Bring the Boys Home

by Gilbert L. Morris

  Noland was a broad man with pale hair. He surveyed Tom for a moment and said, “I heard you was back from the war. I guess we whipped up on you Rebels, didn’t we?”

  “You were in the army?” Tom asked innocently, knowing that Noland had used every trick in the book to stay out.

  “None of your business!” Noland said. Then he grinned. “Arlo, here’s a good example of that Southern white trash we whipped up on. Ain’t much, is he?”

  Arlo Simms was as tall and thin as Buck Noland was thick and strong. He had a pair of pale hazel eyes and a wide mouth, almost like a catfish’s. “He ain’t much at that, Buck!” Stepping closer, Simms said, “I said you wasn’t much, Reb. What you gonna do about it?”

  The two men obviously wanted trouble, and Tom swiftly decided to avoid them. “I’m not going to do anything except go home.”

  He started down the walk, but Noland grabbed him with a thick arm. “I’ll tell you what, Reb,” he said. “I’m gonna take you in the saloon and buy you a drink, and you’re going to drink to General Ulysses S. Grant, and you’re gonna cuss Robert E. Lee and Jackson and all that trash.”

  “Let go of my arm, Noland!”

  But Tom had little chance. The two men bracketed him at once and dragged him into the saloon. At once Tom saw Dewitt Falor at the bar, and again the alarms went off. Falor put them up to it, he thought.

  “Hey, looky what we got here, Dewitt,” Noland said, smirking. He kept his hold on Tom’s arm as did Simms on the other. “We got us a Rebel here. He don’t look so tough to me.”

  Tom knew Falor only slightly. He was two years younger than Tom, and his father owned immense land tracts as well as some of the businesses in town. Falor was a rather bulky man with tow hair and close-set brown eyes. He was wearing expensive clothes. There was a whiskey bottle on the bar in front of him, half empty.

  “Well, now,” Falor said, grinning, “you fellows done captured yourself a prisoner. How you doing, Majors?”

  Tom was gripped so firmly by the men that he knew that only by putting up a tremendous struggle would he get loose—which was exactly what they wanted. He said quietly, “Hello, Falor. If you’ll tell your friends here to turn loose of me, I’ll just get out of your way.”

  “No, you’re going to have a drink,” Noland said. “Pour some whiskey out there, Dewitt. Majors here is going to drink to General Grant.”

  Falor said with surprise that was obviously an act. “Is he now? Then I guess he’s been converted.”

  “That ain’t all,” Arlo Simms said. “He’s gonna cuss Robert E. Lee and Jackson.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Falor said. He poured some whiskey into a glass and held it out. “Here you go. You can drink to Grant first and cuss Lee later.”

  “I don’t want to drink.”

  Falor’s eyes grew cold and hard.

  Everybody in Pineville was aware of Tom’s interest in Sarah Carter. And Falor was used to getting what he wanted. Maybe, Tom thought, he saw his chance to strike a blow at an adversary.

  “You’re gonna drink this,” he said.

  “No, I’m not!” Tom struggled to get free and found his arms clapped tightly together. “Turn me loose,” he said, “or we’ll have trouble.”

  Falor dashed the glass of raw alcohol into his eyes.

  Tom gasped with pain and was forced to shut his eyes.

  Falor drew back his fist and landed a staggering right that caught Tom in the mouth. He was knocked backward, torn from the grip of Simms and Noland, and he tasted blood where his teeth had cut his lip. He was struggling blindly to get up when he heard Falor say, “Bust him up, fellas. Teach him what it means to be a Rebel.”

  Tom fought as best he could, but the situation was hopeless. He was still half blinded by the whiskey and stunned by the vicious blow he had taken. Simms’s and Noland’s fists struck him repeatedly in the face and in the body, and, though he tried to fight back, Tom soon sensed himself slipping away. And then he felt himself being lifted and dragged across the room.

  “Throw him out of here!” Falor’s voice seemed to come from a long way off.

  Somebody pitched Tom through the front doors. He hit the wooden sidewalk and rolled out into the dirt of the street.

  Half conscious, he was struggling to get to his feet when he felt a strong hand on his arm.

  “Come along, Tom.” It was the voice of Jud Mullins.

  Falor and his two friends stepped outside and looked at the big farmer. “That trash a friend of yours?”

  “You might say so, although I just met him. Come along, Tom,” he repeated.

  “Maybe we ought to bust him up too. He’s another Reb,” Noland said and took one step forward.

  He stopped abruptly, however, for from beneath his clothing Jud Mullins produced an enormous .44 and held it directly on Noland.

  “Hey, now! I ain’t got no gun!”

  “I have,” Jud Mullins said. “You got anything else to say?”

  “No. No,” Noland said grimly. He turned and went back into the saloon.

  Jud Mullins said to the other two, “You better join your friend. This gun don’t work very good. It goes off sometimes by accident.”

  Arlo Simms whirled and dived into the saloon.

  Falor stayed just a moment to give the farmer a hard look, but his words were to Tom. “I wouldn’t make it a habit of comin’ to town. We don’t need Rebels here. Why don’t you go back down South where you belong?” He turned and walked inside.

  Tom found himself half carried to Jud’s wagon. The farmer helped him onto the seat, where he tried to clean the blood off his face with trembling hands.

  Mullins spoke to the horses, and the wagon moved. When they were out of town, he said quietly, “Not everybody in this town is like those three. I wouldn’t judge Pineville by them.”

  Tom was too nauseated to speak. He simply nodded and for the rest of the way home thought only of how he could keep his father from hearing about what had happened. There would be trouble. On the other hand, he knew it would be impossible to keep such news. Pineville loved its gossip.

  He thought grimly, Everyone in the county will know a Majors got beat up by Dewitt Falor.

  10

  The Courting

  As the Majors family settled down into their rather precarious shack, the most exciting activities around Pineville seemed to be the courtship of two couples.

  Actually, both Royal and Rosie were taken by surprise. Each young man considered that he had already done a sufficient amount of courting back in Tennessee. They were soon, however, enlightened by their prospective brides.

  Rosie was the first to discover that he had not fulfilled Charlie’s expectation of what a young man should do. He’d come out to the Carter house several times and sat on the front porch with his fiancée. Then suddenly, one evening after supper, the roof seemed to fall in on him.

  Rosie had managed to devour a large part of a huge turkey, alternating huge bites of the delicious white and dark meat with complaints of how easily his stomach got upset. Staggering out to the front porch afterward, he collapsed into a cane-bottom rocker.

  He was joined almost at once by Charlene Satterfield. She sat in a chair beside him and listened to him moan about his health for some time, but she said nothing. She was an attractive girl, especially now that she had learned to wear dresses. When Drake and Rosie had first met her in Atlanta, she had dressed like a man, having been raised much like a boy.

  Tonight Charlie wore an apricot-colored dress that Lori had helped her with. Her hair was carefully arranged, and obviously she had gone to great lengths to make herself as pretty as possible.

  Rosie turned his head and looked at her. “What’s the matter, Charlie? You’re not saying anything.”

  “How can I say anything?” Charlie said. “You’re groaning like a pig that’s eaten too much corn.”

  “Well, that was a good supper. I just hope it don’t discombobulate my digestion.” He looked over again and sa
id, “You seem out of sorts. Are you feeling peaked?”

  “I feel fine!” Charlie’s voice, however, was sharp, and suddenly she turned on him. “You may as well go on home if all you’re going to do is sit there and groan!”

  Her sudden anger took Rosie off guard. Charlie Satterfield was one of the best tempered girls he had ever met, which was one reason he wanted to marry her. He straightened up and said, “I can tell you’re upset. What is it? Tell old Rosie—he’ll fix it.”

  Suddenly Charlie was on her feet. “All right! I’ll tell you! All you’ve done since you got back from the army is come here and eat and set on this porch!” She was almost crying.

  Rosie rose to his feet. He was very fond of this young woman. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Well, now, dog my cats!” he muttered. “Something’s wrong. Just tell me what it is.”

  Charlie looked up at him. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong! You treat me like a piece of furniture, not like a woman!”

  “What’s that you say?”

  “You never dress up to come out and see me. You never notice when I put on a new dress, or when I fix my hair. You never say anything romantic to me. You just don’t treat me like a woman.”

  She wheeled and left the porch. “And don’t call me Charlie,” she shouted back. “My name is Charlene!”

  “Well—hey, now—” Rosie sputtered feebly. Bewildered by the broadsides he had just received, he followed her into the house.

  “Where’s Charlie—I mean, where’s Charlene?” he asked.

  Lori and Royal were sitting on the couch in the parlor. Lori said, “She went upstairs. She’s crying. What did you say to her?”

  “I didn’t say anything to her. Not a word.”

  “I expect that’s right!” Lori said in disgust.

  Royal, who had been leaning back with a hand behind his head and his legs stretched out, looked as though the meal had stupefied him too. He straightened up. “What did you do to her?”

  “Why, I was just sittin’ there tellin’ her about studyin’ how to keep a stomach in good condition,” Rosie said pitifully, “and she jumped all over me like a duck on a June bug! She said I wasn’t romantic and all I did was come here and eat like a pig and then groan.”

  “I think that describes you pretty well, Rosie,” Royal said.

  Lori stood. “And you might take some of those same criticisms to yourself, Royal Carter!” She stalked from the room, saying, “I’m going to see if I can comfort Charlene. You two can romance each other. All you do is eat anyway!”

  Rosie and Royal stared at each other.

  Finally Royal said, “Well, I guess the fat’s in the fire now. What did you have to make Charlie so mad for?”

  “I didn’t make her mad on purpose!” Rosie said defensively. “What did you make Lori mad for?”

  Royal scratched his head. “You know, maybe they’re right. I thought we’d done all the courting we needed to do back in Tennessee. We proposed and everything.”

  “Well, I can see right now that won’t do it. We got to do something, Royal.”

  “But what?”

  “We got to court those girls proper. Get some Macassar oil to put on our hair. Get some stiff white collars.” Rosie stretched his imagination. “We got to get some guitars and stand out under their winders and sing songs to ’em—romantic songs.”

  “I won’t do it!” Royal growled.

  Rosie never got his guitar, but from that moment the two boys did make it a point to be more attentive to the young ladies.

  For three days they put forth their best efforts. They rented a carriage and took the girls over to the next small town, where there was a visiting orchestra (which Rosie thought played “just plumb awful”). Rosie brought flowers for Charlene—she demanded that he call her that—and after a time the couples seemed to be back on an even track.

  It was a Tuesday afternoon. Jeff and Royal came by to see Rosie in his hotel room and found him getting ready to call on Charlene.

  “You’re going to have to get yourself a clawhammer coat, Rosie,” Jeff told his tall, gangling friend.

  Royal laughed at Rosie’s expression. “That’s right. You need to dress up like an undertaker or a deacon.”

  “I always heard that clothes don’t make the man,” Rosie protested.

  “I always heard that fine feathers made fine birds.” Royal grinned. “Now you look at me. I bought this suit especially for courting Lori, and I suppose I’ll have to have another one to get married in. No telling what a fellow will do when he falls in love, is there?”

  When Rosie was ready, they went downstairs. They were met at the bottom of the steps by the clerk, who said, “Hey, Jeff. Did you hear about Tom?”

  “Tom? You mean my brother?”

  “Yeah, I mean your brother! Who else would I be talking about?” the clerk said impatiently. “You didn’t hear about it?”

  “What’s happened?” Jeff saw the excitement in the man’s eyes and could not imagine what was going on.

  “He got all beat up,” the clerk said.

  “Beat up? Who did it? When did it happen?”

  “Why, not more than an hour ago. He come to town, Tom did, and he run across Buck Noland and Arlo Simms at the saloon. The way I hear it, Tom was plumb drunk, and he jumped on Simms, and Noland had to jump in and take his part. And then he took a swing at Dewitt Falor too. I expect you better get home. He didn’t look too good, some of the fellas said that saw it.”

  “Come on,” Royal said angrily, “we’d better find out about this!”

  Falor, Simms, and Noland were in the saloon drinking.

  Royal walked over to their table and said, “What’s this about a fight between you and Tom Majors?”

  “He a friend of yours?” Falor asked.

  “Yes, he is! Now, what about it?”

  “He thinks he’s a bully boy,” Falor said. “He came in here and started cussin’ General Grant and the Union army. We tried to quiet him down, and he swung on me. We had to throw him out. I reckon he was drunk, Royal.”

  Jeff stepped up, his dark eyes flashing. “You’re a liar! Tom doesn’t drink, but I see you do!”

  “Get this kid out of here, Royal! You and Rosie ought to know better than to bring an innocent boy like this into a saloon.”

  “I’m old enough to be in a saloon! I just don’t want to be here with clowns like you!”

  Buck Noland stood up. “We whipped one Majors today. I guess we can whip another one.”

  Rosie—tall, strong, and rather dangerous-looking at the moment—put a hand on Buck Noland’s chest and shoved.

  Noland went reeling back into his chair, which tipped over. He scrambled to his feet, clenching both of his huge fists. He stopped as he saw Rosie’s eyes light up for battle. “What part you got in this, Rosie? He ain’t no kinfolk to you, is he?”

  “You was too much of a coward to fight on either side of the war, Buck Noland!” Rosie said mildly. “If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll have to shut it for you! I may do it anyway!”

  “What really went on here?” Royal asked.

  “I told you how it was!” Falor said. “And more than that, he was makin’ light with your sister’s name. Wasn’t he, fellas?”

  The two nodded. “Sure was.”

  Falor said, “I couldn’t stand for that. You know how I feel about Sarah.”

  “Come on,” Jeff said. “He’s a liar down to his boots. Tom would never say anything bad about Sarah, and you know it!”

  Royal hesitated for just a moment. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this, Dewitt. But let me tell you one thing—the next time you lay a hand on Tom, you might as well try to lay one on me too. And that goes for you other two yahoos!”

  Royal whirled and walked out the door, followed by his two friends. They went to his wagon, and he drove the horses toward home at a speed that must have astonished the poor beasts.

  At the Carters’, all three jumped out and ran toward the house.

>   Tom was lying on the couch, his eyes almost closed, his lips puffy. Sarah sat beside him, bathing his face. She glanced up as Royal and Jeff and Rosie hurried in.

  Jeff came straight to his brother’s side. “We heard the lies that Dewitt told. What was the truth of it?”

  Tom tried to sit up, but Sarah said, “You stay right down there, Tom Majors!” She turned on Royal. “And where were you, Royal? Why didn’t you help him?”

  Defensively, Royal threw his hands up. “We didn’t know a thing about it, sis! Not until we were coming out of the hotel room.”

  “How was it, Tom?” Rosie demanded. “All we heard was some big windy tale from Falor and his friends.”

  Tom once again attempted to sit up, but Sarah held a hand on his head so that he couldn’t move. “You three get out of here and go about your business!”

  “But, sis—” Royal protested.

  Sarah felt she had no patience left. “Get out, I said!”

  “Well, all right. We’ll wait outside, but we want to talk to you when you get to feeling better, Tom.”

  She watched them leave, then turned back to Tom. She dipped the cloth into the cool water and bathed his face once more.

  “I feel like such a fool,” Tom groaned. “Went through five years of the war, and now they beat me up like I was a kid.”

  “Lie still.” Sarah leaned over and looked at his eyebrow. “You really ought to have some stitches in that.”

  “No, it’ll be all right. Just let it alone.”

  Sarah sat quietly beside him. It was the first time she had been alone with Tom since he had come home. Finally she said, “It looks like you had to get yourself whipped before I would have a chance to talk to you, Tom.”

  “What do you mean? We talk every day.”

  “No, we don’t. We just make noises. You haven’t said one real thing to me, Tom Majors, since you came home from the war!”

  “Well, I—”

  “You hush! I’m talking now!” Sarah put her face directly in front of his. “I’ve seen you run from me one time too many, and I want to know one thing, Tom Majors …” She swallowed hard, then said strongly, “All those times that you came out here and told me that you loved me—it must’ve been fifty times before the war—were those all lies, Tom?”