Battle of Lookout Mountain

by Gilbert L. Morris

  A murmur went around the room, for this was a rather high bid.

  The smile faded from Drake’s face, and he glared at Royal. “Fifteen dollars!”

  “Twenty!” Royal shouted back.

  Drake seemed about to make another bid but then shook his head. “Let the soldier have the honor,” he said, but there was a warning tenseness about his lips.

  Royal paid for Lori’s box, then took it from her hand. He said, “Now I’m going to see what a good cook you are.”

  Lori looked a little worried.

  As they were at a table, beginning to eat, she said, “You heard about Drake?”

  “Aw, I heard a little, but I’ll risk it,” Royal said. He bit into a fried chicken leg, and his eyes brightened. “This is good! Somehow I just knew you would be a good cook.”

  They ate and sat at the table talking until the musicians struck up a brisk tune.

  “There’s going to be a square dance,” he said. “I know you can cook—let’s see if you can squaredance.”

  For the next hour the floor was filled with square dancers. It was a time of release and enjoyment for those who had been worn down by the war. The older people lined the walls and watched the younger folks go back and forth to the calls of the tall, thin fiddler. The girls’ bright dresses lent a festive air, and most of them were expert square dancers.

  Royal put Drake out of his mind and enjoyed himself. He and Lori sat out some of the dances, and during those times he found that she was as witty and charming as she was pretty.

  They had started back to the floor when suddenly somebody bumped into Royal, staggering him. He looked around and saw Drake Bedford. He also saw that Drake’s face was flushed and that he wore an angry expression. “Sorry, Drake!” he said. “I guess I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  Drake wasted no time. “Come on outside—I’m going to mop up the ground with you!”

  “Why would you do that?”

  And then the music went silent, and everyone was listening. Somebody far back in the crowd said, “Drake’s gonna whup that soldier boy! I heard him say that any man that bid on that gal’s supper, he would stomp.”

  Mayor Buckley came up. “Now we don’t want any trouble here—”

  But Drake ignored him. “If you’re any kind of a man,” he said to Royal, “you’ll come out and fight.” He gave Royal a shove, sending him backward.

  A mutter went around the room.

  Lori said, “Drake, you’re drunk!”

  “No, I’m not drunk! I just want to see what kind of a sissy you’ve been dancing with. Well, are you coming, Royal, or not?”

  Royal felt every eye upon him. He was not a young man who liked to fight. As a matter of fact, he had not been in a fight for years, but he knew suddenly that he could not back away. If he backed down from this fight, he would be labeled a coward from this day onward.

  “All right, Drake. It’s a mistake, but I’ll come.”

  A smile crossed Drake’s wide mouth, and he turned and walked out of the hall.

  Royal felt Sarah’s hand on his arm.

  She whispered, “Don’t do it, Royal.”

  “I’ve got to, Sis,” he muttered, then threaded his way through the crowd.

  The spectators made a half circle about them, and Drake said, “Anytime you’re ready. I’m gonna teach you a lesson, Royal!”

  “It’s up to you, Drake. I don’t want this fight.”

  Drake shook his head. “You should’ve thought of that before you tried to steal my girl!”

  “I’m not your girl!” Lori protested.

  Even as she spoke, Drake lunged forward, fast. His fist caught Royal high on the head. The impact knocked Royal back, and he sprawled in the dust.

  “This won’t prove anything, Drake!” Lori cried.

  Drake looked at her and grinned. “It’ll prove what kind of a man Royal is—which I don’t think is much.”

  Royal got to his feet, his head pounding. He put his fists up and advanced, once again thinking how he hated to fight.

  He struck out at Drake, who easily dodged and smashed his right fist into Royal’s mouth, drawing blood. A woman’s voice cried out sharply, and Royal could not tell if it was Sarah’s or Lori’s. Then he found himself being hammered backward once more. He swung again and again, but his blows were ineffective. And Drake, an expert with his fists, landed one after another.

  As from a distance Royal heard Rosie say, “I wish Drake wouldn’t do stuff like this. It ain’t fittin’!”

  He heard Sarah cry out, “Can’t you stop it, Rosie!”

  “I won’t let it go on too long. Drake ain’t really mean. He’ll only go so far.”

  But this time Drake seemed intent on punishing Royal, and soon the soldier had been knocked to the ground three times. He got up slower each time, his face flushed and bleeding. He knew he had no chance at all. Everyone could see that.

  Drake advanced to continue the fight, but just then Rosie stepped out. “I reckon that’s enough, Drake!”

  Drake turned angrily to face him. “Maybe you want to take it up, Rosie!”

  Rosie looked like a shambling, ineffectual figure, but he was as well-known for his fists as Drake himself. He said almost lazily, “That’s your say, Drake. You done proved you can outfight this soldier boy, and that’s as far as it goes. If you want more, then I guess I’ll give you the best we got at the ranch.”

  Drake stared at Rosie, as though considering lunging at him. But then he laughed. Slapping Rosie on the shoulder, he said, “No, I don’t guess I will.” He looked back at Royal, who stood dazed, not fully understanding what was happening. “Stay away from my girl, Royal, and it will be all right!”

  As Drake walked away, Lori came up to Royal. She touched his bleeding mouth and said quietly, “Come inside—I’ll help you clean your face.” She led him through the crowd, still buzzing and humming with talk and excitement.

  She sat him down in the back room where the county board usually met privately. There was a pitcher of water on a table, and she filled a basin quickly. Then, using her handkerchief, she bathed his face.

  “Well!” he said ruefully. “I guess I showed that I’m not much of a man.”

  “Don’t be silly!” Lori said. “You showed that you’re not a brawler or a prizefighter.”

  But Royal felt ashamed of his poor showing. “I couldn’t stand up against him, Lori.”

  “You haven’t spent your life picking fights,” she said. She dabbed at the cuts on his face and then cocked her head. “Well, are you still going to come calling on me?”

  There was a challenge in her voice and in her eyes.

  Royal grinned, though it hurt his lips. “I guess I will. Sure, I will! How about supper at your house tomorrow? I didn’t get enough of your cooking.”

  Lori smiled. “You come. I’ll make it right with my uncle and aunt.”

  On the way home, Sarah said to Royal, “You’re not going to see Lori again, are you?”

  “You know I am! A fella can’t hide in a hole because another man tells him what to do.”

  “What will you do if he beats you up again?”

  “I don’t know. But I know one thing—I’m going to see Miss Lori. Whatever it takes!”

  5

  Old-Time Religion

  Rosie held the large brown bottle up to the light and stared at it critically. Closing one eye, he evaluated the contents, then removed the top and took a sip.

  “Wow! That’s right strong stuff. Here—smell it, Drake.”

  Drake, who had been reading a newspaper, turned his head just as Rosie shoved the concoction under his nose. Jerking back, he gasped. “What in the world is that stuff?”

  Rosie took the bottle back and admired it. “This here is Dr. Mayfield’s All-around, Cure-all, Metaphysical Tonic.”

  Drake by this time was accustomed to Rosie’s experimentation with patent medicine. “Why do you waste your money on that stuff? You’re healthy as a horse!”


  Rosie gave his friend a reproachful look. “Now, you know I’m not well, Drake! Why, if I didn’t take care of myself, I’d be dead before suppertime!” He took a deep breath and lifted the bottle to his lips again. His Adam’s apple moved up and down, and when he lowered the bottle his face was red. “Whew! That’s powerful medicine. Anything that tastes that bad has to be good!”

  Drake went back to his newspaper. The two had been sitting on the front porch of their rooming house, watching people stroll by. It was a warm Saturday morning. They had risen early and had consumed a huge breakfast of pancakes at the boardinghouse table.

  Now Rosie said lazily, “It looks like your courtship of Lori ain’t prospering too much, Drake.”

  “Just give me time.”

  “Well, the fact is that you probably ain’t got too much time. The way I understand it, she’s just visiting here. Won’t be here forever,” Rosie observed.

  Throwing down his newspaper in disgust, Drake stared out at a family going by—a husband and wife with six children, stair-stepped down from a boy of thirteen or fourteen to a little one barely able to toddle. He watched until they passed the boarding-house and then admitted, “To tell the truth, Rosie, I never met a girl quite like her. She’s pretty straight-laced, though—goes to church all the time.”

  “Well, a smart fellow like you shouldn’t have much trouble figuring out how to handle that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, if she’s a churchgoing girl, all you have to do is go to church.”

  A look of displeasure crossed Drake’s face. “I’m not much for churchgoing!” he snapped.

  “I reckon that’s gospel.” Rosie grinned. “I ain’t never known of you hittin’ the glory trail. Why don’t you just give up on her? She seems to be favoring Royal Carter anyway.”

  Although Rosie may only have guessed at it, he had hit on a sore spot with Drake Bedford. The young man was accustomed to quick victories over girls. His sleek good looks, his charm, and his musical ability had always made him highly sought after. It had given Drake satisfaction to whip Royal in a fistfight—but for some reason the results had not been satisfactory. He continued to pursue Lori Jenkins, but she had not been as receptive as other young ladies.

  “You’re a funny fellow, Drake,” Rosie said idly. “You always want what you can’t have. I remember that horse you wanted down in Shelby County. You remember that steel gray pacer? There was plenty of horses as good as him, but the fella wouldn’t sell. So what did you do? Why, you had to move heaven and earth to get that one horse! I always did think you made a mistake.”

  Guiltily Drake replied, “That was a good horse. I won quite a few races on him.”

  “Aw, you never got your money back. You know that. You’re just the kind of hairpin who has to have what somebody tells him he can’t. I bet when your mama wanted you to do something like bring in the wood, she’d say, ‘Drake, don’t you bring in the wood!’ And then you’d go bring it in, just to show her you wouldn’t be told.”

  “Don’t be foolish!” Actually, Drake realized, Rosie’s estimate of him was not far wrong, and he decided to change the subject.

  “It looks like the fighting is heating up.” He motioned down at the newspaper. “The South looked pretty good—winning at Chancellorsville and Second Bull Run—but they don’t look so good now. After Gettysburg and then losing at Vicksburg— well, this war might not last too long.”

  “Wouldn’t be too sure about that! Those folks down South are serious. They’ll fight down to the last man.” But then Rosie changed the subject. “Why don’t you and me ride into Lexington? We haven’t been there in a spell. And we’ve got a little cash.”

  But Drake shook his head stubbornly. “I’ve got a few chores to do around Pineville. Maybe later, Rosie.”

  Rosie squinted with one eye as if examining a specimen in a laboratory. “I can read you like a book. As a matter of fact, I ain’t no fortune-teller, but I can tell you right now what you aim to do, Drake.”

  “I don’t think so!”

  “You’re gonna ask that girl to go to church just like I told ya.” Rosie nodded wisely, got to his feet, and stretched hugely. “Reckon I’ll take a walk, then. I ought to be able to make a mile or two without passing out. Maybe.”

  As Rosie ambled off, Drake wondered how a man as strong and healthy as A. B. Rose could be so concerned about his health. As soon as his friend was out of sight, he got to his feet and left the boardinghouse in the opposite direction.

  Pineville was a small town containing no more than four or five hundred full-time residents, and the Jenkins house was only a short walk. Drake stopped in front of the two-story white frame building, looked over the white picket fence, and was pleased to see Lori on the front porch.

  He opened the gate, walked up to the steps, and lifted his hat. “Good morning, Lori.” He smiled. “You’re up early for a Saturday.”

  “I’ve got a lot of work to do. I have to help my aunt clean house today. No work tomorrow— Sunday, you know.”

  “Yes, I know. I came by to ask you if I might take you to church.”

  Drake’s words were innocent enough, but Lori gave him an odd look. “I didn’t know you went to church, Drake.”

  “Whatever’s given me a bad reputation like that?” Drake knew he was looking very handsome that morning. He wore a blue shirt with buttons in cavalry style, a pair of light gray trousers, and his boots—as usual—were black and glossy and shone in the July sunlight. His crisp hair was neatly cut, and his teeth looked very white against his tanned skin. “Maybe I haven’t gone to church as much as I should, but I’d like to go tomorrow. Why don’t you take pity on me?”

  Lori thought for a moment and nodded her head. “All right. My uncle and aunt would be glad to have you join us,” she said.

  So he would be going with the family, not just with her. Drake had expected this, and it was fine with him. He knew he had to start somewhere. He said, “I’ll be here a little early. Give my best to your uncle and aunt.”

  He turned and walked away.

  Lori watched him go, thinking, It’s a shame to be so suspicious of a young man—but he’s gotten quite a bad reputation. A small smile turned up the corners of her lips. Well, it won’t hurt him to hear a sermon.

  Sunday morning dawned, and Drake was at the Jenkins house by nine o’clock as he had promised. Lori welcomed him, and he sat for some time with Hamilton Jenkins, her uncle, while Mrs. Jenkins and Lori applied final touches to their costumes.

  Mr. Jenkins, a tall, bluff man with a pair of direct blue eyes, ran a hardware store. If he had a low opinion of Drake, thinking him rather wild, he let none of this show. “We’re glad to have you go to church with us, Drake,” he said. “I think you’ll like the preacher.”

  “I’m sure I will, Mr. Jenkins,” Drake said politely. He was wearing a light gray suit today with a snow-white shirt and a black string tie.

  As he spoke, the two women entered, and he stood. “Well, we men sometimes have to wait for the ladies,” he observed with smile, “but they are worth waiting for.”

  Both Lori and her Aunt Mae smiled at the compliment. Drake had a way of saying such things that made them appear not to be flattery but the simple truth.

  “Why, thank you, Drake,” Lori said. She was wearing a simple white dress with blue trim at the neck and on the sleeves. The skirt fell to the tops of a pair of dark blue shoes.

  Her aunt had on a more serious brown dress, and both women wore hats.

  “Well, we’d best be going,” Mr. Jenkins said. His wife took his arm, and he led the way out of the house.

  Lori walked alongside Drake, and soon the foursome arrived at a white frame building with a steeple that pierced the sky. It was a well-built, snug church, not large but sturdy.

  Inside, Drake saw that the walnut pews were well made. They had been varnished, and they gleamed in the sunlight that poured in through the tall windows running down each side. The floor w
as solid pine, also highly polished.

  The Jenkinses drew attention as they took seats close to the front. Drake would have preferred the back of the church, but he had no choice. Sitting down beside Lori, he felt a nudge and looked back to see an elderly lady with pure white hair offering him a hymnbook.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, and smiled at her.

  At the front of the church was a raised platform, covered with wine-colored carpet. There was a sturdy pulpit, a table bearing a pitcher and a glass, and two chairs—one on either side of the pulpit. One chair was occupied by a heavyset man, whose face was red from a collar that seemed too tight. This was the song leader, Drake soon learned. The other was the minister, he supposed—a tall, gray-haired, dignified-looking man of about fifty.

  The song leader got up. “We’ll now lift our voices in song to the Lord.”

  Drake shared his songbook with Lori, which gave him an opportunity to lean closer to her. Despite Rosie’s words about his lack of church-going, he had been to revival meetings and was familiar with most of the songs, for the congregation sang such old favorites as “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross.”

  Drake’s beautiful tenor rose above the rest of the congregation, almost seeming to be a solo. Admiring looks came from many in his vicinity, and when the song was over Lori whispered, “You have such a beautiful voice, Drake! I’m glad to hear you using it to praise the Lord.”

  Her words made him feel a little ashamed. I shouldn’t be doing this, he thought. There are other ways to court a girl. Somehow this isn’t right.

  After the song service, the leader took his seat, and the pastor stood up. His name was Brother Morgan, and he had a pleasant baritone voice. There was little nonsense about him—no stories, no jokes. At once he opened his worn black Bible and began to read from Luke, chapter 15.

  Looking up from the Bible, Brother Morgan said quietly but in a firm tone, “Our subject this morning is salvation—something every man and every woman must consider. The Bible from beginning to end states that all men are lost. The book of Romans says that ‘all have sinned and come short of the glory of God.’ That same book tells us that ‘the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life.’ You all are aware that the Bible speaks of a place of eternal fire. You also have heard me say, many times, that heaven is the place where we live forever in fellowship with God.