Black Noon (3 page)

Her lips were silent.

But her eyes said it all.

Jon Keyes, for most of his adult life, had not been a man of the cloth.

The decision and transformation took place in the course of the war between North and South—and was completed on his return to Monroe, Michigan—and Lorna.

Monroe, for over a century, had been a quiet, little more than a village-like settlement, ever since the Red Man moved out of the area because the White Man had moved in—by force of arms. Divided by the banks of the Raisin River, and situated between Detroit, Michigan, and Toledo, Ohio—Monroe had a reputation for nothing in particular until what was called the “Civil War” by the North and the “War for the Confederacy” by the South.

During that unpleasantness, headlines and stories abounded in northern newspapers with mention of Monroe. Not because any remembered battles were fought in, or around the town, but because of the exploits of one of its young citizens—who was no longer just a citizen.

Born in New Rumley, Ohio, and born to be a soldier, he had moved to Monroe as a young boy to be with his sister, Lydia, and to go to school. Some considered him “wild,” others settled for “spirited,” as he set a new record for outlandish pranks. Still in his teens, he petitioned Senator John A. Bingham for an appointment to West Point where he graduated last in his class of 1861—last in academic study and first in demerits, mostly due to a series of roguish shenanigans, which he made up for by being first in marksmanship, fencing, and horsemanship.

By then the war was in full fury and the army was less in need of scholars and more in demand of soldiers, leaders who could shoot straight and inspire their troops.

The young lieutenant filled the bill—and then some—at Bull Run, the Peninsula Campaign, the Battle of Antietam, and at Chickahominy, where he led a valiant charge against superior forces and emerged a captain—then at Chancellorsville—after distinguishing himself, boldly and aggressively at Brandy Station, he was promoted to brigadier general—then came the defeat of General J.E.B. Stuart's “Invincibles” at Gettysburg, where he prevented Stuart's attempt to join Pickett—and at Culpeper, where he had two horses shot from under him, then continued the victorious charge while wounded in the leg.

After that he was sent back to Monroe to recover—the youngest general officer in the U.S. Army.

That's when Jon Keyes met Brigadier General George Armstrong Custer.

And that made all the difference until the war was over.

But there were different kinds of wars, and here in San Melas, Keyes found himself in the middle of one of those wars.

Deliverance, holding a moist handkerchief, touched Keyes's face where it bled, a gentle, soothing touch, as he looked at her graceful eyes and wistful smile while he sat at the table.

The two others in Hobbs's parlor, Caleb and Joseph, sat in silence, as Caleb relit his pipe.

The silence was interrupted when Keyes's fist slammed against the table.

“It's hard to believe,” Keyes muttered.

Caleb and Joseph reacted.

Deliverance did not.

“It's hard to believe,” Keyes repeated louder, “that one man . . . one lone man can exact tribute from an entire town.”

“He's not just a ‘man.'” Caleb said. “He's a monster . . . you saw how he used those guns and that rope. Moon is a killer. A sadistic, soulless killer.”

“Wasn't for you, Reverend, I most likely would not be among the living. Came close, too close.” Joseph rubbed his shoulder and neck.

“Where's the law?” Keyes asked.

“In Moon's guns.” Caleb puffed.

“Don't you have a sheriff?”

“Only a mayor. Me.”

Keyes rose past Deliverance and began to pace the room.

“All right, then it's up to you . . . and the rest of the citizens.”

“To do what, m'boy?”

“To stop him.”

“How?”

Keyes ceased pacing and turned directly to Caleb Hobbs.

“Moon has two guns. Don't the people of San Melas have weapons? Don't they have guns?”

“Reverend.” Caleb shook his head. “It's against our religion. We don't believe in violence.”

“He who lives by the sword . . .”

“Yes, I know, Joseph. But do you believe in surviving? Or to just paying tribute to evil . . . and for how long?”

“You're right about that, Reverend.” Caleb nodded. “Moon is evil. But so long as we had the gold to give . . . it seemed the easier path.”

“But that is no longer the path. You haven't any gold. Now what are you going to do . . . besides call a meeting?”

“I . . . don't know . . .”

“Moon said he'd be back. Suppose he comes back in the middle of your meeting? Then what?”

“For the time, all we can do is hope he doesn't . . . and pray.”

“Can't you send for a marshal?”

“We're such a small community and so far off the beaten path . . . this is a vast territory. What few marshals there are . . . are not just on call.”

“It's your
home
.”

“We've moved on before.”

“
If
Moon gives you the opportunity . . .”

Keyes glanced at Deliverance. “Or if he doesn't take something or someone instead of the gold.”

“We realize that.” Caleb shrugged, “But our hands are tied.”

“
Un
-tie them.”

“How? Our fate is in the hands of the Almighty . . .”

“As Joseph would quote, ‘The Lord helps those who help themselves.' You can't wait around hoping that Moon gets hit by a bolt of heavenly lightning!”

“Reverend, Joseph said that there is a rifle in your wagon . . .”

“Yes, for hunting . . . in case we run out of food on our journey . . .”

“I understand, but . . .”

“What is it, Caleb? Say what's on your mind. Do you want me to give the rifle to you? To . . . the town?”

“Not exactly . . .”

“Would
you
. . . use it . . . if Moon came back while you are here?”

There was a deep silence as Keyes looked around the room, and the others looked at him.

“Suppose he confronted you . . . and your wife, Lorna?”

Finally, Keyes spoke.

“Some time ago I made a covenant . . . a vow.”

“What kind of a . . . vow?”

“You'll have to excuse me, Caleb, if I don't answer your question.”

“Yes, of course, my friend. It was unfair of me to ask that question. You've already done more than we could expect. But, Reverend, may I ask, what are your plans? Where were you and your wife . . . what was your destination?”

“A place you might never even have heard of, Saguaro.”

“Yes, we know of Saguaro.”

“The minister there is retiring at the end of the year. I'll assist him until then.”

“Very good.” Caleb looked from Joseph to Deliverance. “In the meanwhile, since you'll be here for a time . . . until Mrs. Keyes is fit to travel . . . I was wondering . . .”

“Yes?”

“There is a different way you can help . . . if you're willing.”

“How?”

“As you've seen, the people here are so depressed, and since our minister died they even seem to be losing faith. I'm sure it would be a great comfort to San Melas if you would conduct services this Sunday.”

“A great comfort,” Joseph added.

Deliverance moved forward slightly and nodded, her eyes importuning.

“We have no church to offer you,” Caleb said, “but there is a shady knoll. Would you consider . . .”

“I would consider it an honor, Caleb, after all you've done,” he smiled. “I haven't had the opportunity to conduct a service since we began our journey. Only silent prayers . . . and you good people have answered one of my prayers.”

“And, in a way, you've answered one of ours, just by being here.”

“I may be a little . . . rusty.”

“Reverend, you will be received with great favor.”

“With great favor.” Joseph beamed, as Bethia entered the room.

“Excuse me, sir,” she addressed Keyes. “It's your wife . . .”

“Is something wrong?”

“To the contrary,” Bethia brightened, “she's awake. She's been asking for you.”

“That's wonderful news.” To the others. “Please excuse me.”

Keyes moved quickly out of the room.

The parlor remained silent for a time.

“He certainly is a fine young man.” Caleb's pipe had gone out.

Deliverance took a match from the table, struck it, and brought the flame close to her father's pipe.

As Keyes climbed the stairs, thoughts rushed through his mind, thoughts of their desperate journey, a journey that for a time became hopeless. His wife, debilitated, unconscious, near death; he, himself, devoid of strength, felled in the desolate wilderness with buzzards circling in anticipation as he lay with no chance of survival . . . and then three strangers, out of that desolation, carrying them to a haven of survival. And now Lorna was awake and calling for him.

In time they would resume their journey. When Lorna was well.

But in how much time . . . and what might happen until then?

The bedroom was mostly illuminated by a large ornate candle on a bed stand. Lorna was leaning back on two oversized feather pillows. Her face still bore the effects of her ordeal, eyes circled darkly, cheeks sallow and sunken, and it was evident from the shape of her shoulders that she had lost too much weight.

Keyes sat at her bedside holding her hand.

“Jon . . . don't let go of my hand. Keep holding it, please . . .”

“I'll never let go, Lorna. We're together . . . and we're going to stay together.”

“It's . . . it's a miracle . . .”

“You might call it that.” He smiled.

“What . . .”

“What happened?”

She nodded.

“The last thing I remember was the broken wagon . . . and the sun. Oh, Jonathon, that sun is still burning in my brain . . . I thought that we . . .”

“Now, Lorna don't think about it. We're in a nice, cool room; you're safe and you're going to get well soon . . . very soon. It's all worked out.”

“Are we in . . . Saguaro?”

“No, not yet. But we're with friends . . . in a place called San Melas.”

“San Melas.” She noticed the rope bruise on his face. “Jonathon, your face . . . what happened?”

“It's nothing . . . nothing at all. I'm all right. But most important, so are you.”

“But how did you get us here?”

“I didn't . . . some people found us.”

“In the middle of the desert?”

“Yes. We were very lucky. They've asked me to deliver a sermon this Sunday. They have no minister since their church burned down. But now, you've got to rest.” He started to rise but still held her hand.

“I will . . . but please stay here for just a little while. I want to tell you something.”

He sat back on the side of the bed.

“What is it, dear?”

“Jonathon . . . I never lost faith in you. Never. Do you remember in Monroe when you were going away . . . ?”

They both remembered.

 

 

During the fiery heat of hostilities, Keyes had been away to get his law degree and came home to visit his fiancée, Lorna Benton. It was at the same time Brigadier General George Armstrong Custer came home to recover from his wounds at Culpeper—and to see his fiancée, Libbie Bacon.

And at that time Monroe, Michigan, was no longer the semi-somnambulate little town it had been since its inception. After Gettysburg and Culpeper the tide was sweeping overwhelmingly in favor of the North. In fact, it was declared by most strategists that the war would have ended at Gettysburg if it were not for General George Meade's reluctance to pursue Lee and decimate the torn, defeated, and retreating Confederate troops. Meade had been tabbed the “Reluctant General” and would soon be relieved of command.

But it was just the opposite with Monroe's war hero, the “Boy General,” George Armstrong Custer. The town had turned out to bask in the reflected glory of its returning celebrity. Champagne. Liquor. Parades. Rallies and hurrahs. For Custer and his beloved Libbie, all through the days and into the nights, they were surrounded by celebrants, well-wishers, and sycophants. It seemed that for them, there was no solitude . . . no escape—but the “Custer-Boy” had another strategy in mind . . . that didn't quite work out.

Keyes and Lorna were picnicking at an isolated location on the banks of the Raisin River and in the midst of an embrace, when they were interrupted by a voice from behind one of the trees.

“Say there, Sport. Suppose you retreat to some other spot? This area is restricted.”

“Suppose we don't,” Keyes replied to the voice. “This is public property.”

“Not anymore.” The voice shot back.

“Says who?”

“The U.S. Army.”

A young man dressed in civilian clothes stepped out from behind the tree.

“I don't see any uniform,” Keyes said.

“It's resting and recovering . . . and so am I.”

“Rest and recover someplace else. We were here first.” Keyes motioned as he took a closer look at the intruder.

Just then a beautiful young lady carrying a picnic basket stepped into sight.

“Lorna.” She smiled.

“Libbie!” Lorna stood up. So did Keyes.

Lorna Benton and Elizabeth Bacon had been friends since childhood.

“Lorna, this is my fiancé, George Custer.” Libbie's smile broadened.

“And this is
my
fiancé, Jon Keyes.” Lorna matched Libbie's smile.

“I'm sorry, General,” Keyes stammered. “I didn't recognize you out of uniform . . .”

“That's the whole idea,” Custer said. “We wanted to get away from all the hoopla. Haven't been alone since I got back. And looks like we're not alone now.”

“General,” Keyes repeated. “I'm sorry.”

“You already said that. And it seems like our fi-ancées already are acquainted.” Custer reached out his hand.

The two men shook.

“We might as well get acquainted too,” Custer said. “Mind if we join you?”

“Not if you don't, sir.”

“Don't ‘sir me' . . . unless you're in the army, too.”

“No, si . . . No, General, getting my law degree. . . .”

“That so? My commanding officer used to be a lawyer, named Abe Lincoln. Ever hear of him?” Custer repressed a laugh.

“Voted for him,” Keyes said.

“I didn't,” Custer reposted. “Let's go on with the picnic . . . together.”

They did.

Keyes had, from time to time, caught a glimpse of Custer in Monroe during the past years, but most of the time either he or Custer had been out of town a good deal of those years and in different schools, Keyes studying law and Custer at West Point, but Lorna and Libbie traveled in the same social circles and had become good friends. However, Keyes was surprised and pleased at how affable the Boy General was on such short acquaintance.

“This is my favorite spot along the Raisin,” Custer pointed out toward the middle of the river. “When we were kids on a school picnic, I damn near drowned there, right Libbie?”

“Well, yes. Autie was an excellent swimmer, but he'd eaten more than his share of apple pie and got a severe cramp showing off swimming across . . .”

“Libbie saved my life . . . jumped in and pulled me out, didn't you, sweetheart?”

“Not exactly.”

“But you did pump the apple pie out of me once I landed—while everybody else was making bets on whether I'd survive.”

“Autie's prone to exaggeration, but it was a close call.” Libbie smiled.

“May I ask you something, General?” Keyes inquired.

“About Libbie?” Custer grinned.

“No, about your . . . nickname. I've heard some, matter of fact, most of the people around Monroe call you Autie . . .”

“. . . among other things best not repeated when ladies are present.”

“But why Autie?” Keyes said.

“Let me tell them,” Libbie volunteered.

“Go ahead.”

“Well, when he was a cute little fella, barely able to talk, he tried to pronounce his name; George Armstrong Custer, but Armstrong came out ‘Autie,' and it stuck. He's been Autie ever since.”

“So both of you might just as well call me Autie, too,” Custer added.

They shared the contents of their picnic baskets, which included chicken, fruit, and cake. Custer had given up liquor after an unfortunate incident during one of his earlier visits to Monroe, but he consumed much lemonade amidst humorous tales of his shenanigans in Monroe and West Point, but inevitably the topic of war was broached.

“How long do you think it will last, General?”

“It could've been over if it weren't for Meade and McClellan before him. Neither of them would attack unless he outnumbered the enemy fifteen to one. But Grant's in charge now—general of the armies of the United States. He split the South when he took Vicksburg, and he's sending Sheridan to the Shenandoah and Sherman to the South through Georgia to take Atlanta. But those Rebels are determined and will go on fighting till Lee has nothing to fight with. It'll take every fighting man we can muster, and the sooner we do, the sooner the war will be over and the more of our men—and theirs—will survive.”

Custer looked directly at Keyes but said nothing more about it.

“General, I have another year to go at law school, do you think . . .”

“I think we'll need more lawyers someday. But right now we need soldiers . . . fighting men to get the job done sooner. And, Jon, if and when you're ready, I'd be glad to have you wear a red scarf and join an outfit called the Wolverines.”

Days later, after Custer left Monroe to rejoin his Wolverine Brigade, Jon Keyes had made a fateful decision that deeply involved his fiancée, Lorna Benton.

“Lorna, I've made up my mind, and I hope you'll understand.”

“I think I know what you're going to say.”

“I can't go back, not now. Law school can wait, but you don't have to. I don't know when, or if, I'll be back. Under those circumstances . . .”

“Under those circumstances—what, Jonathon?”

“The engagement ring,” he took her hand, “if you want to take it off . . . until we see what happens . . . I'll understand . . .”

“Understand this, Jonathon. Libbie is wearing her engagement ring until her soldier comes back. And I'm going to wear mine until my soldier does the same. I have faith in the Lord—and in you.”

“Remember that, Jonathon? What we said when you were leaving?”

“Of course, I do.”

“No matter what happens, I'll always have faith in you.”

Silently, from under the bed, the cat moved out of the partially open door where Deliverance stood in the shadows of the hallway, watching and listening.