Jordan's War - 1861 (6 page)

“Sorry to bother you
sir,” he said and then looked at Eamon.

“How old are you
son?” he asked. “We need all the strong men we can get for service.”

“I’m sixteen,”
Eamon answered.

“He ain’t no
sixteen!” Luke hollered. “Hell, I’ve known him for sixteen years.”

“That’s a lie!” Eamon
shouted.

“How old is the
boy?” Hummel asked Finnian.

“Sixteen,” Finnian
answered.

“Where are you
taking this wool?” Hummel asked.

“Just over to
Marlin’s Bottom,” Pa said.

“Be on your way
then,” Hummel said and walked back to his horse.

Eamon and Jordan
got back in the wagons. Finnian secured a couple of loose sacks of wool, got
back in his seat and took the reins.

“I’ll be sure to
stop by and check on the Missus just to make sure she’s alright while you’re
away,” Luke called out.

“And I’ll be sure
my Missus fills you full of buckshot the moment you come crawling,” Finnian
shouted back.

They never looked
back as they rode off down the turnpike. Jordan listened to their horses as
their hooves pounded on the dry, packed earth and let out a sigh of relief when
he couldn’t hear them any longer.

“Aren’t we going
back?” Eamon yelled.

“What for?” Pa
asked.

“What if he rides
over there and hurts Ma?”

“I’d love to see
him after your ma got through with him,” Pa laughed. “They’ll be just fine. Did
Grandma give you any money for candy?”

“No,” Jordan said.

“Me neither,”
Eamon shouted.

“I guess she gave
it to me then,” he said and laughed at the look on their faces.

“You said Fairmont
is a three day ride north,” Jordan began.

“Yep,” Pa
answered.

“You said the fighting
was a two day ride north, didn’t you?” Jordan asked.

“Yep.”

“Ain’t we heading
into it?”

“Could be.”

Chapter 6

“Who is it Pa?”
Jordan asked. They’d been following the same wagon for about two hours but
never came within fifty years of the strange cart, and he didn’t know if Pa was
going slow to avoid the wagon or if the riders in the other wagon were speeding
up to avoid them. A steady clang of metal pierced the stillness as the
strangers bumped along the rutted pass. Clouds of dust spewed from its wheels
and gave it even a greater air of mystery.

“I don’t know,” Pa
answered. “But it looks like they’re loaded down just as heavy as we are.”

Jordan closed his
eyes and prayed it wasn’t another group of soldiers. The last encounter left
him with a feeling like he’d done something wrong even though he hadn’t.

“We’ll be at Jim’s
place before sundown,” Pa said loud enough for Eamon to hear.

Thank goodness
.
Jordan hadn’t eaten since noon and his water jar had been empty for a while
now. He knew Pa would let him have some of his if he asked, but he didn’t want
to be a bother and he certainly wasn’t going to complain about being hungry.

The sun sat just
on the fence line as it descended westward to the smoky horizon. There wasn’t
much to look at around here – just gray, weathered farmhouses, then forest,
then another clearing, then another farmhouse, and so on.

Jordan repeated
Willow’s cloth colors and amounts to himself so often, they had long since
burned into his brain. Just as well because they hadn’t seen too many other
folks on the pass since they left Marlins Bottom. The few they did meet didn’t
seem too friendly and gave them a suspicious look even after Pa said howdy.

All of this
solitude made him a little uneasy and his thoughts drifted to Grandma’s tale of
the Yahoe. He jumped at every noise or sudden shadow and he had the strange
wagon ahead of him to worry about. He hoped they got to Jim’s place before
dark.

“How is Jim your
cousin?” Jordan asked.

“He’s my Uncle
Abe’s boy,” Pa said. “The only one.”

“Why doesn’t he
live on the mountain?”

Jordan knew where
Uncle Abe’s old place was. No one lived there and hadn’t since he could
remember.

“He moved away to
work in the mines,” Pa explained. “Hard work, that mining is. Harder than
farming.”

“What’s a mine?”

“A big hole dug
underground where they get coal.”

“Oh,” Jordan said.
“Why would he want to do that?”

“Didn’t want to
farm I reckon.”

“So, he don’t grow
nothing?”

“I suppose he’s
got to grow something,” Pa said. “Can’t imagine not growing anything.”

Jordan noticed the
wagon ahead of them had stopped at a fork in the pass. Pa pulled up alongside
of it. There was a man and a boy about Jake’s age unpacking their pans and
victuals.

“Afternoon,” Pa
said.

“Afternoon,” the
man greeted.

Jordan thought him
peculiar. He was short, round, and didn’t seem to have much hair beneath the
tall, narrow-brimmed hat perched on his head. He wore a fancy suit despite the
hot weather and he had a shiny silver chain hanging from his coat pocket.

“Where are you
headed?” Pa asked.

“Hauling my goods
up to Philippi, Fairmont, and then on to Wheeling.”

“Us too,” Pa said.
“Up to Fairmont – no further. You heard about the fighting up around Philippi,
didn’t you?”

“Sure did,” the
man said, and extended his hand. “Name’s Adeus Blake. My boy’s name’s Tommy.”

“Finnian
Sinclair,” Pa said. “This is Jordan, and back there’s Eamon.”

Adeus slapped one
of the crates he had stacked in the back of his wagon.

“You know what
these are?” he asked.

“No sir,” Finnian
answered.

“Well, these here
are the finest metallic legs ever made. Manufactured by the Universal Joint and
Artificial Limb Company out of New York,” he explained. “I reckon they’ll be
some boys wanting one of these after they get out of the infirmary.”

“Never really
thought about it, but I suppose they would,” Finnian replied.

“Soldier priced at
fifty dollars. They’ll lengthen and shorten to fit any size. Only weighs four
pounds. You want to take a look?”

“No . . . thanks,”
Pa said.

“You need a watch?
I got American Watches,” Adeus said, without taking a breath. “I see your boy
back there’s got some bad skin. I got just the thing.” He reached behind the
wagon seat. “How about some Dr. Tumblety’s Pimple Banisher? Guaranteed and only
one dollar per bottle. You suffer from aching joints? I got some Gardiners.
Cures even salt rheum. I got some exquisite Ballou’s French Yoke shirts here
somewhere.”

 “What would I
need a French shirt for?” Pa asked, and covered his mouth with his hand. Willie
figured it was so the peddler wouldn’t see his smile.

“Why for a night
on the town with the missus, of course,” Adeus said.

Jordan snickered
and glanced back at Eamon.

“No thanks,” Pa
said. “We best be getting.”

“Alright then. I’m
sure we’ll run into each other again, Finnian Sinclair.”

Pa gave the reins
a slight jerk and the horses moved out. Jordan waited until they were out of
ear shot of Adeus Blake.

“He sure did talk
fast,” Jordan said. “What was all that stuff he had?”

“The man’s a
peddler son,” Pa said. “A shyster just trying to trick folks into buying stuff
they don’t need.”

“What about them
fake legs?”

“I reckon someone
might need them,” Pa said. “If they didn’t have their own.”

Jordan recalled a
strange old man he saw once at the mercantile. He only had one leg and he used
a crutch.

“Why didn’t you
get Eamon some of that pimple tonic?” Jordan asked.

“’Cause he’d never
use it,” Pa said.

The sun had at
last dipped below the mountains. They were left with a blue dusky evening and
cool, damp air.

“We’re here,” Pa
said and turned the horses into a field and stopped the wagon next to an old
barn on the verge of collapse.

“We’re where?”
Jordan asked and looked around. “At Jim’s? I don’t see nothing.”

“Look up there,”
Pa said and pointed.

Jordan cringed and
was glad it was dark enough so Pa couldn’t see the shock on his face. What once
was a grand two-story farm house was now a dilapidated shanty. The entire
second floor had fallen in and the whole structure leaned hard to the left.
Inside one of the bottom floor windows was a soft glow of a flickering candle.
Jordan wondered if the window had any glass in it at all.

“Jordan, you and
Eamon unhitch the horses,” Pa said. “I believe there’s a pond over there
somewhere.” He pointed to his left. “Don’t forget to shut the gate.”

Jordan jumped off
the wagon and went around to the horses.

“Which way did he
say the pond was?” Eamon asked.

“That way,” Jordan
said and pointed. “I can’t believe it’s only the first of June and this grass
is already as tall as I am.”

“That ain’t saying
much,” Eamon teased. “I’ll go look for it. Might lose you out there. You
unhitch the horses and see if you can find the gate.”

Jordan struggled
with the straps for about ten minutes but after grunting, groaning, and more
than one bloody knuckle, all the horses were loose.

He strolled back
down to the road and searched for a gate. He found it, but it had fallen on the
ground and part of it broke when he lifted it on its edge. He leaned it between
two rotted posts and didn’t bother to check to see if there was an actual fence
hidden somewhere among the weeds, as it seemed like a waste of time.

Ker-splash! He
heard Eamon cursing. He had found the pond. Jordan led the horses in the
direction of Eamon’s voice and found him knee deep in weeds and murky green
water.

“More mud in this
hole than water!” he hollered and climbed up on the bank. He was covered in
slime from his knees down.

“It’ll have to
do,” Jordan said. “I found the gate. I had to lean it on the posts.”

“Just leave the
horses here,” Eamon said as he wiped his boots on the grass. “Do you see a
fence around this place?”

“Nope, but I saw a
few posts sticking out over the bushes,” Jordan said and tried not to laugh at
Eamon. “I suppose it could be a fence.”

“We’ll just hope
the horses don’t wander too far,” Eamon said. “They have plenty to eat, that’s
for sure.”

“Let’s go inside,”
Jordan said. “Which way is it?”

“That way,” Eamon
pointed.

Jordan followed
Eamon as he thrashed through the thick grass, hoping the air was still too cold
for snakes to be out.

The weeds grew
shorter and shorter as they approached the house and soon gave way to bare
dirt. A solitary chicken roosted in the back of an old wagon with a broken
wheel underneath a spindly dead oak tree.

“This place looks
like it has spooks,” Jordan whispered.

“You scared?”
Eamon asked.

“Are you?”

“Nope,” Eamon
said. “No such things as spooks.”

“But if they were
spooks, this sure would make a nice home for them,” Jordan joked.

The door was ajar.
Jordan stood aside and let Eamon go first. He could hear a man talking and Pa
mumbling.

The inside looked
as bad as the outside. Dead leaves and other debris covered the floor and the
sparse furnishings looked at least a hundred years old. The smell was just as
repulsive – wet dog and root cellar so strong, even the breeze coming through
the broken sash couldn’t blow it away. Jordan sat down on a tree stump made to
look like a chair and unlaced his boots. Eamon walked into the other room.

“Don’t lean on
that table,” a young voice said.

Jordan jumped. He
didn’t even see the boy sitting in the corner holding a fiddle.

“It only has three
legs,” the boy said.

“Who are you?”
Jordan asked then leaned over to look under the small table perched beside his
seat. Sure enough, there was a leg missing.

“I’m Gunner,” the
boy answered. “You must be Jordan. Pa says we’re the same age.”

Jordan looked at
the boy’s fragile limbs and skinny torso.
How could they possibly be the
same age?
Even sitting down, he didn’t look any bigger than Jake. His
breeches were way too short and he didn’t have any shoes on.

“Pa said Finnian
can play this,” Gunner said and held out the fiddle. “I’ve been waiting all
evening.”

“It ain’t got
enough strings,” Jordan said.

Gunner’s face
looked as if Jordan had punched him in the gut and Jordan felt ashamed of
himself.

“But I’ll be he
can do just fine,” he quickly added.

Gunner’s eyes lit
up.

“Where is Pa
anyway?” Jordan asked.

“They’re in the
kitchen but I wanted to wait for you and Eamon here. Pa made salt pork and tack
bread. You hungry?”

“No, not really,”
Jordan lied.

“We got your
letter just yesterday. Pa had to take it to the neighbor's place and ask him to
read it though. He sure was excited.”

“Where’s your ma?”
Jordan asked.

“She died,” Gunner
answered. “My baby sister too. It’s just me and Pa now.”

“I think I am a
little hungry. You hungry?”

“Follow me,”
Gunner said and stood up. Jordan towered over him by at least six inches.

The only light in
the kitchen came from a roaring fire in a large rock fireplace. A skinny man
leaned into the fire and turned large, sizzling hunks of pig fat in a pan.
Jordan’s stomach growled even though it looked like the scraps of fat Ma melted
down for lard. He looked in one of the steaming pots sitting the table. It was
either collards or cooked weeds. He couldn’t tell.

“Jim, this here’s
my boy Jordan,” Pa said.

The man stood up
as best he could but was hunched over so much that Jordan could look down at
him.

“So it is,” Jim
said. His voice was hoarse and scratchy. Jordan could hear the phlegm rattling
in this throat. “He looks just like you. I see you met Gunner.”

“Yes, sir,” Jordan
said. “Nice to meet you.”

“You hungry?” Jim
asked. Although his body was battered, Jordan could see a sparkle in his
brilliant blue eyes.

“A little,” he
answered.

“Gunner, get the
plates.”

“Yes Pa,” Gunner
said and set the plates out on the table.

Jordan was only
able to stomach one piece of salt pork. It wasn’t that he was full; it just
took too long to chew each bite so he could swallow without getting choked. The
water looked clear enough and he hoped they didn’t get it from the pond. He had
seconds on collards but they’d have been better with some butter and a dash of
salt.

“It ain’t what
you’re used to, is it boys?” Jim asked.

“It’s just fine,”
Finnian said before either of the boys could answer.

“We ain’t had too
much since I stopped work. Then Kate died while having the baby, God rest her
soul,” Jim said. “The company lets us stay here now that Gunner’s working at
the mines.”

Jordan’s eyes got
huge.
Gunner works? For money?

Gunner smiled and
showed bits of fat wedged in his teeth.

“Runs messages
mostly,” Jim explained. “He’ll go down in the mines in a few years, won’t you
son.”

“I have to be
fifteen,” Gunner said with his mouth full.

Pa had a disgusted
look on his face.

“Why don’t you
just come on home?” Pa asked. “The old home place is still there, hell I have
the deed at my house. Taxes are paid. Me and the boys could help. . .”

“Look at me
Finnian,” Jim interrupted. “My back’s gone and I can’t walk ten feet without
taking a coughing spell. How am I supposed to work a farm?”

“A mine ain’t no
place for that youngin’,” Pa said.

“The company’s
been real good to us,” Jim said.

There was silence
while Finnian chewed his fat.