Jordan's War - 1861

by B. K. Birch

  “Don’t lean on that table,” a young voice said.

  Jordan jumped. He didn’t even see the boy sitting in the corner holding a fiddle.

  “It only has three legs,” the boy said.

  “Who are you?” Jordan asked then leaned over to look under the small table perched beside his seat. Sure enough, there was a leg missing.

  “I’m Gunner,” the boy answered. “You must be Jordan. Pa says we’re the same age.”

  Jordan looked at the boy’s fragile limbs and skinny torso. How could they possibly be the same age? Even sitting down, he didn’t look any bigger than Jake. His breeches were way too short and he didn’t have any shoes on.

  “Pa said Finnian can play this,” Gunner said and held out the fiddle. “I’ve been waiting all evening.”

  “It ain’t got enough strings,” Jordan said.

  Gunner’s face looked as if Jordan had punched him in the gut and Jordan felt ashamed of himself.

  “But I’ll be he can do just fine,” he quickly added.

  Gunner’s eyes lit up.

  “Where is Pa anyway?” Jordan asked.

  “They’re in the kitchen but I wanted to wait for you and Eamon here. Pa made salt pork and tack bread. You hungry?”

  “No, not really,” Jordan lied.

  “We got your letter just yesterday. Pa had to take it to the neighbor's place and ask him to read it though. He sure was excited.”

  “Where’s your ma?” Jordan asked.

  “She died,” Gunner answered. “My baby sister too. It’s just me and Pa now.”

  “I think I am a little hungry. You hungry?”

  “Follow me,” Gunner said and stood up. Jordan towered over him by at least six inches.

  The only light in the kitchen came from a roaring fire in a large rock fireplace. A skinny man leaned into the fire and turned large, sizzling hunks of pig fat in a pan. Jordan’s stomach growled even though it looked like the scraps of fat Ma melted down for lard. He looked in one of the steaming pots sitting the table. It was either collards or cooked weeds. He couldn’t tell.

  “Jim, this here’s my boy Jordan,” Pa said.

  The man stood up as best he could but was hunched over so much that Jordan could look down at him.

  “So it is,” Jim said. His voice was hoarse and scratchy. Jordan could hear the phlegm rattling in this throat. “He looks just like you. I see you met Gunner.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jordan said. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You hungry?” Jim asked. Although his body was battered, Jordan could see a sparkle in his brilliant blue eyes.

  “A little,” he answered.

  “Gunner, get the plates.”

  “Yes Pa,” Gunner said and set the plates out on the table.

  Jordan was only able to stomach one piece of salt pork. It wasn’t that he was full; it just took too long to chew each bite so he could swallow without getting choked. The water looked clear enough and he hoped they didn’t get it from the pond. He had seconds on collards but they’d have been better with some butter and a dash of salt.

  “It ain’t what you’re used to, is it boys?” Jim asked.

  “It’s just fine,” Finnian said before either of the boys could answer.

  “We ain’t had too much since I stopped work. Then Kate died while having the baby, God rest her soul,” Jim said. “The company lets us stay here now that Gunner’s working at the mines.”

  Jordan’s eyes got huge. Gunner works? For money?

  Gunner smiled and showed bits of fat wedged in his teeth.

  “Runs messages mostly,” Jim explained. “He’ll go down in the mines in a few years, won’t you son.”

  “I have to be fifteen,” Gunner said with his mouth full.

  Pa had a disgusted look on his face.

  “Why don’t you just come on home?” Pa asked. “The old home place is still there, hell I have the deed at my house. Taxes are paid. Me and the boys could help. . .”

  “Look at me Finnian,” Jim interrupted. “My back’s gone and I can’t walk ten feet without taking a coughing spell. How am I supposed to work a farm?”

  “A mine ain’t no place for that youngin’,” Pa said.

  “The company’s been real good to us,” Jim said.

  There was silence while Finnian chewed his fat.

  “Oh hell, you’re probably right,” Finnian said. “Ain’t no money in farming anyway. Not like you can make here.”

  Jordan ate the rest of his supper in silence. There was conversation about old times, but Jordan paid them no mind. He was angry because Pa didn’t push harder to get Jim and Gunner to come back to the mountain.

  “Gunner got out Pa’s old fiddle,” Jim said as he picked the teeth he had left. “It’s a little battered but I told him if anyone can play that old thing, it’d be you.”

  Gunner stopped clearing the table and ran into the other room. He wasn’t gone more than a few seconds and back he came, carrying the busted fiddle and the bow.

  “Let’s see what you got here,” Finnian said and took the instrument. He didn’t hide his shock very well. He looked up at Gunner, who waited eagerly for his response. “Let’s give it a try.”

  Pat put the fiddle across his shoulder and ran the bow across the two strings. If Hell ever had music, Jordan heard it right then and there.

  Gunner laughed and clapped. “Can you play a song, please?”

  “We’ll clean up later,” Jim said. “I feel like singing.” He got up and danced a jig into the other room, hunched back and all. Gunner was right behind him.

  “You boys got to help me,” Pa whispered. “Jordan, you make sounds – like a banjo at church singing and Eamon – you sing as loud as you can.”

  The boys nodded and followed him into the other room.

  “Lookie what I found,” Jim said and showed off an old dusty jug with a chip in the lip. “I used to be pretty good at this.”

  “You go huffing around on that thing and you’re going to kill over right here and now,” Finnian said.

  Jim looked at the jug. “Ah, you’re probably right.”

  The moment Pa broke into Church in the Wildwood, Jordan started twanging just like Pa said and Eamon sang as loud as he could without screaming. It took a while to get used to, but after a few songs Jordan found himself enjoying the music. Gunner was singing and clapping along even though he didn’t know all the words and Jim swayed and grinned the whole time. They didn’t even notice Pa was making more music with his mouth than with the fiddle. At last Pa stopped playing.

  “We’d better turn in,” Pa said after the sixth or seventh song. “Got to get an early start tomorrow.”

  “Just one more Finnian, please,” Gunner begged.

  “Finnian’s right son,” Jim said. “You got to go to work tomorrow anyhow. I beat the dust off that old mattress in the back room as best I could. Figured ya’ll could sleep over there.”

  “Goodnight Finnian,” Gunner said and walked off into another dark room.

  “See you in the morning,” Jim said and followed him.

  Jordan and Eamon stared at the bare mattress lying in the corner of the room. There were obvious piss stains in the middle, dark spots on the edges that could pass for either blood or dirt, and most of the buttons were missing.

  “Can we get the bed rolls out of the wagon?” Jordan whispered to Pa.

  “No,” Pa said. “You’ll make us look uppity.”

  “I’m sleeping with my clothes on,” Jordan said.

  “That’s probably a good idea,” Pa said.

  They all laid down in the darkness.

  “Move your leg,” Eamon yelled.

  “Hush now,” Pa whispered. “That poor child has to work tomorrow.”

  Jordan hadn’t been asleep very long when he felt Eamon thrashing around.

  “Quit moving,” Jordan whispered.

  “Something’s biting me,” Eamon said.

  “Get off the mattress!” Pa said. “It’s got bug
s.”

  Jordan was on his feet even before his eyes were fully opened.

  Chapter 7

  Jordan woke up on the floor, confused and unsure of where he was. He sat up, rubbed his burning eyes, stretched his throbbing back and looked around for Eamon and Pa. They weren’t around. He brushed his fingers against his face and could feel the creases in his cheek from where he used his arm for a pillow.

  It wasn’t daylight yet, but it was morning enough to get up. An old hound was on the floor next to him, thumping a steady beat with his tail. Jordan wrinkled his nose when he caught a whiff of the dog’s butt.

  “That’s Rusty,” Gunner said. “Why are you sleeping on the floor?”

  Gunner startled him. Jordan struggled to focus on the pale blur sitting on the tree stump holding a cup.

  “I don’t remember,” Jordan lied. “How long you been up?”

  Jordan felt uncomfortable. How long had Gunner been watching him? Was he talking in his sleep? Worse, did he fart?

  “Not long,” Gunner replied. “I got to get going in a minute. I’m glad I got to see you before you take off for the city. The company whistle blows at six sharp.”

  “How far away is it?”

  “Less than a mile if I cut through the woods,” Gunner said. “You stopping back by on your way home?”

  “I’d say so,” Jordan said, but part of him wished they’d just drive on past. It would never happen though, because Pa thought too highly of family.

  “Is Pa and Eamon up?” Jordan asked.

  “Yep. They went to round up the horses,” Gunner replied. “They sure are pretty. We had a mule once, but it wandered off. Most of our fence has fallen down and Pa’s not well enough to fix it.”

  “Why is his back all bent over?” Jordan asked, but then felt a bit guilty about being so nosy. It wasn’t any of his business.

  “It’s the mines,” Gunner said, and didn’t seem at all bothered by the intrusion. “They got real low ceilings. Not three feet high in some places. Everybody looks like that after a while.”

  “Do you like working there?”

  “I don’t mind. Most of the folks are real friendly,” Gunner said and stood up. “Well got to get going. Bye Jordan.”

  “Bye Gunner,” Jordan said.

  He walked out on the porch and waved to him. Gunner waded through the weeds and vanished into the darkness.

  Jordan peed in some bushes, stretched again and walked back inside to find his boots. He’d love to have some coffee and sugar, but had little hope of finding any around here. Last night’s dirty dishes were still stacked in the kitchen and the clutter alone was frightening. Jim sauntered into the room just as Jordan finished lacing up.

  “How’d you sleep?” Jim asked.

  “Fine,” Jordan said.

  “You hungry?”

  “Nope,” Jordan lied again. He was going to have to do some real praying when he went to the next Church Meeting.

  He heard Pa and Eamon’s voices get louder and a few moments later, they walked through the door.

  “Bout time you got up,” Eamon said and messed up his hair. Jordan patted it back down as best he could, but he could feel pieces of it sticking up. He didn’t bother to get back at Eamon. His stomach was empty and it was impolite to be a grouch in someone else’s home.

  “Ya’ll don’t need to run off,” Jim said. “I’m sure the hen’s got a few eggs we can cook up.”

  Eggs. Jordan’s mouth watered.

  “I appreciate that Jim, but we’ve put you out enough already,” Pa said. “We got a long ride ahead of us. Much obliged for all your hospitality.”

  “Anytime,” Jim said and followed them outside. “What’s this?”

  A crate was sitting on the porch and he was sure it wasn’t there earlier. Jordan recognized it as one from Eamon’s wagon.

  “Bess sent you and Gunner some preserves,” Pa said. “Ain’t much. You got some last year’s corn, green beans, and there’s some dried butter beans too. Willow packed some strawberry jam and some of her syrup. I threw in a plug of tobacco. It don’t cost so much back home.”

  It sounded like a lot to Jordan.

  “Aw, she didn’t have to do all that,” Jim said. “I do appreciate it though. Gunner’s going to be shocked when he comes home to all this. It’ll feel like Christmas.”

  “Boys, take that inside for Jim,” Pa said.

  Jordan grabbed one side of the crate and Eamon grabbed another and carried it inside.

  “What’d Ma put in this thing anyway?” Jordan asked when they were inside.

  “I don’t know, but the dang thing sure is heavy,” Eamon said. “Me and Pa almost dropped it twice carrying it up here.”

  They left it on the floor next to the hearth in the kitchen.

  “I hope the floor don’t fall in,” Eamon said.

  “I hope the house don’t fall in,” Jordan added.

  Goodbyes were said and within minutes Pa, Eamon, and Jordan were riding through the pasture. Jordan waved at Jim until he lost sight of him behind the tall grass. The wagon dipped as they crossed the ditch to the main road. Jordan watched the sun peek out in the east and foreboding dark clouds roll in from the west. The chill of the night air dissipated with the light.

  “You hungry?” Pa asked and handed him a piece of cornbread. Jordan took it and didn’t eat any.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Pa asked.

  “I feel bad about Gunner and Jim.”

  “They seem happy enough,” Pa said. “They’ll be alright.”

  “But look how they live,” Jordan said. “Their house is falling down, they ain’t got no food, and their bed got bugs in it.”

  “They ain’t bothered by it. Why should you be?”

  “I don’t know,” Jordan sighed and flopped against the backrest. It wasn’t right. Jordan didn’t see a fishing pole lying around or a creek anywhere close by to swim in. He bet Gunner never stepped foot in a schoolhouse and that was a shame. He felt a little guilty because he had all those things.

  “It’s not fair!” Jordan cried out. “Gunner has to get up every day and go to work like a grown-up. I’ll bet he never gets to have any fun. He said Jim’s back’s all bent because the roof in those mines is so low. What if that happens to Gunner?”

  “Probably will,” Pa said.

  Jordan stuffed the cornbread in his mouth and brushed the crumbs off his shirt. He looked straight ahead, but his insides were shaking. He couldn’t hold it in any longer.

  “Why don’t you do something?” Jordan hollered.

  Pa jumped and just stared at him.

  “You always talk about family sticking together and helping each other. He’s family ain’t he?”

  “You heard him last night at dinner,” Pa said, in a calm tone. “He don’t want help. Ma packed that whole crate full of food. Hell, she even hid the flour and the sugar at the bottom so he wouldn’t see it. It should hold them until we pass by on the way home.”

  “Why wouldn’t you want him to see it?” Jordan asked.

  “Because if we gave him too much he’d see it as charity,” Pa explained. “Giving a little is just being gracious.”

  “Why wouldn’t he take the food?” Jordan said. “Anyone can see they’re starving.”

  “There’s a thing called pride, son,” Pa said. “And good or bad, this family’s full of it.”

  “What happens when the food runs out?” Jordan asked. “Will we bring them more on our way home?”

  “Nope,” Pa said.

  “Why not?”

  Pa took a wad of tobacco out of his shirt pocket and shoved it in his cheek. Jordan had seen him use this tactic with Ma when he didn’t want to answer a question.

  “Why not?” Jordan asked again.

  “You’re just like your ma. You know that?” Pa said and looked over at him out of the corner of his eye.

  “Well?”

  “Oh, all right,” Pa scoffed. “We’re not bringing them any food when we come bac
k because we’re going to drag them both out of here and take them back home. I don’t care if I have to hogtie the stubborn old coot. There just ain’t no sense in raising a child that way. I don’t care how lame he is. You happy now?”

  “Yes sir.” Jordan leaned back and smiled. He knew Pa wouldn’t leave them there.

  He watched the forest disappear, replaced by rolling fields, herds of cattle and sheep, and farmhouses.

  “Must be rich folks living there,” he commented as they passed one of the more stately homes, perched majestically atop a hill surrounded by budding oaks.

  “Looks like it,” Pa said.

  Jordan couldn’t help but wonder what life was like behind those pristine plaster walls. Did they have slaves to serve them and luxurious carpets on their floors, like the ones he’d seen in the stores at Lewisburg? Did the women wear fancy dresses and sip tea like a lady? Did the men wear stiff suits and smoke cigars all day?

  A screaming siren pierced the tranquil morning and jolted Jordan away from his thoughts of privileged life. It startled the horses, but Pa calmed them down with his calm, soothing words.

  “You all right?” Pa yelled back to Eamon.

  Jordan looked back and saw Eamon struggling with his team but managing to keep control of the wagon.

  “What’s going on?” Jordan asked and looked all around.

  “Something going on at the mine, I reckon,” Pa said.

  “Why didn’t we hear it this morning?” Jordan asked. “Gunner said the whistle goes off at six sharp.”

  “We’re closer to a bunch of mines now,” Pa explained.

  Could it be the lunch whistle? This early? He pictured Gunner leaning against a tree with his salt pork and hardtack bread laid out in front of him, as if it were steak and potatoes. Jordan wanted to believe someone would take pity on the unfortunate child and share whatever food he had. He closed his eyes and whispered a short prayer.

  “You thirsty?” Pa asked and handed Jordan a full water jar.