Hear the Wind Blow Read Online Free

away.
    James Marshall smiled. "Everything you hear about that wily fox is true. That's why I joined his Rangers."
    "Best not tell Mama who you ride with," I said. "The Yankees hate Mosby. She's already scared of what they'll do to us if they find you here."
    He nodded as if he understood. For a while we sat together quietly, listening to the wind. "The truth is, Mama doesn't care which side wins anymore," I said. "I heard her say so herself. She just wants the killing to stop. And Avery to come home safe."
    James Marshall frowned. "The South is worth fighting for. Even dying for. We can't have Yankees telling us what to do. Doesn't your mama understand that?"
    "Well, you know how ladies are. They don't appreciate the art of war." I pulled so hard at the feather it came out of the quilt. Mama would have slapped my hand if she'd seen what I'd done. Good thing she was still rattling pans in the kitchen and fussing at Rachel.

    "Least that's what Papa said," I went on. "He tried and tried to explain old-time heroes like Achilles and Alexander the Great and Horatio, but Mama wasn't interested in their deeds. She said the world doesn't need any more heroes. According to her, we'd all be better off if men stayed home and minded their own patch."
    James Marshall smiled at that and so did I, for it was funny to picture the heroes of history plowing fields or hoeing gardens, living to be old and gray. A man didn't win fame and glory that way.
    "Do you know your Homer?" James Marshall asked.
    I nodded. "Papa was a scholarly man. He read the
Iliad
and the
Odyssey
to Avery and me. Then when I got smarter, I read them myself. Avery, too. In fact, the two of us used to act out battle scenes. Avery always got to be Achilles because he was older and his name started with
A.
I had to be Hector.
H
for Hector, you know. Avery got to kill me every single time."
    James Marshall coughed to clear his throat. "Do you recall what Achilles said before he went into battle?"
    I nodded. "He knew he'd die if he fought; it was his destiny. But he decided he'd rather die a hero in battle than live out his life and die safe in his bed."
    James Marshall nodded. "Heroes' names are remembered forever," he added, "but an old man's name is soon forgotten."
    Mama had come upstairs while we were talking. James Marshall didn't see her, but I did. From the look on her face, I knew she hated what we were saying.
    "If you aim to have a long life, you should be resting, James Marshall," Mama said sternly. "Not talking your fool head off."

    "Now, now, Mrs. Magruder, I was paraphrasing Homer himself, a man we all esteem."
    "Try reading your Bible instead," Mama said. "Ecclesiastes, for instance. 'For to him that is joined to all the living there is hope: for a living dog is better than a dead lion.'"
    Before James Marshall could come up with a rejoinder, Mama stuck a spoonful of her medicine into his mouth. That silenced him from giving his opinion of dead lions and living dogs. But I knew he didn't agree with Ecclesiastes. Or Mama, either.
    As for myself, I wasn't sure. I wanted to believe in the glory of war, but so far all I'd seen was soldiers burning farms and stealing food from folks who needed it just as badly as they did. Maybe you had to be in the actual fighting to see what Homer saw. Papa hadn't said much about his experiences, but I was certain Avery would have plenty to tell me.
    "Don't just stand there dreaming, Haswell," Mama said. "Go on downstairs and do something useful. Shovel a path to the barn." She didn't sound cross. Just firm. But as I left the room, I heard her mutter, "Damn Homer and his foolishness."
    I'd never heard Mama say damn anything so I figured she must be angrier than I'd realized.
    ***
    The wind had dropped and the snow lay thick and white over the fields, carved into banks and drifts and hollows. The sun stood at the top of the blue sky, shining so bright it dazzled my eyes. Lord, it was a pretty sight. But it didn't make the shoveling