Promises to the Dead (16 page)

A few yards from shore, Samuel motioned to us. "I can't come any closer," he called softly. "The current's too swift."

Holding tight to Perry's hand, Maror followed Thomas and Pearl into the river. I came last. Even though it was May, the water was cold. It wasn't quite waist-deep on me, but it was almost up to Perry's chest. The current tugged at my legs, threatening to pull them out from under me.

Hyacinth leaned out and took Pearl's baby. Thomas boosted his wife into the boat and climbed in after her. I watched him haul Perry in like a fresh caught fish. Maror clambered over the side, weighed down by her skirt. Just as Thomas reached for me, a voice rang out from somewhere above us.

"There she is—and she ain't alone! Stop them before they get across the river!"

Colonel Abednego Botfield had caught up with me once again. A rifle sounded, but the shot went wide. It was still dark and the boat was moving, so I had every hope no one would be hit.

"Hang on to the side," Thomas told me.

The current was already catching the boat, moving it farther from shore. Samuel bent to the oars, and I clung to the side as tight as I could. All the time bullets whizzed past, buzzing like deadly wasps, and hissing into the water. It seemed I'd joined the war after all.

Suddenly Samuel dropped the oars and slumped forward with a groan. Thomas grabbed for the oars, but they slipped out of the locks before he got them. With nobody to steer, the current carried the boat downstream, spinning this way and that like a child's toy.

That's when I lost my grip on the side. The water carried me away, pulling me under and then spitting me out. I gasped and sputtered, kicking my feet and thrashing my arms, doing my best to swim. It was a skill I hadn't learned too good. Worse yet, I'd never tried it in water like this. Where I came from, the rivers moved slow and easy. I'd heard of rapids, but this was my first experience with them. I hoped I'd live to tell about it.

Just when I thought I was done for, I managed to grab hold of a tree hanging over the water. It was all I could do to keep my grip, for the river was running fast and strong and I was weak with cold. Hanging on to the tree, I managed to pull myself along its trunk, hand over hand, till my feet touched bottom.

Half drowned, I climbed out of the river and lay on the ground, breathing hard and shivering. My wet clothes chilled me through and through. I didn't have the gumption to get up. I just wanted to stay where I was. At least I was safe.

But not for long. Somewhere in the trees, not far off, I heard men shouting, the colonel's voice amongst them. I pressed myself flat, and they galloped past not three feet away, so close the ground shook under the horses' hooves.

"Most likely the boat'll hit the rocks up ahead," the colonel hollered. "I know I hit two of them, must have killed at least one."

I got up real slow and followed the sounds of the men and horses along the river. What I was going to do I had no idea, but I hoped something would come to me.

The woods thinned out ahead, and I ducked behind a tree to see what I could see. The sun was starting to come up behind a wall of thick gray clouds, bringing no warmth with it and not much light. I made out the shape of the boat in the water. Like the colonel predicted, it had run aground on the rocks close to shore. A dark figure slumped over the side, most likely Samuel, the Quaker man, clearly dead. The three women huddled together. Pearl held her baby tight, but I saw no sign of Perry or Thomas.

"Where's the other man?" Colonel Botfield hollered at the women.

"Dead," Maror answered. "The boat tipped, and he fell out."

"I told you I got him." The colonel sounded mighty pleased with himself, but I felt sick.

The big question was Perry. Could I have been right about Polly keeping her mouth shut? It had been dark when we piled into that boat. If the colonel hadn't known to look for Perry and me, most likely he wouldn't have spotted us. But that still didn't tell me where the boy was. Or even if he was alive. For all I knew I'd brought him all this way just to have him drown in the river. Thinking about it was enough to make me cry. But not now. Too much was happening.

"Come on ashore, sweetheart," the colonel called to Maror. "It's a pure delight to see you again."

Maror stopped, still ankle deep in water. "It's a pity I can't say the same of you, Abednego. I hoped you were dead and buried by now, down in hell swapping tales with the devil."

"Oh, now," he said, "there's no need to talk so ugly, Susie."

"I don't answer to that name anymore," Maror said. Without looking at him again, she took Hyacinth's hand and led her out of the water. Pearl followed, still hugging the baby to her breast.

Undiscouraged, the colonel went right up to Maror and grinned that evil grin of his. "No matter what you call yourself, you'll always be Susie to me," he said.

"Her name is Maror," Hyacinth put in, "to remind herself of the bitterness of slavery."

"Is that right?" The colonel pulled a cigar out of his pocket and lit it. "Susie always did love her Bible stories."

Still grinning, he said to Maror, "I hear you ran away from my old friend's plantation. Why don't I escort you back there? I swear you're just as pretty as ever, darling."

She gave him a look so hateful it's a wonder he didn't catch fire and burn to ashes. "You lay one hand on me, Abednego, and I'll kill you."

Colonel Botfield threw back his head and laughed. "Ain't she a peach, Lieutenant Colston?" he asked the Confederate. "I never met a wench with more spirit."

The young lieutenant had been standing off to the side, watching the goings-on with a worried look. "I thought I was here to buy rifles," he said, "not to go chasing after slaves."

"When I see valuable property getting into a boat, I figure it's my duty to stop them," Colonel Botfield said.

"The rifles will keep, Colston," Mr. Baxter put in. "Neither you nor those Yankees across the river seem all that anxious to start shooting each other, anyways."

The lieutenant put his foot in the stirrup and swung himself into the saddle. "I don't have time to waste," he said. "Either we return to the house and continue the negotiations or I go back to camp. Baltimore's full of men willing to sell arms to us."

"You'll have trouble finding rifles as good as ours," Colonel Botfield replied, just as cool as he could be. Seizing Maror's arm, he said. "Let's go, Susie. No more of your sass now. Enough's enough."

At the same time, Mr. Baxter dragged Hyacinth from Maror's side. "Behave yourself," he said. "My brother won't take kindly to the news of your attempted escape."

Hyacinth paid him no mind. While Pearl cowered at the river's edge, she and Maror fought those two men, kicking, slapping, and scratching. When the colonel hit Maror hard enough to knock her down, the lieutenant shook his head and turned his horse away. Nobody but me noticed he was leaving.

Just as I was about to crash out of the bushes to help Maror and Hyacinth, gunshots rang out on all sides. It all happened so fast I could scarcely take it in. One minute, Mr. Baxter and the colonel were struggling with the women. The next, Mr. Baxter cried out and fell to the ground. Colonel Botfield let go of Maror and grabbed his rifle, but before he got a chance to shoot, he caught a bullet himself. Leaving Mr. Baxter where he'd fallen, the old devil flung himself on his horse and galloped off into the morning mist.

At the same moment, the three women ran into the woods. Before I had a chance to join them, a passel of rebels came riding out of the trees with a passel of Yankees on their tails, shooting and yelling and full of murderous intent.

The rebels came to a halt at the river's edge and took a stand in a grove of spindly willow trees. I glimpsed Lieutenant Colston among them. He must have ridden back to his men at just about the worst time he could have picked.

Not ten feet from me, the Yankees charged out of the woods, still shooting and yelling. I was about to witness one of them skirmishes I'd been hearing about. But truth to tell, I didn't have the stomach for it. Instead of watching those men kill each other, I pressed myself flat against the cold ground and shut my eyes. But I couldn't stop my ears from hearing the cries and screams.

I don't know how long the shooting went on—probably not near as long as it seemed—but when the gunfire stopped, I was scared to raise my head. I could hear Yankee voices, so I figured things had gone bad for the lieutenant and his men, which was a pity. He'd seemed a decent enough fellow.

"We got three wounded rebels. What do we do with them?" a Yankee hollered.

"Tie 'em up and bring 'em with us," the leader answered.

"How about the dead?"

"Bring ours. Leave theirs. We ain't got time to be burying any rebels."

"How about the slave women?"

I opened my eyes then and saw the Yankees had captured Maror, Hyacinth, and Pearl. The baby was wailing now, its reedy little voice rising above the moans and groans of the wounded men.

"Take 'em along." The leader swung into his saddle and headed downstream.

For once neither Maror nor Hyacinth had anything to say. They allowed the soldiers to hoist them on their horses and carry them away. I reckoned they were a heap better off with the Yankees than they would have been with the colonel and Mr. Cornelius Baxter. Most likely they thought so too.

From my hiding place, I saw the last of the Yankees ride back into the woods. On the ground near me lay four dead men. One of them was Mr. Baxter, flat on his back, a look of surprise on his face.

Near him lay the lieutenant. It made my heart ache to see him there. He wasn't very old, I thought, and I wondered if he'd lied to the army about his age, like Private Otis Hicks.

The flies had already found his wounds, and they was swarming all over the blood. I waved them away, and they rose in a buzzing cloud, as ugly as Beelzebub himself. But they didn't go away. They just hung in the air over Lieutenant Colston, biding their time. As soon as I quit disturbing them, they'd go back to their feast.

Sick to my stomach, I turned my head and threw up the little food left in my belly. What I'd seen on Pratt Street was nothing compared to this.

Since I couldn't do anything for them, I left the dead men behind and followed the river downstream. I walked slow, keeping my eye out for Perry. I hoped I'd find him somewhere along the way—lost in the woods, maybe.

As I trudged along, I called his name over and over. But he never answered. A crow cawed from the top of a dead tree. Gnats hummed and buzzed around my ears. Birds sang all around me just as if it was an ordinary day. To them I supposed it was. What men done to each other had no meaning for birds or beasts.

The longer I walked, the more sure I was I'd never see Perry again. All we'd been through was for nothing. He was most likely drowned and gone forever. I stumbled along, pretty near blind with tears.

Which is why I didn't see Colonel Abednego Botfield until it was too late. All of a sudden, he stepped out from behind a tree and grabbed me just as Lydia once had. But this time, there was a gun to my head instead of a knife at my throat. And I knew I'd found my death at last.

CHAPTER 16

Damned if it ain't Jesse Sherman, the plague of my life," the colonel muttered. "Seems I can't get away from you, boy." He looked and sounded bad, ashy-faced, his shirt and jacket all bloody, his voice low and hoarse. But his grip was as strong as ever.

"I seen you back there by the river." I spoke up as bold as I could, for nothing I said or did would make any difference now. "Riding away from the gunfire like some yellow dog."

"Fool horse threw me," the colonel said, letting fly a string of curses. "As for your yellow dogs," he went on with a smirk, "I figure it's better to be a living dog than a dead lion."

"Don't you go quoting the Bible to me, you old devil." Though my mouth was dry with fear, I managed to spit on the ground.

"Better show me some respect, Jesse Sherman." The colonel pressed his gun harder against my head. "You know what a bullet does to a boy's brain?"

I winced, for the muzzle of that revolver was cold and hard, and I could pretty well picture what a gunshot would do to me.

"Now," he said, "it seems to me if you're here, your little friend can't be far away. Why don't you quit playing and tell me where Lydia's boy is?"

"Even if I knew—which I don't—do you think I'd tell you?" I braced myself, expecting him to pull the trigger for sure.

Colonel Botfield was sagging a little, I thought, and growing more ashy faced, but he didn't loosen his grip on me or let his pistol waver. "You think I mean to harm him, don't you?"

"If you was to get Perry, I reckon you'd give him to the widow, like you done before. She just about killed him back in Baltimore. No doubt she'd relish the chance to finish what she started."

"Ah, Jesse, Jesse, you're such an ignorant boy. Philemon hasn't taught you enough to come in from the rain, has he?" The colonel gave a sharp laugh that turned into cough.

I was beginning to think he was hurt worse than I'd thought.

"Let's sit for a spell." Still keeping his gun on me, the colonel lowered himself to the ground and leaned against a tree. "Don't try running off. I'd just as soon shoot you as look at you. Besides, I got something to tell you. You wouldn't deny a fellow his deathbed confession, would you?"

"I don't want to hear none of your stories," I said, "whether you're dying or not. The sooner you take your last breath, the better, if you want to know."

"Seems you got no choice." The colonel waved his gun at me. "So listen up, boy. If you saw me ride away from the skirmish back there, I reckon you heard what transpired between me and Susie."

"Maror," I muttered, full of disgust for the man. "Her name is Maror."

"Not when I knew her," the colonel said. "She was Susanna then. Susie to me. Almighty young and pretty she was. And full of fire."

He stopped on account he was coughing. I thought maybe I could get away, but the second I moved, he grabbed hold of me.