Shades of Gray (6 page)

“Well, I lost my rabbit, too,” Will finally admitted. “This is Meg's rabbit.” Then he forced himself to say, “Tell your pa how you got it, Meg.”

Uncle Jed grinned appreciatively as he listened to Meg tell how she'd killed the rabbit in the garden. “Good for you, Meg! Good for you!” he said when she'd finished. Then he turned to Will. “Well, since we can't count on that happening again any time soon, let me tell you how to get a rabbit out of the trap. You grab the hind legs and jerk him out, and then you whop him on the back of the neck like this,” he said, making a chopping motion with the side of his palm.

“Pull him out by the legs and whop him on the back of his neck,” Will repeated. But thinking of the warm, furry creature he'd held that morning, he wondered if knowing what to do would make it any easier to kill the next rabbit.

A few days later Will brought back two rabbits from the trap line. After they had been skinned and cleaned, Aunt Ella set one aside and wrapped the other in a cloth.

“Meg, I want you to take this over to Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins. I'll bet they haven't tasted meat since the old man lost his leg in January.”

“You're going to send it to
Mr. Jenkins?”
Meg asked in disbelief.

Slipping the neatly wrapped package into an empty flour sack, Aunt Ella handed it to her daughter. “This is as good a
way as any to let him know we don't harbor any bitterness,” she said.

“Can't Will take it instead?”

Seeing the misery on her daughter's face, Aunt Ella relented. “Very well, but you'll have to show him the way.”

Will slung the sack over his shoulder, and the two of them set off. They headed south, past the buckwheat field and then through the orchard and into the second-growth woods beyond.

“Why don't you want to see Mr. Jenkins?” Will asked.

“Well, his two youngest sons were killed in the war,” Meg explained, “and last fall when Pa and I were down at the store Mr. Jenkins said he didn't think it was fair for young men to die protecting the rights of people who wouldn't fight for themselves.”

Will said nothing. He felt the same way.

Meg went on. “Pa said he agreed with him and asked who he had in mind. Well, Mr. Jenkins said he had in mind a neighbor who always hid in the woods when the conscription teams came through looking for recruits. So Pa said he always made a point of going hunting under those circumstances, but he was sure Mr. Jenkins didn't mean him, 'cause if any of his rights needed protecting he'd protect them himself.

“Well, finally Mr. Jenkins got so angry he challenged Pa to step outside the store and fight him. Pa didn't want to fight an old man, so he said he had no quarrel with him and turned around to leave. And then Mr. Jenkins called him a coward.”

Will whistled through his teeth. “What happened then?”

“Pa turned around and walked right up to Mr. Jenkins and took hold of the front of his shirt and yanked him up so
only the tips of his toes were still on the ground. He held him there, just held him there so their faces were about six inches apart. Then he said, ‘Jonas Jenkins, who do you think is the coward, a man who walks away from a fight he knows he can win, or a man who makes a challenge he knows won't be accepted?' ”

“And was that the end of it?” asked Will, unwilling to acknowledge the respect he was feeling for his uncle.

Meg nodded. “Except that Mr. Jenkins hasn't spoken to any of us since.”

“I think your ma's doing the right thing, sending him and his wife the extra meat,” Will said, shifting the sack to his other shoulder.

“I know, but I'm awful glad I don't have to take it up to the house.”

They came out of the woods into a long-neglected field that was dotted with small cedars. Beyond it Will could see the glint of a tin roof.

“There's the house,” said Meg, pointing. “Give a holler when you get to the fence. I'll wait for you here.”

While he was still a distance away, Will saw an old woman come out of the lean-to that ran the width of the house.

He stopped and shouted, “Hello? Hello!”

The woman turned in his direction and shaded her eyes with her hand. “Who's there?” she called.

For a moment or two, Will was uncertain how to respond. Then he held up the sack and started walking toward her, calling back, “I'm bringing you a rabbit for your dinner. I'm Ella Jones's nephew, Will Page.”

They met at the back gate. “Well, I'm pleased to meet
you, Will Page, and I'm right glad for the meat you brought. We—”

“Who's there? Who's out there?” came a loud, peevish voice.

Mrs. Jenkins called back, “It's a young man bringing us a rabbit.”

“Well, send him around here so I can see him.”

Mrs. Jenkins led the way around to the front of the house. A frail-looking old man with a quilt thrown across his lap sat in a rocking chair on the porch. He leaned forward and squinted at Will.

“Who is this boy?” he asked his wife. “It's nobody I've seen before.”

Will climbed the porch steps. “I'm Will Page. I'm from Winchester, but my father was killed in the war, so I've come to live with my Aunt Ella.”

“Ella Jones?” the man asked, his eyes narrowing.

Will nodded. “She sent you this rabbit for your dinner,” he said, thrusting the sack toward him.

“Rabbit, eh?” he said. Then, turning to his wife he snapped, “Well, you'd better start it cooking if it's going to be ready by noon.”

She took the sack and started for the kitchen, and the old man turned his attention back to Will. “So you're Jed Jones's nephew,” he said, his eyes narrowing again.

“Aunt Ella and my mother were sisters,” Will answered.

Mr. Jenkins gave a bark of a laugh. “I don't blame you for not wanting to admit any kinship to that—”

“He and I don't feel the same about the war, but he's been good to me since I've come here to live,” Will interrupted,
backing down the porch steps. He hated having to defend his uncle to a man who'd lost two sons in the war, but he knew it would be wrong to stand by and hear him criticized.

“Well, you thank your Aunt Ella and her husband for the rabbit,” Mr. Jenkins said, dropping one eyelid in a wink.

At the corner of the house, Will almost collided with Mrs. Jenkins. “Here,” she said breathlessly, thrusting a basket into his hands. “Here's something to take back to your aunt.”

Inside, nestled on the folded flour sack, were four chicks! Will looked up in surprise.

“The Union foragers thought they'd got my whole flock,” the old woman explained, “but I'd stuffed all I could into a burlap sack and hung it in the well. It was dark down there, so they never made a sound, and we've had a few eggs now and then. And just yesterday ol' Biddy hatched out a dozen chicks.” She stroked one of them with a gnarled finger. “I think this one's a cockerel.”

Will couldn't take his eyes off the tiny balls of fluff. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

Carefully he carried the basket across the field. “Meg!” he called. “Come see what I've got!”

She came running toward him, her bonnet dangling down her back and a huge bouquet of daisies in her hand. Wordlessly, he held the basket out to her, and before he knew what had happened, he found himself holding the daisies while she sat with the basket on her lap and a tiny chick cradled in her hands. Separated from the others, it began to peep anxiously.

“Come on, Meg, we'd better get them home,” urged Will.

She slipped the chick back into the basket and stood up, saying, “I'll carry them.”

Will felt foolish, trailing along behind her with the daisies, but then he realized that no one would see him, and Aunt Ella would be pleased when he gave her the flowers. But not as pleased as she'd be to have the start of a new flock of chickens!

“I've a hankering for fish tonight,” Uncle Jed said as he sat down at the table the next noon. “Will, why don't you see if you can get us another bass from the millpond?”

Will's stomach churned. What if Hank and the others were there again?

“I'll take him to the river this time,” Meg said. And when her father frowned, she leaned forward a little and said urgently, “Please, Pa, let me show him the way!”

“The child deserves an afternoon away from the place, Jed,” Aunt Ella said quietly. “She's been working hard since breakfast.”

Finally Uncle Jed spoke. “All right. Take him to the river. It'll be less crowded there.”

Uncle Jed knew! Meg must have told him. Will felt his face begin to flush. “I'll fish at the pond,” he said stiffly.

Uncle Jed looked up. “Good,” he said. “Good.”

Will didn't know whether he was angry because his uncle had thought he was a coward or because he'd seemed surprised to learn he wasn't. He glanced at Meg. She was staring down at her plate.

“You can show Will the way to the river next time,” Uncle Jed told her. “There'll be other fishing trips.”

“Oh, let her go along,” said Aunt Ella. “She can pick some
of those black raspberries that grow down by the mill. They should be ripe by now.” She smiled fondly at her daughter.

“Thanks, Ma,” Meg said quietly.

Will had such a knot in his stomach that he could hardly eat. But he managed to chew and swallow everything on his plate. He knew his uncle was watching him, and he didn't want the man to see any sign of the dread he felt. At last the meal was over, and Aunt Ella handed Will a jar for the bait and gave Meg a basket for the berries.

When they were out of earshot, Meg turned to Will in exasperation. “Why did you do that? Why did you say we'd go to the pond when Pa said we could go to the river?”

Patiently, Will explained. “He knew we wanted to go to the river so we wouldn't risk meeting Hank again. I didn't want him to think I'm afraid of Hank and his friends.”

“But you
are
afraid, aren't you?”

“I don't want your pa to think I'm a coward,” Will said, evading the question. And before Meg could reply, he dashed after a grasshopper that had landed on a rock just ahead of him. He'd been able to talk his way out of trouble with those boys last time, but could he do it again? He was afraid, all right, but he wasn't going to admit it. And he certainly wasn't going to act like it. One coward in this house was enough.

When they had all the bait they needed, Will said, “Why don't you stay here, Meg? You can tell your ma I wanted to go alone.”

She shook her head. “Not after she stood up for me with Pa. Anyway, I can't let you go down there and face those bullies all by yourself!”

Will gave an empty laugh. “What kind of help do you think you'll be?”

“Well, if they start beating you up, I can run over to the store and get Mr. Riley.”

“Who's Mr. Riley?”

“Hank's pa. He owns the store.” She grinned. “Hank's plenty scared of him, too, 'cause he's got a terrible temper.”

Will didn't answer. He wondered which would be worse—having his cousin rescue him by running for Hank's father or being beaten up. He got Sam's fishing pole from the barn, and they set off.

For once, Meg had little to say. As they walked along the road, Will hoped that they were worrying for nothing. Maybe Hank and his friends wouldn't even be there. He could catch a couple of fish while Meg picked berries, and then they'd go home and he'd have proved to Uncle Jed that he wasn't a coward. Will sighed, realizing that he wouldn't have proved anything at all. He had to face those boys again sometime, and it might as well be today. His muscles tensed at the thought.

When at last the mill came into view ahead of them, Meg whispered, “I don't think they're here.”

“They're here,” Will said woodenly. “Underneath the sycamore where I fished last time.”

Meg caught her breath. “Let's go over by the wheel.”

“They'd just come there if we did. You go ahead and pick your berries. I'm going to fish where they are.”

“I'm coming with you,” Meg said in a small voice.

Will saw Patrick nudge Hank. Hank glanced at them and
then tapped Amos on the shoulder. All three boys stared at them as they approached.

“Have you caught anything big enough to keep, or have you just been throwing the little ones back again?” Will called.

Hank ignored the question. “We was wondering when you was gonna come back, Will-yum Page,” he said. “We've got something to ask you about.”

“Well, go ahead and ask,” said Will, dropping down on one knee to bait his hook. He was relieved to see that Hank and the others were still lounging on the ground.

“You come from Winchester?”

Will nodded without looking up.

“Ever hear of a Charlie Page?”

“Charlie Page?” Will asked dumbly, not turning around. His pulse pounded in his temples and his mouth was dry. How did Hank know about his brother?

And then he heard Meg say, “My ma had a cousin named Charles, but nobody ever called him Charlie.”

“I thought maybe this Charlie Page in Winchester was Will-yum's brother,” Hank drawled.

“Will's brother was named Peter, but he drowned last summer. He was only eight years old,” Meg said mournfully.

Will could hardly believe his ears. He got unsteadily to his feet and tossed his line into the water. Then he took a deep breath and without turning around asked, “What's so important about this Charlie Page?” He was surprised to hear that his voice sounded normal.

“Nothing important about him. He's dead.”

Amos broke in eagerly. “My brother, see, he was in the war, and once when the Yankees held Winchester he was on
a scouting mission near one of their outposts and he saw this boy, Charlie Page, get shot, and—”