A Place of Peace (3 page)

“Did you write this letter?” Martin demanded.  Colby tried to shake his head, but he felt dizzy.  “The girl is very pretty.  Is she your sweetheart?  Going home to the farm to plow the fields, huh?”

More laughter from the men.  Colby’s eyes clamped shut, but Martin poked him in the chest with a gloved finger.

“I know your name, son,” he told Colby.  “Your name is James Jacoby, and your rank is lieutenant, see, it says it right here.  That makes us comrades in arms, I suppose,”  He pointed to the folded over scribbling on the back of the paper.  “This is your wife, I presume, or sweetheart.” He held up the locket which swayed back and forth on its chain in front of Colby.  “Except you look too young to be a lieutenant unless you did something spectacular on the battlefield to be promoted, or maybe you’re an educated man.  Is that it?”

Colby was silent.  The Lieutenant’s words were swirling around in a haze of pain, and all Colby could see were red sparks of fire in his head.

“Put him up on the wagon’s horse,” said Lieutenant Martin.  “We’re not going to waste one of our good horses on him.”  The contents of the wagon were almost all burned out, and flecks of blackened paper drifted away on the wind.  Colby was hoisted, still bound, on the back of the wagon horse, who bolted a little at the surprise of having to carry a person on its back.

“Don’t fall, now,” said Martin, swinging himself up on his own horse.  “We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Sir,” said the sergeant.  “What about Captain Walters?”

Lieutenant Martin looked down at the dead captain who was lying face down in the grass.  “Gather around, men,” he called.  The twenty-eight other men mounted and nudged their horses as close as they could to the captain’s body.  Martin took his hat off in respect.  His men followed his example.

“Lord,” said Martin.  “We commend this man’s spirit to your grace and know that he died in a worthy cause, even if he was a sorry officer.  Amen.”

“Amen,” the men echoed.

“Let’s go,” said Martin.  “Don’t let that prisoner fall.  We’ve got ourselves a real live officer here.”

After two men were assigned grave digging responsibility, the troops
headed south down the road in a two by two column, their stars and stripes fluttering honorably and leading the way.

chapter four

Melinda walked the four
miles down the road to the Johnsons’  farm.  She didn’t mind walking.  In fact, it was a perfect chance for her to be outdoors in a capacity other than gardening.  She wore her red hair, as usual, underneath her wide-brimmed hat, so that her face was shaded from the sun.  Many hours had been spent modifying a old pair of her father’s trousers so they would fit her better, and now she wore them, thinking they were much more practical than wearing her skirts in the field, so from a distance with her hat and her trousers, it was hard to tell she was a woman, for her wore her father’s old white shirt tucked into the waist of her pants, and because the shirt was a bit too large for her, it flapped loosely in the breeze.

She skipped down the road, pausing now and then to kick a rock over to the side.  The Johnsons’ farmhouse was just around the corner, and she carried Joan Johnson’s bread basket with her.  She was going to return it, but the trip was really just an excuse to escape her garden.  Besides, the garden would be there when she got back, along with the crows.

Joan was hanging up laundry on the clothesline and waved at Melinda coming down the road.  Joan was a portly woman.  Frank always remarked she was a victim of her own good cooking and the only reason Frank was not round himself was because of his hours in the field.  Plus, she had given birth to two strong, healthy boys, and she blamed them, not her cooking, for the addition to her figure.

But she always seemed to have a smile on her face, and Melinda couldn’t remember a time when Joan Johnson didn’t seem cheerful.

“Child, if you only had a beard, I would have sworn that was your father walking up the road,” Joan said as Melinda got closer.

“Hello, Mrs. Johnson,” said Melinda.  “I brought your bread basket back.”

“You didn’t have to do that, but thank you anyway,” Joan kept hanging her laundry.  “I’m almost finished, and you can have some lemonade with me.”

The lemonade was very bitter, and Joan looked apologetic as the two woman sat outside to enjoy the cool spring breeze.

“Sugar’s in short supply these days,” she told Melinda as she noticed the involuntarily twisted face the girl made as she took her first drink.  “With the war and all.  Sometimes I worry that it’s going to be us little folk who are caught in the middle.”

“It’s been almost a month since I heard from my father,” said Melinda.  “But I’m holding the farm together well.  All the gardens are set, if I can only keep the crows away.”

Joan smiled sadly.  “I hate to think of you out there on your farm all by yourself.  Perhaps you could stay down here with us until your father returns?”

“I’m not a little girl, Mrs. Johnson,” said Melinda, even though half of her wanted to take her up on her invitation.  She had to admit she hadn’t really thought about what would happen if it was another year or two before her father returned.

“I know, I know,” said Joan quickly, as if realizing she insulted Melinda by her statement.  “I just meant that, you know, we’re here if you need us.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Johnson.  I think I’ll be okay.”

Frank Johnson came out of the field swinging a hoe over his shoulder and whistling a tune that Melinda didn’t recognize.  He spotted the two women on the porch and waved as he came over.

“If I had known we were going to have such beautiful company, I would have washed up,” said Frank, winking at Melinda, who blushed a little.

“You’ll wash up anyway, Frank Johnson,” said Joan.  “And before you even think about sitting out here with us.”

Frank nodded, still smiling, as he went on into the farmhouse.

“Twenty-five years with a man and you still have to remind him to wash up,” remarked Joan, shaking her head.  “Maybe you’re better off never getting married.”  She said it with a small smile.

“Of course,” said Melinda.

Frank came back out onto the porch and Melinda noticed he had changed his shirt and she caught the faint scent of lye soap.

“Where’s my lemonade?” he asked, noticing the two glasses and the pitcher.

“Right here,” said Joan.  “But you’ll have to go back in and get your own cup.”

Frank grumbled a little, but went back in and came back out with a pewter mug, which Joan promptly filled.  He took a big drink, and it was all Melinda could do to keep from laughing at the face he made as he swallowed.

“Lord, woman,” he gasped.  “Don’t we have any sugar?”

“You know we don’t have much,” replied Joan.  “And if I used it all for the lemonade, then you wouldn’t have any left for your coffee in the morning.”

“Well,” Frank announced as he set his mug down and stretched.  “I’ve got to go down into town and get some seed for the chickens, or we’ll have no eggs to go with my coffee with no sugar.”

“We need flour, too,” said Joan.  “Unless you don’t want to have any bread, either.”

“I might as well make a list,” Frank said as he retrieved his hat.  He looked at Melinda.  “That’s a fine hat.”

“Thank you,” said Melinda.  “If you’re going down to town, do you think I could ride down with you?  It’s been so long since I’ve heard any news from my father, maybe we could buy a newspaper.”

“That’s a fine idea,” said Frank. “I’ll hitch up the cart, and we can ride in it.” He turned to Joan.  “How about pork for supper?  Melinda can join us for a home-cooked meal when we get back.”

Melinda was about to say she didn’t have to stay for supper, but Joan was already beaming at the thought.

“Good,” she said.  “And if you’re going to get more sugar, then I’ll go on and bake a pie.  I’ve got all those apples we preserved last year.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Frank as he walked out toward the barn.  Melinda watched him go.  He was so much like her father in his mannerisms that it made her miss her father even more.  Joan noticed Melinda seemed a bit misty-eyed.

“What if something has happened?” Melinda asked in a small voice.  “What if he’s not okay?”

Joan put her arm around the poor girl.  If she had a daughter, she had always thought Melinda would have been a good one.  “I’m sure it’s fine and everything’s going to be fine.  You’ll see.”

The barn doors opened and Frank emerged driving a small wagon with Clover, their old mare, pulling it.  He pulled up next to the porch and took off his hat.

“My lady,” he called.  “Your chariot awaits.”

Joan patted Melinda on the shoulder as the girl got up, suppressed a sniffle, and smiled as she climbed up beside Frank on the wagon seat.

“Hurry back, or you’ll get no pie,” Joan instructed just before the two rolled out.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Frank, pulling his hat back over his eyes.

***

It was a little over
ten miles to Gallatin, and the trip was made on a small road that was a little more than a horse trail.  Melinda kept clutching to the side of the seat as if the next bump would be the one that would pitch her over the side. Frank just grinned at her distress, but said nothing.

They drove most of the way in silence.  Melinda was almost dreading the thought of actually getting news on the chance it could be bad news rather than good.  Frank was humming to himself, occasionally talking to Clover and telling her to not hit all the bumps.

“Let’s see,” Frank suddenly said aloud.  “We need sugar, flour, and chicken seed.  Wasn’t there something else?  Maybe some candy, even though Joan isn’t big on it.  Maybe we could eat all of it and not tell her.”

“What?” Melinda was jarred out of her thoughts and realized he was speaking to her and she hadn’t heard a word he said.

“Candy,” Frank repeated.  “They sell some good sour stick candy ten for a penny.  We could get some, you know.”

“Oh, right.”  Her father used to bring her back candy whenever he went to buy seed, even as she grew older, she still looked forward to his trips to the seed store and the candy he brought back.  With a flash of shame, she remembered the one time he had gone and bought seed, but she hadn’t realized he didn’t have enough extra for candy, so there had been none from that trip.  When he didn’t produce the candy upon his return, she remembered how she cried and stomped her foot and ran out into the corn patch, determined to run away from home and not come back.  She cringed now at the memory, but her father hadn’t seemed to hold it against her.  He simply told her, “Maybe next time,” and that was that.  No more was said about it, and of course, she had come back to the house around supper time, half afraid she would get a whipping for her behavior, but her mother just nodded knowingly when she came in and they sat down to eat. 

Her father had occasionally glanced at her and smiled, but at the time, she didn’t feel like smiling back.

“Some candy would be nice,” she finally said, but Frank seemed to be intensively studying the road ahead, so Melinda just fell back into silence and tried not to think about her father.

They eventually came to the dirty streets of Gallatin where a crossroads opened up to different store fronts up and down the side streets.  Melinda hadn’t been to town much, but the last time she came, she didn’t remember it being so busy.

Frank knew where he was going, and he steered their wagon through the crowds and the other wagons and buggies.  A man on the corner stood on a box and was shouting something to the people passing by.  He held up a poster that said “
Volunteer now
” in bold, black letters. 

“A recruiter,” said Frank.  “Look there.”  He pointed at the small building behind the shouting man.  A line of young men, some looking far younger than Melinda, stood in a line that stretched out of the door and down the side of the street.  A small table was set up on the sidewalk where an older man dressed in a sharp gray uniform shook each man’s hand as they passed, giving each young man a slip of paper.

“It’s a shame,” remarked Frank as they rolled by, but he didn’t say much else.  Melinda looked again, seeing her father standing in that line, much older than the boys around him, probably feeling like their father.  She felt the tears come despite her best intentions.

“Hey, what’s this?” asked Frank as he saw two tears trickle down the girl’s face.  “No, no, we’ll have none of this,” he handed her his handkerchief, which she took gratefully.

“I’m sorry,” she said.  “I’m just worried, that’s all.”

She was glad when the recruiting office was out of sight, and they had turned down the street toward the feed store.  Everywhere she looked, she saw posters tacked up on horse posts and store fronts.  They all practically said the same thing: sign up now, good pay, protect your liberty, etc.  One poster offered the kingly sum of six dollars a month for enlistment.  Melinda shook her head and tried to block out the sights. 

Miller’s Feed and Seed was the largest store in Gallatin, and Melinda saw other wagons lined up near the big doors, where she saw several boys toting large bags of seed and grains from the warehouse to the wagon beds.  Frank pulled Clover to a stop and hopped down off the wagon.  He motioned for Melinda to follow him as they walked up into the store proper.

No one gave Melinda a second glance with her wide-brimmed hat covering most of her face in shadow and her trousers making her look like another field hand from a distance.  In fact, most people assumed Melinda was Frank’s son, or one of his workers as the two walked up to the counter.

“Hello, Frank,” the big man behind the counter greeted him.  “What will it be today?”

“Hello, Jim,” said Frank.  “Let’s see.”  He looked at the chalkboard behind the counter that listed the types of feed and their prices.  “One hundred pounds of chicken feed, and that’s it, I suppose.”

Jim nodded and wrote it down on a slip of paper.  “Three dollars.”

Frank let out a long, slow whistle.  “Kind of expensive, isn’t it?”

“There’s a war going on.  Everything’s in short supply, especially grain.  Most of it’s going to feed the boys in the field.”

“I guess,” said Frank.  “Well, better make that fifty pounds then.  I don’t want to see the day my chickens are better fed than I am.”  Jim chuckled at that remark.  He looked past Frank to where Melinda was standing.

“And you, sir?” 

Melinda didn’t realize he was speaking to her, so she didn’t reply.  Frank grinned and nodded at her.  “Take another look, Jim.”

Jim looked confused, but when Melinda turned her head, the shadow was momentarily wiped away from her face, and Jim began to laugh.  “A hundred pardons, madam,” he said.

Melinda smiled, and how Jim could have ever mistaken her for a man was beyond him.  He was still shaking his head as he called one of his warehouse boys up from below and gave him the slip of paper.

“They’ll  put it in your wagon when you pull around to the warehouse doors,” said Jim.  “You take care now.  You too, miss.”

Melinda smiled again, and Jim felt his day suddenly grow a lot brighter.

When they were out in the wagon again, Frank couldn’t help but laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” asked Melinda.

“Nothing,” said Frank.  “Let’s go get our candy.”