Shades of Gray by Tim O’Brien

salute. Will thought he saw the hint of a smile under his uncle’s bushy beard.
    A few minutes later they stopped at the roadside spring, and while Uncle Jed drank a dipperful of the cold water, Willlifted the napkin from the basket and peeked inside. Besides a dozen eggs and the round of butter wrapped in a damp cloth, there was enough fried chicken for supper, and a whole pie! He grinned, thinking how surprised and pleased Aunt Ella and Meg would be.
    â€œNot bad wages for a day’s work,” Uncle Jed commented as he shouldered the sack of flour and they started off again.
    â€œâ€Šâ€˜The laborer is worthy of his hire,’ ” Will said, wondering if his uncle would recognize the biblical quotation.

TEN
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    â€œWill, I want you to see if the miller’s wife will trade you butter for that rabbit you got this morning,” Aunt Ella said. “I’d rather do without meat than butter, now that I’ve gotten used to having it again.”
    â€œWell, with any luck, you won’t have to do without meat for supper. I’m going squirrel hunting this afternoon,” announced Uncle Jed.
    â€œI’ll try to catch some bluegills after I see Mrs. Brown, in case you don’t have any luck,” Will said, leaving the table.
    As he walked down the dusty road, Will thought of how his uncle had fixed the millworks the week before. He hoped people would be so glad to have the mill grinding again that they’d forget Uncle Jed hadn’t fought the Yankees.
    When he knocked on the door at the miller’s house, Mrs. Brown welcomed him warmly and said she’d be happy to trade butter for any rabbits he’d bring. “Now, don’t forget to come back for the butter when you’re through fishing,” she said as he finished the apple pie and milk she’d insisted that he have.
    â€œI won’t,” he assured her, adding shyly, “I think that’s the best pie I ever ate.”
    â€œOh, go on, now,” she said, pleased.
    Will heard the creak of the waterwheel as he approached the mill, and then he saw Amos lounging on the grass and Hank leaning against the sycamore across the pond.
    â€œHey!” he called, waving.
    Hank waved back. He had something white in his hand. “You’ve got a letter,” he called.
    Will hurried around the pond. But when he reached for the letter, Hank stuffed it in his pocket! Without a word, Will turned and picked up his bait jar. Holding it upside down, he shook out a grasshopper. He put the insect on the hook, managing to keep his hand steady, and cast his line out into the pond.
    â€œDon’t you want your letter?” asked Amos.
    â€œSure I want it,” Will said.
    â€œWhy don’t you come and get it then?” asked Hank.
    Without looking around, Will said, “I reckon you’ll give it to me when you’re ready to.” He clenched his teeth and kept his eyes on the cork floating on the still surface of the water. Now and then he brushed the gnats away from his face. Who would be writing him a letter? Could it be from Matt? His fingers tingled with the urge to rip the envelope from Hank’s pocket.
    â€œWho do you think the letter’s from?” Amos asked.
    Will shrugged.
    â€œWell,” Amos said, “it can’t be from Charlie Page. He’s dead.”
    Will threw his fishing pole to the ground and jumped to hisfeet. In three steps he was facing Hank. “You asked me why I lied about Charlie? That’s why! So nobody would—would taunt me about his death. So I could remember him alive instead of being reminded about the way he died.”
    Hank looked embarrassed. “We thought it was because you were ashamed of him.”
    Ashamed of Charlie? “Of course I wasn’t ashamed of Charlie! He was the best brother anybody could have!” Shaking with anger, Will turned his back on the other boys and picked up his pole. Sitting on the bank