The Richest Heart

Chapter 42

In the morning, Peter woke to a distant, banging noise. Opening his eyes, he almost felt confused. He had fallen asleep in the open air, but now he was lying in the warmth of the tool shed. He had been so tired the night before, that those late hours of music felt like a strange dream. But, thinking back, he could vaguely remember tumbling onto that bed long after midnight. The stranger must have kept the fire going, but the boy had no idea where the man had slept. There was no place but the hard, wooden chair or the splintery board floor.

Rubbing the sleep away from his eyes, Peter got up and stepped outside. It was a beautiful day. The sun was just raising it's sparkling arms above the mountains, and the morning birds were singing their chorus. The boy smiled and took a deep breath of the crisp air. He had gone to sleep with a song of praise in his ears, and now as he woke, more of God's creatures were worshiping with songs.

Another, loud thudding noise drew the boys attention away from his thoughts. Looking over toward the ruins of the old house, he saw the stranger hard at work. He was doing more than rummaging through the house's burnt remains.

He was throwing the rubble into a wheelbarrow and then hauling it off and dumping it into a pile.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked, walking closer. The man looked over at him with a welcoming smile, but he didn't answer. As the boy came near, he stopped his work and dusted the charcoal off of his hands. Then, he grabbed a bag of supplies that he had brought and pulled out a small parcel.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, offering the package to Peter. The boy took it gratefully, but he paused for a moment, feeling curious. There was something odd about the man's voice that Peter hadn't noticed until then. He never spoke louder than a whisper. Peter wanted to ask the man about it, but he couldn't; that would be rude. Finally, he smiled.

"Thank you," he said, looking into the parcel hungrily. Inside, a brick of golden cheese and some dried meat stared up at him temptingly. They would taste better than the apples and walnuts he had packed from his mother's kitchen. Not wasting another minute, he sat down on the broken foundation of the house and took a bite of the soft, sharp cheese. The man looked satisfied with the boy's enjoyment and got back to work.

"What's your name?" Peter asked, eating his breakfast happily. He thought that he heard the man answer, but once again, he spoke so quietly that the boy couldn't catch the words. Peter couldn't hold back his curiosity any longer. "Sir," he began, feeling awkward. "Why are you whispering?"

A soft laugh was the only answer the boy got for a moment or two. The man had just hauled his wheelbarrow to the pile of rubbish he was making, and now, he came back with a good-natured smile. Understanding Peter's confusion, he came closer and sat down beside him.

"My name is Shawn," he said. "I can't help but whisper. When I was a boy, I got very sick and I couldn't get well for a long time. I don't have a voice any more."

"Oh!" the boy replied in shock. It was sad to think that someone could lose their voice forever. But, Peter didn't dwell on thoughts like that. It slipped through his mind and then he moved forward as if Shawn had a voice as loud as anyone's.

"I'm Peter McDougall," he said, following his new friend as the man rose to his feet and loaded his wheelbarrow again. The boy grabbed an armful of things and started to help, talking nonstop as he went. He told Shawn all about his family and his school, his work and his thoughts. It was easy to go on and on, because the quiet man never interrupted. He listened with his usual, pleasant smile, enjoying the boy's company.

When the sun had risen with a touch of warmth, they looked back to see their progress. They had cleaned up most of the burnt wood and shoveled some of the ashes away. The place was almost starting to look tidy. Peter smiled in satisfaction. It was a good feeling to work hard.