An Early Winter (10 page)

With the story done, Granddad lets his head sink back to the pillow and his eyes drift closed. Tim starts for the door once more. Maybe later, maybe after his grandfather has had more rest, he'll be able to talk about something besides winter and dead mice. The voice stops him in the doorway.

"That was until I worked out a better way."

Tim turns back.

Granddad is grinning. "When it was my turn to set the trap, I didn't use the bucket." He props himself up again. "I just spread the peanut butter on slices of bread and left them in the middle of the floor by the door."

"But what good was that?"

Granddad chuckles. "That's what the fellows said. 'What good is that, Leo?' And I said, 'You just wait and see.'"

Tim moves closer.

"We went to bed and went to sleep. Slept fine. Not a single mouse came into the bunk room all night long. You know why?"

Tim is beginning to get the picture, but he shakes his head, lays a hand on his grandfather's shoulder.

"The mice spent the whole night nibbling that peanut butter. They were so busy licking that bread clean they had no time to bother us, and every single mouse went back to its nest in the morning, happy." Granddad's delight in his story is huge.

Tim smiles. He should have known! But as quickly as the story and his grandfather's pleasure in it arose, they recede once more. Granddad's head drops back to the pillow again, and when Tim looks down at the familiar face, it has gone pale, the eyes dark.

"Can you forgive me?" Granddad asks.

Forgive you for what?
Tim wonders.
For saving all those mice? For protecting me from my drug-addicted father? For being there my whole life?

But then it occurs to him to ask, "Do you know who I am?"

For a long moment, his grandfather doesn't answer, doesn't give the smallest sign. Tim wonders if he even heard the question. Finally, though, he shakes his head, and Tim's throat goes raw.

"I'm afraid," Granddad says, "I'm afraid I've forgotten."

Tim's shoulders sag. He tries on a wavering smile. Should he try to tell him?

But a gentle hand reaches out to touch Tim's face. "I only know..." The hand traces a line along Tim's jaw to his chin. "I know you are someone I love."

Tim's shoulders lift. When his grandfather is rested, he will remember Tim's name once more. Tim is certain of that. But for now—and even for that other time when Granddad might forget again—the love will do.

"I love you, too," Tim says. "You know that I love you."

MARION DANE BAUER is the author of numerous award-winning books for Clarion, among them
On My Honor
, a Newbery Honor Book, and
What's Your Story
, an ALA Notable Book. She is faculty director of the first Master of Fine Arts in Writing for Children program in the country, at Vermont College in Montpelier, Vermont. Ms. Bauer lives in Eden Prairie, Minnesota.

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