AT 29 (3 page)

Like his father, mother, four brothers and two sisters, Jonathan was illiterate. Schooling was not available and even if it was, his family saw no use for letters when there was the daily struggle to put food on the table. Still, he was curious and imaginative and, he loved to sing. He used his spare time to walk the hills and forests near his home in northern England, examining everything he saw, not for practical purposes, but to feed his insatiable interest in what shared space with him on this earth. During his solitary walks he made up songs in his head, testing them with his voice and committing each to memory so he could sing them over and over again, changing a note here and there to make each melody better. He knew of London and he even heard tell of other countries like France and Spain. This, he discovered by listening to the occasional pilgrims who stopped to ask for water or the right to make a fire for the night.

Sometimes the local Vicar came by to visit with his mother. His father ignored the preacher, but he did not interfere with his wife's contact with the church. Vicar Daniel was a big man. In fact, he was a giant for those times, standing six foot five without his boots. Whenever he appeared Jonathan's mother shooed everyone from the small cottage, stopped her work and sat alone with her visitor over tea at a crude wooden table just inside the door. Often their talks ran well into the afternoon and Jonathan could hear her laugh as the preacher sang a tune for their mutual amusement, an unusual occurrence in the family's otherwise austere world. Vicar Daniel paid scant attention to the Whitehurst brood, but there were occasions when Jonathan caught him looking his way with a curious gaze. Otherwise, the Vicar spoke little to anyone, but his mother.

No one in the melancholy family matched the remarkable size of the preacher except Jonathan. The youth, unlike his parents or siblings, could look him in the eye, still growing, but thinner because Vicar Daniel was better fed. Jonathan's brothers taunted him from time to time because of his size, but they steered clear of making him angry lest they be forced to deal physically with their victim. However, Jonathan was not angered easily. He eschewed their abuse, preferring to deal gently with his world. He enjoyed his few chances to be alone among the fields and forests, especially at night during summer when he would lie on his back for hours, singing and studying the stars.

This birthday held special significance. He selected it as the day he would strike out on his own. For months he planned his departure, alternating between destinations such as York and London. He even considered Edinburgh, but dropped the thought when he realized he did not know where it was precisely. Of course, that was true of the other two towns as well, but he believed they were somewhere to the south and, most important, in England. He was confident that when he struck out on the road leaving his village, he would eventually find his way.

He made a leather pouch to carry food for his journey. It was hidden under a corner of the cottage roof where he took it down, unseen, to add barley and dried fruits
whenever he could stealthily slip them from the table where his mother served the family's meals. This day the pouch was full. He planned to leave in the dark after everyone was asleep. He did not fear discovery because he had slipped away many times to look at the night sky.

The decision to depart without notice was paramount. If his father knew of his plan he would deny him the chance, even if it meant gathering all of his brothers to hold Jonathan down and tie him up. All hands were needed to keep the family in food and shelter. His brothers and sisters were little more than strangers, so cowed by his parents that no bond between Jonathan and them ever formed. They would not miss him although they would lament his lost contribution to the daily work. In truth, he never felt a part of the Whitehurst clan. His father showed him no kindness. His mother spoke to him little, preferring to spend nearly all of her time with his sisters. What little affection that existed in the cottage did not extend to Jonathan. He felt neither love nor loyalty toward his family.

When he slid from his grass-strewn berth and tiptoed into the night he breathed in deeply with no small measure of excitement. He was glad to be leaving alone in the still darkness. From then and forever he intended to be free. He did not dwell on his small amount of food or that he was penniless. Just as well because that is the way it would frequently be for him throughout his long life.

Four days of walking brought Jonathan to a fork in the road at twilight. A faded wooden sign marked the way to London, but the uneducated youth could make no sense of it. He reached into his empty pouch, hoping there was some morsel to be had, but his hand came out empty. He was tired, dirty and confused, the grand adventure no longer enchanting to his naïve imagination. From his years alone exploring the hills and forests around his home, he knew that east to west followed the sun across the sky. He was traveling east, but he was certain that London was south. The rutted route should have turned that way long before.

To his right he spied a path leading into an expanse of forest beyond. Cautious, he entered it, intending to go only a short distance to find a place to rest. He would let the night pass before continuing on. He followed the trail into the wild, soon reaching the forest. In a way, he was more comfortable among the trees that reminded him of home. A lone, motherless fawn stood at the edge of the trail, nibbling at ferns that grew in a group. He allowed himself to smile at this innocent creature with a suspect future like his own. Then, off in the distance, he saw smoke. It was, perhaps, two hundred yards ahead, gray-blue and wispy, a cooking fire.

Jonathan hesitated, considering what to do. His fear was great, but his empty stomach signaled his brain to act. If only he could find something here on the trail. Then he could veer off the path and rest as his intuition told him to do. Yet the smoke lured him to its source like a magnet. He trudged onward, glancing all around to be sure he would spot anyone lurking among the trees before they saw him. As he neared the source of the smoke he left the trail, making a wide circle around the spot where he knew the fire would be. Shortly, the location came into view and he stopped behind a tree to survey the image before him. It was, as he suspected, a clearing carved among the trees with white tents interspersed around a large fire. Men in red coats, soiled frocks and high black boots were gathered around the fire. They occasionally cut pieces from a pig roasting on a spit
above the flames. He could hear them talking as they ate. Muskets were arrayed against the sides of the tents, bayonets skyward.

Jonathan knew of the vaunted British army. Few in England let them go by unnoticed for its regiments served the dual purpose of protector and antagonist, alternately shielding remote villages from vandals while terrorizing those same villages whenever the opportunity to pillage and rape caught the soldiers' fancy. York, not far away although Jonathan did not know this, was a stopover for regiments traveling to and from the northlands where they were deployed to keep peace among feuding clans. Jonathan had heard of their vicious actions against both the guilty and the innocent.

The enticing smell of the roasting pig brought all-consuming hunger. Although cautious, he could think of nothing but the tantalizing feast before him. Transfixed, he let down his vigilance, unaware of the movement nearby. When he felt the poke of a bayonet at his back he nearly fainted. Of course, he was not trained in military ways and he knew nothing of sentries. He had been spotted long before he settled behind the tree.

He turned slowly to look at the man behind him only to find that he was a mere boy, certainly younger than Jonathan and almost as nervous. He had shaggy red hair that fell over his eyebrows as he looked up at his captive, massively larger and a head taller. As they faced each other the boy stepped back, but held his musket firmly with the bayonet pointed at Jonathan's chest.

“Captain!” the soldier shouted. “Intruder!”

Jonathan could hear rustling coming from the encampment as the other soldiers jumped to retrieve their weapons.

“Report!” came a booming reply. The boy used his musket to motion Jonathan toward the camp. Jonathan turned, heart sinking, toward his unknown fate.

They entered the clearing confronted by twenty soldiers in uneven order each with musket in hand. The men wore curious expressions, but uttered no sound as they waited for their leader to take control. When Jonathan and his captor were within several feet of the soldiers, an order to stop came from behind the line. Then an older, grizzled man stepped forward. The captain did not speak as he walked around, looking the captive up and down. He raised his hand to finger Jonathan's ragged tunic, brushing away bits of dirt and grass that had caked onto the coarse cloth.

“You look like a farmer,” he said, with suspicion in his voice.

“I am from the north.”

“Why are you lurking near my camp?”

“I spied your fire and smelled something to eat.”

Some of the soldiers shifted in their positions, but none spoke as their leader interrogated the stranger.

“If you are a farmer why are you here in this forest, dirty and hungry?”

Jonathan was afraid to answer for fear that the soldier might find some fault. The Captain stood with a stern expression, waiting for a reply.

“I am traveling to London.”

“London? Why would a hungry farmer from the north be traveling to London town?”

Trickles of knowing laughter emerged from the other soldiers. The captain whirled around and glared at them. Of course, they all knew why a hungry farmer would be traveling to London. It was common in those times, caused by cyclical famines in the
countryside that cast hundreds of the starving onto the roads in search of food. No doubt, most of the soldiers who stood around the two of them were from farm families not unlike Jonathan's. When desperation struck they set out for the cities just like Jonathan, but most were lost along the way, either murdered by bandits or dead by starvation and disease. A few lucky ones found new homes and livelihoods, including many who were conscripted, without their consent, to serve his majesty. Jonathan searched his mind for an answer, any answer that would avoid danger.

“I am lost and hungry, that is all. I smelled your roasting pig and came near to see. I intend no harm.”

The captain's face showed no satisfaction. He continued to look Jonathan over, but did not press as if realizing that the frightened youth, standing in the midst of these men with their muskets at the ready, was not a threat. He took one more turn before stopping and looking closely into his eyes and speaking once more.

“Then you shall eat.” He gestured toward the pig on the spit. “Take your fill, then I shall have more questions for you.”

Hours later, Jimmy awoke to a darkened room, except for faint light coming from the corridor. He noticed that his head hurt less. Slowly, his eyes adapted and he saw that he was not alone. In the corner sat a figure on a faux leather hospital chair next to the window. It was Cindy. He waited, hoping she would not see that he was awake. He needed time to gather his thoughts.

He never expected to spend his life with her. There had always been plenty of passion in that lustful way that follows a particularly good concert, but when the bedroom energies were spent he found it difficult to hold her in his arms in the warm afterglow that signaled love. He play acted when she snuggled close and laid her head on his chest, expecting to be wrapped in his arms. Soon, she would fall asleep and he would carefully disentangle from her and step away to shower and be alone. He knew it wasn't love.

Yet he would never be the one to break it off. He needed her because she was ever cheerful, quick witted and wise. It was her engaging personality that shielded him from his self-destruction That is, he sensed, until now. Five years they had been together. What would he do without her? She looked up.

“How are you, Jimmy?”

“Better, now that you're here.”

Cindy frowned uncharacteristically and stood to turn on the lights. She came to his side, scanning his face.

“You do look better. I was afraid you were dying.”

“You did the right thing.”

“Did Ellis come to see you?”

“Yes. He didn't stay long.”

“What did the doctor say?”

“I've only seen a nurse. The doc told Ellis I'd be okay.”

“Did he tell you about the concert?”

“He was uncomfortable with that smile of his. He said we'd figure things out later.”

“That should be interesting.”

He caught the doubt in her voice. “I don't remember much.”

“It was a terrible night.”

“I should know the details.”

Cindy bit her lip as if trying to decide if it was worth the telling. Then she took a breath.

“You were wasted before we got into the car. I drove because you would have killed us both. You slept during the drive, but you were still shaky when we arrived. When Benson saw you backstage he hit the roof. Ellis had to cool him down. You ignored the band and went to the stage to look around. You must have meddled with the guitars. It sure sounded like it when you played.”

“I don't remember.”

“I'm not surprised. You opened with
Lulu
, but you neglected to tell anybody so you were half way through the first verse before Benson picked up the beat. Then Mitch tried to bring in the bass from the opening chord. It was a mash of words, guitars and drums with nothing in synch.”

“Did anyone try to stop me?”
Lulu
was one of the bands minor hits.

“Sonny tried to get you to harmonize with him, but you ignored him and kept on.”

“How did the crowd react?”

“I think they thought it was a new twist on the song. You stumbled through and nobody got too excited. The next couple of plays went okay, but the band was dead; no eye contact with each other, the crowd, you, no smiles, no movement, just statues. Some in the crowd didn't like what was going on.” Jimmy raised the covers to his chin. “The concert started to go south with
Choral Guns
. It sounded horrible. When it was over the booing began.”