Spring Will Come

by Ginny Dye

  June looked unconvinced. “I may not be as smart as you, Rose, but I know the look of someone walking on the edge. You don’t start taking care of yourself, you ain’t gonna have nothing to give anyone.” Having spoken her mind, she turned back to the stove, her back rigid with disapproval.

  Rose continued to play with Simon, but her mind was pondering what June had said. Without warning, nausea gripped her. Taking a deep breath, she fought to control it.

  “What’s wrong?” June asked sharply.

  “I...” Rose grabbed her stomach and bolted for the front porch. Several minutes later she turned back toward the door.

  June reached out to help her back inside. “What’d I tell you?” she said sternly. “You been working too hard.” Then she stared at Rose suspiciously. “What’s that silly smile on your face for?”

  Rose gazed at June quietly for a few minutes, hugging her secret to herself. Her stomach had been doing strange things for several days. She had ignored it and hoped she hadn’t gotten some bad water. But now a knowing had gripped her, just as it must have gripped millions of women before her.

  Slowly, understanding dawned on June’s face. “You mean...?”

  Rose nodded, her smile growing wider. “I’m going to be a mama,” she whispered. Suddenly, more than anything in the world, she wanted her own mama to still be here. She could imagine the explosion of delight on her face. “Rose girl, there ain’t nothin’ like bein’ a mama. Ain’t nothin’ like knowin’ God done trusted you with one of his little ones.”

  June laughed with delight as she squeezed Rose’s hands. “You’re gonna be a mama!” she repeated.

  Suddenly Rose was laughing out loud with her. She was going to have a child! After several minutes she sobered. “What’s it like, June? Being a mama without your Simon around?”

  June frowned. “It ain’t the way I want it, but having little Simon makes it a lot easier not to have my husband. At least I have a part of him. Every time I look at my baby, I think about the fact that somewhere I have a man who loves me. Someday we’ll be together again.”

  Rose drew strength from her words. At the same time, her heart reached out - hoping that across the miles, Moses would hear - and know - he was going to have a son. When would she see him again?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Consciousness came slowly, unfurling like tightly closed ferns before a spring sun. Images shot through his mind in a dizzying spectacle. Exploding cannons intermingled with the calls of newborn calves romping in green pastures. Pictures of mutilated men overlaid the memory of his father’s death. Soft breezes withdrew before furious storms. Raging pain subsided into dull numbness.

  Robert... the whisper rolled through his mind again. Robert... The pictures quit spinning for just a moment. Looking deep into the fog, he could make out laughing green eyes. Robert... the voice became louder, more insistent. He fought to free himself from the blackness shrouding his mind, pressing down on his body. Robert..!

  Robert opened his eyes. “Carrie...,” he groaned. His words echoed back to him. He was alone. Disappointment collided with confusion. Struggling to focus his eyes, he looked around. Where was he? What was the heavy weight pressing down on him, making him feel so very tired? Gradually his mind cleared, and his brain registered what he was seeing. Making no effort to move, Robert gazed around.

  He was in a cabin. The fire flickering in the stone fireplace seemed to have been made recently. Place settings for four rested on the crudely made table in the center of the room. A vase full of greenery rested on the table. Plain muslin curtains hung at the windows. Chairs were scattered around the room. He was lying in the only bed. He looked at the quilt covering him then continued his inspection. Stairs leading upstairs to the loft must go to where his men slept.

  His men? His brow creased in confusion. Where were his men? Where was the rest of his unit? Wherever he was, he had to get out of here. General Lee would be calling for them any minute. His confusion increased as fatigue pressed down on him again. Sighing, Robert once more slipped into unconsciousness.

  Robert was aware of noises when he once more gained consciousness. His mind was a little clearer this time. He lay quietly, gathering his strength before he opened his eyes and faced the world. His men had come back while he was sleeping. Now he would get some answers. Slowly he opened his eyes and turned his head. Instantly he snapped them shut again, his head once more swimming in confusion. Surely he had been mistaken. He hadn’t really seen....

  “Mama, I brung in the eggs from the chicken house. You’s got anything else for me to do right now?”

  “No, Amber. You run on outside. There ain’t gonna be many nice days left. I’ll be callin’ ya when supper be ready.”

  Robert’s fists clenched under the cover. He hadn’t been wrong. The little girl he saw when he had opened his eyes was black! Where was he? Gradually, he forced himself to relax. They must be slaves. But how had he gotten back to the South? Why was he in this cabin? The questions once more pounded through his head, making the ever-present ache even more unbearable. He fought the fatigue that pressed down on him again. He had to know where he was.

  Robert heard the door swing open again. This time he opened his eyes a mere slit. He wanted some answers before he let anyone know he was awake. He had to get back to his unit, but first he had to know what was happening.

  “Mama, I sho be hungry.”

  “You always be hungry, Clint,” the woman laughed. “Go get some more firewood. I reckon it’s gonna be a chilly one tonight.”

  Now Robert was even more confused. He slumped back against his pillow and tried to make sense of everything. Just yesterday the weather had been hot and humid. How had it gotten cold in the middle of September? He lay still, pondering what he had seen. A sudden fear gripped him. What if they had captured him? What if these black people were planning on hurting him when he woke up? He gritted his teeth together, waves of frustration washing over him. None of it made any sense. Surely he wouldn’t be lying in their only bed if they meant him harm. The woman had looked harmless enough. The boy she had called Clint looked to be no more than fourteen. The little girl couldn’t have been more than five or six.

  Another blast of cool air entered the cabin. Robert didn’t open his eyes again, but he knew someone else had come into the room. Was it the boy or the girl?

  “I got me a deer, Polly. A few more and I reckon we’ll be set for the winter.”

  Robert managed to stifle his groan as a deep male voice boomed through the cabin. Holding his breath, he peered through narrowed eyes. Whoever this man was, he was not to be messed with. His towering bulk made the woman he was standing beside seem like a child.

  “Anything from that fella over there?”

  Robert snapped his eyes shut and tried to appear still asleep. The man had to be talking about him.

  “No, Gabe. There ain’t been no change. I tell you what-- I’m beginnin’ to doubt he ever gonna wake up. If it wadn’t for the fact he still be breathin’, I’d think sho enough he be dead. It’s been over a month now that he been layin’ there.”

  Robert felt his head explode with a new round of questions. Surely the woman was wrong! But why would she say it if it weren’t true? A month? It took all his self-control not to spring from the bed and start shouting questions.

  “I’m tellin’ ya, Polly. I think we got to take that fella somewheres else. Somebody gonna find him here. What we gonna do when somebody finds a Rebel soldier layin’ in our cabin?”

  “Shush, Gabe. That boy ain’t goin’ nowhere. You ain’t thinkin’ straight. First off, ain’t nobody just drop by our house. And if they did, there ain’t no way to know that boy there be a Rebel.”

  How did they know he was a Southerner? Robert’s mind shouted. How did he get to this cabin? It was obvious from the conversation he was still behind Northern lines. Vague images of a fierce battle floated through his mind, but they were too elusive to patch together.

  “I tol
d that fella who left him here that it wadn’t a good idea,” Gabe growled.

  “And I told him that boy be welcome. That we’d do what we could to keep him from dyin’!”

  “Yeah, well, he ain’t been conscious for over a month!” Gabe retorted.

  Polly’s voice softened. “Look, Gabe. I know you be scared, but we can’t just be throwin’ another human out of our house. It gonna be okay.”

  “Polly, that ain’t just another human. That boy be white, for God’s sake.”

  “Ain’t no sin to be white,” Polly said calmly.

  “What if he’s a slave owner?” Fear radiated from Gabe’s voice.

  Robert detected the first hint of fear in Polly’s voice as she answered him.

  “Then I reckon we cross that bridge when we gets to it.”

  Who in the world had left him here? The questions were too much for his pounding head. He fought the cloud descending once again, but it was too dark - too heavy.

  Only the flickering of firelight filled the cabin when Robert woke again. The pounding in his head was not quite so bad, but thirst wracked his body. Should he let them know he was awake? He wasn’t so sure about the man, but he was fairly certain Polly meant him no harm. His longing for a drink of water grew with each passing moment.

  “Mama?”

  Robert turned his head slightly. The room was too dark for anyone to notice his eyes were open. Holding the little girl in her lap, Polly was seated by the fire. The boy she had called Clint was in a chair next to her.

  “Yes, son? Talk quiet – Amber’s finally asleep.”

  “Mama, do you think Daddy’s right? You think that fella’s a slave owner?”

  Robert frowned. Clint’s voice was edged with anger.

  “Not every white man owns slaves,” Polly replied calmly. “You know that.”

  “Yeah,” Clint admitted. “But I don’t want no slave owner in our house. Not after everythin’ you and Daddy went through. What if he tried to take you back?”

  “I don’t reckon that man’s taking anyone anywhere,” Polly said firmly. “You got to quit lettin’ your fears get the best of you. If we quit carin’ bout other human beings then we gonna be just as bad as the white man.”

  Robert listened in astonishment, his own anger growing. How dare she...?

  “The white man decided our people wadn’t full humans. That gave them the right to own us. I reckon all it did was make them less than full human. I don’t aim to be like that.”

  “Don’t you get tired of lovin’, Mama?” Clint asked plaintively.

  Polly’s only response was a low laugh.

  “I mean it, Mama. Don’t you get angry sometimes? Don’t you want to lash out at them folks that hurt you? Them folks that kept you and Daddy slaves most all your life?” Clint’s voice was bitter now.

  Robert watched Polly put out her hand and touch Clint’s cheek.

  “Course I’s get angry sometimes. I be just as human as anyone. But, son, there ain’t nothin’ wrong with gettin’ angry. It’s what you do with that anger that matters. You can blow up and hurt anyone who gets near you, or you can figure out somethin’ else to do with it.”

  “What you do with yours, Mama?”

  Polly chuckled. “Well - some clothes get cleaner than others, some bread gets kneaded a little more than I reckon it should...” Her voice trailed off. “I work off my anger, Clint. And when workin’ it off ain’t doing the job - I sing it off. Ain’t no way you can be singin’ and hatin’ all at the same time.”

  “You sing a awful lot,” Clint commented.

  Polly laughed again. “I reckon I do, boy. I reckon I do.”

  Clint changed the subject. “Is you scared?”

  “Scared?”

  “Yeah. You know -- scared that someone will find him here. Or what if he dies? Ain’t you scared to have a white man die in your bed?”

  Robert frowned. Polly and Gabe had given up their bed for him? Why?

  “I guess I try not to think ‘bout things to be scared of. I figure that man got brung to us for a reason. I reckon we’ll know what it be if we wait long enough.”

  “Don’t look like we got no choice but to wait. Don’t look like that man’s goin’ anywhere.”

  Just then the door swung open.

  “Gabe! I wondered where you be. It’s gettin’ right late.”

  Gabe strode in, his massive form blocking any light from the fire. Robert tried to push away his thirst. If he listened long enough, he might find out more about where he was. He had been ready to let Polly know he was awake. Now that Gabe was here, he was suddenly afraid.

  “Mr. Green down the road asked me to drive his wagon over past Sharpsburg for him,” Gabe said, settling into a chair by the fire.

  Robert heard a strange note of sadness in his voice.

  “What happened?” Polly asked. “Sounds like there been trouble.”

  Gabe shrugged. “Wadn’t no trouble.” Then he hesitated.

  “Come on, Daddy, you can talk,” Clint pleaded. “I’s almost a grown man now. Amber’s asleep. You ain’t got to be afraid of me hearing.”

  “When you learn how to read minds, boy?”

  “You always get quiet when you think me or Amber shouldn’t not be hearin’ what you gonna say.”

  Gabe chuckled. “I reckon you right.” Then his voice grew serious. “I had to drive past that battlefield over at Sharpsburg. The place this fella come from.”

  “It bad,” Polly stated quietly.

  “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it. I reckon the army done tried to bury all them men, but they didn’t do such a good job. Looks like they just scooped dirt over what used to be a real purty cornfield.” He stopped for several long moments.

  Robert listened carefully. He still had no idea what had happened to him. Maybe he was about to get some answers.

  “There be bodies sticking out all over. I reckon the rain done washed away a lot of the dirt. I ain’t never seen...” his voice broke then strengthened. “The smell’s awful. Far as the eye can see there ain’t nothin’ but body parts. While I’s watchin’, a bunch of pigs come out to root around.”

  Although Robert felt sick, he wanted to scream to make someone tell him what had happened.

  “Mr. Lincoln done called it a Northern victory. Don’t look to me like nothin’ but a bunch of slaughterin’ went on. I reckon that fella who brought our man been right. Ain’t nothin’ good about war. Still - I reckon I’ll sign up when I get my chance.”

  “Sign up?” Polly asked, startled.

  “Yeah. Old Johnny figures it won’t be too much longer before they be lettin’ black men enlist in the army. Not since Lincoln signed that sheet of paper.”

  Robert could feel himself slipping away again. No! His mind screamed. What sheet of paper? How badly was the South defeated at Antietam? Just before the darkness claimed him again, Carrie’s smiling face rose to comfort him. Sighing, he slipped back into the shadows.

  Robert woke the next morning to the dampness of a wet cloth on his face. He lay quietly for a moment, enjoying the feel of it. Suddenly he remembered who was doing the washing. His eyes flew open.

  “Dear Jesus!” Polly screamed, as the bowl she was holding spun through the air. Water sprayed in all directions as her hands flew to her mouth.

  Robert stared at her. He had no idea what to say.

  “You alive, boy!”

  Robert looked toward the door fearfully. If Gabe had heard his wife scream, he was liable to think something horrible had happened to her. Robert was quite sure the big man would act first and ask questions later. He opened his mouth to tell her he was sorry he had frightened her. Nothing but a croak came out.

  The fear left Polly’s face. Compassion rushed in to take its place. “You needin’ some of that water I just threw all over the cabin?” When Robert nodded, she rushed to the bucket beside the door and quickly filled a pitcher. Picking up a glass from the table, she hurried back. “Here you go, boy,” she said ge
ntly, filling the glass and holding it to his lips.

  Robert tried to struggle into a sitting position, but he was too weak. He had only his eyes to communicate his frustration.

  “It be okay,” Polly said reassuringly. “You done been asleep a long time.” She reached under his shoulders and lifted him.

  Robert was astonished at the tiny woman’s strength. Eagerly he sipped the water she held up to his lips. At first he felt like his mouth was full of sand and grit. Gradually he was able to take longer sips until finally he settled back. “Thank you,” he whispered in a gravelly voice.

  Polly sat back and examined him. “I reckon you got lots of questions,” she said simply. Then she shook her head. “I can’t believe you really awake. I wadn’t sure you’d ever come to.”

  “How long?” Robert croaked.

  “Bout a month - a little more. The first few days you had a raging fever. Did a lot of talking and thrashing around. After that - nothing. Your fever went away, but your body just seemed to give up. I dripped water into your mouth with a rag. I knew you had to have something in there.”

  “How bad?” Robert couldn’t seem to make his tongue form more than two words at a time.

  Polly frowned. “You been real sick. Auntie JoBelle didn’t think you’d make it.” She seemed to understand Robert’s puzzled expression. “Auntie JoBelle the healin’ woman in these parts. She come over right when that fella brung you. Darndest thing,” she mused. “She ain’t never dropped by before. But there she be. Anyway,” she continued, “she took four bullets out of ya. Had to carve one right out of your side. You almost caught one in your head. It just kinda left a groove ‘long the right side. There sho be a lot of blood, but Auntie JoBelle said it shouldn’t kill ya. She wadn’t so sure ‘bout the other ones.” Polly paused. “She sho gonna be surprised to know you done woke up. She stop every now and again to check on ya.”