The next day was clear and bright and cool. Will sniffed the air appreciatively as he and Uncle Jed set out for the store after breakfast. The small stream that crossed the road was so high they had to roll their overalls up to their knees before they waded across. The current tugged at their legs and washed the sandy gravel away from under their feet. On either side of the road, the shallow ditches were running with water, and the roadside spring had overflowed, creating a wide, shallow pond.
Several men were talking in front of the store when they arrived, and two whom Will recognized from the day they’d spent at the mill returned Uncle Jed’s greetings. The third said, “Heard you had a Yankee out at your place a couple weeks ago.”
Will held his breath as Uncle Jed turned toward the speaker. “That’s right,” he said. “He was sent to us when he stopped here at the store to ask for shelter for the night.”
“Stayed more than a night, though, didn’t he?” the man persisted.
Uncle Jed nodded. “He stayed until he was strong enough to go on.”
“I was here when he stopped by,” said one of the other men. “He didn’t look so good then. Kinda grayish. That Riley boy shouldn’t have sent him all that extra way to your place, the shape he was in.”
Will gave a sigh of relief. They didn’t seem to blame Uncle Jed for taking in a Yankee!
The men chatted a few minutes longer before Uncle Jed turned to go into the store. Inside, Mr. Riley welcomed them cheerfully, but Hank just continued sweeping the wooden floor.
“The mail stage brought you folks another letter. This one’s from Pennsylvania.” Mr. Riley reached into the box on the shelf behind the counter and pulled out an envelope.
Uncle Jed thanked him and slipped it into his pocket.
Pennsylvania, thought Will. It must be from Jim Woodley.
“I need salt and coffee,” said his uncle. “And I’d like to look at your dress goods.”
Mr. Riley scooped the salt and the coffee beans from their barrels into small cloth sacks, then led the way to the back of the store, where bolts of fabric were piled on a large table.
“Glad to see you’ve still got that green print,” said Uncle Jed. “Ella was admiring it last fall. I’ll take some of that for her, and I’ll need something for Meg, too.”
Mr. Riley counted off the lengths of the green print and pointed to some fabric with a tiny floral pattern. “I’ve got this in both pink and blue. It’s right nice for a young girl.”
Without thinking, Will spoke up. “Get the blue. It’ll match her eyes.”
Behind him, Hank snickered. “ ‘It’ll match her eyes,’ ” he mimicked.
Will’s face flushed and his hands clenched into fists. He stole a glance at the storekeeper and saw his jaw tighten. He watched the man cut the blue flowered cloth and fold it carefully. Then, ignoring Hank, Will followed the two men back to the counter. But Hank leaned forward and purred, “It goes so very, verrry well with her beeeautiful blue eyes!”
Blinded by anger, Will stubbed his toe on a rough place on the floor and stumbled forward, nearly falling. Behind him he heard a derisive laugh. Furious, he turned and locked eyes with Hank, who was leaning insolently on his broom with a taunting grin on his face. As Will took a step toward him, he felt a hand grasp his arm. It was Mr. Riley.
“Did he trip you with that broom?” he asked in a voice that shook with anger. “Did he?”
“I—I—”
“Speak up, boy! Did he trip you or not?” The man’s face was contorted with anger.
Will glanced over at Hank, who looked back at him pleadingly, his face pale and his eyes wide with fright. He thought of how Hank had teased him with Doc Martin’s letter. He remembered the day at the river when Hank had beaten him up. Here, at last, was his chance to get even! He took a deep breath, stood up straight, and looked the storekeeper right in the eye. “I wasn’t hurt any,” he said.
Mr. Riley released his arm. “Don’t want to get him in trouble, eh? Well, he got himself in trouble this time!” Then turning to his son he said, “You go on out back. I’ll get my strap and be out soon as I’m through here.”
“But, Pa! He—”
“Don’t you ‘But, Pa!’ me!” roared the storekeeper. “Just get yourself out back like I told you!”
Hank dropped the broom and walked slowly toward the back door. His shoulders drooped.
“I don’t know what’s got into that boy,” Mr. Riley said, counting out Uncle Jed’s change and putting their purchases in a cloth sack. “We need to get that school open again and keep these boys so busy studying they won’t have time for making trouble!” he continued. Then he turned to Will. “Here, help yourself,” he said, tipping the candy jar toward him.
“I—I shouldn’t take any.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to give it to you,” Mr. Riley said. He poured a generous number of lemon and peppermint drops onto a square of paper, folded it neatly into a small package, and handed it to Will.
“Thank you, sir,” Will mumbled, stuffing it in his pocket.
Uncle Jed slung the sack over his shoulder and they started toward the mill. “Aren’t you going to eat your sweets?” he asked.
Will shook his head. Then from behind the store he heard the rhythmic thwack, thwack, thwack of a leather strap, followed by Hank’s cries for mercy. Will’s feelings were a complicated mixture of satisfaction and guilt. He glanced up at his uncle and then quickly looked away.
“You should have answered Mr. Riley’s question either yes or no,” Uncle Jed said quietly. “What you did was dishonest even though it wasn’t actually a lie. And you’ve made it that much harder to ever make your peace with Hank.”
Will didn’t answer. Once he was back in Winchester, he wouldn’t have to worry about Hank. But he hated having Uncle Jed think he was dishonest.
At the mill, Mr. Brown greeted them heartily, and his helper grinned at Will. “I hear your fishing days will soon be over—they’re hiring a teacher, and pretty soon you and Hank and the other fellows will be back in school,” he said.
Will nodded. He’d be back in school, all right—but not with Hank and Amos and Patrick. He’d be back in school with Matt!
Aunt Ella’s tired face looked young again when she unwrapped the green print fabric. And Meg pounced on the blue with a cry of delight.
“Will picked that out,” her father said. “He thought it matched your eyes.”
Will glanced quickly at his uncle to see if he was being mocked again, but Uncle Jed was looking fondly at Meg.
She held the cloth up to her face. “Does it, Ma? Does it really?”
“Yes, it really does.” Her mother smiled. “Tomorrow I’ll start working it up into a dress for you.”
“I can hardly wait!” Meg said. “What else is there?” she asked. “Salt, and—oh, look!” The rich smell of the coffee beans wafted from the sack she held.
“Oh, Jed! I hardly dared hope for that!” Aunt Ella said. “Get the coffee mill, Meg. We’ll have some with dinner.”
They sat around the table enjoying the aroma while Meg cranked the small wooden coffee mill. And then Will remembered the candy. He pulled the paper package from his pocket and put it on the table in front of his cousin.
“There’s this, too,” he said.
Meg stopped grinding to open it. “Lemon drops. And peppermint drops! Here, everybody have some!”
She passed the candy around the table. When it got to Will, he hesitated, almost tasting the pungent sweetness of the lemon candies that had always been his favorites. But then he remembered Hank’s cries and the sound of Mr. Riley’s strap. Filled with guilt, he passed them on. Uncle Jed was right. He had been dishonest!
Turning to his wife and daughter, Uncle Jed said, “Will and I heard some good news today. There’s talk about hiring a teacher and opening that school in the fall. Both the storekeeper and the miller’s helper mentioned it.”
“That’s wonderful!” exclaimed Aunt Ella. “And with the twins sending us their earnings, we’ll be able to pay our share! Now Will can continue his education and Meg can learn to read.”
Meg burst out, “But I’ll be in the same class with Patrick’s little sister, Kate! And with the Nicholson boys! They’re practically babies, and I’m ten years old!”
“Don’t worry, Meg. School won’t start till after harvest time, and I can teach you to read by then,” Will said. “That way, you won’t be in the beginners’ class.”
“Oh, thank you, Will! Can we start today?”
Will hesitated, flattered by her eagerness, then shook his head. “I’ll need time to plan the lesson, don’t forget.”
Meg looked impressed. Then she sighed happily. “What a lot of surprises in one day!”
“I almost forgot,” said Uncle Jed. He reached into his pocket and drew out an envelope.
“Another letter!” cried Meg. “That’s four this summer, counting the one Will got! Who do you think it’s from?”
“Only person I know in Pennsylvania is Jim Woodley.” Uncle Jed slit the envelope, and as he pulled out the folded sheet of paper, something fell onto the table.
Aunt Ella caught her breath. “Why, I never saw that much money at one time before,” she said.
There were a few moments of silence while they all stared at the bills. Then Uncle Jed cleared his throat and began to read:
“Dear Friends in Virginia,
I arrived home safely, having met on my second day out a stage driver who was willing to let me ride beside him across the mountains to Luray and to arrange transport from there to Martinsburg, where I borrowed money for train fare from the pastor of the Lutheran Church. Now, thanks in great part to your kindness in caring for me when I was ill, I am reunited with my family. (They had not received the letters I wrote from the hospital and were astonished to see me, having thought I’d been killed.)
Please accept the enclosed bills as one Yankee’s small penance for the destruction and despoiling of so much of your beautiful state. While I understand that no amount of money could ever make up for what your family suffered as a result of the war, perhaps it can buy replacements for the milk cow and farm horse that were taken by the Union foragers.
Again, thank you for your hospitality, and God bless you all.
Yours,
Jim Woodley”
Uncle Jed refolded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope.
At last Meg broke the silence. “It was rebel scouts, not the Yankees, that got Bessie and Nell. Does that mean we have to send the money back?”
“I think Jim would be very unhappy if we sent it back for any reason,” Aunt Ella said firmly.
Still Uncle Jed did not speak. He slipped the bills inside the envelope, put it on the mantel, and went outside. The others crowded around the window and watched him cross the yard. Their eyes followed him to the edge of the pasture, where he stopped and rested his folded arms on the top rail of the newly repaired fence and stood looking toward the mountains.
Aunt Ella was the first to turn away from the window. “Meg,” she said briskly, “go pick some turnip greens while I start a pan of corn bread for dinner.”
Meg looked at her cousin. “I told you Jim Woodley was a nice person,” she said triumphantly.
“Jim Woodley is a rich person,” Will retorted.
Meg’s face flushed with anger and her eyes narrowed. “Too bad you aren’t either one, Will Page!” she said. Then, turning on her heel, she started off to the garden. Will stared after her. The words seemed to echo in the quiet of the empty house. He ran outside, stumbling across the yard. He needed to find a place to be alone. The late August sun beat down on him, and he turned toward the coolest place he knew.
Inside the springhouse, he sank onto the stone floor. The last time he’d sat in this cool dimness he’d been with Meg. Meg. Now she was a nice person. Kind. And generous. Loyal, too. He thought of how she’d come to his rescue the time Hank had asked him if he’d known a Charlie Page in Winchester, and how she’d understood why he hadn’t wanted people to know that Charlie was his brother. And then he remembered how proud of him Meg had been when he didn’t show that he was afraid of the three older boys. And when he hadn’t let Hank get the best of him the day he’d teased him with the letter, too. What would she think if she knew he’d tricked Hank’s father into giving him a beating for something he hadn’t done? She’d know for sure he wasn’t very nice!
And then he thought of how Uncle Jed had reproached him, had said he was dishonest! Will leaned back against the springhouse wall and shut his eyes. Uncle Jed would never have tried to get even with Hank in such a cowardly way.
Will’s eyes flew open as Meg ducked inside the springhouse. “How did you know I was here?” he asked in surprise.
“I sometimes come here to be alone, too,” she said, dropping down onto the cool floor beside him. “You know I didn’t mean that, Will. I only said it because I was so angry.”
“What you said was true, Meg.”
She shook her head. “You are nice, Will. You’re the nicest boy I know!”
Compared to Hank and Amos and Patrick, maybe he was, Will thought ruefully. Taking a deep breath and letting it out with a rush, he said, “Well, I’m sure not rich!”
Meg laughed and stood up. “Come on. Dinner’s ready.”
Forgiving, too, Will thought as he followed his cousin back to the house. Kind, generous, loyal, and forgiving.
“Mmm,” said Meg, inhaling the aroma of freshly ground coffee and passing her plate for a wedge of hot corn bread. “This meal seems almost like a celebration!”
Aunt Ella smiled and agreed, but Uncle Jed seemed strangely withdrawn. Will wondered if he’d decided what to do about Jim Woodley’s money. Torn between dismay at the idea of accepting Yankee charity and awareness of how much better the family’s life would be if Aunt Ella had a milk cow and Uncle Jed had a horse to help with the heavy farm work, Will was glad he didn’t have to make the decision.
“Do you know yet if you’re going to keep the money?” Meg asked, voicing Will’s thoughts.
Uncle Jed shook his head. “I’m still thinking it over,” he said. “I don’t want to do something I might regret later.”
Will looked down at his plate. Like what he’d done at the store this morning.
“You see, Meg,” Uncle Jed went on, “If I bought the livestock and then decided I’d done the wrong thing, it would be too late to send the money back. And if I sent it back right away and then thought maybe I should have kept it, it would be too late to change my mind. I won’t have any second chance if I make a mistake on this.” He turned to Will. “Sometimes, though, if we admit we made a mistake, we do get a second chance.”
Meg and Aunt Ella looked from Will to Uncle Jed and then exchanged a questioning glance.
Will stared down at his half-empty plate. Admit he made a mistake? Who was he supposed to admit it to, his uncle? Hank? He almost choked. He had too much pride to do that! And then he remembered what Hank had said the day he’d showed him Papa’s saber and the uniform buttons: “Pride’s pretty important to you, ain’t it?” It was his pride—pride in his hatred of Yankees—that had changed him from “Will” back into “Will-yum Page”!
Will looked up again and met his uncle’s eyes. “I—I have to go back to the store,” he said. “There’s something I’ve got to do.”
He was out the door before anyone could question him. He started down the lane, muttering to himself, “I know I have to go back, but what am I going to do when I get there?” He turned onto the road and crossed the flood-swollen stream. He’d swallow his pride and admit he was wrong, but what then?
All too soon, he splashed through the flow from the roadside spring. All too soon, the mill came into view, and the boarded-up school building, and then the store. Will’s steps began to falter, but he squared his shoulders and walked determinedly toward the store. He crossed its wide porch, nodding politely to the two elderly men who were chatting there, and went inside, letting the door slam behind him.
Mr. Riley looked up from behind the counter, and Hank, who was using a feather duster on one of the high shelves, turned to stare at him with hate-filled eyes. Will’s mouth felt dry.
“Well, what is it, boy?” asked Mr. Riley. “Did your uncle forget something this morning?”
Will took a deep breath. “No, sir. I—I came back to tell you that Hank didn’t trip me with his broom this morning. I—”
“See, Pa? I told you I didn’t do nothing!” Hank stumbled down from his stepstool and reached Will in three steps. “I got the worst beating I ever had ’cause you said I tripped you, and—”
“I didn’t say you tripped me!” Will broke in.
Hank stared at him, speechless.
“I just didn’t say you hadn’t tripped me.”
The two boys faced each other, their bodies tense. Mr. Riley cleared his throat. “Well, now,” he said, “let’s let bygones be bygones. Will, you can apologize, and Hank, you can accept his apology, and—”
Hank gave a harsh laugh. “Is saying he’s sorry I got a beating supposed to make everything fine and dandy?”
“I’m not sorry you got a beating! I’m sorry I wasn’t honest, but I’m glad you got a beating. Real glad.”
“If you’d ever had a beating like my pa gives, you wouldn’t—” Slowly, a grin spread across Hank’s face. “Hey,” he said, “you just admitted you weren’t honest. I think Pa should give you a beating for that!”
Will swallowed hard, remembering the thwacking sound of Mr. Riley’s belt. Then he gave a quick nod and said, “That’s fair enough. I can’t take away your beating, but if your pa gives me one, too, then we’ll be even. Right?”
“Ri-i-i-ght,” said Hank, rubbing his hands together. “And I get to watch!”
But Mr. Riley said, “Now wait a minute! I’m not laying a hand on this boy!”
“But, Pa! He just said—”
Mr. Riley shook his head adamantly. “I don’t care what he said! Nobody but his uncle has the right to lay a hand on him.”
Hank turned from his father to Will. “Then we’ll go out to your uncle’s place and let him do it.”
Will gave a quick nod of agreement and they left the store together. As they walked along in awkward silence, Will wondered how his uncle would react. He didn’t know which would be worse—if he refused to go along with their plan or if he agreed to it.
“I heard you had a Yankee out at your place a while back.”
Will nodded.
“And your uncle let him stay a week, didn’t he?”
“Well, he wasn’t in any shape to go on,” Will said defensively.
Hank picked up a pebble and skipped it across a large puddle in the road. “Tell me, what was it like sleepin’ under the same roof as a Yankee that might of been the one that killed your pa?”
“This Yankee wasn’t even in Virginia when my father was killed,” Will said, remembering how relieved he’d been to learn that Jim Woodley hadn’t signed up until ’63. “And, anyway, he slept in the barn.”
“I’m surprised your uncle didn’t give him his own bed and have him sitting right there at the table with you,” Hank said.
“You know my uncle wasn’t for the Union, Hank Riley. He was against the war. And he took this Yankee in because he knew Yankee families had taken in Sam and Enos on their way to Ohio. And because your brother Tom had sent him all that way when he was barely able to walk! Or was it you that sent him?”
“Well, I just wondered what it was like, havin’ a Yankee for a guest,” said Hank, evading Will’s question. “You don’t have to get all het up about it.”
It had been awful, Will thought, remembering. Then he said aloud, “He did sit at the table with us, and it was awful.” He stooped to pick up a rock and with a flick of his wrist tossed it into a puddle at the edge of the road.
Hank picked up a rock and spit on it. “See that beech tree?”
“Which one?
“The big one just off the road on the right.”
Will’s eyes searched for it. “That one way down there?” he asked, pointing.
“Watch this,” Hank said. He took a few running steps and let the rock fly. It hit smack in the center of the trunk and bounced back. “Bet you can’t do that,” he challenged.
Will’s answer was to pick up a rock of his own. Calculating the distance, he hurled it at his target. It missed by inches.
“Knew you couldn’t hit it!”
At least it hadn’t fallen short, Will thought, stooping for another rock. “Let’s try for best two out of three,” he said.
But Hank’s next two tries hit the tree and his own missed it narrowly. Will wished he’d left well enough alone.
“I’ve always been the champion rock thrower in these parts,” Hank said smugly. “Ain’t nobody ’round here that can beat me.”
He threw another rock down the road ahead of them, and Will followed suit. They walked on, scooping up rocks and skimming them along just above the road or making wide arcs above it.
Suddenly Hank stopped. “What’s that noise?” he asked.
Will listened. “The creek. It’s high after all that rain.”
“I’ll race you there!” Hank said, starting off.
Will pounded down the road just behind Hank. If only he could beat him! But the distance between them widened, and he realized that he was no match for the long-legged older boy.
“Are you the champion runner, too?” Will said, panting, when he reached the creek.
“Sometimes me and Pat tie,” Hank said. “You could beat Amos easy, though.”
“I should hope so!” Will said, thinking of the fat boy.
Hank turned back to the raging creek. “Look at this,” he said, tossing in a stick and watching it swirl downstream.
Will bent over to roll up his overalls. “Come on. Have you forgotten why we’re here?”
A grin spread across Hank’s face and he, too, began to roll up his pant legs.
They crossed the creek and turned up the lane toward the house. Will had to make a conscious effort not to let his steps lag when he saw his uncle walking toward the toolshed.
Uncle Jed stopped when he saw them. “What can I do for you boys this afternoon?” he asked.
Will looked at Hank. “You tell him.”
“Um, you see, um, back at the store this morning, Will, here, he got me a beating I didn’t deserve.”
“You don’t think you deserved a beating?” Uncle Jed asked.
Will gave him a quick look.
“I never tripped him with that broom! Honest! You can ask him yourself!” Hank said, darting a glance at Will. “Anyway, what we thought was, since I got a beating I didn’t deserve, you should give Will a beating.”
“Let me get this straight,” said Uncle Jed. “Since you got a beating you say you didn’t deserve, Will should get a beating he doesn’t deserve. Is that right?”
Hank was looking at his feet again. “I, uh, I guess that’s right. It would make things even, don’t you see?”
Uncle Jed looked at Will. “Is this what you want, too?”
Will nodded.
“Come along to the barn, then, and I’ll find me a strap.”
The boys followed him to the barn. Will’s hands were damp with sweat. He’d had his knuckles rapped with a ruler now and then at school, but he’d never had a beating. He swallowed hard and vowed silently that he wouldn’t cry out the way Hank had. Or the way Charlie had the time Papa’d taken a strap to him for making off with the door to a neighbor’s privy. Even now, the memory of Charlie’s prank almost made Will grin.
Uncle Jed chose one of the leather straps that hung from a hook on the barn wall. Will wondered how many times his uncle would hit him. How many times had Hank’s father hit him? A good many, probably, judging from how angry the man had been.
Uncle Jed turned toward him, and Will tried not to look at the strap in his hand. His mouth felt dry.
“All right, Will. Drop your overalls and hang onto the edge of that there stall. And you, Hank. Stand over by the door where you have a good view. How many whacks do you want me to give him?” he asked. “Ten or twelve? Fifteen?”
Will gripped the edge of the stall. Ten or twelve? Fifteen? Could he stand fifteen whacks without crying out?
“Aw, ferget it.”
Will couldn’t believe his ears.
“What do you mean, ‘ferget it’?” said Uncle Jed. “I thought you wanted to see him get a beating.”
“I changed my mind! Can’t a feller change his mind?”
“You sure, boy?”
“Yes! Yes, I’m sure!”
Uncle Jed took a deep breath. “Well, then, Will,” he said, “you’d better pull up those overalls.”
Still hardly believing what he’d just heard, Will pulled them up and stuffed in his shirttail. When he turned around, Uncle Jed was hanging the strap on the hook, and Hank was already halfway down the lane.
“Hey, Hank!” he called, breaking into a run. “Wait up!”
Hank didn’t wait, but Will thought he walked a little slower. When he caught up, Will said, “Say, I was wondering if you’d help me learn to throw as well as you do.”
Hank snorted. “Nobody can throw as well as I do!” he said. “But I guess I can show you how I do it,” he added grudgingly.
“Thanks,” said Will. “Thanks a lot, Hank. I’ll come by the store one day soon.” He turned and started back up the lane, whistling cheerfully. Now he wouldn’t feel as if he were running away from trouble when he went back to Winchester in October.
Meg came running toward him. “What did Hank want? Why’d he come back with you?” she asked breathlessly. “And what were the two of you and Pa doing in the barn?”
“It—it was just something we had to settle,” Will said uncomfortably.
Meg thought a minute. Then she asked quietly, “Was it something about Pa and the war?”
Will shook his head. He wished Meg didn’t ask so many questions.
“Are you sure?” she persisted.
“Well, Hank did try to make something out of your pa putting up that Yankee soldier,” Will said, remembering. “But I set him straight about that.”
“Set him straight? What do you mean?”
“I told him your pa had been against the war, not for the Union.”
“Well! And when did you finally figure that out?”
Her question made Will stop short. When had he realized why Uncle Jed had refused to fight? “At first I thought your pa was for the Union,” he admitted, remembering with shame how he’d regarded his uncle as a traitor.
“And then you thought he was a coward!” Meg’s voice was hard.
“I—I didn’t think that very long,” he protested.
“Well, you had no right to think it at all!”
Will didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry, Meg,” he muttered. “I guess I just didn’t understand at first.”
“And you understand now?”
Will nodded.
“Tell me, then,” Meg demanded.
Will took a deep breath. “I understand that your pa didn’t fight in the war because he thought the war was wrong.”
“And what else?” Meg persisted.
“What else?” Will echoed dumbly.
Meg made an impatient gesture. “Don’t you understand that it took a lot of courage for Pa not to go to war when all the other men did?”
Slowly, he nodded, realizing that what she said was true.
“Say it, then!”
Will took a deep breath and said, “I understand that it took a lot of courage for your pa not to go to war.”
Meg nodded with satisfaction. “Ma said you’d come to your senses by and by.”
Will pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his face while he watched her run back to the house. Uncle Jed came out of the barn and said, “You look like you’ve got a bellyache.”
Will smiled ruefully. “That’s probably ’cause I’ve had to swallow my pride so many times today.”