When the Wind Blows Read Online Free PDF Page B

long Joyce took a quiet pride in the number of tourists who stopped to stare at the house, read the plaque describing its history, which she had installed by the gate, then stepped across the street to photograph it. Only Jane Berkey’s pink, white, lavender, and purple Easter egg of a Victorian attracted more attention, and Joyce took a certain not-quite-malicious satisfaction in the fact that while Mrs. Berkey had had professional help with her house, she and Matt had relied on no one but themselves for their own restoration.
    Still, it would have been nice to have had a new stove instead of the wood-electric that had been rescued from the dump. But in Amberton it was a matter of pride to have your restoration as accurate as possible, excluding such details as outhouses, so Joyce cheerfully made do.
    As she tested the meat pie her thoughts turned to her husband. Matt had been gone all afternoon.
    She knew he was terribly upset over the accident—not only had he held Elliot Lyons in high regard, but Matt was one of those in town who hoped that the mine could be reopened and once again provide a flow of wealth into Amberton. To Joyce, the mine represented only a source of pain. Her grandfather had died in the 1910 accident, and her grandmother had never recovered from it. In Joyce’s view, the mine had never been as good for Amberton as her husband liked to think. For years Amberton had been dependent on the mine, and when it had closed, the town had gone into shock and poverty that had lasted half a century. Only now was Amberton beginning to become hopeful again. And it had nothing to do with the mine.
    Instead it had to do with the restoration. To Joyce’s mind, the restoration was constructive—it was safe, and it didn’t pollute the environment. She had silently dreaded the return of the mine and the black cloud that would hang over the valley—a cloud composed partly of coal dust and partly of fear that someday, any day, disaster would strike again. Though Joyce was sincerely sorry that Elliot Lyons had died, there was a part of her that felt relieved. Now the mine operations would stop. At least no one else would die.
    The back door opened, and Matt came in, his face streaked with sweat and black dust, his expression grim.
    “Well, it’s done,” he said. He opened the refrigerator, which had been built into the space once occupied by an icebox, with its antique façade retained, and pulled out a Coors. “A damn shame, that’s what it is.” He flipped the top off the bottle and pulled at it deeply as Jeff, ten years old and as darkly handsome as his father, slipped into the kitchen.
    “What’s a damn shame?” the little boy asked.
    “What happened today,” Matt said. “And don’t say ‘damn.’ ”
    “You say it,” Jeff fretted.
    “My father used to tell me to do what he said and not what he did. I’m telling you the same thing. Get it?” Behind his grim expression there was a gleam in his eye that let Jeff know he was in no serious trouble. He grinned at his father.
    “The hell you say,” he said in perfect imitation of Matt.
    “Jeff!” Joyce did her best to make her voice severe, but failed. She pointed to the drawer in which she kept the silverware. “Set the table while your father drinks his beer, okay?”
    “Aw …” Jeff complained, but not loudly enough so that his father would have to scold him. He scooped up some silver and began setting the table.
    “I suppose they’ll give up on the mine now,” Joyce said carefully as she began mashing some potatoes.
    Matt swished some beer around in his mouth, then swallowed it. “Don’t know. Don’t know what happened to Elliot yet.”
    “Maybe the water babies got him,” Jeff suggested.
    Joyce stared at her son. “Water babies?” she echoed. “What on earth are you talking about?”
    “You know,” Jeff said, his voice filled with the scorn children reserve only for the ignorance of their parents. “They wait up in the