by Rod Miller
“That’s true, Melvin—Mel. But only to be sociable. And never to put myself in such a state as I see you two in.”
Richard raised his head and glared at his father, snatched the bottle from Melvin and took another pull, draining the bottle.
“I don’t know what’s to become of you boys. You-all could stand to take a page from your brother Abel’s book.”
Without a thought, Richard flung the empty whisky bottle at his father. It missed, shattering against the wagon.
Lee stared at the shards of glass on the ground glinting in the firelight. “I will disregard that, seeing as you ain’t in your right mind, Son.” He stood, hitched up his britches. “Come morning, we’ll be moving camp. I expect you two to be up and around and helping.” With that, he walked behind the wagon to the trees under which the men’s bedrolls were spread out. He sat down on his bed and pulled off his boots. Abel and Peter were quiet, but he did not think them asleep.
After a moment, Lee crawled into his blankets, laced his fingers behind his head and studied the stars, thinking they should glow brighter than they had earlier and wondering why that did not appear to be the case. Perhaps there was a storm moving in.
He had no more closed his eyes than the snap and crackle of an axe splitting firewood awakened him. For a few minutes he did not move, listening to the sounds of morning filtering through the twilight. After sitting up and pulling on his boots, Lee scrubbed his face with the palms of his hands then walked into the woods to relieve himself. When he came back, he toed Richard and Melvin in turn with his boot. Melvin did not move; Richard burrowed deeper into his blankets. Lee toed them each again, this time with more determination. “If you boys are fixin’ to fill your bellies, you-all had best roll out. There’s work to be done, on an empty stomach or otherwise.”
Abel had eaten and was throwing harnesses onto the mules when his older brothers came to the fire. They walked slowly, placing their feet gently with each small step. Neither had the stomach for bacon and corn dodgers, and the coffee they sipped roiled inside.
“You-all look like something a dog dug up,” Lee said.
Richard’s head jerked up to glare at his father, but the scowl failed to form when the sudden motion caused him to wince and squint. Melvin only slowly wagged his hanging head. He mumbled, “Why for we got to be up so early, Pa? Sun ain’t hardly showin’ at all.”
“Like I told you-all last night, we’re moving camp today, and there ain’t no time like the present. I reckon there’ll be plenty to do to get us settled in.”
Melvin groaned.
Richard hacked and spat, nearly gagging himself as he did so.
Sarah shook her head in sympathy. “Lee, I don’t see as there’s all that much hurry. Let these boys set a spell and get their wits about them.”
“Now, Sarah, these boys bargained for this suffering, and I ain’t the one to deny them their reward. There ain’t no reason they can’t stir their stumps and help you and me and Abel and Peter get this stuff stowed in the wagon and on the way. No reason a-tall.”
Abel drove the mules ahead of the wagon and as soon as he backed the team over the tongue, Lee lifted the yoke and fastened it to the collars while Abel hooked the traces to the singletrees. Peter hefted the kitchen box into the wagon. Lee sent Melvin to fetch the milk cow and Richard after their bedrolls.
Within minutes, Lee was on the wagon seat with Sarah beside him, snapping the lines and kissing up the mules to move. Peter and the brothers followed behind, Abel joking with his captive and Richard and Melvin moving slow and silent, still doing their best to avoid jarring their heads with each footfall.
As the wagon rattled its way toward Mill Creek and the Lewis camp, Lee watched the sky, wondering what the gathering clouds had in store.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Lewis camp was all a-bustle when the Pate wagon rolled by. Mary and Emma bent over steaming washtubs working workmen’s clothing and army uniforms against scrub boards while Martha dipped garments out of rinse water, wrung them out, and pegged them to clotheslines. Jane fed the fires and folded dried shirts and trousers on a plank table.
Lee and Sarah waved and the wagon continued on to the campsite they and Daniel Lewis had chosen. Richard and Melvin and Abel and Peter stopped as if at the end of a tether and stood watching the Lewis girls at work. No one spoke, but all four of the young men managed to remove their hats and hold them against their chests. The Lewis girls stopped work and looked the men over, but soon each was back at her task.
The wagon turned a narrow circle and Lee whoaed up the mules. He and Sarah sat smiling at the boys for a moment. He hollered, “Rich! Mel! Abel! Peter! You boys unhobble yourselves and get on over here!”
That calling of names was as close to introductions as there would be that day. When the wagon was unloaded, plans laid and orders given, Lee and Sarah drove into Fort Smith to arrange credit on lumber and surplus army tents and such supplies as they could bargain for. The boys set about grubbing brush and leveling the ground and digging fire pits and the like while the Lewis girls kept to their jobs, doing their best to ignore their new neighbors, but the camps exchanged furtive glances and curious stares throughout the day.
It was late in the day when the loaded wagon creaked and rattled back into camp. Sarah set about arranging supper as Lee and the boys unloaded and stacked lumber and emptied the wagon of the foodstuffs it carried. Just as the last of the load came out the endgate, Daniel Lewis joined them. He walked into the campsite, hitched his thumbs in his pockets, rocked back on his heels and said, “Well, neighbors, it looks like you are about getting your bits and bobs well organized. Lee, did the merchant I recommended suit your fancy?”
“He sure did, Daniel. Got most all we need on good terms. He says that with work goin’ wanting he ain’t the least bit concerned about us makin’ good, what with four able-bodied men to draw wages.”
Daniel nodded. “For certain there are jobs to be had. If I know my onions—and I believe I do—you gents could find work one and all at the brickyard. Then there are jobs digging foundations, working with brick masons, out in the quarry at Belle Point—and I am told the warehouses supplying the army need help. If you should care to, and your wagon is fit for such work, there is a constant need for drayage.”
The men listened in interest. Peter said, “It looks as if a man can choose his circumstances.”
“Aye, that is for certain.” Daniel studied Lee’s sons and smiled. “I’ve not seen such opportunity in donkey’s years for a man of ambition. Your boys look strong, Lee, but these two look like they’ve got the collywobbles,” he said with a nod to the two oldest boys.
Richard and Melvin reddened and took a sudden interest in the dirt between their feet. Lee said, “Nothing that won’t pass. Them boys snuck into Fort Smith yesterday and struck up an acquaintance with John Barleycorn. Got to know him a mite too well. But I will sweat it out of them.”
Melvin kept up scuffing the dust. Richard glowered at his father and walked away. But he did not go far and the men worked until dark and sleep.
Before the sun set on another day, the Pates had cobbled together a suitable, if temporary, home. Following Daniel Lewis’s pattern, they erected two surplus army wall tents on wooden platforms. One would serve as sleeping quarters for the boys and Peter, the other would house Lee and Sarah and most of the provender and other supplies. Neither lodging included a stove, but if winter proved too harsh, those implements could be installed later. The wagon sheet, lashed to one side of the box, stretched upward to planted poles providing cover for kitchen work and a rough table with benches for eating. The cooking fire, positioned to reflect heat off the canvas, would afford some warmth as well.
Sunday would come with the sunrise so there would be no work at the camp, and no looking for jobs in town. Lee allowed the brothers and Peter leave to visit Fort Smith for the evening, admonishing against sampling the wares on offer at the saloons.
As shank’s mar
e took the boys to town, talk turned to prospects for the evening. Peter allowed a walking tour would be time well spent. Abel agreed. “It’ll give us some idea of the lay of the land,” he said. “See where this brickyard Mister Lewis talked about is at, have a look at the fort they’re building and whatnot.”
Richard laughed. “You-all go on ahead, boys. There’s a couple of barkeeps I’ve not met yet.”
“Pa says not to!” Abel said.
“I don’t give two hoots in hell what Pa said. It’s Saturday night and I don’t aim to waste it.”
“But Pa says—”
“Oh, dry up about what Pa says. Look where his words has got us so far. Half of what he says is plumb crazy and the other half ain’t worth listenin’ to.”
Abel bristled and only the jingle and rattle of an approaching wagon prevented his attacking his older brother. He unclenched his fists and turned to the trace behind. It was the Lewises’ town buggy coming, Mary at the lines, Jane beside her, with Martha and Emma in the back seat.
Peter and Richard removed their hats and the men stepped aside to let the buggy pass, but Mary reined up beside them. “Good evening, gentlemen. On your way to town, I expect.”
Abel, eyes locked on Emma, did not think to answer. He finally found the presence of mind to remove his hat, but did not find his voice. Melvin, tongue-tied on the best of occasions, reverted to his usual hidey-hole in the dirt between his boots. Abel elbowed him and gestured for him to take off his hat, which he did. Richard swallowed hard and stammered some, but no words would come. He, too, stared at Emma. Most men found her the fairest of the sisters, but none of the Lewis girls could be described as anything but attractive—including young Jane, just beginning to blossom.
It fell to Peter to speak. “Good evening to you as well, ladies. You surmise correctly—Fort Smith on a Saturday night is our destination.”
Jane, at age thirteen knowing no shyness, piped up. “We’re a-goin’ to the dance! How ’bout you?”
“Dance?” Abel said, surprised at the sound of his own voice.
“There’s a dance every Saturday night, almost! Them soldiers and other men even ask to dance with me!” Jane said.
Mary confirmed her sister’s claim and mapped out the location of the dance floor in town. As she put the horse and buggy into motion, Martha spoke. “I hope we’ll be seeing you gentlemen at the dance.”
Emma did not speak, but Abel believed ever after that she gave him the slightest of smiles as she rode away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Richard did not make it to the dance. At least not until too late. Unable—or unwilling—to resist the lure of liquor, he was drawn into the first set of swinging doors he encountered. Melvin, as was his wont, followed his older brother like a passive pup.
Abel and Peter navigated the town streets on the way to the dance, which they found as much by sound as sight, and joshed and joked in anticipation of meeting the neighbor girls. Finding the Lewis girls—and much of the rest of the population of young women of Fort Smith—was not difficult. A deep ring of men surrounded the females, thin at the edges and ever-more concentrated as it approached the women at its center. Many in the crowd sported well-worn but clean working clothes—some laundered at the Lewis camp—in contrast to the proper army uniforms—many of those cleaned courtesy of Lewis hands as well. The music players continued their preparations as men bargained for turns with the girls of their choice.
Elbowing their way through the mob, Abel and Peter found Martha. She dismissed with a smile and a promise the soldier who had her attention and turned it to her new neighbors. “Gentlemen. How nice to see you. You found your way without incident, apparently.”
“We did,” Peter said, doffing his hat. “Allow me, please, to introduce myself formally. I am Peter Neumann, late of Shelby County, Tennessee—” A sharp elbow in the ribs interrupted the introduction, and a pointed look from Abel reminded Peter to go no further in revealing his past. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Lewis.”
“Martha, please. And who is this man in the long coat?”
“His name is Abel Pate.”
Abel bowed slightly. “Miss,” he said, then put his hat—Uncle Ben’s hat—back on.
Martha glanced around for her sisters and hailed Jane and Emma to join them. “I don’t see Mary, but she’s the one you spoke to earlier—the one driving the buggy.”
With smiles and apologies, the other two sisters brushed off the attentions of several men as they made their way to join Martha.
“This,” Martha said, taking Jane by the hand, “is our baby sister, Jane.”
“I am not a baby!”
“Of course not, dear. Jane, say hello to Peter Neumann and Abel Pate.” As Jane curtsied, Martha turned to Emma. “And this is our Emma—likely to be the belle of the ball tonight if history holds.”
Emma blushed at the description. “Mister Neumann,” she said with a nod. She turned to Abel and offered her hand. “Mister Pate.”
Now it was Abel’s face that flushed. “Call—call me Abel, please.”
“As you wish, Abel.” He reddened again at the sound of his name on her lips. “And you must call me Emma. No need for formality among neighbors, I should think.”
“Yes, Miss—Emma, I mean.”
Abel searched for more words and was relieved when Martha came to the rescue. “Where are the others who were with you? Brothers, I assume?”
“Yes, Miss Martha. My brothers, not Peter’s. He’s—he’s— well, Peter has been traveling with us. Richard is the oldest. Mel, the big one, is next. He don’t say much. They might come along later.”
“I hope so. It will be a pleasure to meet them.”
“Maybe so,” Abel said.
The pleasure did come, but not until much later. In the interim, the Lewis girls were in great demand and Emma, as Martha predicted, was pursued all evening long. Still, Abel and Peter found opportunity to dance with each of the Lewis sisters, even Mary.
Richard still had his wits about him when he and Melvin arrived, but they were severely impaired. Rather than carrying around an obtrusive bottle of whiskey, he sipped from time to time from a pocket flask. Melvin’s state of sobriety was more difficult to determine.
The dance was at an end when the brothers found Abel and Peter talking with the Lewis girls at their buggy.
“Well, would you looky here,” Richard said as he approached. “Got the whole neighborhood right here in one place.”
“Richard,” Abel said.
“C’mon baby brother, meet us up to these fine-looking ladies.”
Abel introduced each of the sisters in turn.
Richard stood, hat over his chest, leering bleary-eyed at the girls. “Lemme see if I’ve got you-all sorted out.” He pointed at each sister and said, “Mary, the boss. Jane, the baby—”
“I am not a baby!”
“—Martha, and Emma. I got to say, Emma, you are as cute as a spotted pup.”
“Richard!”
“What is it, baby brother?”
“Mind your manners.”
Richard plopped his hat on his head, turned to Abel, and prodded his chest with his forefinger. “Listen here, Abel,” he said, punctuating each word with a finger poke. “I’ve told you for the last time not to be orderin’ me around.”
Abel grabbed the finger and held it immobile. “And Pa has told you more than once to behave yourself.”
“The way I act ain’t none of his affair, not no more. I’m a grown man and don’t intend to take orders from him any longer.”
Melvin stood back, eyes darting to follow the conversation. The Lewis girls quietly loaded into the buggy, with a hand up from Peter.
“As long as you’re eating at his table you’ll do as he says.” He tossed Richard’s hand aside and turned to the girls in the buggy. “Ladies, our apologies. Richard is not himself.”
The girls drove away.
Richard stepped into Abel near enough to smother h
im with liquor-laced breath. “Don’t you be apologizing for me, you little shit!”
Abel pushed him away. “You have embarrassed yourself, Rich. Our whole family, as far as that goes.”
With a sharp intake of breath, Richard unleashed the fist of his right hand. Abel dodged and the blow slid off his shoulder.
“Stop it!”
“Why, you—” Richard reloaded for another blow but before he could unleash it, Abel smashed his brother’s leering lips with a swift, straight punch.
Richard sat, landing with his head rattled and breath bursting out in a sour cloud.
“What’s going on here?” a uniformed soldier on security duty asked as he hurried over.
“Ain’t nothing,” Abel said. “Family squabble is all. Mel, help Richard home. Pa will have something to say about this.”
Richard, head weaving, managed to glare at his brother and slurred, “I’ll be damned if I’ll be listening.”
Abel and Peter started for home. It would be some time before Melvin and Richard arrived at camp. When they did, Richard was accompanied by his newfound friend—the half-pint glass pocket flask.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The incident after the dance was set aside, if not forgotten. The Pates and Lewises settled into a comfortable routine, passing time together as occasion allowed. Many an evening they shared a meal or simple conversation. The young men’s tongues eventually loosened in the presence of the girls and friendships formed. Lee and Daniel, in particular, found themselves companionable, enjoying conversations that sometimes lasted long into the night.
The Lewis girls invited Sarah to join their laundry enterprise, but she allowed that having raised three boys and through all her years of marriage to Lee she had washed more than enough men’s clothes. Sarah did, however, agree to take over most of the cooking for the Lewis family, allowing the girls to devote more time to their work without the distraction of preparing meals. She even learned to cook up some family favorites from across the sea like Shepherd’s Pie, bangers and mash, mushy peas, and pork pies.
