The Blanket by Floyd Dell
It was a fine September night. A thin white moon rose over the valley. Peter, eleven years old, did not see the moon. He did not feel the cool September breeze blow into the kitchen, for his thoughts were fixed on a red and black blanket on the kitchen table.
The blanket was a gift from his Dad to his Grandad . . . a going-away gift. They said that Grandad was going away . . . that's what they called it "going away."
Peter had not really believed his Dad would send Grandad away. But now
-- there it was -- the going-away gift. Dad had bought it that very morning. And this was
the last evening he and his Grandad would have with each other.
Together the old man and the young boy washed the supper dishes. Dad had gone out . . . with that woman he was to marry. He would not be back for some time. When the dishes were finished, the old man and the boy went outside and sat under the moon.
"I'll get my harmonica and play for you," the old man said. "I'll play some of the old tunes."
But instead of the harmonica, he brought out the blanket. It was a big, double blanket. "Now, isn't that a fine blanket?!" said the old man, smoothing it over his knees. "And isn't your father a kind man to be giving the old man a blanket like this to go away with? It costs something, it did look at the wool in it! And warm it will be these cold winter nights to come. There will be no other blanket like it up there."
It was like Grandad to be saying that. He was trying to make it easier. Ever since they had talked about "going away," Grandad had said it was his idea. Imagine -- leaving a warm house and friends to go to that building . . . that government place where he would be with so many other old fellows, having the best of everything. But Peter had not really believed Dad would do it .. . until this night when he brought home the blanket.
"Oh, yes, it's a fine blanket," Peter said and got up and went into the house. He wasn't the kind to cry, and besides, he was too old for that. He had just gone in to get Grandad's harmonica.
The blanket dropped to the floor as the old man took the harmonica. It was the last night they would have together. Neither the old man nor the young boy had to say a word. Grandad played a few notes and then said, "You'll remember this one."
The thin moon was high overhead and the gentle breeze blew down the valley. The last time, Peter thought. He would never hear Grandad play again. It was well that Dad was moving to a new house -- away from here. He did not want to sit here outside on fine evenings under a white moon with Grandad gone. The music ended, and the two sat for a few minutes in silence Then Grandad spoke "Here is something happier."
Peter sat and looked out over the valley. Dad would marry that girl. Yes, that girl who had kissed him and who had said she would try to be a good mother to him and all that.