I stopped at Lucie's house just in case he was there, but was told by his wife that he was up in the woodlot. She was a stocky woman in a homespun dress, with a broad smile and twinkling blue eyes, and she gave me a cold glass of cider, which I accepted gratefully.
"He should be headed down soon, iffen ya want ta wait," she said.
I thanked her for her kindness and explained there was a man up in the woodlot I wanted to see, then went back out to remount Jezebel.
Halfway up the slope I met Billy Lucie headed down as his wife had predicted.
"Ya lookin' fer me, young Jubal?" he asked.
I tipped my hat out of respect. "It's a pleasure to see you, Mr. Lucie, but actually I'm here to see one of your men."
Lucie was about average height, but thick in the arms and body like most loggers. He had a weatherworn face, marked by a large, drooping mustache and warm brown eyes. Now the eyes took on a look of worry. "One of my boys in trouble with the constable's office?"
"Not that I know for certain," I said, trying to put his mind at ease. "I'm looking for a man named Bobby Suggs. I knew him during the war, though not well. But he was a particular friend of Johnny Harris, and I'm told he was trying to locate him a week or so before Johnny was killed."
Lucie nodded. "He's up in the woodlot, but I wouldn't be surprised if all them boys have headed ta the bunkhouse early now that I'm gone." He looked at me steadily. "Ya think he mighta had somethin' ta do with young Johnny's killin'?"
"I don't know, sir. Right now I just want to talk to him."
"You want me to go back on up with ya? He's kind of a rough sort, a little shifty too, if ya ask me. I only took him on because one of my regular boys busted a leg and I was shorthanded."
"I think I'll be all right, sir." I smiled at him. "But if you hear any shooting come right on up."
Lucie laughed. "Don't allow no guns up there. Don't want those boys poachin' deer, or shootin' each other over a poker hand. Bad enough they punch each other up now an' agin, or cut each other when somebody ends up with five aces. Stop by and see me when ya come back down. You'll be welcome ta supper."
I thanked Billy and turned Jezebel back up the steep slope. When we reached the plateau I could see the bunkhouse across a wide swath that had already been clear cut. I turned in my saddle and looked down into the valley below. The Huntington River moved through the land like a winding blue line, and you could see where the gorge cut deep into the rock, the white foam from the rapids and the small waterfalls that moved it steadily down and on toward Richmond. It was a special place for me, had been since I was a small boy. And I drew in a deep breath, almost as though I could taste it if I tried hard enough.
Chapter Eight
Jerusalem's Landing, Vermont, 1859
I held Rebecca's hand as we climbed down the narrow trail that led deeper into the gorge. It was mid-July and as hot as it ever gets here in the foothills of our mountains.
The others were already there when we reached the bottom, along with some other young people who lived on outlying farms.
I had finished my first year at the University of Vermont and was enjoying the freedom of having put my books away for the summer months, and the opportunity to be with my father and my friends again, and especially with Rebecca.
"Hey there, Jubal!" Abel shouted. "I was wonderin' where ya got off ta with my lil' sister. 'Bout ta send out a search party ta see whatcha was up to."
"Took my father's buggy," I explained, "and my horse put up a fuss about getting hitched up to it."
Johnny Harris had just risen out of the water like a river otter and was grinning up at me. "Tha's a good one, Jubal. I gotta remember me that excuse."
"Why don't you just slide on back under the water and soak your head some more, Johnny Harris?" Rebecca had placed both hands on her hips and it made her look like an angry schoolmarm.
"Don't pay him any mind," I said. "Nobody else does. Same goes for your brother."
Both Abel and Johnny started to laugh and Rebecca turned away from them, took my hand, and said: "Take me for a walk, Jubal. I don't need to stand here listening to their nonsense."
She pulled me and we started down a rock-strewn path that ran along the river, accompanied by hoots from Abel and Johnny.
"Idiots," Rebecca said. "It must be a pure pleasure to go off to the university and talk to people who have brains in their heads."
I squeezed her hand and smiled. "Actually, I couldn't wait to get home and see you all."
"Well, I'm glad you include me."
"You most of all," I said.
Rebecca stopped, glanced over her shoulder to make sure we were out of view from the others, and rose up on her toes and kissed me lightly on the lips.
My hands went to her waist and I gently pulled her toward me and returned the kiss. Heat immediately rushed through me, and I could feel it rush through Rebecca as well, and she was breathing deeply as she raised her hands to my chest and pushed me away.
"We have to stop, Jubal." I pulled her toward me again and heard her whisper, "Please, Jubal," in my ear.
I stepped back. "I sure don't want to stop."
"And I don't want you to, but we have to."
"Let's walk on down a bit more," I suggested, hoping if we got farther away from the others Rebecca would change her mind and I could start kissing her again.
She smiled up at me as though she knew what I had planned. "I think we should head on back," she said. "The other girls from school will be here soon, and I don't want them telling everyone we were off in the bushes."
I looked around me, then back at her. "They sure are awful nice bushes," I said.
A small smile spread across her mouth. "Yes, they are." She took my hand and started us back along the path. "Maybe someday we'll come back and see just how nice they are."
"Someday? When is that?"
"I don't know," she said. "When we're more sure about each other, I suspect."
* * *
Jerusalem's Landing, Vermont, 1865
I rode Jezebel across the swath of clear-cut toward the bunkhouse on the opposite side. Billy Lucie's suspicions had proved correct. The men who worked for him had already abandoned their axes and saws and were lazing about on the shaded bunkhouse porch. When I was halfway across the swath I saw one man break off from the others and head to the rear of the ramshackle building. I was too far away to identify him as Bobby Suggs, but I suspected it was he.
As I rode up to the cabin a man I knew only as Jimmy stood and stepped off the porch to meet me.
"You lookin' for Suggs, Jubal?" he asked.
"I am."
Jimmy was a slender, wiry man, with a ragged beard and unkempt black hair. He was dressed in heavy wool trousers and a red-and-black checked flannel shirt, and like all loggers there were deep scars on his hands and arms from various misadventures with axes and saws.
"Well, Jubal, I don't think yer gonna git ta see him. Leastways not today," he said. "When he saw ya ridin' up, he axed if I knew who ya was, an' I tol' him ya was Jubal Foster, the deputy constable." Jimmy let out a laugh. "Said he knew ya from the war an' had no plan on seein' ya agin. I guess ya saw him head off."
I nodded slowly. "I think I'll take a ride into the woods and see if I can spot him."
"He in trouble with the law?"
"Not that I know of. But I do have to talk to him."
"Woods are pretty thick back there," Jimmy said. "Lotta pucker brush, could tear up yer horse's legs."
"I'm not goin' in very far," I said.
I rode Jezebel to the rear of the cabin and looked back into the tree line. Light was fading quickly and there was no point in heading farther back. The chance of finding a lone man in the dark was minimal, especially one who didn't want to be found.
I rode back to the front of the bunkhouse. Jimmy was sprawled on the porch again and this time he didn't bother to rise. "Ya see him?" he asked.
I shook my head. "When he comes back, you tell him I ne
ed him to stop by and see me the next time he's in town."
"I'll tell him, but I wouldn't count on him comin' by."
I nodded, but said nothing. I had no intention of waiting for Bobby Suggs. On the way home I'd stop by and ask Billy Lucie what time the men started work in the morning, and I'd be back here waiting when Bobby Suggs dragged his sorry self out of bed.
* * *
Centreville, Virginia, 1862
We were encamped outside the town on land surrounding a large plantation house that our officers had already commandeered. I had been promoted to corporal, replacing a man who'd been killed during the rearguard action covering our retreat. We were a badly battered army and our field hospital was still trying to tend to all the wounded we had brought with us.
I had been assigned to head a detachment of litter-bearers to carry the wounded into surgery and to remove the severed limbs that lay scattered about the surgery floor. The limbs were taken to a pit where they would later be burned, or buried, and seeing them laying there together, the mismatched arms and legs varying in size, had put all of us off our dinners.
Now, seated before a campfire, I could do little more than stare into the flames.
"I was listenin' ta two of them doctors talk," Abel said. "One was sayin' how he could cut off an arm or a leg in two minutes flat." He stopped to draw a breath. "Jesus, ta think that they're timin' how fast they kin do it, like it's some kinda race or somethin'."
I kept my eyes on the flames. "It's because they don't have any medicine to kill the pain. All they can give you is a shot of whiskey. It must seem like two days, not two minutes, when they start cutting, so the faster they can do it . . ." The words died in my mouth, the thought too grim to finish.
Jemma, a young Negro girl who had become a camp follower and now worked for her keep, asked me if I wanted water or coffee. She was a pretty girl, tall and lean, with light skin and large, round, wonder-filled eyes, and not more than fifteen years old, I guessed. She had run away from a plantation farther south and had attached herself to our unit to keep out of the hands of the Rebs.
I shook my head and declined. "I'm too tired to raise a cup to my lips."
She asked the same of Abel and he agreed to a drink of water.
"Yo young massahs done has yo'sefs a powful, bizzy day, I 'spect. Furs fightin' dem Rebs, den carryin' all dem wounded boys ta da docta's tent so's de kin git de arms an' legs chopped off." She paused, her large eyes blinking. "Why dey do dat, Massah Jubal? Why dey don' fix 'em up? Why dey jus' chop off de arms an' legs?"
"The wounds are too bad to fix," I explained. "If they didn't cut them off, they'd die from the infection that would set in."
"Dem po' boys," Jemma said, shaking her head. "Dey be betta off daid. Dey git home ain't no woman gonna wants dem. Ain'ts no work dey gonna be able ta do. It's jus' pow'ful sad, Massah Jubal, pow'ful sad."
Jemma's observations were cut short by the arrival of Johnny and Bobby Suggs.
"Johnny, where the hell have you been?" I demanded. "I was looking for you to be part of the litter detail and I couldn't find you anywhere."
Johnny grinned down at me. "Well, look at this. Ol' Jubal Foster is a corporal for less than a day an' he's already barkin' out orders an wantin' ta know where ever'body is." He let out a laugh. "Reason ya couldn't find me is that I knew ya was gonna put me ta work, so me an' Bobby headed out ta do some scroungin' instead." He raised his chin toward the sack Bobby was carrying. "We found some ol' nigger who works on this plantation an' made him show us where their masters buried their foodstuffs. We got us some ham, some beans, some bacon. Bobby, ya give that sack ta Jemma. We're gonna have us a good breakfast tomorrow." He raised a cautioning finger to Jemma. "Don' ya go givin' any of that away ta any of yer friends. Ya keep it safe fer us."
"Here you go, good lookin'," Bobby said, handing the sack to Jemma. "When ya gonna break down an' give me a kiss?"
Jemma shied back as she took the sack from Bobby, but her eyes quickly started to glitter over what was inside. "I'z hides it in my tent," she said. "I sleep wit it unda my head. Don' yo go an' worry. It's gonna be safe wit me. Oh Lordy, I ain't had no bacon since I cain't 'member when. We be cookin' in bacon grease fo' a week, I betcha."
I got up and walked over to Bobby. The smell of liquor surrounded him like a mist. I stepped up to Johnny and smelled the same. "Looks like you boys found something to drink too," I said. "You better get your asses in your bedrolls before some officer comes by and smells it on you."
"It was jus' a little tipple." Johnny started to chuckle.
"Is it all gone or is there more?" I asked.
"Oh, it's all gone," Bobby said, laughing around his words. "We woulda brought ya some, corporal, but there jus' wasn't enough."
"Get some sleep," I said, and returned to the fire.
* * *
I don't know what awakened me. Perhaps it was Jemma's scream. But before I even knew I was awake I was on my feet, pistol in hand, and headed toward her tent.
Bobby Suggs was on top of her, one hand covering her mouth, the other holding a knife to her throat. Jemma's eyes were wide and she was using her hands to unbutton Bobby's trousers.
"Jus' get it out and stick it in," he growled. "Ya do it, or I'll cut ya. An' ever'body'll think some Rebs came in an' cut the throat of a runaway slave."
Jemma was sobbing beneath the hand that covered her mouth and between that and Bobby's threats and his grunting, he hadn't heard me slide into the tent.
I grabbed a handful of his greasy hair and yanked his head back, shoving the barrel of my pistol in his ear at the same time. "You cut that girl," I hissed, "and you're gonna hear one big boom and then you're not gonna hear anything ever again." I cocked the pistol to let him know I meant what I said.
"All right, all right, let me get offen her," he said.
"Drop the knife alongside of you."
He did so, and I picked it up and shoved it into my belt. Then I grabbed him by the back of his belt, dragged him off her, and out of the tent.
"What the hell's the matter with you?" Suggs snarled. "I was only givin' that nigger what they all want. I was jus'—"
Suggs never finished the sentence. The toe of my right boot caught him in the center of his chest and drove all the breath from his body. He fell onto his back gasping for air.
Abel and Johnny and a few other men came rushing up, wanting to know what had happened. Jemma came crawling out of her tent, her face streaked with tears. "He was gonna kill me, Massah Jubal. He was gonna do it fo' sure."
I turned to Johnny and Abel as Suggs continued to gasp for air. "I heard Jemma scream, and when I got to her tent I found that son of a bitch trying to rape her."
Johnny spun around in a circle. "Goddamn, Jubal, it weren't no rape. Them colored girls, they all lookin' for it all the time. Ya look at all the little kids runnin' aroun' these plantations an' most of 'em is half white. Ya think tha's cause they don't like spreadin' their legs fer a white man?"
I stared at Johnny in disbelief, wondering what had happened to the man I'd grown up with, the minister's son who might have been annoyingly mischievous, but who was never really mean.
"She's fifteen years old," I snapped. "She's a little kid who's trying to save herself from the Rebs."
"It don' matter with them," he shot back. "An' it don' matter how old they is. It's the way they was raised. Their own daddies give 'em a poke."
I stared at Johnny, then drew a deep breath. "Take Suggs back to his tent," I said. I glared down at the man, who had finally gotten his breath back. "You go near that child again and I'll put your sorry ass in front of a firing squad. You understand me, Suggs?"
"I understand you, Mr. Bigshot Corporal. An' you understan' this: I ain't gonna forget what you done. Kickin' me like a dog over some goddamn nigger bitch."
Chapter Nine
Jerusalem's Landing, Vermont, 1865
Walter Johnson was behind the counter when I got back to the store at six o'clock.
>
"Hello, Jubal," he called as I entered. "Rebecca tol' me ya might be stoppin' by. She said it had somethin' ta do with a friend a Johnny's."
"Yes sir, a man named Bobby Suggs who was with us in the war. Edgar Billingsley said he stopped by his farm about a week before Johnny died, asking where he could find him."
"Was he a tall fella—scruffy beard, kinda rough-lookin' all over?"
"That pretty much nails him down," I said.
"Yeah, I seen him then. He was standin' outside the store with Johnny, few days afore Johnny died. They looked like they was disagreein' about somethin' at first. Then Johnny started laughin' so's I figured it weren't nothin' serious. This Suggs fella, he came in later that day fer a plug a tobacco, but he din' say much, just paid his money an' left. I figured maybe he worked at the mill. They get a rough-lookin' group pickin' up jobs there from time ta time. Lot of 'em wear Union caps, so's I figure they're mostly war veterans." He shook his head. "I gotta tell ya, Jubal, a lot a strange boys come home from that war, some of 'em pretty scary. Makes me wonder what my Abel woulda been like if he made it home."
"Abel was the same boy you knew," I assured him. "The war never changed him."
Walter Johnson drew a deep breath. "Tha's good ta hear. He was always such a good boy. God, I loved him."
"He was the best of all of us," I said. "Always was."
The storekeeper drew another long breath and a smile passed over his face. It reminded me of the last time I saw Abel smile. "Ya been home yet?" he asked.
"No, I haven't."
"Well, Rebecca went down ta yer house a bit ago. Took ya a fresh baked apple pie, she did." His smile had widened. "She's a mighty good cook, that girl."
"I better get on home then, or my father will eat it all. Thanks for your help."
"Any time, Jubal. Any time at all."
* * *
Rebecca was seated at the kitchen table with my father. He had already cut himself a big slice of apple pie and was chewing happily.
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