THOMAS by Richard F. Hall

"Good morning," she said. “You must be Thomas. Come in." Her hands held back the screen door as the figure made its way into the small back foyer and waited. "You don't know how thrilled I am to have you. So glad my friend told me about you." The voice continued. "Just perfectly thrilled."

That was how it began. On that morning, a clear spring day, Thomas started working for the Graham family. Five years ago he thought as he watched the huge van backing into the driveway. This was his last day of employment with them. He had refused to go with them south. He wanted no part of the South. Had enough of it during his time in the army. The van stopped at the back entrance. Heavy footsteps and voices filled the hallway as the moving men went about their task of emptying the house.

He dreaded this moving day. Not because it meant that he would be in search of another job or that the jumble and rushing had come about, but because it meant there would be

no more. No more Bobby.

Bobby was the son. He was fifteen when Thomas started working for the family. Bobby had dashed in from school, his blond hair tussled, the youthful body strained from running, ran through the kitchen with a hurried "Hi" and at the demand of his mother returned and was introduced to Thomas.

Thomas sat in the alcove facing the neatly cut lawn. There wasn't anything for him to do but wait until the movers had finished and then close up the house. The Negro houseman wasn't looking at the spacious lawn or the neatly trimmed hedge, but was deeply engrossed in memories that went with the house. The years that melted into one another and the changes they brought about, especially in Bobby. He wondered if his servitude far beyond the limits of his household duties were fully understood and knew that Bobby appreciated the extra things that were done for him, but did he understand why? The parents were away many months out of the years,

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