Promise

Promise, by Brian Holliday (who is a frequent contributor to our magazine, and whom we have invited to join us as editor), is a lovely story about love and honour, set in a time when we did things differently.

Inside, there wasn’t much space to spare, just a small table at one side, with two wooden benches, and a lot of closed cabinets. A heavy curtain hung just behind the farthest bench. Everything was clean enough to please Mama, but the smells were heady and masculine: tobacco and harness soap and sweat. Thomas and Papa sat on opposite sides of the table, and I crouched on a little stool by the door, goggling at the private place that belonged to Thomas.

Thomas brought out two glasses and poured an inch of amber liquid into each, pushing one toward Papa. I’d never seen Papa take strong drink, except the medicinal whisky Mama spooned out for the chilblains, but he picked up the glass and took a sip, nodding appreciatively. “Kentucky,” he said.

Thomas smiled. “The best, sir.” And took a somewhat larger sip of his own.

Papa spoke: “I’ve given this a great deal of thought, and can think of no better way to ask.” He paused. “What are your intentions toward my son?”