I Have Seen Him in the Watchfires

by Cathy Gohlke

  “Yes, ma’am. I apologize … I was hungry.”

  “We’re all hungry. It doesn’t give us call to steal the food out of our neighbors’ mouths.” She spoke low.

  I started to turn. “Turn your head and I’ll shoot.”

  “And I’ll help her.” It was the shovel-digging woman, come to bolster the rifle-toting lady.

  “How many are with you?”

  “Just me.”

  “Don’t you lie to her!” the shovel-toting woman demanded, poking the blade of the shovel into my side. I turned, just enough to see, and was surprised that she was brown and bold as brass. “We saw you come out of the carriage house, talking.”

  “To myself. I was talking to myself,” I stammered, fearful that they’d seen me. Had they seen Stargazer? Had anyone else?

  “Then you won’t mind if I shoot holes through my neighbor’s carriage house window?”

  “No! No! Please!”

  “How many?” the brown shovel woman spat.

  I didn’t answer right away, and the rifle woman, the one I’d still not seen, stabbed my back with the barrel. “Hold that shovel over his head while I take some target practice.”

  “No!” I swayed, unsteady. “It’s my horse. It’s my horse. Don’t shoot… please.”

  “A horse?” The rifle woman brightened. I couldn’t answer. “Does he pull carriage? Wagon?” I groaned inside myself, knowing I’d stepped in the biggest cow pie yet.

  A window from the house on the other side of the hedge shot up, and a woman’s shrill voice cried, “Ruby? Ruby! Where are you? There’s a chill in the air, and you forgot to light my fire, you silly girl!”

  “Don’t answer her!” the rifle lady hissed. “We don’t want her coming out here.”

  “She’ll come looking if I don’t—you know she will!” the shovel woman warned.

  “Ruby! Answer me! Don’t make me take a strap to you!”The voice rankled at the edge of my memory.

  “Ma?” I whispered. “Ma?” I lunged toward her voice, turning just in time to see the shovel swing over my head and slam into my face.

  Twenty-Seven

  I was moving—dragged, jerked, bumped across grass, but that might have been a dream. The next pain, besides the one throbbing my head, was the jerk of a rope across my wrists, tight behind my back. For a moment I was back inside Fort Delaware, sure that McCain had bedeviled himself into a woman’s body and that the misery and his unholy tricks would go on forever.

  Next I was sitting in a rocker, trussed up like a pig with my feet bound to the rockers and my hands tied behind the spindle back. I heard women fussing, whispering, arguing, and a candle flame danced before my face. My hair had fallen over my forehead. A cool hand pushed it back.

  “Charles! I declare, Papa will have your hide for sneaking about like this!” And then the same voice took on a different tone. “But it is mighty flattering, you couldn’t wait till morning. Now, Ruby, you mustn’t tell Papa. You know it would not bode well for either of us.” The voice giggled. I had to be dreaming. It was the sound of Ma, only young and girlish, and she’d called me by Pa’s name. I couldn’t bring her face to focus.

  “It’s not Charles, Miss Caroline, you know that. Mr. Charles gone off to war…”

  “Oh, I hate all this talk of war! He’s playing games—look at him! They’re all playing games in their West Point uniforms. But don’t they look dashing? The blues and the grays and the butternuts—every one of them. I wonder that they don’t all keep the same color, as they used to—or take better care!” And then the hand came again. “But, Charles … where is your uniform? You can’t be skulking through the neighborhood like a common criminal! Why, you haven’t even shaved!” She tsked. “What would Papa say if he saw you now? It wouldn’t do your suit any good, my dear—not any good at all!”

  “Miss Caroline, it’s long past your bedtime. Let me help you up to bed. You leave this young man to us. We’ll take good care of him.” The shovel lady spoke from behind me, and I winced, ready for another blow.

  “I suppose you’re right, Ruby. I do need my rest. Now, Charles, you come tomorrow, like a proper suitor—through the front door! No more of this skulking through the yard like a robber. I’m still hoping Papa will hear you out and consent.” She scolded. She lifted my chin, pushed back my hair. Her lips brushed my forehead. “Good night, my love. Until tomorrow.”

  “Ma!” I pleaded, or meant to. My throat was so parched I don’t know if the word came out, and I couldn’t open my smashed eye.

  “Come now, Miss Caroline. Come along,” the shovel woman said. She whispered to the other woman, “If he gives you any trouble, shoot him.” The two women swept past my chair. I listened until their footsteps faded away, and wondered again if I was dreaming. I couldn’t open my eyes. Somewhere a clock ticked off seconds and minutes.

  “Thank you for not correcting her.” It was the rifle woman, not so steely now. “She thought you were her husband.” I didn’t answer. I couldn’t sort the dreaming from the throbbing in the back of my head or the pain above my eyes. “I’m sorry Ruby hit you so hard. She thought you were going to attack me.”

  That’s when I laughed. It started in as a grunt, a snort, a low chuckle, and built till I was coughing, past reason. Then the icy water slammed my face, and I was choking. But it opened my eyes, and at last I could see the shape of a fuming, dark-haired beauty before me, pitcher in one hand, the other firmly planted on her hip.

  “Just what do you think is so funny?”

  “You’re the one with the gun, Emily!” I couldn’t stop laughing—more for the joy of finding her than anything.

  She gasped, “How do you know my na—Cousin Charles? Can it—? No! It can’t be… Robert? Robert? Is it you?”

  “Emily,” I whispered. I tried to squint up at her. She was still fuzzy in the swimming candlelight but more striking than I remembered. I swallowed hard. The pain in my head, the worry of losing Stargazer to a crazy woman’s gunshot, the months of little food, little sleep, of battling every way I knew to reach them—all swam together until I was falling, drowning.

  The next I knew she was untying my feet, my hands, helping me to a settee in the parlor, pushing me down. Then she was bathing my face, my eyes, till I howled from pain. “Oh, Robert, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know it was you! Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”

  “I didn’t know who you were till just now.” But something at the edge of my memory didn’t sit right. “She thought I was Pa. Ma thought I was Pa.”

  Emily sighed. “She’s not herself, Robert. She’s not been herself for a long time.” I closed my eyes. “You must rest now. We’ll talk in the morning. There’s so much to talk about. I’ve no idea how you found us. I’m so thankful you did.” She laid a cold vinegar cloth across my head and covered me with a blanket. “Rest now.”

  “Noah. Noah told me how to find you.”

  “You were at Mitchell House? Is he well? And Mamee?”

  “They’re holding their own.” The room began to spin. “I saw Grandfather’s grave. I came as soon as I could. But things happened. I tried to …” My voice trailed as my mind wandered.

  “I’m so sorry Ruby hit you,” Emily soothed. “You really must rest now. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  If she said any more I didn’t hear it. I’d found Ma. I’d found Emily. Stargazer was safe. And my head hurt like mad. It was enough. It was enough for now.

  Twenty-Eight

  I slept through the night and long into the morning. Sun streamed across the parlor floor by the time I opened my eyes. My head still ached, and my right eye bloomed nearly shut, but I could see out the left one and counted myself lucky for it. If the shovel woman had swung two inches lower I wouldn’t be seeing anything.

  Somewhere in the house I heard the shuffle and running of small, light feet, giggles, and scolding. I wondered if I was dreaming. I closed my eyes against the light.

  A soft sniffle and softer fingers trailed the length of
my arm, stirred me. I dreamed, in that moment, that Emily stood over me, her dark hair tumbling across my cheek. But when I opened my eyes there sat the shovel woman, her brown forehead worry creased, her cheek streaked with tears. I jerked back, sharp enough to make my head pound.

  My jerking startled her. She jumped, too, and I thought she meant to slug me again. But she reached her hands toward me, and every line in her face spoke sorrow.

  “No, no. Settle yourself, Mista Robert. Settle yourself. I won’t hurt you. I swear I won’t hurt you. I’m ever so sorry I hit you with that shovel last night. I thought you were fixin’ to pester Emily—Miz Emily.”

  Still, I held my breath.

  “Do you know who I am?” she asked, resting her hands on my arm.

  I tried to pull back. “You’re the shovel woman,” I croaked, half sputtering, knowing my mouth wasn’t working right, not able to make it do better.

  She looked sorry all over again. “Yes, I can see why you’d call me that—think of me in that way. But I have another name. It’s Ruby. I’ve known your mama a long, long time.”

  I didn’t believe her. Ma only just came to South Carolina. Surely my face showed that.

  “You don’t believe me. And you have every right. But it’s true.”

  I didn’t answer, didn’t want anything to do with this crazy woman. But something nagged at the edge of my memory, something I couldn’t place.

  “Your mama, Miz Caroline, and I grew up together—at Ashland.”

  “Ashland” seemed to catch in her throat. “Almost like sisters, we were. Only I was her slave.” She pulled back and breathed deeply. “Nanny Sara is my mother.”

  “Nanny Sara?” I repeated. “Ruby?” My mind tried to connect what I knew, but it was slow. I tried to sit up. She braced my back.

  “I helped your mama and daddy elope. It was the thing Miz Caroline wanted most in the whole world then, and I was her friend. I’da done anything for her—both because she was my friend and because I was her slave. And I paid the price.”

  “Jeremiah’s mother?” I couldn’t believe it.

  Tears sprang to her eyes, and she nodded. “I haven’t seen my baby since the day they pulled me off and sent me South to Miz Charlotte.”

  Now I did sit up, searched her face. My head pounded, but my mind remembered things Jeremiah had said about his mother—how my grandfather had been so angry when he learned that Ruby had helped Ma run off to marry Pa that he’d locked her in the attic at Ashland. He’d taken her over and over, ten nights straight… no matter that she’d never been with a man… then sent her to the quarters. When it was clear she was pregnant he called her a whore, till the baby came out near as white as him. I remembered Jeremiah’s walk, the odd little ways he reminded me of Grandfather.

  “Jeremiah?” I said again.

  “Jeremiah,” she answered. “I named him for that sad, old prophet in the Bible. ‘Cause I knew he’d have a hard life. And if he lived, he’d have hard truth to live by.”

  “He did. He did have a hard life. But he’s free now. He’s living in Canada. He’s helping other freed slaves get their lives started. He’s looking for you.” I tried to pour that understanding into her.

  She looked like she could hardly believe it, like she wanted to believe it. “Mama told me you and he ran off together. She say she believes he got to the promised land, for nobody ever brought him back.” She leaned closer, needing more. “Is it true? Do you know for a fact it’s true?”

  “It’s true. For a fact, it’s true. He’s safe, and well, last I knew. He’s learned to read and write. He wrote me a letter—more than one.” And I stared at her, unable to believe she was kneeling here before me. I tried to piece together my questions, but my head still pounded, and then I swayed.

  “You best lie down again, Mista Robert. I swung that shovel with all my might. You gonna nurse a headache for a week, I expect.”

  I lay back on the settee. “You’d be proud of him, Ruby. You’d be proud of Jeremiah Henry.” And then, though I didn’t want to, didn’t mean to, I fell asleep. I felt Ruby’s cool hand, smooth against my forehead, as I drifted off. And I wasn’t afraid.

  The next I woke, late afternoon shadows stretched across the room. Voices came from the back of the house, rising and falling—some childish and some older—shrill, then soft, then shrill again. Another voice broke in, soothing, comforting. I knew that last voice was Ruby’s. So I hadn’t dreamed her. Her words came back to me. “Jeremiah’s mother.” How she came here, I couldn’t guess. Grandfather’d vowed he didn’t know where she was sold. Somehow, I’d have to let Jeremiah know.

  And then the irony hit me. Jeremiah and I had both been searching for our mothers these last four years—mourning their loss, wondering where and how and even who they were now. But Jeremiah’s mother had been taken away long ago by force; mine left willingly, and now didn’t seem to know me.

  I knew that I’d soon learn the truth about Ma, about why she left Pa and me, about why she’d stayed away. I’d been yearning to understand all these years, and trying every way I knew to get to her these last months, sure that everything would work out the way I wanted. But now that she was just through the doorway and down the hall, now that I could ask her face to face, I feared. Whatever she said could not be unsaid. I no longer nursed hopes about what might happen when we talked, and last night didn’t make me feel better about that.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Robert? May I come in?”

  I pushed my hair from my eyes and took a deep breath. “Come in, Emily.” This time I saw her clearly. It was like looking at a younger, darker version of Ma—younger than the Ma I remembered from my childhood.

  “How is your head?” She knelt beside me, and her nearness confused me, threw me off kilter.

  “Fine. It’s fine,” I stammered. “It hurts, but it’s fine.”

  She smiled. “I imagine it will do better once you get a bite of food in your stomach. You must be famished.” My stomach rumbled, on cue. I felt the heat creep up my neck, and we both laughed. “Ruby’s cooked up the best of our ham and grits. There’s cornbread and the last of our potatoes, fried with onions—the way you like them, if I remember.”

  “You remembered I like fried potatoes?” It was a dumb thing to say.

  Now it was her turn to blush. “I remember a great many things, Robert.” She helped me sit up. “We’ve much to discuss, and there may not be much time. But first you must eat. The children have eaten already and gone to bed.”

  “The children?” Had Emily already married, borne children?

  “You’ll meet them tomorrow. Orphans, mostly. Children left alone by the war. Some are truly orphaned; some the parents or older siblings can no longer feed. There are children everywhere, begging now.”

  “You opened an orphanage?”

  “Well, not intentionally!” She laughed. “Aunt Charlotte and Ruby and I. There’s Henry, the oldest—maybe five or six—and little Lizzie, and Jubal. Then twin girls—so young we don’t know their names. We call them Mildred and Martha, and a toddler we call Jacob. We couldn’t turn them away.” She looked like that was the only sensible answer. But then she frowned. “Anyway, we’ll all eat—the adults—and that… might be difficult.” She helped me to my feet. “Cousin Caroline… is confused. She might not know who you are.” I waited, watching Emily’s face. “She thinks time has turned back on itself.”

  “What do you mean, ‘turned back on itself?”

  Emily drew a deep breath, and I could tell she didn’t want to go on. “She thinks she is a young girl again. She believes you are your father—Cousin Charles—come to court her.”

  I leaned back. Last night’s scolding from Ma rushed back.

  “We’ve tried to bring her into the present, but she becomes anxious—shrill. I’m frightened for her, Robert.” Emily sat down beside me, took my hand, but I pulled away. This was not what I’d worked all these months to come and find. “I’m afraid that if w
e force her, insist on her understanding the truth, that it will destroy her.” I couldn’t answer. Emily waited. Finally, gently, she said, “Do you understand? Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

  Now I did look at Emily. She was concerned for me, but strong. This was not new to her. She’d been caring for Ma a long time now—time Ma should have been helping her. But I looked away. “How long has Ma been like this?”

  “Since the war broke out, most particularly. Since the day Papa left—in his uniform.” Emily stood up and walked toward the window, pulled back the drape, and gazed out on the lawn. “There were signs before that. I thought for a long time that she was just happy being home—back at Ashland. I thought she was making the most of every minute of her visit, that she was being brave, pretending not to miss—” Emily’s back straightened, and she stopped.

  “Not to miss Pa, or me,” I finished for her.

  She dropped the drape and turned to face me, anxiety written in her forehead. “Yes. And I couldn’t understand that. At first I admired her, certain that she was just there to help Uncle Marcus, but that she’d be going back to you soon. I wanted to get to know her so well, Robert. I even wanted to be like her—so full of life and gaiety. Sometimes I even pretended that she was my mother. I scarcely remember my mother.” Emily studied her hands. “It was like she and Papa and Alex and I were a family—the first whole family I could remember.” She dropped her hands, helpless. “But, of course, we weren’t. It wasn’t right. And I saw how she and Papa—”

  “Loved each other?” I finished again, trying to keep a grip on the heat of my anger, knowing my voice fell cold.

  “I would have said, ‘cared for each other.’ But, yes, I believe they did.” Emily looked me in the eye. I turned away, unable to face the young woman who looked so much like Ma that it confused my feelings toward her, who’d pretended my mother was hers while Pa and I did without. “It was wrong, Robert. It was wrong of them both. I don’t think either of them intended it to happen, but—”