair. Then Jeremy saw that in the man's right hand, was a very big double-barreled shotgun. "Whatcha doin' there, boy?" the man said, in a deep voice. "Just sittin' on the creek bank, thinkin'," Jeremy replied. "Ain't you James Brown's boy?" "Yes sir," Jeremy answered, looking up at the man's face. "Whatcha doin' down here by yourself?" he said, setting the butt of the gun on the toe of his shoe and holding the top of the barrels. "Where's your paw at?" "Daddy had to go over to White County, to do some loggin'." The old man, reaching into his pocket, pulled out a huge folding knife. Walking a couple of steps, he leaned his shotgun against a nearby tree. "I don't get many visitors," he said, turning and opening the blade of the knife. "I don't care too much fer bein' around people. That's how come I live back here in these woods by myself." "Are you Hermit Bill?" Jeremy asked excitedly. He had heard many stories about this legendary man who lived alone in the woods, living off the land and rarely coming out. "Some folks calls me that. That's how come I don't like people. If somebody's different, they call 'im names." "What's your real name?" Jeremy asked, picking up his crutches. "Bill Turner," the old man replied, taking out his twist of tobacco and cutting off a piece. Struggling to his feet, Jeremy stood. "Sometimes kids call me names too." "They do, do they?" Bill said, holding the piece of tobacco between his thumb and the knife blade. "It makes me feel sad. Does it make you feel sad too, Mr. Turner?" "Naw," he said, putting the piece of tobacco in his mouth. "Don't bother me in the least." "You been huntin'?" Jeremy asked, his eyes on the gun leaning against the tree. "I was huntin' squirrels. Need one fer supper tonight." "Did ya get any?" "Nope. Didn't see hide nor hair of a squirrel this mornin'," the old man replied. "That's a awful big shotgun," Jeremy said, his eyes still on it. "My daddy's got a 12-gauge. But that one looks bigger than his." "It is." Bill said. "It's a 10-gauge. When I shoot somethin', I aim for it to be dead." "Oh," Jeremy said. "I was on my way back to my place, when I thought I heard somebody talkin'. Who was ya talkin' to, boy?" "I was talkin' to God," Jeremy answered. "Have you ever talked to God, Mr. Turner?" Bill looked a little uncomfortable and glanced away. "Not for a spell, boy." "Grammaw says, if'n I ask 'im for somethin', and if'n it's His will, He will do it. I sure hope it's His will, 'cause I'd sure like to see one." "Whatcha talkin' about, boy? Shore like to see one, what?" "A golden sparrow. Have ya ever seen one, Mr. Turner?" "There's no such a thing, boy," Bill said, spitting a mouth full of tobacco juice on the ground. "There is in heaven. And Grammaw says that God could send me one, or He could make me one, if'n He has a mind to." "Why in tarnation would ya want such a bird fer?" Bill asked, looking down at Jeremy's twisted legs. "Well, if'n God sends me one, then I'll know that He cares a lot about me, even if'n I'm crippled. And I'll know that He sees me, and hears everythin' I say. And if'n God changes the sparrows into golden ones in heaven, then I'll know that when I get up there, I won't be crippled no more." "I reckon that's a good enough reason," Bill said, in a quiet tone. Then walking over to the tree, he picked up his gun. "Well, I'm a headin' down the creek. Got to check my trot lines 'fore dinner." Then turning toward Jeremy he added, "You best be gettin' home yourself, boy. Your maw'll be lookin' fer ya d'rectly." "Where's your house at, Mr. Turner?" "Aw," he said, looking through the trees in the direction of his cabin, "it's down the creek a ways, around that there bend yonder, then back a piece on top of that there hill. There ain't no road no more, but I got me a path along the creek, and I got another one from the house out to Jackson's Road." Pausing, Bill glanced back at Jeremy once again. "You best be gettin' home," and he started on his way. "Bye, Mr. Turner." "Bye, boy," he replied, without looking back. Jeremy stood watching, until Bill went round the bend in the creek and disappeared amongst the trees. Then turning on his crutches, he began the long walk home.