Read Renewal 7 - When the Student Is Ready for Free Online Page A

smartest idea. The smoke from the fire could be seen for miles, and we weren’t the only ones emerging from hibernation. Art came back from his mourning after a while; probably as much for the life he had lived as for the Carrolls. He had already made the connection.
    “David. It’s time to set up the watch again. We can’t be the only ones alive, and we just sent up a flare.”
    Dad gave himself a smack to the forehead. “You’re right, Art. I wasn’t thinking.”
    “Don’t worry, my friend. Promises kept are worth the risk.” Art said, demonstrating where Jimmy learned his philosophical skills. “We just need to keep an eye out for trouble. People are going to be hungry and dangerous.”
    “Yep. Ok, that gives me an idea.”
    Dad rummaged through our pile of building materials. He gave Kirk and me the job of cutting two-by-fours into two-foot lengths, which we knew was his standard length for ladder rungs. He took our boards and nailed them to one of the barn’s interior support posts until he had made a ladder up to the top layer of tobacco drying beams. He built a narrow bridge from the pole, across the beam to the very top of the outer wall on the front of the barn. He attached some wood to the beam at an angle, so that it met the outer wall about 3 feet from the central beam, and rested on some of the heavy wall framework. Then, he made a mirror on the other side of the beam to form a triangle, six feet wide.
    We used a rope to hoist a piece of plywood onto the triangle frame, and Dad nailed it to his simple frame. He left the overhanging plywood uncut, but warned everyone not to step on the unsupported corners. He wanted to keep it intact in case we needed to reuse it later. He used a saw to cut partway into three of the barn’s outer wall boards, at different heights and pried the three boards loose at the top. It was a hard job, because the nails had effectively glued themselves to the wood with rust, and the rafters were made of solid, rough cut oak. Eventually, after much foul language, he got the first board loose and pulled it back sharply. It broke raggedly at his partial cut. He said it would look less obvious that way. Dad was all about the camouflage. With the first board out of the way, he had better leverage for the other two, and quickly had them removed from the wall. He climbed down and went outside to look at his handiwork.
    He came back inside, and we did the whole job again on the back peak of the barn. When we were done, we had two high perches to view the landscape. Since it was still daylight, Kirk and I got the first watch from up top. Dad sent Kirk up with a warning not to shoot on sight. “Watch, but don’t be seen. Don’t shoot anyone unless they shoot at the barn, or I tell you. Got it?”
    Kirk gave Dad a look that seemed to say, “What’s the point, then?” He nodded agreement just the same.
    I was safely nestled on the back platform, thinking first that no one would be able to sneak up unless they happened to have all white clothes and white boots. Second, I was counting my blessings as I was sitting instead of doing the numerous other jobs Dad could have given me, but that was only for the first ten minutes. The board was hard, and I could only sit with legs crossed for a short time before everything below my waist fell asleep. I squirmed. I stood up. I sat down. I shook my legs.
    Dad was watching me watch. He climbed up with a five gallon plastic bucket and gave it to me to use as a seat. Life was better. Ten minutes after that, the bucket became a torture device for twelve-year-olds. I could imagine the round imprint forming on my butt. Eventually, I decided it was much better than sitting on the floor, and learned how to rotate my position in a sequence that, while not ever comfortable, at least did not make my legs shrivel up and die. I had a sneaky suspicion that Dad was just making sure no one would fall asleep on watch. It worked.
    As luck would have it, the first