Grandfather’s gray eyes twinkled for a moment. “Remember how not so long ago you used to come sit a spell in my room after supper, and we’d talk about the village and about your Great-great-grandfather Ezra and about the Glassworks?”
Ronnie nodded.
“Well, maybe if you were to slip in for a while tonight, we could talk about the candlesticks.”
“And maybe about the locked-up building, too, huh, Grandpa?”
The old man frowned. “That’s best forgotten, lad, best forgotten.”
Phil was already seated at the table, and Mrs. Butler was glaring in Ronnie’s direction, warning him to do the same. He helped Grandfather into his special armchair at the head of the table, and then slipped around and sat down next to Phil. Grandfather said grace, Mrs. Butler brought in the corned beef and cabbage, and Mr. Rorth made a late entrance to take his place opposite Grandfather. Mr. Rorth’s face was drawn into a frown. “I wish,” he exclaimed irritably, “the Seaway would hurry up and buy the land so I could get on with the farm work.”
A loud snort from Grandfather warned him that he had not worded his feelings in quite the way the old man would understand. “What I mean is,” he hurried to correct himself, “what I mean is that we haven’t got a ghost of a chance of saving it, so we might as well be done with the whole thing.” But it was too late. Grandfather had already risen to his feet, his hand turning white as he clenched the handle of his cane. His face was a fiery red against his snow-white hair, and the vein on his right forehead popped from the surface like a big purple knot.
For a moment he was so angry his words wouldn’t come out straight. “You, why, you—you’re a traitor to the Rorths! The village is the soul, the heart, the life of this family, and you throw it away in a few idle words. Why, why this boy here,” he pointed to Ronnie, “has a greater appreciation for what the village means. Far greater. I can’t understand it. I just can’t understand it.” He sank back down into his chair, breathing rapidly.
For a minute there wasn’t a sound in the room. Ronnie could hear a cricket chirping mournfully in the cellar. Then his father looked up from his plate. “I’m sorry,” he said to Grandfather. “I really didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
Grandfather grunted, but said nothing.