by Diane Munier
My hand hit against him as I passed him going down as he was coming up. I started to kick and got back to him, not that I could see a thing. I just grabbed him blind, and dragged us both to the top. He was gasping when we broke, panicking. I turned him away and took hold of his suspenders, pulling him to the rope someone had cast from the deck. It was only a matter of minutes we were back on board.
He wouldn’t take his arms off me then, his face buried against me, both of us breathing hard. I held him tight, ignoring all the fussing around us from folks we’d likely scared to death with our circus act.
I carried him around some of the carriages, staying clear of the horses, ignoring folks and their remarks. He was shaking like a leaf. I patted his back until he was still, looking off as the shore drew closer. I walked the whole circle of the deck, ending up at our packs where we’d gone over. I set him on his feet then, and fixed his pack on his back, then took up mine. When I reached for his hand, he slid it in mine, and we waited our turn as we walked off the rig. Hand in hand we were.
When our feet hit the dirt of
east St. Louie’s shore, I gave him the sign, waved my hand for ‘straight ahead.’ He nodded then, his wet clothes clinging, his hat gone, mine too, lost in the Mississippi after all this time of me hanging on to it. He’d been quiet that day, and we had us three or four signs now, so there’d been times of no talk at all, just his hands moving and mine answering. He liked to make his own signs and a couple were pretty funny, like pointing to his butt-hole for “I gotta take a shit,” and opening his mouth for, “hungry.” We would go back into town in the morning and catch the train to Rigsby. I planned to find us a car we could ride in didn’t include regular folks. We’d see about that.
So that night, as we camped out in the woods, we had poked four sticks in the ground near our fire, and I put our boots on them, upside down to dry them quicker. When he was asleep, fast like always, I stared at the boots, him and me, the big and little, and I wondered at it again, the way I’d hit him going down, and swam right to him on my way up. I wasn’t gonna think about how it could have gone, and me having to tell Addie. But we weren’t home yet, not by a longshot, so I reminded God about that prayer, and I planned to never let my eye off Johnny until I got those little boots home for good. For I could be a very determined man.
Tom Tanner
Chapter Thirty-Five
Johnny’s fire had to come from her. I reckoned the father didn’t have it. But knowing him, I was learning her. That’s what I figured.
We had us a ticket, but I’d no draw to get trapped in the passenger car, not me and not Johnny. So I’d tossed this little hellion in a freight car at the station and climbed in after. Here we were, riding the rails, him finding his legs, standing and watching an old boomer play his harmonica.
This boomer and the three others were worried the bully would come round, but if he did, he’d meet my gun. I would take a beating from no man. It wasn’t in me. And I felt no fear of such and we had paid.
Pretty soon one of the men were teaching Johnny how to clog to the music. He was not shy and getting pretty riled and loud, but I figured he’d been confined all day, so he had to let it out some way, and these were getting so liquored, they seemed primed for a doings. When they passed the jar, I could not take a sip with Johnny looking on and me acting the pa. And the handle felt like a preacher’s collar, the starch scratching my neck, but the more I wore it, the more I hoped it would fit Addie’s bandana.
Yet I was barely out the gate, and it was fairly wearisome to be on sentry without pause, but it was the job, and I had signed the line and took the badge.
He was getting fancy now, and rowdy as hell I knew, but I let him have more rope, long as he didn’t fly out the door. But when I heard him yell, “Shit-fire, you see that Pete, I stomped half up the damn wall.”
“Johnny,” I said, but he didn’t hear me for the row, the laughter, the pipe so loud, and the sound of the wheels on the rails. It was no good if he learned to talk like an old tramp. Then I’d have her fire. But I let him go while he grew too big for his boots and his britches, and I kept my eye on him as I’d promised to do.
Mayhap I should have made him sit still like an everyday person in the passenger car, but truth be told I was having trouble settling myself.
So we laid on our bellies up top for a spell and looked at God’s country, but come sunset I brought him back down and here we were.
Right before the sun was up we got close to Rigsby. The boomers started to jump off then, and I roused Johnny, but he fought me on it. Since I had tickets, I let the train pull in to the station. I got serious then. “This is where we get off,” I said, and he begrudgingly got on his feet. We took our gear and jumped off, then headed to the livery.
First thing I saw was that black, and he was just as eager when he saw me. I went to him and petted him in silence. Wound would scar but it was healing. Johnny already knew to respect this reunion from the time he’d spent on our farm. He knew the horses would pick up on his feelings. He stood beside me quiet.
William was there, too. He’d waited two days, and was full up on Rigsby. Even though they knew he was a deputy they had refused to release the horses to him. Well he didn’t have money to pay, but since we’d been riding for the law, the government owed the keep. And they knew it. And had it been anyone but William to come for these animals we knew they’d have released them.
All the more reason to hightail it to Springfield and make sure we got what was coming. So I pushed my note at them, ready to ram it, too. What we settled on was the mules that belonged to Sonny. These we left so they made good on us like always. We did not part easy. And would spend no spare minute in Rigsby. It was a new day. We bought what we’d need for the next leg of our journey and packed up, saddled up, and tethered up.
Johnny rode William’s saddle horse cause that horse was more sanguine than most folks that said yes to Jesus.
Jimmy’s black was full up of himself. He was moving a little stiff but we’d get him loose. I rode my horse. William was on Tusaint’s mount, and leading Michael’s. So we started home. Johnny had not ridden much distance, but he’d get some iron in his backside now.
William never questioned me about Johnny being along. We hadn’t gone far when I told him, “Got married in St. Louie.”
He stared at me a minute. He grinned big and nodded. Then he laughed. “You’re Pa now.”
“Yep.”
“They told me you went on. I figured you would bring her back.”
“She’ll come after she takes care of matters in St. Louie.”
“What did he say?”
“Cousin? We didn’t ask his blessing.”
He laughed again.
Johnny was behind a bit. The black was wanting to lead so I widened the distance.
“Figure Lenora waited?” I said.
He shrugged, and I knew he didn’t want to answer. Finally he said, “If Mose didn’t drag her home.”
My turn to laugh now. I could see Mose doing just that. I wondered for Allie. For Ma and Pa. Gaylin. Jimmy…always him.
Johnny was so excited. He was a cowboy now. He kept wanting to run that horse, and I said, “Keep it slow there Johnny. You run, this black will break my arm. After days in close quarters he wants to run to lather.”
“Don’t need to use your foot,” William said to Johnny who pumped his legs too often. “Squeeze with the legs, gentle.”
“My legs are too short,” he said.
“You got plenty,” I said. “Sit straight. Little squeeze with your legs and let up. That’s right. You’re telling him you know where you’re goin’ and he can relax and just be a horse.”
We fell into it pretty soon. There I went thinking of Addie. Ever since Johnny finally fell asleep last night and that car quieted down I’d been looking out that wide open door at the stars, thinking about our short time of bliss in that boarding house bed. It sat there waiting to be turned over and over in my mind
, her skin and love so wild and gentle, sparking me, and stilling me down. Day come I could have her with me…she was my Promised Land.
“Tom?” Johnny was saying.
“What’s that?” I said.
“What happened to the black?”
“We had a mishap on the train. He was on the stock car and I never seen how he got out, but I found him in the woods…or he found me.” So I told him some of the story then.
After that, Johnny took a special liking to the black. He was a fine horse, even with the wound. It just added to his character, seemed like, and Johnny was fascinated pretty much.
“He’s a brave horse,” Johnny said.
“He is,” I said.
“Can I ride him sometime?”
“Let him get some of the piss out of him, and we’ll see,” I said. If Black didn’t calm down, I’d ride him myself for a while.
William had camped with the braves for a couple of days. They were Choctaw passing through, he said. He had smoked the pipe with them. I knew how that went.
Johnny had his hundred questions then. William answered what he could, and I learned a few things, that these braves had served in the south. Never forget the sight of them diving in that river and pulling folks out. It was good for Johnny to hear of it. His life had been small, same as mine before the war. But now he’d been to St. Louie, took him a dunk in the Mississippi, and clogged past midnight on a train. He rode trail now behind a scarred black horse, and William told him about the braves who saved folks even if they’d fought for the wrong side cause came down to it, we all died and went into the big, he said.
William rode ahead then. He only had so many words in him. That black like to had a spell he was so fixed on what was ahead. He was a picture of worry, stretching on where you had no business. But that’s what it was like to be him.
I used the hand signs to show Johnny the hawk stretching wide in the sky. He knew now that meant we needed to get still and look sharp. He fell in then, and we covered the miles.
That night at the fire, after William had cooked two rabbits and made biscuit, Johnny sat so close we shared my saddle for a backrest. We stared in the fire. William smoked his pipe. William had told me all the news he thought I needed to hear, I reckon. Anything he knew came through the sheriff in Rigsby. The army killed those boys of Sonny’s and some others. The papers had carried the tale all around he said.
I thought about Addie, for my mind never left her at all. I wondered how it went for her now that he knew we were married. He would play the gentleman. But he had been livid when I told him the news.
“Can I ride the black tomorrow?” Johnny asked again.
“We’ll see,” I said.
“Tom?”
“Yes.”
“If you were a horse…would you be the black?”
I thought some. It was a good question. “Well…like to think I have a little of him in me. Got some saddle horse in me, too. Flash don’t mean reliable.”
“But the black has spirit,” he said.
“Yes. He’s got enough for two.”
“What about me?”
“Well, you’ve got some of him for sure.” Too much of him.
“What about William?” he said.
“Ask him.”
William shrugged and smoked.
“He’s brave,” Johnny said.
“He’s brave,” I said not knowing if he meant William or the horse.
“I like his scar,” he said.
“Why’s that?” I said.
“It shows he’s got mettle,” he said.
I nodded.
“Like Ma when she shot that soldier,” he said.
So it was this again. I didn’t expect him to speak of his Ma, I thought he’d say he had mettle, or I did, or even William. But just like me, his mind was on her. He missed her. So much he saw her in a horse. Is that how it was?
“You’ll see her soon,” I said. She’d been deep in my mind, but I hadn’t thought to bring her up to him. Of course they only separated that one time when he came to our farm. She’d still been near. I knew she’d had a time letting him come with me, but I hadn’t thought about him struggling.
“Me an’ my ma have mettle,” he said, but I felt the shift, the ‘shit on you,’ in his voice.
“Yes,” I said, wondering how it was he compared himself to her this way. I didn’t understand so much about them, but didn’t boys compare themselves to their pa?
“One time…Ma broke a chair over my pa. The whole chair came apart. It flew all over.”
William was looking at me, but he kept puffing.
I didn’t want to ask. If it needed to be told, and it surely did now I knew about it, I would have to ask her. It wouldn’t be right to pull it from Johnny, would it?
“He went in the barn like always. Shut the door, and we couldn’t go in. Just leave him alone, she said. And I didn’t go in. But I’d sneak out the window and crawl over there, and I’d listen.”
William showed nothing. Just the pipe and that blank face he wore so well.
I waited, too.
“He’d stay in there two, three days.” He shifted a little and settled lower, his head on the saddle. “He hated us.”
I had to ease up on my jaw. My teeth were grinding so hard I felt a pain in my temple. It had been a long day. Why would Johnny say such? It was strong words for a boy.
I slid lower too, folded my arms over me. What kind of dog’s life had they had over there?
Damn, I’d get it out of her, every last bit.
“Tom? You made my ma cry, too.”
“Johnny….”
“That day you left us. Ma cried a long time. She was so sad.”
“Johnny…that was something….”
“I don’t like it when my ma cries. You left us.” All of a sudden he was sitting up looking back at me, face all riled.
William got up then. He took his roll and walked out of the ring of light from the fire. I knew he’d bed closer to the horses.
“Go to sleep,” I said.
He moved his blanket further from me and rolled in it. But his face was toward me, and he was studying me. I stared back. I could do this all night if I had to.
“You made me go back,” he said.
“You couldn’t go with me. Understand? I couldn’t take you.”
“But you left.” There had been some sand in the word ‘left.’
“I won’t go again once we get this business settled. I got to go again I’ll be coming back.”
He rolled away and gave me his back. “You made her cry.”
I pulled on his shoulder enough to flatten him. “Listen to me…I ain’t gonna go on about this. Me and her are married. That makes me a pa to you. When you say “I do,” it means you will. Whatever it is, you will do it. So I made a promise to her first and to you and Janey. You got that? I didn’t come in to take her away, I came in to be with her and you and Janey. I made a promise to you all. That other…that was before the promise. Now it’s all different. It’s forever.”
He was staring at me and we were that way for another span. Lord God, he had her pluck. Now I had two and mayhap three when Janey showed her colors.
I backed off first and resumed my position against my saddle.
He got up on his elbow. “Like Grampa?”
He meant my pa. Lord help me I could never be good as Pa. “I will try my best to be like him with your ma and you children.”
“If you’re mean,” he said, “she’ll fight you. And…I’ll help. Just so you know.”
“I will never be mean to her,” I said clear.
“Promise?”
Lord he was pushing it. “I do.”
He nodded then. “That means you will,” he said quoting me now. He laid down and in less than a minute I could hear his soft snores.
And me, I was just staring at him, his face so like hers in the light from the fire. For just a fleeting minute I thought, what have I gotten myself in for? W
as this little whelp gonna murder me in my sleep?
And how could I, mean son of a bitch that I could be, keep such a promise as eternal kindness?
I was already messing this up.
End of Book One.
Enjoy this Sample Chapter of My Wounded Soldier Book Two: Fight for Love
Illinois, 1866
Tom Tanner
Chapter One
Once we hit the fields of home and the red-winged black birds rose singing, and the chill fall winds blew against us, I felt the water rush over the dam. That’s how it was for me.
Johnny was no longer squirming, bent to saddle even after these few days. For now, the core of him settled into the leather, his boots finding purchase in stirrup, and the roll of the horse’s gait. Somewhere on the line with William and me God’s hand had stilled him. Well, we generally rode quiet.
We hit those stubbled fields and the smell of manure meant the barns were scraped clean, and the torn earth yielding its flesh to the sun and the cold while the creatures in its layers settled deep once more. We hit those flat rolling plains green with winter wheat, could hide a swale a man could stand in, and him coming toward you like he was rising out of the earth. We hit those places, and the deer gleaned fat, and the antlers pushed out of the bucks, they were new, they were old, they were the wild things of home.
Lord God, my heart spread in me, and I felt the toil of my people then like I hadn’t been able to when I come home from the war, from the bricks, the baking, the clay, the red that stained me like its own kind of blood, though the bricks meant building and not dying, but me I’d been dead inside.
The horses felt the change and picked it up then, hope in their steps, end of the line in their rumps and tails, noses seeking out the sweet feed and the hay already served for them on the big dinner fork.
If she were here for me, there could be no more I would want. No, I wasn’t God. I was a small man with enormous needs, and the new crisp certainty of hope. I meant it when I told her I was glad I lived. It fired me now. It was my time.
