by Jeff Mann
“No, ma’am, they don’t.” Dizzy with relief, I squeeze Drew’s hand hard before slipping off the love seat to fetch the dulcimore. The two high strings I tighten till the strummed instrument takes on the sad sound I remember. I pick through a tune I know in this mode, “Poor Wayfaring Stranger.”
Tessa nods. “Oh, yes, used to hear that one in church.” She sings a verse, in a voice low and plaintive.
I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger,
Traveling through this world of woe,
Yet there’s no sickness, toil, or danger
In that bright land to which I go.
I’m going there to see my mother,
I’m going there no more to roam.
I’m only going over Jordan,
I’m only going over home.
“You boys going to savor this ham,” Tessa says, setting it aside. “Think I’ll simmer it in some of this cider.” Shuffling into the room, she takes to her rocking chair, where the little dog immediately leaps into her lap. “I’ll clean up them taters and start that bread pudding later. Right now, I’s just going to prop my feet up and relax. Been alone up here so long, your all’s company is a rich pleasure.” Fumbling in a pocket, she pulls out a pipe. “Would one of you boys fetch me a little fire from the hearth?”
Drew grins. “I’d be glad to, Miss Tessa. May I join you?” From his jacket pocket, he produces the meerschaum Mrs. Stephens gave him.
Tessa nods. “Right sociable. Having a little tobaccer together. I’ve never smoked with a Yank before.”
Drew’s face slumps. Tessa chortles. “Just teasing you, honey. Never smoked with a fellow ’bomination before neither. If only Mrs. Pendleton and her band of churchly ladies could see us now.”
“Well, yes. I guess we’ve started us a hilltop nest of abominations.” Grinning, Drew plucks a smoldering stick from the fireplace and lights both pipes before settling down beside me.
Tessa takes a deep drag on her pipe and exhales with a sigh of satisfaction. “Go on, Mr. Drew. Tell your tale. I’s mighty curious to hear it.”
Drew takes a puff on his own pipe and nods. I slip into the first plucked notes of “Greensleeves” as he begins.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“I was in the cavalry, ma’am, as I explained. With Sheridan. My squadron helped him burn the Valley. The things I saw, the things I was required to do…it was all so terrible, that…well, I started to get the shakes. Then my favorite horse was shot out from under me. Then I fell real ill. I got transferred to a group of infantry in the Valley. Just a few weeks ago, Ian’s band of Rebels captured me near Staunton.”
“So you was a prisoner of war? Oh, Lord.”
“Yes, ma’am. Until just a few days ago.” Drew leans back and pauses, puffing on his meerschaum. “Ian’s uncle was leader of the band, the Rogue Riders, and he’d lost his wife and his farm during the Burning last fall, and a lot of the other men had lost about as much too, so they…they treated me pretty bad.”
“Is that how your face got so bruised up?”
“To some extent. Some of the fresher bruises are ’cause of a wrestling match I ended up in back in Eagle Rock.”
Tessa guffaws. “And did you win that match, boy?”
Drew grins. “Yes, ma’am. I did. With a little effort.”
“I figured.” Tessa releases a stream of smoke. “Big as you are.”
“A preacher was using a hired hand of his to extort food from folks,” I add. “Drew whipped the brute’s ass.”
“I’d like to seen that. Mr. Harman said something ’bout that leech of a preacher. Said some local ladies even burnt the preacher’s church. Go on.”
“Well, there’s not much more to tell. The men in Ian’s camp tied me and beat me and starved me. I suffered a goodly bit. The memory of that suffering makes me twice as grateful for your hospitality now.”
“They beat you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say. “My uncle—we all called him Sarge—and George. They were pretty vicious. They used a bullwhip. Drew’s back is all covered with scars and bandages.”
“I’s seen some slaves like that in Savannah. All tore up. Mr. Pinckney, like I said, he was a fine master, but some of the others… Well. I was lucky. And now I’s free. I’s sorry you suffered so, Mr. Drew. Who was that George you mentioned?”
“He was a messmate of mine,” I explain. “He was real religious till he took to drink. Drew and me, we think he was especially cruel to Drew because he, well, desired him the way I came to desire Drew, and then his lust turned to shame and then to hate.”
“I have nightmares about him, ma’am. He whipped me, he cut me, he threatened me with terrible things…rape and mutilation. I would have died at his hands for sure, and in an awful manner, if it hadn’t been for Ian here.”
Tessa nods and puffs. “The heart. The heart. Who can plumb it? Ain’t we all twisted up inside, one way or th’other? Though I guess the difference is between them’s who’s wounded but choose to be kind and them’s who’s wounded but choose to be cruel. Though maybe there ain’t no choice involved. Lord knows. Go on.”
“Well,” Drew continues, “Ian took my part when he could. He was kind to me, he sneaked me food and comforted me despite his uncle’s orders. A couple of his messmates were good to me too. And when we got to Purgatory Mountain, and it looked mighty certain that I was going to be executed, Ian helped save me.”
“We got away during a Federal barrage of our camp,” I add. “We’ve been on the run ever since. Came up through Eagle Rock, where a kind lady named Mrs. Stephens sheltered us. Federal troopers captured me as we were ascending Craig Creek, and one of them beat me up, and they were planning to shoot me as a spy, but Drew here saved me in the nick of time. Then there was that mess at the New Castle hotel with Mrs. Pendleton. Then those Union troopers showed up again, but we managed to escape them. Then we rode up this valley. We’re trying to get back to my parents’ farm in West Virginia.”
“And what about your Rogue Riders? What happened to all of them?”
“There weren’t many of us left by the time we got to Purgatory. I’m guessing that some escaped—I know my friends Jeremiah and Rufus did—and some were taken prisoner. George, last I saw him, he was unconscious or dead. My uncle…”
“Ian’s uncle was about to have me shot. Ian turned on him and punched him. He fell back into a tent, and then a Federal shell…”
“Finished him. I dream about him sometimes. Sometimes I think I feel him near. I don’t think he’s forgiven me. I can’t forgive myself.” I take Drew’s pipe from him and take a long draw of it.
“If you hadn’t done what you did, I’d be dead, Reb.” Drew wraps a big arm around me. “I’ve told you that again and again and again.”
“That sounds like a heavy burden, Mr. Ian.” Tessa nods. “But it was God’s will. Surely you know that. When did you know you loved this big Yank?”
I smile, happy to focus on more cheerful topics. “That feeling started sneaking up on me from the first moment my uncle dragged him into camp, when I saw him, lying there in the mud, his wrists bound before him, all that golden hair falling over his blue eyes. And when I cut the jacket and shirt off him and saw his bare breast, his white skin, before Sarge first whipped him. And when I saw him suffering, and when I cleaned and treated his wounds. I felt a tenderness I’d never felt before, and it just grew and grew, and…”
“And you knew you was in trouble, especially in those circumstances. And you, Mr. Drew? When did you know that this boy had become dear to you?”
“It took me a little while. For a day or so, he still felt like a foe. We got into some pretty heated arguments about the war. But then we got to seeing how much we had in common, and he was doctoring me, soothing my pains, and taking chances for me, disobeying his uncle to feed me, and reading to me, taking care of me, giving me what comfort he could, while I spent long hours bound and hurting and cold…and then defending me against George. Ian punched him and drove hi
m off. And then, well, I could feel the longing and the caring in his hands when he touched me…and, well, one night in his tent, we got to kissing, and he pulled his shirt off, and I saw his sinewy arms and the dark hair on his breast…and he wrapped his arms around me, and oh, he felt so warm!”
“And nothing has been the same since.” Leaning over, I peck Drew on his bearded cheek. “Thank God. We’re so blessed that our feelings are mutual.”
“True indeed. Don’t think there’s many of our kind in this world. And I’m guessing many of ’em is trapped in shame and a terr’ble loneliness. Did y’all struggle with guilt? Wonder if your love was an affront to God? Unnatural the way most folks thinks it is?”
Drew smiles at me. “No, ma’am. Not really. We were lucky, I guess. It’s as if the field had already been prepared for this planting and harvest, so to speak.”
“My guilt wasn’t about loving Drew but about betraying my country. I was, after all, fraternizing with the foe, and in profound ways my uncle would never have imagined.” Rising, I add a log to the fire. “What Drew means is that we’d both been with other men, in intimate ways. I more…extensively than Drew. And we both had had families whose religious faiths weren’t…”
“Severe? Yes. That was a gift. For a little while, I was afraid my feelings for Lorena Mae was sin, though Lorena, she talked me out of all that right quick.” Tessa gives the portrait of the twins a warm glance. “Whenever I’d get to moping, wondering about the state of my soul, she’d snuggle me out of that dark mood. Law, I miss that girl! Well, Lord willing, she’ll be home soon.”
Our conversation pauses, Drew and Tessa pipe-puffing contentedly, the dog snoring on Tessa’s lap. Strumming the dulcimore, I sing a verse of “Greensleeves.”
I have been ready at your hand,
To grant whatever you would crave,
I have both wagered life and land.
Your love and good will for to have.
“Mr. Ferrell used to sing that one.” Tessa heaves a smoky sigh. “He was terrible enamored of a little girl in Richmond. Planned to ask for her hand after the war. Lord, poor soul, he should never have died that way. That tune makes me sad as ‘Lorena’ does. Aching for the past, I guess, though, Lord willing, Lorena Mae will be my future too. Sing us the chorus, honey.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply, obliging her.
Greensleeves was all my joy.
Greensleeves was my delight.
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,
And who but my lady Greensleeves?
“Or who but my buddy Blue-sleeves?” I add, returning the dulcimore to its perch atop the trunk. “That’s what I should sing. Here I am, a son of the South, cross-eyed with adoration, and all for the love of a Yank.”
Drew guffaws. We exchange winks.
“Y’all is two of a kind.” Tessa claps her hands together. “Love does lead us down strange paths and secret byways, perilous byways. Boys, I’s awful glad you stumbled by. It’s a treasure, to know mens who understand how I feel about Lorena.”
Drew wraps his arm around me again and gives her a broad smile. “The kindness of you Southern folks has been our salvation ever since we escaped the camp.”
“Except for Mrs. Pendleton’s change of heart?” Tessa gives a sharp laugh and wipes her eyes. “What I wouldn’t have give to have seed her face. Lorena couldn’t stand her pious sort. Oh, Lorena. My lady Greensleeves. My girl. My brave girl, far off in the battle. Oh, it breaks my heart to think of her in all that blood and terror.”
Tessa rises, dislodging the dog, who slinks behind the wood-box. Pulling a handkerchief from her dress pocket, she wipes the wet from her dark cheeks. “Lorena used to tease me, tease how often my sentiments got the best of me. Her, not a bit of sentiment in her. I ’spect that’s a fact that serves her well in the army. Well, now, it’s time I gets to work. That ham ain’t ever going to get cooked if I don’t.”
“I’m about done with my pipe, Miss Tessa.” Standing, Drew taps his meerschaum on the hearthstone. “May I help you?”
“And I? How about I fetch more wood?”
“That’d be much appreciated, Mr. Ian. You, Mr. Drew, how about you scrub those taters? After I get this pretty ham a’simmering in cider, we’ll make us a nice batch of bread pudding. The world be damned, as Lorena Mae used to say. The brother and sister sodomites will share a feast tonight.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
I’ve flipped the frying potatoes and am adding more applejack to the sauce Tessa’s made for the bread pudding when she and my big Yank return from the stable. Both of them stomp off snow and wring their hands. Tessa’s face is shiny; Drew’s is pink. Both are grinning. The fondness they share is palpable, and it couldn’t please me more. Any friend is a blessing indeed, but one who understands and shares our way of loving, that’s a godsend of the first order.
“It’s damn cold out there, Reb,” Drew says, as he and Tessa shrug off their coats. “But ole Walt is just as happy as can be. I put a nice wool blanket over him and Miss Tessa fed him sweet feed he seems downright passionate about.”
“Here you go,” I say, pouring them out generous portions of the whiskey Tessa set out for our preprandial enjoyment. They take their glasses; I lift mine. “Here’s to the end of the war, and to loved ones returning safely home.”
“Hear, hear,” Drew says. “And here’s to Miss Tessa’s kindness, and a place where love has no need of secrets.”
“Well spoken, boys.” Tessa takes a big sip, her eyes glowing. “Tastes fine. Mr. Harman’s still never disappoints me.”
“It’s wonderful,” Drew enthuses. “Ian, you should have seen Walt and Tessa together. That horse took to her immediately. Just nuzzling and stamping. I believe he likes ladies a good bit.”
“Ain’t that beast a sweetheart? I never met such a honey-tempered horse. Certainly a lot more likable than Lorena’s poor old mule, God rest his weary bones.” Tessa heads over to the hearth to warm up, followed by the doting Missy. Drew lopes over to hover above my shoulder and snuffle the scents of applejack. The ham, covered with a paste of brown sugar, breadcrumbs, and pepper Tessa spread over it earlier, cools on the kitchen table.
“Has Missy been a’begging for ham?” As soon as Tessa sits on the hearth-ledge, the dog’s climbed into her lap. “She’s bad for begging.”
“Yes, ma’am. She’s suddenly decided she likes me very much. She’s been circling the kitchen table ever since you all went out to the stables.”
“Like a buzzard-bird! That’s what you is. ‘Rapacious,’ that’s the word Lorena used to use. That old dog’d be atop the table and a’tearing at that ham if she could leap that high. Oh, Lord where is it?”
Drew and I turn to see Tessa digging through her pocket.
“Ma’am? Did you lose something?” Drew, having dipped a fingertip into the sauce, is in the midst of lapping it off, his pink tongue extended.
“I left my pipe in the stable. You boys set the table, if you will, and I’ll fetch it.”
“I could get it for you, ma’am.” Drew chuckles. “Otherwise I might just start devouring this succulent-smelling ham right now.”
“I’ll get it. Missy needs to go out, now don’t she?” In answer, the dog leaps to the floor and heads for the door. “There’s a carving knife on the counter, if one of you would like to start slicing the meat. I’ll be back in a minute.” Pulling on her coat once more, she heads out into the gusty twilight, followed by the eager dog.
“Oh, Lord God, I’m hungry. And it all smells so good.” Drew smacks his lips. “Is that scent of vanilla the bread pudding?”
“Yep.” Tilting the skillet, I load up a serving dish with golden-brown potatoes. They’re steaming, aromatic with lard and onions. Outside, the wind whistles. Distantly, Missy’s erratic barking begins, then just as abruptly ceases.
“I’ll bet she’s afraid of ole Walt.” Drew chortles. “She’d best not nip his heels, or he’ll step on her. Well, let me just get to this ham. Miss Te
ssa will forgive me, I hope, if I slice it kind of thick.”
I’m setting the table and Drew, emitting a low hum of anticipatory pleasure, is slicing the ham when the door flies open with a bang. Snowflakes scatter the floor.
A stranger bundled in a drover strides inside. He’s got a pistol in his hand. He steps aside, and then another man strides in, this one dressed in a Federal officer’s greatcoat and shouldering a rifle.
Both sport voluminous beards and narrowed eyes. Both look to be in their thirties. The first man aims his pistol at me. The second man aims his rifle at Drew.
All our arms—our rifles, my pistol, my Bowie knife—are upstairs. In the guest bedroom. Of no use to us whatsoever. Stupid, Ian. Inexcusably stupid.
“Put that knife down. Now,” says the man with the rifle. Drew hesitates, then obeys.
“Put your hands up, you fucking sodomites,” the first man snarls, taking a step forward. “Or I’ll cut you both down before your old friend has time to say hello.”
Dazed, Drew and I do as we’re told.
“W-what old friend?” I say. The shock has my entire body trembling, from my tongue down to my toes, despite all my years of experience as a soldier on the front. “And what do you mean by ‘sodomites’?”
That’s when a third man steps through the door. He pulls off his slouch cap and brushes snow off a Federal-blue officer’s greatcoat that matches his companion’s.
God, no. I gasp and gape. I know that lean, cruel, stubble-coated face. He smiles, flashing sharp, dull brown teeth.
“Oh, goddamn it,” Drew curses. “Goddamn it!”
