When the Watcher Shakes by Timothy G. Huguenin

Author:Timothy G. Huguenin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Indie Author Project
Published: 2016-06-19T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XVII

Rob knocked on Mr. Smith’s door, three swift raps. The door opened. Mr. Smith looked confused for a moment, then cheerful.

“Head Historian! I wasn’t expecting you this afternoon, but I’m glad to see you. In fact, I’ve been meaning to speak with you.” He motioned for Rob to come in.

Rob entered, handing his coat to Mr. Smith to hang on the coat rack.

“Here,” said Mr. Smith, “have a seat here in the living room. Let me get my wife.”

Rob sat. He chose a good oak chair, fashioned by the fine craftsmen at the Abestown wood shop. Rob liked oak. Oak didn’t bend. Oak didn’t compromise.

“Martha,” Mr. Smith called from the bottom of the stairs. “Honey, we have a surprise visitor! The Head Historian is here!”

Rob watched as Martha Smith descended the stairs. Mr. Smith was a lucky man. Martha’s soft curves moved like silk curtains in an open summer window, and even in that modest brown dress, Rob felt his heartbeat increase with every sway of her hips.

Yes, Mr. Smith is one lucky man, he thought. But then again, so am I. He readjusted his hat and smoothed his white hair.

Mr. and Mrs. Smith sat down in chairs across from their revered leader. He smiled politely at them both.

“Mrs. Smith, something smells exquisite. Is that your cooking? Apple pie?”

“Yes, sir. The boys picked the apples themselves, a few months ago. I canned most of them, meant to save them for later in the winter, but Aaron couldn’t wait.” She smiled. She had perfect, straight, brilliant white teeth, whiter than the paint on the Clock Tower, almost as white as the Head Historian’s own hair. He loved that smile.

“Speaking of which, where are the boys?” Rob asked. Where is the oldest of those boys, Thomas—that blemish, that spot?

“They’re both in their room, sleeping,” Mr. Smith answered. “I didn’t want to wake them; they’ve been exhausted because of all the excitement of Foundation Week.”

Excitement of Foundation Week, or staying up too late designing wickedness? Enjoy your sleep while you can, Tommy.

“I do hope you folks are enjoying it all, though?” Rob asked.

“Yes, sir. I’m grateful for a week off from work to spend with my family.” Mr. Smith put hand on his wife’s lovely shoulder.

“You are right, Brother Smith. Even our Beloved Abe knew the benefits of a good Sabbath week once in a while. As long as it does not produce a lazy spirit, that is. But I’m not worried about that. Nicholas reports that you are one of his block’s finest workers.”

“Thank you, sir. That means a lot to us.” Mr. Smith gave a modest smile, but Rob could sense his anxiety.

“Well, before I get to my business,” Rob said, “is there anything you wish to speak to me about?”

Mr. Smith cleared his throat, and Martha gave her husband’s hand a subtle squeeze.

“Actually,” Mr. Smith began, “there is. It’s… well, it’s about our oldest son.”

“Thomas?” Rob said. For a moment, he was caught off guard. Surely they couldn’t yet know the sin into which their son had fallen.

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