Shades of Gray (5 page)

“Where do you think it should be?”

Will hesitated a moment and then said, “Near to where we'll be working but away from dry grass that might catch fire.”

“That'll be fine,” said his uncle.

Frustrated, Will asked, “Well, where are we going to work?”

“Why, right here in the shade of the barn,” said Uncle Jed. “I'll bring the post lengths over while you do that.”

Still not quite understanding what he was supposed to do, Will chose a spot a little distance away from the barn and the woodshed and began to dig. The pointed end of the heavy mattock bit into the packed earth. By the time his uncle returned, Will's arms and shoulders ached, but he'd dug a good-sized hole.

“Slope the sides some and that'll be fine,” Uncle Jed told him. “Then gather up some wood chips and scraps and put them in. You can use the bark that peels off this locust, too. When we get around to charring, we'll be ready.”

Will did as he was told. Then he watched while Uncle Jed tapped the sharp-bladed froe with the malletlike wooden maul and split sections off each side of the last few lengths of locust, leaving a center piece with smooth, flat edges.

“I guess you never helped make a fence before—or did much work at all before you came here,” Uncle Jed commented.

Will shook his head. At home, there'd been no need for him to work.

“Well, around these parts, a man takes pride in doing things for himself. Now, hand me that auger.”

Will had never thought about taking pride in hard, physical work. He handed his uncle the tool and watched him quickly bore two holes in the post about six inches apart, then drop down the distance of two hand spans to make another pair of holes. As he measured out the distance for a third pair he looked up and said, “Remember, now, that's two spans measured by
my
hands.”

Thinking of the two hundred paces, Will scowled. He hated to be teased.

“Now bring me that post ax.”

Suddenly Will understood what his uncle was doing. He watched him cut away the wood between the two holes he'd bored to make the large vertical opening to slide the fence rails through.

After he had made the first two slots, Uncle Jed handed Will the ax. “Now you try it.”

It wasn't as easy as it looked. By the time he was finally through, the third slot had scrapes and scars all around it. Will was embarrassed by his poor effort, but Uncle Jed said, “That's the idea. You go ahead with that while I split out some more posts and bore the holes.”

His second attempt showed considerable progress, Will thought. “Where should I put the finished posts?” he asked.

“Wherever you think best.”

After a moment's hesitation, Will laid them alongside the pit he'd dug. He turned around and saw Uncle Jed toss aside another post and reach for the next piece of wood. Will picked up a drilled post. If Uncle Jed could split a post and drill six holes in the time it took him to cut out the wood between one pair of holes, by the time he did this post he'd be three behind.
He swept his eyes around the pasture fence, trying to estimate how many posts would be needed. He sighed as he picked up the ax. It would take more than a month just to complete this part of the job.

But by suppertime the pile of finished posts gave Will a feeling of satisfaction. At least nobody could say he wasn't earning his keep, he thought as he helped Uncle Jed gather up the tools.

In the morning, Will was the first to leave the breakfast table. “I'm on my way to check the trap line,” he announced.

“Are you sure you can find the way?” Meg asked anxiously.

“He can find the way,” Uncle Jed said before Will had a chance to answer.

Of course he could find the way! Will thought indignantly as he climbed the fence and entered the woods. Hands in his pockets, he strode along, noticing how very quiet it was. And how different everything looked. Could he have missed his first landmark? He drew a sigh of relief when he spotted the rotting log at the turn.

Will hurried on, watching for the tall pine that was the next landmark. The steep hill seemed endless, and, puzzled, he stopped. He went a few more steps and stopped again, looking carefully all around him. Nothing was familiar. Turning back, he hurried downhill, watching for the pine tree. He must have missed it again! Chest heaving, he started back up the hill, and his eyes came to rest on a boulder—the boulder he had passed just before he'd started to retrace his steps!

Now the silence of the woods seemed ominous. Why were no birds singing? Why was there no breeze? He turned and
began to run down the hill. His chest hurt and his breath came in gasping sobs. And then, out of control on the steep slope, he fell. He lay sprawled on the ground for a moment, his head spinning, then slowly sat up. He was bruised, and his elbows were skinned, but that seemed to be the extent of the damage.

“I can't let that happen again,” he said aloud. “I can't let myself panic like that.”

The sound of his own voice calmed him. He struggled painfully to his feet, and his eyes came to rest on a rotting log. It was the rotting log that marked the first turn! Numbly, he realized that he simply hadn't gone far enough to reach the second landmark. He hadn't missed the pine tree, after all.

Wearily, he started uphill again, passing the place where he had turned back twice. Reaching the pine tree, he continued uphill, turned again at the vine-covered stump, and plodded on.

When at last he came to the creek, Will dropped to his knees and dipped handfuls of the cool water to slake his thirst. After he'd splashed his face and carefully washed the scrapes on his elbows, he started upstream, counting his paces as he made his way from trap to trap. They were all empty.

On the way back, Will tried to make up for some of the time he'd lost, but the sun was high when he climbed over the pasture fence. Nearing the house, he saw Aunt Ella doing the wash in front of the kitchen. Steam rose from the huge iron cauldron where she was stirring the clothes with a wooden paddle, and her hair hung lank. She wiped the perspiration from her face. Will was glad his mama hadn't had to work that hard. At home, Lizzy had always done the wash. And Lizzy would have stayed on with them and worked for wages,
now that she was free. And Callie and Fred would have, too, if only—

“I was beginning to worry about you, Will,” Aunt Ella said, interrupting his thoughts. “I was afraid you might have gotten lost.”

“You don't have to worry, Aunt Ella. I can take care of myself.” Just because he'd grown up in town, there was no reason for everybody to think he couldn't learn to get along in the country.

At dinner that noon, Uncle Jed asked Will, “Have any trouble this morning?”

“All the traps were empty,” Will answered. Then, because his uncle seemed to be waiting for more, he added grudgingly, “It seemed a lot farther than the other times.”

His uncle nodded. “First time Enos walked the old trap line alone, he was so sure he'd missed the first turn, he went back. He was almost home again before he realized he just hadn't gone quite far enough.” Then he asked, “How'd you scrape those elbows?”

“Elbows? Oh, I—I fell coming down the hill.”

“Going too fast, I reckon,” said Uncle Jed.

Will wondered uneasily if his uncle had guessed what had happened.

Working on the fence posts again that afternoon, Will found he was cutting neater slots with the post ax and doing it faster, too. Uncle Jed looked up as Will carried his third completed post toward the growing pile, and Will couldn't resist holding it up to show him.

“That's more like it,” Uncle Jed said. “Doesn't look so much like it was gnawed by a varmint.”

Will started to work on the next post, furious with himself for seeming to ask for praise. He had to prove that he could do his share of the work—and do it well—even though his family had had slaves to do all the chores. But beyond that, he didn't care what his uncle thought of him.

“We might make a farm boy out of him yet,” Uncle Jed muttered as if to himself. And then more loudly, “Get a light from Ella's hearth and start the fire in that pit you dug. When it burns down to coals, we can start charring the posts.”

Will scrambled to his feet, pretending he hadn't heard his uncle's compliment. But he was more pleased than he wanted to admit. Why should the opinion of a man he didn't even like make any difference to him? he wondered. In the hot kitchen he plucked a straw from his aunt's broom and stooped to light it in the coals that glowed under the heavy iron pot. As he touched his straw to one of the coals, Will had an idea. Tossing the straw into the fire, he found the ash bucket and shoveled it half full of coals. He carried them to the pit and emptied them in, noticing that his uncle was nowhere to be seen. Then from inside the toolshed he heard the unmistakable sound of a whetstone on a blade and knew Uncle Jed had stopped to sharpen a tool.

Will made another trip for coals, and still his uncle hadn't returned. He started toward the shed to ask how to go about charring the posts but then thought better of it. His uncle would only say, “How do you think you should do it?”

Resolutely, Will began arranging the finished posts so that the bottom ends were in the coals. Not sure what to do next,
he gave each one a quarter turn, and then another, and another. Suddenly worried that he might be destroying the results of hours of work, he pulled a post from the coals. The bottom eight inches or so were evenly blackened.

As he lifted the last post from the pit and lay it on the ground, he saw his uncle watching from the toolshed door.

“You sure you never made a fence before?” the man asked.

Will grinned in spite of himself. His uncle was pleased with his work!

The next day Will set off for the trap line, confident that this time nothing would go wrong. He reached the first trap with no difficulty, and after a quick drink from the stream, he started off again, hoping that he'd find at least one rabbit to make his walk worth the effort.

As he approached the twelfth trap, he saw that the door had fallen shut. He ran the last few steps and picked up the small wooden box. But what next? He had been too far behind to see how his uncle removed the animals from the traps and how he killed them. He must have wrung their necks, since there hadn't been any blood.

Will had shot squirrels and rabbits, but he'd never killed anything with his bare hands. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the trap door open. The rabbit filled the narrow box, its flanks heaving in terror. Holding his breath, Will reached in, grabbed it, and pulled it out. He felt the animal's muscles tense under the soft fur. And in a flash, the trap was on the ground, the rabbit was gone, and Will's forearm was dripping blood from
long rows of deep, curved scratches. He was stunned. How had it all happened so fast?

The cold water of the stream eased the pain in his arm, and the bleeding stopped. Glumly, Will reset the trap, noting that the green apple bait hadn't even been nibbled on. Only the pain in his arm and the emptiness of his stomach kept him from feeling sorry for the terrified animal that had been in the box.

On the way home, Will's arm began to throb. He could imagine what his uncle would say when he found out what had happened: “You're supposed to get the rabbit, not to let him get you!” Or maybe, “If you want something done right, I guess you have to do it yourself.”

Why had he been so careless? If it weren't for those claw marks, he could have pretended that all the traps had been empty again. And then he could have asked his uncle casually what he should do when he found a rabbit in one of the traps. Why hadn't he thought to ask him that before he left this morning?

Aunt Ella and Meg were hoeing the garden when Will got back. Taking a deep breath, he called, “I've hurt my arm a little. Can you bandage it for me, Aunt Ella?”

His aunt hurried over. “That needs more than a bandage, young man,” she said. “Come on back to the house with me.”

After she'd carefully washed her hands, Aunt Ella reached for a can on the mantel. “A little coal oil on that will keep it from getting infected.”

Coal oil? Why, that was kerosene! Will braced himself for the searing burn.

“That must smart right bad,” Aunt Ella said sympathetically as she tore strips of clean white cloth.

“I'm sorry you got hurt, Will,” Meg said, coming in to watch her mother bandage Will's arm.

“I'm just sorry there won't be rabbit stew for dinner,” he said through clenched teeth.

“We'll have rabbit stew, anyway,” Meg said smugly.

Will looked up, puzzled.

“When I went out to the garden this morning, there was a big ol' rabbit eating the beet tops, so I threw a rock at him. Well, it hit him, and while he was stunned I ran over and killed him with my hoe!” Meg said triumphantly. Then she added, “Ma skinned and cleaned him, 'cause Pa had gone to the store to see if there was a letter from the twins.”

Will felt the blood rush to his face. Here he'd walked a couple of miles and come back with nothing to show for it but some gashes on his arm, and she'd gone out to the garden and killed herself a rabbit—accidentally.

“Was there a letter?” he asked at last.

Meg sighed. “Not yet.”

At dinnertime Uncle Jed looked at Will's bandaged arm and frowned. “You get kicked by that rabbit this morning?”

Will nodded without raising his eyes.

“I blame myself for that. I should have made sure you knew how to get them out of the trap. Those scratches can really hurt.”

Surprised, Will looked up. “You've been scratched?”

“Sure have. When I was about your age, I walked my older
brother's trap line for him. Came back all bloody, with no rabbit. At least you didn't lose your rabbit.”

Uncle Jed passed Will a plate of stew, and the boy waited for Meg to pipe up with her story. But she didn't say a word.