Hear the Wind Blow

by Mary Downing Hahn

  "She'll be there when you get home," Sykes opined.

  "Plenty of time for kissing then," Phillips put in with a laugh.

  "With any luck a'tall, you'll find a preacher and a church still standing," Sykes added. "Why, this time next year you'll be a married man with a baby on the way."

  I wanted to say something about Polly, but I was too bashful. Two kisses didn't count for much, I reckoned.

  Gradually the men's voices faded. Sykes commenced to snore. Avery tossed and turned and muttered. Phillips ground his teeth. But I was too worried to sleep. I'd been counting on Avery for so long, and here he was lying beside me at last—a wreck of his former self, hollow-eyed, limping, too weak to work a farm. I truly hadn't expected him to be so changed.

  The night turned colder. I curled up under my blanket in hope of finding warmth in my own breath, but the ground was cold and hard and damp. I couldn't find any comfort. Not in my body and not in my mind.

  22

  SOMETIME BEFORE NOON Sykes and Phillips left us to follow their own road home. Avery and I continued on toward Winchester. The roads were crowded with weary soldiers trudging home to farms and towns. Now and then we joined a group and traded stories. With some we shared campfires and food, sleeping together on the cold ground.

  Once we stood on a muddy road in the rain waiting for a train full of Yankee troops to pass by. Most ignored us, but some leaned out the windows and jeered. We flung back insults as best we could, but they had the advantage of us. For one thing, they were dry. And they weren't walking to some far place like Indiana or Minnesota. No, the federal government was taking care of its own. We Southerners had to get home as best we could. For most of us that meant on foot.

  One night when hunger kept Avery and me from sleeping, he asked me to tell him how Mama had died. It was hard telling that story, for I relived everything I spoke of. I saw the Yankees burst in upon us, and I watched Mama go upstairs with Captain Powell. I heard the pistol fire. I saw James Marshall's dead body hanging from the tree and heard the sound it made when I cut the rope and it fell to the ground. I went through Mama's sickness and death all over again.

  "Mama killed a man?" Avery asked when I'd finished speaking. "Lord Almighty, Haswell, I can't imagine Mama with a gun in her hand, let alone pulling the trigger."

  He began crying then, and I held him tight, doing my best to comfort him. Neither of us slept much that night.

  Somehow we got ourselves up in the morning and kept going toward Winchester. By now most of the soldiers had taken different routes home and the roads weren't as crowded as they had been. Often folks would offer us eggs or bread or water. They always apologized for not having more. Then they'd ask if we'd seen their sons or husbands, their cousins, their friends.

  "I'm hoping for word of my boy, Thomas Stone Noble," one might say. "He was in in the Army of Northern Virginia, Regiment B, Company Twelve. Tall, dark hair, real quiet but a good shot."

  "You ain't run into Jefferson Tewkesbury, have you?" another might ask. "I ain't heard from him since Petersburg fell."

  "My daddy was fighting with General Longstreet's men," a boy might tell us. "I'm hoping to see him come along any day now."

  But there was never a name that Avery recognized. He'd sigh and shake his head.

  "The Northern Virginia was a big army," he'd say. "I don't recall meeting a man by that name. But that doesn't mean anything. Just wait and pray. Some have a long journey home."

  We'd go on our way, hoping their loved ones would soon return but knowing full well many of them were lying in shallow graves near the battlefields where they'd fallen.

  As the days passed, I kept a close watch on Avery. He seemed to be recovering some of his strength, but he still complained of his head aching. He'd thrown his dirty bandage away, and I could see the saber's raw red line scoring his forehead from temple to temple. It looked as if the soldier wielding that saber had tried to slice the top of Avery's head off, the way you'd open a hard-boiled egg. It pained me to look at it.

  Besides his head hurting, Avery was so stiff in the morning he needed me to help him stand up. He still asked for a boost onto Ranger's back, and he slept most of the day in the saddle, swaying back and forth like a drunkard.

  Sometimes I'd catch him staring off into the distance, his eyes unfocused. I'd call his name and he wouldn't hear. It was as if his spirit had departed, leaving his body as slack as an empty grain sack. After giving him a shake, I could usually bring him back, but it worried me. What did he see? Where was he? If I asked him, he'd look at me blankly and shake his head. "What are you talking about, Haswell?"

  That was as far as I could get with him.

  On what must have been the ninth or tenth day, we came to a crossroads. The land looked familiar. The Blue Ridge Mountains were straight ahead, close enough now to see a green flush spreading across their slopes, softening the stark browns and grays of winter trees. Unplanted fields lay to the left and right.

  I studied a weatherworn sign, tipped to one side but still standing. If we kept going straight, we'd be in Winchester by dark. I could scarcely believe we were so close to the end of our journey. With nothing but a sigh from Avery, I turned Ranger's head toward our uncle's home.

  23

  AFTER A LONG, WEARY WHILE Avery and I entered Winchester. It was dusk on a chilly May evening. The sky threatened rain. Some of the war damage was hidden by weeds, vines, and shrubs coming into leaf, but here and there fireplaces and chimneys rose from blackened ruins.

  A pair of men in Yankee uniforms strolled around a corner three blocks away. They were talking and laughing, but they were armed with rifles. The sight of them froze me in my tracks.

  Avery looked down at me from Ranger's back. "What's troubling you, Haswell? You act as if we'd never seen Yankees before."

  I tightened my grip on Ranger's reins. "Maybe I'm still wanted for horse theft. They could arrest me, put me in jail, hang me."

  Avery sighed. "They're turning the corner, Haswell. I don't believe they have the slightest interest in either one of us."

  Filled with misgivings, I made myself go on toward Uncle Cornelius's house. We passed raggedy people huddled around campfires in the ruins of their homes. A baby cried loudly in its sister's arms. The girl was no older than Rachel and hadn't the slightest idea how to hush the poor thing. The more she rocked it, the harder it cried. It was almost as if that little baby knew it had picked a bad time to be born.

  When we reached Uncle Cornelius's street, I peered through the gloom, praying the house was still there. Now that I was this close, I was seized with a fear my family would be gone, driven away by war or sickness or death. What if I never saw Rachel again?

  But my fears were for naught. The lawn was in worse condition than before, sprouting weeds and nettles and puddled with muddy water, but the house looked much the same.

  After I took Ranger to the stable, Avery and I climbed the sagging steps to the front door. I lifted the tarnished brass ring in the lion's mouth and let it fall with a loud thud.

  While we waited for a response, I noticed the door showed new scars of war. Chips, dents, smears of mud, what might have been bullet marks.

  After knocking three or four times, we finally heard faltering footsteps approaching. "Who's there?" a voice called.

  "Aunt," I called, "it's Haswell. Please open the door."

  "Haswell!" Rachel shouted and noisily undid several bolts before flinging the door wide. She rushed out ahead of the aunts, but instead of giving us a warm welcome, she stopped short and stared past me at Avery. "Who's that man, Haswell? Why is he with you?"

  "Why, that's Avery," I said. "Don't you remember your own brother?"

  Rachel looked at Avery and shook her head. "Don't lie to me, Haswell. That's not Avery."

  Avery stepped forward so the light from the hall chandelier illuminated his face. "I am most certainly Avery. Don't you know me?"

  Rachel drew closer to me. "He doesn't look a bit like Avery
."

  I took her shoulders and gave her a little shake. "Lord, Rachel, mind your manners. He's been in the war all this time, with nothing to eat, sleeping in mud, fighting."

  "What's that big red mark on his forehead?" Rachel stared at Avery's wound, clearly fascinated. She hadn't heard a word I'd said.

  "A Yankee slashed him with his sword," I told her.

  "Almost killed him."

  "It's true," Avery put in. "If I'd been any taller, he would have sliced my head clean off."

  Rachel sucked in her breath and studied Avery more closely. He stood there patiently waiting for her to recognize him. At last she took a cautious step forward, then another. When he opened his arms, she ran into them. "Oh, Avery, Avery, of course it's you, of course it is." She hugged him so fiercely he tottered and grabbed the bannister to keep himself from falling.

  The aunts rushed forward to hug Avery, too. While they exclaimed over his thinness, Rachel turned to me, her face flushed with anger. "It's about time you came back, Haswell Magruder. Why did you go off without me? It's been dreadful living here, just plain dreadful."

  "I'm sorry, Rachel, truly I am." I gave her a hug, which I believe startled her, as I wasn't one to show much affection. "I missed you something terrible."

  "You did?" Rachel had the look of a person struggling between belief and disbelief.

  "Honest." I crossed my heart. It was more of an exaggeration than an outright lie, for I had missed Rachel, especially when I was alone or sick or scared. Other times I'd been too busy surviving to think of anyone else, including my family. But at the moment I was happier to see my sister than I'd believed possible in the old days.

  "I gave you up for dead." Rachel's eyes filled with tears. "I thought I'd be living with Grandma Colby the rest of my days."

  "Well, here I am, safe and sound." As I spoke, a little shiver ran up and down my neck, prickling the hair on my scalp. What if I wasn't safe after all? What if Major Dennison had left word that I was to be arrested for horse theft?

  "Is anybody looking for me, Rachel?" I asked. "Am I wanted for horse theft or breaking out of jail or anything of that sort?"

  Rachel gave me one of her squinty-eyed looks. "I've been mad enough to hang you ten times over for running off," she said. "But I highly doubt the Yankees give a hoot what happens to you. No matter what you think, you aren't all that important, Haswell." So saying, she tossed her head and turned her attention to Avery. I guess she believed she'd put me in my place, and I suppose she had. Nonetheless, I was mighty glad to hear my face wasn't on wanted posters all over town.

  The aunts came up to me then and commenced to hug me and fuss over me till I thought I'd be smothered. Like Rachel, they'd never expected me to return alive.

  "And to think you found Avery and brought him home safe," Aunt Hester exclaimed.

  "We prayed every night for you both," Aunt Esther said. "It seems the good Lord heard our prayers." She turned her face up and stared at the ceiling as if she could see right through it, all the way to heaven. "Thank you, merciful Father, for sending Haswell and Avery home to us."

  "Amen," Aunt Hester added solemnly.

  "From the looks of you, I reckon you boys are starving." Aunt Esther took my hand and Aunt Hester took Avery's. With Rachel clinging to my other hand, we headed for the kitchen.

  At the aunts' insistence, Avery and I took seats at the kitchen table. While the aunts stirred a kettle of stew already simmering on the stove, Rachel opened the oven and took out a sheet of biscuits.

  "Just look at these, Haswell. I made them all by myself."

  "Why, they look just as tasty as Mama's," I said. Rachel's face turned pink.

  "I've learned to be a good cook," Rachel told Avery and me. "Isn't that so, aunts?"

  "Yes, indeed," said Aunt Hester. "You'll be amazed at what that child can do."

  "I don't know how we would have survived without her," Aunt Esther agreed. "Mother has been feeling too poorly to be of any help."

  "And Corny has been a downright nuisance," Aunt Hester put in.

  "Where are Grandma Colby and Uncle Cornelius?" I asked. "I thought they'd have come to greet us before now."

  "Uncle Cornelius is most likely holed up in his library, having a glass of whiskey," Rachel said, "but Grandma Colby took to her bed when she heard of Lee's surrender. She claims she'd rather die than turn Yankee, but I think she just wants to be waited on."

  "Now, Rachel," Aunt Esther said, "Mother is an old lady. She needs us to care for her."

  "Yes," Aunt Hester agreed. "She cared for us when we were children, so we must—"

  A bell on the kitchen wall jangled. "Oh, that's Mother now," Aunt Esther said, "wanting her supper."

  Aunt Hester ladled stew into a bowl and set it down on a tray with Rachel's biscuits. Aunt Esther poured a cup of tea and set it beside the stew.

  Handing the tray to Rachel, Aunt Hester said, "Please take this to your grandmother."

  Without a word of protest, Rachel traipsed upstairs with the tray. It seemed Rachel's stay in Winchester had improved her attitude as well as her cooking skills.

  She'd no sooner disappeared than Uncle Cornelius shuffled into the kitchen. He looked as if he'd aged ten years since I'd last seen him. His hair was almost white, and he leaned heavily on a cane.

  "Lord Almighty," he muttered, "it's you, Haswell, come back to vex my old age. Though what else you can do to humiliate me lies beyond my imagining."

  Before I had a chance to say a word, Uncle Cornelius noticed Avery. "Who the devil are you?"

  My brother stepped forward. "I'm Avery Magruder," he said, "your sister Rebecca's son, just back from the war."

  Avery held out his hand, but Uncle Cornelius was too busy fumbling in his pockets for a pair of spectacles to notice. After adjusting them on his nose, he peered more closely at Avery. "Oh, Lord, you and John, such handsome young fellows ... and now,and now..."

  His voice began to shake, and he turned his attention to the bowls Aunt Hester was setting on the table. "What's this? Carrots and potatoes again?"

  "You should be glad to have it," Aunt Hester said. "There's many a starving person in this town who'd eat it without complaining."

  "For the love of heaven, don't start playing that tune again." Uncle Cornelius sat down heavily and stared into the fire burning on the kitchen hearth. "The war," he muttered, "I swear it's ruined me."

  Rachel came downstairs and took a seat at the table. Ignoring her uncle, she began eating her stew.

  Uncle Cornelius jerked his head in my direction. "I was doing fine until that boy came and disrupted my affairs. He turned the major against me. We haven't had a decent meal since the man left."

  "Now, now, Corny." Aunt Hester went to her brother's side. "Calm yourself. You know what the doctor told you about agitating your heart."

  "Major Dennison left our house because he was ordered into battle," Aunt Esther added soothingly. "It had nothing to do with Haswell's behavior. Nothing at all."

  "I find I have lost my appetite." Uncle Cornelius rose slowly to his feet, leaving his food almost untouched, and turned away from the table.

  "Where are you going, Corny?" Aunt Hester called after him.

  "Please finish your meal," Aunt Esther implored.

  Without looking at any of us, Uncle Cornelius left the room and made his way upstairs, thumping his cane on each step.

  Except for Rachel's chatter, we finished our meal in silence. It wasn't the homecoming I'd hoped for, but I wasn't completely surprised. Uncle Cornelius had never been an easy man to talk to; even Papa had found him difficult. "Querulous" was his word for him, and easy to take offense. As for Grandma Colby, I was grateful she hadn't made an appearance yet, for she was bound to create a scene of some sort. The poor aunts looked worn out from trying to make peace.

  I don't know how long we would have sat there if Grandma Colby's bell hadn't startled us into action. Aunt Hester scurried upstairs and soon came clattering down again.


  "Haswell and Avery," she said, "Mother would very much like to see you."

  Avery rose quickly, as if he still hoped for a warm welcome, but I wasn't eager to see Grandma Colby. I doubted she'd forgiven me for stealing a horse and disgracing the Colby name. Rachel followed us upstairs. Though no one had mentioned her, I reckoned she didn't want to miss the fireworks she was expecting.

  24

  FROM HER BED, Grandma Colby watched the three of us enter her room. She was propped up on pillows. A tall walnut headboard, carved with curlicues and flowers, towered above her. As Rachel had said, she didn't appear to be ill. Her eyes were as sharp as ever. I reckoned she meant to keep the Grim Reaper waiting a long while yet.

  "Well," Grandma Colby said in a firm voice, "it seems the prodigal grandsons have returned after all. I never thought to see either of you again. Not in this world, that is."

  Avery approached the bed and took Grandma Colby's bony little hand. "I'm glad to see you, ma'am," he said politely.

  She nodded and peered past Avery at me. "Stop cringing in the doorway, Haswell. I haven't the strength to give you the beating you so roundly deserve."

  I stepped forward reluctantly. "I never meant to shame you, ma'am," I said. "I didn't steal Ranger. Major Dennison had no right to him."

  While the aunts, who had followed us up, took their places on either side of the bed, Grandma Colby sighed. "Well, I must say you did indeed mortify me, Haswell, but at least you showed the Colby spirit, standing up for yourself like that. Came to you from your grandfather, God rest his soul. He was a man among men. It's a good thing he's not here to see the state of the South today."