Raintree County

by Ross Lockridge Jr.

  Farewell. These tears dissolve the ancient boundaries. The old words blur and flow. Farewell.

  At Beardstown, his eyes were dry. He felt unnaturally calm. By the time he had reached Indianapolis, he might as well have been weeks away from Raintree County. The violence of his emotion at parting had made him free. The memory of the last time he had been in this station only a little over a week ago, hunting two lost children, briefly chilled his new excitement. But that memory, like the tears of the morning, could never be any more distant than it was now.

  In the best Johnny Shawnessy tradition, he began to see a certain grandeur in his act of departure from Raintree County to the wars, and a certain humor.

  SETH A SOLDIER!

  WAR CAN’T LAST LONG NOW!

  (Epic Fragment from the Free Enquirer.)

  Those who have followed the fortunes of that congenial cornstalk, Seth Twigs, will be eager to know that the fabulous bumpkin has at last offered his services to the United States Army. To be more exact, the long arm of the draft finally found him in his hide-out on the Shawmucky, where he had planned to sit out the War with a barrel of cider, an old bird dog, and a pack of greasy cards.

  Tuesday last, it is reported, Seth made his way to the great Western metropolis of Indianapolis. Descending in the station, he was at first somewhat bewildered by the beehive bustle of the City, but with characteristic rustic acumen, he quickly adjusted himself to the situation. Standing on the steps of the State Capitol and indicating with a sweep of his scrannel arm the metropolitan vistas of Indianapolis, Seth was delivered of this pungent epigram: ‘Danwebster warn’t nothin’ to this. To be puffickly frank, I am consterbobulated.’

  Surrounded by reporters and well-wishers, Seth answered several questions with all his usual pith and point.

  ‘How long do you think the War will last, Mr. Twigs?’

  ‘I figger it’ll take me at least three weeks to git muh fightin’ gear in order,’ Seth replied.

  ‘Do you have any particular strategy for bringing the Rebels to their knees?’

  ‘From what I heerd, the Southerners is all frightful chivillerous. I sidjest we put our purtiest gals in uniform and arm ’em with banjos and handcuffs. They can’t do no wuss than the men has.’

  ‘What is your candid opinion of the draft?’

  ‘The feller that caught me was the fastest runner I ever seen.’

  ‘Are you for or against Lincoln?’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘The President’

  ‘What in blazes happened to old Andy Jackson?’

  Later, it is reported, Seth spent an interesting and instructive day visiting sites of historic and cultural . . .

  Confusion filled the city. A few days before, the Rebel raider, John Hunt Morgan, had crossed the Ohio River and had begun a daring cavalry invasion of Southern Indiana, closely pursued by a troop of Union cavalry. The Governor had made a hurried call for emergency militia, and the entire state south of Indianapolis had risen in arms. The raid had already been diverted from the State Capital and was visibly weakening as it approached the Ohio border. But there was still tension and excitement in Indianapolis.

  In the Recruiting Office, a number of men, mostly younger than Johnny, were standing around waiting to interview an officer who stood behind a desk. Johnny took his place at the back of the line. Something hit him solidly between the shoulders, knocking his hat off, and a hornloud voice brayed laughter into his ears.

  —Well, hogtie me, if it ain’t Jack Shawnessy!

  —Hello there! Johnny said.

  He turned around, still trying to get his breath, and there stood Flash Perkins, grinning in a great arrogant beard. His forehead shifted into ridges of excitement. His fierce blue eyes were childishly happy.

  —Well, I’ll be skinned and stretched on a board! Flash said. Put ‘er there, Jack!

  No one else had ever called him Jack. Johnny stood and wrung Flash’s hand as hard as he could to keep his own from being broken.

  —What are you doin’ here, Jack?

  —Enlisting.

  —Well, I’ll be a ringtailed jackass! So am I. Hey, Corporal, look here, we want some action around here.

  The officer behind the counter was a tired-looking sergeant.

  —Keep in line and take your turn, boys, he said.

  —Hell, git a move on! Flash said, we want to git into your goddam war.

  —If you’re so anxious, why didn’t you get into it before? the officer said.

  —Shucks, we on’y jist found out about it in Raintree County, Flash said. It’ll soon be over now, boy.

  —Where you been, Flash? Johnny said in a low voice, trying to get him quieted down. I don’t think I’ve seen you since the Fourth of July Race in ‘59.

  —I been West, Jack. Hell, I been doin’ a little ever’thing. Minin’, scoutin’, fightin’ Injuns. I finely decided this war gone on long enough, so back I come to the County. Figger me enlistin’ on the same day with you! Maybe we’ll git into the same cumpney.

  Johnny was sorry that he had run into Flash. In a way, he had hoped to make a complete break with everyone and everything he had known. But he seemed fated to pick up reminders of himself wherever he went.

  Flash hadn’t changed much. Apparently nothing had happened to knock the wildness out of him. He had a big Western hat, spurred boots, a pearlhandled revolver on his hip.

  —I don’t know why you want to go into the Army, boy, the officer said to Flash, when he reached the desk. They’ll start by disarming you.

  —I mean to keep this tool on me, General, Flash said.

  The officer shrugged his shoulders.

  —Sign here, boys, and come back tomorrow morning same time. You’ll get your medical examination then and swore in.

  —Jack and I want in the same cumpney, pardner, Flash said. Be sure to write that down.

  Johnny didn’t remember expressing this wish, but he let it pass.

  Outside, he felt embarrassed as he saw that Flash intended to stick with him. Everyone they passed turned and stared.

  —Boy, am I glad to git back to Indiana! Flash said. Shucks, they ain’t got no civilization nor nothin’ out there, Jack. You wouldn’t believe it. Cuss it, they ain’t a beautiful gal west a the Mississip. You have to pay as you enter, and then they’re all leather and cusswords. Christ, I been dyin’ to git back to God’s country. That rough life is O. K. for a while, but soon or later, Jack, you feel a hankerin’ for the cumpney of culteevated people. Hi, girls.

  Two young women, passing, dipped their parasols and walked swiftly by with fluttering eyelids.

  —Say, maybe we could hitch onto them fancy fillies and git our trunks hauled, Flash said. Ha, Ha!

  He hit Johnny between the shoulderblades and turned around. The girls were looking back with genuine alarm.

  —That reminds me, Johnny said, I’ll have to say good-by now, Flash. There’s a girl here in the city I want to get in touch with. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.

  —If she’s got a friend, I don’t mind comin’ along.

  —No, this is private. Thanks just the same.

  —Listen, I got a room at the Greer House, Flash said. If you ain’t got no place to stay, you can come in there with me. Shucks, bring your woman along if you want to.

  —Thanks, Johnny said. I may turn up tonight—but alone. So long.

  It seemed to Johnny that life was full of repetitions and corrections of itself as he walked to an address on Pennsylvania Avenue and knocked on the door of a plain white house, set back a little from the street.

  The door opened, and Nell Gaither appeared. She was stunningly got up, cool and pale in a green dress with an immense hoop. She looked imperially ladylike, her head held proudly and tilted a little to one side in a gesture of gracious condescension. Her full-formed, lovely mouth made a shining contrast with the powdered whiteness of her cheeks.

  —Hello, Johnny.

  She stepped out and put her hand in his. Her m
outh curved into a smile of tenderness and pleasure, showing her fine white teeth; and her eyes, suddenly green as she stepped from the dusk of the house into the warm light, glowed with veiled excitement. A feeling of warmth and sweetness coursed through him as he touched and held the small passive hand.

  —Hello, Nell. Did you get my letter?

  —Yes, just this morning, Johnny. I’m glad you wanted to see me before you left for the War. By the way, Garwood’s here, dropped in unexpectedly. We’ve—we’ve been practically engaged, you know, have been for over a month, and I——

  Johnny was still holding her hand and looking at her. As he listened to her measured, low voice and watched her small face in the summer light and smelled the faint, flowery odor of her powder, he felt a little dizzy.

  —It’s all right, Nell, he said. I just wanted to see you before I went.

  —Johnny, I’m terribly sorry about what happened.

  —It’s all right, Johnny said. It’s all over now.

  There were footsteps in the hall, and Garwood Jones came to the door.

  —Jesus, John, how are you, boy! Garwood said.

  Johnny shook hands with Garwood and went into the parlor, listening to some sonorously delivered condolences. Garwood was sleekly splendid in a new suit. He had a diamond stickpin in his cravat. He had a cane and gloves. Apparently, being a young Copperhead congressman was a lucrative calling.

  —Well, I hate to see you get into this mess, sprout, Garwood said affectionately. You’re just throwing your life away, but I suppose you know what you’re doing. Say, I got an idea.

  Garwood took his arm from around Johnny’s shoulders and lit a cigar.

  —Nell, suppose we take this boy out and show him a good time before the Army gets him. God knows it’ll be the last fun he’ll have for a while. Send him off with a beautiful memory.

  —I think that would be nice, Nell said. If Johnny would like.

  —Now then, Garwood said, suppose we get another woman—one of the girls who works with you at the Christian Commission, Nell, and——

  —No, Johnny said. I don’t want that. Just the three of us.

  —Well, all right, Garwood said. If you want it that way, Nell and I would be delighted. We’ll take the boy out, buy him a dinner, get him good and drunk, and turn him over to the Army rarin’ to go. I want it understood that this is on me, every bit of it. I’ll pay till it hurts. Nothing’s too good for our boy John.

  It started with a few drinks at a place Garwood knew. Then they walked over to the Capitol, where Garwood wanted to hear some speeches. In the yard of the Capitol Building, hundreds of people milled around a makeshift platform on which some dignitaries, military and civilian, were speaking to honor a volunteer regiment about to entrain for active duty on the front.

  In the young afternoon, as he walked with Nell and Garwood on the lawn of the Capitol Building, all bitterness and sorrow drained away from Johnny Shawnessy. He was having one of his epic moments. He was walking with a beautiful woman of Raintree County, whom he loved and who had loved him once, and with a friend, who was also a competitor. They were with crowds close to a building that embodied in its tranquil form the wisdom and eternity of the Republic. It was a day of grave portent for the Nation, and words of public men sounded across the bared heads of the throng. Indiana’s exultant summer rolled up in waves of heat from littered streets that narrowed to the heat-hazed distance. The city made a low continuous sound like surf. From the vast day, seductive touches came. More beautiful than any fabled flesh, the loveliest woman in the Republic walked in her great bellskirt beside him, dipping her parasol and laughing. The blended image of the erotic and the spiritual, which Nell Gaither had always embodied for him, found somehow its ideal setting here among the scenic attractions of the Capital City of Indiana.

  —A call to arms, boomed a great voice from the platform, an appeal to courage! In this momentous hour when our very homes are threatened, the sanctity of all we hold dear, the honor of our loved ones, can any patriot breast refuse the stirring summons of . . .

  Nell and Johnny sat on a bench by themselves while Garwood stalked around the yard, looking important. Gloved hands folded in her lap, Nell gazed at Johnny gravely.

  —You look awfully nice with your face all shaved, Johnny.

  Johnny rubbed his lean jaws and grinned. It was not right to feel so happy. What had he to feel happy about? Yet something about the scene appealed to that inextinguishably young poet in him, who was always trying to live in a privately lovely universe. The summer drenched him with waves of languor and memory. He remembered the lightswollen stream of the Shawmucky, boats drifting, Nell in a wide white bonnet and a green dress, her fingers stroking the oarblade.

  —Where is the Professor now, Johnny?

  He told her, and they reviewed what they knew about the lives of others whom they had known together in the old days at the Pedee Academy. Two of the boys were dead, one at Shiloh and the other of camp fever during the training period. They sat talking gravely and hesitantly about these old things, drifting closer and closer to forbiddenly sweet memories, circling, touching lightly, retreating. Nell removed her left glove and began to trace a series of little curves on the wooden arm of the bench.

  —Do you keep up with your reading and study, Nell?

  —Not as well as I should, Nell said. Now and then I read a little Shakespeare.

  She blushed. Her finger continued to make its delicate tracery on the wooden arm.

  —Drive them back, I say, the great voice boomed from the platform, drive them back to the crimestained and slaveryblackened earth from whence they have arisen, till they are brought redhanded and trembling before the bar of universal justice. And were it not for the heavy responsibilities of . . .

  —I was looking at my copy of The Complete Works of Lord Byron the other day, Johnny said offhand, and I found a page with a pressed flower in it. It left a very delicate stain on a poem I’ve always loved. Maybe you remember it:

  So, we’ll go no more a-roving

  So late into the night,

  Though the heart be still as loving

  And . . .

  —Who would not be young and a soldier of the Republic? shouted the voice from the platform. Who would not fight God’s and his country’s battles on distant fields? Be kind to these departing boys, young women of the Republic. They go forth to fight for you and the homeland. They are about to bare their young and amorous breasts to the miniéball and the Rebel bayonet. Embrace them fondly, young women of the Republic, for they go to battle and an unknown . . .

  Nell opened her purse and found a handkerchief. She touched her nose and dabbed at her eyes.

  —I cry so easily these days, she said. Everything is so sad with everyone leaving for the War.

  She put her ungloved hand on Johnny’s.

  —Isn’t it terrible, Johnny! The War and what’s happened and everything. I don’t know when I’ve felt so unhappy. Do you think we’ll ever get straightened out?

  Johnny studied the shining green eyes in the upturned face.

  —Just now, I take a fairly hopeful view of the situation, he said.

  They both smiled at this phrase which had been said so often in the pulpit of the Danwebster Church, and Nell slipped her hand back into her lap and began to glove it.

  —Well, children, Garwood said, stopping in front of the bench, let’s go have some fun. These blowhards are going to spend all afternoon sending those poor boys to the slaughter. I suggest we have some more drinks and dinner at the Savoy-Rialto, a new sort of dancehall-beerparlor combined where ladies go.

  The Savoy-Rialto was one of the fanciest spots Johnny had ever got into. It had a downstairs dining place with orchestra, and the walls were covered with gilt and draperies. Garwood ordered champagne, and both he and Nell insisted on keeping the glasses full.

  —What’s the matter, Nell? Garwood said once. Never saw you drink so much before.

  Turning to Johnny, he said, />
  —You know, John, usually Nell’s trying to keep me from sopping this stuff up, but tonight she just keeps pouring. We consider this a special occasion, sprout.

  He patted Johnny’s shoulder affectionately.

  —We want you to remember us, he said.

  Nell looked at Johnny over the rim of her glass, and her eyes were shining. She seemed very gay for a person who had never felt so unhappy before.

  —Fill sprout’s glass up, Garwood said, while I talk to the waiter. I feel like drinking something strong. This champagne’s just fizz water.

  He got up and walked unsteadily away and came back shortly with the waiter and more glasses.

  —Got a bottle of choice bourbon, he said. Ripe stuff. I drink it like a baby. Never affects me.

  Garwood waved to some friends at another table. He was beginning to leave out the short words when he talked.

  —Folks, he said, developing his big voice and striking an easy pose, hand in coat, want you meet my friend, young John Wickliff Shawnessy, hope the Republic. Boy’s enlisting the Army morrow. Drink around honor of our boy, John, and s’on me, Ez.

  Johnny took a bow while the orchestra played ‘The Battle Cry of Freedom.’ Everybody began to sing. Johnny put his hand below the table and it touched Nell’s hand, which was ungloved and deliciously passive in his. On the stirring rhythms of the chorus it gave his hand tender little squeezes. Garwood got funnier and funnier, and Nell and Johnny laughed more and more. Johnny couldn’t remember when he had been so happy. There was no doubt about it—Garwood Jones was a great guy, when he wanted to be.

  Some time later, Garwood went off for another bottle of bourbon.

  —I reckon you think I’ve got pretty wild and wicked since the old days in the County, Nell said.

  —You never could be wicked, Nell. Of course, people do change.

  —Not every way, Nell said.

  Her voice was husky. A wisp of her hair kept falling down over her cheek. Johnny had her hand again under the table. It was all right in a way because, after all, everything was meant to make him happy before leaving for the wars.

  —This bourbon is really ripe stuff, Garwood said, solemnly trying to fit himself into his chair. Never affects me. I can drink it all night like a baby.