Several hours later Amelia passed the same old man. She had offered to drive into town and pick up some things for the house. When Covey had snarled that all the boys were busy, she said cheerfully she could drive herself.
“I did all of Tom’s buying,” she reminded him. Covey frowned. He didn’t like opinionated women.
Amelia urged Lucy to go along; the drive would do her good. But poor Lucy only shrank further into herself and shook her head.
The fact was that Amelia was expecting some mail at the post office. Also, she wanted to mail a letter. She was writing again to Tom’s cousin who lived in Washington.
Tom had missed Jack terribly when he went away. They had shot squirrels and rabbits together, but Jack never took to plowing. He was kind of wild. Jack had urged Tom to give up, to leave the hills. Tom had hung on—and now he was dead. They had told Amelia she must be resigned, that it was “God’s will.”
When Amelia began to wonder, she wrote Jack. Why did Tom die? she asked him. From there she had gone on to other questions, many questions. Words had sprawled over the thin sheets. She had never written such a long letter.
Jack had replied immediately. But that letter had been only the first. He had sent her newspapers and books. As she read them her astonishment increased. She read them over and over again.
Now she was thinking about going down to Washington. She was thinking about it. She hardly saw the old man, driving his mule.
The old man did not peer closely at her. His mule turned aside politely.