Jordan's War - 1861 (3 page)

“You’ll regret
those words Finnian,” Tate warned. “Come on boys, let’s go.” He stood up and
put on his hat.

“Tate, it’s late
and the boys are tired,” Ma said. “You can bed down here and go home in the
morning.”

“I’d rather sleep
in a ditch than spend the night in this house,” Tate said and stormed out the
door.

Henry and Isaac
followed him, but not before giving their Aunt Bess a kiss on the cheek and
their Uncle Finnian a firm handshake.

“I think he means
it this time,” Eamon said, and grinned.

“He means it every
time every time he says it,” Pa said. “I suppose we’d better turn in too.”

Chapter 3

 Jordan opened his
eyes and little by little they adjusted to the early morning darkness. His
stomach churned and bubbled, sour from too much rhubarb pie the night before.
He sat up and found his breeches lying in a crumpled heap beside his bed. He
pulled them on and tied them around his waist, careful not to disturb the
tender scab on his back. It had been healing pretty well all week, but if it
bled anymore he’d have to wear the poultice again. He rubbed the sleep out of
his eyes and felt around for his shirt, careful not to wake up Eamon or Jake.
It was lying not far from his pants.

Familiar shuffling
noises told him Ma was already up and busy in the kitchen. He knew it was her
and not Willow because she had a peculiar way of walking on the same floor
boards and their groaning and squeaking kept cadence with her stride. It wasn’t
that she was heavy, because she barely weighed a hundred pounds soak and wet.
It was mainly because the floor was old and rotted. They had been that way for
a few years and no one really paid much attention to it until Ma gathered up
the rugs and took them outside to beat the dirt out of them. Every time she did
Pa would say, “need to fix them floor boards,” but then she’d put the rugs back
down and he’d forget all about it.

Jordan stumbled
into the kitchen and rubbed more crust from his eyes. He loved first morning –
being the first one up, staring at the amber glow from a single candle, and
drinking his hot coffee in the quiet moments before dawn.

He grabbed the
ladle and scooped a big drink of water out of the bucket. He swirled it around
in his mouth and then opened the kitchen door to spit it out. An image of Luke
Vanders black teeth rushed through his mind. He took another drink and rinsed
again.

“Here’s your
coffee,” Ma said and handed him a cup. “Sugar’s on the table.”

“You need some
more wood?” he asked and set his cup down beside the sugar bowl.

 “I suppose it
could use a few logs.”

Jordan walked out
to the back porch, picked up a few small pieces from the wood box, and went
back inside.

“Ouch!” he cried.
The metal poker was hot and clung to the rough skin of his palm. It clanged on
the stone as Jordan rushed to let go. The wood he held fell to the floor.

He blew as fast as
he could on his palm, but it did nothing to cool the burning, red flesh.

“I’ll get some
lard,” Ma said and stuck her fingers in a jar of white congealed grease that
sat on the edge of her cooking table.

A watery blister
had already bubbled up by the time she smeared the warm fat over it. Jordan
fought back tears as his skin sizzled. He was almost a man now and men don’t
cry. She wrapped it up with a piece of cloth and tied it up.

“I’ll get the
wood. You sit down and sip your coffee.”

She picked up the
poker using the edge of her apron so she wouldn’t get burned, stoked the fire,
and put the wood on top of the stack. Tiny embers flew from the fireplace like
a million fireflies.

“Is Pa up?” Jordan
asked.

“Yep. He’s over
with the horses getting them ready to plow.”

Jordan leaned over
and looked out the window, towards the barn. The sun was just rising and caste
a shimmering blue light against the dark morning sky. He didn’t see Pa though.

“Anybody else up?”

“Nope.”

Jordan both
enjoyed and dreaded planting time. He loved the smell of the fresh turned
earth, the straight furrows which would eventually grow into straight rows of
green, the bright sunshine, and best of all, heading down to the creek after
they were done for the day and jumping into the cool, crisp water. He hated
walking behind a horse for hours, strapped to the plow. It was exhausting work.
Last year was the first year he worked the plow and even though he was sore for
a week, he was proud he was at last old enough. Selie and Jake got to drop the
seeds and hoe them under, which used to be Jordan’s job.

Willow didn’t work
much in the fields anymore. It wasn’t that she couldn’t, she just preferred to
stay behind and help Ma with the women’s work, which was actually harder than
being in the field, or so Jordan thought. Every day, she and Ma milked the
cows, gathered the eggs, fed the chickens, churned the butter, and did the
washing. Ma also put Willow in charge of gathering the maple sap this year.

Grandma spent most
of her time either sitting in her chair watching everyone else work or off
gathering roots, berries, and leaves for her healing. She said was too slow to
do any fieldwork but Jordan didn’t agree. She did come in pretty handy around
the end of July when it was time to snap beans.

His mouth watered
as the aroma of bacon filled the house. No one had gotten the eggs yet, so
they’d probably just have bacon, gravy, and the biscuits left over from supper,
which were warming in a pan on the stove.

Eamon sauntered
into the kitchen just as the sun peeked over the treetops to the east. He
grabbed the ladle and performed the same mouth cleansing ritual Jordan had done
earlier.

“Bout time you got
up,” Jordan teased.

“Go to hell!”
Eamon scoffed.

“Eamon Daniel
Sinclair!” Ma yelled and smacked him in the back of head.

The sheer force of
the blow knocked Eamon off balance. Water poured down the front of his shirt.
Jordan giggled.

“Sorry. I didn’t
see you standing there,” Eamon said while he rubbed the back of his head.

“I’ll not have you
talking foul in my house,” she scolded and handed him a towel.

“Yes ma’am,” Eamon
said.

“Uncle Tate cusses
and you don’t yell at him,” Jordan said. He covered his mouth with his hand, as
if the words spilled over his tongue and out his lips before he could stop
them.

“Don’t be a smart
mouth or I’ll smack you too,” Ma said. “Besides, he don’t come around here no
more now does he?”

Willow, Jake, and
Selie straggled into the kitchen moments later and it was obvious that Willow
had woken them up. Selie couldn’t stop yawning and Jake staggered to a chair,
leaned on his elbow, and stared wide-eyed at the floor, not caring that his
hair was going every which direction.

Selie stood in
front of Willow while she combed and braided her hair. She leaned over and
raked the comb through Jake’s hair. He was still too engrossed with the floor
to fight her off.

Pa walked through
the kitchen door just as they sat down to eat. He poured some water into a
basin and washed his hands. They never waited for Grandma. She only ate supper
with the family.

 “Where’s the
rag?” he asked.

Ma tossed him one
she had draped over her shoulder.

“Jordan, what did
you do to your hand?” Pa asked.

“I burned it
earlier,” Jordan said. His cheeks burned with embarrassment and he would have
kept it hidden under the table, except it was the hand he used to eat.

“You’re always
getting hurt,” Eamon said.

“Leave that
bandage on while you’re on the plow,” Finnian said. “Don’t need it getting
infected.”

“I have plenty of
witch hazel,” Ma said.

Please, no witch
hazel. The mere thought of rubbing that stinging, smelly liquid on his raw
flesh sent shivers through him. Thank goodness it wasn’t serious enough for
Grandma’s medicine.

“Put some on
before we go,” Pa said. “No use taking any chances.”

Dang it!

Finnian pulled out
his chair at the head of the old wood table. They held each other’s hands and
bowed their heads for their morning prayer.

“You’ll need
this,” Ma said and tossed a block of gray-white lye to Jordan. He wanted to run
ahead with the other boys but he couldn’t leave Selie behind. Willow never
joined them at the creek anymore. She was a lady now and preferred to wash in
the tub at the house.

Jordan liked to
get his bath out of the way before he played in the water. Time passed quickly
when they swam and Ma got angry when they didn’t come to dinner on time. Also,
there was too much risk the soap would sink and conceal itself among the rocks
littered on the creek bed and then he’d have to listen to Willow whine about
the time she spent making the soap and how he’d be more careful if he had to
make it.

Eamon and Jake
were already splashing in the water by the time Jordan and Selie made it to the
creek bank. Selie struggled over the rocks in her tender bare feet. Jordan
helped her with the buttons on her dress and laid it up on a rock so it
wouldn’t get wet. She tiptoed in wearing only her pantaloons.

Jordan stripped
down to his drawers and dashed into the icy cold creek, splashing Selie as he
ran. She squealed and stiffened her back.

The water soothed
the raw spot on his palm. The bandage had fallen off about noon and the blister
burst not long after.

Eamon and Jordan
played keep away with the soap until Jake started crying and then they had to
let him wash first just to shut him up. Jake threw the cake of lye to Jordan,
but he missed and he had to dive after it.

Selie was always
the last one to wash because that was normally when the soap made its escape to
the rocky depths of the creek. She leaned back in a shallow pool to get all the
soap from her hair but Jordan had to help her. Ma would have to set her down
after a while and brush her hair for a solid half-hour just to get the lye
residue out of her long brown locks while Selie screamed and pleaded for her to
stop.

He was the first
to hear Ma yell for them to come for supper. He pretended like he didn’t hear
her. However the next time she hollered, they all heard it.

Jordan drip-dried
while he helped Selie get dressed. Jake and Eamon were already running down the
path to the house with their trousers tucked under their arm.

“Are you Abigail
McCoy’s kin?” a soft voice asked from behind a briar thicket, hidden in the
shadow of a massive oak tree.

Jordan jumped into
his breeches and jerked them up over this waist.

“Who?” he asked,
and then put his hand up to his forehead to shield the bright sunlight from his
eyes. It didn’t help much and he could only see a small silhouette standing in
the darkness.

“Abigail McCoy –
the seeing woman.”

“Uh . . . yes.
She’s my grandmother,” Jordan stammered. Selie hid behind Jordan and peeked out
around his leg.

Jordan recognized
the golden-haired waif the moment she stepped out onto the rocks. It was Sissy
Mae Wheeler. Her family owned the place near the edge of the mountain, just
beyond Uncle Tate’s. She asked for Abigail McCoy and it confused him for a
moment. Sometimes he forgot Grandma had another name.

“Can you take me
to her?” she asked. Her voice cracked as if she was fighting back tears.

“I guess,” Jordan
shrugged. “Come on.”

 Jordan took
Selie’s hand and led them down the shaded path. The forest floor looked
speckled as rays of sunlight found passage through the budding leaves.

“You alright?” he
asked Sissy Mae.

“Yes’um,” she
answered, but her voice was distant.

They didn’t talk
anymore and Sissy Mae waited by the back door while Jordan went inside.

“Is supper ready?”
Jordan asked.

“Not quite.”

“What’d you call
us for if supper ain’t ready?” He spotted a plate of fresh apple fritters. “Can
I have one?”

“Because you
linger there too long and no - they’re for after supper,” she answered

“Sissy Mae’s
outside,” Jordan said. “Said she needed to talk to Grandma.”

“Sissy Mae who?”

“Sissy Mae
Wheeler.”

“Oh gracious,” Ma
said and patted a few loose strands of hair back into some pins. “I didn’t know
the Wheelers were coming, did you?”

“Nope.”

Ma walked into the
front room and peered out the front door.

“The Wheelers
aren’t here,” she hollered.

“It’s just Sissy
Mae,” Jordan said. “I didn’t see no one else. She’s out back.”

“Well go get her.”

Jordan went back
outside and led Sissy Mae into the kitchen. He pulled out a chair for her then
plopped in the one in the corner.

“What are you
doing all the way over here by yourself?” Ma asked and wiped a rouge strand of
hair out of the girl’s tired red eyes.

“I need to see Miss
Abigail,” she said then started crying. “I need her help.”

“I see,” Ma said.
She knelt down and gently rubbed the hysterical girl on the back. “I can’t do
that baby. Abigail’s services are only for grown-ups willing to pay. Are you
hungry?”

“I’m a little
hungry I suppose,” Sissy said. “But I don’t want your food. I need to see Miss
Abigail. I don’t have no money, but I’d be willing to work it off somehow.”

“I’m sorry, we
mustn’t bother Abigail right now,” Ma said. “You best be getting home before it
gets dark.”

Sissy stood up and
whispered something into Ma’s ear. Jordan struggled to hear what she said, but
didn’t catch any of it.

“You wait here.
Jordan, go get your grandma.”

Jordan rushed out
the back door and over to the cellar where Grandma spent most of her time in a
cramped storeroom Pa had built above it.

“Grandma!” Jordan
yelled as he hopped the creek and ran up the bank. “Someone needs to see you
over at the house!”

“Who is it?” she
asked as she walked outside, drying her hands on her apron.

“Sissy Mae
Wheeler.”

“Oh.”

“Where you
expecting her?” Jordan asked. Grandma certainly didn’t seem surprised.

“No . . . I don’t
reckon . . .” Grandma answered, and then her voice trailed off.

By the time he’d
walked back to the house with Grandma, Ma had poured two cups of shine from the
jar they’d brought back from town over a week ago.

“You best leave
now,” Ma said to Jordan and pointed to the door.