Doc drew a deep breath. "Lord, that is not the boy I knew all those years. What happened to him?"
He went off to a glorious war, I thought, knowing I could not say the words aloud, not even to Doc.
"Why don't I take the specimens in to the university?" I said instead. "It will save you a long trip."
"Fine with me," Doc responded. "Let me give you a name at the medical school and a letter of introduction."
* * *
I stopped at the store to pick up some buttermilk. One of the few good things that came out of the war was learning a Southern recipe for fried chicken that required an overnight soak in buttermilk. I had cooked it for my father, and now he asked for it whenever the thought of chicken crossed his mind.
Rebecca was working behind the counter when I asked for the buttermilk.
"Are you cooking chicken for your father?" she asked.
"How in heaven's name did you know that?"
"Oh, he was in here one day when somebody else was buying buttermilk and he started bragging on you, telling everybody what a good cook you are." She gave me a coy smile. "I think he was trying to convince me that you'd be a good catch for a husband."
I could tell my face was beginning to take on color, a fact that only seemed to intensify Rebecca's pleasure. Her eyes drifted to the envelope in the front pocket of my shirt.
"Have you been to the post office in Richmond?" she asked.
I shook my head. "It's a letter of introduction Doc gave me for someone at the medical school. I'm taking some evidence in to him tomorrow."
"You're going into Burlington?" she said with excitement. "Can I go with you? Oh please, Jubal. There are some things I need to buy at a store there. And I promise I won't delay you. I know just what I need and if you bring me to the store I can get it while you're seeing the person at the medical school."
It would mean taking our buggy instead of just riding Jezebel, but it would also give me Rebecca's company for a three-hour trip.
"I'll want to leave early in the morning," I warned.
"You just tell me when to be ready and I'll be standing out front," she said.
* * *
We started out at six thirty the next morning. It was cool and crisp, a typical fall morning in the mountains. I had brought a blanket to keep Rebecca warm, and she had brought a basket of food, saying that we could eat a picnic lunch on the way home and save the cost of stopping at a roadside tavern. If I ever told my father, he'd point to it as another good reason she'd make a man a fine wife: she was considerate and thrifty.
Rebecca placed the blanket across her lap and moved closer to me so I could share it if I chose, but feeling her that near to me was enough to increase my body temperature a few degrees.
We drove past the Gorge Road and up the small hill that led into Richmond, and I thought of Bobby Suggs at Lucie's woodlot, wondering what was keeping him here with winter fast approaching. Certainly whatever he had expected from Johnny Harris was long past, and the lumbering season was coming to an end.
"What are you thinking about?" Rebecca asked.
"That man Suggs," I said. "He's up there on Lucie's woodlot and I was wondering what really brought him here and why he's stayed."
"But you told him to stay, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"And I thought you said you'd go after him if he tried to leave."
"That's true too."
"Well?"
"I don't have any reason to hold him, so if it ever went before a court I'm pretty sure the judge would slap me down and turn him loose."
"So you've been bluffing?"
"Yes, and Suggs isn't stupid. He knows we could make it hard on him, but he also knows we can't keep him here unless we come up with some pretty strong evidence against him."
"So why is he staying?"
"That's the question. Why is he?"
"Maybe he's really interested in Chantal LeRoche. Maybe she's why he's staying."
I had told Rebecca about Suggs's run-in with Rusty, and her romantic mind was now spinning it into something else.
"All the young men around here are interested in Chantal," I said.
"And why is that?" She had turned on the seat and was looking at me intently.
"Because Chantal is interested in every one of them," I said.
"Are you interested in her?"
"No."
"Why aren't you?"
"She's too young, and even if she was older she's not the type of woman I'm attracted to."
Rebecca sat quietly for a moment. "I bet she's attracted to you," she finally said.
"I'm certain she is."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because I wear pants and I'm under forty. I think that's all it takes to spark Chantal's interest."
We rode on in silence for several minutes before Rebecca turned to me again. "What kind of woman are you attracted to?" she asked.
I looked at her and smiled. "I think you already know the answer to that."
* * *
We followed the Winooski River from Richmond and on through Williston and into the outskirts of Burlington. Winooski was an Abenaki Indian name for the wild onions they had found growing along the banks of that particular river. The Abenaki were a part of the Algonquin Nation, a peace-loving people who had been in Vermont when the first white settlers had arrived. They were noted hunters and trappers and fishermen, and the river had been a favorite campsite, especially at the point where it emptied into Lake Champlain. Unlike other members of the Algonquin Nation, they had never attacked the settlers they encountered.
As we left the foothills of Richmond behind, the terrain flattened out into farmland used primarily for dairy cattle and the rough crops needed to sustain them. We passed through gently rolling hills with hundreds of cows watching us pass.
"They always look so curious when they see people," Rebecca said.
"It's where their food comes from. They're watching to see if we're bringing anything."
She laughed. It was a warm, beautiful laugh, one I knew I'd be happy listening to for many, many years.
"I'd find that easier to believe if those cows were bulls," she said. "Men are always looking for someone to feed them."
We entered Burlington shortly before nine thirty. The University of Vermont was located on a high promontory that looked down on Lake Champlain and the Adirondack Mountains beyond. The city itself was at the base of a long, gentle slope that ended on the banks of the lake.
"Do you think the store will be open?" I asked.
"It should be."
I drove down into the city, following Rebecca's directions. The store was on Church Street, a wide shopping street that ran parallel to and three blocks above the lake, and came to an abrupt end at a stately brick church with a towering white steeple. It was a lady's apparel store that also sold dressmaking materials. I told Rebecca that my errand might take an hour or more and suggested she check back at the store on the hour and the half hour should she finish before I returned.
"Don't worry about me," she said. "There's plenty for a country girl to look at if you're held up."
I drove back up the hill to the university and went directly to the medical school, a three-story brick building that faced the university's quadrangle. As I tied up Jezebel to a hitching post I watched students cross the quad and enter the medical building, headed for the next hour of classes, and I felt a sudden sense of loss at not being among them. Had I not gone off to war I would have graduated from the university by now, and would likely be studying medicine with these same students. The thought brought a twinge in my missing limb and I glanced at my empty sleeve as another thought slipped across my mind. It envisioned a sign posted on the building's front door: One-armed would-be doctors need not apply.
The man Doc had sent me to see was Dr. William Evers, a tall man in his late fifties with flowing white hair and square-cut spectacles that magnified intelligent gray eyes. He had come out of his office to greet
me and stood before me reading the letter Doc had written.
When he finished he looked up at me. "Do you have the specimens Brewster sent along?"
I withdrew a cloth-wrapped parcel from my pocket. Doc and I had removed the cant hook blade from its shaft to make it easier to deal with. I handed it to Dr. Evers. "I appreciate your help with this," I said.
"Happy to do it, constable." He glanced at my empty sleeve. "The war?" he asked.
"Yes sir. A place in Virginia called the Wilderness."
"Yes, I remember reading about it. That was one of the bloodiest battles of the war, was it not?"
"They all seemed pretty bloody when you were in the middle of them," I said.
"Yes, I'm sure they did."
We started down a flight of stairs into the basement. "Did Brewster tell you that we worked together in the hospital here, tending to the boys who were shipped home?"
"He doesn't much like to talk about his work at the hospital," I said. "He says it sends him to the brandy bottle when he does."
"Mmm." Dr. Evers nodded. "Yes, indeed. He also wrote that he's been urging you to finish up your undergraduate degree—says you left it to go off to war—and to enroll in medical school. He feels you have a natural aptitude."
I looked pointedly at my empty sleeve. "Not much point in thinking about medical school."
We had reached the basement and Dr. Evers stopped and took hold of my good arm. "Don't despair because of that," he said. "I have a friend who lost an arm and a leg and he returned to practice using a prosthesis for each missing limb. The devices are fairly primitive but he overcame that. There is no reason you cannot do the same." He let go of me and turned and continued down the hall. "Anyway, if you decide you want to try, finish up your undergraduate degree and come see me. Brewster has nothing but high praise for you. Now, let's have a look at this specimen."
The laboratory was next to the dissection room where the school's cadavers were stored. When I'd been a student there were endless tales about grave robberies and bodies being slipped in the school's back door by professional body snatchers. A student could always get a young lady to draw in close by walking her past the rear of the school and pointing out the basement door.
It took Dr. Evers less than half an hour to reach a conclusion. "It's blood all right, reptile blood. I'd venture a guess that someone used the instrument it came off of to kill a snake or a turtle, something of that sort." He shrugged. "Of course, it could have been used on a human first. I can't think of a better way to obscure evidence. Wash down the blade, then use it again on some animal. Our tests aren't sophisticated enough to separate the two. So we'd only be able to see whichever was dominant."
I thanked Dr. Evers for his time and told him I'd give serious thought to returning to the university. "I didn't realize how much I missed it until I came here today."
He smiled. "I look forward to seeing you again. Give my best to that old scallywag Brewster."
"I will."
* * *
It was quarter to eleven when I pulled up in front of the store. Rebecca was not waiting for me, so I tied Jezebel and went inside.
A heavyset woman behind a counter smiled at me. "Are you Constable Foster?" she asked.
"Yes ma'am, I am."
"Well, the young lady you're looking for said to tell you she'd be back at the time you'd agreed on. She just went up the street a bit. Her parcels are here behind the counter if you'd like to take them."
"Thank you. I'll put them in our buggy and wait outside."
The woman smiled at me, a bit flirtatiously, I thought. "We're you in the war?" she asked, trying not to look at my empty sleeve, but failing.
"Yes ma'am, I was."
"I'm glad you got home safe," she said, her voice filled with sincerity.
I looked at her for a long moment. "Thank you," I said.
* * *
I loaded Rebecca's parcels into the buggy and glanced up and down the street. There were a number of shoppers going in and out of stores, several students standing outside a bookshop, and a group of men wearing battered Union caps and jackets, who were harassing passersby, some making comments the others would laugh at, several extending their caps in open requests for money. I climbed into the buggy just as the church at the top of the street began to peal out the hour. On the stroke of eleven I saw Rebecca moving toward me with another parcel tucked under her arm. She smiled when she saw me and quickened her pace.
Across the street two men broke away from the group of former soldiers and began crossing at an angle to intercept her. I climbed down from the buggy and started toward her. They reached her two steps ahead of me and I heard one of them say: "Hey, sweet lil' girl, don' go runnin' off, stay an' talk ta a gen-u-ine war hero."
I stepped in front of the two men and took her elbow. "Shopping all finished?" I asked.
"Yes. We better get on home." Her eyes flashed nervously toward the two men.
"You go on and get in the buggy," I said. "I'll be right there."
Rebecca started toward the buggy as one of the men called after her: "Hey, lil' girl, you like fellas with one arm, I kin chop one off fer ya."
The second man started to guffaw and I turned to face them both. "I think you should go back to your friends and leave the lady alone," I said.
The man who had called after Rebecca sneered at me. "Well, now maybe yer girlfriend wants ta get herself a whole man."
I stared at him without speaking until the sneer began to fade. He glanced at the pistol on my hip and the bit of badge that showed under my tan canvas coat.
"You a police officer?" he asked. "Cause if ya are, I ain't breakin' no law talkin' ta that girl. I'm jus' sayin' maybe she'd like a man what's got all his parts."
I took a step toward him and he began backing away. "If you want to keep all those parts you're so proud of, you better start moving," I said.
"All right there, officer. We leavin', jus' settle yerself down."
He grinned at me as they began to move away; then they turned and headed across the street. I noticed that the men they'd been standing with weren't even watching them. They were content with their own games of harassment. I walked back to the buggy, untied Jezebel, and was climbing up to the seat when the man called out again.
"Hey, lil' girl! Ya come on back when yer policeman friend ain't aroun', an' I'll show ya what a man's got all his parts kin do."
I turned the buggy and headed back toward Main Street and the long hill that would take us past the university and to the road home. Rebecca reached out and gently touched my arm. "Don't pay those men any mind, Jubal. They're such sad souls, out begging in the street the way they are."
I gave her a weak smile. "What did you buy?" I asked.
"Oh, so much. Material for several dresses, buttons, bows, everything I need. But I spent much too much money," she added. "I just couldn't help myself. Everything was so beautiful."
Like you, I thought, as I turned Jezebel onto Main Street and started up the hill, still trying to keep the soldier's words out of my mind.
* * *
It was nearing one o'clock as we approached the Williston–Richmond line. Rebecca turned to me and said simply: "I am starving, Jubal. Please, let's find a place to stop."
I turned the buggy onto a narrow dirt track that I had taken before. My father and I had fished there and I knew the path went about fifty yards, crossed the railroad tracks, and entered a small stand of pines that stood next to the Winooski River.
"This is a lovely spot," Rebecca said as I pulled up next to the river so Jezebel could drink. When she had finished I hitched her to a tree, helped Rebecca down, and spread our blanket on a soft bed of pine needles. I removed my gun belt and jacket and placed them in the buggy.
"I have a jug of cider. If you set it in the river I think it would chill quickly," Rebecca said.
I did as she suggested as she began spreading the contents of her picnic basket out on the blanket. There was a large piece o
f cheddar, a loaf of bread, some apples, and a jar of rhubarb preserves. She put two plates out along with knives and forks and smiled at me. "It's a good, healthy meal," she said.
"Yes, it is." I looked at the wedge of cheddar and thought back to the time Abel had convinced his father to buy a new brand from a drummer passing through town. The drummer had given him the Roman candle, the firework we had set off on the Fourth of July, nearly burning down the town's bandstand.
"What are you smiling about?" Rebecca asked.
"Do you remember the time we almost burned down the town bandstand?"
"Of course. It was horrible."
"It all started with a wheel of cheddar cheese," I said, telling her how Abel had schemed with the drummer to get the firework.
She laughed softly, but there was also a tear in the corner of her eye. It began to run along her cheek and she reached up and brushed it away.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to make you sad."
She smiled. "You didn't. When I think of Abel I always think what a wonderful man he became and what a shame it is he never had children of his own. He would have been a wonderful father."
"Yes, he would have. I wish you could have seen him with little Alva."
"I would have liked that," she whispered. "It was so perfect, growing up the way we did. You and Abel and Johnny and Josiah. And me as the tagalong little sister." She reached out and cut us each a slice of cheese, then quartered an apple and cut two thick slices of bread. "God, how I wish that war had never come, and we were all alive and together the way we were." She stopped and stared at me. "If you had it to do again, would you still go off to fight?"
It was a question I'd asked myself many times. "No, I wouldn't. And I would have argued like the devil to keep Abel and Johnny from going too."
We ate our lunch, enjoying the warm sun that filtered through the pines and the gentle breeze that came in off the river. When we had finished, Rebecca repacked the picnic basket and I placed it in the buggy. As I turned to retrieve the blanket she came up to me and slipped her arms around my neck.
When Johnny Came Marching Home Page 18
