Jordan's War - 1861

by B. K. Birch

  “There’s a man in that wagon who needs a doctor,” Pa told the soldiers.

  “Ain’t no doctor around here,” one of them said.

  “I’m taking him home,” Pa said. “To Droop.”

  “To Droop? That’s a day and a half ride from here.”

  “That’s my home,” Pa said. “His too.”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Measles,” Pa said.

  The men backed up.

  “Are you sure he’s sick or are you just telling us that?”

  “Rash all over him. The mattress has bugs too. I wouldn’t get too close.”

  “Why ain’t you afraid of getting sick?” one of them asked.

  Jim let out a soft, weak cough and wheezed through the thick mucus in this throat. He thrashed a bit and gurgled before he settled down.

  “I am,” Pa said. “That’s why I’m heading home.”

  “Go then,” the soldier said.

  “We ain’t supposed to let anyone go anywhere,” the other soldier said. “That’s what the sheriff said.”

  “Are you going to be the one who gets too close and brings measles into camp?”

  “Nope.”

  “We’ll be back at daybreak,” the soldier said. “You best be gone.”

  “Yes sir,” Pa said.

  “Come on Rusty!” Gunner called and the smelly hound jumped up in the wagon and curled up beside Jordan.

  The wagon rocked as the horses pulled the wheels out of the mud and towards the turnpike.

  “Why aren’t those soldiers supposed to let anyone go anywhere?” Jordan asked Eamon.

  “I don’t know,” Eamon said. “Seems like the whole world’s gone crazy.”

  Chapter 10

  Jordan unrolled the blankets and spread them out on the bed of the wagon just like Pa told him to. He was surprised to find them as dry as they were, especially since they had traveled in steady downpours all day long. Willow’s cloth hadn’t handled the long journey as well. The brown paper wrapper was soggy and discolored, but heck, it wasn’t like they didn’t try. He rolled it back up in the tarp and pretended like he didn’t see it.

  The soldier’s words weighed heavy on his mind. Why weren’t they supposed to let folks go anywhere? Was it because of the peddler? Where was the boy that was with him? Eamon’s explanation that the whole world was going crazy just wasn’t good enough.

  “Take this,” Jordan said and tossed Gunner Pa’s bedroll.

  Gunner laid out his blanket and fell asleep soon after they reached the turnpike. He didn’t look as frail and tired as he did when they first arrived. Maybe he realized that leaving this dreadful place meant he could be free of the mines and his miserable existence in the shack. But did he even realize how destitute they were? He didn’t know any other way of life.

  Gunner ended up using Rusty’s soft abdomen for a pillow. Jordan watched his head rise and fall with each breath the dog took and wondered how he could stand the smell.

  Jordan gazed out over the foggy forest and jumped at every sound coming from within the abyss of trees and brush. The branches were spindly and spooky as they reached out over the road, resembling a claw and reminding him of his grandmother’s knurled fingers and wrinkled hands. He kept his tired eyes fixed on the darkness, but no soldiers emerged from the shadows to hinder their way.

  There were no farmhouses that he could see, no lights in the distance and no stars in the sky. The monotony of the journey at last caught up with him and his eyelids got heavy. He slid down in the bed of the wagon and almost drifted off to sleep.

  “Whoa,” Eamon said. Jordan jumped up.

  “What is it?” he asked, not knowing where they were or how long he’d been asleep. It was still dark and the road was barely visible. The fog had lifted but there were still no stars to light their path.

  Jordan saw the silhouette of a young boy waving at them, trying to get them to stop. His clothes were muddy and his hat was soaked. He stumbled and fell to his knees in front of the wagon.

  “Please help me,” he said.

  As they got closer, he could see the boy’s ripped shirt and bloodied face. It was the peddler’s boy, Tommy.

  “Pa!” Eamon yelled and pulled on the reins to stop the horses.

  Pa came running up.

  “Son, what are you doing all the way out here by yourself?” he asked the boy, who lay soaked and shivering in the dirt.

  “T-t-the soldiers,” he said through chattering teeth. “They shot Mr. Blake.”

  “Why in the world would they shoot him?” Pa asked and helped the boy to his feet.

  “There was a secret place, beneath the wagon,” Tommy said. “He was hauling guns up north. I don’t know where he got them.”

  “Then you ain’t his son?” Eamon asked.

  “No. My folks are down in Princeton. I worked for him. He said it’d just be easier to say I was his youngin’.”

  “Jordan,” Pa said. “Make room. What did they look like?”

  “There were two of them,” Tommy answered. “I don’t know which side they were.”

  “Did the soldiers see you?”

  Tommy shook his head.

  “Do you know the way home if we let you off at Droop?”

  The boy nodded.

  “Pa, you can’t just let him go by himself,” Eamon said.

  “We’ll talk about this later. Get in the wagon boy.” Pa said. “We’ve got to keep moving.”

  Jordan moved up beside Eamon on the bench and Tommy climbed in the back.

  “Wake up,” Eamon said and smacked Jordan on the head.

  Jordan’s back ached from being slumped on the seat all night and it even hurt to stretch. The fog had lifted and the sun was peering over the mountains to the east. Gunner’s blankets were rolled up and stashed under the seat. Rusty was nowhere in sight. Tommy was still asleep, curled up in the blankets. Jordan sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  Eamon was bleary-eyed from riding all night.

  “We’ll be home in about two hours,” Eamon said. “We’re almost to Mill Point.”

  “Did we pass the mill yet?” he asked.

  “No,” Eamon answered.

  He liked watching the wheel turn as the water flowed beneath it. He tried to make a little one once, down by the creek, but it fell to pieces and floated away.

  “Why’d you wake me up?” Jordan asked.

  “I don’t know,” Eamon shrugged. “I suppose because it’s morning.”

  The landscape was at last familiar, and soon they’d be at the foot of Droop Mountain. One more decent up the winding pass and they’d be home. Images of fresh coffee and sugar danced so vividly in his thoughts, he could almost smell the pot boiling.

  Ma would certainly make them all head to the creek to wash off the moment they got home. She always did when they traveled overnight. God only knows when Jim and Gunner’s last washing was.

  He heard Tommy stir in the back of the wagon.

  “Morning,” Jordan greeted.

  “Morning,” Tommy said back.

  “We’ll be going up the mountain soon,” Eamon said. “Roll yourself up them blankets to take with you.”

  “How far do you think Princeton is from here?” Tommy asked.

  “About a three day walk, I reckon,” Eamon said. “Ain’t never been there myself.”

  “What happened back there?” Jordan asked.

  “I don’t know why they shot him. We’d left the guns in Philippi. They took his money,” Tommy said. “We’d made a bundle and thank goodness he paid me before all this happened.” Tommy reached into his pocket and showed Jordan a handful of coins. “We were heading back to get another load. Didn’t have much left but some of them artificial legs and a few cooking pots. I was in the woods pooping when I saw their horses. I saw Mr. Blake talking to them after they searched through the wagon and then they shot him. I took off running.”

  “Thieving tra
sh,” Eamon hissed.

  As the land got brighter with the coming of daylight, only the muddy road told of the steady rain that had fallen the day before. The budding leaves brought newness to the mountains, the gray nakedness of the trees now cloaked in the refreshing colors of spring. The ride up the mountain seemed to take forever, but at last they reached the summit.

  Eamon stopped the horses at the path leading home.

  “This is where you get off,” he said to Tommy.

  Tommy tucked the bedroll under his arm and jumped down to the road.

  “Just follow the turnpike,” Eamon said. “It’ll lead you to Lewisburg.”

  “Thanks,” Tommy said. “I’m much obliged.”

  Eamon didn’t move the wagon until Tommy was out of sight.

  “I hope he gets home all right,” Jordan said.

  “If he can get past the dang Home Guard, he should be fine.”

  Eamon snapped the reins and the horses pulled onto the path leading home.

  “Where’s Gunner?” Jordan asked. With all the talk about the peddler, he’d forgotten about him.

  “Back with Pa and Jim,” Eamon answered.

  “When did he go back there?”

  “An hour or two before daybreak.”

  “Why? Was I snoring too loud?” Jordan laughed.

  “Jim’s real sick,” Eamon whispered. “Pa’s afraid he’s going to die. He keeps yelling for Kate.”

  “What!”

  “Keep your voice down,” Eamon hissed and turned to see if Pa had heard him.

  “He started carrying on right before we got to Marlin’s Bottom. Pa thought Gunner would calm him down some. We stopped for a time but you slept right through it. Jim could hardly breathe.”

  Jordan turned around. Pa waved at him and he could see Gunner’s head as it bobbed in the back of the wagon.

  “Why?” Jordan asked. He could feel the tears welling up, ready to break though at any moment.

  “I ain’t God,” Eamon said.

  Jordan wiped a tear that had escaped.

  “That ain’t going to do no good,” Eamon said and wiped his own moist eyes.

  Jordan didn’t care. It was all he could do. If Jim died, Gunner wouldn’t have a ma or a pa to look after him. The thought was too much for Jordan to handle and he found no other outlet for his despair than the silent tears which rolled down his face, but at least he wasn’t bawling like a baby.

  It wasn’t fair. Instead of bringing them home to be with family, they ended up hauling Jim home to die. Jordan sniffed and whimpered all the way until he saw the south pasture.

  Willow and Jake ran out to greet them.

  “Thank God you’re alright!” Willow hollered.

  “Why wouldn’t we be alright,” Jordan called.

  “Grandma,” Willow said. “She saw death. Ma’s been so worried.”

  Jordan stopped crying and Eamon looked at the ground. Willow put her arm around Jake and they walked back to the house.

  Ma ran out on the porch and waved. Grandma walked outside too, but didn’t wave because she clutched in her arms a roll of dark quilted fabric. The kind used to wrap a corpse.

  Jordan jumped off the wagon and fell straight on the ground, like his legs weren’t working. Ma ran over, lifted him to his feet and held him tight, so tight his face was smashed into her bosom to the point where he could barely breathe.

  “You’re all right,” she kept sobbing. “Thank you God!” She let loose of him and grabbed hold of Eamon before he could get away.

  “Ma was wrong!” Ma cried. “She saw death, but she was wrong! Oh, dear Lord, I’ve been so worried!”

  Pa stepped down from the wagon and scooped Gunner up in his arms. He was clutching the broken fiddle and the wood box of his mother’s, and looked as battered and broken as his pa did the night before. His eyes were swollen and puffy, and crusted yellow at the lashes. His skin had an odd gray tinge and he held onto Finnian’s shoulder like a newborn to his mother’s breast. Strands of greasy brown hair clung to his wet cheeks and his body seemed as rigid and lifeless as Selie’s wooden doll.

  “Is that little Gunner?” Ma asked and took him by his hand. “My, have you grown!”

  “There’s not time for jawing,” Pa said. “We got to get Jim to Abigail.”

  “What’s wrong?” Ma asked.

  “Got his chest full of coal dust.”

  “Oh, dear God in Heaven, no!” She cried and ran to the wagon.

  Jordan swallowed the lump in his throat and managed to hold back the swell of water from his eyes. Eamon was right. There was no use crying anymore.

  “Abigail!” Pa hollered.

  Grandma laid the black wrap down and walked down the porch steps.

  “Willow,” Pa said and put Gunner down. “Take Gunner in the house. Get them all something to eat.”

  “Ain’t you hungry?” she asked.

  “I’ll be along in a bit.”

  Jordan walked up the steps behind Willow and Gunner, alongside Ma who still had her arm around him and was rubbing his hair.

  “Stop Willow,” Ma said just as Willow was leading Gunner inside.

  “What’s wrong?” Jordan asked.

  “Lice!” she said, and whirled Jordan around and started inspecting his scalp right at the neckline. “You’re infested with them. I’m sure Eamon and Finnian are too.”

  “Do you want me to heat up the lard?” Willow asked.

  “Yes, then fetch the cider. You know what to do,” Ma said. “You boys sit and don’t step foot into the house. I got to help tend to Jim.”

  Gunner and Jordan plopped down on the porch steps and Willow hurried inside. Jordan didn’t feel anything. Oh, it itched on occasion but every part of him itched sometime. Gunner started straight ahead, leaning on his elbows, squishing what little cheeks he had into his palms.

  “He’s going to be fine,” Jordan said. “Grandma cures everyone here on the mountain.”

  “I hope so,” Gunner whispered.

  For the next two hours, Eamon, Gunner, and Jordan sat on the porch while Willow rubbed the warm lard and cider on their heads and wrapped them in a rag. Then she combed, combed, and combed some more until Jordan’s scalp was raw and bloodied.

  “Get down to the creek and wash up,” Willow said and handed Eamon a block of lye. Selie came outside with an armful of clean clothes.

  “Ma said Jake’s clothes would fit Gunner better than Jordan’s,” Selie said.

  The boys raced to the creek.

  Chapter 11

  Jordan sprinted across the rocks, stripped naked, and splashed into the frigid water. The cider had run down his forehead and dripped into his eyes. The stinging was unbearable and the lard cast a greasy film across his eyeball that blurred his vision. He dug his fingers into his raw scalp and rinsed the oily putrid mixture out of his hair.

  “That stings!” he yelled at no one in particular, since his eyes were still clinched shut.

  “Wasn’t supposed to get it in your eyes,” Eamon said as he peeled off his shirt.

  “This is a nice swimming hole,” Gunner called. His hair glistened as the sunlight danced off his head.

  “Come on in,” Jordan called. “It ain’t too cold.”

  Gunner eased into the water and submerged himself up to his neck. His lips quivered as he took a deep breath. Then he dove under, leaving a familiar oily film floating on the surface.

  “Hurry up with the soap,” Jordan called to Eamon. “I’m about to starve.”

  There was no playing in the water or lingering on the bank to dry. They dressed as fast as they could and rushed back to the house. Black smoke rose above the treetops.

  “Come on,” Jordan said, and grabbed Gunner’s arm. “Let’s go see what’s burning.”

  Gunner had no choice but to run after him, but stopped when they got to the back porch. Jordan jerked back and looked to see what Gunner was staring at. Jim was neck deep in the wash tub, his hair was matted with the lice remedy, and Ma was scrubbing
his arm, despite Jim’s protests in between coughs.

  “We’d better get,” Jordan whispered and pulled Gunner around to the front of the house. Pa was sitting on a stump with a rag wrapped around his head, watching the fire as the mattress burned.

  “What are you doing?” Gunner cried and ran over to Pa.

  “Son, that mattress had seen better days,” Pa said.

  “But we’ll need that when we go home.”

  “Come here,” Pa said. He took Gunner by the hand and sat him down on his lap. Jordan plopped down on the ground, hypnotized by the dancing red and orange flames.

  “You ain’t going home anytime soon,” Pa said. “Your pa’s real sick and it’s going to take some time for him to get better.”

  “But, I’ll lose my job Finnian,” Gunner said, his voice barely audible over the roaring fire. “They’ll find some other boy to do it.”

  “A boy your age don’t need to be working in no mine.”

  “But how will we live?”

  “You’re going to stay here until we can get your old home place back so you can live there.”

  “Home place?”

  “Boy, you don’t know it, but you’re Grandpa Abe had a right nice place just south of here.”

  “I’ve heard of him,” Gunner said. “The man who owned the fiddle.”

  “Jordan, Gunner!” Willow hollered out the door. “Come and eat!”

  Jordan took off to the house without waiting for Gunner. He got to the porch and Willow smacked him right upside his head. Jordan stumbled into Grandma’s chair, but caught himself before he tumbled to the floor.

  “What’d you do that for?” he asked.

  “That’s for letting my cloth get all wet. Now I have to wash it because it smells like a dirty dog.”

  Jordan rubbed his head and ran inside the house, as he was too hungry to retaliate. Jake, Selie and Eamon had already sat down. He pulled out his chair and fixed a heaping plate of salted pork, butter beans, and two biscuits.

  Pa and Gunner came in a few minutes later.

  “Sit here,” Willow said and pulled out her chair for Gunner.

  Gunner sat down. His eyes widened when the saw the food on the table.

  “Better eat, boy,” Pa said. “Or there won’t be any left.”