Shades of Gray (15 page)

But instead of beginning the letter, Will lay down on his bed and listened to the rain lashing at the window and beating on the tin roof like bursts of musket fire. He wished he were downstairs watching the game and maybe learning some new tricks. He shouldn't have said he was tired of checkers. That made him sound like a sore loser.

He shut his eyes and thought of rainy days in the cozy parlor
at home, with the gas lights burning brightly. Mama would be at her desk writing letters, and his sisters would be playing with their dolls in front of the fire while he and Charlie sat at opposite ends of the sofa, reading.

Reading! Will sat up. Slowly he walked over to the little table by the window and reached for the book the Yankee soldier had left for him two weeks before. “It's foolish not to read a book just because you don't like the person who gave it to you,” he said aloud. Then, feeling almost cheerful, he clattered down the stairs.

Meg was putting away the game when Will moved a chair nearer to the window to take advantage of the pale gray light.

“Is that the book Jim gave you?” she asked.

He nodded. The stiff-backed chair creaked as he sat down and opened the book. He had read only a few pages when he became aware of the silence. He glanced up to see Meg watching him from the small three-legged stool at her mother's feet. He had never seen her sit so still before. Or look so sad.

“Is it a good book?” she asked.

He nodded again. “So far.” Maybe he could teach Meg to read before he left. After all, school wouldn't start till mid-October.

Returning to the book, he found it hard to concentrate. The crackling of the fire was the only sound in the room, but still he was distracted. He looked up, and again he met Meg's eyes. This time, he thought he understood.

“Would you like me to read it aloud?” he asked.

“Oh, Will! Would you?”

He glanced at his uncle. “Do you mind?”

“Don't mind a bit.”

So Will cleared his throat and began. “
Moby Dick
, by Herman Melville. Chapter One:

‘Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. . . . ' ”

The next day was clear and bright and cool. Will sniffed the air appreciatively as he and Uncle Jed set out for the store after breakfast. The small stream that crossed the road was so high they had to roll their overalls up to their knees before they waded across. The current tugged at their legs and washed the sandy gravel away from under their feet. On either side of the road, the shallow ditches were running with water, and the roadside spring had overflowed, creating a wide, shallow pond.

Several men were talking in front of the store when they arrived, and two whom Will recognized from the day they'd spent at the mill returned Uncle Jed's greetings. The third said, “Heard you had a Yankee out at your place a couple weeks ago.”

Will held his breath as Uncle Jed turned toward the speaker. “That's right,” he said. “He was sent to us when he stopped here at the store to ask for shelter for the night.”

“Stayed more than a night, though, didn't he?” the man persisted.

Uncle Jed nodded. “He stayed until he was strong enough to go on.”

“I was here when he stopped by,” said one of the other men. “He didn't look so good then. Kinda grayish. That Riley boy shouldn't have sent him all that extra way to your place, the shape he was in.”

Will gave a sigh of relief. They didn't seem to blame Uncle Jed for taking in a Yankee!

The men chatted a few minutes longer before Uncle Jed turned to go into the store. Inside, Mr. Riley welcomed them cheerfully, but Hank just continued sweeping the wooden floor.

“The mail stage brought you folks another letter. This one's from Pennsylvania.” Mr. Riley reached into the box on the shelf behind the counter and pulled out an envelope.

Uncle Jed thanked him and slipped it into his pocket.

Pennsylvania, thought Will. It must be from Jim Woodley.

“I need salt and coffee,” said his uncle. “And I'd like to look at your dress goods.”

Mr. Riley scooped the salt and the coffee beans from their barrels into small cloth sacks, then led the way to the back of the store, where bolts of fabric were piled on a large table.

“Glad to see you've still got that green print,” said Uncle Jed. “Ella was admiring it last fall. I'll take some of that for her, and I'll need something for Meg, too.”

Mr. Riley counted off the lengths of the green print and pointed to some fabric with a tiny floral pattern. “I've got this in both pink and blue. It's right nice for a young girl.”

Without thinking, Will spoke up. “Get the blue. It'll match her eyes.”

Behind him, Hank snickered. “ ‘It'll match her eyes,' ” he mimicked.

Will's face flushed and his hands clenched into fists. He stole a glance at the storekeeper and saw his jaw tighten. He watched the man cut the blue flowered cloth and fold it carefully. Then, ignoring Hank, Will followed the two men back to the counter. But Hank leaned forward and purred, “It goes so very, verrry well with her beeeautiful blue eyes!”

Blinded by anger, Will stubbed his toe on a rough place on the floor and stumbled forward, nearly falling. Behind him he heard a derisive laugh. Furious, he turned and locked eyes with Hank, who was leaning insolently on his broom with a taunting grin on his face. As Will took a step toward him, he felt a hand grasp his arm. It was Mr. Riley.

“Did he trip you with that broom?” he asked in a voice that shook with anger. “Did he?”

“I—I—”

“Speak up, boy! Did he trip you or not?” The man's face was contorted with anger.

Will glanced over at Hank, who looked back at him pleadingly, his face pale and his eyes wide with fright. He thought of how Hank had teased him with Doc Martin's letter. He remembered the day at the river when Hank had beaten him up. Here, at last, was his chance to get even! He took a deep breath, stood up straight, and looked the storekeeper right in the eye. “I wasn't hurt any,” he said.

Mr. Riley released his arm. “Don't want to get him in trouble, eh? Well, he got himself in trouble this time!” Then turning to his son he said, “You go on out back. I'll get my strap and be out soon as I'm through here.”

“But, Pa! He—”

“Don't you ‘But, Pa!' me!” roared the storekeeper. “Just get yourself out back like I told you!”

Hank dropped the broom and walked slowly toward the back door. His shoulders drooped.

“I don't know what's got into that boy,” Mr. Riley said, counting out Uncle Jed's change and putting their purchases in a cloth sack. “We need to get that school open again and keep these boys so busy studying they won't have time for making trouble!” he continued. Then he turned to Will. “Here, help yourself,” he said, tipping the candy jar toward him.

“I—I shouldn't take any.”

“Then I guess I'll have to give it to you,” Mr. Riley said. He poured a generous number of lemon and peppermint drops onto a square of paper, folded it neatly into a small package, and handed it to Will.

“Thank you, sir,” Will mumbled, stuffing it in his pocket.

Uncle Jed slung the sack over his shoulder and they started toward the mill. “Aren't you going to eat your sweets?” he asked.

Will shook his head. Then from behind the store he heard the rhythmic
thwack, thwack, thwack
of a leather strap, followed by Hank's cries for mercy. Will's feelings were a complicated mixture of satisfaction and guilt. He glanced up at his uncle and then quickly looked away.

“You should have answered Mr. Riley's question either yes or no,” Uncle Jed said quietly. “What you did was dishonest even though it wasn't actually a lie. And you've made it that
much harder to ever make your peace with Hank.”

Will didn't answer. Once he was back in Winchester, he wouldn't have to worry about Hank. But he hated having Uncle Jed think he was dishonest.

At the mill, Mr. Brown greeted them heartily, and his helper grinned at Will. “I hear your fishing days will soon be over—they're hiring a teacher, and pretty soon you and Hank and the other fellows will be back in school,” he said.

Will nodded. He'd be back in school, all right—but not with Hank and Amos and Patrick. He'd be back in school with Matt!

Aunt Ella's tired face looked young again when she unwrapped the green print fabric. And Meg pounced on the blue with a cry of delight.

“Will picked that out,” her father said. “He thought it matched your eyes.”

Will glanced quickly at his uncle to see if he was being mocked again, but Uncle Jed was looking fondly at Meg.

She held the cloth up to her face. “Does it, Ma? Does it really?”

“Yes, it really does.” Her mother smiled. “Tomorrow I'll start working it up into a dress for you.”

“I can hardly wait!” Meg said. “What else is there?” she asked. “Salt, and—oh, look!” The rich smell of the coffee beans wafted from the sack she held.

“Oh, Jed! I hardly dared hope for that!” Aunt Ella said. “Get the coffee mill, Meg. We'll have some with dinner.”

They sat around the table enjoying the aroma while Meg
cranked the small wooden coffee mill. And then Will remembered the candy. He pulled the paper package from his pocket and put it on the table in front of his cousin.

“There's this, too,” he said.

Meg stopped grinding to open it. “Lemon drops. And peppermint drops! Here, everybody have some!”

She passed the candy around the table. When it got to Will, he hesitated, almost tasting the pungent sweetness of the lemon candies that had always been his favorites. But then he remembered Hank's cries and the sound of Mr. Riley's strap. Filled with guilt, he passed them on. Uncle Jed was right. He
had
been dishonest!

Turning to his wife and daughter, Uncle Jed said, “Will and I heard some good news today. There's talk about hiring a teacher and opening that school in the fall. Both the storekeeper and the miller's helper mentioned it.”

“That's wonderful!” exclaimed Aunt Ella. “And with the twins sending us their earnings, we'll be able to pay our share! Now Will can continue his education and Meg can learn to read.”

Meg burst out, “But I'll be in the same class with Patrick's little sister, Kate! And with the Nicholson boys! They're practically babies, and I'm ten years old!”

“Don't worry, Meg. School won't start till after harvest time, and I can teach you to read by then,” Will said. “That way, you won't be in the beginners' class.”

“Oh, thank you, Will! Can we start today?”

Will hesitated, flattered by her eagerness, then shook his head. “I'll need time to plan the lesson, don't forget.”

Meg looked impressed. Then she sighed happily. “What a lot of surprises in one day!”

“I almost forgot,” said Uncle Jed. He reached into his pocket and drew out an envelope.

“Another letter!” cried Meg. “That's four this summer, counting the one Will got! Who do you think it's from?”

“Only person I know in Pennsylvania is Jim Woodley.” Uncle Jed slit the envelope, and as he pulled out the folded sheet of paper, something fell onto the table.

Aunt Ella caught her breath. “Why, I never saw that much money at one time before,” she said.

There were a few moments of silence while they all stared at the bills. Then Uncle Jed cleared his throat and began to read:

“Dear Friends in Virginia,

I arrived home safely, having met on my second day out a stage driver who was willing to let me ride beside him across the mountains to Luray and to arrange transport from there to Martinsburg, where I borrowed money for train fare from the pastor of the Lutheran Church. Now, thanks in great part to your kindness in caring for me when I was ill, I am reunited with my family. (They had not received the letters I wrote from the hospital and were astonished to see me, having thought I'd been killed.)

Please accept the enclosed bills as one Yankee's small penance for the destruction and despoiling of so much of your beautiful state. While I understand that no amount of money could ever make up for what your family suffered as
a result of the war, perhaps it can buy replacements for the milk cow and farm horse that were taken by the Union foragers.

Again, thank you for your hospitality, and God bless you all.

Yours,

Jim Woodley”

Uncle Jed refolded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope.

At last Meg broke the silence. “It was rebel scouts, not the Yankees, that got Bessie and Nell. Does that mean we have to send the money back?”

“I think Jim would be very unhappy if we sent it back for any reason,” Aunt Ella said firmly.

Still Uncle Jed did not speak. He slipped the bills inside the envelope, put it on the mantel, and went outside. The others crowded around the window and watched him cross the yard. Their eyes followed him to the edge of the pasture, where he stopped and rested his folded arms on the top rail of the newly repaired fence and stood looking toward the mountains.

Aunt Ella was the first to turn away from the window. “Meg,” she said briskly, “go pick some turnip greens while I start a pan of corn bread for dinner.”

Meg looked at her cousin. “I told you Jim Woodley was a nice person,” she said triumphantly.

“Jim Woodley is a
rich
person,” Will retorted.

Meg's face flushed with anger and her eyes narrowed. “Too bad you aren't either one, Will Page!” she said. Then, turning
on her heel, she started off to the garden. Will stared after her. The words seemed to echo in the quiet of the empty house. He ran outside, stumbling across the yard. He needed to find a place to be alone. The late August sun beat down on him, and he turned toward the coolest place he knew.