Shades of Gray (16 page)

Inside the springhouse, he sank onto the stone floor. The last time he'd sat in this cool dimness he'd been with Meg. Meg. Now
she
was a nice person. Kind. And generous. Loyal, too. He thought of how she'd come to his rescue the time Hank had asked him if he'd known a Charlie Page in Winchester, and how she'd understood why he hadn't wanted people to know that Charlie was his brother. And then he remembered how proud of him Meg had been when he didn't show that he was afraid of the three older boys. And when he hadn't let Hank get the best of him the day he'd teased him with the letter, too. What would she think if she knew he'd tricked Hank's father into giving him a beating for something he hadn't done? She'd know for sure he wasn't very nice!

And then he thought of how Uncle Jed had reproached him, had said he was dishonest! Will leaned back against the springhouse wall and shut his eyes. Uncle Jed would never have tried to get even with Hank in such a cowardly way.

Will's eyes flew open as Meg ducked inside the springhouse. “How did you know I was here?” he asked in surprise.

“I sometimes come here to be alone, too,” she said, dropping down onto the cool floor beside him. “You know I didn't mean that, Will. I only said it because I was so angry.”

“What you said was true, Meg.”

She shook her head. “You
are
nice, Will. You're the nicest boy I know!”

Compared to Hank and Amos and Patrick, maybe he was, Will thought ruefully. Taking a deep breath and letting it out with a rush, he said, “Well, I'm sure not rich!”

Meg laughed and stood up. “Come on. Dinner's ready.”

Forgiving, too, Will thought as he followed his cousin back to the house. Kind, generous, loyal, and forgiving.

“Mmm,” said Meg, inhaling the aroma of freshly ground coffee and passing her plate for a wedge of hot corn bread. “This meal seems almost like a celebration!”

Aunt Ella smiled and agreed, but Uncle Jed seemed strangely withdrawn. Will wondered if he'd decided what to do about Jim Woodley's money. Torn between dismay at the idea of accepting Yankee charity and awareness of how much better the family's life would be if Aunt Ella had a milk cow and Uncle Jed had a horse to help with the heavy farm work, Will was glad he didn't have to make the decision.

“Do you know yet if you're going to keep the money?” Meg asked, voicing Will's thoughts.

Uncle Jed shook his head. “I'm still thinking it over,” he said. “I don't want to do something I might regret later.”

Will looked down at his plate. Like what he'd done at the store this morning.

“You see, Meg,” Uncle Jed went on, “If I bought the livestock and then decided I'd done the wrong thing, it would be too late to send the money back. And if I sent it back right away and then thought maybe I should have kept it, it would be too late to change my mind. I won't have any second chance if I make a mistake on this.” He turned to Will. “Sometimes,
though, if we admit we made a mistake, we do get a second chance.”

Meg and Aunt Ella looked from Will to Uncle Jed and then exchanged a questioning glance.

Will stared down at his half-empty plate. Admit he made a mistake? Who was he supposed to admit it to, his uncle? Hank? He almost choked. He had too much pride to do that! And then he remembered what Hank had said the day he'd showed him Papa's saber and the uniform buttons: “Pride's pretty important to you, ain't it?” It was his pride—pride in his hatred of Yankees—that had changed him from “Will” back into “Will-yum Page”!

Will looked up again and met his uncle's eyes. “I—I have to go back to the store,” he said. “There's something I've got to do.”

He was out the door before anyone could question him. He started down the lane, muttering to himself, “I know I have to go back, but what am I going to do when I get there?” He turned onto the road and crossed the flood-swollen stream. He'd swallow his pride and admit he was wrong, but what then?

All too soon, he splashed through the flow from the roadside spring. All too soon, the mill came into view, and the boarded-up school building, and then the store. Will's steps began to falter, but he squared his shoulders and walked determinedly toward the store. He crossed its wide porch, nodding politely to the two elderly men who were chatting there, and went inside, letting the door slam behind him.

Mr. Riley looked up from behind the counter, and Hank,
who was using a feather duster on one of the high shelves, turned to stare at him with hate-filled eyes. Will's mouth felt dry.

“Well, what is it, boy?” asked Mr. Riley. “Did your uncle forget something this morning?”

Will took a deep breath. “No, sir. I—I came back to tell you that Hank didn't trip me with his broom this morning. I—”

“See, Pa? I
told
you I didn't do nothing!” Hank stumbled down from his stepstool and reached Will in three steps. “I got the worst beating I ever had 'cause you said I tripped you, and—”

“I didn't say you tripped me!” Will broke in.

Hank stared at him, speechless.

“I just didn't say you
hadn't
tripped me.”

The two boys faced each other, their bodies tense. Mr. Riley cleared his throat. “Well, now,” he said, “let's let bygones be bygones. Will, you can apologize, and Hank, you can accept his apology, and—”

Hank gave a harsh laugh. “Is saying he's sorry I got a beating supposed to make everything fine and dandy?”

“I'm not sorry you got a beating! I'm sorry I wasn't honest, but I'm glad you got a beating. Real glad.”

“If you'd ever had a beating like my pa gives, you wouldn't—” Slowly, a grin spread across Hank's face. “Hey,” he said, “you just admitted you weren't honest. I think Pa should give you a beating for that!”

Will swallowed hard, remembering the thwacking sound of Mr. Riley's belt. Then he gave a quick nod and said, “That's fair enough. I can't take away your beating, but if your pa
gives me one, too, then we'll be even. Right?”

“Ri-i-i-ght,” said Hank, rubbing his hands together. “And I get to watch!”

But Mr. Riley said, “Now wait a minute! I'm not laying a hand on this boy!”

“But, Pa! He just said—”

Mr. Riley shook his head adamantly. “I don't care what he said! Nobody but his uncle has the right to lay a hand on him.”

Hank turned from his father to Will. “Then we'll go out to your uncle's place and let him do it.”

Will gave a quick nod of agreement and they left the store together. As they walked along in awkward silence, Will wondered how his uncle would react. He didn't know which would be worse—if he refused to go along with their plan or if he agreed to it.

“I heard you had a Yankee out at your place a while back.”

Will nodded.

“And your uncle let him stay a week, didn't he?”

“Well, he wasn't in any shape to go on,” Will said defensively.

Hank picked up a pebble and skipped it across a large puddle in the road. “Tell me, what was it like sleepin' under the same roof as a Yankee that might of been the one that killed your pa?”

“This Yankee wasn't even in Virginia when my father was killed,” Will said, remembering how relieved he'd been to learn that Jim Woodley hadn't signed up until '63. “And, anyway, he slept in the barn.”

“I'm surprised your uncle didn't give him his own bed and have him sitting right there at the table with you,” Hank said.

“You know my uncle wasn't for the Union, Hank Riley. He was against the war. And he took this Yankee in because he knew Yankee families had taken in Sam and Enos on their way to Ohio. And because your brother Tom had sent him all that way when he was barely able to walk! Or was it you that sent him?”

“Well, I just wondered what it was like, havin' a Yankee for a guest,” said Hank, evading Will's question. “You don't have to get all het up about it.”

It had been awful, Will thought, remembering. Then he said aloud, “He did sit at the table with us, and it was awful.” He stooped to pick up a rock and with a flick of his wrist tossed it into a puddle at the edge of the road.

Hank picked up a rock and spit on it. “See that beech tree?”

“Which one?

“The big one just off the road on the right.”

Will's eyes searched for it. “That one way down there?” he asked, pointing.

“Watch this,” Hank said. He took a few running steps and let the rock fly. It hit smack in the center of the trunk and bounced back. “Bet you can't do that,” he challenged.

Will's answer was to pick up a rock of his own. Calculating the distance, he hurled it at his target. It missed by inches.

“Knew you couldn't hit it!”

At least it hadn't fallen short, Will thought, stooping for another rock. “Let's try for best two out of three,” he said.

But Hank's next two tries hit the tree and his own missed it narrowly. Will wished he'd left well enough alone.

“I've always been the champion rock thrower in these
parts,” Hank said smugly. “Ain't nobody 'round here that can beat me.”

He threw another rock down the road ahead of them, and Will followed suit. They walked on, scooping up rocks and skimming them along just above the road or making wide arcs above it.

Suddenly Hank stopped. “What's that noise?” he asked.

Will listened. “The creek. It's high after all that rain.”

“I'll race you there!” Hank said, starting off.

Will pounded down the road just behind Hank. If only he could beat him! But the distance between them widened, and he realized that he was no match for the long-legged older boy.

“Are you the champion runner, too?” Will said, panting, when he reached the creek.

“Sometimes me and Pat tie,” Hank said. “You could beat Amos easy, though.”

“I should hope so!” Will said, thinking of the fat boy.

Hank turned back to the raging creek. “Look at this,” he said, tossing in a stick and watching it swirl downstream.

Will bent over to roll up his overalls. “Come on. Have you forgotten why we're here?”

A grin spread across Hank's face and he, too, began to roll up his pant legs.

They crossed the creek and turned up the lane toward the house. Will had to make a conscious effort not to let his steps lag when he saw his uncle walking toward the toolshed.

Uncle Jed stopped when he saw them. “What can I do for you boys this afternoon?” he asked.

Will looked at Hank. “You tell him.”

“Um, you see, um, back at the store this morning, Will, here, he got me a beating I didn't deserve.”

“You don't think you deserved a beating?” Uncle Jed asked.

Will gave him a quick look.

“I never tripped him with that broom! Honest! You can ask him yourself!” Hank said, darting a glance at Will. “Anyway, what we thought was, since I got a beating I didn't deserve, you should give Will a beating.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Uncle Jed. “Since you got a beating you say you didn't deserve, Will should get a beating he doesn't deserve. Is that right?”

Hank was looking at his feet again. “I, uh, I guess that's right. It would make things even, don't you see?”

Uncle Jed looked at Will. “Is this what you want, too?”

Will nodded.

“Come along to the barn, then, and I'll find me a strap.”

The boys followed him to the barn. Will's hands were damp with sweat. He'd had his knuckles rapped with a ruler now and then at school, but he'd never had a beating. He swallowed hard and vowed silently that he wouldn't cry out the way Hank had. Or the way Charlie had the time Papa'd taken a strap to him for making off with the door to a neighbor's privy. Even now, the memory of Charlie's prank almost made Will grin.

Uncle Jed chose one of the leather straps that hung from a hook on the barn wall. Will wondered how many times his uncle would hit him. How many times had Hank's father hit him? A good many, probably, judging from how angry the man had been.

Uncle Jed turned toward him, and Will tried not to look at the strap in his hand. His mouth felt dry.

“All right, Will. Drop your overalls and hang onto the edge of that there stall. And you, Hank. Stand over by the door where you have a good view. How many whacks do you want me to give him?” he asked. “Ten or twelve? Fifteen?”

Will gripped the edge of the stall. Ten or twelve? Fifteen? Could he stand fifteen whacks without crying out?

“Aw, ferget it.”

Will couldn't believe his ears.

“What do you mean, ‘ferget it'?” said Uncle Jed. “I thought you wanted to see him get a beating.”

“I changed my mind! Can't a feller change his mind?”

“You sure, boy?”

“Yes! Yes, I'm sure!”

Uncle Jed took a deep breath. “Well, then, Will,” he said, “you'd better pull up those overalls.”

Still hardly believing what he'd just heard, Will pulled them up and stuffed in his shirttail. When he turned around, Uncle Jed was hanging the strap on the hook, and Hank was already halfway down the lane.

“Hey, Hank!” he called, breaking into a run. “Wait up!”

Hank didn't wait, but Will thought he walked a little slower. When he caught up, Will said, “Say, I was wondering if you'd help me learn to throw as well as you do.”

Hank snorted. “Nobody can throw as well as I do!” he said. “But I guess I can show you how I do it,” he added grudgingly.

“Thanks,” said Will. “Thanks a lot, Hank. I'll come by the store one day soon.” He turned and started back up the
lane, whistling cheerfully. Now he wouldn't feel as if he were running away from trouble when he went back to Winchester in October.

Meg came running toward him. “What did Hank want? Why'd he come back with you?” she asked breathlessly. “And what were the two of you and Pa doing in the barn?”