Read Online Hear the Wind Blow by Mary Downing Hahn - Free Book Online

said reached her. It was like speaking to a tree or a stone. Finally, she fell into a troubled sleep.
    Rachel found three good-sized potatoes and put them in the fire to bake. "I'll fetch a bucket of water from the springhouse," she said.
    "No." I jumped to my feet, stumbling over the blanket. "I'll get it."
    Rachel gave me a surprised look. "Fetching water is my chore."
    "James Marshall is there," I said.
    "I thought he was dead."
    "He is."
    Rachel's face crumpled. "I didn't want him to die. He made us so happy that night. Remember the singing? And Mama playing the organ?" Tears ran down her face, leaving streaks on her dirty cheeks. "I want to say good-bye to him, Haswell. And pray for him."
    "We can't leave Mama," I said.
    "You stay with her," Rachel said. "I'll go."
    "All by yourself?"
    "I'll take Sophia."
    I watched her run off toward the springhouse, lugging the doll. It was her wish. She was far too obstinate to listen to anything I might say about the dead and their terrible silence.

    I squatted down beside Mama and felt her forehead. As I'd feared, her skin was still burning-hot to the touch. A fit of coughing woke her and she looked at me.
    "Haswell," she murmured. "I was dreaming of Burton. He came riding out of the mist and called my name." She stopped to cough, her gaze unfocused as if she were still seeing Papa. "I ran to him and it was springtime. We were young. Birds sang the sweetest songs. It was like heaven."
    I had to lean close to hear her, for her voice was low and hoarse and she couldn't speak easily.
    "That was a wonderful dream," I said. Her fever-bright eyes reminded me of James Marshall on his first night with us. Mama had nursed him through his illness. But how was I to nurse her?
    "Yes, it was." Mama smiled. "I love your papa so much." Her smile faded and the troubled look returned. "But he shouldn't have gone off to war."
    "He had to go, Mama. You know that."
    She shook her head and frowned. "War means killing, and killing's wrong. It's wrong, Haswell."
    I patted her hand and she began coughing again, harder this time, as if she'd never stop. "Where's Rachel gone to?" she asked when she could.
    "To the springhouse, for water."
    Mama nodded. "I'm so cold," she whispered.
    "When Rachel comes with the water, I'll brew sassafras tea," I told Mama. But she was already asleep.
    Just as I was thinking I'd have to go find Rachel, she appeared at the top of the steps, holding Sophia.
    "Where's the water?" I asked.
    She came down the steps and huddled beside me. "Why did he have to die?"

    "Oh, Rachel." It seemed everyone asked me questions I couldn't answer.
    "He looked so sad," she went on. "It fair broke my heart." The tears started then, and I hugged her tight. She was a skinny little thing, bony in my arms and shivering as if she'd never be warm again.
    We sat together till she stopped crying. Then I put on my damp clothes and went to get the water. I glanced at James Marshall. He lay as still as before. If only he'd open his eyes and sit up and not be dead after all. But that only happened in dreams. He wasn't ever going to be alive again.
    I carried a pail of water back to the root cellar, and Rachel brewed sassafras tea. We woke Mama when it was ready and got her to drink some, but she wouldn't eat more than a mouthful of the potato.
    "I'm not hungry," she said. "You eat it."
    Since we couldn't persuade her differently, Rachel and I divided Mama's potato between us. Though I wished Mama had eaten it herself, I didn't want to waste food.
    ***
    The day passed slowly. Mama slept, coughed, woke, slept again. In a wakeful spell she told Rachel how to make soup with the carrots, parsnips, turnips, onions, and potatoes she'd stored in the root cellar.
    "It would taste better if we had salt and a good beef bone," Mama said, "but we'll have to make do with what we have." She smiled at Rachel and patted her hand.
    For a moment Mama seemed like her old self, and I let myself hope she was getting better. I