Crossing

by Gilbert, Morris

  Thomas reached out and picked up the bowl of green peas. He filled his plate to overflowing. He had formed the habit of eating only one vegetable no matter how many were on the table.

  Anna exclaimed, “Thomas, you’re not going to fill up on those peas and eat nothing else!”

  Jackson answered patiently, “Now, Anna, you know that’s the way I like to eat. I like to have one single kind of food, and I like to drink plain water.”

  “Thomas, you know I’m afraid that’s not healthy for you. You should eat meat, vegetables, and bread at every meal.”

  “Foolish ideas! All of my ideas about health are sound.”

  “You mean even that you think one side of you is heavier than the other?”

  “Sure enough, I figured it all out.”

  “How could you weigh just one side of yourself, Thomas?”

  “I did.”

  “That’s the reason you raise one hand up to arm’s length?”

  “Yes, it lets the blood flow down and lightens that arm.”

  Anna suddenly giggled. “Thomas—Thomas, my love! You do have interesting ideas.”

  Jackson grinned at her, which made him look a great deal younger. Indeed, if his cadets had seen him, they would’ve been astonished at how young he looked as he took his wife’s hand. “That’s the reason you fell in love with me, because I’m such an interesting fellow.”

  The two finished their meal and went for a walk in the garden, for Anna was very proud of her flowers. They waited until the daylight faded and then they went inside.

  “I wish you would read to me tonight, Anna,” Jackson said.

  “All right, what would you like?”

  “I would like to hear Macbeth.”

  “Oh, Thomas, that’s a horrible play! It’s full of blood and killing and horrible things.”

  “It’s a work of genius. Mr. Shakespeare knew much of human nature. If you please, my dear, let’s have Macbeth.”

  And so it was that they settled down in the drawing room. Thomas sat bolt upright in a straight-backed chair, but Anna curled up in a settee while reading the tragedy of Macbeth. She was a wonderful reader, and this to Thomas was the choice hour of his day. He dearly loved for Anna to read to him.

  Anna sighed when she finished. “And so they all died. Some with honor, some not.”

  “Marvelous insight Shakespeare had,” Jackson said thoughtfully. “Not a very godly man, though.”

  “You don’t think Shakespeare was a Christian?”

  “I can’t think so. He didn’t seem to have a very good idea of the goodness of the Lord God. But he did know humans, my dear. He did know the spirit of man.”

  “Perhaps you’re right; he knew about men and women and their weaknesses and trials and tribulations.”

  Jackson came to sit by her and took her hand.

  She closed the book and for a while they watched the dying fire. “Thomas?”

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask something of you. Would you consider finding a young man to help me around the house?”

  He turned to her then touched her face gently. “Is Hetty not enough help for you now, dearest?”

  Since the death of the baby, Anna had very little interest in the housekeeping and especially the chores around the house, such as watering the garden, looking after her flower garden, and keeping the lawn. Hetty, her maid, kept house and cooked, but there was much more to maintaining a home than that.

  “No, I think we need a young man. This old house often needs so many repairs, such as watching the well, making repairs on the outbuildings, and caring for the horses. You’re so tired when you get home. I would like to have you to myself when you come home, instead of working so hard around here.”

  “I never gave it a thought, but I’m glad you mentioned it. I’ll look around and find some young fellow who can help us out.”

  He reached out to her, and she came into his arms. Holding her tightly, he whispered in her ear, “I love you, esposa! The day I stop loving you will be the day I die.”

  “Oh, Thomas, my dearest. I wish everyone could see this side of the Iron Major….”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  As Daniel and Becky moved down the rows of the garden, the heat made a thin film in the windless air. The afternoon sun was warm, but all of summer’s scorch was out of it. Now the deep haze of fall had come so that the land lay quietly, waiting for the harvest.

  Daniel picked a large crimson tomato from the vine then took a big bite of it. The juice ran down his chin. He munched on the tomato. It was obvious he was at ease with the world.

  “If you don’t stop eating those tomatoes, we won’t have any left for the table.”

  “Don’t ever put off pleasures, wife,” Daniel said cheerfully. He reached out and hugged her. She looked up at him, and he kissed her on the lips. “Becky, my love, you’re sweeter than the tomatoes.”

  “You choose the strangest times to get romantic, Daniel.”

  “Anytime is a good time to find romance.”

  “Ah, yes. Love among the Tomatoes. That would make a good title of a dime novel.”

  Contentedly they picked tomatoes until their baskets were full. Then they returned to the house.

  As they seated themselves on the veranda, through the open windows they could hear Zemira in the parlor, talking to Callie Jo. Zemira adored her granddaughter and begged Becky and Daniel to leave her in her care. Now, through the faint sounds, Daniel and Becky could hear that Zemira was reciting the alphabet to Callie Jo. “And H is for horse. We have five horses, and when you get bigger, your brother, Yancy, will teach you to ride just as fine as he does….”

  Becky and Daniel exchanged amused glances. “She’s four months old, and already she’s learning the alphabet,” Becky said, laughing.

  “And riding horses,” Daniel added. In their chairs side by side, he reached out and took her hand.

  “You know, Daniel,” Becky said quietly, “I’m worried about Yancy.”

  Daniel sighed. “I know. He’s not happy. I don’t think he really hates being a farmer. I just think it’s not for him.”

  “I think you have to grow up on a farm to like it.”

  “You may be right. I grew up on one and I hated it—until now, at least. But when I was young that was the real reason I ran away from home.”

  “Yes, and I wonder about Yancy. Sometimes I’m afraid we’ll wake up one morning and he’ll be gone.”

  “I know,” Daniel said. “In some ways I know he does take after me. I guess I need to have a talk with him. The problem is you can talk at Yancy, but you can’t really tell if you’re talking to Yancy. He hardly ever says a word, and you can never tell what that boy’s thinking. Gets that from his Indian mother, I guess. I have to go into town tomorrow, but maybe tomorrow evening Yancy and I can go for a ride and I’ll see if I can get him to talk to me then.”

  They had time for a short ride after Daniel got back from town and Yancy had finished his chores. He had twice as much to do when his father went into town, but he never complained.

  Daniel was riding a gelding named Reuben that doubled as a cart horse, and Yancy was riding Fancy. They went through the back of the property, into the pine woods that bordered the stream. Both of them were quiet. The only sounds were the jingles and creaks of the saddle and gear and the crickets cheeping and frogs calling. The air was crisp with the evergreen scent. It was gentle riding, just meandering along, enjoying the evening and the woods and the whisper of the stream.

  Finally when the shadows grew long and longer, Daniel said, “We’d better be getting back. It’ll be dark soon, and tonight’s the new moon.”

  Yancy looked up. “So it is. I always thought it was funny that we call it the new moon when you can’t see it at all. Wonder why that is?”

  “I don’t know, son. That is one thing that I regret, for you at least. The Amish education leaves much to be desired, I’m afraid, unless you’re planning on farming fo
r the rest of your life. And I don’t think that’s what you want to do, is it?”

  Reluctantly Yancy answered, “No, sir. I just feel like I can’t breathe. There are so many chores and rules, and everyone is watching you to make sure you don’t do anything different from everybody else. Every day is packed full of work till nighttime and then there’s nothing really to do even if you had time to do it. It’s a hard life.”

  “It’s not for everyone,” Daniel agreed. “I didn’t think it was for me when I was your age, either, so I can’t blame you.”

  “Are you sorry you ran away?” Yancy asked curiously.

  “Sorry? No, I’m not sorry, because then I never would have met your mother, and I wouldn’t have you.” They were riding side by side now, on the old bridle path that led from the stream up to the house. Daniel glanced at Yancy and saw the thoughtful look on his face. Then he added, “You know, Yancy, you’ve worked really hard on the farm, and I guess I’ve known all along that you didn’t like it much. You’re a hard worker, and a good worker, and I’m very proud of you.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Yancy was quiet for a while, staring into the deepening twilight. Then he asked, “Do you think about Mother a lot?”

  “Every day, son. Guess I always will.”

  “Did you love her in a different way than you love Becky?”

  “Yes, I did. It was different. Just like I love you in a different way than I love Callie Jo. I think that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

  We have different kinds of love.”

  Yancy nodded.

  Daniel said, “You know, Yancy, I was in town today, and I was thinking about what a good worker you are. I thought about maybe trying to find you a job in town. I was in Mason’s Grocer and Dry Goods, and I asked him about any jobs around town. He told me something interesting. Major Thomas Jackson at VMI is looking for a boy to help his wife around the house. I think you’d do a real good job for Mrs. Jackson.”

  “Really?” Yancy asked with interest. “Who is Major Jackson? What does he do?”

  “He’s famous, in a way. He made quite a name for himself in the Mexican War. Evidently he is a very courageous, smart, and hardworking soldier. At VMI he’s teaching natural and experimental philosophy, and also artillery, which I understand he is extremely good at.”

  “What kind of work would it be, do you think?”

  “Taking care of the horses, helping in the garden, running errands, keeping the grounds. Mrs. Jackson lost a baby, you see, last May. I expect she doesn’t feel like doing much of anything at all, so I assume you’d be responsible for driving the maid and cook into town for supplies, keeping the carriage and buggy up … things like that. Think you’d like to give it a try?”

  “I sure would, sir,” Yancy replied. “Don’t think I want to get away from you and Becky and Grandmother, but I would like to get off the farm some, try something new.”

  Daniel nodded. “You’d still be living here, and under the Ordnung, but it would give you more freedom. Tomorrow you can take Fancy and go see Major Jackson.”

  It was the last week in August, and though the evenings had cooled down, the midday sun was still high and hot. But a fine breeze blew, ruffling Yancy’s coal black hair and refreshing him as he rode onto the manicured grounds of Virginia Military Institute.

  Straight ahead of him was the lofty edifice of the institute that served as classrooms, offices, and the cadets’ barracks. A four-story building made of gray sandstone, it was designed in the Gothic tradition. On either side of the arched entryway were two tall turrets, topped by the institute’s flag on one and the flag of the state of Virginia on the other. All of the windows were mullioned. The top of the fortresslike building was lined with mock battlements.

  For a moment Yancy wondered how in the world he was going to find Major Jackson, but then he heard the sound of cannons firing and realized this must be Major Jackson’s artillery class. He couldn’t see the cannons or the men, but he did see faint trails of smoke rising from behind and to the left of the institute building, so he followed that trail.

  It led down a gradual slope to a slight ravine. There, a large group of cadets were lined up behind four cannons, each of them with four recruits attending. Nearby, standing very erect, was a man in a blue uniform. Yancy realized he must be Major Jackson, but he didn’t approach him; he was curious about the firing of the cannons.

  They were still smoking, and the four cadets surrounding the big guns were watching Major Jackson attentively. He had lifted binoculars to his face to look at the targets, which were about three hundred yards away on the side of an earthen breastwork. “Not bad, men. Artillery up!” he shouted.

  The four cadets that had been at the guns joined the ranks of the other cadets, and three new teams of four ran to each of the guns.

  “Ready your guns!” Jackson shouted. He had a curious, highpitched voice, though it didn’t sound feminine, and it carried clearly on the air.

  Two cadets stood in front at each side of the cannons, two at the rear. One of the boys in front took a long pole that had what looked like an enormous corkscrew on one end, rammed it down the barrel, twisted it, and slowly worked it all the way up the muzzle. This was called the “wormer.” The other cadet took another long pole with a roll of canvas on the end, dipped it into a bucket of water, and swabbed the entire barrel, which was called “sponging.” This was to kill any live sparks from the last charge.

  Jackson called, “Advance the round!”

  The cadet in the rear to the right of the gun picked up a burlap sack. In it was a twelve-pound ball and two and one-half pounds of black powder. He seated it in the barrel, and the sponger turned his pole around and jammed it down the barrel, all the way to the back. Then all four of the cadets stood at the rear of the gun.

  Jackson ordered, “Come to the ready!”

  One of the cadets inserted a brass spike into the hole for the fuse, puncturing the canvas bag. Then another inserted a wire fuse attached to a long lanyard. Each member of the crew moved back, the crew captain holding the lanyard and stepping carefully until there was tension on it.

  “Clear, sir!” each captain shouted.

  “Fire!” Jackson roared.

  The explosion was extremely satisfying to Yancy, as it seemed to be to each boy there. All of them had bright eyes, and excitement was clear on their faces.

  After Jackson checked the targets with his binoculars, his eyes were bright, burning blue, too. “Good men,” he said. “Artillery up!”

  And so they began again.

  At the very back of the field, Yancy dismounted and stood, stroking Fancy, for she skittered a little at each round though she didn’t panic or bolt. He watched the entire class, which lasted about another hour. He was fascinated.

  Finally, Jackson walked back and forth at the front of the two rows of cadets, talking to them quietly enough that Yancy couldn’t hear. Then they came to attention, and he called, “Dismissed.” The group broke up and headed back toward the institute, Jackson several steps behind them.

  Yancy took a deep breath then hurried over to Major Jackson, leading Fancy. “Sir?” he called when he got within earshot. “Sir? May I have a word with you?”

  Jackson halted and turned his eyes toward Yancy. Yancy thought that he had never seen such a deep penetrating gaze in all of his life. “Yes, what is it, young man?” Jackson asked, not unkindly.

  “I—sir—I heard you are looking for a young fellow to do some work for you?”

  “So I am. Who told you about it?”

  “My father. He heard it from Mr. Mason. From Mason’s Grocery and Dry Goods.”

  “What’s your name and who are your people?” Jackson demanded, stopping his stride and turning to look at Yancy attentively. Though Jackson was courteous, he still made Yancy very nervous. His gaze was so intent, and he had such a distant air.

  “I’m—my name’s Yancy Tremayne, Major. My father is Daniel Tremayne. We live in the Amish settlement just so
uth of town.”

  Jackson nodded. “All right. Walk with me, and tell me about yourself.”

  Yancy fell into step with Major Jackson. He didn’t tell his whole life story; he just told him that he and his father had returned to the Amish after his father had been away for many years. He told him that the Tremaynes had lived on the farm since the 1730s, and that though he didn’t despise farmwork, he hoped to find a job in Lexington and work outside the community.

  Jackson searched him, his eyes taking in his homespun trousers and his simple muslin pullover shirt, and then he looked at his feet. “You’re wearing moccasins.”

  “Yes, sir. My mother was half Cheyenne. So I guess you know that means I’m one-fourth Indian,” Yancy said evenly.

  “Guess I do,” Jackson said drily. “Nice moccasins. So I assume you know how to take care of horses?”

  It took Yancy a scant moment to shift into the change in conversation, but then he answered eagerly, “Oh yes, sir, because that’s what I love to do! I mean—”

  “No, you said it, Yancy, a man does best that which he loves to do,” Jackson said quickly. “And that is a fine mare you’ve got there, looks healthy and well cared for. But what about everything else? Other chores, hard work around a house?”

  “I work hard at the farm, sir. I’m handy with tools, I’m strong, and usually I can—sort of figure out how to fix things. Like repairing a roof, or putting up a fence. And I’ve been to four barn raisings, so I’ve learned some carpentry.”

  “All right.” Jackson nodded. “Then I want you to wait for me. I’ve got some things to do in my office. My horse is in the institute stables over there. The stable boy will show her to you. You go on over there, clean my tack, and brush her down and pretty her up, show me a little bit of what you can do. By the time you’re through with that I’ll be ready to go home. I’ll take you and introduce you to my wife. As far as I’m concerned you can have a trial period. You can work for a week, and by that time we should know if we can get along with each other.”

  On 8 East Washington Street in Lexington was a modest two-story house that Jackson had bought. The front steps crowded up against the street, but as they rode up, Yancy could see a generous garden, stables, carriage house, and washhouse in the back.