Sabrina's Man (7 page)

They stood there talking awkwardly as none of them knew exactly what to say. Finally Waco lifted his head. “There it comes. I heard the whistle.”

They stood waiting, and everybody watched as the old wood burner pulled onto the narrow-gauge rails. It huffed and puffed and let loose a tremendous blast of steam and the wheels made a grating noise as it came to a stop.

Lieutenant Gibson shouted, “You men get on those flat cars!”

Alice threw her arms around Waco and pulled his head down. Her lips were desperate, it seemed to him, and he held her close, aware of the soft contours of her figure.

When he lifted his head, he whispered, “I've got to go.”

She said, “Be careful! Oh, be careful, Waco!”

“Sure.” He turned around and put his hand out, but Will ignored it and put his arms around him and hugged Waco. He had to reach up, of course, as Waco was so tall. “Take care of yourself, partner,” he said huskily. “Don't worry about this. I'll take care of everything. You get home. You'll be a rich man. You'll have your wedding, and things will be good.”

“Thanks, Will. I know I can count on you.”

Waco moved to one of the flat cars, noting that the riding stock was filled already. He clambered on board and sat down and heard his name called. He turned around and saw a young man with bright blue eyes and a cowlick in his red hair. “Howdy, Mr. Smith.”

“Why, it's Chad Royal, isn't it?”

“Yes, sir. My dad worked for you on your horse ranch. Ain't this great?”

Waco stared at the young boy. It was as if he went back in time and saw himself in this sort of attitude back when he had first signed up just before Bull Run. He had been excited, and the train had stopped at stations. Young women had come out with lemonade and cake, cheering them on. Suddenly he felt a pang to think that most of the young men who had been with him on that train were now in shallow graves. “It's good to see you,” he said.

“I'm glad we're going together. I'm a little bit scared to tell the truth.”

The two sat there talking, and a man named Roger Sanders was sitting by listening. When he heard Waco mention that he was engaged and had to put his wedding off, he said, “Well, I hope she's faithful to you.”

Waco turned quickly, anger in his eyes. “She will be.”

“Sorry. I've already served three years. Got invalided out, and now here I am going back. I tell you this. . .I'll run the first chance I get.”

“You can't do that,” Chad said.

“You hide and watch me, sonny.”

The train gave a lurch forward and then began to move slowly out of the station. The last sight that Waco Smith saw as it pulled out was Alice and Will standing together. Will had his arms around her, and she seemed almost ready to faint. He watched until they faded from view then turned grimly and glanced into the direction of Richmond, where he knew he would be likely to be buried in a narrow grave.

“Well, here it is April,” Les Dickson said. The old man had stayed up with the younger men even more than others had thought. Waco had become fond of Dickson. He was a good man; he didn't complain, did his job. He and Dickson, along with Chad Royal and even Roger Sanders, who complained constantly but had never run as he had threatened, had stuck together through all the months of warfare.

It had been a dance of sorts. Grant would bring his army down, attack Lee, and there would be a battle. The first one was The Wilderness, which was a horror. It was a thicket of trees, grass, and vines, and somehow it caught fire. Men burned to death, screaming as they were consumed by the flames. Then came Spotsylvania and Cold Harbor, all butcheries. Grant lost five thousand men in Cold Harbor in less than an hour, but he was grinding Lee down.

“What do you hear from that gal of yours, Waco?” Sanders asked.

“Haven't heard lately. The mail service is not too good in the army, if you noticed.”

“Nothing else is.”

“Where we going?”

“I heard Lieutenant Gibson say we was going to some place called Appomattox.”

“What for?” Chad Royal asked. “Are we going to fight the Yankees there?”

“I don't think so,” Les Dickson said. “We don't have enough to fight a battle.”

“We'll fight 'em until we can't fight no more,” Chad said.

“I think that time's gone,” Waco said. Indeed, the talk was that the war was over. Lee had evacuated his army from Richmond, and it was now in the hands of the Union. They were headed along a dusty road toward some little place called Appomattox.

Finally they reached it and found there a courthouse, but there were more people gathered around a white house with a front porch that ran the length of the house. There were all kinds of officers there.

“Looky there. Some of them men are Union,” Chad said. “I could hit one from right here.”

“Better not,” Waco said. “You could hit him, but they got plenty to take care of that. No, this is the end.”

They were halted and told to be at ease. Time passed slowly, and finally Roger Sanders said, “Look, there's General Lee.”

Indeed, as Waco looked, he saw Robert E
.
Lee riding Traveler, his favorite war horse. He rode up to the house and dismounted, and one of the soldiers took his horse. Lee turned to look at the ragged scarecrows left of the Confederate Army and said nothing, but his eyes were sorrowful. Turning, he walked into the house.

“We lost even with Robert E
.
Lee,” Waco said.

“Well, we were outnumbered in every engagement,” Roger said.

The two waited, time passed, and finally Chad said, “Look, who's that?”

Everyone turned to look at a short man in a Union uniform but with no insignia except four stars on the shoulder. It was dusty and grimy, and Chad said, “That's General Grant, I bet. He's come to take Lee's surrender.”

Grant hurried into the house, and there was a long time of waiting. There was nobody to tell them what was going on, but finally Robert E
.
Lee stepped in the door, looked out, and said, “Men, the war is over. I've done my best for you. Those of you who want horses are permitted to take them home.” He turned, mounted Traveler, and rode slowly away without looking back.

Captain Dorsey Hill came over quickly and said, “Hey, Waco.”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Pick you out a good horse.”

“Why, I'm no horse thief.”

“No, the Yankees gave us our horses from what I hear. Pick you a good one and get home to that girl of yours. Marry her. Just remember to name your first child Dorsey after me.”

“I'll do it, Captain. I'm going home, getting married, and selling hardware.” He quickly turned and went to the horse herd, where he picked a tall, rangy gray stallion, slapped a saddle on it, and rode out, headed toward Little Rock as straight as an arrow.

W
aco had made the trip back from Appomattox to Little Rock in company with his two fellow soldiers. The young man, Chad Royal, had stuck close to Waco from the first day in the army, as had Les Dickson, the grandfather whom all called “Gramps.”

Dickson glanced across at his two fellow travelers and said, “Well, I'm going to leave you fellows here. That road leads to my place. That wife of mine will be mighty glad to see me.”

“You go on and have some more grandchildren, Les,” Waco said.

“I ain't ever going to forget you fellows.”

“I guess I'll take off, too,” Chad said. “I'll ride a ways with you, Gramps. My folks got that place over in Windy Hollow. They'll be right surprised to see me.”

Waco moved his horse around closer to Chad and stuck his hand out. “Chad, I haven't forgot how you saved my bacon when the Yanks had me pinned down.”

Waco noticed how the young boy's face had become mature. In a year's time, solid battles all the way from The Wilderness to the last fight at Fort Steadman added more than just time, and he knew that Chad and Gramps, like he, would never forget their time together.

“You fellows get on. We'll all be in the same area. Come into my store, and we'll go out and have a meal.”

“We'll do that.” Les kicked his horse into a run.

Chad followed, waving and shouting, “I'll see you later, Waco.”

Waco had gotten a good mount, a tall, rangy roan that he called Sarge for no reason except his face kind of resembled his first sergeant, long and sober. “Come on, Sarge, let's get home.”

As he rode, the skyline of Little Rock showed itself over the horizon. He kicked Sarge into a lope, but all the time he was thinking about the last time he had said good-bye to Alice. He had never forgotten how she whispered, “Waco, I can't bear it! How can I wait? I love you so much.” He remembered the firm pressure of her lips on his, the urgency in her voice, and her arms around his neck. It was a memory that he had lived on for the last year. Suddenly he kicked Sarge into a dead run.

He approached Little Rock and rode down the main street, noting that the war that had wrecked so many Southern towns had not hit Little Rock so hard. There were many soldiers wearing Confederate uniforms, or part of them. He remembered a line of poetry he had heard somewhere:
“All things are passing.”
He muttered, “They sure are, and I'm glad the war has passed!”

He rode down Main Street eagerly and pulled up in front of the hardware store, but when he looked up, he got a shock. Instead of the old sign S
MITH
& B
ARTON
H
ARDWARE
, the new sign, still white with paint, said S
AUTELLE
H
ARDWARE.
As he stood under the sign, he had an odd feeling.
Something's wrong about this
. He had not heard from Will or Alice for months now, but there could be letters he had missed. Mail service wasn't too regular in the Confederacy.

He dismounted, tied up his horse, and opened the door leading to the office. He noticed that it had been enlarged and redecorated. It had been a combination office for him and Will where they did their book work and kept supplies. Now there were three large rolltop desks along the center of the room. Filing cabinets were neatly ranked along the back wall with a series of charts and maps on each wall.

As Waco entered, a man looked up. He was tall and expensively attired. Turning to a younger man, obviously a clerk, he said, “We'll finish this later, Ray.” Then he turned and said, “May I help you, sir?”

“Well, I'm looking for Will Barton.”

A flicker touched the man's gray eyes. “Well, I can give you his mailing address.”

“Mailing address?” Waco frowned. “Isn't he here?”

“No, I'm Ralph Sautelle, the owner.”

The alarm that had been very faint suddenly grew very evident in Waco's head. He settled back on his heels, studying Sautelle's face. Finally he said carefully, “I'm Waco Smith. That name mean anything to you?”

Sautelle shook his head. “No, I'm afraid not. Have you done business with me?”

“I own this place. My partner is Will Barton.”

Suddenly the man nodded to his clerk and said quickly, “Leave us alone, Ray.” After the door closed, Sautelle said carefully, “You're out of the army, I see.”

“Just out.” Impatience stirred Waco, and he said, “What's going on here?”

Sautelle nervously pulled a cigar out of his pocket, his hands unsteady as he lit it. After taking a few puffs, he jerked it out and said, “I bought this place from Barton two months ago. He never said anything about a partner.”

Waco froze. Finally he took a deep breath then expelled it, holding on to his temper. “He didn't say anything to me about selling the place.”

“I think we'd better check into this, soldier,” Sautelle suggested. “Do you have a lawyer?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Go see him—and then, unless I'm mistaken, you'd better go to the police.”

“The police?”

“Yes, that's right. I went over this business very carefully before I bought it. There's always a chance that a lot of debts aren't listed in the books. For example, I made sure the title was clear. According to my lawyer, Will Barton was the legal owner.”

“We put the place in his name when I went into the army to make it easier for him to handle the business.”

Sautelle's eyes flickered, and he shook his head slowly. “Mr. Smith, go see your lawyer and then come back. It looks like you've been taken.”

“I don't think so,” Waco replied.

“He's not living at his old address,” Sautelle said. “I know that much. A month ago I needed to talk to him about something that had come up. Sent a man around, but he returned saying that Barton had moved, apparently right after he sold the store. I have the address he left with his landlady.” He turned, walked over to a file, opened it, and pulled out a slip of paper. “Not much help, I'm afraid.”