Salvation

by Jeff Mann

  “Who’s that, ma’am?” I take a bite of rice pudding and sigh. “Oh, yes, so good. This reminds me of my mother’s.”

  “Miss Laurie’s my rifle. Thanks to Mr. Martin, I’s a pretty good shot. Got a rifle I call Bessie hidden in the woodshed just in case. It’s a pretty breech-loader Mr. Martin got off the Yanks after Manassas.”

  “Ian here is a fine marksman. Some Yanks were chasing us down in New Castle, and he brought one of ’em down, despite the fact that ole Walt was galloping like the devil beneath us.”

  “That was more luck than skill, Drew, but thanks for the compliment. Have you seen the Iron Riders, Miss Tessa?” I ask. “Several folks have warned us about them.”

  “No, praise the Lord, they ain’t never had no call to come up the valley this far, I guess. Word is they’s pure devilment, through and through. Stealing and burning. They’d best not give me any grief, ’cause I promised Mr. Martin I’d guard this property, and guard it I will. Miss Laurie and I will take their heads off, if need be. I’ll drive ’em off the same way I have the Yanks.”

  “Ma’am, if I may…how do you feel about this war? As a former slave? You seem pretty devoted to the Southern cause, unlike lots of Negroes.”

  “Well, I understand other black folks who flee when they can. No one wants to be a slave, and I’m sure, human nature being what it is, that many a slave’s suffered the sort of tribulations that Mrs. Stowe wrote about in that novel of hers. Have you been around slaves much, boys?”

  “Oh, no, ma’am.” Drew looks sheepish. “I’ve never encountered many of your race. We just lived so far off the road that… I must admit you’re somewhat…exotic to me.”

  Tessa laughs. “Lord, I’s just an ole farm woman, but I’ll embrace that description nevertheless. You, Mr. Ian?”

  “Almost no one has slaves up in the mountains where I grew up. My uncle had a slave woman, Sapphire, down in the Valley, before the Burning. She was a fine cook and a good housekeeper. Seemed very dedicated to him, and I heard that she mightily mourned when his wife, my Aunt Ariminta, was killed by a stray bullet.”

  “I’m sorry about your aunt, boy. Law, everybody’s lost somebody. In some situations…like Mr. Martin and me, well, yes, between slave and owner, loving bonds grow… Lord God, I hope he’s all in one piece, down there in Petersburg. I’d never leave him, boys. He’s been too kind. At this point, he’s my family.”

  Tessa takes a big bite of rice pudding and props her feet up on a chair. “It’s all just so mixed up. Rebels who hates Negroes and wants to use ’em cruelly… Rebels who treats us kind and fights to keep invaders off their land… Yanks who loves Mr. Lincoln and the Union and believes in ’mancipation… Yanks who just wants to fight and crush and who don’t care ’bout us black folks one way or th’other…”

  Tessa sighs and rubs her brow. “I guess Mr. Martin has been my guide in all this. He thinks slavery’s the South’s own business, and that the South’s greatest men will destroy slavery by and by—even General Lee, I hear tell, done’s spoke against it, and General Jackson, before the war, he was a’teaching slaves in Lexington despite laws against it. Mr. Martin thinks the Yanks are bossy and need to git theirselves off Southern land. But meanwhile, boys is dying like flies. I seen the lists of the dead, up in New Castle and down in Newport. All those Craig County and Giles County boys. ‘A time for war, and a time for peace,’ the Bible says, true, but that ain’t much comfort. Lord, Mr. Martin ain’t but twenty-eight. And you boys? How old?”

  “I’m twenty,” says Drew, scraping his dessert bowl clean, “as of last September.”

  “I’m twenty-five, ma’am, as of last August.”

  “Terrible. Y’all oughts to be home instead, hauling in wood for your families’ fires. Y’all got brothers in the war?”

  “Three older brothers, yes,” Drew replies, wisely omitting the fact that they’re in the Federal army.

  “My older brother Jeff,” I say, swallowing hard. “He was a brave man and a ferocious soldier. But he fell at Antietam.”

  “I’m so sorry, son,” Tessa sighs. Reaching over, she pats my hand. “We’s all lost someone, ain’t we?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Jeff always said he’d rather die young on the battlefield than grow old in defeat. So I guess he got his wish, though a lot of folks he left behind sure do miss him.”

  Tessa nods. “Mr. Martin would understand that. He lost a sibling too. Y’all been in many battles?”

  Drew and I both nod.

  “No need to list ’em. No need to bring ’em back to your minds. So! My knees are aching me; I’m heading to my cot. There’s lots of blankets upstairs. Take one of those lamps on the mantel. I got some nice sausage Mr. Harman brought me—he had some grand hogs last fall—so I’ll fry some of that up for us tomorrow.”

  “Ma’am, do you know how to make biscuits?” Drew’s voice is small and shy.

  “Do I knows how to make biscuits?” Tessa slaps the tabletop and guffaws. “What d’you think? Lord God, yes! You hankering for biscuits?”

  “Well, Miss Tessa,” I say, “there was a lady in New Castle who promised us biscuits and sausage gravy before Yanks showed up and we had to hightail it out of there, so Drew’s been regretting the loss of such a breakfast ever since.”

  “Ian’s always torturing me with tales of the biscuits his family makes back in West Virginia. It’s downright cruel. Now I dream about ’em some at night. Makes me toss and turn.” Drew permits himself a boyish giggle.

  “Son,” says Tessa, patting Drew’s hand, “your desperate dream is ’bout to come true, for I makes the best biscuits and sausage gravy along Craig Creek.” Stiffly she rises, carrying our scraped-empty bowls to the sink. “That’s all I ever heard a butternut talk about was food. And liquor. Mr. Martin, God bless him, the last time he come home on furlough, that was near a year ago, he was rail-thin, like you boys, and cussing hardtack and bad beef. I sent him back to the front with a haversack so heavy it near to tipped him over.”

  Tessa, after tossing Missy a few shreds of chicken, puts the pot of leftovers out on a little side porch. “It’ll keep out there. Might have the rest for lunch tomorry. Well, off with you. Sleep well, and sleep late if it pleases you. The way the snow’s coming down, you ain’t going anywhere soon.”

  “Good night, ma’am. That was a delicious meal,” Drew says, taking a lamp from the mantelpiece as directed and loading himself up with our blanket rolls and rifles. Ducking his head, he climbs the narrow stairwell. I follow him, hefting my haversack over my shoulder. As an afterthought, I grab my pistol and Bowie knife. One of the many harsh facts four years of war have taught me is to have my arms ready at all times.

  The upstairs hallway is as narrow and low as the stairwell. To the right is a closed door, assumedly Mr. Martin’s room. To the left, Drew pushes open a cracked door, bumps his head on the lintel, curses, and shoulders inside. The room’s chilly, its ceiling all tight gable- and rooftree-slants, but the bed’s larger than expected. It’s positioned parallel to the angle of the roof, flanked with small windows and side tables. Drew nudges open a closet and props our blanket rolls and rifles inside.

  “My hip’s sore from that cold ground last night. Another bed will be grand. Well, look here.” He holds up a hanger, upon which a flowered dress with an embroidered collar dangles. “Too small for Miss Tessa.” He returns it to the closet and shuffles through garments. “Several pretty dresses in here.”

  “Maybe Mr. Martin had a wife or sister.” I leave my haversack on a dresser by the door but place my pistol and Bowie under the bed. “Do you think we should risk getting naked?” I ask, peeling off my uniform jacket. “I’m craving the feel of your bare skin, but…”

  “Not after what happened in New Castle.” Drew shudders, removing his own jacket. “I’m thinking underclothes would be our best option.” He kicks off his shoes and shucks off his pants. “Don’t matter as long as we can hold each other, right?” Climbing into the bed, he grins and beckons. “Get on
in, Ian. It’s soft. Smells like sachets, like lavender. Luxurious.”

  I climb in, resting my head on Drew’s shoulder and my arm across his chest. We lie there, listening to wind thrashing trees outside, watching the oil lamp’s flicker casting erratic shadows over the multi-angled ceiling.

  “She’s a wonder, Miss Tessa. I think I told you, soon after we met, that me and most of my Yankee comrades, we didn’t think much of Negroes—I never saw ’em much around home, and when I did, trips to the market in Harrisburg, they made me nervous, guess ’cause they were strange to me…and most of the boys in my squadron just laughed at the thought of putting them in the Union army, but…Miss Tessa, she’s…”

  “She’s one of a series of women who have saved our asses since we left Purgatory. I’m counting Mrs. Pendleton, by the way, since she would have continued her kindnesses if she hadn’t, well…”

  “Discovered a ravenous cocksucker in her hotel.” Drew chuckles. “Speaking of which, I sure would like your meat in my mouth, little friend, but…”

  “It’s too risky, and we’re too tired. I know. All that good food has me real sleepy.”

  “Me too.” Drew kisses me, then rolls on his side, blows out the lamp, and nestles back against me. I wrap an arm around him and listen to the wind. My nose is cold, but between us warmth is waxing fast beneath the heavy blankets.

  “Tessa seems so loyal to her Mr. Martin. She sounds almost enamored of him,” Drew says. “It must be terrible, having to sit at home, wondering how your loved one is faring in a war such as this. I think I’d rather be on the battlefield.”

  “Families are wondering and worrying all over the continent, big man,” I say, fingering the slave collar Drew’s chosen to leave locked around his neck. “When we get back to West Virginia, we’ll try to post a letter to your family, letting them know that you’re safe and well.”

  “I feel real safe here,” Drew murmurs. “In your arms. I’m glad it’s storming so hard. It’s an excuse to take our rest for a time. It’d be a blessing indeed to stop over here a day or two before we take up our journey again.”

  “Yes, that would be wonderful. We’ve traveled so far, over such rough country, and there’s rough yet to come.”

  Drew grips my hand and kisses my palm. “Good night, little Reb. I love you.”

  “And I you, my golden giant.” Nuzzling Drew’s thick hair, I thank God for the generosity of women and the beauty of men, most particularly this manly beauty in my arms, and close my eyes.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Voices downstairs wake me, then the thump of snow off the eaves. I climb from bed, use the chamber pot, and peer through the frost-dim window, making out nothing but snow-heaped branches and snow-covered mountainside. I’m about to unholster my pistol when the voices cease, a door closes, and the house falls silent. Relieved, I crawl back into bed. Outside, a solitary horse clops off up the road. Clearly nothing to fear. Drew snores softly on. I slip a hand beneath his undershirt, caress the mossy fur on his belly, and fall asleep again.

  Tapping on the door. Tessa’s voice. “It’s nearly noon, boys. Y’all wants more sleep, or you wants some breakfast? I gots these biscuits all ready to slip in the oven, if you’s hungry.”

  I sit up, scratching my armpits and crotch. That unwelcome and unsavory itch reminds me that we’d best warn Tessa, as we have our past hosts, of the damned lice we caught in camp.

  Drew mumbles, rolls onto his back, and rubs his eyes. “Near noon? Lord. Can’t believe we slept so late.”

  “After years of crack-of-dawn morning musters, I think we’re due a few extra hours.” Clambering from bed, I cross the room and speak through the door. “Miss Tessa, sorry to lie so long abed. We’ll be right down. We’d love some breakfast.”

  “Hell, yes.” Drew tosses off the covers, stands, pulls out his cock, and pisses in the chamber pot. His sex is half-hard. I stare at it, making a show of smacking my lips. He grins, rolls his eyes, tugs on himself, thumbs the head, and gives me an exaggerated wink before reaching for his trousers.

  Dressed, we clomp down the stairs, bellies rumbling. The house is full once more of wonderful scents, this time of fried sausage and baking biscuits. The table is already set; the fire’s blazing; coffee’s brewing on the stove. Outside the front window, the snow has dwindled down to flurries again, though the road is covered, its white marred only by hoof prints.

  “Get yourselfs some coffee, soldier-boys,” says Tessa, stirring gravy in a cast-iron skillet. “Mr. Harman brought some by this morning. I’ll have this breakfast ready real soon.” The smile she gives us is so bright it’s gleeful.

  “Let me check on Walt first. Mind if I give him some feed, Miss Tessa?”

  “Lots of feed out there, and your Walt’s welcome to it. Mr. Martin’s mare, he took her with him, and his old mule, the ornery cuss, died last fall, so what feed’s there needs used.”

  “Thanks, ma’am.” Drew flashes her a happy smile. “I’ll fetch you some wood while I’m out there.” With that, he clumps outside and off the porch, clearly eager to see his equine friend.

  “Lord, that companion of yours is handsome. I don’t pay much ’tention to mens, but he’s pretty enough to make the eyes water. Don’t you think?” Tessa’s smile broadens. “Worth keeping company with over hill and dale, through dangers aplenty?” Bending, she pulls golden-brown biscuits from the oven. “Don’t you think he’s a wonder to behold?”

  She’s asking one man if another man’s handsome? I hide my surprise, slipping into instinctual deception. “Well, yes, ma’am. I suppose so. He’s popular with the ladies.”

  “Is he now?” She looks almost amused. “You’s a handsome little lad yourself. I’ll bet you both have pretty sweethearts waiting for you back at home, don’t you now?”

  “Um, yes. Yes, we do.”

  “And what are their names?”

  My mind races. I grasp for the names of girls I’ve known. “Mine’s Susan. And Drew’s is Katie.”

  “Ummm huh. And how long have you boys fought together? You seem close as brothers.”

  Drew’s entrance spares me the construction of further lies. He stomps inside, arms loaded with wood, wipes his booted feet on the mat inside the door, and says, “Smells wonderful.”

  “Ready now,” says Tessa, heaping up our plates. “Put a log on that fire, Mr. Drew, and take a seat. We’ll see if this meal lives up to your hopes.”

  Drew feeds the flames. Tessa sets down plates. All three of us fall silent for a long time, our mouths too occupied with pleasure to spare energy for speech. The biscuits are opulent with the flavor of lard, composed of light, flaky layers; the gravy’s flavored with onion, rich with sweet milk and spicy sausage. Each of us has seconds. With a finger, Drew cleans his plate of the gravy’s last remnants, then eats a third biscuit with nothing but butter and some honey Tessa fetches from the cupboard. When he’s done, he wipes his beard, sits back, sighs, and gives Tessa a look of such abject gratitude I fear he’s going to weep.

  “Lord God. Lord God. Lord God,” he says. Bending forward, he takes her shiny dark hand and kisses it. “Ma’am, words fail me. Our days since this war began have been bitter trials indeed, but to find such a shelter in such a high, wild valley, after the many cruelties and terrors we’ve suffered, to sit in the warmth of this kitchen and to be treated to such kindness…and deliciousness! Well, we’ll never forget it. We’re beholden till the day we die.”

  “Well, Mr. Drew,” says Tessa, patting his hand and then crossing her arms on her big bosom. “Those is pretty words, and I’s indeed glad you enjoyed that meal, but before you eat another bite of my cooking, we three need to have a serious talk.”

  The light leaves Drew’s face. My belly clenches. What could she mean?

  She rises, takes up our plates, upon which not a morsel remains, deposits them in the sink, then pours herself more coffee.

  “Ma’am, what—? Is something wrong?” My mind races, sifting through possibilities.

/>   She turns from the stove, looking sternly at us. She sips her coffee and rubs her chin. “I told you Mr. Harman come by here this morning with this coffee we’s a’drinking. Well, he come up the valley from New Castle. And he had some scandalous news.”

  Drew pushes his chair back from the table, his beautiful blue eyes wide. He’s tensing, as am I, readying himself for savage excoriation, the accusations so likely to come. “And what, what did the gentleman say?” he asks.

  “He said that Mrs. Pendleton in the hotel there had herself a prodigious shock. She’d been good enough to provide lodging for two young mens, a big blond-bearded man and his companion, a small man with a black beard. They seemed mighty nice at first, polite and grateful for every kindness they was offered. Both was bruised up—like you two—from battles in the Valley, they said, and some sort of caper in Eagle Rock. The big one had just rescued the little one from some cruel Federal troopers. But then…”

  Tessa, instead of accusing us and ordering us out in horrified tones, as did our previous hostess, sits back down at the table. She cradles her coffee cup in her hands and gives us an amused smile. She seems almost to be playing with us. What kind of woman would find a story about sodomites laughable?

  “But then, ma’am?” Drew’s face has shifted from shock and fear to sadness. He’s waiting to be ordered from this little snowed-in Eden of hearth-fire warmth and savory feasts, preparing himself to be cast into that outer darkness the Bible speaks of, where there are weeping and wailing and the gnashing of teeth, where outcasts like us must make our way. Another pain from which I can’t protect him. Beneath the table, I clench my fists, already calculating the logistics of our escape. All our belongings are upstairs, dammit. Her rifle is only feet away, just inside the closet.

  “Oh, Law! Then she opened their bedroom door. What she saw almost caused that good Christian woman to fall into a fit. A fit of offended piety and horror.” Tessa’s smile broadens. “For what she saw was mightily indecent. A scene of the most unnatural lust!”