by Ginny Dye
“Who...?” Robert ground his teeth in frustration that he couldn’t communicate the way he wanted. He longed to jump out of bed, but his body seemed to weigh a thousand pounds.
“Who brung you here? I don’t reckon we really be knowin’. He just appeared out of the dark. We’d seen him earlier that day - gave him some soup when he been passing through with the Union army...”
“Yankee?” Robert knew his face registered shock.
“Yep. It was a Yankee sho ‘nuff,” Polly said firmly.
Robert’s mind raced. Had it been Matthew? Had his old friend somehow found him and saved him? “Red hair?” he whispered.
Polly’s loud laughter rang through the tiny cabin. “I don’t believe I done ever see a black man with red hair.” She laughed louder as she thought about it.
“Black?” Robert exclaimed weakly.
“Why, sho,” Polly said. “It be a black man who brung you here. Carried you in like you a baby. Told us to do the best we could to save your life. Then he say he had to get back to his unit. Just turned and disappeared. You been here ever since.”
Robert’s mind was spinning again. Instead of getting answers, it seemed that he was just getting more questions.
“That fella say one more thing,” Polly mused.
Robert turned to her eagerly.
“He tell us to take care of you for Carrie.”
“Carrie...” The very mention of her name made the longing and missing rise in him like a spring flood.
“That your girl?”
Robert nodded, confusion inundating him. It was all too much. He could feel the fatigue settling in again. “So tired.”
Polly resumed washing his face. “I reckon so. You been out a long time, but it wadn’t the kind of sleep that rest you. You gonna need to be doin’ a lot of that now.” She finished his face. “You get some rest. I’s have some good hot soup ready for you when you wakes up.”
Robert was closing his eyes as she spoke. Confusion still swirled in his mind but mixed with the confusion was an odd sense of comfort. Polly would take care of him. He knew he would be safe here.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“You say that man wake up today?” Gabe asked suspiciously.
Robert heard Gabe’s voice as soon as he awoke. His eyes opened easily this time. He turned his head to listen to the conversation by the fire. The cabin was filled with the delicious aroma of chicken soup. His stomach sprang to life, reminding him it had been a very long time since he’d eaten. No wonder he felt weak as a baby.
“Sho nuff!” Polly exclaimed. “He wake up! I talk to him for a while.”
“If you say so,” Gabe responded skeptically. He pulled a chair over and settled down in it. “I’s sure ready for some of that soup.”
“Where the kids?”
“Clint be in directly. He finishin’ up that load of wood we brung in yesterday. Amber out gatherin’ the rest of the persimmons off that big tree. I reckon she be here soon.”
Polly nodded and dished up some soup. “He gots good eyes, Gabe.”
“Who?” Gabe asked between big spoonsful of soup.
“The sick man.”
“What’s his name?”
Polly looked confused. “Why, I don’t know. I didn’t even ask him.”
Robert found himself feeling oddly guilty about eavesdropping. But these were just black people, he told himself, and from the sound of things they were runaways to boot. Why should he feel bad about listening to their conversation? He should lie quietly and learn as much as he could. He would be out of there in a few days as soon as his strength came back. But then he remembered the tender compassion on Polly’s face as they had talked that morning. “Rob-bert,” he croaked. His voice was just as gravelly as it had been earlier.
“What?” Gabe exclaimed, dropping his fork and spinning around.
“I told you!” Polly cried. She walked over closer. “What’d you say?”
“Robert,” he said slowly, forcing the words over his thick tongue. “My name.”
“Well, it real nice to meet you, Robert. I’s Polly. This here be my husband, Gabe.”
Robert nodded and managed a weak smile.
Polly turned and strode to the fire. “I gots you some nice soup ready. You hungry?”
“Yes...,” Robert said weakly, his stomach growling even louder. He turned his head to look at Gabe. The big man was looking at him suspiciously. Robert tried to push down the fear that sprang up. Surely this black man wouldn’t do anything to him while he was sick. Hadn’t he let him lie in his bed for over a month? Slowly the fear abated. The man had every reason to be suspicious.
“Here you go, Robert,” Polly said, hurrying over with a bowl of soup. “Gabe, get over here and help me lift him up against these pillows,” she ordered.
Robert gritted his teeth with helpless frustration as Gabe sauntered over, lifted him as if he were no heavier than a feather, and then settled him back after Polly had positioned a pillow behind his back. She held the spoon up to his lips. “I can do it,” Robert gasped slowly. He tried to reach for the spoon, but the very effort left him exhausted. He sank back against the pillow with a groan.
“You ain’t had no food in your body for over a month,” Polly chided. “Course you ain’t got no strength. Just you let me get some of this good soup in you. You be strong before you know it.”
Robert nodded weakly, opening his mouth. His eyes caught Gabe’s over Polly’s shoulder. They registered a combination of pity and anger. Robert flushed and looked away.
“Here you go, Robert.”
The first spoonful of soup that touched Robert’s mouth was the best thing he had ever tasted. He swallowed slowly, relishing the feel of its warmth trickling down his throat; then he opened his mouth again eagerly.
Polly laughed. “I ain’t never met nobody didn’t like my chicken soup,” she said triumphantly. She had only given him half of the bowl when she laid it aside. She only smiled when Robert shook his head. “Auntie JoBelle tell me you had to eat just a little bit at a time if you done ever wake up. She say your stomach would give you a fit if we give it too much. She done say we to give you a little bit every hour or so for the first day. I aim to do what she say,” she stated firmly.
Robert longed to reach out and grab the bowl out of her hand but knew he was helpless to do so. Besides, maybe that old healing woman was right. She’d kept him alive, hadn’t she? The door to the cabin swung open. Robert tensed, his eyes shooting to the door. Were the Yankees coming after him? Had Polly managed to get a message to them that he was awake and they could come arrest him? He sagged back against the pillow when Clint and Amber walked in, a gust of fresh air rushing in with them.
Clint’s eyes immediately swung to his mother then opened wide when he saw Robert sitting up. “He’s alive!”
“He sho is,” Polly agreed.
“Too bad,” Clint muttered.
“Clint!” Polly cried.
Clint refused to back down. “I ain’t glad he’s alive! Why should I pretend to be? He ain’t nothin’ but a white man.”
Robert could feel both anger and fear rising to choke him. This fourteen-year-old boy was big enough to kill him if he got the mind to. The boy had inherited his size from his father.
“He’s a human being,” Polly said firmly.
“I bet he owns slaves,” Clint said bitterly. “I bet he’s just like them lousy people who hurt you and Daddy.”
“I don’t want no more talk like that,” Polly said, rising and stepping over to her son. Even though he towered over her, she reached out and grabbed his arm. “We don’t know nothin’ ‘bout this man. We ain’t gonna judge somebody we don’t know.”
“Why don’t you ask him?” Clint persisted. “Why don’t we find out if we been keeping a slave owner in our house?”
Robert wished frantically that there was some way he could disappear into the floor. Was he going to lie to these people? Or tell them the truth? They would throw him
out in a minute. As much as he wanted to be gone, he knew he didn’t have the strength to make it yet. He looked longingly toward the pot of chicken soup swaying over the fire then back to the angry boy.
“Daddy, why’s Clint being so mean?”
Robert swung his eyes toward the little girl. Something in his heart caught. He had seldom seen such beauty in a child. Her sweet face glowed as her bright eyes stared at him steadily. One long braid ran down her back. The pulled-back hair revealed a high forehead.
Gabe walked over and swung her up into his arms. “Clint’s goin’ to stop bein’ mean right now,” he said firmly. “Ain’t you, son? I don’t much like this man bein’ here either, but he’s here. We gonna treat him right.”
“Ain’t you even gonna ask him?” Clint cried.
“Ain’t no need to,” Gabe growled. “I figure if he wadn’t a slave owner, he’d said somethin’ by now.”
Robert groaned silently.
“And you gonna let him stay here?” Clint’s voice was both furious and disbelieving.
Gabe walked over closer to Robert. “This man ain’t in no condition to do nothin’ to us. I figure I’s can take care of my family.”
Robert understood the look Gabe gave him. If he tried anything, Robert would have Gabe to answer to.
Polly had quietly watched the exchange. Now she walked over next to Robert. “You ain’t got nothin’ to be afraid of, Robert. I believe the Lord done brung you here. I ain’t got no idea why, but sometimes you just got to wait ‘fore you can understand the ways of the Lord.” Then Polly turned to her family. “I don’t want to hear another word ‘bout this man not bein’ welcome in our home. The Lord done brung him here. We gonna take care of him till he better. Y’all got that?”
Clint nodded sullenly and stalked over to the fire. Gabe shrugged his massive shoulders then turned back to his bowl of soup. Silence fell on the cabin.
Amber watched Robert for a minute then edged her way over to the bed. “Hi,” she said sweetly. “I’s Amber. I’s six.”
Robert couldn’t keep from smiling at the cute little girl.
Amber wasn’t done. “I’s real glad you here,” she said seriously. “I always been wantin’ to know a white person. I sees them sometimes, but I ain’t never got to know one. I reckon you a fine one to start with.”
Clint snorted but didn’t say anything.
Amber reached out and touched Robert’s arm. “You get well real soon, white man.” Then she turned and walked back to the fire. It was obvious she didn’t expect a response.
Robert stared after her, bemused. Once again, silence fell on the cabin. His head was spinning with everything that was happening. Who was it that had pulled such a cruel trick and brought him to this black family? Rage took its stand beside gratefulness. He could acknowledge he might be dead if his rescuer hadn’t found help for him, but surely there were white homes he could have taken him to. He was black. Polly’s voice echoed through his head, which was suddenly aching again. Whoever had saved him must have brought him to the only place he knew. Gratefulness began to edge ahead of the rage in his heart. He would be out of here soon. At least he was still alive.
“Mama. What do I got to read today?” Amber’s clear voice rang through the cabin.
“You know whats you got to read,” Polly said. “You ain’t done with that book Miss Connors sent home with you last week. You go fetch it. I’ll listen to you read.”
Amber jumped up from the table then noticed Robert watching her. She ran over to his bed. “I got me a real good book to read,” she announced brightly. “It be about a dog named Bucko.” She paused. “You know how to read?”
“Yes,” Robert said, charmed in spite of himself.
Amber beamed. “That’s good cause my mama done told me I ain’t never gonna be nobody ‘less I learn how to read.”
“It’s white men who kept Mama and Daddy from learning how to read!” Clint snapped.
Amber’s eyes opened wide. “Did you do that?” she asked Robert in a shocked voice.
Robert opened his mouth to answer even though he had no idea what he was going to say. For some reason what this little girl thought of him was important.
“I told you Robert just need to rest and get well,” Polly said firmly. “This ain’t the time for questions.”
Robert closed his lips with relief. Amber gazed at him for a moment more then turned away. Seconds later she disappeared up the stairs to the loft, only to reappear with her prized book clutched under her arm. She fairly flew down the steps.
“I’d like to read to Clint today,” she announced, running over to her brother. “May I?” she asked sweetly, staring up at him with her liquid eyes.
Clint shot Robert a glance and shook his head. “No,” he growled.
Amber climbed up into his lap anyway. “That white man ain’t gonna care if I read to you,” she said seriously. “Auntie JoBelle said if he was ever to wake up it was gonna take a while before he could leave. We gots to keep living, you know.”
Clint glared down at her for a second, his gaze softening quickly. He smiled reluctantly and shifted her in his lap. “All right,” he muttered. Amber smiled brightly and began to read.
Robert was fighting with the pain in his head as amazement filled him. Amber was just six years old. And she was reading? A sudden shot of pain jolted through his head. He gasped as the pain reached out to claim him - consume him.
Polly was at his side in an instant. “You okay?” she asked anxiously.
“My head,” Robert murmured, fighting to control the tears stinging his eyes.
“Gabe, get over here and lay Robert back down. He done been up too long,” Polly commanded.
Robert could barely feel Gabe’s hands lift him. The pounding in his head blocked everything else out. He had just settled flat on the bed when the blackness claimed him.
The cabin was empty when Robert came to. He moved his head carefully, sighing with relief when he realized the pain was gone. Still, the same heaviness pervaded his body. He was glad to be alone. How awkward it was to be lying helpless in a room of people who didn’t want him. Polly had been kind, but he was certain she would be glad to see him go. Gabe and Clint were openly hostile. Little Amber was happy to have him there, but once she found out he was a slave owner he was sure she would shun him as well.
Robert ground his teeth in frustration. He had never been so helpless in his life. He hated it! He had always been in control - always in charge. As his body tensed, he felt the pain in his head edge its way back. Robert took deep breaths, forcing himself to relax. He dreaded the darkness of his headaches. They must be the result of the bullet wound to his head. As his body loosened, he felt the headache sliding away.
Robert gazed longingly at the pot of soup still simmering on the fire. When would Polly be back? He was hungry again. How does it feel to be helpless? Robert shook his head and pushed the thought aside. He wasn’t going to be helpless for long. He would be out of here in a few days. Then he would have to figure out how to get back across the lines into the South. The very thought of it made the pain edge back. “Don’t think about it,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
Suddenly Carrie sprang full blown into his mind. He was back on Cromwell Plantation and watching her race down the road in front of him on Granite, her slender body swaying rhythmically, her long black hair streaming behind, her merry laugh floating to him on the breeze. He smiled. The pain subsided.
Robert was beginning to get the message his body was sending him. He dug back in his memory for more images. He watched as his mind replayed the day Carrie had shared her special, secret place with him. He could see her beautiful face raised to him, her glowing eyes speaking to him. He could feel her lips melting under his. “Carrie...,” he whispered. “I’m coming, Carrie. I’m coming...”
The door eased open. Robert turned his head quickly, Carrie fading in his mind as a large woman strode in the door, followed closely by Polly. Robert watched curiou
sly. He felt no alarm.
Polly walked over. “I brung Auntie JoBelle to see you, Robert.”
Robert studied the woman who had saved his life. Intelligent black eyes met his squarely and returned the examination. She was big, but she wasn’t fat. Short black hair, sprinkled with flecks of gray, softened a square face.
“Hello, Robert.”
Robert was taken aback by the deep timbre of her voice. If he closed his eyes, he would think she was a man. “Hello,” he managed. She continued to inspect him with her steady eyes. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable. What was she looking for? Suddenly he remembered this woman had saved his life. “Thank you.”
Auntie JoBelle nodded her head briefly. “We’ll find out how much there is to thank me for. I ain’t never took bullets out before. Hope I never got to do it again.” She turned to Polly. “Give the boy some more of that soup. Then we’ll check things out.”
Robert gulped the hot soup gratefully then reached for the lone piece of cornbread Polly offered him. “Thank you.”
“You real welcome, Robert,” Polly said with a gentle smile.
Robert gazed at her for a long moment. Why was this woman being so nice to him? She knew he owned slaves. How did she know he wouldn’t try to take her back into slavery? He almost laughed bitterly at his own thoughts. If the South had really lost the battle at Antietam, these people probably weren’t worried about it very much. A deep wave of longing to know what was going on with his unit washed over him. Had the North won the war? Was the South still fighting? The pain edged back into his head.
“You got to relax, boy,” Auntie JoBelle said suddenly. “Gettin’ all tight ain’t gonna do you no good.”
Robert pushed the thoughts of the war out of his mind. He forced his mind to Carrie. It was the only thing that could keep the pain away.
“That’s better,” Auntie JoBelle said strongly. “You ready for me to check some things out?”
“I suppose so,” Robert replied. What was this lady going to do?
“I know you still weak as a baby,” she commented. “But I wants to see if everythin’ be working.” Ignoring Robert completely, she turned to Polly. “I been thinkin’ bout this boy every night.”
