Even As We Breathe

by Annette Saunooke Clapsaddle

  When Craig’s car safely passed through the gates of the estate, I rolled down my window, allowing new air to finally fill my lungs. “Mr. Craig?”

  “Yes.” He focused on the winding drive down to the main road.

  “How’d you know Lishie had died?” I had to know who had called him, how he managed to hear and make the trip to Cherokee in time for the sitting-up. It was obvious he was a busy man. I couldn’t imagine that a man I’d never seen my entire life would just drop everything to express his condolences in person within the same day of a person’s passing.

  “I didn’t,” Craig responded, a hint of regret in his voice.

  “Then why were you there?”

  Craig smiled as if recalling a fond memory and turned to me briefly before focusing back on the road. “Lishie called me a while back. I hadn’t talked to her in a very long time, so I’m not sure how sick she was when she called. She sounded older than the last time we spoke.”

  “What did she want? Why did she call?”

  “She asked me to come talk to Bud. She always worried about him. Was afraid he was getting money some way he shouldn’t. She also wanted me to meet you. Said you were about the age your dad was when we served together. I told her I would stop by, but I had no idea what I was walking into.”

  “So you and Lishie have kept in touch since—”

  “Ever since your father sent the first letter home from the war. I saw him writing to his family and asked him about y’all. He told me about you, showed me the picture they sent him when you were born. And he talked all the time about Lishie and your mother. Of course, I knew Bud. After your father died, I wrote to Lishie. We corresponded until after the war and then when I was sent to Asheville to work, I looked her up.”

  “How come she never told me about you?”

  “I can’t answer that, Cowney. She’s the only one that could have told you that.”

  “Maybe because Bud doesn’t seem to be your biggest fan.” I let out a short laugh.

  “Well, that certainly is true. But don’t be too hard on Bud. He’s been through a lot. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to him at the sitting-up. I’ve been pretty hard on him myself.”

  “When was the last time you saw Bud before Lishie’s funeral?”

  “The day he shipped out back home.” Craig squinted, the sun bearing down hard on us as we topped the first of many hills.

  “Lucky you.”

  Craig seemed to ignore my last remark.

  “You hungry, Cowney? Craig reached awkwardly behind him and retrieved two Cheerwines and a bottle opener from a cooler. “This do the trick?” He smiled and handed me a bottle.

  “What’s this?” I took the bottle from his hand and eyed the label.

  Craig swerved carelessly as he popped the metal cap from his bottle and then reached over and did the same for mine. “You’ve never had Cheerwine?”

  “No, sir. I don’t think I have ever even seen it.”

  “Well, I just don’t believe that. It’s made right here in North Carolina. Salisbury, I think. Gatling gun, Krispy Kreme doughnuts, and Cheerwine. The best of everything right here in our backyard.”

  Craig’s backyard was not mine, as much as he apparently thought so. Still, the fizz and sweetness of the soda revived my body. Craig regained a steady line on the road and nodded to his briefcase at my feet. I pulled a sandwich from inside. “Want half?” I offered.

  “No, thanks. Eat up.”

  “So you just keep a cooler full of sodas on your floorboard?”

  “Nah, I was headed to do some fishing this morning.”

  I looked out the window and thought about saving half of my sandwich anyway. I was doubtful there was even any food in the house. Myrtle might come check on me if she heard I was home, but that would likely be it. I couldn’t count on Bud to take care of anyone other than himself. Eventually, my hunger and road daydreaming must have overcome any worry of future hunger because long before we reached Clyde, the sandwich was reduced to tiny crumbs in my lap and the Cheerwine vanished from its bottle.

  “You heard much about your dad?” Craig broke the silence. The question was almost startling, as I had preoccupied my mind with thoughts of the waterfall.

  “Umm … not really. I only know what he looks like from the photo Lishie had of him in his uniform.” That wasn’t the whole truth. There were bits and pieces peppered throughout my mind, mostly disconnected specks from many different accounts. In that moment, I remembered one other thing as I tried to look back into my past. I remembered his gray skin—another constructed memory, of course. He must have been in the casket. His eyes were closed. His skin was so gray. I didn’t tell Craig this. He surely didn’t want to hear that about his friend.

  “Must be hard not knowing him, huh?” Craig nodded, turning his head to look out his window periodically. “Must be real hard some days.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. I don’t know. Sometimes I think I just got used to it. Didn’t know anything else. Might have even been better that I was so young. Less to miss.”

  “At least you had Lishie and Bud.”

  I thought back to my father’s gray skin and pulled my memory back as if retracting a zoom lens, struggling to see more. From my faux memory’s angle, I could make out Lishie standing beside the casket, younger then, her hair still black, crying … no, weeping … violently against Bud’s shoulder. In another moment, they seemed to melt into each other, pouring themselves into an intertwined heap on the planked floor. I couldn’t remember another time when I had seen them embrace. Maybe that is why I created the scene for them.

  “Yes, sir. At least I had someone to take me in.”

  “Does it bother you if I talk about your father, Cowney?”

  “No. I mean, it’s hard sometimes, but I like to hear stories about him. Do you have any stories?”

  “Oh, yeah!” Craig smiled, laughing heartedly. “I’ve got some pretty good ones. I’ll have to tell you them when we have some more time.”

  I was disappointed. I thought we had plenty of time for a story or two.

  “I’m not sure when that will be, so I think there are some other things I should tell you while I can.” Craig’s tone grew serious. He arched his back, as if to stretch it.

  I sat silent, bracing for whatever might come next.

  “I don’t mean to lay a bunch of heavy stuff on you, son. I know you’ve been through hell already today.”

  “It’s okay,” I reluctantly offered.

  “You were the last thing on your father’s mind when he died.”

  Something about that thought unsettled my stomach. “With all due respect, Mr. Craig, how could you know that?”

  “Well, now, I guess you are right about that. There’s no way I could know for sure what he was thinking in that moment, but his love for you, the love he had for your mother, that is what led him to do what he did.”

  “How do you figure?” I could not mask the annoyance in my voice.

  “I’m not sure what you know about your father’s death, so let’s back up a bit here.”

  I wanted to tell Craig that backing up was a damn good idea; but then again, this is what I wanted. I’d spent my whole life looking for the truth. I didn’t get to cherry-pick it.

  “What do you know?” he pressed.

  I told him what Lishie had told me about the soldier at the fence, the sleepwalker. Maybe Craig, though unclear about my father, would know more about the sleepwalker. I turned to him, trying to read a response from his face.

  “And did she tell you that we heard a shot? That’s how we first knew that your father and the man were at the fence.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” I agreed, nodding.

  “Does Bud ever talk about that night?”

  “No. Not to me. I don’t ask him either.” I looked out my window. “Why? What’s he going to say that Lishie hasn’t already told me?”

  “I imagine he’d tell you about some of the terrible shit we did t
o the Indians in our unit.”

  Craig had my attention again.

  “Like what?”

  “Now, you have to remember that most, heck, none of the men had ever served with nonwhites before, and most had never even met an Indian.” Craig searched my face. I offered him nothing other than a clenched jaw. “Army didn’t know what to do with folks like your dad and uncle. I guess they figured they were white enough. Not like there were enough of ’em to start their own colored regiment or anything. Likely some Indians from other places were sent to existing colored regiments, but at least not the fellas from boarding schools, far as I can tell. You probably know more about that than me.” Craig was losing focus, both on the point of his story and the road. The car’s right tire skidded on damp grass and he swerved back onto the road. “Sorry about that. Where was I?”

  “Men weren’t used to Indians,” I prompted.

  “Right. So, some of the guys used to take the bullets out of the guns belonging to the Indians at night. I know how crazy it must sound to you, but people do some crazy shit during wartime.”

  “Why would they do that? That doesn’t make any sense. Who on earth would that make sense to, no matter what time it was?”

  “Some of the guys worried that the Indians might rebel, shoot them in their sleep.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I groaned. “Rebel?”

  “Yeah, you should’ve heard some of them talk. They’d say things like, ‘It’s a full moon, the natives will be restless.’”

  “And they were serious?”

  “Serious enough to remove bullets from the guns of their fellow soldiers in the middle of a goddamn war.”

  “Did they know?”

  “Who? Your dad and uncle?”

  “Yeah. Did you tell them?”

  Craig sighed. “No. I didn’t know until much later. I have to think that your dad and Bud knew. They weren’t idiots. They probably didn’t see the point in making a fuss about it.”

  I shook my head. That was all I could do. Craig focused on the road, likely too embarrassed to continue; at least I hoped he was embarrassed.

  Until it hit me. And it hit hard.

  “Wait. The shot. You said you heard the shot. That night at the fence. You heard a shot.”

  “That’s right, Cowney.” Craig sighed again.

  “But it wasn’t the sleepwalker, was it?”

  “Do you know any sleepwalkers that carry a loaded gun? A gun at all, for that matter?”

  “But there was a sleepwalker?”

  “Oh, yes. That part is true. I can’t believe he didn’t get himself killed well before that night.”

  “So, my father had a gun.”

  “Yes.”

  “And he fired the shot?”

  “Yes. I believe the first shot. Then all hell broke out.” I could see from his look that Craig knew how unacceptable this answer was after what he had just told me.

  “And he had been asleep, right? I mean they found him half dressed.”

  “Now, I can’t be sure he had been asleep, but he had been in his bunk. I was playing cards with the other guys. He and Bud weren’t with us.”

  My heart began to race as we passed the county line sign. I only had a few minutes. “They found two guns. The army found two guns at the fence, didn’t they?” I asked as if I didn’t already know the answer deep down.

  “Yes, that part is true also, Cowney. Two guns and no bullets in them.”

  Tears rushed up from what felt like my very gut. I fought to choke them back down. “Was … the enemy … firing?” I continued, my words breaking into pieces as they fell from my mouth.

  “Yes. After the first shot, the enemy, or what was left of ’em, began firing. I don’t know if they even knew how close they were to us until they heard the shot. And we sure didn’t know they were that close until we heard theirs. It’s not like you’d see in the movies. The war was almost over, Cowney. This wasn’t a major battle.”

  “But the other gun … It belonged to one of the—”

  “It was an US Army–issued revolver. They both were,” Craig answered before I could finish my sentence.

  I searched his face again. “There he is.” Craig pointed his index finger over the steering wheel. Bud stood next to his newly resurrected truck.

  I followed his finger and nodded. “Yeah, that’s him … but—”

  Craig drew a deep breath. “Cowney, I know that doesn’t answer all your questions. If you’re like your dad and uncle, you’re smart enough to have a lot more questions. But I’m telling you all I know. There were three people at the fence line before the enemy fired a single shot. Two of those people are dead and the other one is sitting in that truck over there, waiting to take you home. I recommend you find a way to ask him your questions if you ever want to know the answers.”

  I sat back and slid deep into the seat. I looked at the truck as Craig pulled off the road and toward it.

  “But sometimes the answers are not the ones you want to hear,” Craig continued, turning the wheel. “Sometimes you have to decide if you want truth or peace.”

  “I want both,” I replied softly.

  As the car came to a stop and Craig shifted into park, he said, “Well, son. I wish you luck ’cause that man right there is your only chance at both.”

  I nodded and thanked him for the ride and food.

  “No problem. I’m glad you called. I’ll keep my ear to the ground and make sure we know what the colonel is up to. Once they clear you, and they will, I will get word to you and give you a ride back to Asheville.”

  “You think they’ll let me come back?”

  “Don’t see why not. Long as your boss needs you, they’d likely have you back before trying to hire someone else this late in the summer. Plus, they have your car. They’ll have to let you have that back.”

  “I sure hope so. Don’t really want to spend the rest of the summer here, I don’t think. And I still need a paycheck. There’s no work here.”

  “You’ll be fine, son. You call me if you need me in the meantime. Tell your uncle the same, though I know better than to hold my breath for him to call.” He smiled and helped me unload my suitcase and bag from the back. I shook his hand before climbing into Bud’s truck and watching Craig make a wide U-turn back onto the main road.

  As I settled into the cab next to Bud, I wanted him to speak first. I had grown comfortable with that arrangement. He’d growl something about the gas money he’d spent having to pick me up in Haywood County. I’d offer an insincere apology. He’d accuse me of getting myself into trouble because I was too stupid to keep my head down and mouth shut. I’d nod all the way home.

  That’s how I wanted it to happen, but it did not unfold that way, not this time. Bud steered his truck back onto the main road without a word. He didn’t glare at me or huff out of irritation. He drove as if we were just driving to the store. In fact, he was more relaxed than he had been running errands with me as a young boy.

  “How much did he tell you?” I asked, desperate to break the silence.

  “Not much,” Bud offered matter-of-factly.

  “You mad?”

  “I don’t know enough to be mad, except for interrupting my day.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. Mr. Craig said he could—”

  “I think we’ve asked enough of Jon for one day, don’t you? Hand me that thermos, will you?” Bud nodded at a large green Stanley thermos sitting on the passenger side floorboard and against my seat. “Loosen the lid.”

  I did as he asked and he took a long drink of what smelled like strong coffee.

  “How’d you know to call him anyway?” he asked, passing the thermos back to me for the lid.

  “He gave me his number at Lishie’s—” For a moment I forgot that only I knew the note had not been destroyed.

  Bud shook his head. “Persistent. Well, probably best you did call him. Nothing I could have done for you here. Still, I wish you wouldn’t have—”

/>   “So he did tell you what happened? That I got into some trouble, but it wasn’t—”

  Bud sat up straighter in his seat, continuing to stare forward out of the windshield. “What? Wasn’t your fault? You know that doesn’t matter in a white world. I guess you’ll have to find some other work around here.”

  “I didn’t get in trouble with the inn. My manager, Lee, he’s a good guy. He’ll hear me out when I get a chance to talk to him about it.”

  “Who the hell sent you home, then?”

  I wished Craig had told him. I wished he’d explained the details, the reasoning behind the suspicion, and how ridiculous the whole thing was. But Bud probably wouldn’t have listened to him anyway.

  “The army. Well, kind of. I mean, they didn’t send me home, but Craig thought it better if I go home for a while.”

  “Craig still giving orders, I see.”

  “No. He was trying to help. Army thinks I had something to do with a missing girl.”

  “Missing girl? Do you?” Bud’s head swiveled, allowing him to check for truth in my eyes.

  “No! Nothing! It’s all a misunderstanding.”

  I could see Bud’s eyebrows furrowing as I spoke. His mouth gaped open. “Jesus, son! Did you get busted in the mouth?!”

  “What?” I exclaimed. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your mouth. Look at your mouth!”

  I rolled my window down and craned my neck so that I could look in the tiny side mirror. Bud was right! My mouth was stained red. But it wasn’t blood. I covered my face with both hands and attempted to respond to Bud through them. “It’s … not … blood!” I chuckled. “It’s … Cheer … Cheer …”

  Bud reached over and grabbed at my left arm. “Speak up!”

  “It’s just Cheerwine. I drank a Cheerwine on the way.”

  “Good God, boy!” Bud blurted and then fell into laughter with me. “You look ridiculous! Like some kind of goddamn vampire.” He shook his head, unable to not smile. Seeing his smile made his face seem brandnew to me.

  “Yeah, I guess I do. I didn’t know it would do that.” I rubbed my mouth on the inside of my shirt collar until my lips were raw and my collar damp.

  “I was beginning to think you had caught tuberculosis from those guests.”