Joey Mills

by Crowe (epub)

  My initials, Johnny thought.

  A pair of big, dirty hands grabbed Johnny by the shoulders and spun him around. Johnny looked up into the face of the biggest, ugliest stowaway on the train, the one he thought looked like a giant. The man’s bright eyes blazed under his bushy eyebrows.

  “Best not to mess with other people’s stuff,” the man bellowed in a raspy voice. He turned his head to the side and spat a juicy wad of tobacco into the corner of the car. When he turned back to Johnny, the boy saw that some of it hadn’t cleared the man’s beard and ran in a brown line down his chin, staining his beard. “If somethin’ comes up missin’ or busted… well, that makes it hard on all of us that ride these rails.”

  “But that trunk has my initials on it,” Johnny stammered and pointed toward the trunk. “Look here --- JC.”

  The haggard looking man sighed, as if he’d had conversations like this before. “That your trunk?”

  “No.”

  “All right. Leave it be, then.” The man released Johnny’s shoulders and slunk back against the wall of the baggage car. “Lots of folks have the initials “JC”.”

  Johnny tried to push the trunk out of his mind, but it was useless. He got up and moved away from the trunk, making it a point not to look at the others when he passed. Johnny settled against a mail sack on the other side of the car and looked for something to take his mind off of the trunk, but found that his eyes continued to be drawn back toward it, as though the trunk was calling to him. Johnny wondered who it belonged to and what was inside.

  They had to switch trains one more time before reaching Richmond. Johnny grabbed the trunk. For all that it weighed, it might have been empty. Johnny carried it to the waiting train all by himself and, once the rest of the items were loaded, sat with his back to the trunk once more. The grizzled old stowaway shook his head, but Johnny was beyond caring what he thought. He wasn’t bothering the trunk, he was just curious about it. Johnny hoped once more to feel something move inside, but if anything did it was lost in the constant rumbling of the train over the tracks.

  The shadows inside the car had grown long and the quality of the light had faded when at long last the train coasted into the station. The door of the baggage car slid open. “Welcome to Richmond, gents,” called the porter. “Start haulin’ them bags out here.”

  Johnny grabbed the trunk. This was his chance to meet its owner and maybe find out what “JC” stood for, besides “Johnny Crowe” of course. Johnny dragged the trunk to door. It had grown heavy again, too heavy to lift but not too heavy to scoot. Johnny leaned against the door of the car and waited to see who would come and claim the trunk.

  “Back at it,” the porter said, pointing back into the baggage car.

  “Yes, sir,” said Johnny. “Only I was hopin’ --- “

  “You’ll be hopin’ I don’t crack your skull if you don’t get back to work,” said the porter, tapping a blackjack that hung from his belt. “Didn’t get a free ride just to stand around when you got here.”

  Johnny went back into the depths of the car and started hauling the rest baggage to the door. Each time he returned he saw that the trunk still sat unclaimed on the edge of the car. It wasn’t long before the job was finished. The rest of the stowaways hopped down while Johnny went back for one last bag. He looked around to make sure he didn’t miss anything, then turned and headed for the door.

  The trunk was gone.

  “’Scuse me,” Johnny said to the porter when he reached the door. “Did you see who grabbed that big trunk that was sittin’ here?”

  “Boy,” he said, pulling the club from his waist, “I ain’t got time to sit here and see who picks up what. That’s for the passengers to sort out for themselves. Now, get outta here… ain’t no more trains leavin’ here today.”

  Johnny dropped from the car and made his way through the yard, peeking around trains and scanning the crowd for the trunk and its owner. He found neither.

  Before he left the station, Johnny stopped and asked for directions to the governor’s office. Strolling through the city, Johnny was amazed by the size of it and the number of people he saw. He had never dreamed that folks would live and work so close together. The city continued on in every direction as far as Johnny could see. He got the feeling that he could walk forever and never reach the end of the capital.

  He got turned around a few times, which didn’t surprise him much, but always managed to find someone to put him back on the right track. Just when the sun disappeared for the night, Johnny reached Governor Letcher’s office. He stood at the foot of the stairs, gazing up at the large, wooden door. This is it, he thought. No turnin’ back now. Johnny took a deep breath, exhaled, then climbed the stone stairs and entered the building.

  Unlike the bustling city outside, the foyer was silent and empty. Johnny crossed the vaulted entryway, making his way toward a lone desk at the end of the hall. Beyond, a series of doors stood closed against him. He winced at the sound of his bare feet slapping on the floor, breaking the silence that pervaded the building.

  “May I help you?” A thin man wearing a brown, wool suit slipped out of one of the offices and closed the door behind him.

  “Yes, sir,” Johnny replied. “I’m here to see Governor Letcher.”

  The thin man wrinkled his large nose at Johnny, as though he had just smelled something foul. “The Governor is very busy at this time,” said the secretary. “There is a war going on, you know.”

  Johnny nodded. “I’m here to join the army. The Major told me to see the Governor about joinin’ up.”

  “Oh, is that what the Major told you?” the secretary sneered. “Told you to come to bother the Governor, did he?” He clicked his tongue off of the roof of his mouth. “Perhaps you’d do better to speak to a military official, hmm?”

  “Okay.” Johnny shrugged, then plunged his hands into his pockets. “Sure.” The two stared at one another in awkward silence. “So,” Johnny asked, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, “can I talk to a military official?”

  The secretary’s face turned scarlet. He stomped over to Johnny and planted his hands squarely on his thin hips. “There is no military here! Does this look like a military facility to you?” The secretary swept his arms wide, gesturing at the empty foyer.

  Johnny dropped his gaze to the floor and shook his head.

  “Not a very smart fellow, are we?” asked the secretary, thumping Johnny between the eyes with a long, bony finger. “Looking for the army in the Governor’s office!” Johnny felt his face grow hot with shame and lowered his eyes toward the floor. “No! If you want to join the army, I suggest you speak to someone over at the Spotswood. That’s where they’re conducting this war of theirs from.”

  “The Spotswood, sir?”

  “Yes, the Spotswood. The Spotswood Hotel? Surely you’ve heard of it?”

  “I’m not from around here, sir,” Johnny said. “Can you tell me how to get there?”

  “You don’t know where to find the Spotswood?” the secretary shrieked. He flapped his arms at Johnny, driving the boy backward and out the door. “Shoo! If you can’t find the Spotswood, then you can ask someone else for directions. Can’t you see that we’re very busy here?” As soon as Johnny’s feet stepped out onto the cold, stone steps, the secretary slammed the door in his face.

  They didn’t look so busy to me, Johnny thought.

  What was I thinkin’? Johnny asked himself, wandering directionless through the city. Lights shone from the windows he passed and the first stars twinkled overhead. I never should’ve come. I oughta just go back home and ---

  Johnny stopped himself short, it was no good thinking like that. He had no way to get back home, and even if he had, what would he say when he got back? What would he tell Anna Lee? What would she think of him after he had traded away everything he had just to g
et here, only to turn around and run back with nothing to show for it?

  Johnny flopped down on a set of stairs and hung his head. Maybe the governor’s secretary was right, maybe he wasn’t smart enough to make it on his own out here in the big city. He felt tears of frustration and embarrassment welling up in his eyes.

  “Help you out there, son?”

  Johnny raised his head and sniffed back the tears. An older gentleman in a gray suit and coat stood over him. The man wore a close-cropped white beard, reminding Johnny a little bit of Grandpa Crowe. He appeared to have been out for an evening stroll, still carrying his hands behind his back.

  “Just lookin’ for the Spotswood, sir.”

  “The Spotswood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Johnny nodded, then added, “The Spotswood Hotel. That’s where they’re runnin’ the army out of.” Hope flared up within for a moment. “Have you heard of it?”

  “Oh yes.” the older gentleman nodded. “The question is,” he continued, “what are you going to do now that you’ve found it?”

  Confused, Johnny followed the gentleman’s gaze and found the sign over the front door. It read “Spotswood Hotel”.

  “You didn’t come to just sit out here on the steps all evening, did you?”

  “No, sir,” Johnny replied, getting to his feet. “Thank you, sir.” He had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he hadn’t realized that the gentleman was wearing the uniform of the Confederate army. “Uh… I’m here to join the army,” Johnny said. “Could you point me to someone in charge?”

  The older gentleman smiled. “Let’s go inside and see if we can find someone to help you.”

  The old man led Johnny into the hotel and down a long hallway. The soft carpet underfoot felt good to Johnny’s tired feet. At the end of the hall sat a young, uniformed soldier, who rose and saluted the old man. The older gentleman nodded.

  “Any messages for me?”

  “No, sir,” the aide replied. “Have a good walk, General?”

  General? Johnny thought. The older man nodded and patted his aide on the shoulder. Johnny saw the way the young man’s face beamed and remembered how he had felt talking to the Major. That’s why I’m here.

  The General ushered Johnny into his office and offered him a high-backed leather chair. The old man went around the desk and began sorting through a stack of papers.

  “Where are you from, son?”

  “Fiddler’s Picket, sir,” Johnny replied. “In the Shenandoah Valley.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of it. Been a long time since I’ve been out that way. I hope all this fighting hasn’t put too much strain on the folk out there?”

  “No, sir,” Johnny replied.

  “Here we go,” the General said, pulling a sheet of paper from the pile. “Looks like we had a group of Virginians through here a couple days ago. Major Benson’s unit.”

  “Yes, sir.” Johnny nodded. “It was the Major that told me to come to Richmond if I wanted to join the army.”

  “Looks like they marched east yesterday.”

  Johnny felt his stomach drop. He had come all this way only to miss the Major by a day.

  “Looks like we have another group of Virginians due to arrive next week,” the gentleman said. He looked from the paper to Johnny. “Why don’t you head back home and come back then?”

  “Well, sir,” Johnny said. “It’s like this… the Major told me to get to the station at Leesburg, so I did. I had to trade away Bart, that’s my mule, sir, and my wagon for a ride here. I just got off the train and I ain’t got no way to get back home, and even if I did, I got no way to get back here in a week.”

  “Hmm, yes,” said the General. “That’s what you were thinking about on the steps out there?”

  Johnny nodded.

  “Sounds like you’ve come through a lot to join our army. That takes a lot of heart.” Johnny felt a smile of pride touch his lips. “Well, you could stay here, of course…”

  “Oh, I ain’t got no money for a place to stay, sir,” Johnny said. “I was wonderin’… do you have another group I could join up with now?”

  The gentleman rose from his chair and paced in front of the large bay window that looked out across the darkened city.

  “There is a corps camped outside the city right now. I could send you there to join up with them…”

  “Yes, sir. That’d be fine.”

  The gentleman turned and clasped his hands together. “That settles it then.” He pulled a blank sheet of paper from the top drawer of his desk, then fished about for a pen. “You’re to report to Colonel Morris straight away. He’ll see to you there.”

  Johnny rose from his seat. “Yes, sir,” he said, taking the letter. “I’ll head there right now.” Johnny got up to leave and was half-way across the room when he stopped and turned around. The General raised an eyebrow as Johnny lifted his hand to his brow and saluted. The General nodded and watched the boy exit his office.

  “A lot of heart,” the General murmured. “Be a shame to ever lose that.”

  Johnny left the Spotswood, and following the General’s directions, found the camp just outside of the city. To the east of the main road, a field had been cleared and tents had been erected in long, neat rows. He was unable to tell just how far they stretched into the darkness, the campfires had already burned too low to cast much light onto the rows of canvas, but from the noises of the camp, Johnny thought there must be an awful lot of tents. He saw right away which tent must belong to Colonel Morris, it was larger than the rest and the only one lit from within. Johnny approached the lit tent and handed the General’s letter of introduction to the aide stationed outside. The aide stepped into a circle of lamplight, read the letter, then instructed Johnny to wait while he alerted the Colonel. Johnny nodded while the aide disappeared into the tent.

  Inside, Johnny heard the aide speaking. The air had grown cold since the sun had set and Johnny tried to rub some warmth back into his hands while he waited alone outside the tent. After a short time, the aide poked his head out from the tent and nodded to Johnny. He held the flap back as Johnny stepped out of the cold and into the shelter of the Colonel’s tent.

  Colonel Morris sat behind a small oak desk, the letter from the General spread out in front of him. Johnny watched the Colonel read the note, his lips forming the words when his eyes passed over the page. What struck Johnny was how young the Colonel was, much younger than the General and even younger than the aide who had let Johnny into the tent. His dark hair was cut short and his face clean shaven, his suit was all tight lines and pressed smooth. The Colonel was so unlike any of the other soldiers that Johnny had encountered that he began to think that perhaps he had the wrong tent after all.

  When he had finished reading the letter, the Colonel looked Johnny up and down. “You bring any supplies with you?”

  “No, sir,” Johnny replied.

  The Colonel sighed. “Standard request,” he instructed his aide, who nodded and wrote a note to himself on a scrap of paper. “First thing in the morning I’ll put in a requisition for some boots. We’ll try to get you a few basic supplies,” the Colonel told Johnny, “but it may take a while.”

  Before Johnny had a chance to thank him, the Colonel continued. “You’ll hear the bugle at sunrise. You’ll need to get up, dress, and get breakfast before the drills begin. God help you if you’re late.”

  The Colonel turned to his aide. “Pearson still just have three?”

  “Yes, sir,” the aide replied. “I was just about to recommend that, sir.”

  “You’re to go with Jensen, here,” the Colonel instructed Johnny. “He’ll take you to your tent.”

  “Yes, sir.” Johnny saluted. “Thank you, sir.”

  The Colonel gave a dismissive wave and Jensen led Johnny from the tent. The aide knew his way thro
ugh the camp, even in the dark, and walked ahead of Johnny. More than once Johnny stumbled over the uneven ground in his attempt to keep up. Jensen told Johnny about the camp and ran down the daily schedule. Johnny said “uh huh” in what he hoped were all the right places, but he didn’t hear or retain a thing the aide said to him. All Johnny could think about was that he had finally made it into the army.

  Jensen stopped in front of one of the dark tents, Johnny almost crashing into him from behind. The aide bent over, lifted the tent flap, and stuck his head inside.

  “Pearson?” the aide called.

  “Yeah,” a voice replied.

  “Told ya,” said another voice from inside the tent.

  “Should’ve knowed,” moaned a third.

  Jensen stepped aside and motioned Johnny into the tent. Johnny ducked inside, careful not to step on anyone in the dark.

  “Gentlemen,” said Jensen from the tent flap, “meet your new bunk mate.”

  One of the men lit an oil lamp. Johnny raised his hands to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness and let them adjust. Behind him, Jensen dropped the tent flap. Johnny heard him walking back across the camp.

  “Move over there, Willie,” said the man with the lamp. “Let ‘im by.”

  Through his squinted eyelids, Johnny saw the two men on the left scoot to the side, grumbling when they did. The fella on the right lowered the flame in the lamp, dimming the light. Johnny put his hands down and opened his eyes.

  “Come on over ‘ere,” he said, patting a bare spot at the back right corner of the tent. Johnny picked his way around to the empty spot, his back to the corner, and sat facing the three men. They were staring at him, as if expecting him to say something. Johnny tried to think of a good introduction, but was saved from having to start the conversation.

  “What’s your name?” asked the fella with the lamp. He looked to be about Johnny’s age, thin, and his sandy brown hair was as tangled as a rat’s nest.