Across Five Aprils Read Online Free PDF Page A

thickening behind them. Jethro let the ant go on its way, and sat staring at the shadows with the lonely ache that beauty sometimes brought to him. He turned once to speak to his mother, but she sat silently, her large eyes closed as she rested her head against one of the gray rails, so he said nothing, glad to prolong their rest for as long as possible.
    They had sat so for ten minutes or more when the sound of wheels far down the road attracted their attention. Ellen rose stiffly and leaned against the rails; Jethro stood beside her.
    “It’s too early fer Shad to be gittin’ back from Newton,” Ellen said, rubbing her eyes. “Kin you make out whose team it is, Jeth?”
    “Not anybody from right around here,” he answered. “Sure is a fine, high-steppin’ team though.”
    They watched curiously as the wagon approached, the team obviously being checked as the driver saw Ellen and Jethro beside the fence. Then, as the wagon came to a stop beside them, a young man rose from the seat and swept off his hat.
    “Ain’t you folks up here in Illinois a mite behind with yore crops this year, Aunt Ellen?” he called, his voice suggesting laughter.
    Ellen’s face broke into a wide smile of recognition.
    “Well, in the name of all that’s good—Wilse Graham, whatever brings you up from Kaintuck at this time of year?”
    She climbed over the low rails and held out her arms to the young man, who had jumped down from the wagon.
    “I had some dealin’s in these parts, Aunt Ellen; I figured it was worth an extry day of drivin’ to see all of you. Think you kin put me and my team up fer the night?”
    Jethro could see the pleasure in his mother’s face. This Cousin Wilse Graham was her sister’s son; his visit would mean news of the Kentucky country where Ellen had been born, and of the relatives from whom she so seldom heard. As for Jethro, delight ran up his spine. He didn’t know Wilse Graham, but the man was “comp’ny”; that meant enough to set this day apart from the monotonous routine of many others.

2
    It was nearly dark by the time all the men were in from the fields and the evening chores done. Jethro lowered a tin bucket into the well at the edge of the barnlot and hauled up clear, cold water for the thirsty horses; then, when the chores were finished, he joined the men who were washing the dust from their faces at the big iron kettle that stood at the side of the well. The two older brothers and Wilse Graham talked as they splashed in the cold water, and Jethro could sense the pleasure they felt in seeing one another again after the lapse of several years.
    In the kitchen, Jenny and Nancy hurried about getting the “comp’ny supper” ready. A couple of chickens had been dressed hastily and thrown into the pot; sweet potatoes were set to bake in the hot ashes, and dried apples were cooked in a syrup of wild honey and then topped with thick cream from one of the crocks in the springhouse. Nancy made a flat cake of white flour with a sprinkling of sugar on top, and Jenny pulled tender radishes and onions from her garden to give the taste of spring to their meal.
    A coal-oil lamp was lighted and placed in the middle of the table when supper was at last ready; gold light filled the kitchen, pouring from the open fireplace and from the sparkling lamp chimney. Black shadows hung in the adjoining room where the bed had been spread with Ellen’s newest quilt and the pillows dressed in fresh covers in honor of the guest. Jethro was sensitive to color and contrast; the memory of the golden kitchen and the velvet shadows of the room beyond was firmly stamped in his mind.
    At the table, the talk for a while was of family affairs; there had been a death of someone in Kentucky who was only a name to Jethro, but a name that brought a shadow to his mother’s face; there were reports of weddings and births, of tragedies, and now and then a happy note of good fortune. Then the conversation began to turn. Slowly and