A Perilous Proposal (8 page)

“I'll try, Mr. Duff.”

“What I want to know, then, is what all this is about with you being a slave. You can't still be a slave . . . not while you're here with us. Why do you say you're still a slave?”

Jake glanced around and lowered his voice. “I's a runaway, Mr. Duff,” he said. “Dat's why I's tryin' ter git to da norf. I's in a heap er trouble. Dat's why I's on da run.”

“Why you say you're in trouble? What happened?”

Briefly Jake told him about his mother and about attacking the white drifter. But he didn't tell him the worst of his secrets.

“What will dey do ter me, Duff?” Jake asked when he was through. “Da white soldiers . . . what dey do when dey fin' out I'm a runaway?”

“They won't do anything. That's what I've been trying to tell you—you're with friends now. You might as well get used to it, 'cause you're going to be with us for a spell, at least until you get recovered enough to walk.”

“But what will I do? I ain't no soldier like you.”

“You let me worry about that,” said Duff. “You can help me with the horses. Nobody's going to bother you. Once you're up and about, I'll make sure you earn your grub. You know anything about horses?”

“A little. My papa wuz real good wiff horses. Dat's what he did.”

“He was a slave too?”

Jake nodded. “Till he lef' us,” he said. “I ain't seen him since I wuz a little kid.”

Duff took in the statement thoughtfully but did not reply.
He could tell from the cloud that came over Jake's face, there was more to the story. He was curious, but he would let whatever he might need to know come out when the time was right. Micah Duff may have been young, but he was wise enough to know that there is a time to press and a time not to.

N
EW
S
URROUNDINGS

10

P
RIVATE
D
UFF WAS RIGHT
. I
T TOOK
J
AKE A LONG
time to recover from his injuries. The company couldn't stop and take time for him to mend just because they'd picked up a runaway black. They had to keep going. And those next few days were mighty painful for Jake.

Private Duff did his best to make a comfortable place for him to lie in one of the wagons, with as many blankets as they could spare. But the bouncing and bumping hurt so much that there were times Jake didn't think he could stand it. There is nothing quite so painful as broken ribs. Every bump the wagon wheels went over sent jabs from a hot iron straight into his chest. But Jake didn't have much choice, unless he wanted to ride on a horse. That would have hurt even more.

Getting used to his new surroundings, getting used to the routine, and getting used to the kindness both the white and the black soldiers showed him helped the days gradually pass. Ribs are also mighty slow to heal, but gradually he was able to put up with the pain a little better.

There were only three blacks in the company. It took a lot of getting used to being around so many white men who didn't treat him like a slave. Watching Micah Duff and the other two colored men behave around the white soldiers was
like nothing Jake had ever seen before. They acted like he'd never seen any black person act around whites.

Though Private Duff was busy doing all the things that soldiers do, he had time to take care of Jake too. Whenever the company stopped, and especially every evening when they made camp, he tended most of the horses—though some of the officers took care of their own. But he still did everything he could to make Jake comfortable. He brought him food and water and checked his bandages every once in a while. Jake began to think that Duff was part doctor as well as everything else he did!

After a week or so, Jake began to get around pretty good. He could use his right arm to eat and get his shirt on and off and do most of the things he needed to do. But Private Duff still tended him as faithfully as ever. A lot of the white soldiers took an interest in Jake too. They came around when they were camped to ask about him and see if there was anything they could to do help. Before long, the whole company had adopted Jake as if he was one of their own men.

Though he was always busy, in his own way Micah Duff was a quiet young man. There were times as Jake woke up in the morning, before he said anything or tried to get up, when he just watched his new friend—whether Duff was feeding and watering the horses in the distance, or tending the fire or brewing his well-known early morning pot of coffee, Jake found himself wondering what Private Duff was thinking about. There was a look in his eyes that made Jake curious, a look that made it seem as if more was going on inside his brain than he let on. At least that's how it seemed to Jake. Of course, there was more going on in Jake than he let on too.

Cheerful and friendly though he was, Micah Duff knew the value of quiet. He knew how to let silence speak, how to let the quiet say what it had to say. He didn't try to fill the air up with words every minute. At first, after he got to feeling better, Jake squirmed a bit at the silence. But gradually he
grew more comfortable with it. That helped him pay more attention to things around him. Watching Micah Duff not only taught him how to enjoy the quiet, it also taught him how to look and observe and notice things he wouldn't have seen before.

Private Duff didn't come right out and tell Jake what he was thinking. He didn't say, “Now, Jake, you need to learn to listen to what the silence has to show you.” He let him sit with him at the fire and stare into it, neither of them saying a word for maybe twenty minutes until Jake was at peace with the silence. He let Jake figure out for himself that sitting quietly with your own thoughts was a good thing.

As time went on, he taught Jake a lot with words too. But the words always followed the quiet watching and observing and listening. First came the silence, then came the words. For a long time the two of them would sit staring into the red and yellow and orange flames licking at the chunks of wood, which popped and sizzled occasionally.

Fire's got an attraction and lure to it. You can't help staring into it. Mesmerizing is what you'd call it. Staring into a fire helps quiet you down. One day after waking up early, everything was already quiet around them.

After a long time, Private Duff finally spoke. His voice was soft.

“Light's a pretty amazing thing, isn't it, Jake?” he said.

“Uh . . . I reckon so,” said Jake.

“Just think what it would be like without light,” Duff went on. “We wouldn't know what anything looked like. Imagine what night must have been like before there was fire. Must have been pretty fearsome, not knowing if the sun was going to come up again.”

“Why would dey hab thought dat?” asked Jake.

“I don't know that they did,” replied Duff. “But back in those days a long time ago, the world was a fearsome place to the first men and women who didn't know how things were.
I imagine them being afraid when the cold and darkness came, and maybe being afraid the sun was gone forever. Darkness is a fearsome thing, don't you think, Jake?”

“I reckon so.”

Again it was quiet. They stared into the fire a long time. After a while Duff stood up and took a few steps away from the fire. Jake hadn't noticed from staring into the flames, but the light of dawn had begun to show at the eastern horizon. Duff stood staring at it for the longest time, with Jake staring at him. The men around the rest of the camp were beginning to stir.

Finally Duff turned back toward the fire and poured them each a cup of coffee. By then a few more of the men were wandering in their direction, drawn by the aroma of the pot. Within another thirty minutes the camp was abuzz with activity.

Two mornings later, Jake awoke as usual. But when he got up he found the fire already burning low, like it had been fed an hour or two earlier. Private Duff was nowhere to be seen.

Jake got up, added a few more chunks to the fire, looked about, then went to fill the coffeepot with water and put it on the fire.

When Private Duff finally galloped into camp two hours later, he looked as if he'd been riding all night. After giving Jake the reins to his horse and asking him to feed and water him, he went straight to the captain's tent.

“There's a big movement of rebs heading this way, Captain,” he said. “Ten or fifteen times bigger than us at least—maybe more.”

“You think they know we're here, Duff?” asked the captain.

“I don't know, sir. I saw no evidence of it. But they're already on the march this morning. If they spot us, there's no way we could fight them off.”

The captain rose and paced about his tent. “What do you
suggest, Duff—hole up somewhere?”

“We've got no choice, sir. Not unless you wanted to make a run for it.”

“No, that would be suicide,” said the captain, shaking his head. “Once on our tail, they'd never let up. You spot anyplace nearby we could keep thirty men and horses out of sight?”

“There's a small farm two or three miles ahead, sir. Couple of big barns. Otherwise, it's just the woods.”

“Hmm . . . I see. Any idea how many people at this place?”

“I only saw a man and his wife and a girl. Might be a hired hand or two, but I couldn't tell.”

“No slaves?”

“No, sir. No slave crops—just cattle, horses . . . a few sheep.”

“All right, then . . . good work, Duff. We'd better get camp broken.”

Duff left Captain Taylor's tent. He found Jake tending the horses.

“Hey, Jake,” he said, “taking over for me, I see!”

“I didn't know when you'd be back, so I figgered dese horses oughter hab dere breakfast.”

“Good for you. From what some of the men tell me, your coffee is as bad as mine! Sounds like I'll be out of a job before long.”

Two hours later the company paused within sight of the farm buildings Private Duff had told the captain about.

“Okay,” said the captain, “we're going to have to commandeer the place, and they're not going to take too kindly to it. Barkley, Jones, Shenahan, Carter—you come with me. We'll have to do it at gunpoint, but I don't suppose it can be helped. The rest of you wait here.”

The captain and his four officers rode on toward the house, dismounted in front, and walked up the porch to the
door. Five minutes later, from where they watched, they saw Captain Taylor reemerge from the house and ride back to where the rest of his men were waiting.

“All right,” he said, “we'll put up in that biggest of the barns there if it'll hold us. Duff, you go see what you think. We'll have to corral our horses and keep them separate from theirs, and get all the rest of our stuff out of sight. The man's an ornery cuss—we had to tie him up. But I don't think his wife and daughter will cause any trouble.”

“Anyone else around, sir?” asked one of the men.

“Nope—just the three of them. The woman said they had two hands, but they both joined up when the war broke out.”

Several hours later they were settled in makeshift quarters in the barn and two other outbuildings. They split the horses into groups in two of the corrals, though the captain was worried that there were so many of them that if the Confederates came, they would get suspicious. Then he had an idea.

“Billings,” he said to one of the white soldiers. The man walked over. “You used to be from the South, didn't you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You can talk like a Southerner?”

“That I can, Captain, sir,” laughed Billings, speaking in his thickest Mississippi drawl.

“All right, then, you take Jake here—get some of the other men to help you—and take half the horses out to that fenced pasture we passed coming in. Make sure they're secure, then you and Jake keep an eye on them. The two of you can watch over our horses and won't need to stay out of sight if the rebels come. Jake's got a black twang as thick as yours. Just pretend you're the fellow's hired hand and that Jake's the man's slave. Can you do that, Jake?” he asked, turning to where Jake stood.

“Dat I can, Captain,” Jake replied. “I been a slave all my life. I don' reckon I'll hab ter do much pretendin'! What effen dey ax 'bout my patched-up shoulder?”

“Tell them Billings got drunk and beat the tar out of you,” laughed the Captain. “Nobody'll suspect either of you of being with the Union Army.”

“What about my uniform, Captain?” asked Billings. “They just might suspect
that!
”

“Right . . . I'll get some work clothes from the fellow in the house. He's about your size.”

S
CUFFLE

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