Will awoke to the sound of rain beating on the tin roof. He shivered a little as he pulled on his clothes.
At breakfast Uncle Jed announced, “It’ll be too muddy to work tomorrow, so Will and I’ll walk in to the store. We need to decide what to buy with that cash the twins sent.”
“We’ve used almost all the flour, and there’s hardly any salt left,” Aunt Ella said. “And we need cornmeal. But be sure to save enough to buy the children shoes for winter.”
Shoes for winter! Will swallowed hard. He couldn’t wait much longer to tell them he was leaving.
Uncle Jed looked out at the sheets of rain. “I think this is going to keep up all day. No use planning to do anything other than stay dry.”
Aunt Ella drew her shawl closer around her and said, “Yesterday I didn’t think I’d ever be cool again, but today I wouldn’t mind a fire. We could cook inside, too.”
“I’ll bring in some wood and your soup pot,” Uncle Jed said.
The usually homey room seemed dreary, and Will hoped the fire would brighten it, as well as take off the chill.
“What are we going to do all day?” Meg asked.
Her mother said, “I’ll be quite happy to sit in front of the fire in my rocking chair and do a little needlework.”
“Do you play checkers?” Will asked hopefully.
Meg’s face lit up. She ran to the chest near the fireplace and found a small tin box and an inch-thick wooden board with alternate squares charred black. At the table, she opened the box and poured out yellow and red kernels of corn. “Do you want to be red?” she asked.
Will nodded, and they began sorting out the kernels. He thought sadly of his father’s inlaid marble board and his sets of carved ivory and ebony checkers and chessmen. How he hated to think of them being sold!
“You can go first, Meg,” he said.
“We’ll take turns going first,” she said, making her move.
Will knew Meg would be offended if he let her win, but he didn’t want to beat her too badly. He pretended not to see a jump he could have taken and was shocked when his cousin’s next move set up a three-for-one trade. Too late, he realized that he faced a skilled opponent.
At least she hadn’t let him win, Will thought as they set up the board again a few minutes later. He was so intent on the game that he hardly noticed his uncle building a fire in the giant fireplace or Aunt Ella wiping up the water he had tracked in. And he barely glanced up when Uncle Jed came out of the bedroom in dry clothes and sat down to watch them play. Will moved his last man onto Meg’s king row, and she “crowned” it by adding a second red kernel to its square. Now they both had two kings. This game, at least, would be a tie.
But five minutes later Will was trying to figure out how his cousin had beaten him again. “You’re a good player, Meg,” he said grudgingly.
She grinned. “I used to watch Sam and Enos play.”
Will brushed a pile of kernels into his hand and poured them carefully into the tin box. He wished his uncle hadn’t seen him beaten. Beaten by a ten-year-old. Beaten by a girl!
“I could show you how to get out of that trap she had you in, lad,” said Uncle Jed.
Will shook his head. “I’ve had enough checkers for now.”
“Will you play with me, then, Pa?” asked Meg.
“Not if you’re going to beat me the way you beat your cousin.”
Meg giggled. “Oh, Pa, you know I never beat you!” she said.
Will went up to his room and stood at the window. Outside, everything was a watery gray blur. He glanced at his pen and copybook. He would write Doc Martin and ask him to come for him just before school started. That way he could help his uncle harvest the buckwheat and fill the woodshed before he left.
But instead of beginning the letter, Will lay down on his bed and listened to the rain lashing at the window and beating on the tin roof like bursts of musket fire. He wished he were downstairs watching the game and maybe learning some new tricks. He shouldn’t have said he was tired of checkers. That made him sound like a sore loser.
He shut his eyes and thought of rainy days in the cozy parlor at home, with the gas lights burning brightly. Mama would be at her desk writing letters, and his sisters would be playing with their dolls in front of the fire while he and Charlie sat at opposite ends of the sofa, reading.
Reading! Will sat up. Slowly he walked over to the little table by the window and reached for the book the Yankee soldier had left for him two weeks before. “It’s foolish not to read a book just because you don’t like the person who gave it to you,” he said aloud. Then, feeling almost cheerful, he clattered down the stairs.
Meg was putting away the game when Will moved a chair nearer to the window to take advantage of the pale gray light.
“Is that the book Jim gave you?” she asked.
He nodded. The stiff-backed chair creaked as he sat down and opened the book. He had read only a few pages when he became aware of the silence. He glanced up to see Meg watching him from the small three-legged stool at her mother’s feet. He had never seen her sit so still before. Or look so sad.
“Is it a good book?” she asked.
He nodded again. “So far.” Maybe he could teach Meg to read before he left. After all, school wouldn’t start till mid-October.
Returning to the book, he found it hard to concentrate. The crackling of the fire was the only sound in the room, but still he was distracted. He looked up, and again he met Meg’s eyes. This time, he thought he understood.
“Would you like me to read it aloud?” he asked.
“Oh, Will! Would you?”
He glanced at his uncle. “Do you mind?”
So Will cleared his throat and began. “Moby Dick, by Herman Melville. Chapter One:
‘Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. . . . ’ ”