by Crowe (epub)
Johnny was just starting to dry out when he spotted the first signs of civilization. He was lucky in that the magic in his legs was different from that in his arm. The legs would still work, but took a lot of coaxing to get going. He doubted that they would ever be as good as they once were and that his days of sprinting and climbing like an expert were behind him. After picking himself up out of the water and convincing his legs to carry him, Johnny continued inland without looking back. If he went this direction long enough, Johnny was sure that he’d run into someone who could tell him where he was and he could figure out which direction to head from there. More than that, heading west from the ocean was the way back home. He’d had enough: enough of the war, enough of this arm and these legs that didn’t work, enough of everything. He still had eight coins in his pocket and ought to have at least another month or two worth of pay coming, assuming that Cort got all the paperwork sorted out. That ought to be enough to start a life for himself and Anna Lee. Maybe he wouldn’t return the man he had hoped he would become when he left, but he would always know what he had done and of the men who had relied on him. Surely that was worth something, and as for Anna Lee, well, she’d believe him.
Johnny walked with the sun at his back. It was almost August and that meant long, hot days of travel ahead of him, but for now the sun felt good, warming him from behind. He had just noticed that he could no longer hear the wash of the ocean or the crying of the gulls anymore when Johnny came across a hand-lettered sign nailed to a post.
“Fort Monroe,” Johnny read aloud. He’d never heard of it, but the arrow drawn on the sign pointed in the same general direction that he was headed, so Johnny followed it, hoping that someone there would be able to point him in the right direction. If he had known that Fort Monroe had come under Union control after General Johnston had ordered the retreat from Williamsburg, then perhaps he would have given it a wide berth, saving himself and those he loved from the trouble that followed.
Johnny continued toward Fort Monroe until he came upon a camp by the side of the road. Not counting the surgeon’s camp, which Johnny still wasn’t sure had actually existed, it was the strangest camp he had ever seen. The main feature was an old converted stagecoach, the red paint fading and peeling. Someone had tacked a piece of canvas over the door, stretched it so that it ran alongside the length of the coach, and draped it over a couple of tall stakes, creating a makeshift tent, protected from the elements above and on two sides, one wall of canvas, the other made by the side of the coach. Underneath the canvas were boxes and crates of empty Mason jars, all scattered about. A campfire was burning just beyond the tent with a large cast iron pot bubbling and boiling over it. Intrigued, Johnny veered off of the road and walked over to pot. A viscous black goo bubbled inside the pot. He took a whiff of the steam rising from the sludge, the stench choking him and causing him to double over. Johnny coughed, gagged, sputtered, wheezed, and spit, his eyes watering and his nose burning.
“Hey there,” came a booming voice. “Get away from there!”
A stocky man wearing a long satin robe tumbled from the coach, slamming the door behind him. He marched straight over to Johnny and grabbed him under each arm, dragging him away from the fire. The owner of the coach sat Johnny down under the tent, leaning him back against the side of the coach. He watched while Johnny wretched and dry-heaved.
“Relax,” said the man. “Breathe deep. Like this.”
The man began to take great breaths of air. Johnny tried to mirror him. His lungs screamed for air yet fought him at first, then fell into rhythm. Before long, Johnny’s head cleared and the worst of the burning in his chest subsided.
“Now,” said the man, “what were you doin’ kickin’ around my campfire?”
“I’m sorry,” Johnny said. “I just ain’t seen a camp like this before and came over to have a look at it. I didn’t mean no harm by it.”
The big man studied Johnny a while, making him uneasy. His head was bald and wrinkled, the skin sagging around his face and drooping into jowls around his cheeks. Johnny thought he looked like a sleepy old hound dog, but one look into the man’s eyes drove that image from his mind. The eyes were bright and had a hungry look about them. The image of a hound dog popped back into Johnny’s mind, but this time what he pictured was a hunting dog. Or a fox, Johnny thought. One that’s got a rabbit right where he wants him. Johnny shook his head and the picture faded.
You’re just still sick from that bad air, Johnny thought, though he didn’t quite think that was all there was to it.
“No, I guess you didn’t,” said the big man, closing his robe. “But you can’t just go around pokin’ your nose in people’s business like that.”
“No, sir,” Johnny agreed, looking at the pot over the fire. “What you got in there, anyhow, mister?”
The feral look left the big man’s eyes when they widened, as though he had been struck by a revelation. He leaned close to Johnny, his voice little more than a whisper.
“Oh… you want to know about that, do you? Well, we can talk about that over breakfast.”
The big fella stirred the black goo with a large, wooden paddle. He watched while the ooze slid down the paddle and back into the pot with a plop. Satisfied, he grabbed a thick piece of a horse blanket that had been cut down and lifted the pot from the fire, setting it on a nearby circle of stones to cool. He wiped his thick hands on the sides of his robe, tossed the scrap of blanket into the mess under the tent, then ducked back into the coach. Moments later he came out with a skillet and some raw meat that looked like it was about to turn bad. He set the pan over the flame, then sliced up the meat nice and thin and tossed it in.
“Don’t you let that burn,” he instructed, going back into the coach and shutting the door behind him. Johnny found a fork among the crates and jars and poked the meat, scooting it around the pan until the big fella came back. When he stepped from the coach, the big fella was dressed in what looked to have once been a fine tuxedo suit, worn a little thin in places now. The big man returned to the fire, poked one of the pieces of meat with his finger, then smacked his lips.
“Just right, my boy.” The man smiled. He walked over to the tent and producing two plates. “Just right.”
Johnny’s mouth started to water. He hadn’t enjoyed what little bit of breakfast he had eaten yesterday, and after all that running he had done throughout the night, he was powerful hungry. His stomach rumbled.
The big man heard it and stopped, looking at Johnny. “You brought your own breakfast, didn’t you?”
“No, sir,” Johnny said. “I ain’t got no food with me. Haven’t eaten since yesterday mornin’, and not much then.”
“Hmm,” grunted the big man. Johnny watched as he spun around and put one of the plates back. “Well, can’t exactly be sharin’ mine, now can I? Why, you never know when you’ll get somethin’ to eat out here on the road, you know.”
Johnny’s heart sank. He watched the big man pull the meat from the pan and load up his plate. He produced a tiny, three-legged stool out from under the tent, sat it next to Johnny, then plopped his big frame down on top of it, driving the legs of the stool a good inch into the dirt.
“Please, mister ---”
“Samuels. Saul Samuels. And what might your name be, boy?”
“Johnny, sir. Johnny Crowe.”
“Well, Mr. Johnny Crowe,” said Saul, “what brings you all the way out here?”
“It’s a long story, sir.”
Saul laughed. “We got time,” he said. “Nothin’ but time on a fine mornin’ like this, eatin’ a little breakfast…”
Johnny thought he saw Saul tip his plate toward him, giving him a good look at the meat. The smell was intoxicating.
“Couldn’t I just ---”
“So, what’s your story?” Saul asked, cutting him off.
“Well…” Jo
hnny began, “I came to Richmond to join the army.”
“That’s mighty noble of you.”
“Not really,” said Johnny. “See, there’s this girl …”
“Say no more,” Saul interrupted again, throwing up a greasy hand. “Say no more. I know all about how this story goes. She wouldn’t, well, you know, unless you came out here and --”
“No,” Johnny said, offended. “That’s not it at all. See, I ain’t much of a man back home. Most people just ignore me, and ‘em that don’t usually just put me down. No, I came out here to make somethin’ of myself, so I could go back home and marry her.”
“Startin’ a family,” Saul garbled through a mouthful of food. “That’s an expensive proposition.”
“I got eight dollars left,” Johnny said, pulling his coins out of his pocket to show Saul. As soon as he did, Johnny knew it was a mistake. There was no disguising the greedy look on Saul’s face when he eyed the coins. “That’s just from the first month. I’ll get more once the War Department gets all the paperwork filled out.”
Johnny dropped the coins back into his pocket. Saul’s eyes followed the hand. He looked like he was about to protest, then straightened and took another bite. “Best keep them put away,” Saul grumbled. “You meet some unsavory folks on the road.”
“That how you got that?” Saul said, pointing at Johnny’s left arm.
Johnny hugged his left arm close to his body, afraid that Saul had seen the golden arm. Don’t be silly, he scolded himself. You got your coat and gloves on.
“Yeah,” said Johnny. “Wounded.”
“Uh huh. And this girl… she got a name?”
“Anna Lee,” said Johnny.
“Anna Lee…” repeated Saul. “Anna Lee. Like Bobby Lee?”
“Yeah,” Johnny agreed. “I guess.”
Saul sat back on the stool, which groaned in protest beneath him. General Lee was a fella someone like Saul could admire. Powerful. In charge. What’s more, hadn’t the General married into George Washington’s family? Why, that made him a rich man to boot.
“So,” said Saul. “She worth it?”
“Worth what?”
“Worth losing your arm over?”
Johnny nodded. “Sure is. She’s the most beautiful girl I ever seen.”
“She must be quite a catch to go through all this.” Pretty and rich, thought Saul. “A real looker.”
“Yes, sir,” Johnny agreed.
“Where’d you say you two lovebirds are from?”
“Devil’s Knob,” said Johnny. “Over by Fiddler’s Picket.”
“Fiddler’s Picket? Where’s that?”
“In the Shenandoah Valley. Northeast side.”
“I may have to head that way and meet this Anna Lee for myself,” said Saul. “If she’s all you say she is.”
Johnny perked up. “You’re goin’ to Fiddler’s Picket?”
“I might,” said Saul. “I travel all over the South, handlin’ my business.”
Johnny looked at the pot cooling under the tent. Saul followed his gaze. “That’s right,” said Saul.
“What is it?” Johnny asked.
“Snake oil, boy. Ain’t you never seen snake oil before?”
Johnny shook his head.
“Why, a little of that every evenin’ before bed will cure whatever ails you.” Saul chuckled.
“Really?”
“Really. And, at an affordable price, too.”
“That what all ‘em jars are for?” asked Johnny.
“Some of ‘em,” said Saul. “I fill them up and travel from town to town, sellin’ them for a quarter each. That’s an especially big pot over there. A special order.”
“Who pulls the coach?” Johnny asked.
“Got a hoss around here somewhere. Probably grazin’ over yonder.”
“You’re not afraid he’ll wander off?”
Saul chuckled. “He ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
“And you’re headed’ to Fiddler’s Picket?”
“Might be,” said Saul. “After I make my delivery.”
“You think I could go along with you?”
“Well now,” said Saul, tapping his generous chin. “I guess that all depends…”
“On what?”
Saul stood and walked over to the tent. “I got a business proposition for you,” he said, taking an empty jar and holding it up to the sunlight.
“Yeah?”
“You said you got eight dollars left, right?”
“Sure,” Johnny said, his hand touching the coins though his pant leg.
“Let’s see… I can sell you sixteen of these jars for eight dollars ---”
“I thought you said you sell ‘em for a quarter.”
“That’s if you’re buyin’ just one jar,” said Saul. “This here is a bulk deal. Don’t you ever deal in bulk?”
Johnny thought about all the times he had hauled rocks down from the Knob to the market. Bulk deal. Maybe that’s what I should have tried. “All right.”
Saul smiled, found a ladle, and started filling the jars with the black goo. “Now, you’d want to double your profit on those jars. So, you’d need to charge ---”
“A dollar a jar,” interrupted Johnny.
Saul beamed. “Very good. A dollar a jar. You sure you haven’t done this before?”
Johnny shook his head.
“So, you’d invest your eight dollars and make sixteen dollars. How’s that sound?”
Johnny was stunned. That sounded great. Sixteen dollars!
“Now, us bein’ partners and all, and me supplyin’ the jars and the oil, we’d split that profit fifty-fifty…”
Johnny nodded. That made sense. “And then we’d head home?”
“If you can sell these jars, then yes, after I meet the buyer for the rest we’ll head for home.”
“You’ve got a deal,” Johnny said.
“I thought so,” said Saul, screwing the lid onto the last jar. “There you go, sixteen jars. That’ll be eight dollars, please.”
Johnny dug into his pocket and pulled out the eight silver dollars. He hesitated, his arm stopped in mid-air. Saul watched him, his smile turning to a scowl. Then Johnny thought about Anna Lee and what a start this would give them. Johnny dropped the coins into Saul’s palm, not seeing the man’s greasy smile return.
Anna Lee came up to the house, her mind wandering as it was wont to do anymore, thinking about Johnny, where he was and what he was doing. Whether he was safe or not. She saw her father’s wagon in front of the house and a smile spread across her face. Her father almost never made it home in the early afternoon, especially in the summer time. Anna Lee kicked off her work boots and went inside, not exactly trying to be quiet, but not doing anything to make her presence known, either. Her stepmother and father were talking in the kitchen, so she headed that way. Something in her stepmother’s tone caught Anna Lee’s ear. She wasn’t a girl who was prone to snooping, but something about the way her stepmother was speaking caused Anna Lee to tiptoe to the doorway and check before joining them in the kitchen.
If it’s nothing, then I’ll just pretend I hadn’t heard anything, she thought. I’ll play like I just came in.
“It’s some young fella, I tell ya,” said her stepmother. “He’s gone and broke the lass’s heart. You been busy down at the church, but I tell ya, I seen the change come on her.”
“If there had been a boy she would have told us,” said her father. Anna Lee felt sick about keeping Johnny from them. They had never been a family that kept things from one another, even when her mother had fallen sick and they knew she wasn’t long for this world. Yet here she was, eavesdropping on her father and stepmother and feeling terrible about keeping the truth about Johnny and hersel
f from them.
“She needs to get over it,” her stepmother said. “The boys won’t come near a girl whose cryin’ and boo-hooin’ around.” Her stepmother chucked another log into the wood stove. “It’s time she gets married.”
Her stepmother’s words struck Anna Lee. We’re goin’ to be married when Johnny gets home. Her heart ached to see him again.
“Now Irma,” her father said, “I know that ---”
“Look around,” her stepmother interrupted. “Do ya see the way the boys look at the other girls in town? Girls like Susie Anderson?”
“My daughter is nothing like Susie Anderson.”
“That’s right. She comes from a good family ---”
“Are you saying this is not a good family?” The Reverend was prone to raising his voice in church when the Spirit took him, but he had never raised it in anger. If he had, Anna Lee had never heard it before now.
You’re not exactly supposed to be hearing this, either, are you?
“You know that’s not what I said. But let’s face it, there’s not much here. Not like the Anderson farm. Whoever marries her has got a fine inheritance lined up for him.” Anna Lee peeked around the corner and looked into the kitchen. Her stepmother sat in her usual chair, opposite the Reverend. Anna Lee heard it slide on the floor when the woman shifted her weight. “And pretty. She tries to look good for the boys.”