Wanted

Chapter 27

They had just finished lunch, when Jeremiah heard a strange noises coming from the loft above, where he had made up a bed and cleared out some space for John to make himself at home when the boy first had come to stay with him.

On investigating, Jeremiah discovered rats' droppings all over the loft that led to John's bed. Beneath it, he found Edward's satchel that contained the few possessions the boy had, only the boy was also hording some food in it, which of course had attracted the rodents.

Jeremiah was livid with the boy. He'd been already in a bad mood and exceedingly irritable. The boy had been hassling him all morning, reminding him of his promise to go to the post office in Salesville to check for news about his mother, like every week. The boy had become impatient with him. Usually Jeremiah would have left first thing in the morning but not on this day.

Taking the food out of the bag and throwing it forcefully into the bucket with the leftovers for the chickens while the boy stood beside his seat at the small kitchen table, watching Jeremiah's every move in horror, Jeremiah started to give out to him.

"Johnathan, what was it I told you on that very first morning after you came here, can you remember?" Jeremiah's voice thundered unusually irritable through the small cabin.

'Rats,' Jeremiah hated them. They used to terrify him, even as a child but the fear had turned into revulsion with age.

John looked at him nervously, fingers twitching. Jeremiah had never called him Johnathan before. He did not even know if that was the name he was baptised as, but it indicated he was in real trouble.

"Well out with it what was it?" Jeremiah prompted him a second time and equally harsh.

"You said I can eat as much as I want," the boy said quietly, head held low to hide his lips that wanted to quiver but keeping his eyes still fixed on Jeremiah, just in case. There was a slight hint of cautious protest in his tone of voice.

He'd hidden the food under his bed mainly because it was embarrassing that he needed it there. He hadn't really thought he was doing something wrong. He had a sense he might be but also justified his action by reminding himself that Jeremiah had told him he could eat as much as he wanted.

"Yes, that is what I said, and what else did I say?" Jeremiah enquired his voice still loud and brash but a little more controlled.

John shrugged his shoulders. He knew but he didn't want to say.

"Tell me boy, before I am losing my patience," Jeremiah warned dangerously.

"That I wasn't to waste any food," John said, eyes downcast now but only for a few short moments before he made himself look up again, just in case. Jeremiah had never hit him before but then again, he had never yelled at him like that either.

"And? Would you say that this food is wasted?" Jeremiah prompted sharply, holding the bucket with the spoilt food under John's nose.

John shrugged his shoulders again, "Kinda," he said sheepishly peaking up at Jeremiah, head tilted sideways in the hope that Jeremiah would soon calm down. In his world having a rat nibble a bit on your bread was not the end of the world. In fact, if you're quick enough you'd end up with a bit of meat as well. John himself had never been fast enough, but he once knew a boy who was, when he was living on the streets. He shared his catch with them, and it was surprisingly good. He reckoned he could pay back the favour now with all that Matunaagd had thought him. It surprised him that Jeremiah who had lived in the wilderness for years, often sleeping in dugouts and not even a tent instead of a house didn't see it the same way.

"Kinda?" Jeremiah snapped, "Kinda?...There is no kinda about it, boy. This food is as spoilt as it gets," Jeremiah spat.

Kinda, was obviously the wrong answer, although the chickens would disagree, but John did not tell Jeremiah this. Jeremiah sounded just too cross. John' sense of humour had often worked on Jeremiah before, but he knew that this time it would not safe his skin.