Riding from Memories

by Jim Cox

  Na’man gave the matter a long thought before answering. “I know what you say, Master Buck, but we ain’t free. Freedom don’t come from papers or killin’…it comes from people’s heart. Maybe years a coming we’ll be free, but not now.” He paused and then said, “We ain’t to see it, Master Buck—you and me—maybes Helen’s grand young’uns.”

  Buck looked into Na’man’s dark eyes and considered what he’d just said about being free. He may be an uneducated black man, but he’s a wise man…a very wise man to have thinking like that. I only hope true freedom comes to the black man quicker than he thinks.

  Na’man was starting to feel at ease with Buck, so their table talk about bygone times continued for nearly an hour. When the talk lulled a bit, Viola rose and said she was going to the barn to prepare their beds, but Buck interrupted, “You and the youngsters will be sleeping in the house, Viola, I’ll sleep in the barn. It won’t be as much trouble for you, and besides, I have my bedroll to sleep in.” Viola tried to persuade Buck to sleep in the house because he was its rightful owner and a white man, but Buck wouldn’t hear of it.

  ∙•∙

  Buck turned his attention to Na’man, but Viola’s gaze remained on him. She couldn’t figure him out. This skinny fellow was different than any white man she’d ever known.

  ∙•∙

  Buck picked up a candle, snuffed out its flame, and while standing in the opened kitchen door turned and motioned for Na’man to follow him to the barn. When they walked through the barn door, they were met with inky blackness and a strong musty smell of hay and manure, mingled with the scent of Molly and Black. One of the horses whinnied as Buck relit the candle.

  The dim flame shone a small circle of light containing the two men who stood motionless looking at the candle. What seemed to be minutes later, Buck turned to Na’man and said, “I’ve got to ask you about your daughter, Na’man. She looks like she could birth any day now. Are you ready for that?”

  The big man hung his head for a long minute. When he raised it, he wiped his eyes. “I sorry, Master Buck…I afraid for her. She’s only thirteen and little for her age. Hers mammie says her woman parts ain’t big enough to have no baby. I know her tummy looks ready to have the baby, but she’s got another month to go. We pray she don’t die, but we know it might be.” Na’man wiped his eyes again. Buck acknowledged Na’man’s worry with a nod.

  Time passed as the two men stood looking at the dim candlelight. Finally, Na’man spoke up, “I know you is wondering how it happened, Master Buck. How my little girl got with child?”

  Buck nodded.

  Na’man’s eyes went back to the barn floor as he said, “Army men had took’en over Master Howard place, and one day when Helen and me was in the barn doing chores, two Army men grabbed me and tied me up with leather bindins. Another man goes and gets my little girl. Then the three of them took turns with her.” Na’man had to pause and wipe his eyes before he could continue. “Viola got me free later on, and I carried her for her mammie. She was bleeding bad and were all torn up. It was days before she could stand up.”

  “Were they Union or Confederate soldiers?” Buck asked.

  “It doesn't make no difference, Master Buck.” Na’man answered with bitterness. “They were white men.”

  Na’man started for the barn door, but Buck called him back. “I’m going hunting in the morning, Na’man, we need the meat. I’ll be leaving before light and should be back before noon. You and your family can stay here as long as you want.”

  Na’man nodded and started back for the door. When he reached it, he turned and said, “Master Buck, please pray for my little girl.”

  Chapter Seven

  When the sun rose the next morning, Buck was already a couple miles south of his house in a large wooded area. He tied Molly and Black to a sturdy tree branch, walked a ways, and stood between side-by-side oak trees near a creek. He knew the area well because it was the same place he had hunted deer before he left for the war. The animal path running alongside the creek showed as many fresh tracks today as it had when he’d last been there years before. Buck saw deer drinking from the creek within the first few minutes of his arrival, but they were small, so he didn’t shoot.

  The air was crisp with a slight breeze, and overhead the white, pillow clouds gathered as the sun sent down its heat waves. In the sky to the west, two eagles floated on spread wings in the wind current. Time passed—nothing. Once, a noisy red squirrel came down the tree Buck was standing by, but when it spotted Buck, it hurriedly climbed back up into hiding.

  Waiting, Buck’s mind started to wander toward his future. Should I stay on the farm and raise cotton? He shook his head. What kind of life would that be? It was what Pa and Ma wanted, but it don’t hold much excitement for me. He thought of other possibilities. Maybe I can find a job in Enterprise and enjoy the city life. He pushed that idea aside, too. I’d like to get away from this area that’s all torn up by the war, all the bad memories, but I’d have to go north or to the far west to do that…maybe I can work on a ranch, become a cowboy. He smiled at the thought.

  Buck was brought back to the job at hand when he heard leaves crunching not far behind him. He remained motionless, knowing any movement would spook the deer or whatever it was. The sound was upwind to Buck so his smell wouldn’t distract the animal. Animal…maybe it’s a man…an enemy! Buck didn’t move. It seemed to him whatever was making the noise was heading for the creek, and if that was the case, it would pass in front, giving him a good look.

  Minutes later a doe showed, walking toward the water, but there was still crunching behind him. Buck’s heart was racing as he waited. Then a large buck with a huge rack passed by, following the doe. Both deer were facing away from him now, so he could move a little if he was quiet. He raised the Confederate rifle for an easy shot and cocked the hammer. Hearing the click, the animals jerked their heads high for a split second. Then their white flags rose, and they started running, but the buck was too slow. Buck remained where he was standing for several minutes, ready to fire again if the buck regained itself and started off, but the second shot wasn’t necessary.

  He was tying Black to the barn’s tie-rail when the kitchen’s back door opened and Na’man’s family came running. They all aahed and oohed at the big field-dressed buck on Molly’s back. After Buck had told the story about his hunt, he led Molly inside the barn and motioned for Na’man. “Would you and Earl help me get this deer hung and skinned? The sooner we get the skin removed, the better off we’ll be ’cause it’ll cool down faster. We can put the meat into burlap bags and hang ’em high up to keep the varmints from getting to it.”

  “What’s we gonna do with the skin and them there big horns?” Earl asked. Buck and Na’man both smiled.

  “We’ll stretch the skin on the barn door ’til it dries,” Buck said. “We can hang the horns on the house or barn. You can pick the place, Earl.” The boy smiled.

  When the deer was hung, Buck retrieved his Bowie knife from a saddlebag and started the skinning process. Afterward, he cut the carcass into parts and divided the pieces into three burlap bags, setting aside a hind quarter to take to the house.

  When the skin had been nailed to the barn door, Earl asked, “What about the horns? Are we gonna nail ’em up some’ers?”

  “We’ll have to saw off the horns first,” Buck said. “Have you picked out a spot to put ’em, Earl?”

  “Yes’er. I like ’em over the barn door.” Buck smiled and reached for the saw.

  Cutting weeds and cleaning up around the place had been on Buck’s agenda since he arrived back home, so after the horns were hung and the men had washed-up from dressing the deer, Buck asked Na’man if he’d help do some yard work. The men gathered several cotton hoes, three scythes, two rakes, and a tree pruner from the barn’s tool room. In the corner were a crank-turned corn sheller and a large round whetstone that turned by a pedal on its foot platform. On shelves along one wall were dozens of glass canning jars wi
th lids and other useful items. The men oiled and greased the tools and spent the next half hour sharpening the scythes and a couple hoes on the spinning whetstone.

  Buck asked Na’man and his son to prune back the apple and peach trees east of the barn and to cut off any low-hanging limbs. He knew it was late for tree trimming since they were already in bloom, but hoped the trees would yield better and larger fruit if they were pruned. While they went to the trees, Buck headed north of the house with a scythe and hoe to cut weeds, starting with the family cemetery.

  Buck found the cemetery and its fence around the grave sites to be in shambles and engulfed in weeds. He became a bit squeamish when he saw wild rose bushes and Hydrilla plants scattered about, knowing both were covered with sharp briars. The once waist-high, white picket fence was faded and leaning. A few sections had fallen completely over and lay on the ground grown over with weeds. Likewise, some grave markers had fallen over in the deep weeds, and the markers still standing, had faded names and dates.

  Buck started by cutting a six-foot strip around the outside of the thirty-foot square fence using the scythe. Afterward, he pulled the broken fence down and piled the wood away from the graves before continuing his weeding.

  Two hours later with his hands and arms bleeding from deep briar scratches, the cemetery was cleared. He had straightened the markers the best he could and repositioned a few. Buck counted twenty-seven markers and made a mental note that some needed replacing. He found the graves of his grandpa and grandma, of aunts and uncles, of cousins and his ma and pa. He also found markers for his two brothers, but he doubted they were actually buried there because they were killed in the war.

  Buck was leaning on his hoe-handle remembering the episodes of family members whose graves he’d just cleared when Na’man and his son walked up. “We done with the trees, Master Buck. What’s we to do now?”

  “Let’s pile all our cuttings behind the barn to dry out before we burn ’em, but not too close to the barn.”

  Na’man nodded and picked up two sections of the broken fence Buck had discarded and headed out. Earl followed his pa, dragging another.

  After the fruit trees and cemetery, debris had been piled behind the barn, they started cutting weeds with scythes, beginning in the area closest to the house and expanding out—Earl helped out by raking. The work continued to twilight when Viola called them for supper.

  After the dirty dishes had been removed, and the men were sitting back drinking coffee, Buck informed Na’man he’d be leaving in the morning and would be gone for two or three days. He said they were nearly out of food and he needed to go to Enterprise to replenish their supply.

  “I ain’t got no money to pays for my part, Master Buck. You go ahead and get some for your own. We get by somehow.”

  “We’ll all eat together or starve together, Na’man.” Buck paused while gathering his thoughts. “I’m hoping to sell Molly. She ought to bring enough to buy food and garden seed with some money left over.” Buck was thinking about where he’d hide the leftover money when he remembered his pa’s hiding place. His pa hadn’t shared its location with anyone but his wife, but as a youngster, Buck had seen his pa pushing a stone back in place on the outside part of the house’s fireplace and figured it was his pa’s hide-a-way. I wonder if there’s anything in it now or did my ma tell my sisters about it before she died. I’ll check it out first thing in the morning.

  Buck was still at the table drinking coffee and thinking about his pa’s hide-a-way when Na’man asked him a question. “What you want me and Earl to do while you gone, Master Buck?”

  “You can finish cutting the weeds around the house and then start clearing the garden. I plan on buying some garden seed while I’m in Enterprise.”

  “Is there anything else, Master Buck?”

  Buck thought on the matter. “See if you can fix and oil the plow and harrow…they’re in the barn’s overhang. We’ll most likely be using ’em as soon as I get back if I can buy a team of mules. We’ll plow and plant a garden before we start in the fields. If you have time while I’m gone, you can spade-up the flower beds around the house. Ma always liked to have flowers, and I do too. We can dig up some wild ones in the fields and woods when we have time.”

  When Buck retired to his make-shift bedroom in the barn that evening, he sat in a depressed mood, thinking about his life’s circumstances, which was a normal evening event. He had no one. No family, no friends. The war was over, and he was home, but even that didn’t give much fulfillment. Before the war when my family was still alive, this old house and farm provided me with all I wanted, but now it’s only a place to subside, he thought.

  Most evenings were capped-off with memories of the hideous battlefield experiences and his time in prison. Buck would flinch when the sounds of cannons exploded, and his stomach churned as he saw bloody, mutilated bodies─some dead, and some still living, lying in agony on the barn floor before him. He mentally pictured stacked bodies and piles of arms, legs, torsos, and severed heads with staring eyes. Sometimes the screams and wails from a mother, being told of her son’s or husband’s death, echoed throughout the barn and were so overwhelming Buck had to cover his ears.

  The cruelty and degrading conditions at Andersonville also surfaced. The dead rotting bodies lying around with rats gnawing on them and a stench so strong it caused Buck to gag.

  Buck finally slept.

  Na’man and Earl were busy cutting weeds after breakfast the next morning when Buck went to the outside fireplace stones. He remembered the approximate location of the stone his pa had replaced but not the exact, so he tried wiggling several, but none moved. He went to a higher area, and after pushing around for several minutes, he felt a stone move slightly. Shortly, the stone was on the ground, and Buck had his hand inside the hole. The first thing he pulled out was an envelope filled with folded papers. They were faded with a yellowish cast and looked very old and important to Buck, but he had no idea what they were because he couldn’t read. After putting the papers back into the envelope and putting it in his pants’ pocket, he reached back into the hole. Buck stiffened and smiled as he let the coins he was holding slither through his fingers. Money, a whole fist-full of money. He refilled his hand and pulled it out. He was holding all sorts of coins. Six twenty-dollar gold eagles, several ten-dollar gold pieces, plus several coins of lesser value. Reaching back in with his other hand, he removed another handful of coins. Buck stood looking at the money for a long minute. He couldn’t stop grinning. Afterward, he put three ten-dollar coins and some of the lesser valued coins in his pocket before putting the balance of the money back into the hide-a-way and replacing the fireplace rock.

  Heading for the barn to get Black and Molly, his face took-on another wide grin. “I never thought Pa had a cent to his name.”

  Chapter Eight

  Buck witnessed a typical war-stricken Southern town when he entered Enterprise in mid-afternoon leading Molly. The telegraph lines were lying on the ground or dangling from their poles. Many poles had been chopped down, and nearly all the cotton warehouses had been burned. Other businesses and houses had charred sides and roofs.

  As he rode down the street, he became aware of the sparse number of saddle horses and buggies lining the street compared to what he remembered from past visits, and those present looked rather shabby. There was a putrid odor, obviously coming from the muddy road. A recent rain had saturated the road, and the smell of horse manure and urine was overpowering.

  Buck felt uneasy as he rode through the business district on his way to the mercantile. Men of all descriptions sat on the boardwalk benches eyeing him as he passed. Most wore flimsy, shapeless hats, shabby clothing, and boots with run-down heels. Their long, solemn faces looked depressed with no smiles or laughter. A few had cigarettes dangling. On occasion, he saw a long string of brown spit coming from an old-timer’s mouth. He was surprised to see men in gray uniforms standing around, and wondered why they weren’t with their units.

/>   Buck knew he was drawing attention because of what he was wearing and the way he looked. His incomplete Confederate uniform was baggy and hung loosely on his extremely skinny body. His pants were held up with a rope instead of a belt. He wore no cap and was barefooted. The impressive looking horse he was riding stood out like a sore thumb, not to mention the horse he was leading carried two tied-on saddles.

  Buck was worried the mercantile might be out of business since many of the stores had boarded-up windows, but within minutes he spotted its OPEN FOR BUSINESS sign. Tying both horses to the tie-rail, he headed for the entrance. However, when he was within a few feet of the door a good-sized man in a gray uniform stepped in front of him. Buck stopped and said, “Excuse me, sir.” But the officer stood his ground.

  “What are you doing coming to town dressed like that. You look worse than one of those blue-bellies. The war may be over, but the Confederate uniform should still be worn with respect.” Buck flinched when the man confirmed the war was over.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t mean to be disrespectful. I’m on my way inside to buy myself some clothes,” Buck said as he started around the soldier, but the man grabbed his arm.

  “You make sure you change out of that uniform before you leave the store. I’ll be waiting right here to make sure you do.” Buck agreed with a nod, not wanting to start a conflict.

  Buck entered and quickly took-in the store’s inventory. It was sparse—most of the shelves were empty. “Is there something I can do for ya’?” the store clerk asked in a belittling tone as he came from behind the counter toward Buck, his eyes taking in the shabby-looking man from head to toe.

  “Yes, sir,” Buck said, “I’d like to buy some clothes, some food items, and garden seed if you have any.”