"Stop it," I shouted. "We'll take care of Johnny and his friends later. Let's just get our asses over to those trees."
Another shell exploded, and then another.
* * *
Jerusalem's Landing, Vermont, 1865
The choir was singing "Amazing Grace" with the congregation joining in. I held a hymnbook and sang in a barely audible voice, my eyes blindly staring at the long-familiar verses. Rebecca sang at my side, her voice high and sweet, and I thought it sad that she had not been able to sing a hymn or say a prayer at her own brother's funeral.
I had visited his grave in Spotsylvania County before I'd headed home. The war was over then, although it was hard to tell in the still-ravaged Virginia towns I passed through.
I rode my horse into areas where we had fought, passing places where men I had known so well had died. It was all I had left of them, remembrances of their deaths, and as I rode I thought I could still smell the stench of the battlefields and forests where their lives had ended.
Abel's grave was in a small Union cemetery near Chancellorsville and I thought one day I would like to take Rebecca there, let her see with certainty that her brother's body had not been thrown into a pit with dozens of others, let her kneel before his grave as I had to weep over his loss.
* * *
My father was among the men who carried Johnny's body from the church, placing the coffin on a flatbed wagon for the short drive to the town cemetery. The mourners followed on foot, led by Reverend Harris and his wife. Rebecca and I walked at the rear of the line, where we were joined by Josiah.
"I didn't see you in church," I said.
"Tha's cause I wasn't there," he said. "I don' mind seein' him put inna ground. Fact is I kinda like the idea. But I din' have no need ta pray over him."
Rebecca stared at Josiah, but said nothing. I wondered what she thought, hearing the bitterness in his voice, knowing he had been with Johnny throughout the war, remembering how different it had been as we all grew up together.
"What happened to us?" she finally asked, almost as if she had read my mind.
Neither Josiah nor I answered her.
* * *
It was not a military burial, just a simple ceremony of townspeople burying a man who had lived among them for most of his life.
Reverend Harris prayed over his son's body, tears running down his cheeks. His wife fell to her knees and sobbed into clasped hands. Others wept openly, perhaps recalling the boy they had known for so many years.
Rebecca leaned into my arm. "Oh Jubal, I wish Abel could have been buried this way, surrounded by people who loved him."
* * *
Doc Pierce and I stood in the yard at the sawmill as he examined a cant hook. "This blade looks a bit thick to me," he said, "but I believe these tools come in different sizes." He turned it in his hand and studied it further. "Yes, a smaller one or one with a thinner blade could have been the murder weapon, I suppose. But we really won't know unless we come up with the actual tool and find traces of human blood on it." He looked me in the eye. "You got somebody particular in mind?"
"Rusty LeRoche had a squabble with Johnny, and he does a bit of logging."
Doc nodded, thinking this over. "Yes, Rusty's a hard one, that's for sure. But I heard something today that you and your father need to know. Edgar Billingsley told me that a fella stopped by his farm about a week back, asking directions to Johnny's house. Said this fella told him that he and Johnny had fought together in the war, and had both been captured and sent to Andersonville Prison. Ed said he'd just heard about Johnny when he came to town, and he asked me if I thought he should tell your daddy about it. I told him I'd pass it on, and that somebody would likely be out to see him."
"Why the hell didn't he just come to us?"
Doc chuckled. "He came into my office this morning to have me lance a boil on his backside, and had to hurry on home to tend to his cows, least that's what he said. But you know how folks are hereabouts. They don't want to cause trouble for people without good reason."
"Did he tell you the man's name?"
"He did. The man told him his name was Bobby Suggs."
I stiffened at the sound of the name. The last time I had seen Bobby Suggs he was standing behind the barrel of a Navy Colt that was leveled at my head.
"Looks like you know the name," Doc said.
"Yes, I sure do know it. And he's somebody I'll need to talk to."
* * *
I found Rebecca down by the river, close to the place where her mother had drowned. I had brought her home from the cemetery, telling her that there was someone I needed to see, but that I would like to talk to her later. She had said she was going for a walk and told me where she would likely be.
"Do you come here often?" I asked as I came up beside her.
She was staring into the river and didn't look at me. "No, not often. Being at Johnny's funeral made me think of my mother and how she died."
I asked why.
"Because Johnny was responsible for her death." She turned to face me. "I don't mean that he pushed her into the river." She stared into the water again. "You see, I accept the fact that my mother took her own life. But Johnny drove her to it. That cruel lie he told her about Abel being thrown into a pit with dozens of others was more than she could bear, more than she should have had to bear." Her jaw tightened. "Oh Jubal, I'm so glad he's dead, so very, very glad. And I know how terrible it is to feel that way."
I took her arm and led her away from the river. We were halfway back to the store before I brought up the subject I had wanted to talk to her about.
"The other day, after I finished speaking to your father out in the barn, I came back into the store and interrupted what seemed like an angry conversation between you and your stepmother—"
"Please don't call her my stepmother," Rebecca cut in. "Just call her by her name."
"All right." I stopped and waited until she met my eyes again. "As I was saying, when I came back into the store, I had the feeling I was interrupting an argument, and that it had something to do with me coming to the store to question her about Johnny."
Rebecca hesitated, then let out a long breath that had the feel of surrender to it. "You were right, she was upset about that. She knew I told you that Johnny had spent a lot of time at the store the past few weeks, and she said it was wrong of me to let on about that. She said it couldn't do anything but cause trouble for her and my father."
"Why did she think that?"
She turned away again. "Because she was afraid you'd find out that she and Johnny were lovers."
"She said that?"
"No, but I know that's the reason."
"How can you be certain?"
Rebecca stopped and stared at me, her eyes harder than I had ever seen them. "Oh, she denies it. But I saw them coming out of his barn one night, when my father was still working in the store, and I saw the way she looked at him." She drew a long breath. "But it's Johnny Harris I blame, that . . . miserable, miserable man. First he killed my mother; then he seduced my father's new wife."
Chapter Seven
Jerusalem's Landing, Vermont, 1857
My father looked me up and down, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth making me feel a touch nervous.
"Do I look all right? I asked.
He nodded. "Ya look jus' fine, son."
"Then why are you smiling like you're seeing something funny?" I was wearing my newest pair of trousers and my newest shirt, and I was thinking I appeared the best I possibly could.
"Tha's not what's makin' me smile," my father said. "I'm just marvelin' at how big ya've gotten, how yer almost a full growed-up man. I guess it just makes me happy ta see it."
I felt my face heating up under the compliment. My father must have seen it too, because he glanced away, not wanting to embarrass me further.
"I expect all the town kids will be at the church dance," he said. "That should mean you'll have a good time." He paused as if c
onsidering what else he wanted to say. "Will Rebecca Johnson be there?"
"I guess she will. Why do you ask?"
"I just noticed the way ya been lookin' at her lately. An' the way she looks at you."
My lips began to form a denial, but the words wouldn't come. My father's next comment let me off the hook.
"I can't imagine any young buck not bein' taken with her. She sure is a beautiful girl, sweet as can be too; should grow inta a fine young woman any man would be proud ta know."
"Yes sir."
"Well, ya git yerself off now. An' don' forget ta ask that young girl ta dance."
"I don't know how to dance."
"Ain't nothin' to it. Jus' tell her yer jus' learnin' an' she'll help ya out. Womenfolk are like that. Then jus' take her right hand in your left hand, put your right hand on her waist, and move yer feet ta the music. Also, it's best ta pick somethin' slow till ya learn yer steps." He smiled broadly. "You'll do jus' fine, son."
* * *
The dance was in the barn behind the church, the beams and rafters now draped in bunting, the dirt floor cleared and raked. A makeshift plank stage had been hammered together up against the rear wall, and Edgar Billingsley and Cory Jimmo had added to their usual banjo-and-country-fiddle duo by bringing in Lester Blow and his squeeze-box. Beside the open front doors long tables had been set up and the ladies of the church had filled them with a spread of homemade food and jugs of cold apple cider. It was autumn, the leaves having just filled the hillsides with color, and the dance was a celebration of the season, in itself a quiet acknowledgment of the long, cold winter that lay ahead and the fact that many of the townspeople would see little of each other until spring.
Inside the barn boys of varying ages were gathered to one side, while girls banded together on the other, each group casting furtive glances across the width of the building. Johnny Harris, Abel Johnson, and I stood together as always.
"Hey, Abel, I think Jubal is eyein' yer lil' sister," Johnny said. He was smirking, trying to goad me into a denial.
Abel slipped his arm around my shoulder. "He always does. But so do you. Ya just won't fess up ta it."
Johnny let out a scoffing laugh but I could tell that Abel's remark embarrassed him. "No offense, partner," he said, trying to recover, "but that sister a yours is a bit of a goodie-goodie, an' I like ladies when they're a bit wilder, if ya know what I mean."
Abel punched me in the arm and we both started to laugh. "Well, ya sure got a big choice of wild and wanton women right cheer," Abel said.
I raised my chin toward one of the food tables, where Edith Summers was serving up her baked beans. She was in her early seventies and skinny as a rail. "I hear old Edith has a real wide wild streak," I said. "Maybe you ought to mosey on over there, get a plate of her beans, then see if you can get her up in the hayloft."
Johnny squared his shoulders and wiggled his eyebrows comically. "I'll be up in somebody's hayloft long afore either of you are," he said.
Abel winked at me. "The great lover, Johnny Harris, has spoken. Say, Johnny, I hear tell there's a woman up ta Richmond who takes in visitors by the hour. They say she weighs two hundred pounds, but she's available fer some quick lovin'. Maybe she'd be worth a try."
Johnny let out a cold laugh. "Don't need no whore," he said. He was still grinning, still having fun with the teasing. When it stopped being fun, his mood would quickly change. I'd seen it happen before. Johnny puffed himself up. "Now, I'm not sayin' I wouldn't mind a loose lady like that, but I'll leave the ones who weigh two hundred pounds ta Abel here. Big as he is, I'd be pleased jus' ta look in the window an' watch 'em break the bedsprings."
I couldn't help laughing at the image. It even made Abel laugh. I'd never been with a whore, but I'd imagined how it might be, and deep down I found the idea a bit intimidating. I secretly believed the others probably felt the same way.
"Shh," Abel hissed. "Rebecca's comin' over.
I watched her approach. She was wearing a simple white dress that was modestly buttoned to the neck, but which still couldn't hide the lovely lines of her sixteen-year-old body. I raised my eyes to the soft contours of her face, her vivid green eyes, and I felt my breath catch just looking at her.
"Why are you just standing here?" she asked as she stopped in front of us. "Aren't the three of you going to ask anyone to dance?" She turned pointedly to me.
I began to stutter. "I'm . . . I'm just learning, Rebecca . . . I'm not very good at it yet . . . Somebody else . . . well, they might be more fun to dance with."
She reached out and took my hand. "I think you'll be just fine," she said. "Come and show me what you can do."
I saw Abel roll his eyes and heard Johnny give out a big guffaw, and as Rebecca led me out to the center of the barn I could feel my heart beating in my chest, and I thought I hadn't felt it beat so wildly since I was eleven and first saw a buck in my rifle sights.
Rebecca smiled up at me as she took my left hand in her right, and placed my right hand on her waist. There was a faint smell of lilac rising about her and it overwhelmed my senses. It took a moment before I heard the music and I was immediately grateful it was a slow rendition of "When I Saw Sweet Nellie Home."
I heeded my father's advice and moved my feet to the music, feeling clumsy and awkward. At the same time, Rebecca moved as though her feet weren't even touching the ground.
"You're going to be a good dancer, Jubal," she whispered up at me. "You just have to learn to relax."
I wondered if that would ever be possible. Maybe it would happen with some other girl, but never with her. Certainly not when I felt her so close to me, her body moving under my hand as it sat on her waist; my nostrils filled with her scent, and her beautiful green eyes staring up at me. No, that would surely never happen.
* * *
Manassas, Virginia, 1862
It had been a slaughter. Rumor had it we had lost nearly 10,000 men, killed and wounded, while the Reb's had lost just over 8,000. We had stormed Stony Ridge with 62,000 men under Major General John Pope, the new commander of the Union Army of Virginia, to which we were now assigned. Just before the assault began our officers had told us we had Confederate General Stonewall Jackson trapped on the ridge and we were going to crush him and his army—the very same one that had defeated us at the First Battle of Bull Run the previous year. But by the time the battle ended it was our left flank that had been crushed by the unexpected arrival of Confederate General James Longstreet and his force of 25,000, who took up position on Jackson's right and sent us into a full retreat toward Centreville. Only a bitter rearguard action had kept our entire army from falling victim to the slaughter.
Johnny, Abel, Josiah, and I were seated under a stand of pine, trying with little success to soak some strength back into our bodies. For myself, I was amazed we were all still alive, the battle having been that fierce.
Abel was seated across from me. He stared at me, shook his head, and let out a long sigh. "I'm ready ta call this war a draw an' head on home," he said. His face was covered in gunpowder residue and streaked with sweat. "Every day I'm here the less sense it all makes." He glanced at Josiah. "I know the slavery part makes sense, I don' mean ta say it don'. But this killin' each other by the thousands, an' all of it dependin' on where you was born, that jus' makes no sense at all."
"I know what I'm fightin' for," Johnny said. "I'm fightin' to keep myself alive. I don't intend to let some Johnny Reb blow my ass to kingdom come."
"Amen," I said. "Let's keep all our asses in one piece and get ourselves back home."
A tall, lanky soldier came slouching along the dirt lane we'd been traveling down on our way to Centreville. When he reached us he pulled up short and grinned down at Johnny.
"Glad ta see ya made it outta that shithole," he said.
"Barely," Johnny replied. He turned to us. "This here's Bobby Suggs. He's assigned ta the company that was on our left flank. Bobby, this is Jubal Foster, Abel Johnson, and Josiah Flood, all boys fro
m back home in Vermont." He raised his chin toward Suggs. "Bobby here is the best scrounger in the unit. You wanna find somethin' the quartermaster ain't got, he's your man."
Suggs stared down at Josiah. "Didn't know ya had niggers up in Vermont," he said. "Ya enlist, boy?"
I felt my blood turn hot. "Josiah's our friend," I said. "He's our long-time friend. We don't call him a nigger and we sure as hell don't call him a boy."
"Ta each his own," Suggs smirked, then turned to Johnny. "Speakin' of scroungin', there's an ol' farmhouse back yonder that 'peers ta be abandoned. Ya wanna come along with me an' have a look-see?"
Johnny struggled to his feet. "Might as well," he said.
"We're gonna be pullin' out soon," Abel warned him.
"Don't worry," Johnny said. "Ya pull out afore I'm back, I'll sure as hell catch up ta ya. After goin' through that meat grinder back there, I ain't about ta get myself shot fer a deserter."
We watched them head back down the road. I had an uneasy feeling about Suggs, and from the look on Abel and Josiah's faces I could tell they felt the same way.
"You ever meet this Suggs before?" I asked them.
Abel shook his head. "Don't think I have."
"I seen him," Josiah said. "Ain't never talked ta him. If I had I'm thinkin' he woulda axed me ta shine his boots or kiss his skinny white ass."
"I woulda liked ta see that," Abel said. "Just ta see how far ya shoved his rifle up that ass."
I let out a short, harsh laugh. "Next time you start pullin' wounded bodies off a battlefield, you make sure you take a real close look. You find him lyin' out there, you just tell him you're not gonna offend his white sensibilities by putting your sorry black hands on him."
Josiah fought off a smile. "Had one like that t'other day. Kept screamin', Come git me, boy! You do what I tell ya an' git on over here, boy! Just had a graze on his leg, but he was yellin' like it was blowed clear off. An' there I was wif minie balls wizzin' by my ears." He let out a snort. "Well, I jus' went stone-cold deaf. Musta been some artillery shell went off too close an' plugged up my ears, an' I left that sumbitch layin' there screamin' at me and moved off an' took care a the ones what really needed help." He raised his chin in the direction Suggs and Johnny had gone. "Whatcha think Johnny sees in that one, he'd go off wif him like that?"
When Johnny Came Marching Home Page 6
