[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Mrs. Fortenberry introduced Bill, but I don't remember what she said or how she skirted the fact that
Bill was a different kind of creature.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Then Bill began speaking. He had notes, I saw with some surprise. Beside me, Sam leaned forward, his
eyes fixed on Bill's face.
" ... we didn't have any blankets and very little food," Bill was saying calmly. "There were many
deserters."
That was not a favorite fact of the Descendants, but a few of them were nodding in agreement. This
account must match what they'd learned in their studies.
An ancient man in the first row raised his hand.
"Sir, did you by chance know my great-grandfather, Tolliver Humphries?"
"Yes," Bill said, after a moment. His face was unreadable. "Tolliver was my friend."
And just for a moment, there was something so tragic in his voice that I had to close my eyes.
"What was he like?" quavered the old man.
"Well, he was foolhardy, which led to his death," said Bill with a wry smile. "He was brave. He never
made a cent in his life that he didn't waste."
"How did he die? Were you there?"
"Yes, I was there," said Bill wearily. "I saw him get shot by a Northern sniper in the woods about twenty
miles from here. He was slow because he was starved. We all were. About the middle of the morning, a
cold morning, Tolliver saw a boy in our troop get shot as he lay in poor cover in the middle of a field. The
boy was not dead, but painfully wounded. But he could call to us, and he did, all morning. He called to us
to help him. He knew he would die if someone didn't."
The whole room had grown so silent you could hear a pin drop.
"He screamed and he moaned. I almost shot him myself, to shut him up, because I knew to venture out
to rescue him was suicide. But I could not quite bring myself to kill him. That would be murder, not war, I
told myself. But later I wished I had shot him, for Tolliver was less able than I to withstand the boy's
pleading. After two hours of it, he told me he planned to try to rescue the boy. I argued with him. But
Tolliver told me that God wanted him to attempt it. He had been praying as we lay in the woods.
"Though I told Tolliver that God did not wish him to waste his life foolishly that he had a wife and
children praying for his safe return at home Tolliver asked me to divert the enemy while he attempted
the boy's rescue. He ran out into the field like it was a spring day and he was well rested. And he got as
far as the wounded boy. But then a shot rang out, and Tolliver fell dead. And, after a time, the boy began
screaming for help again."
"What happened to him?" asked Mrs. Fortenberry, her voice as quiet as she could manage to make it.
"He lived," Bill said, and there was tone to his voice that sent shivers down my spine. "He survived the
day, and we were able to retrieve him that night."
Somehow those people had come alive again as Bill spoke, and for the old man in the front row there
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
was a memory to cherish, a memory that said much about his ancestor's character.
I don't think anyone who'd come to the meeting that night was prepared for the impact of hearing about
the Civil War from a survivor. They were enthralled; they were shattered.
When Bill had answered the last question, there was thunderous applause, or at least it was as
thunderous as forty people could make it. Even Sam, not Bill's biggest fan, managed to put his hands
together.
Everyone wanted to have a personal word with Bill afterward except me and Sam. While the reluctant
guest speaker was surrounded by Descendants, Sam and I sneaked out to Sam's pickup. We went to
the Crawdad Diner, a real dive that happened to have very good food. I wasn't hungry, but Sam had key
lime pie with his coffee.
"That was interesting," Sam said cautiously.
"Bill's speech? Yes," I said, just as cautiously.
"Do you have feelings for him?"
After all the indirection, Sam had decided to storm the main gate.
"Yes," I said.
"Sookie," Sam said, "You have no future with him."
"On the other hand, he's been around a while. I expect he'll be around for a another few hundred years."
"You never know what's going to happen to a vampire."
I couldn't argue with that. But, as I pointed out to Sam, I couldn't know what was going to happen to
me, a human, either.
We wrangled back and forth like this for too long. Finally, exasperated, I said, "What's it to you, Sam?"
His ruddy skin flushed. His bright blue eyes met mine. "I like you, Sookie. As friend or maybe something
else sometime ..."
Huh?
"I just hate to see you take a wrong turn."
I looked at him. I could feel my skeptical face forming, eyebrows drawn together, the corner of my
mouth tugging up. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl freetocraft.keep.pl
Mrs. Fortenberry introduced Bill, but I don't remember what she said or how she skirted the fact that
Bill was a different kind of creature.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Then Bill began speaking. He had notes, I saw with some surprise. Beside me, Sam leaned forward, his
eyes fixed on Bill's face.
" ... we didn't have any blankets and very little food," Bill was saying calmly. "There were many
deserters."
That was not a favorite fact of the Descendants, but a few of them were nodding in agreement. This
account must match what they'd learned in their studies.
An ancient man in the first row raised his hand.
"Sir, did you by chance know my great-grandfather, Tolliver Humphries?"
"Yes," Bill said, after a moment. His face was unreadable. "Tolliver was my friend."
And just for a moment, there was something so tragic in his voice that I had to close my eyes.
"What was he like?" quavered the old man.
"Well, he was foolhardy, which led to his death," said Bill with a wry smile. "He was brave. He never
made a cent in his life that he didn't waste."
"How did he die? Were you there?"
"Yes, I was there," said Bill wearily. "I saw him get shot by a Northern sniper in the woods about twenty
miles from here. He was slow because he was starved. We all were. About the middle of the morning, a
cold morning, Tolliver saw a boy in our troop get shot as he lay in poor cover in the middle of a field. The
boy was not dead, but painfully wounded. But he could call to us, and he did, all morning. He called to us
to help him. He knew he would die if someone didn't."
The whole room had grown so silent you could hear a pin drop.
"He screamed and he moaned. I almost shot him myself, to shut him up, because I knew to venture out
to rescue him was suicide. But I could not quite bring myself to kill him. That would be murder, not war, I
told myself. But later I wished I had shot him, for Tolliver was less able than I to withstand the boy's
pleading. After two hours of it, he told me he planned to try to rescue the boy. I argued with him. But
Tolliver told me that God wanted him to attempt it. He had been praying as we lay in the woods.
"Though I told Tolliver that God did not wish him to waste his life foolishly that he had a wife and
children praying for his safe return at home Tolliver asked me to divert the enemy while he attempted
the boy's rescue. He ran out into the field like it was a spring day and he was well rested. And he got as
far as the wounded boy. But then a shot rang out, and Tolliver fell dead. And, after a time, the boy began
screaming for help again."
"What happened to him?" asked Mrs. Fortenberry, her voice as quiet as she could manage to make it.
"He lived," Bill said, and there was tone to his voice that sent shivers down my spine. "He survived the
day, and we were able to retrieve him that night."
Somehow those people had come alive again as Bill spoke, and for the old man in the front row there
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
was a memory to cherish, a memory that said much about his ancestor's character.
I don't think anyone who'd come to the meeting that night was prepared for the impact of hearing about
the Civil War from a survivor. They were enthralled; they were shattered.
When Bill had answered the last question, there was thunderous applause, or at least it was as
thunderous as forty people could make it. Even Sam, not Bill's biggest fan, managed to put his hands
together.
Everyone wanted to have a personal word with Bill afterward except me and Sam. While the reluctant
guest speaker was surrounded by Descendants, Sam and I sneaked out to Sam's pickup. We went to
the Crawdad Diner, a real dive that happened to have very good food. I wasn't hungry, but Sam had key
lime pie with his coffee.
"That was interesting," Sam said cautiously.
"Bill's speech? Yes," I said, just as cautiously.
"Do you have feelings for him?"
After all the indirection, Sam had decided to storm the main gate.
"Yes," I said.
"Sookie," Sam said, "You have no future with him."
"On the other hand, he's been around a while. I expect he'll be around for a another few hundred years."
"You never know what's going to happen to a vampire."
I couldn't argue with that. But, as I pointed out to Sam, I couldn't know what was going to happen to
me, a human, either.
We wrangled back and forth like this for too long. Finally, exasperated, I said, "What's it to you, Sam?"
His ruddy skin flushed. His bright blue eyes met mine. "I like you, Sookie. As friend or maybe something
else sometime ..."
Huh?
"I just hate to see you take a wrong turn."
I looked at him. I could feel my skeptical face forming, eyebrows drawn together, the corner of my
mouth tugging up. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]