by Jim Cox
Ma bent closer and removed his hat. His eyes fluttered open for a few seconds, and he stared at Ma. He smiled a little and said, "Hello, sweetheart.” Then his eyes rolled shut, and he became unconscious.
Ma looked at me. "Son, it's your Pa!"
Chapter Four
Things didn't seem right to me. I had always imagined Pa coming home from war, sitting erect on a white, high-stepping horse, dressed in a clean army uniform with medals dangling. He would swing down from the saddle, take Ma into his arms, and turn her in circles as they laughed and hugged. Ma would look like a beautiful queen, wearing a pleated blue dress with her blonde hair pulled back and tied with a ribbon.
Ma did look as beautiful as my dream portrayed her. But she would look good in any setting. She was tall with a shapely body; her face was lovely, accented with large blue eyes and a pretty mouth that parted when she smiled showing white, straight teeth. Today, she wore her blue, starched church dress, and her hair was pulled back, tied with a matching blue ribbon. In my mind, Ma was the prettiest woman who ever lived. However, Pa looked nothing like I had imagined. He was a tall, extremely skinny man. He had terrible body odor. His filthy uniform had holes. His greasy hair hung to his shoulders. His beard and mustache had not been trimmed for weeks, maybe months.
Ma said, “Bart, your pa’s in bad shape. Help me get him into the house. We’ve got to get him cleaned up and check for any injuries.” We each placed one of his arms around our necks and held his wrists firmly. With our other hands, we grabbed the middle of his pants in the rear and dragged him to Ma’s bed.
Ma started removing his clothes and directed me to heat water. I hurriedly brought in an armload of firewood and kindled a fire. Then I ran to the creek and fetched a bucket of water. By the time the water was heated, Ma had Pa’s clothes piled by the bed. She said Pa had no visible wounds but was in a bad way. It looked as though he had not eaten for weeks. He was skin and bones.
After Ma had bathed Pa and put clean underdrawers on him, she asked me to take Pa's horse to the barn and feed him a limited amount. She stressed overfeeding at this time could cause him to colic. I was also to take Pa’s uniform to the barn and hang it on a hook by the harness. While I was gone, Ma changed into a work dress, not wanting to ruin her only Sunday dress.
Ma was waiting for me with instructions when I returned from the barn. I was to catch a big red rooster and help her slaughter it. When the chicken was dressed, Ma made a big pot of rich, creamy chicken soup for Pa. When the soup started to steam, she filled a bowl and went back to Pa’s side. By this time he had awakened and pulled himself up onto two pillows. She slowly fed him the entire bowl and occasionally held a coffee cup to his lips while he drank. When Pa was full, he scooted down in bed, turned to his right side, and went to sleep.
While he slept, we did some planning. I was to tell Mr. Stevens Pa had made it home but was in bad shape and that Ma had to nurse him. She wouldn't be able to work for several days. I was to offer to help out in Ma’s place if needed. I was also to stop by Mr. Adams’ and tell him I wouldn't be attending school for a couple days.
Ma pampered Pa like a sick baby calf. He was fed chicken soup four or five times each day; she bathed him and changed his underdrawers daily. On the second day, she cut his hair and trimmed his beard and mustache. And on the third day, when all the soup was eaten, he was served the same food we ate. After a week, Pa started getting his strength back, and from that point on, he hobbled to the table for real sit-down meals.
Pa didn’t talk about his war memories. However, after supper one evening, he offered a limited explanation of why he was so late coming home after the war ended. Pa said he was in a Confederate prison camp at Andersonville, Georgia. When the war ended, the prisoners were not released for five more months. He said the prison conditions were deplorable. Men slept on the bare, wet ground with no blankets; clothing was not issued, and many men went about totally naked. Toilet facilities were nonexistent, and food was very limited and had practically no nutritional value. Inmates died by the thousands from exposure, starvation, or disease. Dysentery and consumption were the primary diseases. When the Union intervened at the camp, they wanted Pa to convalesce at a nearby hospital, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He wanted to come home. They provided him with a horse, and three weeks later he arrived home. It was a miracle he survived the trip in his weakened condition. Pa didn't mention the war again after telling about the prison camp, and we didn't push the issue.
For the first three weeks, Pa mostly stayed in the cabin or sat on an outside bench when the weather permitted. His energy and strength increased daily and within a month of his return, Pa was walking about wherever he pleased. He started doing a few light chores, like mending harnesses and doing other farm-related repairs. Ma had gone back to work, so Pa and I had a lot of time to talk. We’d discuss things after I came home from school, and many afternoons we would ride into the hills scouting for deer trails. Sometimes, we let the horses graze in the meadow while we lay on the hillside talking.
During one of these talking spells, I asked Pa, "Why am I so small for my age? After all, Ma's tall for a woman and you must be over six foot?"
"Son, I'm six-foot-one and weigh two hundred and ten pounds when I'm filled out. You’ll be nine come April, but when I was nine, I was even smaller than you. I thought I'd never catch up to the other boys, but I did and passed most. But that didn't happen until I was sixteen. You'll grow, Son, just like I did, but you might as well be patient, it’ll take a while."
Grinning from ear to ear, I said, "Thanks, Pa. That makes me feel a lot better. I guess I have to wait."
"Bart, your mother tells me you have fights at school when the bigger boys tease you about your size or your long name. Son, your size will take care of itself, but my concern is you being embarrassed about your name. You should be proud of your name, not ashamed of it. Azro came from your grandpa—my pa. He was a fine man with good principles. Bartholomew was your grandpa on your mother's side. He was known for helping people, always lending a hand."
I guess Pa could see my head spinning with questions because he continued. "Son, we live in difficult times. The war is over, but many people are still bitter and won't accept the outcome. People who allow themselves to develop inward hatred will do anything to get what they want, even if they have to run over people. Other people like to show off and try to look important by picking on the more vulnerable. They’re like those school bullies who start fights with you. Remember this. It’s best to walk away and not give in to anger. I know it's hard to do, but if you can, walk away. It takes two to have a fight. Bend when trouble comes your way, but don't break. Always protect yourself, your loved ones, and the weak. Son, build your life around helping people and making friends.”
Pa told me a lot during those afternoons. He said as I grew older I would experience "forks in the road." I'd have to make many life-changing decisions. But mostly, his talk always returned to being helpful to other folks and using my head. He said no matter how difficult a situation might be, that I’d find a solution if I studied every possible option and then followed the best course available. We often sat in silence for several minutes before heading home.
Once, when we had returned from the hills and were walking toward the house after tending the horses, Pa put his arm around my shoulders and said he hoped I would remember our conversations. Then he squeezed me tight.
It was late November when Pa started working five days a week for the town’s blacksmith. Ma was still working at the store, and I was doing well with my schooling. Winter was around the corner, so Saturdays were reserved for cutting the last bit of our firewood needs. One Saturday, we butchered three hogs, salting them down in the smokehouse and rendering the fat for cooking lard. Sunday mornings we went to church and then relaxed for the remainder of the day. Most evenings began with one of Ma's good suppers. Afterward, we’d talk about our day's happenings. Then, after Ma and I washed and put away the dishes, she would
read the Bible to me and Pa. She frequently encouraged me to read a few verses, even though I didn’t understand the strange words well enough to pronounce them. Pa couldn't read or write at all. Before bed, he and I would walk to the barn and check on the livestock.
Snow flurries started in mid-December, and within a couple of days, several inches had accumulated. Before Christmas, I noticed Ma and Pa slipping out of the house and going to the barn at odd times. I knew they were hiding presents from me, but I kept quiet. I had secrets too. I had bought two bags of candy for Ma and Pa’s Christmas presents from Mr. Stevens at the mercantile.
Pa and I went to the hills to cut our Christmas tree. After we had the tree standing in a corner of the cabin, we popped corn and threaded it onto long pieces of Ma’s sewing thread and then looped it around the tree for decoration. Christmas morning came. After tending to our morning chores and eating breakfast, we exchanged presents. Ma had made me a shirt, and Pa made me a bow with several arrows. Laughter and smiles filled our house during those days. It was a very happy time.
Winter passed and then warm spring days came. Ma’s flowers around the cabin started blooming, and the trees were in bud. The cows and horses grazed from morning till night on the tender green grass in the pasture, and the hens were laying more eggs. Ma’s garden was prepared for planting. School would soon be out.
Ma and Pa were noticeably quiet during supper one evening and occasionally looked at each other with a funny expression. I knew something was up.
Finally, Pa said, "Bart, we're going to be busy for the next few months building an additional room onto our house."
"Yes, son," Ma interrupted, "we'll need it for your new brother or sister, and it will give you some extra space of your own."
I don't know if I was happy about a new baby coming, but I sure liked the thought of spending more time with Pa. Every Saturday we went to the woods to cut logs for the new room, starting at first light and finishing at dusk. The area we cut in was only a mile from the house, so we rode back home at noon to eat and rest.
My job was to tie the rope around the fallen log Pa had chopped down and then hook it to the team and pull it to the house. I had never worked a team before, but Pa gave me good instructions, and in no time I did fine.
In two months, we had the logs cut and piled up close to where we planned to build the new room. I helped Pa stake out the room.
Pa measured and notched the logs. He would notch four or five logs, and then we’d set them in place. The walls rose. We made a tripod appearing structure to help us lift the logs by placing three standing logs, fastened together, at the top. We tied a rope around the middle of the notched log we wanted to raise, looped the other end of the line over the upper part of the three-legged stand, and tied it to the horse’s harness. I then led the horse forward until the log was lifted high enough for Pa to swing it in place. It was amazing how the logs fit so tightly; only a few needed extra trimming.
By September the walls were up, and we were ready to start on the roof. Ma’s belly had become huge, and she still had two months to go before the baby was to be born. By this time, she had quit her store job and was spending most of her time knitting or sewing baby things. It was obvious she was looking forward to the baby. When Pa was around, they hugged and kissed a lot. It made me a little embarrassed, but at the same time, I felt proud to be their son.
I was walking home from school one day when I saw the doctor's buggy in front of our house. The doctor had a circuit of several towns and came to Blainsboro once a month. I found Pa and the doctor standing over Ma. She was lying in bed with her head propped up. The doctor had his stethoscope in his right ear listening to Ma's heart and lungs. He then proceeded to listen to the baby's heartbeat. His instructions were for Ma to remain in bed until the baby was born, and to get plenty of rest. He gave her a bottle of medicine to be taken morning and night.
As the days passed, I could tell Ma was not doing well. Her skin was gray, and she was becoming very weak. She slept most of the time and only ate when Pa forced her. When she was awake, she clung to her Bible. One evening, while I was sitting at her bedside, she asked me to read to her. She handed me the Bible, which was already turned to Matthew, chapter twenty-five. I read loudly and with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. I struggled with several words but did my best; I wanted Ma to be proud of my reading. I noticed the Bible margins on every page were full of comments she had written. She reached for my hand and held it while I read. After I’d read the whole chapter, Ma took the Bible and closed her eyes to sleep. As I stood, I saw Pa sitting at the table with tears in his eyes.
Two days later, a neighbor lady came to the school and whispered something to Mr. Adams. I was asked to come forward and follow the lady outside. I was needed at home. The lady talked all the way to my house, but the only words I heard were that my mother was dead.
Chapter Five
Bart's mind returned to the present when burning logs gave way, sending sparks in all directions. Maude was still lying down, looking content. Nothing else seemed out of place, and the sounds of the night were normal. It was late, perhaps midnight, and past time to get some sleep. Before going to the cave, Bart put more logs on the fire and moved his coffee pot out of the flames onto his sitting rock.
Lying in his shelter, he started to develop some plans. Since he was feeling much stronger, he’d leave by noon the next day after eating a good breakfast. Precaution needed to be taken because several renegade Indians scouted the trails in this part of the country. Bart had been told mule meat was their favorite food. He had also heard a white man's scalp hanging from a lance was highly prestigious for Indians. Maybe I should skirt the trails and depend on Maude to alert me of any danger. She could see and smell trouble as well as a watchdog. If he watched her, she’d signal danger by pointing her long ears.
The next morning, Bart woke to sunlight spilling through the cave's entrance. He rose and went to the cave’s entry and stood listening for any strange sounds while letting his eyes adjust. Everything seemed normal outside, so he ventured out. The fire had burned down but still had a few red embers. Maude was resting on three legs, swishing her tail at pesky flies, and the stream's water was now crystal clear.
Bart yawned and stretched as he readied himself for the morning. His back was still a little sore, but he was feeling much stronger and eager to get on his way.
Walking up to Maude to check the rope knot, he said, "Maude, today we start our journey to Colorado." She stomped her hoof and pulled against her rope. Bart didn't know whether she was eager for the trip or only wanted a drink.
Returning, he placed some small sticks on the red coals to get a flame started and then added larger branches to make a fire suitable for cooking. Carrying the empty coffee pot, he untied Maude and headed for the creek. She waded into the knee-deep water with her front legs spread and took several drinks. Bart filled his pot, and then they headed back uphill. After placing the pot on the flat rock in the fire, he led Maude to a patch of grass and hobbled her with the rope from the food bag.
Bart removed his bandana and shirt as he walked to the creek. At the stream's edge, he took off his boots, pants, and underdrawers. As he waded in, he discovered the streambed was rocky and about two feet deep with a strong current. Slowly, he lowered his naked body into the ice-cold water until he was sitting on the rocky bottom. Water flowed around his shoulders, causing goose pimples to rise on his skin. It was cold but also refreshing. Lying back in the water, he finger-washed his hair and then washed his ears, neck, and face with his bandanna. He grimaced at the jabs of pain when he cleaned the facial cut. Cold but clean, he walked back to dry ground where he stood shivering.
After Bart dressed and walked to camp, he sliced several pieces of bacon, placed them on his forked cooking stick, and hung them over the fire to cook. While the bacon was cooking, he removed all the items from the bag to see what was available.
There were the flintstones and his knife, two more sla
bs of bacon, ten strips of beef jerky, four large potatoes, two cans of peaches, half a dozen water-soaked corn muffins, and about ten feet of rawhide strips. There were two leather bags. The smallest contained twenty-seven twenty-dollar gold pieces. The larger bag held his mother’s Bible, which had not been opened since her death.
He knew his food would last less than a week, but he hoped he could live off the land for a few meals, which would stretch his stash. His thoughts went back to his ma’s Bible. Was it damaged from the rain? Bart was disheartened when he removed it and saw a large gray water stain spot on the front cover. But he was relieved to find the inside pages dry.
Five pieces of bacon and two corn muffins filled Bart to the brim. He drank nearly half a pot of coffee directly from the pot before heading for the creek to wash the pot and get water to put out his fire. After his fire was doused, he scattered the ashes and headed for Maude.
Bart didn't want to take any chances of losing his mule, so he made a slipknot at the end of the reins and put it around his left wrist before removing her hobbles. He would be dragged if she became frightened, but that was a chance he was willing to take. It was better than losing her again. He patted the mule’s neck and rubbed her down with a handful of dried grass. He lifted and examined each of her hooves making sure her shoes were not loose.
Bart walked Maude back to his sitting rock. He was about to tie the sack back around her neck when he had a thought. Why not put several of the coins in his boots for security purposes? After all, his boots were several sizes too large and would easily hold the money. He sat back down on a nearby rock and took off both boots. Then he removed twenty-four of the gold pieces from his bag, put twelve in each of his boots, and stomped them on. He left three in his bag. If anyone robbed him, maybe they would think the gold coins in the bag were all he had and wouldn't search his boots.
