CARHOPS - 4. Chapter 4

CARHOPS - Chapter 4.

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Copyright 2017 by Nick Brady, all rights reserved.

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After our play, we let the cold water rinse off the residue from our sweaty bodies. We splashed each other a little, then lay back and floated, our toes sticking up from the water. The creek gurgled around us, the frogs croaked, little birds twittered above us and crows scolded in the distance.. This was a special spot, made more so by what we had shared here.

It was not late, but we had done what we had come to do, and more. We understood each other and there wasn't much more we needed to talk about.

Henry put his feet down and splashed me. “I need to check on my fish.” With that, he scrambled out of the water and started dressing. I followed.

We crunched through the gravel back to the bridge and just beyond. I had not been above the bridge before, but about a hundred yards upstream was a large shallow pool. The width of it meant that the water moved very slowly before speeding up in the narrow area under the bridge. Laid out on the bank were three fishing poles secured by large rocks.

“One of my poles is missing,”Henry said. “Something has pulled it under.” He reeled in the other three lines and found a nice sized catfish on two of them. On the third was only the loose end of the fishing line – no sponge, no hook.

Henry stripped off his pants and waded out into the shallow water, walking up and down, dragging his feet over the bottom, looking for the missing fourth pole. On his third pass he stopped, bent over and stood up with it in his hands. “I found it!” he called, and began to reel in the fishing line.

When he took up the slack, the end of the pole bent over. “It's caught on something,” he called to me, then the tip flew up and went down again, The line moved upstream. “I got something big!” Henry yelled.

He reeled in some line and the end of the pole bent almost double. “Oh man! I got something really big!” he kept tension on the line but started walking towards what was on the other end. “I don't know what I've got, but I don't want to break this line. It's not that heavy!”

When he got close to the end of his line, the fish wiggled itself into shallow water near the bank. Whatever it was, it was very large. Henry stooped over it, tossed the pole to one side and pounced on it, running his hand in its mouth. “Oh man!”

“What have you got?” I called to him.

“Oo-wee! This is about the biggest cat I ever caught. I bet this baby weighs fifteen pounds!” He stood up with it in his hands and held it up for me to see. “Look at this thing!”

It was a beauty, a shiny gray on its back and a blueish white on its belly. The head was wide and flat, and it had long wet whiskers. I never saw anything like it before.

Henry carefully walked it out of the water and over to what looked like a safe place, then laid it down. We squatted down to admire it. We were impressed. The fish was not much impressed with us. It flopped around with its big mouth opening and closing. It looked mad.

“I don't think he planned on this,” Henry laughed. Then he inspected the line which disappeared into the fish's mouth. “He swallowed the whole thing. I'll just let him have it.” He reached in his pants pocket and took out a folding knife. Opening it, he cut the line and followed it back out into the water to retrieve his fishing pole.

He came back to where I was still admiring the catfish. When it stopped thrashing, I ran my finger over it's back. It had no scales, but was covered with smooth slick gray skin. When I touched it, the thrashing resumed, making me jump.

“He won't hurt you,” Henry laughed. He pulled off his T-shirt, wrapped it around the fish so he could get a good grip on it and we walked back to where the other poles were. The two smaller cats were gasping on the gravel where we had tossed them.

Henry went to work, sorting out his gear and packing it on his bike. The fish he strung on the length of rope he used for a stringer, then wrapped them in an old pillowcase and tied it securely with some cord.

“I got the fishing stuff on my bike. Can you carry the fish?” Without waiting for an answer, he lashed the pillowcase to my handlebars and looked at me. “Now how are we going to do this?”

I gave him a blank look. “How are we going to do what?”

“We got to get all this stuff to my house so I can clean these fish. I think you're going to have to come with me. Can you find your way from here?”

“I think so. Can't I just follow you?”

“Now, Jimmy. We don't want to ride together. You know how that is.”

“Oh, right. How about you take off, I'll wait about ten minutes then I'll go? I know how to get there.”

“OK. You be careful,” Henry smiled at me and started pushing his bike up the hill to the bridge, then back towards town. I waited for what seemed like at least ten minutes then followed. The sun was dropping down in the west behind town. It wasn't dark yet, but by the time I got to his place it would be. The better to slip in unnoticed.

I got about halfway back to town when I looked to the side of the road. Down in the culvert was a bicycle. Next to the bicycle was Henry. I slid to a stop and laid my bike down by the side of the road. “Henry! You OK?”

He was folded up with his arms and legs pulled in tight. In the dim light, I could see that he was hurt. “Henry!” I rolled him over and he opened his eyes. “Are you OK? What happened?”

Henry took a deep breath and stretched himself out, wincing from the effort. Cautiously, he wiggled first one foot then the other, and stretched his arms out wide. “Yeah. I think so.”

“What happened to you? Did you run off the road?” I was afraid for him.

“You might say that.,” He grimaced and sat up. “It was those guys in the pickup truck.”

“What did they do? Did they hit you?”

“No, but they would have if I hadn't gone for the ditch. They buzzed me from behind. I didn't really see them, I heard them,” Henry was rubbing his sore spots.

“Are you hurt? You looked kind of scratched up.” I was looking him over.

“Help me up,” Henry said, and tried to get on his feet. I lifted him under his arms and he leaned on me to help him balance. “Yeah. I'm OK.”

I picked up his bike and spun the wheels. The front wheel was wobbling a little but it looked like he could ride it. “Hold onto my shoulder, and I'll push your bike back up to the road.”

When we got up to where I had dropped my bicycle, I asked him, “Can you ride? I can go get some help if you can't.”

“No. I can ride. Let me start out, then after a little, you can follow,” he said quietly.

“Bull! I'll be right behind you. You just take it easy and I'll follow you home.”

Henry looked at me, but didn't argue. He checked his bike and retied his fishing gear. One of the poles was broken but everything was still there. He threw his leg over the bike and pushed off. It wobbled a little from the bent front wheel, but he was able to ride at a slow pace. I followed him about ten feet behind and we made our way to town.

He turned south to the road that led to his part of town, then made his way to his house. It was dark by the time we got there, and dark in his part of town. Unlike the area where I lived, there were no streetlights over here. But even in the dim light, we could see his little white house. As we approached Ginger began to bark at us. She was on duty inside the fenced-in yard.

“Good girl, Ginger. It's OK,” Henry called to her, and she dissolved into an excited dance of greeting. We laid our bikes down on the porch, Henry opened the front door and went in the house. I followed him.

“Where have you boys been? I was worried sick about you. Don't you know you have to be home before dark?” Eunice approached us, drying her hands on her apron. “Oh! Look at you! Henry, what's happened to you?”

“I'm fine Mama. I fell off my bike, is all,” Henry was all smiles. “We got some nice cats. Hey Jimmy. Bring them in to show Mama.”

I went back out to untie the pillowcase full of catfish and brought them back in the house. Ginger was interested.

“Look at this big one,” Henry held it up for her inspection. “Isn't this a beauty?”

“Oh, that is nice,” Eunice said,temporarily distracted from her concern for her son.

“I'll clean these up for you and we can eat them later,” Henry told her. He retrieved an impressive kitchen knife and motioned for me to follow him into their back yard to a small table set next to a tree. On the table was a pair of pliers, a hammer and a box of rusty nails.

“You didn't tell her that those guys ran you off the road,” I reminded him.

“I didn't see any reason to upset her,” Henry said. “There isn't anything we can do about that now.”

Henry pulled out one of the smaller catfish. “Catfish are a little more trouble than those bass we caught before. Here's how we do them. Watch and I'll let you try the next one if you want.”

First he slit the fish's belly and pulled out the entrails. Next he picked up the hammer and drove a nail through the fish's head and into the tree. He took the knife and slit the skin just behind the head, picked up the pliers and began to strip the tough skin from the carcass. When he had worked if down evenly, he gave a tug and pulled it over the tail. “There you go,” He turned to me and smiled. Took up the hammer, pulled the nail from the tree and laid the fish on the table. “You want to try the next one?”

Henry had done this quickly and made it look easy. It also made me feel a little queasy. “Uh, you're doing fine. I'll just watch,”

He grinned at me and made short work of the other two fish. The big one took a little more time and resulted in a fine mess of catfish. He carried them into the house and presented them to his mother.

“My oh my! Let me cut these up and put them in the cooler,” she smiled. “Jimmy will have to come over and help us eat them as soon as he can.”

Then she looked at Henry. “Honey. You're all scratched up. You come here and let me see about you.”
Henry sat down at the kitchen table and patiently endured his mother's careful cleansing of his scrapes. As she worked on him she muttered under her breath, “You're a better rider then to fall off that bicycle. I know you aren't telling me how that happened. I wish you'd be more careful, baby. Next time you might break your fool neck. You just wait until your daddy gets home from church. He's gonna want to talk about this.”Henry looked down and didn't reply.

By now it was getting late. While my mother would still be at work, I figured it was time for me to go. I excused myself and Henry walked me outside.

“Are you really OK?” I asked him. “You took quite a fall.”

“Yeah. I'm OK, Jimmy. I'm glad you were with me though. I appreciated your help.”

“I'd do anything for you, Henry. This whole thing is just so unfair. Those jerks wouldn't have done this to me. Why did they try to hurt you?”

Henry shook his head. “I don't know Jimmy. If I could tell you, I would. Some people are just hateful, I guess.”

I gave him a quick hug and rode away.

I came home to an empty apartment, went to my bedroom and stretched out on the bed to think. I just didn't understand any of this. Henry was a good and decent a person as there ever was. He had a nice family. They had to live in a crappy part of town. Knuckleheads like the guys in the pickup could run him off the road then drive away to laugh about it. How did this make sense? Even my own mother was scared for me to be seen with the guy. To these people, Henry wasn't a person, he was a thing. What was wrong with this picture? The more I thought about it, the madder I got.

I got up, took a shower and went into the kitchen to see what was in the refrigerator. Not much. I fixed myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a glass of milk. I really didn't want to talk about my day with Mom, so I went to bed and tried to sleep.

The next morning I gave her a redacted version of our fishing trip. I told her about the big catfish, but not about what happened on the way back to town. She listened without much comment. If she didn't approve of my befriending Henry, then so be it.

Henry was on his chair when I got to work. In broad daylight, his scrapes were more obvious. He had long weeping sores on his elbow that were just beginning to scab over. There was a band-aid on his forehead. Whatever was on his knees and legs was hidden by his jeans. He had a stoic look on his face.

“How are you doing today?” I asked him.

“I'm OK,” he said, then shrugged. “A little stiff and sore, I guess.”

“What did your father say when he got home?”

“Oh, he had some questions, but he understands. This kind of thing just happens sometimes.”

“But those guys could have killed you. Can't you do something about it?”

Henry looked at me with a sad expression and simply shrugged, then looked away. He changed the subject and showed me how he had trued up the front wheel of his bike. He claimed it was good as new. Henry had many talents.

It was slow until people started getting off work and looking for supper, or something cold to drink. Henry and I didn't talk much. There didn't seem to be much to say. I watched from day to day as his sores scabbed began to scab over. I felt really bad for him. In addition to his other admirable traits, he was tough.

Later in the week, I shared some news with him. “I got a birthday coming up.”

“Really? When's your birthday?” he asked.

“July 12. When's yours?”

Henry grinned. “July 20. We will both be 14 by the time school starts. That's kind of neat.”

“Yeah. We should have a party. Invite all our friends.”

Henry laughed. “You really think so?”

“I wish we could. At least maybe we could get together.”

“You think your mother would bake us a cake?” he raised one eyebrow.

I blushed at that.”Mom is OK. She doesn't even know you, but she's kind of scared. This whole thing is pretty scary.”

“I know. I shouldn't have said that. I don't know your mother either,” Henry admitted.

“Maybe you guys should meet. I wish she could meet your family too.”

“How are we going to do that?”

“I don't know. There has to be a way,” I shrugged.

“That's an interesting idea, really. Let me think about it,” Henry looked serious.

I had a customer so our discussion went hanging. I did wish there was some way to bring Mom around.

Saturday was a busy day. It was the fourth of July, and people were out and about. It was also hot as blue blazes. When it was time to get off, I asked Henry, “Do you want to go out to the creek tomorrow? I'll understand if you don't.”

Henry sighed. “I like that place, but the problem with it is that long stretch of highway. It's kind of a dangerous place to ride a bike, even without our friends in the truck. Maybe I know another place that would be better.”

“Sure. You probably know lots of places. Tell me where to meet you.”

“Well,” Henry smiled, “If we go down the old road towards Turner about three miles and turn east, the river is just down the road. and it's a good place to fish for cats.”

“It'll be hot. Can we swim there?” I asked.

“There is a little gas station there. I could meet you there.”

“I can probably find it. What time do you want to meet?”

Henry shrugged his shoulders. “There isn't ever much traffic that way. Why don't we met at that little station there, and ride out together. If you had been with me last Sunday, those guys might not have tried to run me off the road.”

“I never thought about that. Maybe we're safer together.”

“Our being friends is dangerous any way you look at it,” Henry said grimly. “I tried to warn you.”

We met at the road to Turner on Sunday afternoon and rode together. Henry was right. Other than a farm tractor, we didn't see anybody else on the road. When we got down to the river, we had it to ourselves.

I had never been down here before. The river was wide and slow moving. The riverbank was bare where the water level rose and fell due to occasional flooding. Above this was a higher level where there were big old trees that provided shade. The place had a primitive look and a swampy smell about it. The sandy flats near the edge were a habitat for terns and long legged herons. Henry led us down to where this higher level was closer to the river to avoid the flats.

“We have to find just the right spot,” Henry explained, and unpacked the fishing gear. He brought no fishing poles today, but pulled out a ball of heavy cord wound around a heavy bolt with shorter cords tied along at two foot intervals.

“What's that?” I asked.

“That's a trot line,” Henry said proudly. “That's going to catch us a bunch of catfish.”

I had no clue what he planned to do with it, but followed his instructions. He tied one end of the long cord to a tree then jumped down to the river's edge and started walking out into the water. As he came to each of the shorter lengths of cord, he tied on a hook and impaled a sponge cube on it. I was to follow with the jar of stink bait and poke the sponge in it, then go to the next drop cord. By the time we were in water up to our chests, we had twenty baited hooks strung out. Henry tossed the iron bolt out and let it drop to the bottom.

“OK, Jimmy. That's a trot line. It's like having twenty fishing poles all lined up in a row. Now we can leave it alone while we goof off for awhile.” We splashed our way back up to where we started and crawled up under the trees.

“Is that it? No cork to watch or anything?”

“If we get something big on there, we'll see the cord strain where it's tied to the tree, but we don't want to just catch one fish. There are twenty hooks out there. We might catch a bunch of them if we're lucky.”

I was pretty impressed with all this. If this worked, it would be a lazy way to fish. In the meantime, we had some time on our hands. We sat on the riverbank and talked.

I looked at Henry. His scrapes and scratches had scabbed over and he no longer was sporting a bandage on his forehead. “So, how are you doing? It looks like you're going to survive your little accident.”

“Don't worry about me. I'm hard to kill,” he grinned.

”I hope so,” I said. “Who else would take me fishing?”

Henry looked serious. “I talked to my father about your mom,”

“Really? Tell me about that.”

“I told him that your mother was concerned about our being friends. That it wasn't really personal, but she was kind of scared. I told him that you said she might feel differently if she actually met us as a family.”

“What did he say about that?”

“He understands all that. We live with that sort of thing all the time. I guess that in a way, we do the same thing. It's easy to assume that all white people are prejudiced against us, but after meeting you as an individual, he felt a little differently. At least he did about you.”

“Why is that?”

Henry smiled at me. “I think you made a good impression on him, and on my mother too. They knew that we're working together and that we've gone fishing. They were kind of worried about my making friends with a white boy. I guess they had the same concerns as your mother. But when they met you, they could see that you weren't like that. They saw that you were courteous and respectful. They liked you, Jimmy.”

“But they don't know my mom, and she doesn't know them,” I reminded him.

“We talked about that, and my father had an idea. Since we both have birthdays coming up, he suggested that you and your mother might come to our house for Sunday dinner and a birthday cake. You would be most welcome to attend our worship service too, if she would like. What do you think?”

His suggestion surprised me. “I don't know what she would think about that. I can ask her, but I'm afraid she might not like that idea.”

Henry nodded. “What if, instead of you passing that along to her, my father wrote her a nice letter inviting her for dinner. Would that make it easier for her to accept?”

“Maybe. That would make it more personal I guess. It's worth a try,” I shrugged. “It would be neat if we didn't have to hide that we are friends.”

“Well, let's try, OK? If it works, it might be fun,” Henry smiled.

“Your dad is a smart guy. I'm surprised that he would go to this much trouble just so my mom might feel better about our being friends.”

“It's more than that, Jimmy. Our family has to live with a lot of problems that you don't. We know that there isn't much we can do to change the way a lot of people feel about us. Maybe we can change the way your mom feels about us. Then maybe she might share that with others. Sometimes, big things have to start off small.”

“Is that what your father said?”

“Like you said. my dad is a smart guy. He's a good man too, the best man I know,” Henry sighed. “That's why I'm so scared he will find out about me - about us, you know?”

“It's that sex thing again, right?”

“Right. I'm afraid that would be the end of me.”

“You think they would kick you out? What would they really do if they found out, or when they do find out? You probably can't keep this a secret forever.” I said.\

Henry looked away. “I know you're right. I hate to think about that.”

“My mom wouldn't be thrilled either, but I expect it will happen someday,” I admitted.

“I think maybe it would be easier if we were a little older. Maybe after we're grown up, but not now.”

I was sitting with my arms wrapped around my knees, trying to imagine when my mother would be OK with my being queer. It was hard to imagine when that would be.

“Maybe we'll grow out of this. Maybe it's just a phase we're going through,” I said hopefully.

“How many time have you jacked off thinking about a girl?” Henry asked bluntly.

I tried to think. “Never, really. Do you sometimes?”

“Not yet,” Henry tossed a stone at the river.

“How often do you jack off?” I wondered.

“At least once a day, sometimes more. It depends on who's around I guess. How about you?”

“Every day. The most was five times. I made myself sore.”

“What do you think about?” he grinned.

“Sometimes I don't really think about anything in particular. I just want that good feeling,” I told him. “Since I started working at Sparky's, I think about you, mostly.”

“Really?” Henry looked pleased.

“What do you think about when you jack off?” I asked.

“I used to think about a boy at my church,” Henry said softly. “Now I think about a white boy with blonde curly hair.”

“Anybody I know?” I smiled.

“Oh, Jimmy. What will I do about you?”

I leaned into Henry and put my hand on his crotch. “I'm right here. You don't have to imagine me.”

Henry put his hand over mine and pressed it harder. I could feel his long cock in his jeans. It was growing.

“Let's jack off together,” I whispered. “Want to?”

“You're evil. Do you know that?” Henry grinned.

“I know. Want to?”

Henry lay back and unbuckled his belt. “Maybe.”

I unzipped his fly, reached inside his shorts and felt of his growing cock, It felt wonderful – soft skin over a thick meaty shaft. He took a breath, then let it out slowly.

|”That feels nice,” he whispered and ran his hand over my arm.

I paused just long enough to open my pants and push them down to my knees. “Here, do me too.”

Henry took me in his hand and squeezed gently. “Do you like that?”he asked.

For an answer, I pushed his jeans down and rolled over against him, taking us in my hand and stroking both our cocks at the same time. I looked at what was in my hand. He was longer than me, thicker too. His was very black, mine very white. I could feel the hardness of him rolling around against me. I got that breathless feeling again. He cupped both of our balls in his hand and stared at them. The dappled sunlight on my blonde pubic hair seemed to interest him.

“Oh, Jimmy,” he sighed.

We sat up side by side and worked each other up and down, moving the loose skin over our pricks. I had felt my own cock in my hand a million times. His felt different. It filled my hand. My thumb and fingers barely touched as I gripped it. His fingers around mine overlapped his thumb. I wondered if it was because his hand was bigger or if I was that much smaller. I reckoned it was both. I knew for sure that it felt wonderful, much better than when I did it myself.

“I like this. It feels real good,” I said.

“Um-hmm!” Henry agreed. “I like this too. It feels better when you do it.”

“I was just thinking the same thing. Keep doing it, OK?”

“Right. You too,” It was started to feel really good.

“Squeeze it harder,” Henry sighed. “I think I'm gonna shoot.”

I held him tight and jerked faster. In a minute, Henry gave a guttural sound and shot white goo over his stomach and my fist. I was struck by how white his cum looked on his dark skin. When I looked at his face, his eyes were closed tight and his mouth was open. I had given him great pleasure.

In a minute, he took a deep breath and looked at me. “Oh, Jimmy,” he sighed again.

I smiled at him. “My turn,” I said, and put his hand back on my dick. He smiled and started to stroke me.

It didn't take me long. The sight of his orgasm had put me close to my own. In only a minute or two, I shot all over his hand. Now I could see my white sperm on his black skin. It was not much different than his own. We were alike in some ways.

When I shot, I slumped against him and held on to him. It was intense. Something about watching all this from close up was very erotic. I liked it a lot. I couldn't imagine that anything could feel better. I was breathing hard.

I laid back with my eyes closed. “Thanks Henry. You're pretty good at that.”

“I practice a lot,” He laughed.

Out tensions relieved, we stretched out side-by-side and relaxed. It was hot, but there was a little breeze and we were mostly in the shade. Out across the river were birds circling around looking for the flash of a small fish in the water. On the opposite side were stretches of sand that were visible when the water was low. After a big rain, it would widen until it came to just below where we were under the trees. It was peaceful here. Whatever problems we might have, they seemed far away from this place. I could see why Henry liked to fish.

Henry sat up and tugged on the cord to his trot line. When he pulled on it, he smiled. “There's something out there. Pull on this,” he told me.

When I took the cord and pulled on it, I could feel a sort of vibration. There was something alive out on those hooks. It was exciting. “We got something big!” I said.

Henry grabbed the pillowcase, took my arm and we scrambled down to the river. He held the cord in his hand and we waded out until he came to the first drop cord. Nothing was there, the same with the second. On the third was a respectable sized catfish which he extracted from the hook and dropped into the bag and handed it to me. As we made our way out into the deeper water, we found more, all keepers. Half way out, Henry pulled on the cord and it thrashed from side to side. He raised it up and we found a catfish larger than the one which had excited us at the creek. It was big, and looked angry at being disturbed.

“Man alive! Look at the size of this thing!” Henry yelled with excitement. It took both of us to stuff it in the pillowcase. “Hang onto that thing. We don't want the bag to bust,” he warned me.

I held the case to my chest and felt the big fish pound me on my ribs. I follow Henry as he continued down the line. We found three more catfish, all good sized but none as large as the big one. At the deep end of the line, Henry brought up something strange. It was a big yellowish fish with a very small mouth.

“What's that?” I ask. “That's not a catfish.”

“It's a big old carp,” Henry laughed. “I don't much care for them because they're full of little bones, but some people do. I think they cook them in a pressure cooker or something. I'll bring it home to Mama if we have room for it.”

There was barely enough room in the bag for them all. I twisted the opening and hoped they wouldn't escape.

We started back for the shore, me holding on the our fish for dear life, Henry winding the cord around the iron bolt. “Don't drop that bag!” he shouted at me. I held it tighter, feeling the unwilling captives moving inside.

I came near stumbling in the moving water several times. Once, Henry reached out to steady me in his strong grip. When I reached the other side, we had drifted down from our starting point and I had to wade across the flat area to climb up on the higher level. When we got there, Henry took the bag of fish and gave me a boost, then handed it to me.

“Don't open the bag until I get there,” he instructed me.

We walked back to where we had left out bikes and Henry's bundle. I sat down with our squirming treasure between my legs. Henry joined me with a huge smile on his face. “Told you! I told you we were gonna catch a big mess of fish!”

“What are we going to do with all these?” I wondered.

“Take them home and clean them,” Henry said. “We can have a fish fry for your mother with these, if we can get her to come to our house.”

Henry strapped his gear to his bike, then took a short length of cord and tied the top of the pillowcase very tightly and lashed it to my bike. We were ready to go. Since we were already south of town, we could ride up to Henry's house without being noticed. I followed him back towards town.

When we got to the little gas station where we had met earlier in the day, Henry slid to a stop.

“That's the truck that ran me off the road,” he said softly.

“Be careful, I warned him. “They must be inside the station.”

Henry didn't say a word, but quickly untied the bag of fish from my handlebars and extracted the carp. Approaching the pickup from the side opposite the station, he opened the door and quickly tossed the fish behind the seat, then ran back to reattach the bag to my bike. “Let's go,” he said quietly and we rode away.

“Won't they find that fish in there?” I asked.

“They will in a couple of days,” Henry laughed,

As soon as we got to Henry's house, we took our catch to his back yard and cleaned them, then took them into the kitchen where his mother cut the flesh from the bones and cut it into smaller pieces. There would be plenty for a fish fry

I rode home to our apartment with a lot on my mind. It had been an eventful day. I probably wouldn't say much to Mom except to tell her about Henry's trot line. Now I was waiting for his father's letter.

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To be continued.

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