two cars. He was not needed, so he kept messing with the stick. It was as if he defied gravity for this one concentrated moment. High above, one of the ravens soared, and not for the first time, Will wondered what it would be like to fly.
“What other tricks you got?” Dino asked when they all gathered back around a pump, four men trying to huddle in the shade of the tiny roof.
Will heard the raven. He leaned back, cupped his hands to his mouth, and let out a loud, guttural cronk, cronk.
“What the hell is that?” Woody asked.
“He’s talking to the raven.” Scoop smiled. “They ever talk back?”
Will cawed again, and this time the raven answered.
“The man is just full of wonders,” Dino said.
Will saw Aunt Amanda watching him from the bathroom window. He waved and did his raven call again, but the raven had flown away.
Will looked back and saw someone else with his aunt. He waved again, halfheartedly. The other woman he recognized as the ice cream scooper. Will wondered what kind of a fool he’d just made of himself with his too-short pants and his crazy calling into the sky.
“They’re watching you,” one of the men said, and then three cars pulled in.
Will glanced back, but the woman and his aunt were gone.
ON the drive home that evening, Aunt Amanda asked about his pants, and Will told her about the steep climb, the ravens chasing off the owl, and at last finding the nest.
“And your pants, Mr. William?”
“Well, I kind of ripped them sliding down the mountain.” Will paused, admiring the huge cumulus clouds before them. “Think you could mend them, Aunt Amanda?”
“Leave them at the house and I’ll see what I can do.”
Will steered the Plymouth westward toward the huge buildup of thunderheads. “Looks like that storm’s coming tonight, don’t you think?”
“Maybe sooner.”
They fell quiet as they approached the double tunnels. To Will, the mountain looked like a massive wall, the pike hitting a giant gate. And in the bottom, a little mouse hole swallowed all the traffic.
For forty miles, the turnpike cut a long, straight ribbon across Cumberland Valley. Then here just west of Hopewell, four lanes narrowed to two, and the traffic slowed to scurry through the end-to-end tunnels.
First was Blue Mountain. Will sucked in air, and the thunderheads disappeared in the artificial lights of the tunnel. Tractor-trailer headlights flashed by and blinded him for a moment.
Aunt Amanda shook her head. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”
Will just grinned and didn’t breathe. Ever since he could remember, he had held his breath through these tunnels, seeing if he could outlast the mountain. He counted off seconds in his head and imagined he was an osprey diving for fish.
“Twenty-nine, thirty.” Will exhaled with a gush when they entered Gunter Valley. But this was only a narrow gorge between the two mountains, so Will sucked in another huge breath, as they entered Kittatinny Tunnel.
“You’re going to pass out someday if you keep doing that.”
Will just counted. He could see the far end, the light curved by tunnel walls. So much weight rested above them, so much time—billions of years of fossilized wildness. He felt his heart thumping harder. Kittatinny lasted a good ten beats longer than Blue. “Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty.” Daylight hit the hood, and Will breathed in great gasps.
“I really wish you wouldn’t do that.”
“You should try it sometime, Aunt Amanda. It clears your head, helps you breathe better.” Will was all grins.
They entered Amberson Valley, a small offshoot of Path Valley. Thick clouds rose above Knob and Tuscarora Mountains. Will wanted to try his new key on the employee gate, but it was on the other side of the highway, and he knew Aunt Amanda preferred the longer, safer route to the exit. He would use that gate tomorrow when she wasn’t along.
Aunt Amanda unlaced her shoes and stretched her legs. “My, I get tired of standing on that concrete.” She looked at him. “You sure got quiet.”
Will shrugged, watched the road. Finally, he decided why not. “So, who was that looking out the window with you this afternoon?”
“I wondered if you were going to ask.” Aunt Amanda turned to the window to hide her smile.
“Well, who is she?”
“Her name is Ada Franklin, and she’s a real sweet girl from Hopewell. Her family just had that barn fire you heard about.”
She waited, but Will said nothing. She added, “You might ask her out sometime.”
“I don’t need your meddling, Aunt Amanda.”
“Oh, but you asked. She’s mighty pretty. And tall. You’d make a cute couple, both of you so tall.”
“Enough.”
“Just a thought.”
They were silent as they approached the tollbooth. Will signed the form for Audrey Swartz, and Aunt Amanda shouted across to ask how her son was doing.
“We just got a letter yesterday.” Audrey leaned down to look in. “They moved Jacob to a different hospital somewhere in South Korea. He said his leg’s tore up bad, but he still has it. That’s something.”
Aunt Amanda agreed.
“He thinks he’ll be coming home in a few weeks. I just hope they don’t send him back over there.”
“We’re all praying for him and for you,” Aunt Amanda said.
Audrey thanked her and took the clipboard.
“I hope he’s OK,” Aunt Amanda said to herself.
Will was silent as they passed Fannett-Metal High School. Will had graduated just a month ago, and Jacob was a year ahead of him.
“Have you thought any more about college?”
“Not really.” Will was tired of this conversation, tired of not knowing what he wanted. His dad wanted him to farm, and Aunt Amanda wanted him in college so he wouldn’t be drafted. Both seemed wrong. Will liked music, but he couldn’t imagine ever being good enough. And maybe even more than his guitar and sax, he loved engines—tinkering with them, figuring them out.
When he was a kid, he would spend hours fiddling with Aunt Amanda’s lawnmower, getting it to run. Before he could drive, Will would ride his bike the two miles to Ernie’s Garage to help out.
Ernie’s place felt somehow like a church—dark and mysterious, light coming from those high, dusty windows. Ernie always on his knees, as if in prayer to the gods of gasoline, or on his back, as if asking
