Read The Last Stand of Daronwy for Free Online

son?”
    â€œYes, sir, at the south side,” Jeremy grinned at his dad, “there’s a big open area of sand. So I called that the Mini Desert because it isn’t big enough to be a full desert. There is a faint trail that breaks off here, see the lines? If you go down that trail, you come to the Tree.”
    â€œThe Tree?” Father Pat’s white eyebrows raised. “What kind of tree?”
    â€œAn old oak. It was blown down a long time ago, but it’s still alive. You can climb up the trunk and sit up at the top of the tree. It’s in its own clearing. That’s my favorite place in the woods.”
    Father Pat stared through Jeremy. “Many years ago, when I was a boy, my great uncle—my grandfather’s brother—said that in the center of every forest is a great tree that leads all the others. And those great trees are usually old oak trees.” Father Pat chuckled. “I came to Texas looking for him. Ya know, I haven’t thought of him in years.”
    â€œWhat happened to him?”
    Father Pat shrugged. “I don’t know. Not long after he came to this part of Texas, our family lost touch with him. He came here to explore for oil after the big oil boom that started up near Beaumont at, um…” Father Pat gestured with his hands.
    â€œSpindletop?” said Jeremy’s dad.
    â€œYes, Spindletop. Anyhow, you’re a very lucky lad to have such a forest near your house. There were not many forests left in my part of Erin when I was your age. You must always be thankful for this gift.”
    â€œJeremy, it’s time you went and brushed your teeth,” said his mom.
    â€œMom, I want to talk to Father Pat more.”
    â€œI told you to go brush your teeth. Tomorrow is school.”
    Jeremy sighed and marched out of the room. As he left, he heard his dad say to Father Pat, “That boy admires you something fierce.”
    â€œAs I’ve told ya before, he’s a special child. Not many of his age are aware of the larger mysteries, neither in the church nor outside of it.”

    Drowning in the endless repetition of long division—dividing, subtracting, dividing the remainder—Jeremy bent ever closer to the table until his head was just an inch off it and the pencil bit into his middle finger. Tomorrow, Mrs. Rochard would just throw all this homework away, making all his work pointless. He put the pencil to the paper for problem 57 when trumpets erupted from the television in the living room, playing the liberating tune of The A-Team . Jeremy sighed and threw his pencil into the crease of the book. Crossing the kitchen, he pulled a plastic cup down from the cabinet and turned on the faucet, but only a trickle of water came out of the filter.
    Jeremy grimaced. He remembered the beginning of the year when a guest had spoken in his classroom about the Bridge City water supply. The man had talked about how the water was piped from the pools near the Neches River and then treated. Thinking of those scummy pools he could see from the highway and the Texaco refinery across the river, Jeremy had demanded his parents install a filter. Even with the filter, though, the water tasted like salty mud. Jeremy sipped the water that had trickled into his glass and wandered into the living room.
    â€œDad, something’s wrong with the faucet.”
    â€œOkay. I’ll look at it when the commercial comes on.”
    Jeremy sat next to his dad on the couch and watched the A-Team battle in the name of farmers who were on the verge of losing their land. At the next commercial, he followed his dad into the kitchen. His dad scowled at the filter. He tried to unscrew it, but it held fast.
    â€œYou want a wrench?”
    Dad changed his grip. “No, I should be able to—” The filter crumbled into shards of calcified metal. It ran through his dad’s fingers like corroded, black sand. They stared at the mess that had fallen