Jordan's War - 1861

by B. K. Birch

  “Can you hear from here?” Jim whispered.

  “Yes. And they’ll hear us if you don’t be quiet.”

  Jim nodded.

  Sergeant Hummel looked uncomfortable and kept crossing and uncrossing his legs.

  “You want medicine for your injured soldier,” she said.

  He nodded.

  “What are you going to give me?” Grandma asked.

  “He’s my nephew, from Monroe County,” Sergeant Hummel said. “He’s only eighteen. His ma told me to take care of him. He has a wound in the leg. It’s only a flesh wound but it’s swelling up pretty bad. I’m afraid to move him.”

  “What are you going to give me?” Grandma asked again.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you and your devil soldiers to leave me and my family alone,” she said.

  “I . . .” he began. “I can’t do that. The reports have been dispatched to Lewisburg. Your grandson is a wanted man.”

  “Then your nephew is a dead man,” she said. “I could stop the infection though.”

  “There’s nothing I can do,” he said and stared at the floor.

  Jordan expected the sergeant to get up and leave, but he stayed seated. Not even birdsong interrupted the uncomfortable silence.

  “I haven’t sent the reports about last night’s incident,” Sergeant Hummel said. “I can’t give you the boy but I can minimize the trouble for his pa.”

  “I see,” she said. “What else?”

  “Good God woman!” he shouted and stood up. “What more do you want?”

  “I don’t want anything else,” she said, and grinned. “I was just seeing if you had anything else to offer. I have your word that Finnian will not be touched by Home Guard. But I do believe you want something else.”

  “I should have known,” Sergeant Hummel said and sat back down. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a metal photo and handed it to her.

  “Your wife?”

  “She was with child when I left,” he said. “It should have been born by now.”

  Grandma took the picture and ran her finger over the image of the happy young woman. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back.

  “I see sadness,” she said at last. “Her heart aches and she is alone.”

  “Well, I am gone,” he said. “Is there a child or not?”

  “There is a child, an infant, with her,” Grandma said. “She is tired and the baby cries. She has no one to help her.”

  “She has her mother with her,” Sergeant Hummel said.

  “She is alone,” Grandma said.

  “Oh dear God!” Sergeant Hummel said, and bowed his head. “The old woman hadn’t been well.”

  “I see a flicker of hope in her eyes,” Grandma said. “She is a strong woman, Sergeant. She fears for you.”

  The child. . . ,” he started. “Is it a boy or a girl.”

  “I cannot see,” Grandma said. “But there is an infant.”

  Sergeant Hummel stood up and adjusted his hat.

  “Thank you kindly Miss Abigail,” he said and turned towards the steps.

  “Jordan!” Grandma called. “Bring me my bag and get one of Henry’s wraps out of the kettle.”

  Jordan jumped when she hollered and it was like she knew he was listening. Of course she knew.

  He hurried to stove and carefully pulled a smelly rag out of the dark brown water, wrapping it a dry rag he found on the table. There was no need to wring it out because the less he touched it, the better as far as his grandma was concerned. Her bag was open by the pantry door and he picked it up on his way into the front room.

  “Is the bullet still in him?”

  “What?” Sergeant Hummel asked after he stopped walking. His mind seemed a million miles away.

  “Your nephew. Is the bullet still in him?”

  “No. It went clean through his thigh. He’s in a lot of pain, but I think the bullet missed the bone completely.”

  “This is for him,” she said, and pulled some dried leaves out of a small glass jar. “Brew this into a tea and have him drink it at least three times a day. Keep this poultice on his wound. Come back in two days if it don’t get better. I’m too old to leave this mountain, but my granddaughter can help.”

  “Much obliged Miss Abigail,” Sergeant Hummel said.

  They watched him ride down the path and out of sight.

  “Jordan,” Grandma said. “You’d better head over to Tate’s and make sure everything’s locked and the livestock is fed. No telling where he and Finnian are.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Jordan said.

  “I’ll walk with you,” Jim said.

  “Are you sure?” Jordan asked.

  “A walk will do you good,” Grandma said.

  Chapter 24

  The sun was high in the sky and the wind was non-existent. Jordan was at least ten steps ahead of Jim as they walked down the path to Tate’s house, even though he tried to walk slower than usual. Jim didn’t seem to mind though. This was the first time he’d ventured this far from the house since he arrived.

  Jordan leaned against a tree trunk and wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “Do you need to rest?” he called out. He couldn’t see Jim through the foliage but he could hear his footsteps crashing on the forest floor.

  “No, but you could slow down just a tad,” Jim hollered back. “This ain’t no race.”

  At last Jim cleared the last of the low-hanging branches and walked over to Jordan.

  “How much farther?” he asked as he sat down on a log.

  “It’s just over yonder,” Jordan said. “You can stay here if you want. It won’t take me very long to feed.”

  “Leave me out here for Home Guard target practice?” Jim asked. His blue eyes were huge. “No, I’ll just come with you.”

  They traipsed through the low weeds at the edge of the forest and into the clearing where Uncle Tate’s sheep grazed in the fields. Jordan could see curtains moving through an open upstairs window and it looked like only the screen door was closed. He could see inside to the kitchen.

  “They must have left in a hurry,” Jordan said. “I think they left the door wide open.”

  “I thought Tate’s wife died,” Jim said.

  “She did.”

  “Sure does look like a woman’s been living here.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, everything’s all picked up,” Jim said. “I’ve known Tate since we was kids and he never picked up after himself.”

  “Henry probably did it,” Jordan reasoned.

  “Okay then,” Jim said. “I’ll bet the front porch is swept. And the rug is clean.”

  “Maybe Uncle Tate’s home,” Jordan said and then hoped he wasn’t. That would pose the question of Pa and Eamon’s whereabouts.

  “Let’s go knock on the door,” Jim said.

  “Nobody’s here!” Jordan hollered. “Let’s go check on the cows and feed the chickens. The sheep look fine. We’ll lock everything up and go home.”

  Jordan took a quick glance at the front porch as they passed. He couldn’t tell if the rug had been beat recently, but the porch was indeed swept clean. The little hairs on the back of his neck stood on edge and sweat dripped down his forehead.

  “See,” Jim said. “I told you.”

  “Ain’t nothing,” Jordan said and swallowed hard. “Henry probably swept it yesterday. There ain’t been no wind. When we get home, we can ask him.”

  “I think I’m just going to sit here on the porch and wait for you,” Jim said. “That walk was farther than I remember.”

  “Okay,” Jordan said. “It won’t take long. There’s a well around back if you’re thirsty.”

  Jordan sauntered down the path to the barn. He climbed up on the fence and peered out over the herd. They looked fed. He went back to the chicken house and saw corn still scattered on the ground from an earlier feeding. He went inside and grabbed another handful of corn just in case the chickens were h
ungry. They strutted over and pecked at the ground, but it wasn’t the feeding frenzy of famished birds that he expected.

  That didn’t take any time at all, he thought as he headed back to the house. They’d leave right after he locked up the house and be home in time to help with supper.

  He spotted Jim sitting in the rocking chair on the porch. He wasn’t rocking though and he looked a little stiff.

  “Jim!” Jordan shouted. “Are you alright?”

  Jim didn’t answer even though he seemed to be staring right at Jordan. His face looked a little pale and his fingers were wrapped around the arm of the chair like hawk talons on a dead rabbit.

  “What’s the matter?” Jordan hollered. “You sick?”

  Jim didn’t answer but as Jordan came closer, he could see him blink his eyes. Well at least he ain’t dead. Why won’t he say nothing?

  Click. Jordan heard the sound of a gun cock.

  “Stay where you are,” a voice called from inside the house.

  Jordan stopped mid-stride put his hands up.

  Who’s in there?” he asked and tried to peer past the shadows inside.

  The front door opened.

  It was Sissy Mae Wheeler! And she was toting a gun as big as she was. Had she been here all this time? Jordan looked at her stomach and it was beginning to poke out just a little.

  “What are you doing over here?” she asked. “Where’s Tate and Henry. They didn’t come home last night. What did you do with them?”

  “Put the gun down,” Jordan said.

  “Who’s he,” she asked and pointed the gun barrel at Jim.

  “He’s our cousin,” Jordan said. “Please put the gun down Sissy Mae.”

  Sissy put the gun barrel to the floor, but it was apparent she wasn’t ready to let go of it yet.

  Jordan walked to the porch and plopped down on the steps.

  “You alright?” he asked Jim.

  “I’m fine,” Jim said in a raspy voice. “Ma’am can you point me to the outhouse?”

  Sissy Mae pointed at the shanty, just beyond the grain shed. Jim got up, leaned on Jordan as he descended the steps and hurried off down the path.

  “So, what are you doing over here?” Sissy Mae asked.

  “Grandma told me to come over and check on the place,” Jordan said.

  “Old witch probably sent you over here to steal something,” Sissy Mae scoffed.

  “Ain’t nothing here that we don’t already have,” Jordan retorted.

  “Where’s Tate and Henry?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jordan answered.

  “They didn’t come home last night,” she said. “Rode out of here just after Reverend Summey came and told us about Eamon. Old widow Sharp came by this morning for her milk and was talking all crazy.”

  “What was she talking about?”

  “I don’t know,” Sissy Mae said. “I never could understand that woman. Something about gunfire in the valley.”

  “What’d Reverend Summey say?”

  “Said Home Guard arrested Eamon for being a spy,” she said and smiled. “Watch out because you’ll be next. Everybody knows whose side you’re on.”

  “Why you being so hateful?” Jordan asked. “We ain’t done nothing to you.”

  “Nobody ever thinks they do anything to anybody,” she said and rolled her eyes. “But they do.”

  “You’re stupid,” Jordan said and stood up. “I’m leaving.”

  Sissy Mae pointed the gun at Jordan.

  “You better not move,” Sissy Mae said. “You’re trespassing and there ain’t no law against shooting trespassers.”

  “You ain’t shooting nobody,” Jordan said. “You probably don’t know how to even work the dang thing.”

  Sissy Mae must have put too much pressure on the trigger. The gun fired and the tiny girl flew backwards into the wall and the shotgun crashed to the ground, spraying buckshot all over. Jordan checked himself to make sure he wasn’t hit and ran back towards the meadow.

  Jim came running from the outhouse, holding up his pants and trying to tie the twine around his waist all at the same time.

  “What happened?” Jim hollered.

  “Dang girl with a gun!” Jordan said.

  Jim stopped beside Jordan and they both looked at Sissy Mae. She was sprawled out on the porch. Her eyes were opened when she seemed dazed.

  “Should we help her?” Jim whispered.

  “No,” Jordan said. “She might try to shoot us again.”

  Sissy Mae sat up and leaned against the wall, holding her stomach and gasping for air.

  “You think she’s alright?” Jim asked.

  “She don’t look hurt,” Jordan said.

  “I’ll beat you back to the house,” Jim said and took off as fast as he could towards the forest.

  Jordan held onto his hat and raced off after him.

  Chapter 25

  Jordan didn’t stop running until he reached the clearing at the edge of the Sinclair farm and fell on the grass, gasping for air. He wiped the dirt and sweat from his face, and leaned back on his elbows to stare at the trees.

  He heard Jim’s rhythmic steps crashing through the underbrush and could tell each time his walking stick hit the ground. Jordan didn’t remember Jim needing a stick on the walk over so he must have picked one up as they made their hasty retreat.

  At last he emerged from the forest, panting and cursing. He walked over to Jordan, put his hand on his hip and raised the stick over his head, as if to strike him. Spittle hung from his chin and he made no attempt to wipe it off.

  “Crazy wretch!” Jim said when he caught his breath enough to speak. “I don’t which would have been worse – taking a bullet or dying in the forest because some no good cousin ran off and left a sick man to fend for himself.”

  Jordan could feel Jim’s evil eye cast on him but didn’t move. At last Jim lowered the stick.

  “She ain’t so bad,” Jordan said. “I just hope she ain’t hurt.”

  “Well, I hope she is,” Jim said. “I hope she’s still lying flat on her back and I wish she’d at least grazed you with some buckshot.”

  “What’d I do?”

  “You ran off and left me.”

  “She ain’t coming after you.”

  “How do you know? I wasn’t exactly skipping through the forest like a danged jack rabbit.”

  “She’s going to have a baby,” Jordan said.

  Jim’s eyes got huge and a devilish grin covered his whole face.

  “That old dog!” Jim laughed. “Who’d have thought Tate had it in him? Hell, she can’t be no more than sixteen. I’ll bet her daddy was plenty mad.”

  “You fool,” Jordan said, and shook his head. “That’s Nealy’s girl.”

  “Oh,” Jim said. “Well, she ain’t a very good shot is she?”

  “No, but neither is Nealy.”

  “Tate ain’t either, for that matter,” Jim commented.

  “We’d better get going,” Jordan said as he looked up at the blue sky. “Pa likes to give the cows some silage in the evening.”

  “You feed them,” Jim said. “I got to go sit down.”

  “You need help getting back to the house?”

  “Nope,” Jim replied and waved his stick. “Got all the help I need. Don’t let Gus get you now.”

  Jim limped off back to the house.

  Jordan stretched out in the tall grass and watched the clouds roll by, His thoughts wandered to Pa and Eamon. He hoped they’d be back at the house by now, but knew if they were, the Home Guard would pay them another visit.

  He got up and headed off towards the barn. He grabbed the wheel-barrow and shoveled the silage level with the edges. The aroma of decaying corn husks and molasses smelled good at first, but became overwhelming after a few minutes.

  Jordan walked to Gus’s pen and dumped some in the trough through the slats of the fence. Gus was inside the barn, swatting the flies with his tail and didn’t even give Jordan a second glance as he
passed. He put the rest in the trough in the other field, took the wheel barrow back to the shed and took off towards the house.

  The chickens were pecking at the ground but scattered as Jordan got close to them. He loved chasing and tormenting them when he was younger until Ma noticed she wasn’t getting as many eggs as usual, and took the strap to him. He still felt the urge every now and again but it wasn’t worth the beating.

  Jake and Gunner were crawling around the woodpile searching for the perfect block of wood to carve their next soldier. Selie stood outside and watched them.

  “Ma’s been waiting for you,” Selie said. “Reverend Summey sent word with Manny that he’s coming for supper. Ma said you had to take a bath.”

  Darn!

  “Jordan,” Ma hollered. “Get up here and get the soap and get to the creek. We got company coming for dinner.”

  Go to the creek! Didn’t Jim tell her Sissy Mae’s loose on the mountain with a loaded gun? Jordan ran up the steps and into the house.

  “Ma,” Jordan said. “Sissy Mae took a shot at me.”

  “I heard,” Ma said. “I had no idea she’s staying at Tate’s. Had no idea at all.”

  “Did you hear me?” Jordan asked.

  “I heard you,” Ma said.

  “Don’t anybody care that I’ve been shot at twice in the last two weeks?” Jordan whined.

  “We care,” Ma said. “We’d care even more if they’d have hit you. Now get the soap and head for the creek. Reverend Summey will be here soon.”

  Willow sashayed out of the back room wearing one of the dresses she made from the fabric they’d brought back from Fairmont. It was simple – a white bodice and a plain blue skirt, but Willow dressed it up with the fancy buttons and a lining of bric-a-brac at the collar and the sleeves. The skirt was stiff and crisp, and swished when she walked.

  “Do you think Emanuel will like it?” she asked.

  “It’s pretty dear,” Ma said. “The irons are hot. If you’re going to curl your hair, you need to do it now. I need to get the potatoes to boil.”

  “No,” Willow said. “I’ve changed my mind. Emanuel likes my hair long and flowing.”

  “Oh brother,” Jordan said and rolled his eyes.