When Johnny Came Marching Home (9 page)

This made me think of home and I reached into my pocket and pulled out a letter I had gotten just before we went into battle. It was from Rebecca, and I had already read it three or four times. I read it again now. It ended with the words:
I miss you, Jubal. Stay safe for me and come home soon.
I hoped that I would.

 

* * *

 

Jerusalem's Landing, Vermont, 1865

My father and I rode out to Ed Billingsley's farm to question him about Bobby Suggs. When I had told my father about Suggs he had volunteered to go along.

"It ain't that Ed don' respect ya, son, it's jus' that he might still think of ya as a boy, cause that's how he's known ya all yer life. If so, he'll be expectin' ta talk ta me, so if ya don' mind, I'll jus' go along sort of as yer helper an' let him know yer runnin' this here investigation."

I tried not to smile at my father's words, but in the end I had to turn away to hide it. I'd had a professor at the university who'd been a great advocate of a new science called psychology, and I wondered what he would have said about my father's attempt to soothe my psyche.

We dismounted in Ed Billingsley's dooryard where we were greeted by his wife, offered something cold to drink, and, when we declined, told we'd find Ed in the milking barn.

Entering the barn brought back memories of the first time I'd been in one. The smell was overwhelming, and back then it had put me off drinking milk for almost a month.

Cows are strange creatures. They come in from grazing and go straight to the same stall each day, and if another cow is confused and has taken their stall, they'll stand behind it, stomping their hooves and bellowing a complaint until the farmer removes the offender and puts it in its proper place. Then they'll stand there eager to be milked, all the while shitting and pissing into the narrow ditch that runs behind each row of stalls. The ditches are mucked out twice a day, but the smell never leaves, and after my first visit to a cow barn I'd been sure the same smell came off the next glass of milk I tried to drink.

"Ho, Ed," my father called out now.

Ed Billingsley rose up behind the haunches of a cow he'd been milking and waved us over. "Ya come ta help me git my milkin' done?" he said with a grin.

"Not likely," my father replied, reaching across to shake his hand. "Ya remember my boy Jubal, don' ya?"

"I do," Ed said. "Though I'd hardly recognize him, he's gotten so big. Back home from the war I hear," he added, trying but not succeeding in keeping his eyes off my pinned-up sleeve.

"Yes sir." I reached my good hand across the cow to shake his.

"Well, Jubal's the deputy town constable now," my father explained. "An' he's investigating the murder of Johnny Harris. I jus' wanted ta let ya know that he's in charge of that, cause I know he's got some questions ta ask ya."

Ed nodded; then he grinned at me. "The deputy constable, eh? That there's a far cry from burnin' up the town bandstand like you and yer friends did a couple Fourth of July's back, now ain't it?"

My father let out a loud guffaw and I lowered my eyes and smiled at my boots.

"Yes sir, it is. I guess I'm never gonna live that one down."

"Not in this town, ya ain't. Now what kin I do fer ya, son?" Billingsley was a large man, almost as big as my father. He had a round belly that pushed out against his overalls, but like the rest of him it looked hard as a rock. He was wearing a straw hat, which I knew had little hair beneath it, and a full beard flecked with gray that covered most of his round face. His blue eyes always seemed to have a smile in them, and I'd always thought of the man as one of the happiest people in the town.

"Well, sir," I began, "I was talking to Doc the other day and he told me you'd had a man by here asking after Johnny Harris."

"Sure enough did. Said his name was Bobby Suggs. I 'membered it, cause it sounded strange ta me. Suggs, that is. Don't have no people named Suggs up hereabouts. Least none I ever heard of. Said he was from Pennsylvania, an' that he fought with you boys in the war. Even mentioned ya by name, Jubal."

"I remember Suggs," I said. "He was more Johnny's friend than mine."

"Well, he sounded real anxious ta meet up with Johnny agin. Said he'd had a devil of a time findin' this here town. Din' like the way he said that, kind of smart, ya know, so I din' offer him no help findin' young Johnny. Then when I heard 'bout Johnny gettin' kilt I thought I better pass the information on."

"Did this Suggs say where he was staying?" I asked.

"No, never did. I got the idea he might be stayin' up ta Richmond, but not because he tol' me that. He did axe if there was any work hereabouts. I tol' him ta try some of the other dairy farms, maybe the sawmill, and some a the loggin' camps. Said he'd do that; then he left."

I thanked him and asked that he let me know if Suggs came back, and after some neighborly gossip my father and I started out for home.

"I'm headed up ta Richmond tomorra," my father said as we rode back toward town. "Got some more tax money ta deposit in the town account. While I'm there I'll check fer any strangers stayin' in any of the roomin' houses. Meantime, why don't ya ride out ta the local farms, the sawmill, an' the logging camps?"

"I'll start with the sawmill as soon as we get back to town, then I'll set up a route that'll take me by all the farms and camps. Should be able to do it in a day, a day and a half."

My father nodded agreement. "You'll be earnin' yer money an' more this week," he said.

 

* * *

 

The sawmill manager, Jesse Barton, told me that a man named Suggs had indeed been by looking for work, but there had been none he could offer him. "I tol' him ta try some a the local loggin' camps an' gave him directions on how he might find 'em. Did the same fer some a the bigger farms who take on workers from time ta time."

Barton was a short, stocky man with a face that was deeply weathered from years of working out in the open. He had a gruff manner about him, but my father claimed he had the softest heart in town. He ran a hand through steely gray hair, and thoughtfully rubbed an equally gray beard. "Ya know, Jubal, there was somethin' 'bout that fella I jus' din' like. Kind of a shifty sort, he was. Scraggly beard, battered old Union cap, and all the time actin' like he was owed sumthin'."

"Did he ask you about Johnny Harris?"

"Oh, he was here a good week afore we lost poor Johnny," he said. "If that's whatcha was thinkin'. But no, he din' ask me nothin' 'bout nobody in particular."

That told me one thing: Suggs had probably already located Johnny by then. I thanked Jesse, and decided I'd try the store to see if Suggs had stopped by there.

Rebecca was behind the counter when I got there and it gave me a rush of pleasure to see her look up at me and smile.

"Hello, Jubal, I was hoping I'd see you today."

"Why was that?" I asked, thinking she had something specific in mind.

"I always hope I'll see you. Certainly you know that."

Her words added to my pleasure but left me floundering for a response. "You're very kind to say so," I said weakly. I shifted my weight and hurried on. "I'm trying to track the movements of a stranger who came to town about a week ago. His name is Suggs, Bobby Suggs. He's a tall, lanky fellow about my age, has a scruffy beard, and was supposed to be wearing an old Union cap. He knew Johnny and me during the war, and Ed Billingsley said he came by his farm asking where Johnny lived. I wondered if he might have stopped at the store."

Rebecca thought about it and slowly shook her head just as her stepmother came behind the counter.

"Who are you asking about, Jubal?" Mary Johnson asked. She was wearing a gingham dress and her hair was pulled back severely, a sharp contrast to Rebecca, whose pale blue dress seemed to make her long, reddish-blond hair all the more striking.

I repeated the description of Bobby Suggs and thought I saw a hint of alarm come into Mary Johnson's eyes.

"No, I don't believe I saw anyone like that, but I'll ask Walter, and if he did, I'm sure he'll tell you what he knows."

"Is Mr. Johnson around now?" I asked.

"No, he's not. He took the buckboard up to Richmond to pick up some goods that came in on the train."

"He should be back late this afternoon," Rebecca added quickly, casting a glance at her stepmother.

"Good. I'll be by then," I said. I turned to go, but Rebecca's words stopped me.

"I was just going to have my lunch, sort of a picnic down by the river," she said. "Would you care to join me, Jubal? It's just apples and cheddar and a bit of cider, but it's all very good."

I still had several stops to make in my search for Bobby Suggs, but I took her words as a signal that there was more she wanted to tell me. "I'd like that," I said. "But I can't stay too long. There are several other places I have to stop at today."

 

* * *

 

Rebecca spread a small blanket on a flat rock just above the river and set out her basket. I used my knife to cut up two apples and slice two slabs of cheese, while she poured us cider.

"You know that Mary was lying to you, don't you?" she said at length. Her voice was harsher than I expected and that surprised me. I knew Rebecca didn't like her stepmother, but her tone bordered on something more.

"I had a feeling she wasn't telling me everything she could have," I said.

"She thinks she's a very good liar, that she can fool people quite easily, but she can't. Oh, she fools my father, but it's only because he wants to believe her. But I always know when she's not telling the truth."

"How is that?" I asked.

"She has to turn her eyes away from me and that's when I know. And that's what she did to you when you asked her about that Suggs man. As soon as you described him, she knew who he was."

I'd noticed the same thing. "Why do you think she did that?"

"I think she's fearful that Johnny told Suggs about their affair, and that when you find Suggs he'll tell you."

"Still, it would be her word against his," I said. "And he's a shiftless sort, just passing through. When he asked Jesse Barton for some work at the sawmill Jesse wouldn't touch him, and you know what kind of rough characters he's like to hire."

Rebecca's eyes hardened. "She wouldn't take the chance. Not Mary. She believes in protecting herself at all cost, and she knows she'd be in danger if my father believed what Suggs said. If he did, he might very well throw her out. And then she'd have no place to go, no one to take care of her. When Johnny was alive I think she held out hope that
he'd
go off with her if they got caught."

"If she thought that, she didn't know Johnny very well. At least not the man who came back from the war."

"No, she didn't."

 

* * *

 

I guided my horse Jezebel up Sherman Hollow. Recent rains had left the path rougher than usual, and I took care to keep her well away from the many potholes. By the time I reached Rusty LeRoche's dooryard it was nearing on two o'clock.

Rusty's daughter Chantal came out of the cabin, her hair tousled, her breasts swaying beneath the thin blouse she wore. She looked up at me and gave me an impish smile. "You come back ta see me, deputy?"

"I'm afraid not. I'm looking for your daddy."

"He's out in the woodlot," she said, grinning again. "Don't expect him back till suppertime. Yer welcome ta come inside an' wait fer him."

I could imagine Rusty's reaction if I accepted her offer. "Can you tell me what path to take to get out to your woodlot?" I asked.

"You afraid of me, deputy?"

"I just want to respect your daddy's wishes. I also need to see him now, so I can get home in time for my own supper."

She shook her head. "My, my. I'm startin' ta wonder if that war hurt more'n yer arm. You all right everywheres else?"

"I'm fine, Chantal. But thank you for your concern. Now why don't you stop teasing me and tell me what path to take?"

"I don't mean ta tease ya, deputy. It just gets real lonely out cheer, if you know what I mean. I'd just enjoy the company of a good-lookin' young fella."

"I take it as a compliment, Chantal. But I've got some work I've gotta get done." I hesitated, then thought I'd ask her about Suggs.

"Did a fella named Suggs come by here looking for work?" I asked.

"Bobby Suggs? Yeah, he came by. But as soon as Daddy found out he was a frienda Johnny's he tol' him ta get off his land an' not ta show hisself agin."

"Did he ever come back?"

Chantal offered up a coy smile. "He came back one time when Daddy was out workin' the woodlot. Took me for a little walk in the woods, he did."

"Did he say where he was staying?"

"He din' say it, but I heard Daddy tell Momma that he'd taken a job at Billy Lucie's place. Ain't seen him since I heard that, so I suppose it's true."

Lucie's place was located on a high, flat ridge that overlooks the Huntington Gorge. "I still need to talk to your daddy," I said. "Can you point me in the right direction?"

 

* * *

 

I could hear the axes long before I saw the clearing where Rusty and his sons were working. I rode in slowly, taking care not to veer into the path of a falling tree. Rusty noticed me, buried his axe blade into the tall pine he'd been working, and approached.

"Whatcha lookin' fer now?" he said as a way of greeting. His face and beard were covered in grit and dripping sweat.

"Fella named Bobby Suggs. A scraggly-looking man, might of been wearing—"

"Yeah, he was by here coupla weeks back. Lookin' fer work, he said. Friend of Johnny Harris, he said. Soon's I heard that I throwed his ass offen the place. Birds of a feather, I figured, an' I don't need none of that hangin' aroun' Chantal."

"Did you ever see him again?"

"No, but I heard he came back. My missus saw someone looked like him sneakin' out of the woods; saw Chantal sneakin' out a few minutes later."

"What did you do?"

Rusty's face turned into a snarl. "Whatcha think I did? I figured he was stayin' with his friend in town, so next time I was droppin' off a load of timber I went ta the parsonage an' asked the reveren' iffen he was there. That skinny ol' Bible-thumper tol' me Suggs'd taken a job up at Lucie's woodlot. Lucie's got a cabin fer his workers so's I figured he was stayin' there."