The Calm and the Strife

by David J. Sloat

  All that was a hundred miles ago and the Maryland countryside had given way quickly to Virginia. The conductor walked briskly past, his hand glancing off the seats for balance. “Next stop, Shepherdstown!” he bellowed in an odd nasal tone which drew out his vowels and elongated the words.

  Will and Salome stirred from their rest, and Bertie began to cry, rubbing his sleepy eyes. Wes turned back to the window as the trees thinned out and the buildings began to crowd in. He noticed with disappointment that the whitewashed fronts and dirt lanes looked much like a rearranged version of Gettysburg. But here and there he caught sight of majestic elms and willows hiding pillared buildings. On the road he glimpsed a lady in billowing pink stepping from a jet black carriage, her parasol in hand. But what affected him most was the strangeness of the faces on the platform. He scanned the crowd of thirty or more who stood staring up at him; not one of them was familiar. A new beginning!

  After dropping Salome and Bertie at the house where they were letting several rooms, Wes and Will made their way to the boarding house to inquire about space for Wes. As they walked through the town, Wes eyed the surroundings curiously. It was not what he expected. While there were traces of grandeur in several of the buildings, there were no lofty mansions set along tree-lined ways. He didn’t see any rich men and women in their finery waited on by attentive slaves. The people were strangers, but in many ways they were identical to those he had left behind in Gettysburg.

  The woman at the boarding house sized Wes up, her wrinkled lips tightly pinched before she agreed to board him for $2 a week. After an awkward pause, Wes realized that he was to pay the first week in advance and hurriedly looked at Will who, with a sigh, handed over the money.

  They went next to the new shop to see Mr. Hoffman. The building which housed the carriage works sat back from the main road to the south of town. It was easily twice the size of the building in Gettysburg and Wes gazed at it in amazement as they headed around back toward the office. Will rapped on the door, then stepped through without waiting for a reply. Wes followed, hat in hand. Despite the larger building, the office was a cramped room with papers and books strewn on every surface. There was a musty smell about the place, a mixture of damp parchment, fresh ink and the unwashed smell of Mr. Craflion, the office manager. Craflion, half hidden behind an enormous roll top desk, brusquely rose to greet them, informing them that Mr. Hoffman was away on business. Wes studied the man carefully, deciding that his primary trait was the ability to look annoyed no matter what the circumstance. Craflion stared over his pince-nez with a raised eyebrow, apparently wondering why Will and Wes had not fled upon hearing of Hoffman’s absence.

  Will said, “My brother has come from Gettysburg for the upholsterer’s job.” Craflion’s face descended into an even deeper level of annoyance as he let his gaze shift to Wes. Wes was certain that the position had been filled, that he would be left without a job in a strange town, worse off than he had been in Gettysburg.

  Finally, Craflion dropped his eyes and returned to his books. “See that he’s here first thing in the morning. Mr. Hoffman will make a decision when he returns.”

  Will nodded slightly and turned, heading out the door without a further word. Wes, flustered by the abruptness of his brother’s departure, nodded nervously at the office manager who took no notice of him.

  Outside, he caught up with his brother. “Hey! Wait a second. What did all that mean?”

  “You just got your job back,” Will said without breaking stride.

  “But doesn’t Mr. Hoffman have to.…”

  Will cut him off. “Hoffman’ll take you back. That old walrus in the office likes to give everybody a hard time. But the position is still open which means he’ll take you in a second. He won’t have to train you.”

  Wes followed as Will ducked into a dark hallway, then stepped out onto the factory floor. The shop was huge in comparison to the one in Gettysburg. The old equipment was laid out differently but it was a comfort to see familiar machines. Ed Skelly and Billy Holtzworth saw the two of them enter and called a greeting.

  “Hey, look who’s back,” Ed shouted cheerfully.

  Holtzworth jumped off the carriage on which he was working and wiped his hands on his pants. “And look who he brung with him.”

  Until that moment, Wes had enjoyed the obscurity of the new town, but seeing familiar faces brought a sudden sense of warmth. He shook hands eagerly with men who would have ignored him back in Gettysburg. A couple of months ago he could not have called them friends, but now they felt like lost comrades. The others asked about news from Gettysburg, offering condolences for the loss of their mother. Wes looked around the factory and caught the eye of several of the other workers. Some appeared friendly but others were suspicious, as if he was intruding.

  Ed slapped him on the shoulder. “Let me show you around.” The tour took no longer than five minutes and Wes met most of the new workers, forgetting their names as soon as he heard them. One man, however, did not bother to come greet him. He sat in the backseat of one of the carriages reading a newspaper. Ed stood below him for a moment. “Frank. Hey, Parsons! Come meet a friend of mine.” The man ignored Ed and continued to read.

  A sandy-haired man with a boyish face appeared from behind one of the company wagons and walked up to Ed and Wes. Smiling, he said, “Just ignore old Frank. He likes people to think he can read, but he’s just looking at the pictures. My name’s Ben Pendleton.” He stretched out his hand and shook Wes’ firmly. “Welcome to the party.”

  From his perch in the carriage, Parsons looked over his paper at Ben with a frown. Wes caught the man’s eye for a second and the look of animosity. He waved uneasily, then turned back to Ben.

  Glancing at Parsons out of the corner of his eye, Ben said with a grin, “Don’t worry, I’ll introduce you to the better element in town. I’ve been after your brother ever since he came down here to join us at the Guards. You need to meet some people, and maybe now that you’re here, he’ll come along too. We’re meeting over to Bridger’s Tavern tonight. After you get settled, come over and have a beer with us.”

  There was a warmth about Ben that made Wes like him instantly. Looking across the shop, Ben indicated some of the others. “Hell, you can drag all the rest of your Pennsylvania buddies with you. I’ve been trying to get them to join us, but I guess they’re afraid us Virginians’ll drink them under the table.”

  Ed chuckled. “You never out and out challenged us like that before. Now I can’t turn you down.”

  “What are the Guards?” Wes asked, trying not to look in the direction of Parsons who had laid his paper aside and was openly glaring at the group below.

  “Hamtramck’s Guards. Colonel Hamtramck was in the war in Mexico. He thought the local boys could use something to keep ‘em out of trouble, and I guess he was just plum bored with farming. So he organized the group, and now a bunch of us dress up and march around and keep fit and defend the honor of Virginia and Virginia’s women. But most of the time we hang out at Bridger’s and drink and tell lies about battles we never fought.”

  Ed turned to Wes with a grin. “You should see ‘em out there in that field marching around like a flock of sheep. And Ben here won’t be satisfied until he turns all of us into sheep. Ha!” Ben ignored the remark and turned back to Wes.

  “So, what do you say?”

  “Sure,” Wes said, eager for the acceptance that seemed to be offered so easily.

  “Good,” said Ben. “I’ll come over with Ed here after work and pick you up.”

  Wes nodded and started to walk away. He glanced up at Parsons who suddenly opened the carriage door and jumped down in front of him. Startled, Wes had to look up to meet his eyes. He noticed the crooked, yellow teeth and the faint smell of whisky on his breath. There was a ring of sweat on his collar, and three days growth of stubble on his tanned face. Wes recognized in him every bully he had ever faced, and he felt the old familiar weakness creep into his knees.

  Then
Ben was between them, moving Wes off toward the door with Ed and Will following. “Just forget him, Wes. He tries to scare everybody like that.”

  “I wasn’t scared,” Wes mumbled, trying to keep his voice from quaking.

  Ben, Ed and Billy arrived after Wes had eaten dinner and the foursome headed off to the other side of town. A moment after they emerged from the boarding house, they heard derisive laughter from the porch of a saloon across the way. Wes recognized Parsons, standing with three other toughs, puffing a cigar.

  “Hey, Ben,” Parsons called sarcastically. “You takin’ up shepherding?” The others laughed and began bleating, louder and louder, trying to outdo each other.

  “The shepherd of Shepherdstown,” someone said mockingly, and the whole flock in front of the tavern roared in amusement.

  Ben merely smiled and said loud enough so that all the locals could hear, “Looks like the garbage collector missed some this evening.” The bleating and the laughter stopped abruptly. There was an icy silence as the tavern toughs eased onto their feet.

  Parsons stepped off the porch and came face to face with Ben. Ben didn’t back away, didn’t flinch, and the smile never left his face, even though Parsons towered over him. To Wes, he looked like a giant, but Ben kept smiling. “Don’t you want to take that back, Pendleton?”

  Ben’s smile widened. “Now, why would I want to take back the truth, you buck-toothed, pea-brained piece of dung?”

  Parsons’ face went into contortions as his mind struggled to cope with the sheer magnitude of the insult. Finally, his rage congealed into a bellow and he raised his fists to swing them down on Ben’s head and shoulders. Ben stood his ground while Wes and the others unconsciously took a step backward. Parsons brought his hands crashing down, but at the last second, Ben stepped aside and Parsons lost his balance as his hands swished through empty air. Ben’s fists flew faster than Wes could see. Falling to his knees in pain, Parsons clutched his stomach.

  An odd silence settled over the observers as they stared at each other, uncertain what to do next. Then, as though someone had given a signal, they all jumped at the same instant and came together with a crash, swinging, cursing, yelling.

  Up against a slightly larger boy who swung wildly, Wes did not have to duck, realizing that in a fight his shortness was an advantage. He had been in his share of brawls, with his brother and with schoolmates, but he had always known the person he was punching. Now, he was fighting a total stranger in a strange town. He had usually been beaten, pinned by Will or knocked senseless by one of the others. Because he was small, he assumed he would always get beaten, and so he usually pleaded for the fight to end.

  But not today. Some inner force, fired by rage, broke loose at that instant. As his opponent swung again, missing him a second time, Wes rocked back and timed his punch so that the boy stepped into it, with the weight of both their bodies behind the blow. He had aimed for the kid’s jaw but missed and hit him in the nose. The boy backed off, unsteady, stunned. A warm gush of bright red blood exploded down his face, covering his shirt. He grabbed frantically at his wounded nose, hopping around and yelling as though he’d been shot.

  Wes grinned, feeling the surge of adrenaline in his blood. A moment later, he received a heavy blow to his back and stumbled forward onto his hands and knees. He got to his feet, turning to face his new attacker, when he saw that Parsons had his arms wrapped around Ben’s head. They had bumped him in their struggle and now Parsons’ back was directly in front of Wes. Without conscious thought, Wes launched himself into the air, feet first and connected squarely with Parsons’ lower back. Ben fell free as Parsons again dropped to his knees. Wes rolled to his feet quickly, catching Ben’s eye as he did. Ben’s face was red and his sandy hair disheveled, but the smile was still firmly in place.

  Ben focused again on Parsons and was about to finish him with a blow to the face when a gunshot made them all jump. They looked toward the sound and there in the center of the street was an older man holding a huge pistol skyward.

  “All right now,” he said in a quiet voice. “What seems to be the problem? What’s got you boys so riled up?”

  Ben turned to the man. “Well, Sheriff, Frank and his thugs saw fit to offer my new friend here their kind of welcome, and things got a little too friendly.”

  “I guess they did, at that.” The sheriff walked through the group and helped Parsons to his feet. “Frank, my boy, you look even worse than the last time. You don’t learn very fast, do you? Run along home, now. The next time you start a scuffle like this, I’ll let you think it over in the cooler.”

  Parsons and his friends moved off down the street. Wes glanced at the boy whose nose he had broken. He was just a kid, looking scared and foolish, and Wes felt bad for hurting him. Then he caught Parsons’ eye again, and saw a look of black hatred. But Wes was no longer intimidated. He had stood up to him and won. Elation was just beginning to hit him when the sheriff put a hand on Wes’ shoulder.

  “Now, you boys are new here. I know you didn’t start this, but it takes two to make a fight. I hope this isn’t going to become a habit because I don’t like fighting in my town.” Then he turned to Ben.

  “Ben, you should know better. I’m disappointed in you, and your father will be hearing about this. But the rest of you – well, consider this your one and only warning.” With that, he released Wes and was off down the street.

  Wes and the others crowded together, watching him go. As he passed out of sight around the corner, they burst into excited chatter and headed the other way. They compared stories and sized up each other’s bruises. Ed had caught a punch under the eye from one of the bigger fellows, but had knocked him down in return. Ed and Billy jabbered on, talking over each other. But Wes was quiet, filled with an inner joy that he was not ready to put into words. Ben noticed this and fell in alongside him.

  “You’re one hell of a fighter, Wes,” Ben exclaimed. “When I saw you come flying through the air like that, I thought the cavalry had arrived.” Wes smiled happily at the compliment.

  Bridger’s was a tavern at the east side of town. When the group arrived, they found the large room packed with men in odd, dark gray uniforms. Ben loudly announced their arrival and a path opened through which Wes and the others moved. Grabbing a beer and climbing onto one of the tables, Ben yelled for the group’s attention, then proceeded to introduce the newcomers and retell the story of their battle in detail. The group was appreciative and jovial, and Wes found himself slapped on the back by numerous strangers and toasted with raised beer mugs when Ben finished the story.

  Ben elbowed his way to Wes’ side. “Well,” he said, “these are the boys. What do you think?”

  “I think you tell a good tale,” Wes yelled over the roar of laughing voices.

  Ben took a swig, then looked at Wes. “You should join us. It’s a hoot. And the women love it. You know, if you’re in a uniform, they’ll do anything for you.” He gave him a laugh and a wink, emptying his mug in one long swig.

  Wes looked at his newfound friend in wonder. It was hard to believe that only a few hours earlier he had been in Gettysburg saying goodbye to Ginnie. He wished she could see him now, surrounded by a whole group of new friends. Things were starting off just as he had hoped they would. His grand plan was in operation. And the first step had been getting away from Gettysburg.

  Ben peered back at him. “What do you say, Wes? Are you with us? Do you want to join the Guards?”

  “You bet,” said Wes without hesitation. “Count me in.”

  Chapter 5

  A GATHERING STORM

  Shepherdstown, Virginia

  October 4, 1860

  Wes could see the smoke hanging in a lazy black column long before the train was in sight. His heart pounded with anticipation as he nervously smoothed his hair. The October sun, unusually warm for this time of year, made his woolen Guard’s uniform even more uncomfortable, and he wiped a bead of sweat from his brow as the train chugged into sight.
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  His nephew, Bertie, now seven years old, stood next to him holding Will’s hand. Looking first at his father and then his uncle, he jumped up and down whining, “I want to see the engine. Lift me up.”

  As Will raised his son to viewing height, Wes pushed forward impatiently through the throng. For three years he had waited for Ginnie to visit him in Shepherdstown. In his letters and during his trips home he had begged and cajoled her, but to no avail. She seemed willing enough, but her mother consistently refused the request: Ginnie was too young, she was needed at home, the South was too dangerous for a lone woman traveler, and so on. No time was right and Wes had begun to fear that she would never make the trip.

  Then one day last August a letter arrived reporting that Ginnie’s mother had agreed to let her come in October. Ginnie had asked for the trip as a special gift for her eighteenth birthday, still seven months away, and her mother had agreed since Julia would be coming for a visit and could serve as a traveling companion. Wes had been in agony, impatiently waiting for fall to arrive. With only his work and the Guards to occupy him, the time had dragged.

  As the train hissed and clanked to a stop at the station, Wes tried to look at all six cars at once as they began to disgorge their passengers. He leapt onto a bench from which he could view the entire train. At that moment a young woman disembarked from the next to last car, assisted by the conductor. She moved gracefully forward, nodding her thanks to the man before looking into the waiting crowd. Wes’ gaze passed over her, then returned with a start when he realized that it was Julia. She wore an attractive floral dress and bonnet and looked older and more mature than when he had last seen her. He called her name and waved at her, all the while searching the faces behind her for Ginnie. But there were only strangers. When Julia waved and came toward him without a backward glance, he was certain that she was alone.