Crossing

by Gilbert, Morris

  Jackson went up the side street, where a path led right up to the stable.

  “I’ll take care of the horses, Major Jackson,” Yancy said eagerly. “I know you’ll want to talk to Mrs. Jackson before you introduce me.”

  “Good, good,” Jackson murmured, nodding his head. The words and gesture were very familiar to those who knew him. He dismounted, handed the reins to Yancy, and hurried into the house.

  Yancy hitched up Fancy, then began unsaddling Major Jackson’s horse, which was an unassuming mare by the name of BeBe. In the stall next to her was a big gray gelding who whinnied in recognition when he led BeBe in and then poked his nose out of the stall to watch Yancy curiously. Yancy unsaddled the mare and brushed her down. It didn’t take very long, for he had curried her very well at the institute and they hadn’t ridden hard to Jackson’s home, so he finished quickly. After that he petted the gelding and talked to both horses. He loved horses, and they loved him.

  Yancy was standing at the gelding’s stall, rubbing his soft nose and murmuring to him, when Jackson came to get him. “I see you’ve made Gordo’s acquaintance,” he said.

  “That’s his name? Gordo?”

  “Actually, it’s Cerro Gordo. Named after a place in Mexico, where I saw my first action,” Jackson said. “This old goat”—he rubbed the horse’s nose—”didn’t have anything to do with it. I just liked the name, and I’ll always remember it.”

  “I’d like to know about the Mexican War,” Yancy said wistfully.

  “Would you?” Jackson retorted, swiveling his shrewd gaze to Yancy’s face.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I have two books, memoirs from men who were there,” Jackson said. “Maybe you’d like to borrow them?”

  “Oh yes, sir. I—I like to read, but the Amish don’t encourage it too much. Except the Bible, of course.”

  “Good of them. Everyone must study the Bible with great energy,” Jackson said sternly. “But reading books is a good thing, Yancy. I’m glad you want to read. Shows me something of what you’re made of. So, would you like to come meet my wife now?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jackson led him into the house. It was modestly furnished, not spare but with good wool rugs, plenty of lamps, and comfortable, gently worn furniture in the parlor.

  On a settee was seated a pretty lady, somewhat thin, with thick chestnut hair and warm brown eyes.

  “My darling, this is Yancy,” Jackson said. “Yancy, this is my wife, Anna.”

  Yancy did his best to make a sort of bow, not daring to extend his hand. “Ma’am,” he murmured.

  “I’m so glad to meet you, Yancy,” she said in a soft voice. “Already I feel I know you a little, because Thomas has told me about you. Please, won’t you be seated?”

  Awkwardly Yancy perched on the edge of a straight chair by the fireplace.

  “As I said, Yancy is reputed to be good with tools and on a farm, and I’ve already seen that he’s very good with horses,” Jackson said, seating himself by his wife. “And he’s been working on an Amish farm, and I know that must be hard work.”

  “Yes, sir,” Yancy said faintly.

  Anna looked at him intently then smiled a little as she seemed to recognize his nervousness. “The Amish, you know … I’ve heard of them, but I know very little about them,” she said. “Perhaps you and I can talk about them sometime.”

  “Yes, ma’am, even though I—I mean, I—it’s kind of new to me, too, so I don’t know much about it,” Yancy said.

  “Then perhaps we can learn together,” she said lightly. “Now, you see, the most important thing to Thomas is if you can take good care of the horses and the cart and the carriage and make sure the pump and the drains are working properly. But the most important thing to me, Yancy, is my garden. I think it must be different from farming, but perhaps not so much. And so it doesn’t really matter if you don’t know much about the Amish, as long as you know about horses and gardening.”

  Suddenly Yancy smiled at her; he didn’t smile very often, but she was so gentle and so obviously wanted him to be at ease that it made him want to reassure her. “Ma’am, I don’t know much about flowers and things, but I can learn. And I’m not afraid of any hard work. I’ll be glad to do anything around here that needs doing. If I don’t know how to do it, I’ll find someone who does, and I’ll get him to teach me.”

  Anna and Jackson glanced at each other; and Yancy was surprised at the softness and the warmth with which the stern major looked at his wife.

  Then Anna looked back at Yancy. “I think you’ll do well, Yancy. I’m sure that we’ll be glad that the Lord sent you here. I’ll be glad to have the help, and it will be nice to have a young person around the house.”

  Suddenly Jackson reached out and took her hand.

  Yancy saw the sadness in her then and remembered that Daniel had told him of their losing their daughter four months ago. “I will work hard, ma’am, Major,” Yancy promised. “I don’t know much about the Lord and all, but I do want you to be glad I’m here. I’ll work hard to earn that.”

  Jackson called up, “How’s it going, Yancy?”

  Yancy was on the roof of the stable. It had a tin roof, and the seams had expanded and loosened during the hot summer. With cold rain and snow coming, Yancy wanted to make sure the roof was snug and secure, so he was adding extra nails along the seams and sealing them with tar. It was hot work, and hard work, but he didn’t mind. He wanted BeBe and Gordo to be comfortable this winter.

  He looked down and smiled at the major. “Fine, sir, it’s going very well. I think I can finish this by tomorrow.”

  Jackson nodded. “Come down here. I have something for you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Yancy climbed down the ladder, rubbing his dirty hands against his breeches.

  “Here are your wages for the week.” He held out two silver dollars.

  With great pleasure Yancy took the coins and put them in his pocket. “Thank you, Major. It’s been a good week. I like working for you and Mrs. Jackson,” he said with a touch of uncharacteristic shyness.

  “You have done a good job, Yancy. You are indeed a hard worker. What will you do with your money?”

  “Give it to my family, sir.”

  “Good, good. Be back at eight o’clock on Monday, Yancy.”

  “Yes, sir, I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Carry on.”

  “Sir.” Yancy climbed back up onto the roof of the stable.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  One thing that Yancy loved about the Amish was their food. As he sat down to dinner with his family, his mouth watered. Zemira and Becky had prepared chicken and corn soup, biscuits, pork ribs and kraut, tomato fritters, and potato salad. Also, they had cheese cubes, pickles, and fresh, crunchy celery straight from the kitchen garden, the last of the season. Steaming on the sideboard for dessert was apple strudel, a jug of fresh cream standing by.

  Daniel and Yancy took their seats, and then as was traditional for the Amish, the women seated themselves. Zemira sat down while Becky put Callie Jo in her high chair. Zemira had saved the well-made wooden tray chair for years, wrapped up carefully in an old quilt in the attic. It looked new, but her husband, Jacob, had made it more than thirty years ago for Daniel when he was a baby.

  “Now we will bless,” Daniel said.

  They all bowed their heads for the silent blessing. As always, Yancy surreptitiously watched his father until he raised his head. Of course, most of the time Zemira caught him, but she didn’t fuss. She merely gave him an amused, slightly conspiratorial look.

  As soon as they began to eat, the conversation began. Dinnertime was usually lively, for the Amish worked hard all day at different tasks and it was a time for catching up on everything around the farm. Today, however, which was Saturday, they only wanted to hear from Yancy about Major and Mrs. Jackson. He had been working for them for more than a month now, and though the Amish considered themselves a separate people, they were always eag
er to hear about news from town and the outside world.

  “So, Yancy, tell us all about Major Jackson and Mrs. Jackson and what has gone on this last week,” Becky prodded him. “But first—how is Mrs. Jackson? I know you’ve told us that she still seems sad at times. It’s been, um, six months since she lost the little girl? I can’t imagine how long it would take to get over something like that….” Her voice trailed off, and all eyes at the table went to Callie Jo.

  As if she were aware of the attention, she grinned, her two top teeth and two bottom teeth shining. She had a bowl of creamed celery on her tray, and she buried one chubby hand in it, waved joyously, and smeared it all over her face.

  Zemira, Becky, Yancy, and Daniel burst out laughing. Becky hurried to clean her face and spoon some of the celery properly into her mouth.

  Yancy answered, “Mrs. Jackson is better. It seems like she gets a little better every week. Yesterday she even laughed. It’s the first time I’ve heard her laugh.”

  “About what?” Becky asked curiously.

  Yancy grinned. “We were out in the garden. I was down on my knees in one of the flower beds, turning the soil and mulching, and I guess Major Jackson didn’t realize I was there. So he comes home and finds Mrs. Jackson, sitting on a bench, reading a book. He starts telling her about this new cadet; his name is Percy Smith. He’s a distant cousin of Superintendent Smith’s, and they’re all under orders to sort of help him along. So during artillery class, Major Jackson lets him be a gun captain, but of course the other guys have to do all the worming and swabbing and priming and loading; all he’s got to do is pull the lanyard when Major Thomas yells, ‘Fire!’

  “But it seems like this Percy Smith is kind of a muffin, ‘cause on the first battery he pulls the lanyard, then jumps straight up in the air, covers his ears, and yells, ‘Ooohh!’ And Major Jackson acted it out, jumping up and screeching like a little girl. Mrs. Jackson laughed and laughed. And I did, too, but I was quiet about it, because I knew Major Jackson would be embarrassed if he knew I’d heard him and seen him.”

  The others were fascinated. Daniel said thoughtfully, “You know, I’ve never met Major Jackson, but his reputation seems to be of a rather stern, stiff military man of great dignity.”

  “So he is,” Yancy agreed, “except with Mrs. Jackson. You wouldn’t believe how different he is with her. Course, he’s very gallant with all ladies, but with her he’s kind and soft and smiles a lot and calls her pet names. He doesn’t mind who sees, either. It’s just that yesterday he was such a big clown that I figured he might mind me seeing that.”

  Becky nodded with understanding. “He sounds like a wonderful husband. And so the loss of his daughter hasn’t affected his mind or his health too adversely?”

  Yancy shrugged. “He never seems to be really upset about anything, except his health.”

  “And so he is in bad health?” Zemira asked.

  “I don’t know about that. He doesn’t really look sick, but he’s always complaining of some kind of ailment. Last week he was complaining of an inflammation in his ear and in his throat. He also said he had neuralgia, whatever that is.”

  “I suppose he goes to the doctor quite often,” Becky said sympathetically.

  “No, I heard Mrs. Jackson urging him to go, but Major Jackson just said, ‘I can prescribe medicine just as well as those fellows.’ He showed me once what he was taking, a whole cabinet full of bottles. One was chloroform liniment, and the bottles were labeled—things like ammonia, glycerin, and nutritive silver.”

  “That sounds awful, and dangerous, too,” Daniel said.

  “He doesn’t act sick, but he talks a lot about his ailments. I told you how he sucks on lemons all the time. Nobody knows where he gets them in the wintertime, but he always has a bunch of them. He thinks they help his digestion or something.”

  “But he is a Christian man, I heard,” Daniel said cautiously.

  “Yeah, he is. He talks about the Lord and the Bible all the time,” Yancy answered. “And Mrs. Jackson, too. They’re always quoting the Bible.”

  Zemira, Becky, and Daniel exchanged glances. The Amish didn’t believe in quoting scripture excessively. As with vocal prayer, they considered it very forward and smacking of pride. Of course, Yancy didn’t know this, and the adults had no intention of confusing him by explaining it to him now.

  “He sounds like a good Christian man,” Becky said generously. “One that I’m proud for you to work for.”

  Yancy ducked his head and murmured, “I’m proud to work for him, too.”

  Very early on Monday morning, Yancy left the farm for the Jackson home in Lexington. It was the second week in October, but they hadn’t had a frost yet. It was chilly but not really cold. On this day he rode Fancy because his father had told him they wouldn’t need her. He got there at about seven thirty, unsaddled Fancy and put her in her stall next to Gordo, and brushed her down good. Then he went in the back way to the kitchen.

  Hetty, Mrs. Jackson’s maid, was making coffee. She was a good-natured but no-nonsense woman, chubby, with dark eyes that crinkled into tiny slits when she laughed. Hetty had been with Mary Anna Jackson for many years. “ ‘Bout time,” she grumbled.

  “I’m early,” he countered. “Mmm, coffee smells good. Can I have some?”

  “I don’t know if we’ve got enough sugar and cream for you,” she said, hands on hips. “You make such a syrup out of it.”

  “It’s good for me.” Yancy grinned. “A pretty girl told me at church yesterday that I’m a growing boy.”

  “Bet pretty girls tell you lots of things,” Hetty said. “My daddy always told me don’t believe everything you hear. He was a smart man.”

  “Bet he was. Bet his daughter is, too.”

  “Humph. What are you kissing me up for today?”

  “Lunch, maybe?” Yancy suggested.

  “Like I don’t fix lunch for you every single time you’re here,”she said, sauntering out of the kitchen. “Dunno why I baby you, I truly don’t. You’re sure no baby ….”

  Yancy finished his coffee quickly then went to the parlor.

  It was the routine—Mrs. Jackson waited for him in the parlor to tell him his duties for the day. He knocked and she said softly, “Come in, Yancy.”

  He went in, where Mrs. Jackson sat by a small fire. To his surprise, she was wearing a plain skirt with no hoops and a plain white shirt.

  Always before she had worn the elaborate dresses that were fashionable for ladies, with wide hoop skirts, lace trim, and lace caps topping full ringlets. Today Anna’s hair was bound up tightly in a bun, and a wide-brimmed straw hat lay on the settee by her side. “Good morning,” she said.

  “Good morning, ma’am. What can I do for you today?”

  She smiled. She had a sweet face and kind eyes. As Yancy had noted, she seemed to have overcome her grief for her lost baby slowly over the last month. “Today I want you to work on my flower garden, Yancy. And I’m feeling so well today that I’m going to work, too. My fall flowers are looking so wonderful that I know I’ll enjoy working in the garden, as I did before—before.”

  “That’s good, ma’am. I’ll enjoy the company for a change.”

  Anna put on her hat and some leather work gloves, and they went out the back to the garden. Though the Jacksons had only owned the house for a short time, the garden had been created many years before by the previous owners. Anna Jackson loved gardening, so she was constantly making changes in the plantings and renewing the beds. There had also been a rather large kitchen garden in one corner. But Major Jackson had bought a farm just outside of Lexington, and as was everything else in the Shenandoah Valley, it was fruitful and grew all the fresh vegetables they could ever need.

  Much of Yancy’s time had been spent in this garden, uprooting the old vegetables and tilling and retilling the soil and fertilizing to prepare for flowers. Today, Anna pointed to six shallow crates full of colorful flowers. Yancy had seen them before—his grandmother had them in her fro
nt yard—but he didn’t know what they were.

  “Pansies,” Anna said to his unspoken question. “I dearly love them.” One crate held solid-colored orange flowers, one white, one yellow, one red, one purple with black markings around the center of the flower, and one with yellow petals and purple markings.

  “They are pretty,” Yancy agreed, stooping down to caress one of the showy yellow and purple ones. “It’s funny; these two-colored ones have little faces.”

  “You’re perceptive,” Anna said. “That’s exactly what all of the expert botanists call it. They’re wonderful flowers. If you have the soil conditioned just right, they bloom even in snow.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. They look fragile and delicate, but they’re actually very strong.”

  “Mmm, like some ladies,” Yancy said, rising and looking at her. He looked down at her, for she was a full foot shorter than he was.

  Anna Jackson looked slightly surprised and then pleased. “I’d like to border the flower beds with them. Come, and I’ll show you which color goes where and exactly how to plant them.”

  They worked steadily. Yancy, at the largest flower bed, worked carefully placing the tiny little plants closely around the border. Anna, down on her knees, worked at a small corner bed that had only three sides.

  Yancy found himself humming a hymn, a doleful tune, as most of the Amish hymns were. He had no idea what the words said because it was in German, but it had been a hymn they had sung at church the day before.

  Anna came to stand over him. “What is that tune, Yancy?” He looked up at her face. Her cheeks were rosy, though she didn’t look hot; she looked happy. It was the first time he had seen a complete peaceful happiness on her face.

  “I don’t know, ma’am. Almost all of the Amish hymns are in German. For all I know, we’re singing about sauerkraut and pretzels.”

  Anna laughed, a sweet, pleasing sound. “I rather doubt that, Yancy. It sounds much too sad for that. You’re not sad, are you?”