Hear the Wind Blow by Mary Downing Hahn Page A

woods, I peered down at Grandma Colby's house. No smoke rose from the chimney, no lights glowed in the windows. The house was dark against the night sky. Empty. Abandoned. Lifeless. There was no one to welcome us. No one to feed us. No one to tuck us into warm beds.
    Rachel squeezed my waist. "Where is Grandma Colby? Where are Aunt Hester and Aunt Esther?" Her voice rose. "Did the Yankees come and kill them?"
    "No, of course not." I patted Rachel's knee. "Most likely they've gone to stay with Uncle Cornelius in Winchester." I couldn't help wishing I'd thought of that earlier. As stubborn as Grandma Colby was, she wouldn't stay on the farm with no man to protect her and my aunts.
    Rachel sighed. "Oh, Haswell, I'm so hungry and tired and cold."
    I slid down from Ranger's back. "Wait here, Rachel. I'll make sure the house is safe. If everything's all right, we can sleep here tonight and go on to Winchester in the morning."

    Rachel leaned down and grabbed my arm. "Don't leave me alone in the dark. Suppose that crazy man comes along and steals Ranger from me."
    "He's long gone by now," I said, but I couldn't help glancing at the road behind us. Nothing but darkness. No sound but the wind in the trees, no motion except branches tossing.
    "Please let me come with you," Rachel begged.
    She looked pale in the dim light—scared, too. Not her usual daytime self at all.
    "I'll be right back, I promise."
    "What if that man kills me?" Rachel called after me. "You'll be sorry then."
    "Don't be silly! No one's going to kill you." I turned my back on her and crept off through the trees toward the house. I heard Rachel crying, but she stayed where she was.
    Which was a good thing because there was no way of knowing what lay ahead.

9
    A S SOON AS I WAS out of Rachel's sight, I took Papa's revolver out of my waistband. Praying I wouldn't have to use it, I slipped from tree to tree along the lane. The ground was frozen, churned up into ruts by horses and wagon wheels and boots. Men had been here, soldiers most likely. North or South, the signs of their presence didn't bode well. They could be renegades, deserters, heartless and greedy. Dangerous.

    Instead of going to the front door, I made a wide loop around to the back. A broken rocking chair lay in the mud, along with odds and ends of kitchen things, clothing, and Grandma Colby's favorite carpet, which she claimed had been hand-woven in Persia.
    The door lay on the porch, broken off its hinges entirely. I entered cautiously, stopping every now and then to listen. I went from room to room. Most of the furniture was gone. Whether stolen or used for firewood, I couldn't tell. Framed pictures had been yanked from the walls, their glass broken, the faces of my ancestors trampled. In the dim light I stumbled over heaps of silk dresses, shirts and jackets, a tall silk hat Grandfather Colby had worn on fine occasions, bed linens and feather pillows, all torn and soiled and scattered on the floor. But not one person, dead or alive, was to be found.
    By the time I rejoined Rachel, a little sliver of moon had just cleared the mountains. I took Ranger's bridle and led him down the lane. Rachel studied me, her face as pale as her doll's in the dusky light.

    "Did they kill Grandma Colby and the aunts?" she asked in a quavery voice.
    I shook my head. "They wrecked the house, though."
    Rachel sighed and hugged Sophia to her chest. But she didn't say a word, just sat on Ranger's back and let me lead him around the house. When I started guiding him up the steps to the open door, Rachel stared at me as if I'd taken leave of my senses. "Haswell, you can't take this horse into Grandma Colby's house."
    "He can't make it any worse than it already is," I said. "Besides, he needs shelter, too. What if that lunatic found him outside? He'd be on his back in a second."
    Rachel frowned and slid off Ranger's back. "I thought you said he was far from here, miles away."
    "Well, I hope he is," I said, "but who knows who