Power in the Blood Read Online Free PDF Page A

Drew was still crying as Zoe announced her choice to the Canbys, then left the station yard with the man and woman who wanted her, perched between them on their high wagon seat.
    Clay felt a humming inside his head. The main street of Wister’s Landing became leached of color and substance. Clay had to sit down on the plank sidewalk, from which position it was easy to hang his head and weep more tears than he had shed even for his mother.
    “Why’d she do it?” Drew sobbed.
    “She told you, didn’t she? We all have to. There’s no other way—now quit making so much noise!”
    In Illinois Clay tried offering himself along with Drew in several towns, hoping against hope there was a significant difference between three and two, but there was not, and so he told Drew to stand away from him at the next town, and to come tell him if some people he liked the look of offered him a home. Drew didn’t want to, but Clay told him all over again why it had to be that way, and finally Drew agreed.
    Separated from his brother at the next stop, Drew, with his look of disconsolation and loss, held such appeal he became surrounded within minutes. He came to Clay for approval of what he perceived as the nicest people. To Clay they were indistinguishable from the rest of the child-seekers he’d seen, but he told Drew he had chosen wisely, then went to inform Mr. Canby, having waited until his wife was elsewhere.
    “Good,” said Mr. Canby, and strolled over to talk briefly with the couple.
    Clay took Drew aside. “Listen,” he said, “I’ll come back here as soon as I can to get you, then we’ll go back and fetch Zoe, too, and be together again, all right?”
    Drew nodded. It didn’t sound like anything that might really happen, but he appreciated Clay’s saying it. Then he began crying. Clay had to guide Drew over to the people he had selected.
    “He’s my brother,” he explained.
    “We’ll look after him,” said the woman.
    “Depend on it,” her husband added.
    Clay watched another wagon take a part of himself away.
    Mr. Canby knew very well what Clayton Dugan was up to. The number of orphans had been reduced to seven, not enough to warrant the hiring of an entire car for themselves, so they occupied several seats along with regular passengers. Then six of those seven also found homes. One had been selected by a woman riding the train.
    That left Clay, and Clay didn’t want to be chosen by anyone. He made that clear when they stopped at the first big town across the Missouri line. At least a dozen couples were on hand to claim the last orphan, but the boy was pretending he found them unacceptable. He refused them all, politely but pointedly, looking at the Canbys while he did it, letting them know his performance of rejection was for their benefit.
    Mr. Canby didn’t like that at all, even found himself beginning to dislike the boy. He knew what Clay planned—a fruitless continuation of the journey west, just himself and the Canbys, and at every town he would find the people wanting him unsuitable. The Society couldn’t afford any wasteful extension of the trip, not so much as an extra mile beyond what was required.
    The gathering of prospective foster parents was in confusion, each couple believing itself in competition with the rest for the boy in their midst. None of them found his murmured regrets convincing, and so thought he simply couldn’t make up his mind, probably because the poor lad was unused to being the center of attention.
    “Folks,” Mr. Canby announced, holding up his arm, “our young friend here is having a hard time picking out a ma and pa from among so many that’s suited for it, so I’ll just be talking to him for a minute alone, if you don’t mind. Thank you kindly, one and all.”
    He beckoned Clay to him. “Now you listen,” he said, his voice low. “I’ll just say it once. I know your plan, and it won’t happen like you want it to, because I don’t aim to let it happen that