Hear the Wind Blow

by Mary Downing Hahn

  "How about a drink of water? I'm parched."

  Henry jumped up. "Drat. Polly told me to fetch you water and I plumb forgot."

  He went out to the well behind the cabin. While he pumped away, I pulled on my clothes, dry now but stained with mud. By the time Henry returned I was dressed and sitting at the table, still feeling a bit trembly and achy. Carefully he filled a cup from the bucket of well water and handed it to me. I was glad to see my hands were steadier.

  "There's some porridge left," Henry said, "and some bread. Polly said you can eat if you want."

  The porridge wasn't much thicker than water and the bread was hard, but it tasted fine. Soon I was sleeping again.

  ***

  Polly came home from the widow's with some eggs about the middle of the afternoon. She'd no sooner sat down to rest than we heard the rumble of men and horses coming our way. We stared at each other. "It must be the Yankees," Polly whispered.

  As the steady drum of hooves grew louder, Henry grabbed the musket and headed toward the door. Polly stopped him. "Where in tarnation do you think you're going with that gun?"

  "I aim to shoot them Bluebellies. Kill as many as I can." While Henry struggled to escape Polly's grip, I grabbed the musket from him. Next thing you'd know, he'd blow somebody's head off. Maybe his own. Maybe mine.

  "You ain't going to do nothing of the sort!" Polly yelled. "You'll just get your stupid self kilt, and what good will that do?"

  "She's right," I said, keeping the musket out of the boy's reach.

  Henry ran to the window and looked out. "They'll be here soon. Can we at least go see them?"

  Polly glared at Henry. "If you promise not to do nothing stupid like throwing rocks or hollering insults."

  He gave her a sulky look. "Can we loose the dogs on them?"

  "You know them hounds won't do nothing. Most likely they'll run off with their tails between their legs, and we won't never see them no more."

  Polly turned to me. "You think you got the strength to walk down to the road?"

  For a minute I considered staying in the cabin, for there was a chance Major Dennison might be among the soldiers. But I was so caught up in the excitement, I decided he'd be too busy leading his men to notice me.

  We made our way down the lane. It was still muddy from the rain, so my shoes suffered somewhat. Neither Polly nor Henry wore anything on their feet. I doubted they had a pair of shoes between them.

  I was glad to boost myself onto the fence and sit a spell. Polly sat beside me. Her faded gingham dress was worn so thin I could almost see through it. It was tight, too. The seams strained even though the girl hadn't an extra pound anywhere. I glanced at her feet. They were narrow and freckled. Her second toe was longer than her big toe. First time I'd ever seen that.

  "I see their flag!" Henry shouted. "Just coming round the bend up yonder."

  What a show those men put on. Though some were old and tired, many were young and fresh and their buttons shone in the sunlight. Their horses pranced and held their heads high. In front of the flag bearers marched a drummer boy and a fifer, both about my age. As they drew near, the boys struck up "The Battle Cry of Freedom," and the soldiers burst into song. With one eye on us, they belted out the chorus.

  The Union forever,

  Hurrah, boys, hurrah!

  Down with the traitor,

  Up with the star;

  While we rally round the flag, boys,

  Rally once again,

  Shouting the battle cry of Freedom.

  Of course, Henry had to bellow "Dixie." I doubted anyone heard his thin little pipe of voice, but Polly did her best to shush him. She even put her hand over his mouth. Some of the cavalry laughed at the sight of her struggling to control Henry.

  One hollered at him. "Hey, boy, you're watching the end of the South pass right in front of your nose."

  Of course, Henry slid off the fence and grabbed a rock. "No!" Polly shouted and tackled him. He threw the rock anyway, but it went wide and missed the soldier.

  "I seen all I want to see!" Polly gave Henry a shaking hard enough to rattle his teeth and pulled him up the lane toward the cabin. I followed them. I'd seen all I wanted, too.

  18

  WHEN DARKNESS FELL, we ate our supper. Polly scrambled the eggs and cut more hard bread. I wasn't as tired as I had been, so the three of us sat by the fire and talked about our families and the days that used to be. Suddenly, Polly began to sing "Hard Times" in a sweet, quavery voice.

  Henry and I joined in the chorus.

  'Tis the song, the sigh of the weary;

  Hard Times, Hard Times, come again no more.

  Many days you have lingered around my cabin door;

  Oh! Hard Times, come again no more.

  While I sang, I couldn't help recalling the night Mama had sat at our little organ as Rachel, James Marshall, and I sang those very words. We'd all been so happy, never dreaming Hard Times was about to pound on our door and change everything.

  When the last chorus was sung, Polly wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "Don't know why I picked that song to sing," she said. "I just opened my mouth and it came spilling out."

  "It's a fitting song," I said.

  Polly nodded. "Hard Times been knocking on our door for a long while, as far back as I can remember. But now it's worse than ever." She raised her head and stared at me. "You think Hard Times will ever stop his knocking and knocking and knocking?"

  It was a tough question. And it required a tough answer. "Even when this war is over," I said slowly, "I believe Hard Times will be knocking on our doors for a long, long time."

  Polly lowered her head. "Lord," she murmured, "give us strength."

  "Amen," I whispered, for I knew I needed strength as much as she did. And maybe more, because I wasn't used to Hard Times like Polly was. We'd never been rich, but we'd had a sight more comfort and ease than Polly and Henry had ever enjoyed.

  "All this sad talk has wore me out." Henry rubbed his eyes and yawned. "I'm so tired I can't hardly see."

  "And you, Haswell." Polly turned to me. "You ought to be getting lots of rest. You need to build your strength so's you can go find your brother."

  I didn't argue, for I was just as fatigued as Henry. Being up and about had shown me I wasn't quite as fit as I'd thought. I curled up in my blankets and watched Polly and Henry climb the ladder to the loft. "Good night," I called.

  Polly paused and smiled down at me. "Sleep well, Haswell."

  I nodded, but when I closed my eyes, I saw those Yankees again, marching, marching, marching toward Petersburg. "Please, God," I prayed, "spare Avery's life. Don't let him be killed. Keep him safe from harm. You know Rachel and I can't make it without him."

  ***

  I knew I had to go on my way soon, but the next day another hard rain commenced. It kept up for three days, flooding fields and roads, making it difficult to go anywhere for several days afterward.

  It wasn't just the weather that kept me. My fever lingered, low in the mornings, high in the evenings. Polly fussed over me, but Widow Ransom kept her busy, doing chores in exchange for food.

  "That old woman used to have slaves do her work," Henry told me one day while Polly was gone. "But they run off long ago."

  "We never had slaves," I said. "Papa thought it was wrong."

  "How come he and your brother went off to the fighting, then?" Henry asked.

  "To keep the Yankees off our land."

  Henry nodded. "That's why Pa went. He didn't care nothing about slavery one way or t'other. He just didn't like Yankees."

  We sat quietly for a while, pondering the war. "The Yankees came anyway," Henry said. "And it don't look like they'll be leaving any too soon. Damn them."

  He gave me a sly look to see how I felt about swearing. A boy his age, I might have been shocked once but not anymore. When times got this hard, it didn't seem the Lord would mind us cursing every now and then.

  "If the Yankees win, does it mean God is on their sid
e?" Henry asked.

  "Our preacher said we'd win because God was on our side," I said.

  "He can't be on both sides." Henry frowned. "Can He?"

  "I don't think so."

  "But He's God, so's I reckon He could be." Henry sounded puzzled. "He can do anything he pleases."

  I thought of Zeus, sitting up there on Mount Olympus watching the Greeks and the Trojans killing each other on the bloody plains of Ilium. He had his favorites. Achilles, for instance. But he let him die. And Hector—who, as Papa said, was a far better man than Achilles.

  "Sometimes I think we can't know God's mind any more than Job could. Not you and me. Not preachers, either." I studied Henry's freckled face. "God is God, and only He knows the whys and wherefores of things here on earth."

  "That's why I don't plan to go to church no more," Henry said. "Though Polly will probably drag me there as long as she's able. But one day I'll be too big for her to handle, and I'll go off on my own."

  He looked at me hard. "How about you, Haswell? You plan to listen to preachers anymore?"

  "I don't know about church and preachers and all that," I said slowly. "But I aim to keep on praying."

  "Huh," Henry said. "I prayed hard for Mama, and look what happened. She died anyway. The preacher said it was God's will. That's when I quit listening to preachers."

  Henry's talk was starting to worry me. I'd read my Bible all my life, and I'd said my prayers and I'd gone to church every Sunday till our preacher went off to join the army. I didn't understand the Lord, but I wasn't about to give up on Him.

  "You're hardly more than a child, Henry. It's not right for you to be so—"

  "I ain't no child," Henry said.

  "Then what are you? I don't see a beard or any other sign of manhood."

  To my surprise, Henry's eyes brimmed with tears. "I don't rightly know what I am," he said. "I ain't a child, I ain't a man. I'm just me, and I seen what I seen and I know what I know."

  He jumped up from the table and went to the window, looking for his sister, I guessed. Also hiding his tears. "Here comes Polly," he said, "running like the devil hisself was chasing her."

  Polly burst into the cabin. Her hair was working its way out of her braids, one curly red strand after another, and her cheeks were flushed pink. She looked like she'd run all the way from the widow's house.

  "Richmond's surrendered!" she cried. "And Petersburg, too. There's Yankees everywhere."

  Speechless, I stared at Polly. Richmond? It couldn't be. Not the capital of the Confederacy. And if Petersburg had fallen, how was I to find Avery? What if he'd been wounded in the fighting? Or killed?

  While I stood there as mute as a fool, Henry ran to Polly's side and grabbed her shoulders as if he meant to shake her. "Where in tarnation did you hear that? It's a lie, a damnable, outrageous lie!"

  Polly pulled away from him. "It's true, Henry, I swear to God. A Confederate officer came by the widow's house and told us."

  "He's a liar," Henry said.

  "No, he was a messenger, sending news for us to be ready for battle. He says it's bound to come this way." Polly began to cry then. "What shall we do?"

  Polly's news shouldn't have shocked me. Any fool could tell the war wasn't going well for us. It was like the night Grandpa Colby died. He'd been sick so long everybody knew he'd die. But when he actually stopped breathing, we were all as shocked as if he'd been killed by lightning. That was how I felt now. Dumbstruck and heartsick and scared.

  "Why does he think the fighting will come this away?" Henry asked.

  "He didn't say." Polly wrung her long, thin hands together. "But if it does come, this cabin ain't safe. We can't stay here."

  "We'll go to Widow Ransom's house," Henry said. "She likes you, Polly. She'll take us in. She's been wanting to ever since Pa left."

  "Yes, but I was hoping to stay on our own, not be obligated to anyone." Polly held up her chin. It shook in spite of her effort to look brave. "But I can't think of nothing else to do."

  I got to my feet, cursing the weakness that lingered in my legs. "Polly, I can't stay here. I have to find Avery. What if he gets killed in the fighting?"

  "No, Haswell!" she cried. "Don't go. Not with the soldiers heading this way." She gave me a shake, as if I were Henry's age. "Look at you, still ailing. Why, your fever will come right back. And then where will you be?"

  I tried to pull loose, but Polly was a sight stronger than she looked.

  "Please stay here," Polly begged. "Please, Haswell."

  I felt both perplexed and confused, standing so close to Polly and feeling her hands holding fast to my arms. Her eyes were level with mine, greeny gray and sadder than ever. Her red hair hung in wispy curls around her face. I found myself stammering when I told her, all right, I'd stay, but just a little longer.

  Polly sighed and released me. Her face was almost as red as her hair. "I reckon I better cook supper. It's getting dark."

  She turned away and took three eggs and a loafofbread from the basket she'd brought from the widow's house.

  Henry sighed. "I'm powerful weary of scrambled eggs, Polly. Can you fry them this time?"

  Polly glanced at me. "If it's all right with Haswell."

  "It's fine," I said. "I'll eat anything you care to cook and be grateful for it."

  Polly blushed again.

  "I'm going to see to Ranger," I said.

  Outside the evening was cool and the stars hung bright and sharp in the sky. A long way off, an owl hooted, too far away to be calling my name. The peepers kept up their endless chirping down in the marshy places. I looked up at the moon and wished the night were as ordinary as it seemed.

  But somewhere under that very same moon soldiers huddled by fires, waiting for morning, Avery among them. Maybe he was looking at the moon, too, thinking of Mama and Rachel and me gathered round the table, eating supper. Poor Avery. There was so much he didn't know.

  And I was the one who would have to tell him.

  19

  THE NEXT MORNING we were sitting at the table eating our grits when, suddenly, Henry raised his head. "Do you hear thunder?"

  I laid down my spoon and listened. "It's gunfire and cannons," I said.

  Polly leapt up, her face so white her freckles popped out. "Is it heading this way?"

  Henry and I ran outside. Far across the rolling hills and fields, we saw smoke pluming like gray clouds against the blue sky. The gunfire was getting louder.

  "They're in the woods over on the other side of Cooper's farm," Henry said. "I wager they'll be coming right across his fields toward us."

  We hurried back to the cabin. Polly was waiting on the porch, her apron scrunched in her hands. "Are they coming?" she called.

  "I believe so!" I shouted.

  I'd no sooner spoken than a dozen or so Confederate soldiers came dashing out of the woods, putting their feet to it as hard as they could. They weren't more than a half mile away and heading straight toward the cabin. Union soldiers burst out of the woods in pursuit, dozens of them—maybe hundreds—coming from everywhere.

  "Go to the widow's house! Run!" I yelled at Polly. "I'll get Ranger."

  "Set the hounds loose, Henry!" Polly shouted.

  While Henry opened the pen's gate, I ran into the cabin and grabbed my revolver. Then, fumble-fingered with fear, I saddled Ranger. I swear I could almost see Death coming, a tall, gaunt figure dressed in black rags. His head blotted out the sun. His scythe flashed like lightning, cutting down soldiers like wheat at harvest time.

  I leapt onto Ranger's back. The hounds scattered around me, streaking toward the woods as fast as they could go, their bellies grazing the grass. It was clear they wanted none of the war.

  By the time I was clear of the stableyard, the field behind me had become a battle scene. Men were shooting, screaming, falling. The Confederates couldn't hold. Some tried. They were outnumbered, but they kept on shooting. Others dropped their guns and ran.

  With gunfire ringing out, I galloped af
ter Henry and Polly. They were running uphill toward the widow's fine old stone house. Polly was carrying the musket.

  I slowed down beside them. "You go on to the house," I said. "I'm going to hole up in the barn with Ranger."

  Polly and Henry didn't answer, but they swerved away from the house and followed me. Their contrariness riled me somewhat, for I was thinking of their safety, but the barn was solid stone, too, almost as big as the house and just as solid. It was cool and dark inside, smelling of hay and horses, though those things were long gone.

  Ranger resisted me. He pawed the ground, he whinnied, he reared up as if he meant to fight his way out of the barn. Finally, I got him into a stall and bolted the door. He kicked and carried on, acting even more ugly than he had for Captain Dennison in Winchester.

  Henry gazed at the horse in awe. "He wants to go to war," he said. "That's what they trained him for."

  "He's not going anywhere," I said. "And neither are you," I added, for it occurred to me Henry would like nothing more than to ride Ranger into battle.

  Polly grabbed Henry's arm and held it tight. "They're getting closer, Haswell. What will we do if they come in here?"

  "Shoot them if they're Yankees," Henry said. "Ain't that right, Haswell?"

  "Only if we have to." The thought of shooting a man made my stomach quiver.

  "Oh, Lord, preserve us!" Polly cried as the loudest noise I'd ever heard boomed over our heads. A shell had struck the barn high up and made a hole in the wall big enough to see the sky.

  Two more shells broke holes in the wall. Chunks of stone and rubble came rattling down all around us, striking our shoulders and backs and heads. Dust rose and we choked and coughed. Ranger stamped his feet and whinnied.

  The sounds of the battle grew louder. Soon I could make out shouts, screams, horses whinnying.