A RE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO DONATE THIS THING TO THE SALVATION1 Army?” The man rubs
his fingers across the dining room table’s surface. “Don’t you think we should sell it instead?”
The woman has been clattering2 old pots and pans in the kitchen, but now she joins him. With
a bright yellow wrist encased in a work glove, she brushes strands3 of hair away from her eyes.
“It would be great if we could. Extra money would help a lot. But this table will never sell.”
“Why not?’
“Well, for the same two reasons I don’t want it.” She tells him that nowadays dealers4 can’t
sell heavy, brown furniture from the middle of the nineteenth century. People won’t buy it
unless it’s at junk store prices, and maybe not then. “That’s what most everything in this house
is. I guess it was all bought at the same time, like a big redecorating project. I don’t care for it
much either. Besides, this table is in terrible shape.” She points a yellow finger at the many
irregular pale patterns splotching the surface. “See these? They’re mouse pee stains.”
“They’re what? How do you know?”
“They’re wherever I find mouse nests and droppings. They’re all over the dresser tops
upstairs.” She pauses, pointing at something else. “And look at these wide cracks in the wood. I
think they’re too bad to be fixed5, and it would cost more than the table is worth, even if they
could be. Frankly6, I can’t imagine who’d want this thing, but maybe someone will, if it’s almost
free.” She looked at him sympathetically. “Think about our house at home. Everything’s 1950s
mid-century modern. Most people prefer chrome, glass, and leather these days.”
The man nods. “Okay, I’ll take it into town in the pickup7 later today, after I help you with the
kitchen.” They pass close to me on the way out of the room, unaware8 of my choking rage.
Their careless disregard for my possessions sets my head on fire. I literally9 see waves of red.
That table was the center of our family life. Kept polished to a fine sheen, the walnut10 surface
bore the food that sustained us and was the scene of many events, joyful11 and solemn. Pa’s open
wood coffin12 lay on its gleaming surface while neighbors kept candlelight vigil for three nights,
guarding against mice and bearing witness that his spirit was gone. It served the same function
for my coffin. But I remember most clearly when I was eighteen, and my family, seated around
its oval surface, heard an announcement that I’ve regretted ever since.
An ordinary journey to town was the start of it all. New blades of grass pushed through the early
March snow as Sam Lucas’s father set out to Staunton to acquire sacks of coffee, sugar, and rice
at the general grocers. Sam and I were boyhood comrades in those days, and his father had
asked us to come along. Our young backs would come in handy if the wagon14 wheels skidded15 off
the ice-slicked road.
The three of us hunched16 forward in silence as the wagon jostled us along the frozen ruts of
the road from Bethel to Staunton. Blink, and you might miss my hometown of Bethel—not
much there but a blacksmith shop, the general store, a handful of houses, and the few farms
edged by the road. Staunton, the county seat and the closest town of any size, was a world away:
a good fifteen miles and a six-hour round-trip journey by horse. Bethel was long behind us when
a dark silhouette18 came into view.
“It’s old Mr. Tatternook with his dogs. The damn fool has blocked our way,” Mr. Lucas
muttered as he drew back on the horses’ reins19. A coarsely woven, irregularly fitting overcoat
swaddled the man in black, and a pack of scraggly curs, wolf breeds, wild-eyed bear dogs, and
yapping rat terriers encircled his feet. Under his breath Mr. Lucas let go a stream of oaths before
he said, “What are you up to, Tatternook?”
There was no response from under the low, broad brim of the flapjack hat that almost
obscured a patch across one eye. I expected the man and his dogs to approach Mr. Lucas, but as
snow crunched20 under his boots, Tatternook shuffled21 to where I perched on the wagon’s boards.
He stared me dead in the eyes. Heat surged in my cheeks, and I recalled where I’d seen him. It
had been one steamy, boring day last summer.
During the past year, I had settled into a routine of helping22 Pa with his mill and farm work.
All summer and fall I’d lugged23 burlap sacks of wheat and then corn from farm wagons24 to a heap
by the grinding stones, marked their number in the mill book, and watched the circular stones
crush the grain as the huge water wheel forced them around. Then Pa and I scooped25 up the flour
or cornmeal and bagged it for the farmer. While we worked, he’d mutter about how too much
rain or too little rain was affecting wheat crops, and then he’d worry over his account book. Four
bags of wheat ground for Mr. Lucas. Ten bags of corn ground for Mr. Hogshead. Who owes,
who doesn’t? The tedium28 of it, day in and day out, drove me mad.
The only thing I looked forward to was spending time with my friend Sam. While everyone
sought his invitation for adventures, he most often chose me. I counted myself extremely lucky.
No one ever paid any attention to the fact he was slightly bowlegged. Sam could still outrun
almost any creature on two or four legs, once even a mad hound dog. He might have been
considered short, but the muscles bulging29 his sleeves and straining his shirt across his chest
made anyone think twice about mocking him. The son of a Bethel tavern30 keeper, he was springy
as a cat and full of fire. He never got his fill of anything. He’d respond to even the crabbiest
remarks with a wide, toothy grin and an open expression. That’s when you noticed his dimples
and strong chin, both pleasing to girls. He’s the one who taught me to fire a hunting rifle, not Pa.
And taught me before we were ten years old to swear as good as any sailor by mimicking31 what
he’d heard in his father’s tavern.
“Goddamnit, get your horse’s arse over here,” he’d yell.
“Not on your life, you yellow-bellied bastard,” I’d holler back, and we’d laugh so hard at
those forbidden words that we’d tumble onto the ground.
If I could have had my wish in those years, it would have been to be just like Sam, rather than
the serious boy I was. No one ever accused him of being a bookworm.
Sam often sought out danger to leaven32 endless summer days, and he easily persuaded me to
join in. I was eager to prove I was as much fun as his other friends, boys a year or two older. It
was hard to compete with their tales of taking down ferocious33 bears and timber rattlesnakes,
supposedly encountered during afternoons roaming the forest with rifles.
One August afternoon, Sam and I climbed into Mr. McKimmie’s pasture to taunt13 his bull.
The game was to flap a crimson34 kerchief before his broad snoot while whooping35 and hollering
and then to run like the devil with the beast snorting at our heels until we catapulted over the
fence. We kept at it until the bull had no more breath or energy. At one point, I spied a fellow
clad in crow-black off in the distance but paid him no mind. Now, on the wintery road to
Staunton, he stood before me. He hesitated a moment, then inquired, “Boy, do you remember
me?”
My voice cracked as I responded, “I believe I’ve seen you around these parts once or twice,
sir.”
“You’re correct there, Tom Smiley,” he spoke36 softly. He hesitated for effect and then said,
“Heed37 my warning, young man. Your rash nature and false pride will lead to nothing but
remorse38 all your life. Unless you learn to curb39 them.” His one piercing eye glittered as it locked
onto my gaze. A chill flowed down my spine40 like a winter stream over rocks. Then, without
further conversation, Tatternook abruptly42 moved away from the wagon with his dog pack and
continued in the direction of Bethel. Sam and I looked at one another.
“What the devil? Just what did you do to provoke that old fellow?” Sam said. I shrugged43 my
shoulders and rolled my eyes, hiding my unease.
Mr. Lucas thwacked the leather reins on the horses’ flanks. “Pay no heed to that man. No one
knows where he came from or who his folks are, and God knows what blinded him. Probably
provoked someone into poking44 him in the eye. He’s as odd as a three-dollar bill. All of Bethel is
fortunate he keeps to himself.” And we lurched forward.
Sam’s father went his own way in town, and we were drawn45 toward the courthouse, curious
about loud shouts echoing from that direction. When we rounded the corner, we found the
source. A crowd had set up a rhythm of stamping feet and waving fists, cheering at the top of
their lungs, “Seventy-six, seventy-six.” The day’s chill was forgotten as we pushed our way
through to the center where fire in an iron barrel warmed the hands and hind17 parts of dozens of
boys. The crowd looked to be our age but included a few older men on the sidelines. A
uniformed man had taken the center of the courthouse broad stone porch as we drew closer. He
drew himself up with an important air, and the crowd grew silent.
“Who’s that?” Sam asked a boy standing46 close.
“Everyone knows he’s Captain John Imboden, leader of the West Augusta Guard, the
county’s volunteer militia47. Where’ve you been?”
“I don’t know. What’s this about?”
“You didn’t hear about Lincoln’s inaugural48 speech? It came in by telegram hours ago. He
said that no state may withdraw from the union. That’s got people pretty riled up. Enough to
think there might be a war. Imboden’s looking for recruits for the Guard, I hear.”
We listened to a tirade49 aimed at a group of boys barely old enough to shave. Imboden
bellowed50, “If there’s no other way to defend our right to withdraw from oppressive rule, we’ll
band together to bear arms!” A lean, hawk-nosed man, he paced back and forth51, shouting and
spitting, while he fiercely pounded his clenched52 fist on his open palm. “Our patriotic53 ancestors
cast off the yoke54 of tyrannical rule in 1776. We can do it too! Has this president forgotten the
example set by the Founders55 and the colonies? We must defend our God-given rights! We must
protect the inherent freedoms that Lincoln and his bogus new party will surely trample56!”
A wave of “Seventy-six, seventy-six” swelled57 again from the crowd. The blaze that ignited
the speaker’s eyes and the hint of danger that rippled58 through his spare form were what riveted59
my attention. When Imboden paused to swig from a hip60 flask61, I spotted62 someone waving at me.
He grinned widely, revealing the familiar gap between his top teeth. It was Tayloe Hupp, a
Staunton boy I’d known when we were children. He beckoned63 us to join him.
“Tom, you’re here too? You look pretty much the same, but taller.”
“You too.” I didn’t tell him that his teeth were the only way I recognized him. “My friend
Sam and I rode into town with his father. We heard the ruckus and came only to satisfy our
curiosity. I didn’t imagine it would be anything like this.”
“It’s really something, isn’t it? I think I’m going to sign up. It’s one way to keep my old man
from forcing me into his law practice. What about you fellows? Why don’t you join me?”
Sam’s brown eyes were dancing. His elbow nudged my ribs64. “This is a heck of a lot better
than spending our days charging McKimmie’s bull, I’d say. Let’s do it; let’s enlist65.”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.” I studied my boots rather than meet his challenging
eyes. Joining the volunteer militia was something I’d never considered, not even for a minute.
“Come on. I won’t do it without you.” He playfully punched me on the shoulder. A broad
grin covered Tayloe’s face. Sam said, “You might have a better chance with Lizzie Fackler if
you’re in a uniform.” He winked66 and waited for my response. I wished he had left Lizzie out of
it. Her blue eyes fringed with dark lashes67 and the cupid’s bow of her plump, inviting68 lips flashed
to mind, along with the warm scent69 of the rose water she dabbed70 on her pale wrists. A month
earlier she had held hands with me at the Saturday church social on two occasions, hiding our
clasped fingers within the folds of her skirt and pressing them against her thigh71. Then she’d
allowed me to walk her home and steal an inviting, lingering kiss. I could still feel the damp
softness of her mouth on mine. Without explanation, from the next day forward, she refused to
even glance at me and wouldn’t speak, either. I’d made the mistake of asking Sam about the
peculiar72 ways of women. But to volunteer for the militia, I needed a bit more convincing than
Tayloe’s encouragement and Sam’s goad73 about Lizzie.
Now Imboden was cunning, playing to the young crowd’s rejection74 of authority. “Let’s not
forget George Washington was damn proud to be called a rebel, and we should be too!” A roar
surged forth.
The voices faded into a dull buzz, and I was adrift in a daydream75. Mountains and villages
miles beyond my father’s farm loomed76 in my mind’s eye, as I imagined my heroic deeds.
Staunton was the most I had ever journeyed, and I feared that would hold true all my life. Pa had
never been farther than Staunton or Lexington, both no more than fifteen miles distant. He had
no interest in visiting the state capital when Mr. Lucas invited him to accompany him a few
years earlier. For the most part, he had no desire to see anything of the world beyond what he
already knew, unless it was by absolute necessity. I, on the other hand, was desperate to exist
awhile right on the edge of life and death—to feel truly alive in a manner that working in my
father’s fields and mill could never provide. It didn’t occur to me then that the route to that high
state required a deep numbness77 the remainder of the time.
Imboden’s passionate78 rhetoric79 paid off. A long queue of boys formed before the table on the
courthouse steps to sign up. Tayloe waited among them to scrawl80 his name on the muster81 roll,
and Sam joined him. He raised an eyebrow82 at me and strode forward, dipping the pen in ink and
firmly signing his name with a grand gesture. He then turned expectantly. With only a flicker83 of
hesitation84, I joined the line and signed when it was my turn. The three of us were now
militiamen, partners in a pact85 with the unknown, and we strolled away from the courthouse—
proud as pigs in mud.
And yet, during the three-hour wagon ride home, the thrill began to drain away. I dreaded86
telling my folks. Sam and I traded secretive, sly glances, but then sank into thought as Mr.
Lucas’s plodding87 team of farm horses parted the twilight88 landscape. Neither of us much
considered that we had set ourselves on a traitor’s path, joining a militia hell bent89 on
overthrowing90 the United States government, if the call came. Nor had we given any thought to
the reasons behind the conflict.
As the paneled front door thudded behind me, Ma cried out from the kitchen, “Is that you, Tom
Smiley? We’re sitting down to eat any minute now, so wash up quickly.” I recall my mother so
well from before the war. In those days, she was a person of habit and orderliness. She insisted
that her kitchen be scrubbed spotless, not a splash of grease on a kettle or pot, and that we
appear at the dining table for every meal on time, hair combed, hands washed. Her delicate face
could become fierce in a flash if we dawdled91 long enough for food to chill but then could
brighten quickly afterward92. She also cared that no locks stray from the soft brown braids
wrapped round her head and that her lace-collared dark dresses were stiffly pressed. But most
specifically, she was generous with her maternal93 devotion and scrutiny94, and, as her only son, I
was the recipient95 of their greatest share.
Now I responded to her call. My image flared96 out of the hall mirror as I headed toward the
kitchen, and I doubled back to check if I might look any different. I twisted my head this way
and that. No, the same gangly fellow stared back, taller than most and capped by an unruly
tousle of brown hair that refused to slick down. My long-nosed face tried on a sober expression,
but I was still an awkward youth who had sprung up too fast for his clothes and features to keep
pace. There was no new aura of manliness97 or derring-do. Nevertheless, the blue eyes above the
sharp cheekbones were not those of the boy from the morning. These eyes burned with the
promise of adventure.
Word flies across the county miles. The minute Mr. Lucas discovered Sam’s deed, my
parents would be quick to find out. I’d be in a far worse pickle98 if they got the news from a
Bethel neighbor. The best time would be after everyone had gathered around the table for supper
that night. Thinking of Pa’s reaction, my palms grew sweaty, but the presence of my sisters and
mother might soften99 his disapproval100. They would be in opposition101 at first—not to the notion of a
seceded102 Virginia, but to my thrusting myself into harm’s way if war was to come.
Early nightfall had already tinted103 the shallow snow a deep indigo104 beyond the tall dining room
windows when Ma and the girls finally settled china tureens and platters on the table’s
homespun linen105 cloth. The warm aromas106 of freshly baked corn bread, smoked ham from our
own hogs27, and green beans stewed107 with pork hocks held no lure108 for me. Through cracks in the
thick, winter curtains, the gas lamps banded the powder-cloaked shrubs109 with golden light. I cast
my gaze there rather than at the cheery faces around the table and allowed my mind to drift back
to Tayloe at the courthouse.
I met him six years earlier when we were both twelve. Pa had need of a lawyer, and I had
insisted on riding the three hours with him to Staunton. I was loafing next to the office door with
my nose in one of my favorite books, Ivanhoe, when a fellow about my age trotted110 around the
corner.
“What are you reading?” he asked, without any preliminaries, his bright eyes friendly and
curious. “By the way, I’m Tayloe.”
“I’m Tom. Tom Smiley,” I said. Then I showed him the book’s cover and asked, “Have you
read this? It’s powerfully good.”
He nodded. “It’s one of my favorites. I’ll read any book about knights111 and kings.”
“Me too.” I tried to think of something more to say. “Is this where you live?” He glanced at
the spacious112 brick house with the wide porch behind us and nodded again. “Well then, my father
is paying a business call on your father,” I said.
“I guess so.” He paused a moment. “Do you play dominoes? We could sit on the porch while
you watch for him.”
“I’d like that,” I said, trying not to stare at the conspicuous113 gap in his front teeth.
He strode off on the brick walk leading to the columned porch and I followed along. Just as
we reached the steps, the formal front door swung open and a middle- aged114 Black woman
dressed in blue calico and a white apron116 beckoned to Tayloe. She had a red kerchief around her
head, and wisps of gray curls escaped around the edges. She placed her hands on her thin hips117.
“Your mother says get on into this house. It’s time for piano lessons, and you needn’t be
talking to boys you don’t know.” My eyes widened in wonder that a house slave was giving
Tayloe orders, even if they started with his mother. I’d never known anyone with a house slave,
and I quickly looked away, unsure of how to act.
Tayloe made a grimace118 and turned toward me. “Next time your father comes to town, get him
to bring you by the house. We’ll play dominoes then.” I accepted his invitation only a couple of
times. His mother treated me as though I wasn’t a worthy119 guest by aiming a hard expression my
way whenever she saw me at the door. Obviously, she didn’t want her boy to befriend a farmer’s
son.
One thing I know, we were proud to have been tradespeople for several generations, and
Scotch- Irish Presbyterians to boot. And there was not one slave on our place, or on our
neighbors’ lands. Folks in the Valley raised wheat and rye, not cotton, tobacco, and rice that
required backbreaking labor120. Those plants don’t do well in the Valley’s limey soil. Besides, we
Virginians at the southwestern end of the Shenandoah Valley believed our own hard work built
character. We couldn’t abide121 the lazy Tidewater Virginia aristocrats122 with their English ways and
indolent habits. They forced enslaved people to provide for all their needs. Tayloe’s people had
recently come from that part of the world and were no different.
With Tish and Mary’s help, Ma did her own cooking, gardening, butchering, house cleaning,
sewing, churning, milking, weaving, and putting up vegetables in crocks after the growing
season. Pa’s income from the mill just a quarter mile down the road, as well as livestock123 grazed
on the farm, permitted us to live in a newly expanded four-bedroom wood-sided house, drive a
fashionable buggy, and to eat as fine and as often as we wished.
The toe of Mary’s buttoned boot thwacked my ankle and brought me back to the present.
Heads were bowed, ready to say grace. After Pa offered thanks to the Lord for providing the
ample meal before us, his angled face grew stern, and his brows slanted124 toward his prominent
nose. His eyes were stern behind his glasses. “Tom, do you know anything about an incident
over at Mr. Ware’s place? He says somebody has been using the back of his barn as target
practice with eggs pilfered125 from his chicken coop. When I met him today on the road, he swore
he spied you and the Lucas boy scurrying126 off behind his shed. You wouldn’t be involved in
some nonsense like that, would you?” He waited, elbow on the table and one hand cupped
around his gray-bearded chin.
Caught off guard, I paused a second and then said, “No, sir. I can’t imagine what fools would
do such a half-witted thing—wasting a man’s egg supply and spoiling his barn. Sam and I had
nothing to do with it, you can be sure of that.” But I couldn’t meet his eyes directly. We’d
thought the Wares128 weren’t home—that they were off at a church supper with my parents. It was
the sharp, quick thwack of the hard shell against the wood and the slow, messy aftermath that
we found so pleasurable. Years later, the sound would trigger night terrors.
“Well, I hope not to hear of anything like this in the future.” To my relief, he seemed satisfied
and returned to his meal.
Sixteen-year-old Mary looked over at me with eyes that brimmed with mischief129 and a smile
working the edges of her mouth. “Tom, just where have you been all day in such wretched
weather?”
Ma and Pa both glanced up quickly from their plates as my face and ears flushed. Mary knew
me well enough to suspect that I’d been up to something, and she was going to catch me out in
front of our parents. Eyes glued to my fork, I muttered, “Sam and I went with Mr. Lucas to town
today. What more do you need to know?”
Ma said sternly, “That’s no way to talk to your sister. Answer the question that was put to
you.”
Now I’d have to tell them: I had committed myself to bear arms for the South, if it came to
that. “Sam and I signed up with the West Augusta Guard today when we were in town,” I
stuttered. Forks clattered130 back to their plates, and everyone stared. “You should have heard all
the speechifying. If you’d seen that fellow Imboden strutting131 and inciting132 the crowd like we did,
you’d have been hard-pressed not to sign up yourselves.”
My parents exchanged knowing looks. In their view, I was headstrong, and there was some
truth to it. The schoolteacher took switches to my calves133 more often than the other fellows. Pa’s
tone was gruff. “Why now? There’s been no call for volunteers, at least not that I know of, and
those fellows in Richmond at the state convention don’t seem anywhere ready to vote for
secession. They’ve been at it for months, toing and froing on the subject. What’s gotten into
you, boy?” I had no good answer, sputtering134 and fumbling135 for words until abandoning the
fruitless effort. My parents’ faces darkened with a shared alarm.
Ma chimed in, “Do you have any knowledge of these militia hotheads you’ve joined yourself
up with?”
“Do you?” I asked.
“I do indeed. They’re a bunch of hooligans and reckless fools. It won’t do you one whit115 of
good to associate with the likes of them.” Her eyes burned into mine. “Or to be impudent136 to
your mother.”
“Aw, Ma, they seem not such a bad lot. The leader is John Imboden, a high- falootin’
Staunton lawyer who hobnobs with all the bigwigs in the State Capital. I ran into Tayloe Hupp
at the rally. Remember him? He’s the son of Pa’s lawyer, and he thinks Imboden makes the sun
rise and set.”
“That’s where you’re both mistaken,” Pa said. “Most people know he’s a man of poor
judgment137 and abrupt41 reactions—not a fellow to whom I would entrust138 my son.” He placed both
hands on the table and leaned forward. “For Lord’s sake, withdraw before it’s too late. This
secession convention in Richmond may lead to a catastrophe139.” He glanced at Ma for
confirmation140. “I’ll acknowledge that there’s many a wager141 that there’ll not be enough votes to
secede—but if troubles are coming, you’ll have committed yourself to the storm’s center. If you
hadn’t done this outrageous142 thing, you might never be called to fight.”
Ma nodded her head and then muttered something under her breath about bad influences. I
was certain I heard Sam’s name.
But they knew nothing of this business I’d signed up for. They were born too late for the
American Revolution and were barely born in time for the War of 1812. There were no old
veterans in the Bethel area, and my father hadn’t ever been an army man. He had never believed
that fighting just for fighting’s sake was noble.
I usually could count on Mary, younger by two years, to support me, even if she had sparked
this uncomfortable discussion. She and I were most alike. When I was ten and she was eight and
wore braids, she entered my room one summer day and found me bent over a piece of paper on
my desk in a bar of sunlight. I held a large magnifying glass a few inches above the white
surface and peered through it so intently that I didn’t hear the door creak open.
“What’s that?” she said loudly, causing me to drop the glass to the carpet. When I jerked
around in my chair, her expression revealed the same wonder at the insect’s appearance that I
had felt. I hadn’t the heart to scold her for startling me.
“It’s a snaketail dragonfly. In Latin, it’s called an O-phi-o-gomphus,” I told her, slowly
sounding out the syllables143 of the unfamiliar144 word I’d found in Dr. Asa Finch’s Science of
Entomology.
“Oh, fie on gomphus,” she yelled and burst into giggles145. “Gomphus is a terrible sickness. Fie
on it! You’d better not let Ma hear you talk about that!”
“It’s not a disease, Silly. Come here and look more closely. I caught it down by the stream.” I
put the magnifying glass in her hand and shoved the paper across my desk toward her. A four-
winged insect with a thin, armored tail lay pinned to the surface. Its bulbous blue eyes reflected
a tiny image of the window’s light.
“It’s beautiful and scary,” she said.
“Now let me have my glass back.”
“Not yet.” She bent lower over the paper. “Did you see how the belly146 is patterned like a
snake?”
“Abdomen, not belly. You have to learn the terms.” I gave her brown braid a sharp tug147. She
kicked me in the shin and fled, hollering for Ma.
From that afternoon on, she shared my love of collecting and studying insects. I made her a
long-handled net to match mine with discarded strips of our mother’s hat veiling sewn to a bent
piece of willow148. When we finished with summer chores, Mary would run with me along the
stream or in the field grass. We’d lie quietly on our bellies149 in the baking sun and wait for an
unsuspecting grasshopper150 or an eastern Hercules beetle151 to scurry127 by. Then we’d scoop26 it up,
drop it in an old apothecary152 bottle, and plug the glass mouth with a cork153 until we carried it back
to the house to identify it in the insect book. I showed Mary how to draw the carapace154, six spiny155
legs, stalk-like antennae156, and to write the Latin name in her best script beneath. With practice,
she became an even better draftsman than I was.
And, like me, she was restless to see more of the world, but was pretty enough to attract a
fine husband who would settle her down. At least, that’s what we thought then. Our mother’s
sapphire157 eyes shone from Mary’s fine-boned face, but Mary’s were always alight with a wry158
humor. Even though I teased her mercilessly, she was the one with whom I shared my doubts
and worries.
Now she said softly to our parents, “Allow him a chance to speak before you judge him
harshly.” She turned toward me with wide eyes. “You must have a good reason, don’t you,
Tom?” But I honestly couldn’t think of one worthwhile explanation for my actions at the
courthouse. It seemed the better course to stay silent.
At twenty, Letitia was the oldest of us three and I always thought she was a bit jealous of my
status as the only son. She said, “Why must you always be so rash? Pa needs you at the mill and
around here in the fields. He depends upon you. How will he possibly manage?” Her tone
became sour. “I agree with Pa. You could at least have waited until matters are more decided159.”
At first, I didn’t want to acknowledge what she said. But later that evening, her words about
abandoning my father to do all the work and Mary’s concern for my safety had a sting. I began
to regret my decision. In truth, Pa often complained of sore arms and an aching back, and he’d
recently become more dependent upon my younger muscles for help with heavy work. But it
was too late to withdraw. My earlier euphoria was reduced to a leaden feeling in my stomach. I
wondered how Sam was faring with his family.
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clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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3
strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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4
dealers
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| n.商人( dealer的名词复数 )；贩毒者；毒品贩子；发牌者 | |
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5
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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6
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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7
pickup
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| n.拾起，获得 | |
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8
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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9
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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10
walnut
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| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
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11
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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12
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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13
taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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14
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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15
skidded
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| v.（通常指车辆） 侧滑( skid的过去式和过去分词 )；打滑；滑行；（住在）贫民区 | |
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16
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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17
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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18
silhouette
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| n.黑色半身侧面影，影子，轮廓；v.描绘成侧面影，照出影子来，仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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19
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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20
crunched
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的过去式和过去分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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21
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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22
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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23
lugged
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| vt.用力拖拉（lug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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24
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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25
scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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26
scoop
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| n.铲子，舀取，独家新闻；v.汲取，舀取，抢先登出 | |
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27
hogs
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| n.（尤指喂肥供食用的）猪( hog的名词复数 )；（供食用的）阉公猪；彻底地做某事；自私的或贪婪的人 | |
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28
tedium
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| n.单调；烦闷 | |
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29
bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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30
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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31
mimicking
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| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的现在分词 )；酷似 | |
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32
leaven
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| v.使发酵；n.酵母；影响 | |
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33
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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34
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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35
whooping
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| 发嗬嗬声的，发咳声的 | |
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36
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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37
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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38
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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39
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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40
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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41
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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42
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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43
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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44
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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45
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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46
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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47
militia
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| n.民兵，民兵组织 | |
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48
inaugural
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| adj.就职的；n.就职典礼 | |
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49
tirade
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| n.冗长的攻击性演说 | |
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50
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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51
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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52
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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54
yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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55
founders
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| n.创始人( founder的名词复数 ) | |
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56
trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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57
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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58
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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59
riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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60
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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61
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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62
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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63
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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65
enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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66
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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67
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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68
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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69
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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70
dabbed
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| （用某物）轻触( dab的过去式和过去分词 )； 轻而快地擦掉（或抹掉）； 快速擦拭； （用某物）轻而快地涂上（或点上）… | |
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71
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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72
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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73
goad
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| n.刺棒，刺痛物；激励；vt.激励，刺激 | |
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74
rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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75
daydream
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| v.做白日梦，幻想 | |
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76
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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77
numbness
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| n.无感觉，麻木，惊呆 | |
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78
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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79
rhetoric
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| n.修辞学，浮夸之言语 | |
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80
scrawl
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| vt.潦草地书写；n.潦草的笔记，涂写 | |
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81
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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82
eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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83
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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84
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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85
pact
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| n.合同，条约，公约，协定 | |
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86
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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87
plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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88
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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89
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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90
overthrowing
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| v.打倒，推翻( overthrow的现在分词 )；使终止 | |
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91
dawdled
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| v.混（时间）( dawdle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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93
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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94
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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95
recipient
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| a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
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96
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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97
manliness
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| 刚毅 | |
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98
pickle
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| n.腌汁，泡菜；v.腌，泡 | |
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99
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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100
disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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101
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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102
seceded
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| v.脱离，退出( secede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103
tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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104
indigo
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| n.靛青，靛蓝 | |
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105
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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106
aromas
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| n.芳香( aroma的名词复数 )；气味；风味；韵味 | |
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107
stewed
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| adj.焦虑不安的，烂醉的v.炖( stew的过去式和过去分词 )；煨；思考；担忧 | |
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108
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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109
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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110
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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111
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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112
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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113
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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114
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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115
whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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116
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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117
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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118
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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119
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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120
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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121
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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122
aristocrats
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| n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
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123
livestock
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| n.家畜，牲畜 | |
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124
slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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125
pilfered
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| v.偷窃（小东西），小偷( pilfer的过去式和过去分词 )；偷窃（一般指小偷小摸） | |
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126
scurrying
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的现在分词 ) | |
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127
scurry
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| vi.急匆匆地走；使急赶；催促；n.快步急跑，疾走；仓皇奔跑声；骤雨，骤雪；短距离赛马 | |
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128
wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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129
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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130
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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131
strutting
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| 加固，支撑物 | |
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132
inciting
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| 刺激的，煽动的 | |
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133
calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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134
sputtering
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| n.反应溅射法；飞溅；阴极真空喷镀；喷射v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的现在分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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135
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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136
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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137
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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138
entrust
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| v.信赖，信托，交托 | |
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139
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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140
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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141
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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142
outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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143
syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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144
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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145
giggles
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| n.咯咯的笑( giggle的名词复数 )；傻笑；玩笑；the giggles 止不住的格格笑v.咯咯地笑( giggle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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146
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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147
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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148
willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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149
bellies
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| n.肚子( belly的名词复数 )；腹部；（物体的）圆形或凸起部份；腹部…形的 | |
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150
grasshopper
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| n.蚱蜢，蝗虫，蚂蚱 | |
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151
beetle
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| n.甲虫，近视眼的人 | |
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152
apothecary
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| n.药剂师 | |
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153
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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154
carapace
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| n.（蟹或龟的）甲壳 | |
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155
spiny
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| adj.多刺的，刺状的；n.多刺的东西 | |
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156
antennae
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| n.天线；触角 | |
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157
sapphire
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| n.青玉，蓝宝石；adj.天蓝色的 | |
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158
wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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159
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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