Luke thought he might know it if he saw it, but he couldn’t get too far from the others. He made a wide circle around them, never out of earshot. “Poison oak in these woods,” he mumbled to himself. “That’s all I been seeing, more and more poison oak, and wild strawberries.” He picked some of them, thinking that they might be good for her too.
First all he could find was dandelion, and he knew they could eat those leaves. But one of them healing plants, he thought, had purple flowers with yellow in the center. Purple cornflower, Aunt Eugenia called it. But sassafras was the one she liked better. What did it look like? Then he remembered. The mitten, the mitten leaves. That’s what she said was good for sickness. If he could just find some!
When he heard Daylily cough, he was about to give up and go back when he looked straight ahead. He was standing right in front of it. Green mitten leaves! He grabbed some leaves and peeled a small piece of bark. Now he could get her well, he thought. Now she’d be all right. He made some sassafras tea, warming the leaves in his cup, and gave her a sip.
Luke could feel himself getting very hungry. They had to have more fish because they had to eat. Even if she died, he reckoned they had to eat even though he didn’t want to say it even to himself. “Caswell,” he said, “you got to dig for some bait. You know what that is?”
Caswell seemed to be glad to help. “I used to go fishing with Daniel,” he said. “I can dig for worms.”
Luke needed the line and hook they had made. Oh, God, let it be in her pocket, he thought, and not at the bottom of the river. He stopped feeding Daylily tea long enough to look inside her coat pocket. The inside of the pocket was still damp, but he felt something sharp. The pin she had bent stuck him. He had never been so glad to prick his finger on anything.
Caswell took the bayonet and dug in the soft dirt near the water. Normally digging for worms might have been fun, but now it was just something he had to do.
“Got one,” he said in a minute or two, holding up a wiggling worm.
“Good, give it here,” Luke said, intent on catching fish.
Luke caught two small fish and cooked them. They ate, and then he made some more sassafras tea and gave Daylily sip after sip. But she seemed to get worse, talking out loud about things they didn’t understand, and she tried to sing something about “angels Black like me.”
Once, she tried to take off her coat, and once, she vomited up her tea. Then she tried to get up, and they had to hold her down. Luke was close to tears and Caswell was already crying. She was sweating and her eyes were big and bright, too bright, Luke thought.
“Naw, gal, naw,” Luke pleaded desperately. “Look, I’ll sing to you, how bout that? I’ll sing you a song about Heaven, about tryin to make Heaven my home.” Through his tears, Caswell said, “I know that one! Gran Susie sings that to me!”
“See, see? Even Caswell know that one, don’t you, Caswell?”
Caswell nodded. And so they sang a few words, and hummed to her because they forgot all the words they were taught, except for “I am a poor pilgrim of sorrow; I’m tossed on this wide world alone; I’ve heard of a city called Heaven; I’ve started to make it my home.” And they sang that over and over, until she got quiet.
They held her in their arms, one of them on each side of her. Finally, Daylily quieted down and closed her eyes, and it seemed they had sung her back to sleep.
“Oh, Lordy,” Luke sighed when they could finally rest. He stretched out on his stomach by the fire and put his head down in his arms. Caswell sat down next to him.
“Luke,” Caswell said, looking into the fire, “is she gonna die?”
He didn’t answer for several seconds. Caswell had to repeat the question, his eyes bewildered and terrified. “Is she gonna die, Luke? Luke?”
“Maybe,” the older boy whispered, almost to himself. He didn’t raise his head.
Caswell whimpered.
“Shut up!” Luke hissed, finally looking at Caswell. “Can’t nobody deal with you cryin at a time like this. Maybe so, maybe not! Just shut up!”
Look like that mojo should be working better than this, Luke thought. For a while there was silence except for animal sounds and the crackling of the fire. He guessed he could pray some. He thought about Preacher Brown in the quarters back home. He would know how to pray for Daylily. Luke bowed his head and prayed the best way he could. Mostly he whispered, “Oh, Lord, please make Daylily well” over and over.
That night wore on forever. Luke was so scared and so tired that he finally asked Caswell if he wanted to hear another story, just to pass the time, so that for a few minutes, he wouldn’t have to think about Daylily over there coughing, maybe dying, but Caswell had dropped off to sleep. Luke gave her some more tea, then pulled the almost-dried-out and smelly soldier’s coat around himself and dropped down close enough to her to grab her if she tried to get up during the night. Finally, his exhaustion took over, and as hard as he tried to stay awake, he couldn’t, and he slept.
Luke heard a voice say, “You seven. Seven years good luck, Luke. You the one chile I got to keep.” There was a hole in the door where he liked to look through and sometimes stick his finger. This time an ant crawled up the door. It was night and there was a moon out now. He saw a woman in the cornfield callin, “Jesus, Jesus.” He heard a voice that said, “Come on in, come on in now.” Then he saw somebody’s red back and he heard his mama say, “Please, Massa, please, Massa,” and then he saw her legs in the dust. He ran and ran, trying to find Aunt Eugenia, and then it was dark, black dark, and he heard a gunshot . . .
He woke up sweating in his coat and felt for his mojo, but it was gone. For a minute he didn’t know where it was, and his heartbeats fluttered like leaves in a storm. Then he remembered he had put it on Daylily. He sat up fully awake, scared that maybe she was dead, and maybe that was why he had had that dream again.
Daylily looked at him and said, in a weak little voice, “Hey, Luke, what’s this here thing roun my neck?”
Little pieces of her hair were stuck up all over her head, and her cotton dress was a mess, but she looked wonderful to Luke; he knew she was going to be all right, and maybe it was the mojo, and maybe it was the praying, but it didn’t matter to him.
The next day they stayed put. She was feeling better and she thought they should move on, but Luke said no. It was hard for Daylily to be still without anything to do. Caswell tried working on his aim by knocking down his tin cup with stones, and Luke was down at the water’s edge filling their canteens.
“Lord knows I am ready to leave here,” she sighed. She was lying on her coat in the sun.
“You ain’t well yet,” Luke called to her over her shoulder.
Daylily was looking around for her canteen to get a drink when she saw Luke had taken it to the river’s edge. She got to her feet and slowly made her way to the riverbank. She was almost there when everything swirled in front of her eyes and her knees buckled under her.
Luke heard her hit the ground. “Tarnation!” Luke yelled. “Girl, what you trying to do, kill yourself?”
She opened her eyes slowly. “What happened?” she whispered.
Caswell ran over to them from where he had been throwing stones. “You fainted,” he cried, “just like my Mamadear used to.”
“That does it,” said Luke, helping her stand up. “We ain’t going nowhere till tomorrow. Come on, you going back and lie down.”
The next day they fed her little bits of rabbit and fish, whatever Luke could catch. He knew for sure Daylily was getting well when she wanted her fishing hook and line again and started telling him he didn’t know how to fish. He was so glad that all he did was grin.
CHAPTER 14
A CURVE IN THE ROAD
Once Daylily was better, they could move ahead. They were still in the woods, but they were a little closer to the troop lines. Luke could tell because they were beginning to hear guns, not loud but in the distance. Luke said aloud, “It’s them guns again, no doubt about it.”
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They began to see signs of people too—a Union cap that somebody had dropped in the mud, a muddy pair of gloves. Caswell lagged behind them. He had seen something he was curious about under the bushy growth. He stuck his hand under the bush and grabbed it. It was a single boot, cut open with dried blood caked all inside. He threw it down because it had spooked him.
Luke turned around just in time to see Caswell stick something in his pocket, but he forgot about it, because just then Daylily found a tin of chewing tobacco.
The weather was holding good, and they caught some fish in the river. After they ate, they felt a little better, at least Luke and Caswell did.
Daylily didn’t seem to be getting any better than she had been a couple of days before when they’d started walking again. Her sickness was slowing them down. Sometimes Luke carried Caswell on his back, because his being so little slowed them down even more.
Both Luke and Daylily were beginning to get sore places where the too-big shoes rubbed on their feet, but it was better than wearing no shoes at all. They had been wearing these shoes for more than a week. Luke counted on his fingers. Eleven days now since he’d left the home place. It seemed like forever, and he was getting really tired.
They sat on the banks of the river that was widening, and Daylily watched the water bubbling over the rocks. There were lots and lots of rocks. “I sure would love to bathe in there,” she said, “specially my feet. They killing me. That water would feel specially good. I don’t wanna get in it, you understand. Just my feet. Look, Luke, it ain’t deep at all.”
“It’s too deep,” Luke said, “and it’s rough. It’s river water. Can’t depend on river water. Might get mean on you before you know it. You drown or somethin, and you still coughin anyway.”
She pouted. But Luke had a terrible fear that she would die and leave him to deal with Caswell and getting out of the woods, and he couldn’t stand the thought of that. She kept that coughing up every day, and she looked peaked.
“Maybe tomorrow,” he said. “You still look poorly. Eat the rest of your fish,” he said like a mother. Her eyes still looked too big to Luke, and her arms as little as twigs. They had to reach the Union lines soon before something awful happened. He began to gather wood for the night.
Daylily took one bite. “I ain’t hungry,” she said. “Here, Caswell, you eat it.” Daylily wandered a few feet away. “Look here,” she said, looking at some old ashes and burnt wood. Caswell was busy eating her fish so he didn’t pay any attention. “Somebody done made a fire. Wonder if they be comin back”
“Naw, this a old campground,” Luke said. “Trees a little thinner here. Close to the water. Could-a been from soldiers, or just folks wanderin through. Look at them ashes. They been rained on more than once.” He threw some wood down and went to get more. Come to think of it, Luke thought, Caswell didn’t look too good either, scrawny little arms, blond hair all matted and dirty. I’m getting worse than Aunt Eugenia, he said to himself. Worryin bout young’uns all the time. Finally he had enough wood for the night.
In a few minutes, Daylily was fast asleep. She slept a lot and talked less and less now. Caswell got up to chase fireflies winking on and off. The last of the season. Suddenly he stood still. “Luke,” he asked, looking at the last of the sunset, “you reckon my Mamadear can see me from way up there in them clouds?”
Luke nursed their little fire along. He looked at the small child. He knew what Caswell was feeling. His mama gone, he thought. Luke thought of Lucymae, his own Mamadear in Heaven. He knew for certain she had to be there. Otherwise he’d just lie down right here by this ole river and die. Cause somebody had to see you, somebody sure did, or you wasn’t really alive.
He looked at Caswell like he was really seeing him for the first time. He couldn’t stand no more death, no more pain. Caswell looked at Luke, really trusting him to tell the truth.
“You listen to me, Caswell,” said Luke, pointing his finger at the little boy. “All we got right now is us—you, me and Daylily. We’s all the family we got. So we’s all got to stay alive. You hear me? And yes, your Mamadear is up there. She know you here with us and want you to grow up and be a good man. You hear me? She up there lookin down at you and don’t you never forget it.”
Caswell nodded and looked out into the sunset. He was tryin to see his Mamadear in the clouds. “She’s up there,” he kept saying. “She’s up there.” And then he lay down on his coat. The sun went out of sight, Daylily coughed, and Luke sighed and put some more wood on the fire. In a few minutes, Caswell was asleep. Time went by very slowly. Luke stretched out on the ground. He was exhausted and wondered how all this would end. He was hungry all the time and cold every night, and just now he felt like giving up.
In the dark, Luke could hear the gurgling water and evening insects. And then somehow he knew there was somebody or something there. He didn’t really hear or see anything, he just knew it. Luke sat up very slowly, completely alert. He had left his bayonet and rifle on the other side of the fire. Luke swore under his breath like a man.
Then he heard a twig break and saw something come out of the trees. It had been right in front of them. The light from the fire and shadows made strange patterns everywhere. At first Luke didn’t know if it was a man or a woman. He was terrified. His heart was pounding in his ears. He was afraid to move. Then the firelight shown on her face, and Luke saw a woman with two long braids, in a long dirty dress and an army cap. She stood still and looked at him and didn’t say anything.
He saw the beads around her neck in the firelight, but he was too scared to say anything. She carried a rifle. Daylily coughed again.
The woman pointed to Daylily and said, “Sick.”
He nodded. He thought of haints and spirits in the woods. Mostly he thought of his bayonet on the other side of the fire. He could barely swallow, but he could hear Daylily’s rough breathing and thought it was his own.
The woman walked over to Daylily and touched her face. Luke stood up and went after the woman, but before he could hit her, she had hold of his arms. The beads swayed down across the woman’s heavy breasts. “You wait, wait,” she said fiercely, holding him as he struggled. She was very strong. “She got the smell of death on her. You need good medicine fast!”
Luke heard the word death and stood stock-still. The mysterious woman looked him in the eye. “You lost?”
He breathed in and out in ragged spurts. Something felt like it was coming apart inside of him piece by piece. “We goin north” was all that he could think to answer her. She had touched Daylily without harming her, and she looked like somebody’s grandmother. He could see that now, familiar lines in her face, the gray hair. He calmed down a little, but his nut-brown face was wet with tears.
Just as he thought the word, grandmother, the woman swooped down on Daylily and scooped her up. “Come,” she said to Luke. “We go to my place. I have good medicine. Food. Bring the little one.” But she could see he did not want to leave their precious coats and rifle and canteens. “Stay here,” she said. “I comin back.”
He couldn’t let her take Daylily away, and he couldn’t leave Caswell. All he could do was sit down, helpless and confused. He wiped his face with his sleeve.
Losing their coats and rifle would be the end of them. What if she was a spirit, and he never saw Daylily again? But she had said “medicine” and “food,” the things they needed so much.
It was very quiet now. Their fire was burning down. All he could hear was the running stream, Caswell’s breathing and crickets. This old woman had Daylily, and she had disappeared into the trees without a sound. He peered into the darkness, but it was as deep as a cave. Should he wake Caswell, get their things and try to find Daylily? Just as he had finally decided he’d have to do that, she appeared without Daylily, picked up the little boy and said, “Bring your things, this way.”
He scrambled to get their coats. The woman walked fast, and they were in thick woods. He could barely hear her quiet steps in the
dark, and before he knew it they came to a cabin. They had been only a few feet away from her when they’d stopped for the night. If they had gone a little farther, they would have seen the house. She stepped through the small door and put Caswell on something narrow and low. There was a warm fire in the cabin.
“Sit. I fix the fire,” she said, pointing outside, and she disappeared again, going in the direction of their campfire.
Luke looked around nervously. Her little house was mostly one room, a big fireplace, and lots and lots of stuff everywhere. In the shadows, he couldn’t make out what was stacked up in the corners. It took him a few minutes to see two dogs sleeping in one corner of the cramped space. They didn’t look very mean, but you never could tell about dogs. On the floor, under a blanket hanging on the wall, were three folded quilts. There was a big loom on the opposite wall.
The door to the cabin opened silently, and the woman walked over to the fire and stirred something in a pot that he could smell. He hadn’t eaten good food in so long that it made his stomach feel strange, and he was slow knowing just how good it smelled. He felt light in the head all of a sudden.
She put a bowl and a wooden spoon under his nose. Luke stood up and let go of all their things. He grabbed the bowl from her and began to stuff himself before he thought about what he was doing.
“Sit down,” she said, “sit,” and motioned to the floor in front of the fire.
Luke ate the whole bowl standing up; he almost choked on a piece of meat. She looked at him, tilting her head.
“Betty Strong Foot will give you more,” she said in a low voice. “There is more meat. Too much too fast will make you sick.”
Luke finally sat down after he finished licking the bowl like a puppy. He was sleepy but afraid to go to sleep. This woman might be dangerous. He couldn’t tell if she was colored or not. She looked different to him. He could see she wasn’t very light, and her hair was really long. For all he knew she had put poison in that bowl.
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