Shades of Gray Read Free

a potato from the cellar,” she said, fanning the small flame she had coaxed from the embers.
    Lifting the trap door in the far corner, Will could barely make out a ladder that led into the pitch blackness below.
    â€œThe lantern’s on the shelf behind you,” Aunt Ella said.
    He raised the glass chimney, and his aunt touched the wick with a burning broom straw she’d lit at the fire. Then, carefully holding the lantern, he felt his way down the ladder. Will breathed in the earthy smell and savored the sudden coolness as his eyes passed over the shelves of empty canning jars and came to rest on the vegetable bins. He chose the largest of the wrinkled potatoes that covered the bottom of one bin and took it to his aunt.
    â€œI’ll split you some kindling now,” Will said.
    He found a hatchet, chose a piece of pine wood, and seated himself on a stump outside the woodshed. As he began to splinter off strips of wood, Meg joined him.
    â€œDidn’t you have slaves to do that sort of work?” she asked.
    Will couldn’t tell whether she was being sarcastic or not, but he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. “We had three slaves,” he said. “Callie was our cook, and Lizzy looked after the house. Fred did the outside work. He took care of our horses and split the wood and made the garden.”
    â€œDid the army get your horses, too?” asked Meg.
    â€œMy father was in the cavalry, so he and Fred took the horses.”
    Meg’s eyes widened. “Did Fred go in the cavalry?”
    â€œFred went with my father, to look after him and the horses.”
    â€œBut I thought—”
    Will interrupted her. “You thought all slaves wanted to run away from their cruel masters, didn’t you?” he challenged.
    She nodded, her eyes not leaving his face.
    â€œWell, that was true on a lot of big plantations farther south, but some slaves were well treated and cared about their families.” Will shaved off more pine splinters. “Our Lizzy looked after Betsy and Eleanor when they were sick. She cried as hard as Mama did when they died.”
    Tracing a curve in the dust with her bare toe, Meg said simply, “My little sister died, too.”
    â€œYou mean Beth?” Will said, looking up in surprise.
    â€œShe died during the war. After your mother started sending back Ma’s letters without even opening them.” Meg’s voice was cold, and her eyes narrowed.
    Will frowned. He hadn’t known about that! He got up and went to the woodshed for another log.
    â€œHow did Beth die?” he asked when he came back. “Did she catch diphtheria?”
    Meg shook her head. “Rebel scouts took our cow, and without any milk, she sickened. Wasted away, Ma said.” She sighed. “I still miss her sometimes.” Then, as an afterthought, she added, “Bessie was such a good milk cow, it seemed a shame to turn her to beef.”
    Will felt a wave of anger surge through him. “You should think of Nell and Bessie as your family’s contribution to the war, since your father wouldn’t fight,” he said in a voice that was deadly quiet.
    Meg’s hands tightened into fists. “Pa saw no need to go to war so that rich people could keep their slaves!” she said.
    Will dropped the hatchet and stood up to face his adversary. “Don’t you know anything? The war wasn’t about slavery—it was about states’ rights! People in the South were tired of being told what to do by a government hundreds of miles away in Washington. They wanted to live under laws made by their own state governments instead. The war was about states’ rights, Meg.”
    â€œThey just said that so men who didn’t own slaves would fight in it!” Meg shot back. “Anyway, people’s rights are more important than states’ rights, and Pa had the right to decide not to fight in the war!”
    Will looked