Shades of Gray (7 page)

“I don't think Meg wants to hear this story,” Hank said. “Have you forgotten that folks in the Jones family didn't want nothing to do with people getting shot in the war? Especially with maybe getting shot themselves,” he added.

Will's knuckles were a bloodless white against the fishing pole. He forced himself to say, “
I
want to hear the story. Go pick your berries, Meg.”

Meg gave him a long look. Then, without a word, she picked up her basket and left.

Will turned to the fat boy, who seemed to be waiting for permission to continue. “Go on, Amos,” he said. He sat down on the bank, his back still toward the others, and concentrated on the cork floating on the water.

“Well, Dan—that's my brother—was supposed to see what he could find out about that Yankee camp. So he was hiding in a ditch watching 'em march back and forth—you know how they meet in the middle, turn 'round, and march back?”

“I've watched sentries lots of times,” Will said. “Yankees and Confederates.”

“Well, while Dan was trying to figure out the best way to get close to that camp, he saw something move behind a tree there in the field 'tween him and the sentries. It was a boy, and he had him a gray coat hung on a rake and there was this gray hat he'd rigged above it, somehow. Well, what this boy was doing, he was sticking that thing out from behind the tree to taunt those Yankee sentries. He'd stick it out on one side and then on the other, and kind of wiggle it at 'em a little bit.

“Well, Dan, he watched all this for a while, kind of enjoying
it, and then all of a sudden he heard a shot—
kerboom
!—and right away another one—
kerboom
! Well, he ducked down in the ditch right fast, but when he didn't hear anything more he real careful raised up and looked out. And he saw that boy layin' there on the ground, dead.

“What he figured happened was, when the boy stuck that dummy soldier out, one of the sentries fired and that startled him and he jerked his rake handle so far back that he came clean out from behind the tree on the other side. And then the other sentry shot him dead. They must have planned it out when they met in the middle, before they turned 'round.”

Will's face ached from clenching his jaw so hard. He'd spent the past two years trying to forget that story! He wet his lips with his tongue. “So how did your brother know the boy's name was Charlie Page?” he asked. Then, in a flash of inspiration he added, “Or did you just make that part up?”

“That really was his name, honest!” Amos said. “Two men walking along the road toward town saw it happen and came runnin' over, and Dan heard one of them shout, ‘Oh, my God! It's Charlie Page! This is going to kill his mama!' ”

Will swallowed hard. “Strange I never heard that story,” he said, trying to sound dubious.

“Maybe they tried to keep it quiet so there wouldn't be trouble,” said Amos. “It really is a true story. Dan says he'll never forget that man's voice saying, ‘Oh, my God! It's Charlie Page! This is going to—' ”

“Maybe we didn't hear about it 'cause things like that happened all the time,” said Will, interrupting. His heart was pounding so hard that he felt as if his whole body was shaking.

“Or maybe people kind of figured he'd asked for it,” said Patrick, speaking for the first time.

“Maybe so,” Will said, swallowing hard again.

The boys were silent for a few moments. Then Patrick said, “Tell us some other things that happened in Winchester during the war.”

Just then Will felt a tug on his line. As he landed the fish—a bluegill, this time—he wondered what he could tell them. Stories about Yankee soldiers raiding gardens and harrassing citizens and causing careless damage to the homes where they were billeted wouldn't impress these boys. He thought quickly as he strung his cord through the gills and slid the fish back into the water. Then, fastening the end of the cord to an alder branch, he looked straight at Hank.

“Ever see a dead Yankee?” he asked. The older boy's eyes widened, and Will went on. “After the battles they'd be laying all over in front of the courthouse and the bank and on people's porches, with the capes of their uniforms covering up their faces.”

Patrick's mouth fell open. “You mean they had battles right in town?”

“There was some fighting in the streets, but the battles weren't in town. They were close enough that we could hear the cannon, though. And sometimes bursts of musket fire, too. Afterward they'd bring the wounded into town. They used churches and other buildings and a lot of homes for hospitals, and when the men died their bodies were carried outside.”

“What about our wounded?” Amos asked.

Will's face darkened. “Lots of times the Yankees wouldn't let us onto the battlefields to help our boys till after they'd brought in all their own wounded and buried all their dead. Sometimes it would be more than a day.”

“Did you ever go out on a battlefield?” asked Patrick.

“Sure, but not till maybe a week later. My friend Matt and I used to go out with—with some of the older boys and look for uniform buttons and things like that. We'd go into the camps after the armies moved on and look for souvenirs there, too. I found a lot of things. I gave most of them to Matt when I came here.”

“But you kept some?”

“Just the buttons.”

“I'd sure like to see 'em sometime,” said Patrick.

Will didn't answer. He had another bluegill.

“I don't see why you have so much luck,” Hank said plaintively.

“Try using grasshoppers for bait instead of worms,” Will suggested. “Go ahead and get some out of that jar.”

The three boys quickly pulled in their lines and clustered around the jar. When Hank lifted off the handkerchief cover, the insects sprang out like a shower of sparks rising from a fire. He cursed and almost dropped the jar.

Will pretended to be having trouble getting the fish off the hook so the boys wouldn't see his grin. “You have to turn the jar over and shake one out in your hand,” he said.

“Aw, we was tired of fishing, anyway,” Hank said in disgust. “Say, Will, next time you come, bring some of those buttons you found. I'd like to see 'em.”

Will noticed that he wasn't “Will-yum” anymore. “Sure,”
he said, “but I don't know when I'll be able to come again. My uncle keeps me pretty busy around the place.”

Hank's lip curled. “The uncle that was afraid of getting shot in the war, you mean?”

Will stood up and looked Hank straight in the eye. “I don't want you to mention my uncle again. His not going to war doesn't have anything to do with me.”

There was a long silence. Then Hank gave a quick nod. “Well, bring the buttons when you come.”

“I'll try to remember,” Will said, slinging the string of fish over his shoulder and picking up the pole. “And see if you don't have better luck with grasshoppers.”

Meg met him at the road. Her basket was nearly full of berries, and her mouth was stained purple. There was a long juicy smear above one eye, too. She glanced over her shoulder at the three boys under the sycamore.

“Do you think they'll follow us?” she asked nervously.

“Nah. They won't follow us.”

“How can you be so sure?” she asked, walking faster.

Will grinned. “'Cause we're friends now—sort of. They invited me to fish with them again.” Then he grew serious. “But how did you know what was coming when they asked me about Charlie?”

Meg shifted the heavy berry basket to her other arm. “Well, after we got back from the mill pond last time, I asked Pa why a sentry would kill a boy, and he told me the whole story.”

“I guess Doc Martin had told your ma.”

Meg nodded. “But she and Pa already knew. You see, Pa heard that story down at the mill, when Amos's brother came home after he was wounded more than a year ago.”

“But they never told you, even after I came here?”

Meg shook her head. “Ma just said not to ask you questions about your family, 'cause it would make you sad. But I didn't pay any attention, 'cause it doesn't make me sad to talk about Beth. I guess I should have listened to her, though. I'm sorry, Will.”

“Well, I'm not! Not anymore, at least. If you hadn't asked me about Charlie that day, you'd never have known to throw those boys off the track the way you did.”

Meg was silent for a moment. Then she said, “I don't blame you for not wanting to talk about it.”

Will's words came in a rush. “You see, back home, whenever people saw me they were reminded of what had happened because they knew I was Charlie's brother. I could tell they were thinking about it and feeling sorry for me even when they didn't say anything, and it was awful. The one good thing about coming here was that nobody knew. That people wouldn't be thinking of Charlie's death every time they saw me, and that I wouldn't constantly be reminded of it.” Turning toward Meg, he added, “I just hope those boys believed what you said.”

Meg grinned. “I'm sure they did. I don't think you have to worry about people around here connecting you with the Charlie Page story. And if anybody else does wonder about it, one of those boys will set them straight.”

“Thanks for helping me out, Meg. . . . I'll always remember Charlie, but I want to forget about the way he died.”

Meg nodded. “Pa said Dan told them he'd got used to seeing men killed in battle, but he didn't think he'd ever forget seeing a schoolboy shot or hearing that man's voice when he said,
‘This is going to kill his mama.' ” She paused a moment and then said quietly, “I hope you don't believe that's why your ma died.”

Will walked a few steps in silence. Then he said, “She never really got over what happened, but it didn't kill her. I think it was losing Betsy and Eleanor that made her feel she didn't have any reason for living.”

“She still had you.”

“I guess I wasn't enough,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady.

Meg said quietly, “She was sick, Will. She died because she was sick.”

“Doc Martin said she'd lost the will to live.”

“But that's different from making up your mind to die 'cause you don't have anything to live for. My ma would never do that, and I don't think yours would have, either,” Meg said firmly.

They didn't talk much the rest of the way home, but it was an easy silence. Will noticed in surprise that they were walking in step. That had sometimes happened when he was walking with Matt, but he'd never imagined it would happen when he was walking with a girl! But then, Meg was an unusual girl.

“Load those charred posts on the slide and pull them over to the pasture while I get my tools. We'll replace some of those rotting posts today.”

Will hurried to do what his uncle asked, glad for a change in their afternoon routine. They met at the fence.

“How do we get the old posts out?” Will asked.

“Like this,” his uncle said, digging in his spade.

Will's spirits fell. It would take forever to dig out all the old fence posts!

“Now, watch,” said his uncle after he had dug out several spadefuls of dirt. He looped a short length of chain around the exposed base of the post and fastened it loosely. Then he passed a fence rail through the chain next to the post, twisted it tight, and rested the side of the rail on the ground at the edge of the hole.

Of course! Will thought. He'd use that as a lever!

Uncle Jed put his weight on the end of the rail and lifted the post up several inches. “Slide the chain farther down now,” he directed.

Will scrambled to do as he was asked. This wasn't going to take as long as he had feared!

Near midafternoon, they heard a call. “Will! Hey, Will!”

Will looked up and saw Hank coming down the lane. Surprised, he waved.

“The mail stage brought a letter from Ohio, and Pa sent me over with it,” Hank called, waving an envelope.

As Hank walked toward them, Uncle Jed turned to Will. “We're going to keep right on working, you hear?”

Will nodded, wondering why. He didn't look up when he heard Hank walking through the tall grass to the fence, but out of the corner of his eye he could see him holding out the envelope.

“Here's your letter.” When Uncle Jed didn't turn around, Hank stood there awkwardly and then said, “I guess it's from Sam and Enos.” But still Uncle Jed just went on working.
Finally, in desperation, the boy burst out, “Don't you want your letter, Mr. Jones?”

At that, Uncle Jed turned. “Oh, were you speaking to me?” he asked, reaching out for the letter.

All at once, Will understood. His uncle had refused to respond until Hank called him by name! Well, he'd tricked Hank into saying “Mr. Jones,” but he'd never trick him into saying “Uncle Jed.”

“It was right neighborly of you to bring this all the way out here, Hank,” Uncle Jed said as he tore open the envelope.

“Pa said you'd been lookin' for it for a while and I should bring it on out,” Hank mumbled.

“Well, you tell your pa I'm much obliged,” he said. He read the letter quickly, then handed it to Will. “Take this in to your aunt. She's been waiting a long time to hear from those boys.” Then, turning back to Hank, he said, “It was good talking to you after all this time.”

Will started off toward the house and Hank followed. “How come it's been so long since you and my uncle saw each other?” he asked, pausing to let Hank catch up.

Hank looked sheepish and said, “Oh, we seen each other often enough. We just hadn't talked.” Then, quickly changing the subject, he asked, “Say, Will, I was wondering if maybe I could see those buttons of yours.”

“Sure,” Will agreed cheerfully. “I'll show you my father's saber, too.”