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head and trudged off to the basement, wondering how I could prove anything at all to Papa if I had to work with someone like Henry.

Chapter
6
    Once Henry stopped talking and started working, I could see why Mr. Farrell put up with his thoughtless remarks. He was a good carpenter. We finished the outside stairs and the balustrade that ran up and around the gallery, then Mr. Farrell put us to trimming windows. When the sun finally sank behind the trees, we packed up our tools and started for home.
    Henry lived to the east on Avenue Q, not far from Mr. Farrell, so the two left together. Josiah struck out for the beach, and rather than take my morning route alone, I decided to walk with him. His long strides had taken him three full blocks before I caught up with him. “Hope you don’t mind the company,” I said, breathing hard.
    “No, sir, don’t mind.” He gave me a quick glance, dropped a half pace behind, then turned his attention back to the ground he was covering.
    “Are you going far?”
    “No, sir, not far.”
    He didn’t seem too fond of talking, but I’d admired his work more than once today and told him so. He’d anticipated Mr. Farrell’s every move, made quick work of figuring and marking his cuts, and I’d never seen anyone saw through boards the way he had.
    He listened, then tossed me a look I couldn’t quite decipher, something kin to puzzlement, or perhaps surprise. It left me thinking that maybe no one had ever told him just how good a carpenter he was. After several more failed attempts at talking, we walked in silence.
    Just before we reached Thirty-fifth Street, where Uncle Nate lived, Josiah nodded his good-bye and turned down the alley. I slowed, trying to keep my eye on where he was going, but he disappeared quick, leaving me to wonder just how close he lived to Uncle Nate.
    As I passed Thirty-fifth, I looked long and hard down the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ella Rose, the girl with sunshine hair. But I still had a good walk ahead of me, so I didn’t dally.
    When I got home, I saw Matt, Lucas, and Kate at the Masons’ house next door, eating melon with Kearny, Jr., and Francesca.
    “Hey!” Matt spit seeds. “Did they sack you yet?”
    “Aw, they ain’t gonna kick Seth off that job, Matt.” Lucas grinned at me. “He’s almost good as Papa.”
    Kate dropped her rind and jumped into my arms. “Where you been, Seth?” she asked, her breath sweet from the melon. “I waited and waited.”
    I pulled her sticky fingers from my neck and let her slide back to the ground. “Come on, Kate,” I said, ignoring the boys. “You need cleaning up.”
    We both washed up out back, and after sending Kate in to Mama, I took the back stairs to the kitchen. Supper was long over, but Mama had left me a plate in the oven. I poured myself a glass of milk, and while I wolfed down my meal, Papa came in with a newspaper tucked under his arm and a cup in his hand.
    “How’d it go?” he asked, reaching for the coffeepot at the back of the stove.
    I swallowed a mouthful of potato. “Good, Papa, very good. And you?”
    He swished the pot, gauging its contents. “The same.” He managed to fill his cup half full, gave me a slight smile, and headed back to the parlor to read his paper.
    Like always, I wondered what was behind his smile. Was he proud that I’d done a man’s work today, or just glad that I was saving toward college?
    It was different with Mr. Farrell. “Good work, Seth,”he’d said, and that wide, gapped grin of his told me that he meant it. I couldn’t remember ever hearing Papa say words like that. Not to me. Not to any of us.
    An unexpected bitterness welled in my throat. I swallowed hard, jerked up my dirty dishes, and slid them into the sink.
    After washing up, I stepped outside, onto the east gallery. In the distance I heard the lulling sound of surf rolling onto the beach. With the sky so clear, surely there wouldn’t be any thunderstorms tonight. I stretched, already