Billy Boy (28 page)

Harriet's eyes widened. She looked at the men around the stove, each exchanging glances. “Why, no!” she heard herself say. “I mean, I know Billy run off from the army some time ago, but he ain't been back here …”

“Well, now, ma'am, it seems someone from this town notified headquarters in Augusta that he was back home.” He turned and faced the men at the stove. “I'm asking each of you for information that might help me find Private Laird,” he said, using a more official tone.

“What's gonna happen to Billy, Mr., ah …” Harriet stumbled.

“Lieutenant Walker, ma'am,” he repeated, raising his eyebrows. “Who were his friends?”

Harriet trembled. “Lieutenant Walker, I don't know much about the army and all, but I've a mind to tell you that Billy ought not to have been in the army in the first place. Never could understand why John Laird didn't keep him from going. Why, Billy can't even make change by himself. He's a real nice boy, but simple, if you know what I mean.”

“No disrespect, ma'am, but this simpleton also figured out how to find his way back from Maryland.”

Tom Piper stirred in his chair. “Well, you're wrong about that, Lieutenant. Billy ain't smart enough to find his way home.” Elkins and Biggs nodded their heads in agreement.

“I'm not looking to argue Private Laird's intelligence. I'd appreciate you folks telling me about his friends,” Walker asked again, placing his hands on his hips. “I don't wish to conduct needless searches of every home in Berwick, but if I have to …”

Elkins leaned over his chair and spit in the cuspidor next to him. “His only friends were going to war. That's why he mustered.” He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt.

“And their names?” asked the lieutenant.

Elkins glanced at Harriet, who sighed and lowered her head. “Harry Warren—that was his best friend. More like his keeper. There was Leighton Tasker, he was killed at Fredericksburg. Then there's Josh Ricker, Charlie Marston, and Jeb Hall. Jeb's dead too, poor fella. Just took sick and died. Town's right shook up over these boys' deaths coming so close together and all.”

“Their families live in Berwick?”

“Ayuh, but that's all we got to say,” said Elkins, and puffing slowly on his pipe, he turned his gaze away from the lieutenant. Harriet and the other two remained silent.

Lieutenant Walker turned his attention to Biggs and Piper, staring directly at them. He watched as one of the men leaned over in his chair, struck a match against the stove, and lit his pipe. Neither glanced his way. Turning his head, Walker looked at Harriet. Averting his gaze, she picked up a rag and ran it over the countertop. Silence hung in the air. The lieutenant turned and headed to the door.

“Lieutenant Walker,” Harriet said in a pleading voice as he reached for the latch. “Just remember what I said about Billy.”

The lieutenant hesitated and looked back over his shoulder. “Ma'am, if what you say about Private Laird is true, it will come out at the court-martial. And for his sake, he'd better pray that it does.” He turned and walked out the door.

Hanson and Waterhouse were standing by the horses as Walker emerged from Blaisdell's Store. “How'd you both make out?” Walker asked.

“Folks aren't talking much,” said Hanson. “Seem right surprised, though, about Private Laird being back. Didn't seem to think he could make it on his own. Only lead I picked up was about his friend, Harry Warren. Talk is he's a fine soldier, even catching the attention of his regiment officers. Folks live over to Pine Hill.”

“Yes, we'll need to visit them and some families by the names of Tasker and Hall. Their sons mustered too—friends of the private's. No one wanted to tell me where they live. Both boys are dead.” He looked directly at Hanson. “Perhaps they won't feel too kindly toward a deserter, friend or no.”

“I'll go back and ask the town clerk about their whereabouts. At least she's friendly enough,” said Waterhouse chuckling. “I think the ol' gal even took a fancy to me.”

Walker, Waterhouse, and Hanson were greeted warmly by the Taskers, who insisted they sit for tea in the steamy warmth of their kitchen. Any intrusion in their lives was a distraction from their grief, and they eagerly tried to please the strangers. Mabel Tasker brought out her best china, poured tea, and placed a plate of fresh raisin muffins on the table as she listened to the lieutenant speak about Billy.

Excusing himself, Leonard Tasker stepped into the front parlor and returned with a small daguerreotype in his hand. “This here's our boy, Leighton,” he said, his hands shaking.

Lieutenant Walker sipped the hot tea. “I'm truly sorry about your son. If we win this war, Mr. Tasker, it will be because of brave men like him who gave his life for his country. I hope you can understand why the army feels it's necessary to find Private Laird. Unlike your son, he turned his back on his sworn duty. That's why I'm here, Mr. and Mrs. Tasker, to honor the duty your son unselfishly believed in.”

Leonard Tasker set the daguerreotype down gently on the table and folded his arms across his chest. “Lieutenant, I understand what you're tryin' to say about duty and all. But Leighton most likely mustered for the same reason as Billy. I'll wager he was more interested in being with his friends than setting his mind to some sworn duty. I'm not sure he knew just why we're fighting this war. Don't judge young Billy so harshly. He probably don't even know he done wrong when he ran,” he said.

The lieutenant tried to soften his words. “I'm hearing from folks that Private Laird may be simple, Mr. Tasker, but nevertheless, he committed a serious violation of the Articles of War. And, well, sir, the army just can't afford to let people walk away from their obligation. We have to win this fight, and the president needs every soldier the towns can give us.”
Lieutenant Walker leaned closer to the couple and asked softly, “Do you have any idea where he might be hiding?”

Mabel Tasker wrung her hands. “Why, no … I didn't even know about Billy being back home 'til you spoke of it.”

“Will they bring my boy's body back to Maine, Lieutenant?” asked Leonard as he stared at the photograph.

Lieutenant Walker bit his lip and stirred uncomfortably in his chair. Any further chance to learn more about Private Laird was lost. He stole a glance at Hanson and Waterhouse and, shrugging his shoulders, tilted his head toward the door.

“Mr. Tasker, I'm afraid it won't happen until after the war. Someone will have to go down south and look for his grave. Perhaps one of his friends marked the site. I'm sorry. I wish I could be more helpful.”

Mabel Tasker slumped against her husband. Whatever hope they had held for retrieving their son's body withered in front of them, and they cried openly. Lieutenant Walker pushed his chair back and stood up from the table.

“You gonna be takin' a look in my barn and outbuildings?” Leonard asked feebly.

Lieutenant Walker shook his head. “No, sir, I don't think that will be necessary.”

The three men rode silently up the winding road to Pine Hill, its timbered sides now planted in fields of apple trees. The wind was strong at the crest, but through the budding trees the view was spectacular. At the top of the hill was a red Cape with black shuttered windows. A center chimney loomed against the clear blue sky.

“Must be the Warren farm,” said Hanson. “Right where Frances Porter said it would be.”

The lieutenant nodded and leaned forward on his saddle. “Keep your eyes open; if you can't hide in the home of your best friend, then where else?”

A handsome middle-aged woman looked up from the porch and felt her heart leap in her chest when she noticed the man in uniform. Florence Warren called out to her husband and walked away from the basket of laundry. Her hand over her mouth, she approached the men as they dismounted from their horses. Hank Warren ran out of the barn.

“Oh, Lord! Has something happened to my boy?” she said, barely able to utter the words.

“Ma'am,” Walker interrupted, “far as we know, your son is fine. I'm sorry to give you such a fright.”

The Warrens shook their heads when Lieutenant Walker talked to them about Private Laird. It was simply not possible, they told him, for Billy to have found his way home from Maryland.

The lieutenant pursued his questioning, and as with the Taskers, he found the Warrens' responses sincere. “So what you're saying, then, Mr. Warren, is that Laird's only friends mustered? There's no one else here who might hide him that you know of?”

“That's what I'm saying to you, Lieutenant,” Hank Warren glanced at his wife. “Billy's a fine, God-fearing boy. Just plain simple is all. As far as the missus and I are concerned, we don't want to see Billy arrested. Reckon I'm glad I don't know his whereabouts. Don't take kindly to lying, and I don't want to be untruthful to the army. Thank the good Lord, I don't have to make that choice.”

“I hear your son is a mighty fine soldier, Mr. Warren. You and Mrs. Warren should be proud,” offered Hanson.

“Oh, we've always been proud of Harry. He's a good boy. We just want him home safe and sound, so he and Mary can get married and settle down.”

“Who's this Mary?” the lieutenant asked.

“Mary Rogers,” chimed in Mrs. Warren. “She and Harry are promised to each other. She's a lovely girl—the schoolteacher in town, you know.”

“So she must know Private Laird?”

“Well, yes. Everyone in Berwick knows everyone else. And young Jamie Laird is one of her students.”

Hank Warren stepped forward and asked, “Will you be needing to search our farm?”

“Yes, sir, my partners and I want to take a look around. We'll be quick about it,” said the lieutenant.

“Do what you must. We've nothing to hide.”

Lieutenant Walker walked the farmyard while Hanson and Waterhouse scoured the large barn, opening doors, checking stalls and haystacks. Again, they found nothing. The afternoon sun was fading as the three mounted their horses and headed down the long, steep hill. Anxious to reach the schoolhouse, Walker pressed his legs into his horse and moved quickly down the lane, hoping to beat the dark.

Chapter 29

I
n the chilly twilight, Jamie raced across the muddy fields. The light at the Rogers farm was faintly visible, the night air serene; the sting of winter was at last fading into early spring. In spite of Pa's admonitions, Jamie dashed onto the road to shorten the distance, replaying his secret plan in his mind.

“Billeeee!” he cried as Mary opened the front door to his heavy knocking. “Billeeee!” Jamie leaped into his brother's outstretched arms, burying his cold, reddened cheeks against his chest.

“Pa said you're to come home with me tonight. Said he and Ma are needin' to talk about a new plan, what with the army in town.”

“It's been a frightful afternoon,” Mary said, her face ashen. At school, Jamie had told her about the people looking for Billy. “I'm not sure you should go home tonight, Billy, but we'll do whatever your Pa says.”

Billy led Jamie into the living room and Mary followed. Billy sat down on the braided rug, fidgeting nervously. “Tell me more about this morning.”

“Pa made me leave the room when they came, but I listened behind the door,” Jamie said. “They said they're gonna arrest you for desertion. Then Ma got real upset. Talked sharp with the lieutenant. And Pa asked them to leave.” Jamie glanced at Billy. “The lieutenant said he was under orders to find you. They went and searched the house and barn. They found your boots.” Billy lowered his head and stared vacantly at his hands, his eyes wide with fear. “They're gonna shoot me. Leighton said—”

“No, Billy! I got a secret plan! They ain't never gonna find you.” Jamie plopped down on the floor beside his brother. “We'll build us a hiding place in the woods. We can stay there forever. Just you and me, like you done with Elijah. You said it ain't so bad, remember?” Jamie's earnest blue eyes clouded at the look of fear on Billy's face.

Billy got back up on his feet and walked to the hearth, leaning his head against the mantel. He felt the touch of cold metal against his forehead and jerked back. His eyes fell on the pistol, which had belonged to Mr. Rogers. Mrs. Rogers had set her late husband's gun there before leaving for New York, telling Mary she was worried about her daughter being there alone, without protection. Billy ran his fingers along the barrel. Mary had scolded him when he'd picked up the gun that first day he stayed at the farm. She didn't want him holding it, said it scared her even having it there, but she had promised her ma. While Mary was at the schoolhouse one day, Billy had opened the chamber. It was loaded.

“You likin' my plan?” asked Jamie, shaking Billy from his thoughts.

Abruptly, Billy turned and nodded, forcing a smile he didn't feel. “Likin' it fine. We'll talk to Pa about it.”

“Wantin' to play checkers, Billy?”

“I don't think that's a good idea, Jamie,” cautioned Mary. “Your pa will be watching for you.”

“One game is all—it ain't so late yet, Miss Rogers.”

“Well, one game won't delay you too much, I reckon,” she answered. “Might be nice to take your minds off the army.”

Billy and Jamie set up the board, and Mary sat down with her needlepoint.

The wick in the kerosene lamp flickered across the trestle table. Jamie leaned closer to the board, scrunched his nose, and jumped his black checker over three red.

“Why'd you go and jump all them checkers like that?” Billy asked, biting his thumbnail in frustration.

“I already told you. When you go and leave your checkers all spaced in a row like that, I get to jump them is all.”

“But then I ain't got many checkers left. Ain't fair, seems like.”