Dear Diary, I'm In Love

Home > Other > Dear Diary, I'm In Love > Page 31
Dear Diary, I'm In Love Page 31

by John A. Broussard


  “Sorry.” The word was mumbled.

  “You been soldiering too?” For the first time she noticed the absence of a uniform—and wondered.

  He nodded and winced at the effort.

  “I heard there was a battle near Hyatt. That where you were?”

  Not answering her question, he asked one of his own. “Have there been any troops around?”

  She shook her head. “As soon as you can, best you get back to the army. A doctor should take a look at that.” She indicated his head wound with her chin. “Meantime, if you can sit up, I'll bring you something to eat.” Not waiting for his response, she started back to the house with Aaron in tow. Rory decided to stay with the wounded man who was now patting the dog lying down by his side. Aaron began chattering about, “Man in barn,” though most of what he was saying made little sense.

  By the time she returned with the food, she saw that the stranger was now standing unsteadily at the barn door. Somehow he had managed to struggle upright, had even made it out to the yard and back. Rory stayed next to him, seemingly happy to have the attention that Newell had never had the inclination, nor Kate the time, for. The stranger thanked her for the large bowl of soup, thick with rich milk, potatoes and generous chunks of chicken, then sat down on a milking stool with his back against the stanchion. She placed a cup of steaming black coffee by his feet. Aaron, now emboldened, had brought in a stick, pointed it at the stranger and went, “Whang!”

  Annoyed, Kate took it away from him. Aaron was about to protest when the stranger, looking up from the bowl, smiled and said, “He's going to follow in his dad's footsteps.”

  “Never!” Kate spoke far more loudly then she'd intended.

  The stranger seemed embarrassed by her vehemence and changed the subject. “Mind if I ask you your name?”

  “Kate. Kate McKenzie.”

  “Mine's David Lawford. I sure appreciate what you've done for me. Might not have made it if you hadn't found me.”

  Kate smiled. “You would have. You said you had a hard head. I'm going to have to change those bandages, by the way. They're pretty well soaked.”

  A silence descended as David finished up the soup and took up the cup of coffee. She felt his eyes running over her slender form and knew he was appraising her. She resisted the impulse to push stray locks of hair into the bun at the back of her head. More to break the silence than for any other reason, she asked, “Are you Union or Confederate?”

  If she hadn't been busy with her own thoughts, she would have noticed the hesitation before he said “Confederate.”

  It was at that moment that Rory sat up, loped over to the barn door and began barking. David thanked her again and shook his head at her offer to bring him more food. Kate picked up the empty bowl, spoon and cup before following out behind the dog. At the door, she could see several horsemen on the other side of Fall Creek obviously seeking out a shallow place to cross over to the farm side.

  She wasn't sure why, but she felt almost disappointed at seeing them. “Soldiers coming,” she announced over her shoulder.

  The tone of David's voice made her look back at him. “What color uniforms? Blue or grey?”

  She looked again. “Not blue. That's for sure. Must be grey if any color at all.” Turning, she added. “You'll just have to go back to your company or regiment or whatever they call it.”

  David was standing, braced against the stanchion. “If they're Rebels, they'll hang me from the nearest tree.”

  “But why? They'll want you back.” Then the thought struck her. “You deserted, didn't you?” There was no accusation in her tone.

  “No. I lied to you. I'm not a Confederate. I'm a Union spy. They caught me before the Hyatt skirmish, and I got away when the fight broke out. But a picket followed me and shot and wounded me. They were planning on a firing squad at dawn.”

  “But why did you lie to me?” Somehow, finding out why seemed to be more important even than the horsemen who she now saw crossing at an upstream ford.

  “When you said 'Manassas,' I knew your husband was a Rebel. We call it Bull Run. I thought you'd turn me in—or out—if I told you I was a Yankee. But I guess it doesn't matter. As soon as they find me, it will all be over.”

  “I don't understand any of this. But they aren't going to find you.”

  ***

  The dark-haired leader of the horsemen, wearing a captain's bars, was slender and surprisingly short once he dropped down lightly from his horse. He touched the brim of his hat as he approached Kate, who was reassuring a curious but frightened Aaron. The troops, some thirty or so, also dismounted and waited next to their patient animals.

  “Sorry to bother you ma'm but we're looking for a man who came off in this direction some time last night. Have you seen anyone?”

  “No. If there'd been anyone around, Rory there would have let me know.” She pointed with her chin to the dog who had stopped barking at the newcomers and was sniffing around the horses, carefully avoiding their hind legs. One of the soldiers gave him a casual pat as the dog continued his checking.

  “Well, just in case, we're going to have to look around.” As he spoke he surveyed the house, barn and the two other outbuildings. Kate knew there was no point in protesting. Simply shrugging her shoulders, she followed the captain, picking up Aaron who had been clinging to her skirt but was now fascinated by this sudden crowd and all the activity. As they entered the barn, Aaron brightened. “In barn,” he declared importantly, but only loud enough for her to hear him. Surreptitiously, she pinched him and he began to whimper.

  The captain turned. “What's wrong with the boy?”

  Kate smiled. “He doesn't often see strangers. He's scared of them.”

  Two soldiers who had accompanied them stared into the stalls where the cow was placidly chewing on her cud in one while Blaze, in the other, was eyeing the newcomers. One of the men, carrying a long cavalry sword, started probing the hay stacked against the opposite wall. The other stood looking into Blaze's stall. “Nice looking critter,” he commented. “Must be a couple of hands taller than the average mule.”

  “He's a might ornery,” Kate said. “I haven't had an easy time with him since my husband left for the army.” As though understanding her, Blaze—the pencil-wide streak between his eyes suggesting a frown which did give him a mean appearance—began to paw with both front hooves.

  “He doesn't like strangers,” Kate added.

  The captain, who had been watching the search of the hay, turned and said, “Strangers seem unwelcome here.” Without waiting for Kate to comment, he went on, “Is your husband a Confederate?”

  “Was. He was killed at Manassas.”

  The captain looked back at her and murmured, “Sorry,” as the other soldiers came back from their search of the two outbuildings. “Empty—except for pigs and chickens,” one of them said, then asked, “Check the house?”

  The Captain turned a questioning look at Kate. “Of course,” she said, heading for the house, carrying the still whimpering Aaron and stopping to call Rory who whined in protest.

  Only one of the soldiers accompanied them into the house. While the captain stood with Kate in the large kitchen-living room, the soldier quickly checked the two remaining rooms, came back out and shook his head. It was at that moment that Kate glimpsed David's bloody shirt, only partly hidden by other clothes in the wash basket.

  Rory seemed to have spotted the shirt at the same moment. Grasping him by the scruff of the neck, Kate stood in front of the basket, shielding it from the captain's view as he turned a questioning look on her. “Rory's not used to being in the house,” she explained. “He can be a nuisance. Getting into things.” She hoped the tone of her voice was convincing.

  The search over, the men remounted. In answer to the captain's last question, she suggested that whoever they were looking for might have gone down toward Masterson's. After watching the soldiers disappear over the rise on the dusty road, Kate returned to the barn, unlatched the g
ate to Blaze's stall, and begin to lift out some of the hay from the mule's manger. A groggy David reached up, and with her help climbed out of the wooden box. “I recognized his voice,” he said. “That was the captain who was going to be in charge of the firing squad this morning.” Holding onto her helping hand, he added, “Thank you again. You've saved my life twice in one day.”

  Flustered, Kate changed the subject. “Those bandages still need to be changed. Come on into the house.”

  While she was carefully unwrapping his head, he sat at the kitchen table with a basin of water in front of him and began to tell her something of his past. From Steubenville, Ohio, he'd joined the first flush of volunteers called out by Uncle Abraham. They'd crossed the Ohio River into Kentucky soon after, to find themselves searching for the enemy rather than fighting. David and some others had formed a unit to go out in civilian clothes to find out what they could about the Confederate cavalry movements in the vicinity. He became separated from his comrades, was captured just outside of Hyatt, summarily charged with spying and condemned to a firing squad.

  Kate exchanged her own background. One of a farm family of six, from Indiana—just across the river from Kentucky—she had met Newell when she was visiting her sister, who had married and moved to a new settlement south of the river.

  “What was he like?”

  The question surprised her and, at first, she wasn't sure what David was referring to. She shrugged, dipping a towel into the water to clean off the raw wound, while mulling over the question and its possible answer. “He was mighty convincing. And I liked the idea of staying on a farm. We got married that spring.” As she spoke, she tried unsuccessfully to remember what Newell looked like. Aaron, who was leaning against David's knee and talking away without pause, seemed to have long ago forgotten his father.

  “I'm going to have to head back,” David said, as she fastened a pin to the last of the new bandage to hold it in place.

  “You lost a lot of blood. You really aren't fit to travel.”

  “Well, maybe not today. Besides—I guess maybe I might be able to help some with the chores. I at least owe you that. I don't have any money to pay for the food and the care, but I can do a bit of work. Maybe a lot more in a few days. Then I'll head north.”

  Kate quickly nodded in agreement, surveyed her handiwork, and the two headed out to the barn—Rory in the lead, Aaron holding David's hand and prattling on.

  At noon, Kate carried out a lunch to find that David had almost completely hoed the small garden which she had been forced to neglect for the past weeks. He looked pale from his exertion, and she insisted he come back to the house and rest.

  ***

  The days settled into a comfortable routine. As he recovered his strength, David took on more and more of the outside work. His beard grew, his wound healed—though leaving a livid scar—and Kate found it difficult to see the pale invalid she'd found on the barn floor in the tanned, muscular man guiding the plow behind Blaze through the rich Kentucky soil.

  Early on, David had been concerned about what the neighbors would say about a strange man suddenly showing up on Kate's farm. Kate was amused. “The folks around here have enough problems of their own without being concerned about what goes on at the next farm over. And, anyhow, the last time I was in the general store, I said a cousin of mine from Indiana had come down to help with the chores. If anyone was curious, I'm sure that satisfied their curiosity.”

  David had seemed dubious, but said nothing. Kate found his presence more and more comforting, though he still slept in the barn on a makeshift mattress of straw, with Rory nearby. Aaron, in the meantime, followed him whenever given the chance, and David took time out in the evening to carve some wooden toys for him. Kate marveled at the talented hands that fashioned perfectly round wheels with nothing more than a bowie knife. Aaron was enchanted.

  The evening of the first frost brought an end to the peaceful scene. Rory began barking violently and the sound of hoof beats on the solid earth announced their arrival. The Confederate captain with a much-diminished band, some riding two to a horse, pounded into the farmyard. David had been leading Blaze and was caught unawares. The captain, his arm in a sling, didn't bother to dismount. In a moment it became obvious he didn't recognize the bearded figure.

  “We're going to need that mule,” he said without dismounting, and signaled one of the multiple riders to get down and take the animal's lead rope. “We'll pay,” he added as Kate, who had come out of the house onto the scene, began to protest that they would never be able to bring in the fall harvest without the mule.

  One of the soldiers turned to the captain and suggested that they take along a few chickens, too. The captain shook his head. “We've foraged enough food to get us back to Tennessee. There'll be plenty of supplies waiting for us there.” The man shrugged, mounted bareback on the mule, then reached into his pocket and tossed a bundle of notes to David. The troop wheeled and went off toward the creek.

  When they had gone, David looked at the money. “Confederate, of course. Not worth the effort of throwing into the fire.”

  They said little to each other. The loss of the mule was catastrophic. The hay could now not be harvested before the autumn rains. Fall plowing would be impossible. And spring planting could never be done without a draft animal. Both knew that the countryside had undoubtedly been stripped of horses and mules, so there was no hope of finding help from anyone nearby, no hope of hiring or buying an animal to replace Blaze. Kate went in to put Aaron back to bed, since he'd been awakened by the commotion. David went off to his sleeping quarters.

  The night reminded her of the one when she had found out about Newell's death. She tossed and turned. But she insisted to herself that matters were not as bad as back then. And yet somehow, though this time she shed no tears, the loss of the mule bothered her more than the loss of her husband. David was still there, had so far showed no inclination to move on and, between them, she hoped they would find a way to survive the winter and to farm in the spring.

  So close to sleep that the sounds in the kitchen could have been part of a dream, she sat up suddenly, then slipped out of bed and carefully opened the bedroom door a crack. By the light of a waxing moon low on the western horizon, she could make out David searching on the shelf above the stove. The moonlight glinted off the blade of the butcher knife he held in his hand. Kate suddenly felt terror.

  Really, what did she know about this man? He had lied to her once. Might not everything he had told her been lies? A spy? Whose word did she have? The Confederate captain had never said they were looking for one. She had heard of deserters, of stragglers—nothing more nor less than outlaws—who followed in the wake of both armies, looting, raping, killing. Army commanders, Yankee and Rebel alike, gave standing orders to execute these predators out of hand. Was David one of them? She looked over at Aaron's cot but couldn't see him in the dark. When she looked back though the narrow door opening, she almost openly sighed in relief. David was quietly slipping out, closing the door softly behind him.

  Kate rushed to the tiny bedroom window and could still see him in the moonlit night. Rory was following him. David paused, patted the dog and was evidently saying something to the animal. The dog sat down and Kate could hear his protesting whine. David left at a quick walking pace. She could see that he wasn't going back to the barn.

  The rest of the night continued to be sleepless. Whatever he was, she knew she would miss him. There had been a great comfort in having a man close by—and perhaps she had begun to feel more than comfort from his presence. Had he left permanently? She felt a peculiar mixture of relief and disappointment. Relief that a possible outlaw was now gone. Disappointment, if he weren't one, that he had left her once more alone to fend for herself. The latter seemed the more likely. Back to the army, she thought, bitterly. Maybe the loss of the mule, the impossibility of the resulting situation, had been just too much for him. But, then, he would have left sooner or later, she decided.
/>   The first glimmer of dawn and the crow of the rooster brought her out of the house. She had stopped only long enough to start a fire in the iron stove before heading for the barn. The air was crisp cold, and frost crystals covered the grass. Winter was on the way. The cow still needed to be milked. Life had to go on.

  What she first noticed as she stepped into the barn was the sound from Blaze's stall. There was no mistaking the huge form. The mule was munching away placidly on the hay in the manger. Swiftly, she ran to the end of the aisle to find David asleep on his palate, Rory resting comfortably nearby and the butcher knife lying between them. Without thinking, she reached down and picked up the knife. There was enough light for her to see that it had been cleaned, though she was sure she could detect traces of blood near the hilt. At that moment she realized that David had awakened and was watching her.

  “I had to have a knife to cut Blaze's rope,” he explained without waiting for her to ask.

  “Where did you find him?”

  David sat up. “I was pretty sure they'd go back to the grove where I left them last time. Their horses were worn out when they got here, and I figured they wouldn't ride very far before bivouacking. I was right, and my spy training helped. I slipped into camp, found the mule, cut his rope and sneaked away.” He smiled. “Cut the ropes on all their horses. They were too tired to have more than one guard out, and it was easy to get around him.”

  “But they'll be back.”

  David shook his head. “I overheard them talking before they turned in. There's an army of Union regulars moving in on the way to Tennessee. The Confederates won't risk being seen around here. I'm sure they broke up camp at the crack of dawn.”

  Kate's lips tightened. “Now, instead, the Yankees will take the mule. I'm no better off.”

  David again shook his head. “No. Lincoln's said he can't afford to lose Kentucky, so the troops have orders not to go living off the land and turning the people against the Union. Besides, as I said, they're regulars with their own supply train, not ninety-day volunteers like the group I was with. You have nothing to worry about from these soldiers.” Kate was still dubious but hoped he was right. She didn't ask about the blood on the knife.

 

‹ Prev