Jordan's War - 1861 (10 page)

Chapter 10

 Jordan unrolled
the blankets and spread them out on the bed of the wagon just like Pa told him
to. He was surprised to find them as dry as they were, especially since they
had traveled in steady downpours all day long. Willow’s cloth hadn’t handled
the long journey as well. The brown paper wrapper was soggy and discolored, but
heck, it wasn’t like they didn’t try. He rolled it back up in the tarp and
pretended like he didn’t see it.

The soldier’s
words weighed heavy on his mind.
Why weren’t they supposed to let folks go
anywhere? Was it because of the peddler? Where was the boy that was with him?
Eamon’s explanation that the whole world was going crazy just wasn’t good
enough.

“Take this,”
Jordan said and tossed Gunner Pa’s bedroll.

Gunner laid out
his blanket and fell asleep soon after they reached the turnpike. He didn’t
look as frail and tired as he did when they first arrived. Maybe he realized
that leaving this dreadful place meant he could be free of the mines and his
miserable existence in the shack. But did he even realize how destitute they
were? He didn’t know any other way of life.

Gunner ended up
using Rusty’s soft abdomen for a pillow. Jordan watched his head rise and fall
with each breath the dog took and wondered how he could stand the smell.

Jordan gazed out
over the foggy forest and jumped at every sound coming from within the abyss of
trees and brush. The branches were spindly and spooky as they reached out over
the road, resembling a claw and reminding him of his grandmother’s knurled
fingers and wrinkled hands. He kept his tired eyes fixed on the darkness, but
no soldiers emerged from the shadows to hinder their way.

There were no
farmhouses that he could see, no lights in the distance and no stars in the
sky. The monotony of the journey at last caught up with him and his eyelids got
heavy. He slid down in the bed of the wagon and almost drifted off to sleep.

 “Whoa,” Eamon
said. Jordan jumped up.

“What is it?” he
asked, not knowing where they were or how long he’d been asleep. It was still
dark and the road was barely visible. The fog had lifted but there were still
no stars to light their path.

Jordan saw the
silhouette of a young boy waving at them, trying to get them to stop. His
clothes were muddy and his hat was soaked. He stumbled and fell to his knees in
front of the wagon.

“Please help me,”
he said.

As they got
closer, he could see the boy’s ripped shirt and bloodied face. It was the
peddler’s boy, Tommy.

“Pa!” Eamon yelled
and pulled on the reins to stop the horses.

Pa came running
up.

“Son, what are you
doing all the way out here by yourself?” he asked the boy, who lay soaked and
shivering in the dirt.

“T-t-the
soldiers,” he said through chattering teeth. “They shot Mr. Blake.”

“Why in the world
would they shoot him?” Pa asked and helped the boy to his feet.

“There was a
secret place, beneath the wagon,” Tommy said. “He was hauling guns up north. I
don’t know where he got them.”

“Then you ain’t
his son?” Eamon asked.

“No. My folks are
down in Princeton. I worked for him. He said it’d just be easier to say I was
his youngin’.”

“Jordan,” Pa said.
“Make room. What did they look like?”

“There were two of
them,” Tommy answered. “I don’t know which side they were.”

“Did the soldiers
see you?”

Tommy shook his
head.

“Do you know the
way home if we let you off at Droop?”

The boy nodded.

“Pa, you can’t
just let him go by himself,” Eamon said.

“We’ll talk about
this later. Get in the wagon boy.” Pa said. “We’ve got to keep moving.”

Jordan moved up
beside Eamon on the bench and Tommy climbed in the back.

“Wake up,” Eamon
said and smacked Jordan on the head.

Jordan’s back
ached from being slumped on the seat all night and it even hurt to stretch. The
fog had lifted and the sun was peering over the mountains to the east. Gunner’s
blankets were rolled up and stashed under the seat. Rusty was nowhere in sight.
Tommy was still asleep, curled up in the blankets. Jordan sat up and rubbed the
sleep out of his eyes.

“Where are we?” he
asked.

Eamon was
bleary-eyed from riding all night.

“We’ll be home in
about two hours,” Eamon said. “We’re almost to Mill Point.”

“Did we pass the
mill yet?” he asked.

“No,” Eamon
answered.

He liked watching
the wheel turn as the water flowed beneath it. He tried to make a little one
once, down by the creek, but it fell to pieces and floated away.

“Why’d you wake me
up?” Jordan asked.

“I don’t know,”
Eamon shrugged. “I suppose because it’s morning.”

The landscape was
at last familiar, and soon they’d be at the foot of Droop Mountain. One more
decent up the winding pass and they’d be home. Images of fresh coffee and sugar
danced so vividly in his thoughts, he could almost smell the pot boiling.

Ma would certainly
make them all head to the creek to wash off the moment they got home. She
always did when they traveled overnight. God only knows when Jim and Gunner’s
last washing was.

He heard Tommy
stir in the back of the wagon.

“Morning,” Jordan
greeted.

“Morning,” Tommy said
back.

“We’ll be going up
the mountain soon,” Eamon said. “Roll yourself up them blankets to take with
you.”

“How far do you
think Princeton is from here?” Tommy asked.

“About a three day
walk, I reckon,” Eamon said. “Ain’t never been there myself.”

“What happened
back there?” Jordan asked.

“I don’t know why
they shot him. We’d left the guns in Philippi. They took his money,” Tommy
said. “We’d made a bundle and thank goodness he paid me before all this
happened.” Tommy reached into his pocket and showed Jordan a handful of coins.
“We were heading back to get another load. Didn’t have much left but some of
them artificial legs and a few cooking pots. I was in the woods pooping when I
saw their horses. I saw Mr. Blake talking to them after they searched through
the wagon and then they shot him. I took off running.”

“Thieving trash,”
Eamon hissed.

As the land got
brighter with the coming of daylight, only the muddy road told of the steady
rain that had fallen the day before. The budding leaves brought newness to the
mountains, the gray nakedness of the trees now cloaked in the refreshing colors
of spring. The ride up the mountain seemed to take forever, but at last they
reached the summit.

Eamon stopped the
horses at the path leading home.

“This is where you
get off,” he said to Tommy.

Tommy tucked the
bedroll under his arm and jumped down to the road.

“Just follow the
turnpike,” Eamon said. “It’ll lead you to Lewisburg.”

“Thanks,” Tommy
said. “I’m much obliged.”

Eamon didn’t move
the wagon until Tommy was out of sight.

“I hope he gets
home all right,” Jordan said.

“If he can get
past the dang Home Guard, he should be fine.”

Eamon snapped the
reins and the horses pulled onto the path leading home.

“Where’s Gunner?”
Jordan asked. With all the talk about the peddler, he’d forgotten about him.

“Back with Pa and
Jim,” Eamon answered.

“When did he go
back there?”

“An hour or two
before daybreak.”

“Why? Was I
snoring too loud?” Jordan laughed.

“Jim’s real sick,”
Eamon whispered. “Pa’s afraid he’s going to die. He keeps yelling for Kate.”

“What!”

“Keep your voice
down,” Eamon hissed and turned to see if Pa had heard him.

“He started
carrying on right before we got to Marlin’s Bottom. Pa thought Gunner would
calm him down some. We stopped for a time but you slept right through it. Jim
could hardly breathe.”

Jordan turned
around. Pa waved at him and he could see Gunner’s head as it bobbed in the back
of the wagon.

“Why?” Jordan
asked. He could feel the tears welling up, ready to break though at any moment.

“I ain’t God,”
Eamon said.

Jordan wiped a
tear that had escaped.

“That ain’t going
to do no good,” Eamon said and wiped his own moist eyes.

Jordan didn’t
care. It was all he could do. If Jim died, Gunner wouldn’t have a ma or a pa to
look after him. The thought was too much for Jordan to handle and he found no
other outlet for his despair than the silent tears which rolled down his face,
but at least he wasn’t bawling like a baby.

It wasn’t fair.
Instead of bringing them home to be with family, they ended up hauling Jim home
to die. Jordan sniffed and whimpered all the way until he saw the south
pasture.

Willow and Jake
ran out to greet them.

“Thank God you’re
alright!” Willow hollered.

“Why wouldn’t we
be alright,” Jordan called.

“Grandma,” Willow
said. “She saw death. Ma’s been so worried.”

Jordan stopped
crying and Eamon looked at the ground. Willow put her arm around Jake and they
walked back to the house.

Ma ran out on the
porch and waved. Grandma walked outside too, but didn’t wave because she
clutched in her arms a roll of dark quilted fabric. The kind used to wrap a
corpse.

Jordan jumped off
the wagon and fell straight on the ground, like his legs weren’t working. Ma
ran over, lifted him to his feet and held him tight, so tight his face was
smashed into her bosom to the point where he could barely breathe.

“You’re all
right,” she kept sobbing. “Thank you God!” She let loose of him and grabbed
hold of Eamon before he could get away.

“Ma was wrong!” Ma
cried. “She saw death, but she was wrong! Oh, dear Lord, I’ve been so worried!”

Pa stepped down
from the wagon and scooped Gunner up in his arms. He was clutching the broken
fiddle and the wood box of his mother’s, and looked as battered and broken as
his pa did the night before. His eyes were swollen and puffy, and crusted
yellow at the lashes. His skin had an odd gray tinge and he held onto Finnian’s
shoulder like a newborn to his mother’s breast. Strands of greasy brown hair
clung to his wet cheeks and his body seemed as rigid and lifeless as Selie’s wooden
doll.

“Is that little
Gunner?” Ma asked and took him by his hand. “My, have you grown!”

“There’s not time
for jawing,” Pa said. “We got to get Jim to Abigail.”

“What’s wrong?” Ma
asked.

“Got his chest
full of coal dust.”

“Oh, dear God in
Heaven, no!” She cried and ran to the wagon.

Jordan swallowed
the lump in his throat and managed to hold back the swell of water from his
eyes. Eamon was right. There was no use crying anymore.

“Abigail!” Pa
hollered.

Grandma laid the
black wrap down and walked down the porch steps.

“Willow,” Pa said
and put Gunner down. “Take Gunner in the house. Get them all something to eat.”

“Ain’t you
hungry?” she asked.

“I’ll be along in
a bit.”

Jordan walked up
the steps behind Willow and Gunner, alongside Ma who still had her arm around
him and was rubbing his hair.

“Stop Willow,” Ma
said just as Willow was leading Gunner inside.

“What’s wrong?”
Jordan asked.

“Lice!” she said,
and whirled Jordan around and started inspecting his scalp right at the
neckline. “You’re infested with them. I’m sure Eamon and Finnian are too.”

“Do you want me to
heat up the lard?” Willow asked.

“Yes, then fetch
the cider. You know what to do,” Ma said. “You boys sit and don’t step foot
into the house. I got to help tend to Jim.”

Gunner and Jordan plopped
down on the porch steps and Willow hurried inside. Jordan didn’t feel anything.
Oh, it itched on occasion but every part of him itched sometime. Gunner started
straight ahead, leaning on his elbows, squishing what little cheeks he had into
his palms.

“He’s going to be
fine,” Jordan said. “Grandma cures everyone here on the mountain.”

“I hope so,”
Gunner whispered.

For the next two
hours, Eamon, Gunner, and Jordan sat on the porch while Willow rubbed the warm
lard and cider on their heads and wrapped them in a rag. Then she combed,
combed, and combed some more until Jordan’s scalp was raw and bloodied.

“Get down to the
creek and wash up,” Willow said and handed Eamon a block of lye. Selie came
outside with an armful of clean clothes.

“Ma said Jake’s
clothes would fit Gunner better than Jordan’s,” Selie said.

The boys raced to
the creek.

Chapter 11

Jordan sprinted
across the rocks, stripped naked, and splashed into the frigid water. The cider
had run down his forehead and dripped into his eyes. The stinging was
unbearable and the lard cast a greasy film across his eyeball that blurred his
vision. He dug his fingers into his raw scalp and rinsed the oily putrid
mixture out of his hair.

“That stings!” he
yelled at no one in particular, since his eyes were still clinched shut.

“Wasn’t supposed
to get it in your eyes,” Eamon said as he peeled off his shirt.

“This is a nice
swimming hole,” Gunner called. His hair glistened as the sunlight danced off
his head.

“Come on in,”
Jordan called. “It ain’t too cold.”

Gunner eased into
the water and submerged himself up to his neck. His lips quivered as he took a
deep breath. Then he dove under, leaving a familiar oily film floating on the
surface.

“Hurry up with the
soap,” Jordan called to Eamon. “I’m about to starve.”

There was no
playing in the water or lingering on the bank to dry. They dressed as fast as
they could and rushed back to the house. Black smoke rose above the treetops.

“Come on,” Jordan
said, and grabbed Gunner’s arm. “Let’s go see what’s burning.”

Gunner had no
choice but to run after him, but stopped when they got to the back porch.
Jordan jerked back and looked to see what Gunner was staring at. Jim was neck
deep in the wash tub, his hair was matted with the lice remedy, and Ma was
scrubbing his arm, despite Jim’s protests in between coughs.

“We’d better get,”
Jordan whispered and pulled Gunner around to the front of the house. Pa was
sitting on a stump with a rag wrapped around his head, watching the fire as the
mattress burned.

“What are you
doing?” Gunner cried and ran over to Pa.

“Son, that
mattress had seen better days,” Pa said.

“But we’ll need
that when we go home.”

“Come here,” Pa
said. He took Gunner by the hand and sat him down on his lap. Jordan plopped
down on the ground, hypnotized by the dancing red and orange flames.

“You ain’t going
home anytime soon,” Pa said. “Your pa’s real sick and it’s going to take some
time for him to get better.”

“But, I’ll lose my
job Finnian,” Gunner said, his voice barely audible over the roaring fire.
“They’ll find some other boy to do it.”

“A boy your age
don’t need to be working in no mine.”

“But how will we
live?”

“You’re going to
stay here until we can get your old home place back so you can live there.”

“Home place?”

“Boy, you don’t
know it, but you’re Grandpa Abe had a right nice place just south of here.”

“I’ve heard of
him,” Gunner said. “The man who owned the fiddle.”

“Jordan, Gunner!”
Willow hollered out the door. “Come and eat!”

Jordan took off to
the house without waiting for Gunner. He got to the porch and Willow smacked
him right upside his head. Jordan stumbled into Grandma’s chair, but caught
himself before he tumbled to the floor.

“What’d you do
that for?” he asked.

“That’s for
letting my cloth get all wet. Now I have to wash it because it smells like a
dirty dog.”

Jordan rubbed his
head and ran inside the house, as he was too hungry to retaliate. Jake, Selie
and Eamon had already sat down. He pulled out his chair and fixed a heaping
plate of salted pork, butter beans, and two biscuits.

Pa and Gunner came
in a few minutes later.

“Sit here,” Willow
said and pulled out her chair for Gunner.

Gunner sat down.
His eyes widened when the saw the food on the table.

“Better eat, boy,”
Pa said. “Or there won’t be any left.”

Gunner packed as
much food on his plate as it would hold.

“What’s in the
pot?” Pa asked and lifted the lid. The smell of chicken broth mixed with one of
Grandma’s secret medicinal recipes escaped with the steam. Pa slammed the lid
shut.

“Something that
smells that bad couldn’t help anybody feel better . . . could it?” he asked.

“That’s for Jim,”
Willow said.

“He ain’t never
going to eat that!”

“He said he wasn’t
going to take a bath either, but he’s all clean now,” Ma said when she came
through the back door holding Jim’s arm.

His skin didn’t
seem as pasty and his lips were no longer crusted with blood. It was obvious Ma
had taken the razor to his overgrowth of beard as it no longer rested on his
chest. Pa’s clothes were a bit too large for him and the bottoms of the
breeches were rolled up at least twice.

“You get something
to eat now,” Ma said. “Jake get on up and let Jim sit down.”

“But I’m not. . .”
Jake protested.

“Yes you are,” Ma
said.

Jake stood up and
took his plate with him. Jim lowered himself in the chair while Ma steadied
him. His sickness was obvious, manifested in the feeble way he clasped his
fingers together so he could rest his head on his trembling hands.

Jordan wasn’t
hungry anymore. The mere sight of this pitiful man left him confused and sick
to his stomach. He got up and scrapped his plate in the slop bucket.

“Ma, Jordan’s
wasting food,” Selie said.

Jordan gave Selie
a mean look. She stuck her tongue out at him.

“What is this?”
Jim asked when Willow sat the bowl of broth in front of him.

“It’s Grandma’s
special broth,” Willow said and put on her best smile, despite the stench
rising from the bowl.

Jim picked up his
spoon and slurped just a little of the altered food.

“Not bad,” Jim
said. “Tastes like it’s got some sassafras in it.” He coughed. “I used to love
me some sassafras tea.”

“No one knows
what’s in it,” Pa said. “But she better tell someone some of them secrets. She
ain’t getting any younger.”

“Hush Finnian,” Ma
said and swatted him with a rag she had draped over her shoulder.

Jim could only eat
half of the bowl before his breathing turned into shallow and labored gasps of
air, interrupted by fits of strenuous coughing. Pa picked him up, took him to
the front room, and laid him down on the davenport. Willow covered him with a
quilt and propped open the front door.

“Grandma said he
needs fresh air,” she whispered.

“Did she also say
he needed a houseful of flies?” Pa said.

Jordan followed
and leaned against the door frame. He didn’t want to watch this anymore but his
morbid curiosity got the best of him.

Willow brushed by
him and went into the kitchen. She came back a few minutes later carrying a
small cup.

“Grandma said if
he started coughing to give him this,” she said and handed it to Pa.

“Whiskey?” Pa
asked as he put it to his nose before taking a small sip. “Where’d she get
this?”

“That’s what she
said,” Willow answered. “And I’m not allowed to tell you where she got it.”

“But you know.”

“Yes. I know,”
Willow said.

Pa stooped down
and put the cup to Jim’s lips. His eyes lit up as the smell of the sour mash
reached his nose. He tried to gulp it, but only managed small sips until it was
gone. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Jordan shuddered
when he heard the gurgling in his chest with each breath inward.

“Where’s the
comb?” Pa asked Willow. “I’m heading to the creek.”

“Ma had it last,”
she answered.

“Where’s your
grandma?” Pa asked.

“Over at the
cellar cleaning the ginseng,” Willow said.

“You go on down
and help her,” Pa said. “The boys can clean up.”

Willow gave Eamon
and Jordan a smirk and walked out the back door.

“That’s women
work,” Eamon said, but then quieted down when he saw the look on Pa’s face.

“After you’re done
in here, check on the fire,” Pa said. “Jordan, you run over to Tate’s and let
him know Jim’s here. Jake, you go on over to the reverend’s house and let him
know that there’s a sick man here needing a prayer.”

Jordan sprinted
off so fast that his hat flew from his head and landed amidst a swirl of dust
on the ground. He ran back, picked it up, and headed down the path to Uncle
Tate’s place before anyone could stop him to wash anymore dishes.

He stopped only
once and leaned against the fence, watching the spring lambs frolic in the
meadow. For the first time today, he had a chance to appreciate home. The hay was
ankle high and would be ready for first cutting in another month or so. The
fields they’d planted just a few weeks ago were sprouting.

Henry was walking
to the house when Jordan came crashing out of the woods. He’d run the entire
three miles and he had a crippling ache in his side.

“Henry!” Jordan
called. “Where’s Uncle Tate?” He leaned on his knees to catch his breath.

“Over at the
barn,” Henry said. “What’s wrong?”

Jordan didn’t
answer him and took off towards the barn.

“Uncle Tate!”
Jordan hollered. “Uncle Tate!”

“Jordan?” Tate
called and walked outside, squinting his eyes to block the sunlight. “What’s
the matter?”

“It’s Jim,” Jordan
said. “We brought him home with us last night. He’s real sick.”

“Jim?” Tate said.
“From up north?”

Jordan nodded.

“Where is he?”

“At the house.”

“What about his
boy?”

“He’s with us too.
Pa wants you to come over and visit.”

“I can’t do that
son,” Tate said. “But Jim and his boy are welcome to stay here. I certainly got
the room with Nealy and Isaac both gone.”

“Isaac’s gone?”

“Left a few days
back,” Tate said. “Eamon should’ve gone with him.”

“Pa said he ain’t
old enough.”

“You just go on
home and tell Finnian we ain’t coming,” Tate said.

“He’s going to be
mad,” Jordan said.

“I don’t care
none,” Uncle Tate said.

“Bye Uncle Tate,”
Jordan called and walked back towards the house, kicking the same rock all the
way. He sure wasn’t being very nice. He and Pa had never been mad at each other
for this long.

Henry was sitting
on the front porch, whittling a piece of wood. Jordan walked over and plopped
down on the steps to watch him. Henry looked at him but didn’t say a word.

“Jake does that,”
Jordan said.

“Does what?” Henry
asked.

“Makes things out
of wood,” Jordan answered. “Some of them are pretty good.”

“Who says I’m making
things out of wood?”

“If you ain’t
making something, then what are you doing?”

“Pa said Uncle
Finnian is a fester on the Confederacy,” Henry said.

“What’s a fester?”

“A bloody sore
covered with puss.”

“Why’d he say
that?”

“Cause of what he
said the other night. You remember?”

Jordan vaguely
recalled the conversation but didn’t remember it being that big of deal, other
than Uncle Tate storming out. Pa and Uncle Tate argued often and Pa said that was
how family was sometimes.

“I saw soldiers,”
Jordan said.

“Yeah, me too,”
Henry said, unimpressed. “Home Guard rides by here sometimes. Sergeant Hummel’s
real nice.”

“Yeah, we saw him
when we were leaving,” Jordan said.

“Where’d you go?”

“Up to Fairmont.
To sell the wool and Willow’s syrup.”

“Why didn’t you
take it to Lewisburg? Or Marlins Bottom?”

“Cause Pa said
that paper money ain’t going to be worth anything in a year or so,” Jordan
said. “He got gold coin for it.”

“That ain’t true,”
Henry said. “Pa said the war would be over in a few months and we’d be part of
a new and better country.”

“I saw Federal
Soldiers,” Jordan said.

“Where?”

“Up past Elkins. I
also saw a hip-po-pot-amus. . . and a man who ate fire. Eamon went off with a .
. . .” Jordan clamped his hand over his mouth to stop the word from forming.

“You lie,” Henry
said. “All ya’ll are liars. Just like Pa said.”

“I’m going home,”
Jordan said. “And I’m telling Pa what you said.”

“I don’t care,”
Henry said and shrugged.

Jordan stomped
off. He didn’t want to go home, not just yet. Jim’s piercing blue eyes haunted
his thoughts. His body was so broken it was like his eyes were the only safe
haven for his spirit to dwell. That was, until his body breathed no more and
his soul would be set free to roam.

He stopped and
rested on a rock about a mile down the path. The forest was unusually quiet,
but then he still had the sounds of the city and the wagon roaring in his head.
He put his head in hands and stared at the ground.

Henry was never
really mean to him much, but it made him angry when he said his Pa was a
fester. Jordan would never say that about Uncle Tate out loud, even if he did
think of it and knew what a ‘fester’ was. There’re just some thoughts best left
unspoken.

“Well, if it ain’t
one of them yellow Sinclairs,” a sneering voice said.

Jordan jumped up.
Luke Vander had ridden his horse within ten feet of his rock and he didn’t even
hear him.

“It’s the little
mouthy one,” Luke said and smiled, showing his brown-gray teeth.

Jordan took off
running as fast as he could. He could hear the horse’s hooves pounding the
ground behind him. He searched for a hiding place, but couldn’t find one. There
were no low hanging branches for cover or thickets of bushes to get lost in.

He was trapped.