Chapter 2

I tried to hand the money back, but Uncle Henry grabbed my hand. "Keep it. I'll manage for Amy somehow."

Aunt Eunice was so mad that she stomped her foot. "Henry, if you don't get that money back today, you'll have hell to pay with me."

Uncle Henry ignored her and turned to leave. At the door, he glanced back at me.

I would never forget that look. There was hope, pride, and something I couldn't quite understand. Later, I realized it was trust.

Aunt Eunice grumbled as she followed him out. The yard went quiet, with only the chicken pecking at the ground.

I handed the money to my mom. She clutched it tightly, her tears falling in big drops.

That night, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

Moonlight spilled through the window onto an old inspirational poster tacked to the wall: a kid walking into a schoolhouse, books held tight to his chest. Beneath the picture, it showed: [The Future is Yours.]

I pressed my face into the pillow, soaking the fabric with tears.

Early the next morning, I went to Uncle Henry's place.

Uncle Henry's place sat on the east end of town, a weathered clapboard house no bigger than three rooms, with a dirt yard out front. Two apple trees stood by the porch.

As I came through the front gate, I saw Amy crouched beneath one of them, scratching in the dirt with a stick.

Amy was eight, skinny as a rail, with two wispy blonde braids. When she saw me, her eyes lit up. "William."

"Amy, where's your dad?" I asked.

"He went into town." Amy stood up, brushing the dirt off her jeans. "William, are you going off to college?"

I nodded.

Amy tilted her head. "If you go to college, you won't have to farm anymore, right?"

"Yeah," I said.

"Then I want to go to college, too. But my mom says it's useless for girls to study. I should stay home and feed the chickens."

My nose stung. I crouched down and took her hand. "Amy, I'll make sure you get to go to school in the future, okay?"

Amy's eyes lit up. "Really?"

I said, "Really."

By the time Uncle Henry got back, it was already noon. He was carrying an empty sack, sweat streaming down his face.

"Uncle Henry, did you sell all the grain?" I asked.

He nodded. "The elevator took it. The price wasn't bad."

"Then what are you folks going to eat this year?"

Uncle Henry managed a smile, but it came out bitter around the edges. "Still got a few rows of sweet potatoes in the back field. We'll make do. You don't fret about us."

I tried to say something, but a lump rose in my throat, and the words wouldn't come.

Just then, Aunt Eunice came out of the house. When she saw me, her expression soured, and she turned right back inside. The door slammed shut with a loud bang.

Uncle Henry sighed. "Don't take it to heart. That's how she is."

I pulled 20 bucks out of my pocket. It was from that wad of cash yesterday. I'd thought it over all night, but I couldn't bring myself to take it all. "Uncle Henry, take this. Buy Amy her notebooks."

Uncle Henry's face hardened, and he pushed the money back. "What's this about? Not enough for you?"

I said, "No, it's not that."

"Then take it." Uncle Henry patted my shoulder. "Studying hard is the best thanks you can give me."

That afternoon, Uncle Henry took me to see his storage shed. He called it a granary. Really, it was a small weathered shed, empty except for a few scattered kernels of corn in the corner.

"This place used to be stacked to the rafters." Uncle Henry pointed at the empty space. "Corn, wheat, sweet potatoes. Enough to last a year. Now look at it."

A heavy weight settled in my chest.

"But it's fine." Uncle Henry smiled. "We'll plant again next year. There's always more grain. But your chance at school, once it's gone, it's gone."

On the way back, Uncle Henry told me about when he was young. "I wanted to study, too. I went to the one-room schoolhouse for two years.

"The teacher said I had a sharp mind. Then the family couldn't afford it, so I went back to farming. I was eleven. Cried for days."

"What happened after that?" I asked.

"I made my peace with it." Uncle Henry pulled out his corncob pipe and lit it. "A farmer's son, what else is he gonna do? But you're different. You've got the chance.

"I told your dad, we'll break our backs and sell the farm if we have to, but you're going."

I kept my head down, not daring to look at Uncle Henry.

"You remember this." Uncle Henry stopped walking. "School isn't about getting rich or becoming some big shot. It's about being able to do what you want with your life, so you don't end up tied to the dirt like me."

I nodded hard.

Before I left, Uncle Henry pressed a cloth bundle into my hands. Inside were a dozen boiled eggs.

"For the road," he said. "When you get to Stillwater, don't pinch pennies. Eat what you need to eat, drink what you need to drink. If you run short, write home. I'll figure something out."

I held that bundle of eggs, feeling warmth spread through my chest, my eyes burning.

That night, my mom stayed up sewing me a new work shirt. It was blue cotton from the bottom of the trunk. She'd been saving that fabric for my dad's burial shirt.

My dad said, "Let William wear it now. My turn can wait."

The shirt was a little big. My mom said, "I made it roomy on purpose. You're still growing. It'll fit fine next year, too."

I put on the shirt and looked in the mirror. The boy looking back was skinny and sun-darkened, wearing a new shirt that felt stiff and strange. But it was the finest thing I'd ever worn.

The next morning, I would leave.