The Cellar

by Curtis Richardson

  It seemed that he could remember more about Johnny than he could about himself. Like a lot of the people who inhabited the southern end of his home state of Illinois, the O’Donnell’s had come from the south. Only one generation from Ireland they were small time farmers and sharecroppers. They had not been able to compete with the slave holding planters and had moved farther north to free soil. While they were not prosperous, they eked out a living and held a grudge against the system of slave labor that they blamed for having kept them down.

  Ike had first met Johnny at Camp Butler, where their regiment had been sent to train as the war was erupting. He had resented having to share a tent with this loud illiterate, whose very purpose in life seemed to be amusing himself at someone else’s expense. Little by little, the two had become close friends. Johnny was outspoken and gregarious while Ike was quiet and reserved. Ike came to realize that other than his brother and later on his wife, he had never been as close to anyone as he had become with Johnny. Long and sometimes one sided conversations revealed a young man with many of the same insecurities and fears that Ike had. Ike was devastated that two of the people that meant the most to him were now gone and Emma was so far out of his reach as to be nearly lost to him as well.

  Johnny had said that he enlisted so he could go back and whip the “nigger drivers” that had kept his family poor. He also admitted that he didn’t care much for farming and thirteen dollars a month plus food and clothing looked like a better prospect than staying home. As the two of them became closer Johnny confided that if he had stayed around home much longer a certain young woman was likely to become pregnant. “I just knowed we’d end up married and have a whole herd of young ‘uns and she’d end up lookin’ like her ‘ma and outweighin’ me. Sleepin’ in a tent with you fellers ain’t so bad when I think about th’ alternative.” He had said. Ike wished he could remember his own motives for joining the army.

  Ike decided to mourn his comrades at a later time when he was alone with his thoughts. He was beginning to suspect that he would have ample time soon enough. He looked down at his leg as he thought about his squad members and decided he should change the subject. “I appreciate how well you attended to my leg.”

  “My late husband was a doctor. I assisted him at a great many things. Your leg seems to have only a very small fracture so I didn’t have to set it. You should be able to walk on it in a few weeks if you behave yourself.”

  “Then I suppose I will just have to behave myself.” Ike replied with a smile, hoping to get another in return. The woman‘s expression still didn’t change.

  “My head wound…..is it deep?”

  “No, it seems the bullet just grazed your skull, there was a lot of bruising and a small fracture and indentation but it did not penetrate the skull itself. I fear there will be a permanent scar. Why do you ask?”

  “My memories seem….disorganized, I remember some things but not others. It is disturbing to me that I can’t seem to remember what I did for a living before the war, or what my wife’s maiden name was.”

  “Do you remember your name young man?”

  “Isaac Lowery Ma’am, from Florence, Illinois, most people call me Ike. At least I remember Florence, as small as it is.” He smiled at the fact that he could recollect his home, but again the smile was not returned. “Might I have the pleasure of you name?”

  “I am Mrs. Micheline Pendleton. You may address me as Mrs. Pendleton.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Pendleton, for everything. I appreciate that you haven’t turned me in to the Confederate authorities……” he said as the thought and its accompanying question (why?) entered his mind.

  “I gave it a good deal of thought young man, but I expect you would have not been well cared for and there has been enough suffering here for now. I prayed about what to do with you and I believe I have an answer. I assume you are a praying man Mr. Lowery?”

  “Yes Ma’am, I am. I think I have prayed more fervently in the last few months than at any period in my life.” Ike responded, he had clear memories of conversations with God during gunfire. Though he remembered that he and Emma were churchgoers, it seemed that his beliefs had been more academic and theoretical before his life had been in so much peril.

  “In my case, I believe I have been favored with a sign, Mr. Lowery.” The woman said with her back to him. “I have been asking for God to show me that I have not been forgotten. Have you ever been angry with God, Mr. Lowery?”

  Ike thought for a moment as he carefully sifted through his remaining memories and replied “Only once Mrs. Pendleton, when I lost someone dear to me. I can’t say as I am still angry, I can’t even remember who it was, but….” He paused, unsure of himself and trying to analyze why he could so vividly remember being angry, but not whose loss had triggered his anger. “I just remember being angry….but I believe his ways are above our ways and maybe I will understand some day.”

  This time she looked at him with more interest. Ike thought there might have been emotion in her face as she turned to address him again.

  “I too have lost people dear to me, nearly everyone. Four of my sons have died in this war. Gunshot and disease have taken four of my dear sons. My poor husband had a stroke and eventually died of grief when we were told of the last one. I have one son left, Mr. Lowery, do you have any children?”

  “Not yet Ma’am.” He replied thinking of how Emma longed to have children and how they had begun to be afraid that there would be none as she failed to conceive.

  “They are a gift from God…… a gift he sometimes takes away. In my case I think he took my sons as a punishment.”

  “A punishment?”

  “You see, my husband actively promoted this war. He helped raise a regiment and donated money for arms and uniforms. He encouraged our sons to enlist. His belief in the glorious cause brought us nothing but grief. Being a dutiful wife, I went along with his wishes, although I had reservations.”

  “So you believe that God is against the Southern cause?”

  “I did for a while, but as I read and comprehended the news I came to the understanding that young men on both sides are dying in virtually equal numbers. God is punishing us all for our pride and foolishness…..in equal numbers!” She accentuated the last two words in a tone that startled Ike.

  “You said you were shown a sign.” Ike said.

  “Yes dear boy, yes! It came to me so clearly and gave me great hope.” She said, looking at the sky beyond the open cellar door. “The numbers……the numbers….”

  “You saw numbers?” Ike asked, half thinking that if he could see the patch of sky the woman was gazing at he would see strings of numbers writ in cloud.

  “Four dead boys in my side yard….four Union soldiers…..to atone for my poor lambs slain in the struggle.” She turned her gaze from the sky back to Ike. “My four beautiful sons are buried in lonely graves far from home and I have been sent four others to bury in their stead.” She said, taking a breath and looked back up at the sky as if she were addressing it. “And one living, left for me to minister to, to care for so that God will keep my last son alive.” She quickly turned to Ike and moved her face close to his, searching his expression for understanding. “Mr. Lowery, you have been sent here by God! Can you not feel it?” Her face glowed with animation that Ike wouldn’t have thought possible moments before. “Todd’s last letter came day before yesterday from a field hospital where he is recovering from a head wound and a minor fracture almost identical to your own! I intend to keep you here and care for you until this foolishness is over and Todd returns safely to his home. Marcus and I will care for your every need, we have food stored safely away in a well hidden location and Marcus is a skilled gardener and hunter. You will be kept comfortable and well fed as my assurance to God of my intentions. I believe that in return my Son will be safe in spite of this horrid war.”

  Mrs. Pendleton gazed into Ike’s eyes and her expression of joy intensified even further.

  “Mr. Lo
wery, your eyes are the same shade of blue as Todd’s! If I wasn’t convinced before that you were sent here purposefully, I am now!”

  “Well, I……..” Ike said, finding himself at a loss for anything else to say. The cellar had started to warm from the sunlight shining down through the open door but Ike felt chilled, he swayed in his chair and closed his eyes to think about all he had just heard.

  Ike heard the laughter again, this time he recognized Johnny O’Donnell’s cackle in his head “Hey Ikey, you look like somebody just walked across your grave! That big nigger just walked over mine!” Ike flinched and looked around to see if anyone else had heard Johnny.

  “Mr. Lowery are you alright?” the woman said with a sudden concern in her voice.

  “Just a little chill, I think……” Ike said, despairing that he was losing his sanity. He was also convinced that Mrs. Pendleton’s mind had been damaged by her losses. He wasn’t sure which bothered him the worst or put him in the most peril. He closed his eyes and tried to make sense of it all. It came to him that he might still be dreaming. He looked up and saw that Marcus had come back down the stairs.

  “Ikey, you’re the luckiest guy they is! Them purty blue eyes of yours are just the ticket! You get to sit out the rest of the war in that there cellar. I’m stuck out there in the side yard feedin’ the flowers.” Johnny’s voice continued in a nasal snicker.

  “Mr. Lowery, I think you should lie down for a while.” The woman said, taking Ike by the arm. “Marcus, please help Mr. Lowery to his pallet.”

  The light from outside was eclipsed as Marcus descended the steps. Ike noted how quietly he moved for someone his size. Graceful, graceful like a cat, something in the big man’s actions reminded Ike of the huge black Tom that his mother had once fed. The cat was gentle with Ike and his brother, but would kill any other cat that dared come close to the house.

  His head still swimming, Ike was gently placed back on his pallet on the floor. The finest feather pillow he had ever come in contact with was slipped under his head and he was covered with a handmade quilt. Ike puzzled about where they came from and decided that Marcus had been in the process of bringing them already.

  The woman’s hand rested on his forehead for a couple of seconds. She looked relieved not to find him feverish. She turned and said something to Marcus that Ike couldn’t hear and then returned her attention to him. “You are still suffering from being overheated and from blood loss due to your head wound Mr. Lowery, rest now and we will talk more later. I believe we have much to discuss. Rest assured that you will be well cared for and returned to your loved ones as soon as this war is over and my son returns safely to me.” Her smile was radiant, but it did not comfort the man on the floor. Behind that smile lurked something that Ike could not put a name to. He closed his eyes partly from exhaustion and partly to avoid looking at Micheline Pendleton’s disturbing countenance. Consciousness began to drift away as the woman and her companion exited up the steps. Johnny O’Donnell’s voice brought him back awake when the door was closed.

  “Fine pillow there Ikey, beats the dickens out of the ole’ tree root my skulls a layin’ on. I think you’re a gonna have you a nice easy spell……unless somethin’ happens to her boy.” Johnny trailed of giggling.

  “Shut up Johnny!” Ike’s mind retorted. He looked up to make sure he hadn’t spoken out loud in the hearing of his hostess. Hostess…… was that the proper word? Was Mrs. Pendleton his hostess or his jailer?

  “Is she your hostess, your jailer, or your new Mama?” Johnny chortled. “She might just take care of you in all sorts of ways old pard. She’s still mighty fine lookin’ woman wouldn’t you say?”

  “Johnny, please don’t torment me like that. I was about to pray for your soul, but I’m beginning to think it’s no use.”

  “Oh Ikey, you was always the serious one. Don’t worry so much, I’m just one of them waaaaaanderin’ sheep the preachers always talk about. The shepherd’ll be by to get me sometime but for now I’m supposed to watch over you.”

  “Wonderful! Emma always talked about guardian angels watching over us. It stands to reason that I would get a guardian angel like you.”

  Johnny laughed raucously and replied. “Nobody ever give me a harp or any wings yet. Don’t know if I’ll ever be an angel but so far bein’ dead’s kinda’ entertainin’…. like a stage show where I can watch you and your lady friend and old ‘Uncle Tom’ a follerin’ her around a steppin’ and fetchin’.”

  “I hope the shepherd comes to get you pretty soon, I need some sleep.”

  “Well, I can be still for a while, maybe I oughta’ sing you a lullaby.” Johnny’s voice crooned and then burst into a gale of braying laughter.

  “Teacher!” Johnny blurted out as if he had just thought of something important. “You was a schoolteacher. Maybe that’s part of what I’m here for is to help you remember stuff. I never did think you was a tellin’ me everthin’ but you said you was a teacher. You was a ‘headmaster’ at a little school there in Florence. You taught the little ‘uns readin, writin’, and ‘rithmetic. You even taught me some, an’ I never was much of a student.”

  “Are you sure Johnny? I don’t remember.” Ike was disturbed by this revelation. He couldn’t remember being a teacher, but somehow it seemed like Johnny knew. The snatches of poetry in his dream, recited by children seemed to connect to what Johnny was saying, but Ike could not remember actually teaching. It was disturbing how real his invisible companion seemed. Ike despaired that his head wound might have done serious damage.

  Mercifully Ike drifted off again, worn out by his conversations with the living and the dead.

  Sometime in what Ike imagined was early afternoon the door creaked open and woke the slumbering soldier from a restful near dreamless sleep. Again Marcus was carrying the tray with the pitcher and cup and a bowl with eating utensils. The bowl contained a rich stew with chunks of chicken and vegetables. Ike sat and ate with relish as the big man watched with apparent satisfaction. When Ike was halfway through the stew Marcus turned and started up the stairs. “Be back.” He said over his shoulder as Ike discovered that the folded cloth at the side of the bowl contained a biscuit that had been split and buttered.

  “You’re a gonna’ get fatter’n the old chaplain there Ikey! That ol’ gal’s a gonna plump you up right good for somethin’.” Johnny chortled.

  Ike was eating and ignoring Johnny when Marcus returned with a bucket of warm water, more soap, towels, and a nightshirt.

  “Missy want me to get you cleaned up.”

  “Do you think I might need it?” earned Ike a small smile from the brown giant.

  Ike cooperated and helped as best he could as Marcus removed his uniform, which was rank from days of marching in the Mississippi heat. The big man gently scrubbed him from head to toe without an unnecessary word. The splint was removed temporarily and replaced after Ike had been clothed in the nightshirt that Marcus said “useta’ b’long ta’ one of Missy’s boys.”

  “You just sit here and rest a bit. Be right back.” Marcus said, bundling up Ike’s clothing, the tray and its contents and the bucket effortlessly as he headed back up the steps.

  “My my but you smell good Ikey! Cain’t say as I’m a smellin’ too good myself right now. Gettin’ kinda’ rotten out there in my hole.”

  “You always were kind of rotten Johnny.” Ike responded in his head. The ongoing conversation with his dead comrade was becoming natural to him. Whether Johnny was a figment of his imagination caused by the trauma to his head or a genuine guardian angel the familiar voice was becoming a strange comfort . He was chatting internally with Johnny when Marcus returned with the tray which now carried shaving implements and a mirror.

  “Don’t slip and cut your throat with that there razor, Ikey! Mama Pendleton needs you alive so she can trade you to God for her boy.”

  Ike did manage to nick himself at the thought Johnny had put in his head. Marcus automatically put a cloth soaked in witch hazel to hi
s neck until the small wound was stanched.

  “Careful ‘dere sodjur, Massa’s ole’ blade still purty sharp.” Marcus said as he examined Ike’s neck. Satisfied that his charge was not bleeding to death, he actually smiled at Ike as he took the tray and implements back up the steps. “Missy be down shawtly.”

  Marcus’ shadow had barely cleared the top step when Micheline Pendleton’s form glided down them with still another tray. A pot of tea and more biscuits along with some excellent jam resided on this smaller tray which appeared to be made of silver.

  “My boys loved my muscadine jam. It appears that it agrees with you as well.” The woman said with a smile.

  “This is very good.” Ike said swallowing carefully so as not to speak with his mouth full. His hostess seemed to be genuinely pleased to see him eat well. Ike saw what an attractive woman she had been and still was when happiness softened the stern set of her features.

  “I was just remembering how Todd looked with jam all over his face once when he sneaked down here and gobbled up an entire jar before Marcus caught him.” She looked quietly around as if she could see a young boy getting up to mischief. “The poor child was sick for two days from having gorged himself.” She said barely holding back a girlish giggle.

  “I received a letter from Todd today.” The woman said, her tone more sober. “He has recovered from his wounds and is riding with General Forrest and seems to be having a splendid time. A few days ago that news would have been devastating, but now I know he can have his fun and come home safely to take his rightful place here.” Her smile remained pleasing, but her eyes seemed to be dilated to the point that the pupils were pools of black. Ike thought she was trembling slightly. He began to feel a tremor of his own.

  “Toddy will surely be safe with Nathan Bedford Forrest!” Johnny gushed. “Why I hear he puts all his boys to bed just after dark and reads them a story ever night! Yep, ol’ Forrest takes gooooood care of his boys……. when he ain’t havin’ em ride into artillery! Remember how cautiously he charged into us back at Fallen Timbers? But now that you’re here that boy’s bullet proof! Why he can catch cannonballs and jus’ throw ‘em back!”