TPoB (First Draft)

Chapter 6

 Soon night fell and the pleasantness of the day faded. The choir room was back in order and Mr. Rutherford was ready to lock up the church once again for the night. On the walk back home Attwell was once again made to see the stark difference between night and day. Walking up the hill to the field was always an interesting feeling. With nothing but the moon to illuminate it the barley looked like a sea of tendrils suspended at the top. The wild flowers and plants that had looked so gorgeous in the morning glow had a haunting beauty in the bluish light.

Attwell got a slight chill down his spine when he reached the top of the hill. The barley moved with the wind like a rolling sea, an old house he had no choice but to call home standing ominously above it all. Most of the lights were still on in the house. The dining room, the library, April's room, and that's just what he could see from the angle he was at.

He pushed his way through the field reluctantly as he made is way back. He was glad he at least wouldn't have to sit through Caldwell's private sermon for the family, Sundays were the only days he didn't give them. He didn't, however, look forward to sleeping in the cellar again. To him the cellar was more than just a dark place in the literal sense. It was a place where he'd again be completely alone with his thoughts. It would take him to a darker and darker corner of his mind each night he stayed down there.

That damned scarecrow. Cut in through his thoughts when he realized he'd stopped next to it. The old thing was more than frightening in the moonlight. The old overalls it was given were old, tattered, and weather worn just like everything else on it. Worst of all was the potato sack head with worn stitching making x's for eyes and a smile that looked sewn shut. When he was young he thought the thing moved at night during the harvest season until Edmond had to tell him it was just being moved around so it wouldn't be in the way of the farm equipment.

He tried his best to ignore it and continued on to the the house. As he got closer he saw that the back porch light was on. What luck, he thought knowing who'd be there. At least I'll get a few wise words to think on before going to that damned place again. Sure enough, when he reached the porch he found Edmond in his usual spot.

"You look distressed." The old man stated plainly when he took notice of Attwell approaching him. "Why don't you come tell me about it."

Attwell gladly granted his request, taking a seat on the cedar chest.

"I worry for what's coming tonight is all." Attwell sighed.

"Oh? And what comes tonight?"

"I found trouble with Father yet again. 'Tonight' he says 'no amount of intervention can save me.' He's sending me to the cellar again for the night."

"I see. I suppose that is reason to worry, now isn't it?"

"Certainly." Attwell looked up to make eye contact with Edmond. "I despise the cellar grandfath-"

"Oh my!" Edmond gasped.

"What is it? What's the matter?"

"I see the news of you getting in a fight with that Orman girl is true. You ought to be more careful what you say. Never know how hot-headed someone might be."

"Oh that. Admittedly it was my fault in the first place. I'm the one who went to talk to her after the sermon."

"Then it certainly was your fault. Never tell girls they're wrong about something. They don't like bein' wrong."

"Useful advice for someone who'll never get to talk to any." Attwell laughed, quietly resenting the truth behind that statement.

Before either could say anything else Attwell's younger sister came outside.