I Have Seen Him in the Watchfires

by Cathy Gohlke

  “I pack some bags of oats to take along. They still some out back I kept hidden from them foragers. Mamee get you a sack of food and a skin of water. You be careful, Masta Robert, and you give our best to Miz Emily. Tell her we takin’ good care as we can of things here.”

  I reached for Noah’s hand. “I’ll tell her, Noah.”

  “I saddle your horse. You come on back to the kitchen, get you somethin’ more to eat before you ride out.”

  “Thanks. I’ll do that.”

  After Noah left I took a long look around the room. I wondered if I’d ever get back to see it. Suddenly the burden seemed too heavy, the route on the map too far, too hard. The dizzy feeling swam over me again, took my breath, and forced me to sit down. Once I caught my breath, I sank to my knees beside the settee.

  “Lord,” I prayed, “it’s a long time since I came to You for anything besides a quick beg for help. And it seems every time I come to You I’m asking something bigger, more impossible. But I’m here again. Thank You for taking care of Emily and of Ma through all they’ve been through.

  “Keep them in Your care. Keep me as I ride to find them. If there’s something I should know, something I should do, please show me in a way I can understand.

  “Thank You for Emily, for her strength for Ma’s sake, for teaching the slaves to read, for signing over their freedom to them, for all the signs of Emily’s love in this house.”

  The dam behind my eyes built for love of Ma and Emily, for not knowing what had become of Pa, and for the goodness of Noah and Mamee, of Old George and Rebecca. I choked it back. I prayed God’s blessing on Noah and Mamee, His strength to see them through. When I finally got to my feet I felt deep in my need, and grateful, and a small flicker of hope.

  Twenty-Five

  In the kitchen Mamee ladled a bowl of stew and set a bag with ham slabs and cornbread beside my chair. “I won’t take all your food.”

  “And I not givin’ it.” She pressed her small fists into her hips. “I know how to ration my house and hide what’s left from those thievin’ soldiers—both sides—makes no difference. They all thievin’, and they all hungry. Me and Noah talked it over. We givin’ you what we can, and we still get along. Come spring we all do better.”

  “I pray that’s so, Mamee.”

  She softened. “We all prayin’.” Then she stiffened up. “But the thing is, Masta Robert, you riper than a peach past its prime! They put some old hound dog on your trail today, they track you from here to Kingdom come! We got to do somethin’ ‘bout that.”

  For the first time I minded the big washtub at the other end of the kitchen. It already held a couple inches of water, and Mamee simmered big kettles over the fire. “Is that bathwater?” I asked.

  “See there! It done been so long since you cleaned up you don’t recognize a washtub no more! It’s high time you scraped some of that road off you.”

  “But I’m leaving now. Noah’s saddling Stargazer.”

  “That horse can wait. He don’t stink half as bad as you. Now, soon as you done eatin’ you pour this kettle in that tub and strip off your clothes. I’ll wash them with a stick, see if they hold together.”

  I looked at Mamee, then at the hot water. I surely could use a wash, but I hated to wait. It might take hours for my clothes to dry. The night was moving on. I sniffed my armpits and pulled away. “I guess it won’t do much good to argue with you.”

  Mamee grinned from ear to ear. “None a’tall.”

  The hot bathwater soothed my kinks and sores, even if I did stir a mud pool. I scrubbed my hair, which had grown long and scraggly these months. I howled when Mamee crept up behind me and poured a pitcher of cold water over my head to rinse out the soap.

  “That get rid of that caked-on mud in your scalp. Scrub it again, and I pour clear rinse water.”

  “That’s clean enough!” I sputtered, shivering.

  “Not till I say so!” Mamee harped for all the world like Aunt Sassy. There was nothing to do but follow her orders, especially as I was sitting in a tub in my birthday suit.

  I’d not given much thought to what I looked like these past months. Men everywhere marched grimy, gritty, and fighting graybacks. I was lucky not to have the varmints for company! I rubbed my hand over my jaw and realized a beard had grown. It wasn’t all dirt. Before I left home I’d been working on stubble—”peach fuzz” as Aunt Sassy called it.

  Like she could read my mind, Mamee pulled out a straight razor and soap cup.

  “Soon as you done there you shave, and I cut your hair. It best if you don’t look like a runaway, you travelin’ South. They shoot deserters, or they cart them back to the army. You look like a prime runaway.”

  She was right, and I’d never thought on it. “Thanks, Mamee. I’m beholden.”

  She nodded, showing an easy, open smile—the first one I’d seen. It seemed right that Mamee stood in charge of something, even if it was only me and only for an hour. She left the room. I stood up and wrapped the bed sheet around me. She’d set it on a chair and hung my pants and shirt and jacket on a line by the fire. They were half dry. It wouldn’t take long.

  Mamee marched in with an armload of clothes. “These be Masta Albert’s. He won’t be needing them no more, and I believe with a little adjustin’ they fit you fine.”

  I bristled. “I can’t take Cousin Albert’s clothes.” I didn’t want to take them. I didn’t want anything of his. “Mine’ll be dry in a while.”

  “They be dry, but they soldier boy clothes. You be treated better you look like a gentleman.” I hated that she was right. I hated that I hadn’t just ridden off already. “Now you put these on, and I’ll get that shavin’ water ready.”

  The clothes hung loose, but the length was like they’d been made for me. I hadn’t realized how I’d shot up these last months. I caught sight of me in the looking glass. I ran next to scrawny, like all my meat’d shot straight up, stretched thin over bones.

  Mamee helped me with the straight razor. The face that stared back at me looked thinner, older than the boy who’d left home.

  I’d just finished buttoning the shirt and trousers Mamee’d adjusted for me when there came a pounding from the front of the house. Not a second later Noah burst through the back door, eyes wide, out of breath. “Home guard!”

  “Stargazer!” I cursed myself for not having ridden earlier.

  But Noah shook his head. “Safe. He safe—in the quarters. They won’t go there—not this time—not if you pretend to be Masta Alex back from across the water.”

  “What?”

  “That it!” Mamee cried. “You be the Masta since yo’ daddy died.”

  “Come home to look in on things. It the only way,” Noah pleaded. “Otherwise we all be taken.” The pounding came again, louder, more determined. “I answer the door. You go upstairs, like you gone off to your room for the night. Mamee, clear away those soldier clothes.”

  We all rushed to our places, Mamee passing me a candle in a cup. As Noah passed me in the hallway he whispered, “Do somethin’ with that Yankee accent.”

  I raced up the dark stairs, doing my best to save the flame. I found Alex’s bedroom, lit the lamp, pulled the quilt down from the bed, rumpled it like I’d slept, and pulled an old coat from the closet, tossed it across the chair. Then I stood near the door, half listening, half rehearsing my memory of Alex’s voice. Mimicking voices and playing parts was not new to me. We’d done it a dozen times or more when we’d disguised ourselves or slaves running North. I heard Noah speaking below.

  “Please, sir. Can’t it wait till morning? Masta Alex done retired for the night.”

  “We heard Col. Mitchell’s son had gone to England.”

  “He was, sir. He did go there. He only just got back, this week. But he retired for the night, and he won’t like to be disturbed.” I heard a shuffle of feet, as though a half-dozen men pushed their way into the hallway.

  “I don’t believe your Master Alex is here. How’d he get through th
e blockades? I believe we’ll just take a look for ourselves and satisfy—”

  “Noah! What is the meaning of this? Who’s down there?” I’d stepped to the top of the stairs and, with all the superior authority I could muster, barked down at Noah. The men stood back.

  “Mr. Mitchell? Alex Mitchell?” The leader let go of Noah’s collar.

  “And precisely who is asking?” I sneered. It set the man off guard.

  “Zach—Zachary Lincoln, home guard. We heard they wasn’t nothin’ but colored runnin’ around here. All the family run off.”

  “As you can see, Mr. Lincoln, that is not so.”

  “We’d heard you was over in England.” He eyed me suspiciously.

  “Apparently, no longer.” I stepped down a couple more stairs, leveled the man’s stare, then made to look like I took pity on him. “I realize, Mr. Lincoln, that you are doing your job to keep our countryside safe. In that, you are no doubt to be commended. But I might suggest you stop terrorizing loyal citizens and our people, and get on to something more crucial to the war effort.”

  He looked at me like he didn’t know what I was talking about.

  “How do I know you’re Mr. Alex?”

  “And who else would I be?” He looked a mite uncertain. “I must say ‘Lincoln’ is an unusual name for a loyal man of the Confederacy.” I narrowed my eyes. “Just who are your people, Mr. Lincoln?” Zach Lincoln’s color mounted.

  I held up my hand. “There is no need to explain yourself, Mr. Lincoln. I trust our offices investigated your affiliations thoroughly before assigning your position. Now, if there is nothing further you require, and if you have discharged your duties, I suggest you leave my home in peace this Christmas-tide.”

  “We’re just doing our job, Mr. Mitchell. We’d heard—”

  “Noah, you may show these gentlemen the door. I trust, Mr. Lincoln, that in this new year you will not trust in rumors as much as your own valuable sense. Good night.”

  Noah walked to the door and held it open. I turned and made to go upstairs, but Lincoln’s voice called me back.

  “Confederacy needs every able-bodied man, Mr. Mitchell.” The challenge was called in bluff.

  I turned. “Of course, Mr. Lincoln. Just as soon as my affairs are settled here. After all,” I said with a smile, “I wouldn’t want rumors regarding the mismanagement of my family’s affairs to cause you further alarm.” I turned to go, then stopped, and turned again. “Is that sufficient?”

  “Yes, sir. I reckon it is.”

  “Good night then.”

  Noah shut the door behind them but pressed his finger to his lips. We heard the men arguing, their horses sidestepping one another, but couldn’t make out the words.

  Mamee appeared in the doorway of the dining room and whispered. “They splittin’ up. Some circling the house, some ridin’toward the quarters.”

  “The quarters? Stargazer!” I flew down the stairs, two at a time. Noah grabbed me before I reached the door.

  “He all right! He be all right!”

  “They’ll hear him! They’ll take him!” I was no longer the rich, spoiled young slaver I’d played. I was scared to death of losing my best friend.

  “No! They never hear him,” Noah vowed. “I muzzled him after I fed him—just in case. You got to get your bearings, Masta Robert, or you’ll set them to searchin’!”

  “Muzzled Stargazer?” I stopped, dead in my tracks, hating that he’d been muzzled, thankful beyond words that Noah’d done it. We waited, and waited. At last we heard the riders circle, then thunder down the lane.

  “Do you think they’ve all gone?”

  “I ‘spect,” Mamee said. “Those men not happy bein’ called out for nothin’. I heard them tellin’ that Mr. Lincoln so.”

  That’s when Noah turned to me. “You like one of them actors from the theater up in Raleigh, Masta Robert! I never knew you such a fine talker!”

  “I’ve put on some before, when I had to, but never so much. You think they bought it?”

  “Like men beggin’ whiskey!” Mamee declared.

  “You saved me, Noah.”

  “The Lord saved us all. Without you here they’d take the run of the place.”

  “Well,” Mamee said as she pressed her fists into her hips, “’nough of this. Just goes to show how you needed that bath. You ready to ride now?”

  “I am,” I vowed and pecked her cheek.

  It was after midnight. I cut through the back acres of Mitchell House and Ashland, then took the road south, along the river. Noah had packed oats for three days and water for two. Mamee’d packed all the ham slabs and cornbread they could spare. I rode in Cousin Albert’s clothes and his long coat and toted a change of clothes besides. It was the warmest and cleanest, the best fed I’d been since summer. I prayed that God would bless them for it.

  I rode hard, by the light of a three-quarters moon, until the sky streaked red in the east. Along the way we passed a few houses, some abandoned. We stopped for the day by the burned ruin of a barn. An old trough filled with rainwater held plenty for Stargazer to drink. We feasted on the bounty of Noah and Mamee. I slept most of the day away. By the time the shadows lengthened we were both antsy, ready to ride.

  We rode five nights straight like that—sometimes finding day shelter, sometimes sleeping in the woods—without once running across another man, woman, or child. I thanked God for the night’s safety each time I laid my head down and thanked Him again each time I woke with only Stargazer nuzzling my hair.

  The land flattened, stretched endlessly. Pine needles grew inches longer, making the trees easier to hide behind.

  By day I slept and studied the map, tried to estimate how far we’d come. We steered clear of towns. That made our traveling less risky, but it also made the miles hard to figure. Still, by the sixth night I believed we were less than a day’s ride from Aunt Charlotte’s. I wanted to get there soon, but I was glad for those nighttime rides with Stargazer.

  Riding by the light of the moon is a sacred thing. Thoughts don’t wander the same as they do in daylight. Every hoofbeat is focused. Every sense sharp. A hole in the road might mean a broken leg and the end of everything we’d labored toward.

  We rode not like horse and rider but like one creature, glad to be alive, glad to be together, glad to run against the wind.

  Twenty-Six

  We crept into town hours before first light. Noah had said that Grandaunt Charlotte lived near the edge of town, in the finest house on the block. Three out of five of the biggest houses were deserted. One was stripped clean, as if the owners had long planned a move—lock, stock, and barrel. The other two looked like their owners had fled but traveled light. Family portraits lined the hallways, and books stood in rows across shelves. Pianofortes, sideboards, and settees kept their place, half-draped, but not a piece of silver or clothing, not a scrap of food remained.

  Twice through the night Stargazer and I’d hidden in the shadows of weeping willows as wagons loaded with every sort of household goods rumbled down the dirt road. They didn’t straggle out of town, half-starved. They nearly ran against the moonlight, loaded down. Thinking of the food they carted off started my backbone gnawing on my belly. I searched every abandoned pantry, every storehouse—even the stables. Food was one thing nobody forgot. Still, the empty stables made a safe place for us to bed down for the night and a safe hideaway for Stargazer while I searched.

  Dawn showed the houses off. Their high, white columns and wide front verandahs, lined both sides of the street. The homes stood side by side, close enough to bow, but far enough apart to ward off talking over the hedge. Brown lawns grew weed wild, and I wondered if all the slaves and servants had run off, and where they’d run to this far South. The town didn’t show the beat-up, burned-out look that an invading army leaves, but it didn’t have the storm-ripped, picked-clean look of foragers, either.

  I tried to look at the houses through Noah’s eyes, but they all looked fine to me. I dared not search by
day. But I peered through the stable cracks and window for any sign of Ma or Emily. I never saw a soul. By nightfall I began to fear that one of those deserted houses belonged to Grandaunt Charlotte. How would I know if they’d moved on, or where they’d gone?

  That night I searched three more deserted houses. I was a full block into town and tried to keep the panic inside my chest, to think through how I could ask somebody about them without raking up too many questions. At least I’d found two eggs in a henhouse and ate them raw, licking the broken yolks from my fingers.

  We’d spent the second day in a deserted carriage house that backed up to a wooded lot. During the day the high-pitched squeals of young children woke me. It sounded like a game of chase and later Blind Man’s Bluff in a nearby yard. If I could catch one of them alone I could ask about Emily. It was late afternoon when a woman called the children in. They all disappeared together. I’d have to think of something else.

  When dusk finally fell I led Stargazer into the yard between the woods and the carriage house to graze while I searched the outbuildings for food. I thought about going back to the henhouse where I’d pilfered eggs. I considered stealing a chicken but wondered if I dared light a fire to cook it in one of the empty houses. The thought of taking such a chance, the worry of somebody seeing the smoke, of catching me, of losing Stargazer, stoked my fear and gave me pause. But I’d have to do something. Stargazer’s grass was beginning to look good.

  I’d just drawn well water and shut Stargazer back inside the carriage house with the bucket when I heard a scrape, scrape coming from the yard next door. A high hedge separated the two yards. I pulled the shrubbery back, enough to peer through. Dark as it was, I saw the back of a woman, tall and slim, bent to a shovel, digging. I couldn’t tell what she was digging—a garden, a hole. I leaned forward to see. That is when the rifle cocked near my ear.

  “Cry out or move, and I shall blow your head off.” The steely voice of a cultured Southern woman vowed low. “Lace your fingers and place them behind your head.” I did. “You are the thief who stole our eggs yesterday morning.” It was not a question. The muzzle of the gun stabbed my back.