A Clearing in the forest Read Online Free PDF Page B

he did, this was probably all his dad could afford.
    Since his meeting with Mrs. Crawford, he hadn’t been able to get the idea of college out of his head. In his early years, after he had been so sick, something in the way people regarded him led him to believe he didn’t have many options. Life itself was gift enough. Now he was no longer satisfied to let his life drift.
    Twice he had gone to the library and looked at college catalogues, as someone hungering for travel looks longingly at pictures of distant places. All the details: the descriptions of the classes and the dorms, the diagrams of the campuses, the qualifications of the professors, even the history of the schools excited him.
    But when he saw how much college would cost, he knew the only way to get that kind of money was to work on the oil rigs, as his brother-in-law did. When he learned from Ron that the oil companies were hiring, he had told his parents what he meant to do.
    They had divided up their objections like a debating team. His dad argued against his going to college; his mother took on the risks involved for the men who drilled for oil.
    â€œI don’t want you taken in by any of those fool ideas professors hand out these days,” his dad told him. “You’ll come back with your hair in some kind of ponytail, spouting a lot of fool ideas. I didn’t even finish high school and I’m doing fine.”
    His mother had dropped out of school to take care of her brothers and sisters when her own mother had been taken ill. As a result, she had difficulty reading. She counted on Wilson’s dad to tell her what was in the newspapers, and sometimes she would ask Wilson to read a recipe to her on the pretense that she had mislaid her glasses. Wilson suspected that she would secretly be rather pleased if he were to go on to college, but not at the cost of working for the oil company. Two men from their town had been killed in accidents while working on the rigs.
    But if she would have had any intention of siding with him, the pictures on TV last night of the burning oil well would have been the last straw. She had turned on Wilson. “Over my dead body will you get a job where everything could just blow right up in front of you!”
    Wilson knew that beneath all his parents’ words was the desire to keep him from leaving home. Ever since he had been sick, they never quite believed he could get along on his own. They had to have him where they could keep an eye on him.
    Guiltily, Wilson admitted to himself that their need to watch him all the time was one of the reasons he wanted to get away from home. Some time or other he was going to have to live a life of his own, just like everyone else. What he would never admit to them was that the thought of working on the rigs scared the pants off him.
    And yet here he was. After breakfast with his grim-faced, silent mother and his dad, who had pointedly ignored him, he had given up the idea of asking for the car, and was looking for a hitch into town so he could apply for a job with Ffossco Corporation.
    He stood a little distance from his yard, with its jumble of wrecked automobiles. Any suggestion of the violence in which they had once been involved was softened by the hundreds of field daisies beginning to blossom around them, making the rusting hulks look like nothing more than another crop.
    Wilson had just started to walk in the direction of town when Frances Crawford’s old truck labored to the top of the hill. He could see her sitting stiffly upright, the dog, ears erect, on the seat beside her. A lethal rasping noise was coming from the motor. Wilson stuck out his thumb.
    The truck lurched to a halt and stood shaking itself while Wilson hoisted himself up onto the front seat next to the dog. As he slammed the truck door shut, he could see his mother watching from the window.
    â€œWell, Wilson, what brings you into town this morning?” Mrs. Crawford was sitting