Many times I felt like giving up, but it was the men’s support, and Jim’s patience with me, that kept me going. The men seemed to sense that I was fighting a battle with myself, and did all they could to help me win.
It was a big surprise to me when we marched into a town in Ohio, and the column stopped in the town square. A good many of the townsfolk looked on.
Major Demarest gave the order to fall in, and the men dressed down in a single row.
“Atten-shun!” The men went rigid.
I stood behind the row, and tried to stand at attention on my crutch.
I couldn’t believe the next command. “Caleb Getme, front and center!”
It seemed like long minutes passed before I could make myself walk around the rigid men to a place directly in front of the major. He pinned something on my shirt over my heart. I took a quick look at it and saw that it was a crude brass star attached to a bit of purple ribbon.
The major said in a commanding voice, “I have the honor to present this award to Caleb Getme on behalf of his unit. The citation reads, ‘For extraordinary courage and fortitude in the fulfillment of his duties. Wounded in action, he went forward without complaint. His devotion to duty constantly inspired the men of his unit, and was in keeping with the highest traditions of the United States Artillery.’ ”
The major, along with the men, instantly touched their straightened fingers to their caps. I didn’t know what to do. Fortunately Jim was standing behind me, and whispered, “Salute, Caleb!” I touched my fingers to my cap. Jake Jacobin sounded a bugle call on his dented cornet, and I heard church bells ringing in the distance. It was undoubtedly the proudest day of my life.
I learned later from Jim that the badge had been the major’s idea while the men were encamped, awaiting my recovery, at Dr. Shuck’s house. He had obtained the purple ribbon from the doctor’s wife, and had taken it and a bit of brass from a shell casing to the village blacksmith, who immediately fell in with the plan, and fashioned the badge. On the morning of the ceremony Jim had gone ahead on a horse, located the mayor of the town, and quickly arranged for the use of the town square and the pealing of the church bells.
For the rest of my life I kept that badge somewhere on my body.
Chapter 11
We walked and we walked and we walked. The major had a map of the United States that he used as a guide to get us home. Jim borrowed it one evening, and after spending an hour with it announced to the assembled men that Riverton, Indiana, was approximately 600 miles from Washington DC, that we had traveled approximately 450 miles of that distance, that we were making about fifteen miles per day, and that we would be in Riverton in ten more days. That brought a tremendous cheer. In little more than a week we would be home! (By now, I considered Riverton my home, even though I’d never been there.)
Although we had traveled more than 400 miles and were dead tired, the estimate that we’d be at the end of our journey in ten days added speed to our pace. We began making more than fifteen miles per day.
One of those days, shortly after noon, we came to a hand-lettered sign beside the road that read:
TAKE ONE STEP BEYOND THIS SIGN
AND YOU’LL BE IN THE STATE OF INDIANA
Each man who took that step uttered a decidedly rebel-like cheer.
As the days wore on, I could see that Jim, in particular, was growing more and more excited. He talked of nothing but Riverton and his wife Hannah. His mind was full of questions. Was she in good health? How would she greet him? In the course of the war he had received two letters from her. She hinted that she had changed her hair style. What was it like now? And—most important of all—did she still love him?
Most of the men were from Riverton, but a few from towns roundabout. As we approached Riverton, the men grew quieter and quieter, until finally total silence dropped over the advancing column. At last, unable to contain themselves any longer, the first two men to leavethe unit ran ahead. They disappeared around a bend.
Word of our arrival apparently preceded us because families began to appear beside the road. There were shrieks of joy as other soldiers dropped off to gather their loved ones in their arms. Occasionally a woman would look each soldier in the face as he passed until the entire line had gone by, then hide her face in her hands.
By now, Jim could barely restrain himself. I was hobbling along beside him. “Only about two more miles,” he said, as much to himself as to me. With each step he took, he gave an extra little skip.
We passed the last of the farmhouses and walked through the outskirts of town. It looked pleasant enough to me, but hardly a Garden of Eden. Jim had told me time after time that his print shop was just off the town square, and that he and Hannah lived in two rooms above the shop. We finally turned a corner and saw the town square just ahead.
A dozen people were standing beside the road. One was a slim girl in a gingham dress. Her hair was rolled in a bun behind her head. She was not beautiful, as Jim had described her, but she appeared to be the kind of girl you’d like to know for the rest of your life.
Jim let out a deep sigh as though he was in agony, dropped his pack beside me, ran ahead and swept the girl into his arms. He lifted her off the ground, and pivoted her in a complete circle. Their faces came apart, and I could see tears running down their cheeks.
Somehow, despite my crutch, I managed to pick up Jim’s pack and carry it over to the two figures, who now were smothering each other with kisses. As I put down the pack, I stumbled into Jim. He gave me a quick glance, then resumed the kissing.
At long last Jim stepped back, still holding hands with his wife.
“Darling,” he said, “this is Caleb. Caleb Getme. He’s an old friend of mine, and will be staying with us for a while.”
I had no idea how she would take that statement. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she had ignored me. Instead her eyes looked me over, evaluating what they saw. She smiled. One of her hands escaped Jim’s, and she thrust it at me. “Welcome, Caleb Getme,” she said. “Any special friend of Jim is a special friend of mine.” It was as though a small, black boy walking on a crutch, invaded her world every day.
Chapter 12
For three nights I slept on a straw mattress that Jim threw on the floor of the print shop. There was an old shed behind the shop, and for three days Jim and Hannah helped me clean the tools out of the shop, repair the roof, and install a window. Hannah scrubbed the floorboards until we could see the grain. We brought in a bed, a table, a chair and a whale-oil lantern. By the time I moved in, we were calling it “The Palace.”
Through it all, Hannah maintained her hospitality. She was full of laughs. She was full of kisses for Jim. I envied them their love.
Hannah, who also was wise in the fields of job printing and newspaper publishing, had somehow maintained the Riverton Bugle while Jim was away at war. Now, they explained to me, Jim would teach me the printing trade while he attempted to expand the advertising in the Bugle, and Hannah cooked, kept house, and helped in the print shop as needed. They made it sound as though I was helping them.
First Jim taught me all about type. Each letter of the alphabet consisted of a small lead image attached to a bit of hardwood. There were several of these small bits for each letter of the alphabet. The type was stored in a type drawer, divided into a good many compartments for the various letters, capital letters, and punctuation marks.
When the printer wanted to set a line of type, such as “Big Sale,” he grasped a type stick with one hand, then picked an e out of the type drawer (a line of type was always set backward), and placed it in the stick, orienting it correctly. It fit precisely. Next came the l and the a. A typesetter always had to think backward. If Jim were to set my name in type, he’d spell it belaC.
Jim slid such a line of type into an adjustable metal frame called a chase. When he had set the entire message, he shrank (tightened) the chase by squeezing the sides, then locked it, picked it up and installed it on the press. After printing a
s many copies as were ordered, he removed the chase, unlocked it, and returned each letter to its proper place in the type drawer.
I had never given any thought to how a piece of paper was printed, and I was amazed at how much effort was required. Talent and dexterity were essential. Jim slowed down his motions so I could see exactly what was required, then speeded up his hands to show me what I would be doing after years of practice. His hands moved over the type drawer so fast that I could scarcely see them.
One of my first assigned tasks was cleaning the press. After a job has been printed, any remaining ink has to be removed. This does not require a great deal of experience, but it does take a considerable amount of time.
I can’t say I was the fastest learner in the history of printing. For quite some time I put the letters in the wrong drawer, or the wrong box within the drawer, dropped a chase (thereby pieing the type), or failed to properly clean the press. When I erred, I was apologetic, and Jim never lost his patience with me.
He and Hannah invited me to eat my meals with them, but I refused. I felt they needed privacy. Finally we came to a compromise. I climbed up to Hannah’s kitchen, and returned to The Palace with my breakfast and my midday meal, then ate my evening vittles with them.
Weeks, then months passed. As I acquired dexterity over the type drawers and printing tables, the work went much faster and became much easier. Jim started calling me his “printer’s devil,” explaining that almost every printer has a boy as an apprentice who is known as his devil, and who usually grows into the printer’s job. At that time, Jim’s print shop was the only one in Riverton, and the Bugle was the only newspaper. Consequently, most of the merchants in town had cause to come to the shop for one reason or another, and I quickly became acquainted with them. I occasionally saw, with great joy, the remaining men from our unit. And Hannah, who was particularly popular with the young people, drew many to the shop as visitors. As a result, within a very few months I knew most of the townsfolk by name.
With Jim’s permission, I started a bit of an operation on my own. I salvaged an old chair, and placed it against the wall in front of the print shop. I asked Jim to print me a moderately big sign, “Shoeshine 5¢,” to nail to the wall above the chair. He told me that if I wanted a sign printed I could print it myself, which I did. My business grew by word of mouth. Men passing by would holler “Shoeshine,” and I’d drop what I was doing just long enough to clean the mud off their shoes and polish them.
To myself I acknowledged that this was the best home I’d ever had—much better than Three River Plantation with Ma and Pa and Ol’Nan, and more relaxing than the White House. In my prayers, I thanked God for meeting up with Jim, and through him, Hannah.
Hannah was sort of combined mother and sister to me. She gave me the love and support of a mother, but she was young enough to be my older sister. I kept no secrets from her. I reckon she came to know me even better than Jim did.
And I’ll never forget the secret she told me one sunny summer afternoon. I had finished cleaning the press, and was taking a moment to relax, gazing out the rear window of the shop. Hannah was out there tending the vegetable garden she had planted between The Palace and a young oak tree. She was down on all fours pulling weeds. Suddenly she looked strange to me. Her stomach stuck out more than it should. At that moment, she glanced up and saw me watching her. She waved, then clambered to her feet, a bit awkwardly it seemed to me.
A minute later she came through the back door of the shop. Jim was away drumming up more advertising for the Bugle, so Hannah and I had the shop to ourselves.
Hannah was as direct as she always was. “I saw you watching me weed, Caleb,” she said. “Did you notice anything different about me?”
I was too embarrassed to tell her the truth. “No, ma’am.”
“I’ll bet you noticed that I’ve put on some weight.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Come now, Caleb. Tell me the truth. Perhaps a pound or two?”
“Not that much.”
“Caleb, I have a secret to share with you. No one else knows. Not even Jim.”
“Not even Jim?”
“No.”
“What’s the secret, Miz Hannah?”
“I’m going to have a baby.”
“And...and...and Jim doesn’t know?” I stammered.
“Not yet. But I’ll tell him as soon as he returns.”
“I think that would be a good idea.”
I sensed that Jim wasn’t exactly surprised when he found out.
Jim always had put Hannah on a pedestal, but from then on he treated her like a queen. No longer would he let her scrub floors, or even hang the laundry. I had to take over many of the physical chores, and more of the work in the print shop, because he wouldn’t let her stand on her feet for hours, and he now was running the household. Didn’t matter. I was eager to help if it was an aid to Hannah.
Her stomach grew larger and larger. Months passed. Then, one day when we were in the shop alone, Jim warned me that anytime now he might ask me to go get old Doc Masters because the baby was about to be born.
Early in February the three of us were in the shop together when Hannah uttered a kind of a grunt that grew into a scream. Jim and I instantly looked in her direction.
“It’s time!” she said in a shrill voice.
“Get the doc!” Jim said to me. “I’ll help her up to the bedroom.”
I was putting on my jacket as I headed out the door. There was a foot of snow on the ground, so it was rather slow going to Doc Master’s house. He didn’t seem very excited, or in much of a hurry. He too had one gimpy leg so we must have made quite a sight as we stumbled along.
Back on the plantation I’d witnessed a few births with Ol’Nan presiding, so I knew about what to expect. I stayed in the kitchen, and without any orders I began boiling water and stacking up every towel I could find. Occasionally I’d listen at the closed door to the bedroom. Finally I heard what was more of a squeak than a cry. A baby had been born!
After Jim and the doc had cleaned up Hannah, the infant and the bedroom, they invited me in to see the baby girl. That’s right. A girl. She was lying there in her mother’s arms, so tiny she was almost invisible. Hannah smiled up at me, a tired but proud smile.
“What’s her name?” I asked.
“Caleb,” said Doc Masters impatiently, “babies aren’t born with names. The parents give them names.”
I shifted my gaze over to Jim. “What’s her name?” I asked again.
“That’s going to take a powerful lot of thinkin’,” he replied.
That poor baby wasn’t named for three days, and then the name was a total surprise to me.
Jim and I were working in the shop on the third morning. He looked over at me and said, “We’ve been spending a lot of time trying to name the baby. We wanted you to share in some way. We’ve finally made a decision. Think of the persons who were important in your life, Caleb.”
I started thinking aloud. “Ma. Pa. Ol’Nan. Mr. Lincoln. You and Hannah. Major Demarest.”
“You can’t give a girl a man’s name. What two women did you just name, Caleb?”
“Well, Hannah and Ol’Nan.”
“Right. And Hannah says it would be confusing to have two Hannahs around the house and shop. That leaves Ol’Nan. We know how much she meant to you Caleb, so we’ve decided to name the baby Nan.”
I was too excited to thank him. Nan. I loved it. And it seemed so right. How proud Ol’Nan would have been! I wondered if she would ever find out, and if so, who would tell her.
We soon, just naturally, started calling the baby Lil’Nan, to distinguish her from Ol’Nan. And almost immediately she became my constant companion. When I set type, her little basket was right on the bench beside me. When she’d cry, I’d pick her up and cuddle her on my shoulder. When I’d return from polishing a pair of shoes, I’d insist that the customer come inside with me so I could proudly show off “our” baby.
As
the days and weeks passed, I became more and more delighted with her, and she became more and more fun. As soon as she learned to crawl, I began sweeping the shop floor five or six times a day, so she wouldn’t pick up dirt. We began playing improvised games. We played an elemental form of hide and seek. I’d crawl behind one of the print benches, and she’d crawl around the shop until she’d find me. Then I’d spring gently forth to surprise her. She observed that my type stick was important to me, so she began hiding it inside her basket, or under her round little rump. If she uttered a little cough, I was instantly checking all the signs of her health. She joined Jim and Hannah as one of the important persons in my life. She may well have outranked them.
I admit I spoiled her. When spring came, I took her for long walks outside, whenever I could be spared in the print shop. I proudly showed her off, particularly to my old artillery mates, as though she were my own child. We played with a ball together. I tried to teach her to walk long before she was ready.
Chapter 13
One day Jim made a point of announcing that he was leaving the next day for Indianapolis. This seemed strange to me as he seldom announced his business trips in advance. When I asked him the reason for the trip, he replied rather curtly, “New paper samples and paper stock.”
That left Hannah and me to entertain Lil’Nan for three days, which we joyfully did. I’m afraid that by the time Jim returned, she was fully spoiled.
Jim came rolling up to the shop in his little delivery wagon, raising a cloud of dust. With a grin and a wave at me, he jumped from the wagon. Obviously he was excited. He shouted for Hannah, who appeared directly with Nan. He seemed to gather us all into his chest with his big encircling arms.
He spoke only one word. “Surprise!” Then he handed me a small box wrapped in blue paper.
Alvin Fernald's Incredible Buried Treasure Page 6