Jordan's War - 1861 (9 page)

A line formed as
they got closer to the entrance and he could see Ester up ahead taking all the
money.

“Howdy,” he said
and handed Ester his twenty-five cents.

“Hi Jordan,” she
said and only pretended to take his money. Jordan slipped the coin back into
his pocket.

“Thank you,” he
said, but Ester looked past him, at Eamon.

Jordan followed
the others into the tent. Eamon had to run to catch up.

“Who’s she?” Eamon
asked as he sat down next to Jordan.

“Her name’s Ester.
I talked to her when you and Pa where in the mercantile.”

A small band
played music and a tall man with a stiff suit began talking to the crowd. For
the next two hours, Jordan watched the a line of women dancers kicking up their
legs real high - Ma would have died if she knew - a man supposedly eating fire,
a man who shoved a sword down his throat, and a bug-eyed Negro who talked
funny. The hippopotamus was walked around the tent for everyone to see. It was
large and odd looking with its bulbous snout, but it wasn’t as sensational as
the posting made it out to be. Jordan was a little let down by it all and stood
up to leave with the rest of the folks, glad he didn’t waste his twenty-five
cents.

Eamon was gone. He
didn’t even notice it until now. Where was he? He waited at the exit until he
was the only one there, but Eamon never showed up.

He had no choice
but to go on back to the mercantile without him. Pa would be waiting and he’d
be mad if they were late. He didn’t trust city dwellers.

There were some
folks around the store, but none of them was Pa. Jordan leaned against the wall
and watched the men load a rail car and people pass by on their way to
somewhere else. They sure did look in a hurry.

Pa walked up with
his arms full of packages wrapped in brown paper.

“What’s all of
that?” Jordan asked and pointed to the parcels.

“Well, you
repeated Willow’s list often enough in the wagon, I remembered it all.”

“Did you sell all
her syrup?”

“Yep,” Pa said.
“At the first place I went to. The owner kept going on and on about how tasty
it was.”

Sweat dripped down
Jordan’s forehead. He was running out of questions.

“Where’s Eamon?”
Pa asked.

“Went to pee,”
Jordan said.

“Oh,” Pa said and
leaned against the wall with Jordan.

It was getting
close to supper time. Jordan’s stomach growled.

“What’s taking him
so long?” Pa asked.

“I don’t know,”
Jordan said. He fidgeted with the coin in his pocket.

“Pa! Jordan!”
Eamon called.

“Where you been
boy?” Pa asked. “We’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes.”

“I told him you
went to pee,” Jordan said before Eamon could say anything that would get him in
trouble for lying.

“Yeah,” Eamon
said. “You just can’t walk around the corner and pee like you can in Lewisburg.
Too many folks.”

“I did it,” Pa
said. “Not more than an hour ago. Let’s get back to camp.”

Jordan looked at
Eamon and he just smiled. One of them flustered smiles he always had when he’d
gotten away with something he shouldn’t be doing. There was something else
different about Eamon – he looked taller and a little older as he climbed into
his wagon and took the reins.

Chapter 9

Jordan felt a firm
hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. He rolled over, propped himself up on
one elbow, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with his other hand. It was
still dark and everything was damp from the morning dew. He wanted to hear the
crackling of a campfire and smell sausages warming in a pan. There was no fire
and they’d eaten all the sausages two days ago.

“Get up,” Pa said.
“It’s time to head home.”

Jordan crawled out
from underneath his covers, laced his boots, and rolled up his blankets. Even
though he loved traveling with Pa, he hadn’t seen his Ma for three days now. He
missed her kind voice, delicious meals, and his own warm bed. But most of all,
he missed his coffee and sugar in the mornings. He tossed the bedroll over into
the wagon.

“Put everything
inside the tarp,” Pa said. “I smell rain. Don’t forget to put Willow’s cloth in
there too.”

Jordan gathered
everything up and rolled it inside the heavy canvas. The wagon looked odd with
only the empty food pails and the bulky tarp.

“Come and help
me,” Eamon called.

Jordan sauntered
over and held up the hitch for Eamon to finish securing the straps.

“Where’d you go
yesterday?” Jordan asked.

“None of your
business,” Eamon answered.

“Were you with
Ester?”

“None of your
business.”

“Were you hugging
and smooching?” Jordan teased and braced himself for Eamon’s attack. “I’m
telling Becca you went off with a darkie.”

“Just go away,”
Eamon said.

It wasn’t the
words so much, but how Eamon said them – refusing to retaliate and dismissing
him like a child. Jordan stomped off, speechless, and helped Pa hitch his team.

Lightening flashed
in the distance and thunder rolled not long after. First a sprinkle, then a
steady downpour drenched the weary travelers before they even began their
tedious journey south.

Jordan pulled his
hat down as far as it would go and watched the water drip from the brim. There wasn’t
anything else to do. The wagons moved a little swifter down the pass as they
were free of their heavy burden. At times the road became so muddy the wheels
would get bogged down. The horses didn’t seem to lose any of their stride and
they trudged along in the dreary weather as if they too, were ready to go home.

They passed the
same Union Camp on the way home. The soldiers didn’t seem too concerned about
the two wagons traveling south in the rain, as they had turned two old
buildings into a makeshift kitchen, and fixed their attention on staying dry
and preparing the afternoon meal. A couple of them waved to Jordan before going
back to peeling potatoes and watching pots boil. Jordan’s stomach growled when
the smell of boiled cabbage and stew meat reached his nose.

“There’s some
smoked beef in the pail if you’re hungry,” Pa said.

Jordan reached
back inside the tarp, found the bucket and grabbed a few pieces.

“You want some?”
he asked Pa.

“Yep,” Pa said.

He got an eerie
feeling when they passed the field that once housed the Confederate camp. It
was only an hour south down the turnpike from the Union Camp. Charred patches
of earth and mashed grass where the only remains of the vast tent city that
teemed with soldiers only two days ago. He couldn’t help but wonder why they
left in such a hurry or if they all were killed in some battle he hadn’t heard
about yet. It was as if their spirits still haunted the damp misty meadow.

Even the cluster
of mill houses looked like a ghost town. No one was outside when they passed.
The rain had chased them all indoors, even the dogs, and only the smoke from
their fires escaped through the chimneys. They passed no one on the roads and
it felt like they were riding off the face of the earth. There were no other
sounds but the horses slopping through the mud.

“Whoa . . . whoa,”
Pa called out and pulled on the reins. The horses stopped.

“What is it Pa?”
Jordan asked, and then saw a wagon on the road just ahead and two men fumbling
about the cart, hidden in the gray haze.

“Hold onto these,”
Pa said and handed Jordan the reins. “I’ll go see if anyone needs any help.”

Jordan watched Pa
fade into the fog. He could hear talking and a horse whiny. His heart pounded
and his breaths became deep and labored. He didn’t know why exactly, but this
place was creepy and thoughts of Grandma’s yahoe stories suddenly invaded his
mind.

All he could hear
was muffled voices and rain splattering in the mud. Jordan planted his eyes in
the very spot where Pa stepped into the mist and prayed for him to come out.

The voices got
louder and at last he saw Pa, as well as two other men emerge from the mist and
walk back to where he was sitting. Both of them were dressed like city folk and
one of them had a revolver strapped to his side.

“Who’d want to kill
him?” Pa asked one of the men.

“I suppose it
could have been someone local,” the man said. “But not likely. Who knows what
types we have running around here, with the Confederate retreat and the Union
camped not two hours north of there.”

“Tell Pa to come
on,” Eamon said.
“I’m hungry.”

“Shhhh,”Jordan
hissed.
“There’s food in the pail up here.”

“Some folks ain’t
taking too kindly to anyone profiting from this war,” the other man said. “I’ll
go get the undertaker and get him moved.”

Eamon kept
shuffling the tarp and Jordan couldn’t hear anything else. Pa walked back to
the wagon.

“Who were those
men?” Jordan asked.

“Sheriff,” Pa
said.

“What happened?”

Eamon stopped
eating so he could hear.

“That peddler . .
.” Pa said. “He’s lying over there with a bullet in his chest.”

 “What!” Jordan
hollered.

“Someone shot the
poor soul,” Pa said.

“Where’s the boy
that was with him?” Jordan asked.

“They ain’t seen
the boy,” Pa said. “I told them I seen them three days ago heading north.”

“Who do they think
done it?” Eamon asked.

“Bandits, I
suppose,” Pa said. “Just keep your ears open. We’re almost to Jim’s.”

Eamon got back
into his wagon and followed Pa as he pulled the team back onto the muddy road.
The rain was only a mist at this point, but the fog made it impossible to see
much further than the horses.

Jordan stretched
his neck to see the body of the peddler lying in a crumpled heap by the side of
his wagon. His stiff suit was wrinkled and muddy. His spectacles were twisted
and broken on his face.

“Quit gawking,” Pa
growled. “The man deserves some respect.”

Jordan couldn’t
get the dead man’s image out of his mind. He’d seen dead things before – a
fresh kill, a lamb that was too weak to suckle, the chick that was pecked to
death before Ma or Willow could separate it from the group – but he’d never
seen a dead man before.

It was almost dark
by the time they rolled through the grassy field at Jim’s and if there were any
lights on inside the house, Jordan couldn’t see them. In fact, he didn’t even
see the house and wondered if it hadn’t collapsed altogether from all the rain.

“You think it’s
safe to leave the horses out?” Eamon asked. “With the bandits and all?”

“Ain’t got much
choice,” Pa said. “We’ll get as close as we can to the house.”

They managed to
get within fifty feet of the shack before the wagons got stuck in a tangle of
weeds and mud.

“We’ll have to
stop here,” Pa called to Eamon.

Rusty, the hound,
strolled down a path, sniffed at Jordan’s hand while he unhitched the horses,
and licked at the smell of the smoked beef. Jordan shooed the stinking varmint
away.

“Get everything
out of the wagon,” Pa said. “I hope the bedrolls stayed dry.”

Eamon grabbed the
tarp and he and Jordan fell in behind Pa as he mashed down the wet grass to
make a path to the house. Rusty followed them. A faint light appeared in the
window just as they got to the porch. The door opened just a few inches and the
barrel of a gun appeared.

“Who’s there!”
someone yelled. Jordan couldn’t tell if it was Jim or Gunner.

“Put that thing
down before you hurt someone,” Pa hollered.

“Finnian, Jordan?
Is that you?” Gunner said and rushed outside. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

“What are you
doing with that gun?” Pa asked.

“It ain’t loaded,”
Gunner said and propped it against the door.

“Why do you have
it?” Pa asked.

“Folks have been
acting crazy with all the soldiers passing through here,” Gunner said. “Over at
the mine they say soldiers have been stealing and shooting dogs.”

Jordan wondered
what Gunner thought they had worth stealing. Rusty wasn’t much to waste a shot
on either.

“No one out here
but us,” Pa said.

“But Pa, aren’t. .
.” Jordan started.

“No use worrying
anyone about the peddler,” Pa whispered and looked at Gunner. “Where’s Jim?”

“He’s real sick,”
Gunner said. “Had a fretful fever ever since ya’ll left. He can’t eat nothing –
not even any of that food you left.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “I have to
leave him here alone all day while I work. If I don’t work I don’t get paid.”

“It’s all right
son,” Pa said and patted the child on his back.

Jordan could smell
the sickness the moment he walked inside. It wasn’t anything in particular,
just a rancid odor of rot. Jim was laid up on an old mattress in the corner–
the same one they’d attempted to sleep on three nights ago. He looked too sick to
be bothered by the bugs and he looked like he’d been wallowing in his own
phlegm and vomit for some time.

“Jim,” Pa said and
sat down on the tree stump. “Jim, can you hear me?”

“I’ll be alright,”
Jim whispered. His lips were cracked and bleeding.

“He won’t drink no
water,” Gunner said.

“We ain’t staying
here,” Pa said. “Gunner, get you and your pa’s clothes. You’re going back to
the mountains with us. Jordan, you help him. Me and Eamon will get Jim.”

Gunner and Jordan
both just stood and stared at him.

“Go now!” Pa
yelled. “Jim needs Abigail’s medicine or he’s going to die.”

Gunner took off
into the back room. Jordan ran after him.

By the time they’d
gathered what meager belongings Gunner and Jim had and the crate of food they’d
left there, Eamon and Pa had carried Jim – mattress and all – out to the wagon.
Eamon was digging the mud away from the wheels with a stick. Pa whistled for
the horses and they were hitched up in no time.

“Wait,” Gunner
yelled. “I forgot something.”

He ran back into
the house and reappeared a few moments later, carrying an ornate wood box and
the broken fiddle.

“It was Ma’s . . .
the box,” Gunner said, and held it up for Jordan to see. “She wouldn’t like it
if I left it here.”

Jordan saw the
tears well in Gunner’s eyes.

“Boys, you get
them bedrolls and hop into the back of Eamon’s wagon,” Pa said. “Eamon, when
you get tired, get Jordan up to take the reins.”

“Where you heading
this late and in such an all-fire hurry?” a voice called out.

Jordan jumped and
turned in the direction of the voice. Two armed soldiers rode out of the mist
and blocked the wagons. Their clothing was dark and they wore their hats low
over their eyes to keep their faces hidden in shadow.

“Get in the
wagons, boys,” Pa whispered before he walked out to the soldiers.

“There’s a man in
that wagon who needs a doctor,” Pa told the soldiers.

“Ain’t no doctor
around here,” one of them said.

“I’m taking him
home,” Pa said. “To Droop.”

“To Droop? That’s
a day and a half ride from here.”

“That’s my home,”
Pa said. “His too.”

“What’s wrong with
him?”

“Measles,” Pa
said.

The men backed up.

“Are you sure he’s
sick or are you just telling us that?”

“Rash all over
him. The mattress has bugs too. I wouldn’t get too close.”

“Why ain’t you
afraid of getting sick?” one of them asked.

Jim let out a
soft, weak cough and wheezed through the thick mucus in this throat. He
thrashed a bit and gurgled before he settled down.

“I am,” Pa said.
“That’s why I’m heading home.”

“Go then,” the
soldier said.

“We ain’t supposed
to let anyone go anywhere,” the other soldier said. “That’s what the sheriff
said.”

“Are you going to
be the one who gets too close and brings measles into camp?”

“Nope.”

“We’ll be back at
daybreak,” the soldier said. “You best be gone.”

“Yes sir,” Pa
said.

“Come on Rusty!”
Gunner called and the smelly hound jumped up in the wagon and curled up beside
Jordan.

The wagon rocked
as the horses pulled the wheels out of the mud and towards the turnpike.

“Why aren’t those
soldiers supposed to let anyone go anywhere?” Jordan asked Eamon.

“I don’t know,”
Eamon said. “Seems like the whole world’s gone crazy.”