FlOoD--Part Ten

A Little Less Conversation

TeN

   Behind Peterson's head, at the front of the boat, an embroidered sampler slowly rose out of the water. It bore the legend "Home Sweet Home" on it. Smith and Jones, having perfected their technique on Peterson, each leaned an arm over the bow of the boat and grabbed a corner of the frame. It measured about three feet across and two or two-and-one-half feet high as they lifted it from its point of ascension and placed it in the bottom of the boat, leaning against Peterson. Murphy's eyes, the only part of him that wasn't already moist, began to dampen as he drank in the sentiment. He placed one hand on Jones' shoulder and the other on Smith's and pushed them apart in order to improve his view. He let out a long sigh and then, from behind the boat, the strains of a melancholy air began to waft over the craft.

"Through trouble and hardship

Where'er I may roam

Be it ever so humble

There's no place like home."

 

   Johnson, sitting on his anvil, turned around to see Wilkerson, hanging by one arm onto the boat and serenading its seven inmates.

 

"That's lovely," he said, "but you seem to have gotten your lyrics a tad incorrect." And, accompanying himself on his anvil, he crooned his version of the song.