When breakfast was over the next morning, Uncle Jed looked across the table at Will and said, “So, you don’t think you can find your way up the mountain to the trap line.”
Will clenched his teeth. Was his uncle trying to embarrass him in front of Aunt Ella and Meg? “Not yet,” he said. “I still need to follow you one more time.” He hoped one more time would be enough.
Uncle Jed gave a brief nod. “Come along, then.”
The grasshoppers that jumped out of the pasture grass reminded Will of his experience at the millpond the day before. Because of Charlie, older boys had never dared to bully him at home. Life had been so much easier back in Winchester—before the war.
They crossed the fence and entered the woods. Soon Uncle Jed made a right-angle turn and began to climb. “Veer left by rotting log,” Will muttered to himself. “Bear right past tall pine, and go steeply uphill,” he whispered at the next turn. Then, “Make a left by stump with Virginia creeper growing on it, and go straight uphill to the ridge.” When they started down into the hollow, Will could hear the creek. They were almost at the first trap!
Out of breath again, Will dropped to his knees by the creek, thinking resentfully that he didn’t need anybody telling him how much he should drink. He heard his uncle say, as if to himself, “I wonder if the trap two hundred paces upstream is as empty as this one.” Will scrambled to his feet and began to count silently: 1, 2, 3 . . . 198, 199, 200! He stopped and looked around but saw nothing. And his uncle was standing some distance ahead of him, a lifeless rabbit dangling from his hand.
After his initial bewilderment, Will continued his count. When he reached 260, there in front of him was the second trap. All he had to do was count 260 of his own steps, and he’d be able to find every one of them.
He called after his uncle. “I think I can find the rest of the traps now!”
There was no response. He tried again. “Wait for me! I’ll lead the way!”
His uncle paid no attention. Panting, Will reached the third trap in time to watch his uncle reset it. Another rabbit lay on the ground at his feet.
“Didn’t you hear me holler?” asked Will, his chest heaving.
His uncle looked up at him. “Oh, were you hollerin’ for me?” he asked. “How was I to know?”
Will just stared at him. Who else would he be hollering for in the middle of the woods? And then he understood. His uncle wanted to be called by name. Well, he wouldn’t do it, and he hoped the man knew why he wouldn’t! Turning away, he started upstream, counting silently.
The rest of the traps were empty.
As he hoed the endless rows of carrots and turnips later that morning, Will thought noon would never come. He straightened up to rest his aching back for a moment and flexed his fingers, looking ruefully at the blisters forming on his palms. His stomach rumbled, and he glanced toward the kitchen. A wisp of smoke rose from its stone chimney. Good, he thought. Aunt Ella was starting dinner. Maybe by the time he’d finished another row it would be noon.
But he had done nearly three more rows before he saw Aunt Ella carrying a steaming platter from the summer kitchen. He took his hoe to the toolshed before he went to wash up, his face tingling at the memory of Uncle Jed’s words when they’d returned from the trap line that morning: “You’ll find your hoe in the toolshed, Will. I put it away for you yesterday.” He wouldn’t make that mistake again!
Aunt Ella had boiled the rabbits and made a thick gravy for them. Will passed his plate for seconds and didn’t complain when Uncle Jed also gave him another helping of tiny beets cooked with their greens. At the end of the meal he sighed with satisfaction. He couldn’t remember the last time his stomach had actually felt full.
“I’m going to start repairing the fence around the pasture,” Uncle Jed announced. “A lot of the posts are rotting. I’ll need your help, Will.”
“How long do you think it’ll take?”
“Maybe a month, maybe longer.”
Will’s heart sank. He’d be working side by side with his uncle for at least a month!
In the shed, Uncle Jed gathered up his woodworking tools. Then he turned to Will. “Bring a spade and that mattock,” he said, gesturing toward a picklike implement. “You can dig us a pit to char the posts in.” When he saw Will’s puzzled expression, he explained. “If you char the end that goes in the ground, the wood won’t rot so fast.”
Will followed him outside, carrying the spade and the heavy mattock. “Where do you want me to dig the pit?”
“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!