Hear the Wind Blow by Mary Downing Hahn Page B

she murmured, "Please don't be rude to the major, Haswell."
    I studied my aunt's worried face. She and her twin were quiet, peaceable sorts, not given to anger or complaint. Had they been contentious, they could never have lived with Grandma Colby all these years. But it was more than my bad manners that bothered Aunt Hester.

    "Why do you care what I say to a Yankee major?" I asked. "What's he doing here anyway?"
    Lowering her voice to a whisper, she said, "The major's been quartered with us, Haswell."
    "He
lives
here?"
    The aunts nodded and glanced almost fearfully at the closed kitchen door. Behind it, we could hear the major laughing at something Uncle Cornelius had said. "You see," Aunt Hester went on, "Winchester's under martial law. Officers are quartered in houses all over town."
    "Those homes that are still standing, that is," Aunt Esther put in softly.
    "Yes," Aunt Hester agreed. "That's why we must be gracious to Major Dennison. If he takes our behavior amiss, he might brand us traitors and burn our house, too."
    "Are you saying Uncle Cornelius is a collaborator?" I asked. "His own son died fighting in Lee's army. And Avery's still in the war, doing his best for the South. How can he—"
    "Hush, Haswell!" Aunt Hester's voice was as sharp as a slap. "You heard what I told you."
    Rachel looked at the aunts wearily, her eyes red, her dirty face streaked with tears. "I hate this war," she said in a small, dry voice.
    Much as I once craved honor and glory, I was beginning to agree. Of course, I never would have admitted to it, not even under the most fearsome torture ever devised. But so far it seemed all the war had done was destroy everything I loved. Mama and Papa. The Valley itself. And for what? For what? So the major could sit in Uncle Cornelius's house polishing his gold buttons and stuffing his belly and scaring the poor aunts half silly?

    "Now, why don't you go and wash, Haswell." Aunt Hester rose to her feet and began stirring something in a pot. "You and Rachel need some food in your bellies."
    The smell of whatever was on the stove cheered Rachel. Wiping her eyes, she said, "We're truly on the verge of starvation."
    Aunt Esther smiled at Aunt Hester. "That child always has had the most dramatic way of expressing herself. 'On the verge of starvation,' indeed."
    "Indeed," Hester agreed.
    The talk of starvation reminded me of Ranger, waiting patiently in the cold for his oats. "Excuse me a minute," I said to the aunts, "but my horse needs feed and shelter. Do you have room for him in the stable?"
    "There's an extra stall and plenty of oats," Aunt Hester said. "The major keeps his horse there, too."
    Ranger nickered when he saw me coming. I took his bridle and stroked his nose. "Sorry, sir, but I was detained inside by one of your kind, a Union major. Not that I hold it against you."
    The stable was warm and smelled of fodder and the sweet sweat of horses. I breathed it in deep, recalling the smell of our stable and the sound of Papa talking gentle to the horses while they munched their oats. I pressed my face against Ranger's warm side and wept for Papa and Mama and James Marshall and our farm.
    It was the first time I'd let myself cry. The grief came from so deep inside it hurt my belly and my chest and my throat. For a while it seemed I'd never stop. I guessed Rachel was lucky in some ways to be a girl. She could cry whenever she liked. But it didn't do for me to cry. I was almost a man.

    When I'd finally used up my tears, I left Ranger eating his bucket of oats. In a nearby stall, a sorry-looking dapple gray watched me pass. Its condition didn't say much for the major's horsemanship.
    "What were you doing out there so long?" Rachel asked me. "The aunts said I couldn't eat till you came back."
    "Just taking care of Ranger." I washed my hands at the sink and dropped into a chair. I kept my head down so no one would see I'd been crying.
    The aunts busied themselves filling plates with leftovers. From the look