Jordan's War - 1861

by B. K. Birch

“You’re with the hippo . . .hip. . .hippo. . .” Jordan stammered. The word refused to form in his mouth and he looked at the ground, embarrassed.

  “The hip-po-pot-a-mus,” Ester said. “Yes. There are two of them – Sally and Oscar. The paper makes them look bigger than what they are.”

  “My name’s Jordan.” His ears were burning red, but he didn’t want to draw attention to them by fiddling with his hat, so he shoved his hands into his pants pockets and did he best to hide his nervousness.

  “Who’s that other boy with you?” she asked and smiled. “I watched you ride up earlier.”

  “Eamon,” Jordan answered. All the air left his chest. “He’s my older brother.”

  “You come to the museum tonight,” she said. “I take up the money at the door. I’ll let you in free.”

  “Really?” He forgot all about impressing her and more of the hippopotamus.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ve got to go but don’t forget to stop by . . . and bring your brother.”

  Jordan watched her sashay off down the street until she disappeared. He turned his attention back to the locomotive sitting in the rail-yard belching black smoke.

  Eamon came up from behind and smacked him in the back of the head.

  Jordan turned around swinging and caught Eamon right in the cheek. Eamon fell backwards to the street.

  “What the hell are you two doing?” Pa hollered.

  “He hit me,” Eamon yelled, still flat on his back.

  “He hit me first!” Jordan cried. He’d been so mesmerized by the trains and thoughts of Ester that he didn’t even notice Pa and Eamon come outside.

  “Well stop it,” Pa ordered. “People will think we ain’t nothing but trash.”

  “They already do,” Jordan said, but not very loud.

  “What?” Pa asked.

  “Nothing,” Jordan muttered.

  “Get in,” Pa said. “Got to take this around back to get it looked at and weighed.”

  “Pa, can Eamon and me go see that hippopotamus?” Jordan asked and pointed at the paper in the window. Pa walked over and read the notice.

  “How’d you read such a big word?” Pa asked.

  “I just did,” Jordan said and shrugged.

  “What was it again?” Pa asked.

  “Hip-po-pot-a-mus,” Jordan said. “Can we? It’s only twenty-five cents.”

  “We’ll see,” Pa said. “Get on up there and sit still. I don’t want to be here all day.”

  The line at the scales crept along and it was well past lunchtime before their wool was inspected and weighed - six hundred and twelve pounds of wool. It took a little insistence with the owner, but Pa got the gold and silver coin he was after – all ninety-seven dollars and ninety-two cents of it.

  “Why don’t you boys go walk around a bit,” Pa said. “Here’s twenty-five cents each. I’ll find a stable for the horses and visit some of them places to sell this syrup. Be back here in three hours. Then we’ll go get Willow’s things and head back to the field.”

  “Come on Eamon,” Jordan said. “Let’s go see the hippopotamus!”

  They ran off down the street and fell in with a small group of people walking towards a large canvas tent, which looked gigantic to Jordan, when he compared it to the smaller church tents he was used to seeing. He scanned the crowd to see if any of those mean boys were around – they weren’t.

  A line formed as they got closer to the entrance and he could see Ester up ahead taking all the money.

  “Howdy,” he said and handed Ester his twenty-five cents.

  “Hi Jordan,” she said and only pretended to take his money. Jordan slipped the coin back into his pocket.

  “Thank you,” he said, but Ester looked past him, at Eamon.

  Jordan followed the others into the tent. Eamon had to run to catch up.

  “Who’s she?” Eamon asked as he sat down next to Jordan.

  “Her name’s Ester. I talked to her when you and Pa where in the mercantile.”

  A small band played music and a tall man with a stiff suit began talking to the crowd. For the next two hours, Jordan watched the a line of women dancers kicking up their legs real high - Ma would have died if she knew - a man supposedly eating fire, a man who shoved a sword down his throat, and a bug-eyed Negro who talked funny. The hippopotamus was walked around the tent for everyone to see. It was large and odd looking with its bulbous snout, but it wasn’t as sensational as the posting made it out to be. Jordan was a little let down by it all and stood up to leave with the rest of the folks, glad he didn’t waste his twenty-five cents.

  Eamon was gone. He didn’t even notice it until now. Where was he? He waited at the exit until he was the only one there, but Eamon never showed up.

  He had no choice but to go on back to the mercantile without him. Pa would be waiting and he’d be mad if they were late. He didn’t trust city dwellers.

  There were some folks around the store, but none of them was Pa. Jordan leaned against the wall and watched the men load a rail car and people pass by on their way to somewhere else. They sure did look in a hurry.

  Pa walked up with his arms full of packages wrapped in brown paper.

  “What’s all of that?” Jordan asked and pointed to the parcels.

  “Well, you repeated Willow’s list often enough in the wagon, I remembered it all.”

  “Did you sell all her syrup?”

  “Yep,” Pa said. “At the first place I went to. The owner kept going on and on about how tasty it was.”

  Sweat dripped down Jordan’s forehead. He was running out of questions.

  “Where’s Eamon?” Pa asked.

  “Went to pee,” Jordan said.

  “Oh,” Pa said and leaned against the wall with Jordan.

  It was getting close to supper time. Jordan’s stomach growled.

  “What’s taking him so long?” Pa asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jordan said. He fidgeted with the coin in his pocket.

  “Pa! Jordan!” Eamon called.

  “Where you been boy?” Pa asked. “We’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes.”

  “I told him you went to pee,” Jordan said before Eamon could say anything that would get him in trouble for lying.

  “Yeah,” Eamon said. “You just can’t walk around the corner and pee like you can in Lewisburg. Too many folks.”

  “I did it,” Pa said. “Not more than an hour ago. Let’s get back to camp.”

  Jordan looked at Eamon and he just smiled. One of them flustered smiles he always had when he’d gotten away with something he shouldn’t be doing. There was something else different about Eamon – he looked taller and a little older as he climbed into his wagon and took the reins.

  Chapter 9

  Jordan felt a firm hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. He rolled over, propped himself up on one elbow, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with his other hand. It was still dark and everything was damp from the morning dew. He wanted to hear the crackling of a campfire and smell sausages warming in a pan. There was no fire and they’d eaten all the sausages two days ago.

  “Get up,” Pa said. “It’s time to head home.”

  Jordan crawled out from underneath his covers, laced his boots, and rolled up his blankets. Even though he loved traveling with Pa, he hadn’t seen his Ma for three days now. He missed her kind voice, delicious meals, and his own warm bed. But most of all, he missed his coffee and sugar in the mornings. He tossed the bedroll over into the wagon.

  “Put everything inside the tarp,” Pa said. “I smell rain. Don’t forget to put Willow’s cloth in there too.”

  Jordan gathered everything up and rolled it inside the heavy canvas. The wagon looked odd with only the empty food pails and the bulky tarp.

  “Come and help me,” Eamon called.

  Jordan sauntered over and held up the hitch for Eamon to finish securing the straps.

  “Where’d you go yesterday?” Jordan asked.

  “None of your bus
iness,” Eamon answered.

  “Were you with Ester?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Were you hugging and smooching?” Jordan teased and braced himself for Eamon’s attack. “I’m telling Becca you went off with a darkie.”

  “Just go away,” Eamon said.

  It wasn’t the words so much, but how Eamon said them – refusing to retaliate and dismissing him like a child. Jordan stomped off, speechless, and helped Pa hitch his team.

  Lightening flashed in the distance and thunder rolled not long after. First a sprinkle, then a steady downpour drenched the weary travelers before they even began their tedious journey south.

  Jordan pulled his hat down as far as it would go and watched the water drip from the brim. There wasn’t anything else to do. The wagons moved a little swifter down the pass as they were free of their heavy burden. At times the road became so muddy the wheels would get bogged down. The horses didn’t seem to lose any of their stride and they trudged along in the dreary weather as if they too, were ready to go home.

  They passed the same Union Camp on the way home. The soldiers didn’t seem too concerned about the two wagons traveling south in the rain, as they had turned two old buildings into a makeshift kitchen, and fixed their attention on staying dry and preparing the afternoon meal. A couple of them waved to Jordan before going back to peeling potatoes and watching pots boil. Jordan’s stomach growled when the smell of boiled cabbage and stew meat reached his nose.

  “There’s some smoked beef in the pail if you’re hungry,” Pa said.

  Jordan reached back inside the tarp, found the bucket and grabbed a few pieces.

  “You want some?” he asked Pa.

  “Yep,” Pa said.

  He got an eerie feeling when they passed the field that once housed the Confederate camp. It was only an hour south down the turnpike from the Union Camp. Charred patches of earth and mashed grass where the only remains of the vast tent city that teemed with soldiers only two days ago. He couldn’t help but wonder why they left in such a hurry or if they all were killed in some battle he hadn’t heard about yet. It was as if their spirits still haunted the damp misty meadow.

  Even the cluster of mill houses looked like a ghost town. No one was outside when they passed. The rain had chased them all indoors, even the dogs, and only the smoke from their fires escaped through the chimneys. They passed no one on the roads and it felt like they were riding off the face of the earth. There were no other sounds but the horses slopping through the mud.

  “Whoa . . . whoa,” Pa called out and pulled on the reins. The horses stopped.

  “What is it Pa?” Jordan asked, and then saw a wagon on the road just ahead and two men fumbling about the cart, hidden in the gray haze.

  “Hold onto these,” Pa said and handed Jordan the reins. “I’ll go see if anyone needs any help.”

  Jordan watched Pa fade into the fog. He could hear talking and a horse whiny. His heart pounded and his breaths became deep and labored. He didn’t know why exactly, but this place was creepy and thoughts of Grandma’s yahoe stories suddenly invaded his mind.

  All he could hear was muffled voices and rain splattering in the mud. Jordan planted his eyes in the very spot where Pa stepped into the mist and prayed for him to come out.

  The voices got louder and at last he saw Pa, as well as two other men emerge from the mist and walk back to where he was sitting. Both of them were dressed like city folk and one of them had a revolver strapped to his side.

  “Who’d want to kill him?” Pa asked one of the men.

  “I suppose it could have been someone local,” the man said. “But not likely. Who knows what types we have running around here, with the Confederate retreat and the Union camped not two hours north of there.”

  “Tell Pa to come on,” Eamon said. “I’m hungry.”

  “Shhhh,”Jordan hissed. “There’s food in the pail up here.”

  “Some folks ain’t taking too kindly to anyone profiting from this war,” the other man said. “I’ll go get the undertaker and get him moved.”

  Eamon kept shuffling the tarp and Jordan couldn’t hear anything else. Pa walked back to the wagon.

  “Who were those men?” Jordan asked.

  “Sheriff,” Pa said.

  “What happened?”

  Eamon stopped eating so he could hear.

  “That peddler . . .” Pa said. “He’s lying over there with a bullet in his chest.”

  “What!” Jordan hollered.

  “Someone shot the poor soul,” Pa said.

  “Where’s the boy that was with him?” Jordan asked.

  “They ain’t seen the boy,” Pa said. “I told them I seen them three days ago heading north.”

  “Who do they think done it?” Eamon asked.

  “Bandits, I suppose,” Pa said. “Just keep your ears open. We’re almost to Jim’s.”

  Eamon got back into his wagon and followed Pa as he pulled the team back onto the muddy road. The rain was only a mist at this point, but the fog made it impossible to see much further than the horses.

  Jordan stretched his neck to see the body of the peddler lying in a crumpled heap by the side of his wagon. His stiff suit was wrinkled and muddy. His spectacles were twisted and broken on his face.

  “Quit gawking,” Pa growled. “The man deserves some respect.”

  Jordan couldn’t get the dead man’s image out of his mind. He’d seen dead things before – a fresh kill, a lamb that was too weak to suckle, the chick that was pecked to death before Ma or Willow could separate it from the group – but he’d never seen a dead man before.

  It was almost dark by the time they rolled through the grassy field at Jim’s and if there were any lights on inside the house, Jordan couldn’t see them. In fact, he didn’t even see the house and wondered if it hadn’t collapsed altogether from all the rain.

  “You think it’s safe to leave the horses out?” Eamon asked. “With the bandits and all?”

  “Ain’t got much choice,” Pa said. “We’ll get as close as we can to the house.”

  They managed to get within fifty feet of the shack before the wagons got stuck in a tangle of weeds and mud.

  “We’ll have to stop here,” Pa called to Eamon.

  Rusty, the hound, strolled down a path, sniffed at Jordan’s hand while he unhitched the horses, and licked at the smell of the smoked beef. Jordan shooed the stinking varmint away.

  “Get everything out of the wagon,” Pa said. “I hope the bedrolls stayed dry.”

  Eamon grabbed the tarp and he and Jordan fell in behind Pa as he mashed down the wet grass to make a path to the house. Rusty followed them. A faint light appeared in the window just as they got to the porch. The door opened just a few inches and the barrel of a gun appeared.

  “Who’s there!” someone yelled. Jordan couldn’t tell if it was Jim or Gunner.

  “Put that thing down before you hurt someone,” Pa hollered.

  “Finnian, Jordan? Is that you?” Gunner said and rushed outside. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

  “What are you doing with that gun?” Pa asked.

  “It ain’t loaded,” Gunner said and propped it against the door.

  “Why do you have it?” Pa asked.

  “Folks have been acting crazy with all the soldiers passing through here,” Gunner said. “Over at the mine they say soldiers have been stealing and shooting dogs.”

  Jordan wondered what Gunner thought they had worth stealing. Rusty wasn’t much to waste a shot on either.

  “No one out here but us,” Pa said.

  “But Pa, aren’t. . .” Jordan started.

  “No use worrying anyone about the peddler,” Pa whispered and looked at Gunner. “Where’s Jim?”

  “He’s real sick,” Gunner said. “Had a fretful fever ever since ya’ll left. He can’t eat nothing – not even any of that food you left.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “I have to leave him here alone all day while I work. If I
don’t work I don’t get paid.”

  “It’s all right son,” Pa said and patted the child on his back.

  Jordan could smell the sickness the moment he walked inside. It wasn’t anything in particular, just a rancid odor of rot. Jim was laid up on an old mattress in the corner– the same one they’d attempted to sleep on three nights ago. He looked too sick to be bothered by the bugs and he looked like he’d been wallowing in his own phlegm and vomit for some time.

  “Jim,” Pa said and sat down on the tree stump. “Jim, can you hear me?”

  “I’ll be alright,” Jim whispered. His lips were cracked and bleeding.

  “He won’t drink no water,” Gunner said.

  “We ain’t staying here,” Pa said. “Gunner, get you and your pa’s clothes. You’re going back to the mountains with us. Jordan, you help him. Me and Eamon will get Jim.”

  Gunner and Jordan both just stood and stared at him.

  “Go now!” Pa yelled. “Jim needs Abigail’s medicine or he’s going to die.”

  Gunner took off into the back room. Jordan ran after him.

  By the time they’d gathered what meager belongings Gunner and Jim had and the crate of food they’d left there, Eamon and Pa had carried Jim – mattress and all – out to the wagon. Eamon was digging the mud away from the wheels with a stick. Pa whistled for the horses and they were hitched up in no time.

  “Wait,” Gunner yelled. “I forgot something.”

  He ran back into the house and reappeared a few moments later, carrying an ornate wood box and the broken fiddle.

  “It was Ma’s . . . the box,” Gunner said, and held it up for Jordan to see. “She wouldn’t like it if I left it here.”

  Jordan saw the tears well in Gunner’s eyes.

  “Boys, you get them bedrolls and hop into the back of Eamon’s wagon,” Pa said. “Eamon, when you get tired, get Jordan up to take the reins.”

  “Where you heading this late and in such an all-fire hurry?” a voice called out.

  Jordan jumped and turned in the direction of the voice. Two armed soldiers rode out of the mist and blocked the wagons. Their clothing was dark and they wore their hats low over their eyes to keep their faces hidden in shadow.

  “Get in the wagons, boys,” Pa whispered before he walked out to the soldiers.