Read Dollenganger 03 If There Be a Thorns for Free Online Page B

excused from breakfast I'd make it quickly to our garden while Jory was still inside eatin his stack of pancakes with melted maple sugar poured all over. Pig, that's what he was . . . a darn hog!
    Day was hot. Sun was too bright. Shadows long on the ground. White wall rose up so dratted high-- had that wall known in advance I was comin, and I'd be clumsy, and "they" wanted to make it difficult? Tree I climbed wasn't so bad.
    Yard was so big it tired my short legs. Wish I had long pretty legs like Jory. Always fallin, always hurtin myself, but never felt no pain. Daddy had been amazed when he first found that out. "Bart, because your nerve endings don't reach your skin, you will have to be doubly careful of infections. You could seriously hurt yourself and not even know it. So always wash all your cuts and scratches with soap and water, then tell your mother and me so we can put on disinfectant."
    Washin with soap kept away germs. Wonder where they went?--up to heaven, down to hell? Wonder what a germ looked like? Monsters, Jory had said, ugly itty-bitty monsters. A billion of them could sit on the point of a pin. Wish I had eyes like a microscope.
    I gave her yard another long-long look, then jumped, closed my eyes so I couldn't see the ground smack me. Landed square in a clump of her rose bushes. More cuts and scratches to add to my collection. More germs too. Didn't care. Crouched down low, squinted my eyes against the sun, and tried to spot all the dangerous wild animals that lurked in dark, mysterious places--like this.
    Look over there. Behind that big bush --a tiger! I raised my rifle and took careful aim. It swished its long tail and sparked its yellow eyes, then licked its chops, thinkin soon it would have me for lunch. I squeezed hard on the trigger. BANG! BANG! BANG! Got yah! Dead as a doornail!
    Slingin my rifle over my shoulder, I wended a careful way along all the dangerous jungle paths. Ignorin an orange and white kitten that mewed "plaintively." (Plaintively was one of the new words I had to use. One new word each day, and Daddy gave a list of seven words to both Jory and me, insistin we use today's word at least five times in our
conversation. Didn't need a bigger vocabulary. Knew how to talk good enough already.)
    A tune popped into my head. Came from a movie I saw last night on TV about West Point. That song was right:
    There was somethin about a soldier . . . that is fine, fine, fine . . .
Marchin to the tune in my head, I carried my rifle smartly on my shoulder, my chest out, my chin in. Straight up to her front door I marched. Then I banged hard, usin the brass knocker that was a lion's head with a loose jaw.
My perfect military bearin was so admirable I just knew that ole lady would be impressed. Doctors weren't so special. Dancers either. But a five-star general--that was impressive! Nobody had a name longer than mine. General Bartholomew Scott Winslow Sheffield. Even Jory Janus Marquet Sheffield was not so long, not so good soundin. Just wait until the enemy knew who was in charge of the war.
Should have been that creepy ole butler who opened the door, but it was the ole lady herself. I'd seen her a few times in her yard. She held the door open a slot and stingily allowed a long wedge of sunlight to shine on her floor. "Bart . . . ?" she whispered, her voice surprised and happy. Was she really so glad to see me? Gee, and she didn't even know me yet.
"Bart, how wonderful! I was hoping you'd come."
"Step aside, Madame!" I commanded. "My men got you surrounded." Made my voice deep and gruff to scare the living lights out of her. "No use resistin. Better to give up and raise yer white flag. The odds are all against you."
"Oh, Bart," she said with silly giggles. "It's so sweet of you to accept my invitation. Sit down and talk to me. Tell me about yourself, your life. Tell me if you're happy; if your brother is happy, if you like where you live, and love your parents. I want to know everything!"
Forcefully I