by B. K. Birch
“Yep,” Jordan said, without hesitation and smiled as he recalled his daydream of holding a gun to Luke’s head while he begged for mercy.
“Well, I couldn’t,” she said. “All that blood. It would be much worse than a deer or a pig. God says you’re not supposed to kill.”
“The Israelites killed and they were God’s children,” Jordan said argued. “And you just said you’d want to have a bullet or two when Luke Vander starts shooting.”
“They fought before Jesus was born,” Willow said. “And I was talking about you, not me.”
“I know what God says,” Jordan said and rolled his eyes. He was in no mood to argue Bible points with her. “But what if they were going to kill you first?”
“I’d turn the other cheek, just like Jesus did,” Willow said.
“I know what Jesus did,” Jordan said. “But I don’t reckon my other cheek would do me any good if it was full of buckshot.”
“I’ll bet Grandma’s got a poultice for that,” Willow said and snickered.
“Yeah. I bet that would feel real good after she’s poured whiskey on my hind-end and picked the buckshot out with them foot-long tweezers she has.”
“At least you’d live.”
“But I’d wish I was dead.”
“You shouldn’t wish to be dead,” Willow said. “Life is God’s precious gift.”
“Oh will you shut up.”
Willow stuck her tongue out at him and stormed off. Selie followed her. Jordan was glad she was gone. He had heard enough about God. If God was so great, why did he allow this war to happen? He had to be tired to listening to prayers from both sides. Why was Jim so sick from working in the mines? Why did Gunner’s ma die? Why did he take Aunt Ginny to Heaven when she had youngins’ to take care of? Why did the Home Guard arrest Eamon when he didn’t do anything?
God probably threw his hands up in the air and figured we’d made this mess without His help, so we’d have to clean it up without his help. That’s probably why most everyone’s prayers go unanswered. We brought all this bad on ourselves.
Jordan ran his fingers through the horse’s mane and rested his head on the animal’s belly. His stomach was in knots and he wished Pa would just go alone. He jumped when he heard the front door slam and saw Pa walking toward him with a rifle and a revolver.
“Can I have the Spencer?” Jordan asked. “I can’t shoot that Colt very well.”
“No,” Pa said and handed him the pistol. “The Colt is easier to handle. Be careful now, it’s loaded.”
Jordan turned around and stuffed the gun in between the layers of the tightly wound bedroll.
“Do you know where Eamon is?” Jordan asked as he flung his leg over the horse’s back and sat in the saddle.
“I got a pretty good idea,” Pa said and clicked his tongue against his teeth. His horse took stride towards the main road and Jordan’s horse fell in behind him.
It seemed to take forever to reach the turnpike and a breeze rustled the trees. The leaves showed their pale underbellies, a sign that another storm was approaching. The rain clouds that were west of the mountain loomed ever closer.
Just as they had turned south on the turnpike, two riders appeared just north of them and approached out of a low-lying fog.
Chapter 19
“Who is that?” Jordan asked.
“Too far away,” Pa said. “I can’t see them.”
“Think it’s the Home Guard?”
“I don’t believe so,” Pa said. “There’s only two of them.”
“I think they might be,” Jordan said and held his reins a little tighter. He reached back with one hand and felt the barrel of the Colt tucked securely between the blanket folds.
“You ain’t going to need that right now,” Pa said.
“Just makes me feel better,” Jordan said. He’d carry that gun with him all the time if Pa would let him – to the barn just to point it at Gus, to the river, and even to the outhouse. Luke Vander would never catch him unarmed again.
He wished Grandma was able to travel with them. He’d feel a little safer. Heck, he’d even settle for Willow right now. Half a seer would be better than riding blind right into a trap. But then again, she’d probably just start preaching at them and get everyone arrested.
Jordan urged his horse into a trot.
“Slow down,” Pa said. “If they’re Home Guard, they’ll catch us.”
Jordan slowed and fell back in behind Pa and focused on the trees which were still showing off the newness of summer. It would be another few weeks or so before the soft velvety leaves would be covered in dust and riddled with insect holes. By the end of summer they’d be covered with worm nests and beetles, and their branches would sag all ugly and brown.
The road was dry even after the afternoon rain, but the clouds made the mountain sky darker than it should have been for this time of day. Jordan tried to pretend it was just another lazy spring evening, but as the clopping hooves became louder, his uneasiness grew. He glanced back every so often, just to keep an eye on the approaching riders.
“Finnian!” a voiced called out. “Finnian!”
Pa stopped his horse, turned around and pushed his hat up off of his head a bit so he could see.
“Oh, hell,” he said and let out a long breath. “It’s Tate and Henry.”
Jordan’s heart raced as Uncle Tate and Henry rode up and stopped. He didn’t know why they were on the turnpike, but he figured nothing good could come from it.
“Where are you going so late?” Tate asked and raised a familiar disapproving eyebrow at his younger brother.
“I’d rather not say,” Pa said.
“I know where you’re going,” Tate said. “It’s all over the mountain that Eamon’s a spy for the Feds. I know the Home Guard took him.”
“He ain’t a spy!” Jordan yelled.
“Hush up, Jordan,”Pa said. “That ain’t no way to talk to your uncle.”
Jordan caught a glimpse of Henry’s smirk. He looked away and bit his lip as his anger seethed inside him. He found himself brushing his fingertips against the polished wood butt of the pistol and jerked his hand away before Pa saw him.
Henry was still sneering from beneath the shadow of his hat and Jordan wished he had a rock. That’d take that smile off Henry’s face.
“How long they been gone?” Tate asked.
“The less you know the better,” Pa said. “Just go on back home and let me handle this.”
“What are you going to do?” Tate laughed. “Just ride up and bring him home?”
“Nope,” Pa said. “But I ain’t going to waste time jawing with you either. It’ll be dark soon and me and Jordan got a lot of ground to cover.”
“Where you going to take him?” Tate asked. “He can’t come home now. You started this whole mess. It’s your fault Eamon’s a prisoner.”
Jordan’s blood was boiling to the point where his temples were throbbing and his face was turning red.
“Eamon shouldn’t be there!” he shouted. “It was Isaac! He was the one who was with the Feds. Eamon didn’t do anything.”
“Shut your mouth,” Pa hissed.
“Tell him!” Jordan shouted. His insides were shaking, but nothing showed on his face except for this anger. “I’m sick of you two fighting. I’m sick of the Home Guard pushing folks around and I want Eamon to come home!”
No one uttered a sound. A flock of birds scattered from the trees as Jordan’s shrill tone had frightened them from the branches of the tall pines that lined the road.
“Is that true?” Tate asked Pa.
Pa looked at the ground then back up to Take, with his head cocked to one side.
“Is it true?” Take asked again. His voice was a little louder and his words were more concise.
“It’s true,” Henry whispered, but didn’t look at his father. Instead he fixed his eyes on a rock protruding from the packed earth next to his horse’s hoof.
“What did you say?”
“It’s true,” Henry repeated. “What Jordan said. Isaac’s been over at Uncle Abe’s old place going on four days now. I ran over and told him Jim was back and he’d have to get.”
“What in the world?” Tate asked. “Why?”
“Who knows why,” Pa said. “I can only imagine what a war would look like for a boy.”
“Where is Isaac now?” Tate asked Jordan.
Jordan shrugged his shoulders and looked at Pa.
“I sent him off earlier this afternoon with a sack full of vittles,” Pa said. “I told him to go to Princeton and find Nealy. We can talk about this later. Me and Jordan got something we need to do.”
“We’ll ride too,” Tate said and gave his horse a light nudge in the ribs with his boot. The others followed him.
Daylight had all but abandoned the travelers long before they reached the valley and to make the journey more dangerous, they chose to abandon the open pass of the turnpike for the safety of the dense forest. They led their horses down the more treacherous parts, with only a half-moon to light their way. Thankfully, the fog had dissipated but Jordan still tripped over many of the jagged rocks and roots that littered the mountainside.
He could hear the footsteps of a bobcat or two as they followed the men down the mountain. He felt better knowing they were there because animals seemed to sense evil and danger more so than humans. If they followed this close, there must be no one else nearby.
“The way I figure it,” Pa said as they reached the bottom, “If we can get Eamon out of there without anybody getting hurt, we’ll hide in the cave by the creek until daybreak. You know the one I’m talking about right?”
“Yep,” Tate said. “I know where it is. I don’t think many other folks do. Did you hear that boys? If we get separated, we’ll meet at the cave. Stay hidden until we signal. Use the bird call.”
Jordan’s heart pounded so hard, he could barely hear Uncle Tate’s instructions. It wouldn’t be long now.
Chapter 20
Jordan smelled smoke long before he saw the flickering light from the campfires. It didn’t matter how tightly he gripped the reins, his hands still shook, even though the night was warm and breezy. His legs went from throbbing to numb and he hoped he wouldn’t have to run anywhere.
There was little movement in the camp although if he listened close enough, he could hear a clang of a pot or the whiny of a horse, and he wondered if the soldiers had any idea of what was about to happen.
A subtle, strange stench drifted from the camp. Jordan didn’t know what it was but it was foul. No one else seemed to notice the odor, although they had to have smelled it.
Pa stopped and motioned for everyone else to stop as well. It was quiet except for an occasional crackle or hiss from the campfire and the crickets singing their evening serenade as if this was just another night. Jordan was afraid to breathe and was sure everyone could hear his heart pounding. He jumped every time one of the horses snorted or laid a hoof too heavy on the twig-laden forest floor. A husky cough, followed by a few guttural curses came from one of the tents and interrupted the stillness of the night and it seemed like they remained in the shadows forever.
“You two stay here,” Pa finally whispered to Jordan and Henry. “You’ll know if something goes wrong and if it does, get yourselves out of here.”
Jordan only nodded because he was unable to muster enough saliva to speak.
“Get that pistol out and be ready,” Pa said. “Tate, does Henry have a gun or a knife?”
Henry pulled out a pistol and held it up for Finnian to see. The barrel gleaned, reflecting the spotty amber light from the camp.
“Never mind,” Pa whispered. “You remember the plan?”
Both boys nodded.
“Alright then,” Pa said and looked over at Tate. “Let’s get this over with.”
Pa’s gun looked enormous as he pulled it from the straps. Jordan swallowed hard and tried to rid himself of the dread that wretched his being as he watched them disappear into the darkness. He squinted to keep his eyes focused on them, but they soon vanished into the shadow of the trees.
He kept watching the camp and looked for signs of Eamon, but had doubts whether he was still there. They may have already taken him to Renick.
“You scared?” Henry asked in a voice so soft that Jordan could barely hear him.
“A little,” Jordan admitted. “Are you?”
“Nope,” Henry said. “If I die tonight, I’ll be with Ma tomorrow. Don’t sound too bad to me.”
“I guess not.”
Jordan never thought about dying that way before. The look on Henry’s face told him that he meant it. Jordan didn’t want to die. Aside from Aunt Ginny, everyone he loved was still here on the mountain. He’d never met Gunner’s ma.
There was no noise from the camp and Jordan started to relax. Maybe Pa and Uncle Tate didn’t see Eamon anywhere. He didn’t want to ride all the way to Renick tonight, but he didn’t want to stay here either.
“They have the prisoner!” a man shouted then gunfire ricocheted through the tranquil valley.
Jordan sat on his horse, paralyzed in fear as chaos and gunshots ripped through the darkness. The camp came to life and there were soldiers scurrying in all directions.
He paid no attention to the cramp in his hand from clutching the gun so hard and frantically searched the darkness for any sign of Pa, Tate, or Eamon. He didn’t stop his horse from backing up each time a gun went off. It was just another step away from the pandemonium taking place only yards away.
Three silhouettes emerged from the trees amidst brilliant fiery blasts of bullets. Jordan hunkered down and silently urged them to run faster.
“Ahhh!” Henry yelled and slumped over in the saddle. Jordan let go of Pa’s horse, jumped to the ground and caught Henry before he fell to the ground.
“Oh God!” Jordan cried, and pushed Henry back up on his horse. He grabbed his pistol which had fallen from his hand.
“Get up there and steady him,” Pa hollered. “Get him home!”
Jordan mounted the horse and pulled Henry in front of him.
“Can you hold this?” Jordan said and shoved his pistol into Henry’s limp hand before he could answer.
He turned around just long enough to catch a glimpse of Eamon’s swollen and bloodied face as he climbed onto Jordan’s horse.
Jordan bolted through the trees and didn’t even consider taking the path home. He headed for the turnpike.
“Where you hit?” Jordan asked.
“In the shoulder,” Henry whispered.
Jordan worked his hand up Henry’s left side until he felt globs of warm sticky liquid and wet fabric.
“Don’t touch it!” Henry cried.
“Shhhh,” Jordan said. “I’m sorry. Try to stuff some of your shirt in the hole. It might stop the bleeding.”
“I can’t move my arm,” Henry sobbed. “Oh God!”
Jordan tried not to zigzag or hold Henry too tight. He seemed to have a secure grip on the saddle horn but moaned all the way to the road.
“Please be quiet,” Jordan said. “They’ll hear us.”
“It hurts,” Henry cried.
“Hang on,” Jordan said. “Grandma can fix you.” He felt Henry’s warm tears on his arm.
He was riding as fast as he could while trying to keep Henry’s groaning to a minimum. There was no way he could hear anyone chasing them and kept chancing a glance behind him every so often just to check.
He had to stop about halfway up the mountain so the horse could drink from the mountain spring. Henry stayed in the saddle, clutching the horn with his right hand and looked as though he’d fall over any minute. His shirt was shredded and wet where the bullet entered his shoulder, and his face was so white it seemed ghostly. There was no exit wound and Jordan knew the bullet would have to come out and probably some of the cloth was down inside as well. He only hoped he could get Henry to Grandma in time.
“You thirsty?” Jordan asked and scoope
d some water in his hat.
“No,” Henry said. “Let’s just go.”
Jordan jumped when he heard the clopping of at least two horses trotting up the road in their direction. He poured the water out of his hat and led the horse behind a large rock. Thank heavens they were far enough from the road to be hidden from view. He held his breath as the riders slowed down.
“I’m telling you they didn’t come this way!” a man yelled.
“I heard them,” another one said. “They can’t be too far ahead now.”
It was Luke Vander!
“They didn’t come this way,” a man said. “And I’m not going up this mountain tonight.”
“Go back then,” Luke said. “I’ll catch them myself and then I’ll tell the Sergeant you didn’t help me.”
“Oh, alright,” the man said. “Let’s get a drink before we head on up.”
A drink! Oh no! Jordan leaned into the shadows of the rock and whispered a prayer. His heart pounded with each crashing step the soldiers made towards the spring.
Gunfire echoed through the valley. The soldiers stopped.
“I told you they didn’t come this way,” the soldier yelled. “I’m a danged fool for listening to the likes of you.”
Jordan peeked around the side of the rock. Luke Vander was back on the turnpike before the man even finished his sentence. He watched the soldier mount his horse and head towards the road. He didn’t move until he could no longer hear them.
“Don’t go back on the road Jordan,” Henry pleaded. “They might come back.”
“It is probably shorter to cut up over the mountain,” Jordan said.
“Do you know the way?” Henry asked.
“Yep. You just hang on and I’ll walk. We’ll be home before dawn.”
Jordan didn’t say anything to Henry, but the gunfire in the valley frightened him. It sounded like it came from the direction of the camp but sometimes the mountains played tricks on his ears.
Chapter 21
It was just before dawn when Jordan reached the top of the mountain. His face was scratched and bloodied from the low hanging branches and his feet ached. But his discomfort was nothing when compared to Henry’s agony and Jordan wondered how he stayed upright in the saddle for so long. His eyes were closed and he hadn’t spoken a word in over an hour.