Across a War-Tossed Sea by L.M. Elliott Page B

bells!”
    Shouting, the Ratcliffs crowded into the room that for Wesley was swimming with stars. He rubbed the back of his head and tried to focus. Mostly he saw knees. Then Wesley looked up and realized the shotgun explosion had blasted a hole right through the screened door. “Oh no!” he cried.
    Everyone seemed to talk at the same time.
    â€œWhat a dope!” said Ron.
    â€œLord a’ mercy,” cried Mrs. Ratcliff. “That could have gone through the wall into the kitchen.”
    â€œAre you all right, honey?” Patsy asked.
    â€œBloody hell!” Charles grabbed his brother, pulled him to his feet, and patted him up and down, searching for bullet holes. He exhaled with relief and for a split second he and Wesley smiled at each other. Then Charles’s attitude turned furious. He shook Wesley by his collar. “Didn’t I tell you not to touch the gun?”
    â€œHold on a minute, Chuck. Give him some air.” Mr. Ratcliff reached out and propped Wesley up. “Mary Lee, look at his eyes. Seem kind of crossed to me. Think the boy’s all right?”
    Mrs. Ratcliff checked his arms and hands, assessed his face again, and then patted it gently. “He’s fine, just shaken up a mite.” She smiled at Wesley. “Would have hated to send you home in a box, sugar.”
    â€œWe best get going, then. Time’s a-wasting.” Mr. Ratcliff leaned over and picked up the shotgun. “Good thing it wasn’t a double-barrel,” he joked.
    â€œWhat? That’s all you’re going to say?” Ron pointed at the hole in the screened door. “That will cost a pretty penny to fix, Dad.”
    â€œHush up, Ron,” Bobby snapped.
    Mr. Ratcliff examined the door. “I have more screening in the shed. We can repair that wood and paint it. Considering what could have happened there’s not much damage done. Give you a chance to practice your carpentry skills, Ron.”
    â€œBut…But…” Ron sputtered.
    â€œSon, I saw many a boy—gentle ones, bookish ones like Wesley here—make the exact same mistake in the Great War. They just shouldn’t have been around guns to begin with. However, I do, as a matter of fact, have more to say.”
    Mr. Ratcliff turned to the two oldest boys. “Why was that gun loaded in the house? Chuck, isn’t that the gun we gave you to use?”
    Charles’s mouth dropped open and his face flushed red. “I…I…”
    â€œIt’s my fault, sir,” Bobby spoke up. “I loaded it to show Chuck how. I wasn’t thinking.”
    It was a lie—a wonderful, selfless lie for friendship. It’s why Wesley and all the boys admired Bobby so much. But Charles wouldn’t let Bobby take the fall for him. “Bobby is trying to cover for me, Mr. Ratcliff. I did it myself.”
    â€œHumph .” Mr. Ratcliff considered the pair a moment. “You know a loaded gun in the house is dangerous? And plain old stupid?”
    The two boys nodded.
    â€œYou’re the oldest. I count on you two to be sensible, to set an example for the younger ones.”
    The boys nodded.
    â€œNever do that again.”
    â€œWe won’t, sir,” Charles and Bobby replied in unison.
    â€œSee that you don’t,” he finished sternly. “Let’s go. We’re going to miss our gobblers if we don’t hurry.”
    As the boys piled into the truck’s flatbed, neither Charles nor Bobby would look at or speak to their younger brothers.
    Mr. Ratcliff drove fast toward Curles Neck and the oxbow loop the river made around Turkey Island. The road’s speed limit had been lowered to thirty-five miles per hour to conserve gas, but he pushed the rattletrap truck faster. It was critical for them to be in position before complete daybreak, when the turkeys could see them and flee.
    Wesley hunkered down against the cold wind. The two setters, Flynn and Buster, lay down