The Last Confederate (17 page)

“I wish winter was over,” he said, breaking the silence. “Seems like the earth is dead, don’t it, Mr. Winslow. I like spring plowing and putting the seed in the ground—then waiting for the first little blades to come up.” He kicked at a stalk, snapping it off, and added, “This is the part of farming I don’t like.”

“It’s all part of it, Thad,” Sky told him. “Land has to lie fallow and rest up for the next year.”

“I can hardly wait. I’ll be a lot more help than I was this
year. I sure was ignorant, wasn’t I? Didn’t know one end of a mule from another!”

Winslow smiled and nodded. “You’ve learned more in a year than anyone I ever saw, Thad. I don’t think there’s a square foot on Belle Maison you don’t know. You’re just a natural-born farmer—which I’m not.” The deep lines that had creased Sky Winslow’s face deepened and he grunted, “I’m just a dumb Indian who should never have left the high country!”

Thad hesitated, for Winslow rarely revealed himself. Finally he asked, “Is something wrong, Mr. Winslow? Are your boys all right?”

“Oh, Mark and Tom are well. No action at all—which puzzles me. I thought this war would be in full swing by now, but it’s almost like the Union’s gone to sleep.”

Since Bull Run there had been nearly no action inland, just a few skirmishes in Missouri. McCulloch had whipped Lyon at a place called Wilson’s Creek, and later had been killed at Pea Ridge while leading a force that included Choctaw, Chickasaw, Cherokee, Creek, and Seminole Indians.

But there had been much action in coastal waters, for in April, as expected, Lincoln had ordered the blockade of the entire southern coast. At first it was almost totally ineffective, with blockade runners slipping through the thin lines almost at will, but as the U.S. Navy was built up by northern shipyards, the net had tightened. The blockade runners still got through, and one successful trip was enough to make the owner rich enough to retire, but it was getting more difficult all the time.

Sky had watched as the Confederate empire was built, but he was unhappy with what he saw. “Best year for cotton anyone ever saw,” he said to Thad. “But what good does it do sitting on the wharf? We need
guns,
not cotton.”

Thad had listened much to the speeches that flowed like wine on the streets of Richmond. Now he decided to share
his thoughts with his employer. “Mr. Winslow, it looks to me like we ought to forget about cotton next year.”

Winslow stopped in his tracks. “How’s that, Thad?”

Embarrassed at his own audacity, Thad shrugged. “‘Course I don’t know anything about this war, and like you say, there’s enough cotton to make shirts for the world! But what are the soldiers going to eat next year? Can’t eat cotton—and neither can we. I mentioned to Sut that we ought to plant food crops, and he just said, ‘This is cotton country.’ Well, I guess it’s corn country, too, far as that goes. And we could sell corn here in Virginia.”

“And what would you do, Thad, if you had your way?”

“Aw, Mr. Winslow, you’re funnin’ me! But if it was me, I’d plant corn and buy up all the brood sows and yearlings I could find. Later I’d sell the corn, and the pigs, and the cattle. But that’s just my Yankee ideas.”

Sky snapped his jaws shut and said with some vehemence, “That’s more sense than I heard from the Confederate Congress in a whole year—or from any of these planters! All they can think is
cotton!
” He mused over Thad’s idea, and a smile split his dark face. “Thad, I’ve been trying to decide what to do, and everybody else around here will think I’m crazy; but you and I are going to have the biggest cornfields in Virginia come spring. You get Toby to teach you all he knows about pigs and cattle, because he knows more about critters than any man in this state, white or black!”

They had now reached the house, and Winslow grew more thoughtful. “There’s another aspect of this plantation you ought to know about, Thad. I want you to learn to keep books.”

“Why, I’m no scholar, Mr. Winslow!”

“Don’t have to be a scholar to know that most of our troubles are tied up with slaves. I don’t mean the right and wrong of that. I mean that it takes an army of slaves to raise cotton, and they’re expensive. But you take corn—why, it
won’t take half as many field hands to raise enough corn to put us in the black.”

Thad stared at him. “You’d sell your slaves?”

At that moment Sky Winslow let his guard down in a way he never had since moving from Oregon to Virginia. “Thad,” he said soberly, “if I had my way, I’d set every last one of them
free.
Before God I would! Robert E. Lee said the same thing to me at the Chestnut House the other night.” He noted the startled look on Thad’s face, and snorted, “Why, boy, do you think I
like
slavery? I hate the idea, but I got caught in it when I bought this place. If I’d known then what I know now, I’d have gone into another line of work—but it’s too late now.”

“I didn’t know you felt like that, sir,” Thad said. “I feel the same way, only I don’t own any slaves—and I’m from the North.”

“You’d be surprised how many Southerners feel as I do, but this war exploded in our faces like a bomb, and now we’ve got to fight a war over a cause we don’t really believe in.” He shook his head and turned to go, saying, “Keep this under your hat, Thad. But keep on thinking about next year. I like the idea.”

Thad left and stopped by his bunk to pick up the shotgun Winslow let him use. All the family loved quail, and with the older boys gone he was the hunter, along with Dan. He had taken to hunting, for he liked the outdoors, and had developed into the best shot on the place. He took the gun, stuffed his pockets with loads, and went outside to untie Rufus. The animal, the best bird dog on the place, was delighted. He knew at once what was ahead and took off, running with his nose to the ground, sweeping back and forth.

“Thad! I want to go with you!”

Pet came flying out the kitchen door and ran to join him. The whole family had come from Richmond for a two-week vacation at Belle Maison, and Pet had gone wild with relief. She had pestered Thad to death with requests to ride, to fish,
to hunt—and since there was little work to do, the two had been in the woods constantly.

“You’ve got to let me have every other shot,” she announced with a nod.

“It’ll take too long to get enough birds!” he protested. But as usual she had her way. He knew where every covey on the plantation was located, and led her to the first one. Rufus found the place at once, and went on a point. When Thad and Pet advanced, the dog kept still as a rock, even when the covey left the earth with a miniature thunder of wings. Thad took his time and knocked two birds down with the two loads of the shotgun. “Wish this thing would shoot ten times!” he exclaimed as Rufus broke his point and went to retrieve the birds, one at a time.

The next covey was a quarter of a mile away. This time he let Pet load the gun, and when she knocked down two birds, she squealed with joy and ran to get them herself, which insulted Rufus. Bringing them back, held gingerly in both hands, she was not so happy, for they were bloody and looked very frail. “I love to shoot, but I hate hunting,” she moaned.

“You don’t hate to eat what’s shot,” he remarked callously.

They took turns until they had enough to feed everyone, then walked silently back to the house. Thin skeins of clouds were racing low on the horizon, and the smell of cold weather was in the air.

“Know what today is?” Pet asked, breaking into Thad’s thoughts.

“The fifteenth of November.”

“And what day is that?”

He looked at her, puzzled. “Why, it’s just another day to me.”

“No, it’s not.” She stopped and he paused to face her as she smiled up at him. “It’s your birthday.”

“Why, my birthday is next month!”

“What day?”

“The twenty-fourth.”

“What a rotten day for a birthday!” she grimaced. “Too close to Christmas. You’d never get much on either day.”

“To tell the truth, Pet, I
never
got much on either day,” Thad grinned. “What’s this about today being my birthday?”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “It’s your birthday, Thad! You’re one year old today—because it was on this day a year ago that you first came to us.”

He realized she was right, and shook his head in wonder. “You know, that’s true, Pet! I hadn’t really kept up with the days.” He looked at her with a smile. “I remember the first time I saw you. I was burning up with fever, and I kept seeing this vision of an angel.”

“And it was only me?” she teased. “I’ll always remember my first look at you. You were thin as a rail and your eyes looked big as moons in your face. I don’t think you weighed much more than I did! And Dr. Wright said he didn’t think you’d live, and I remember sneaking off to my room and praying for you not to die.”

“I never knew that!”

“Well, I did—and God must have heard me, because you obviously didn’t die, did you?” She suddenly reached up and put her hands on his shoulders. “I never saw anybody grow as much as you have! How tall are you, Thad? Six feet?”

“I don’t know.”

“Stand still!” She suddenly moved forward, keeping her head down, and leaned against him. “You must be almost six feet, because Mark is six feet and I come up to his chin just like I do on you.” Tilting her head back she smiled up at him. “You’re almost seventeen, Thad, almost a man. Funny, I always thought of you as a boy.”

Thad was thinking along the same lines, for he had looked on her as a companion, almost like another boy. She usually wore loose fitting overalls when they roamed the woods, but now she was wearing new ones, and he noticed with a shock that she had filled out over the year. When he first met her she had been leggy and awkward, like a young colt. But now
he was acutely aware that the year had metamorphosed the angular shape into the swelling curves that marked the beginning of womanhood.

“You—you’ve grown up, too, Patience,” he said nervously. She was still standing close, with her hand on his chin to measure her height, and he coughed and took a step backward. “Guess you won’t be running coons with me much longer. Be party dresses and balls—like Miss Belle.”

Pet had caught his look at her, and her cheeks turned pink. She knew he was seeing her for the first time as something other than a boyish companion. She put her hand to her cheeks, dropped her head, then quickly raised her eyes and murmured softly, “Thad, I don’t care anything about things like that. I want us to go on like we are.”

He bit his lip and shrugged his shoulders. “So do I—but things don’t stay the same.”

“Oh, let’s not talk about what’s coming tomorrow,” she broke in. “There’s a revival meeting tonight. I want you to go with us.”

“I don’t think—”

“It won’t kill you,” she interrupted.

As they made their way back to the house, she told him about the new preacher. “He’s real good, Thad,” she said earnestly. “The meeting’s only been going on for a week and already over twenty people have been saved. And lots more are going to the anxious seat.”

“Saved? Saved from what?”

Pet stopped and stared at him. “Why, saved from their sins, of course.” She shook her head in amazement. “Didn’t you ever hear of being saved?”

“No. I’ve heard of being baptized. And what’s an anxious seat?”

Pet took a deep breath and said, “You be ready to go at noon. It’s a camp meeting and all of us are going. I’ll tell you all about it on the way over.” She stared at him again. “I thought
everybody
knew what it was to be saved.”

“Are you ‘saved’?” he asked hesitantly.

“Sure! I was saved when I was ten years old. Old Rev. Hooper baptized me in the creek along with twenty-seven others. I’ll tell you all about it on the way to the meeting.”

****

Toby had been delighted to hear Thad was going to the meeting, for he himself was a firm believer and attended every meeting, black or white.

When Thad asked him what “being saved” meant, he reacted exactly as Pet had. “You don’ know what dat means, Thad? My land, I figgered everybody knowed dat.”

Thad grew irritated and snapped, “Well, I don’t, and I wish you’d tell me!”

“Why, boy, it means bein’ washed in de blood of de Lamb! It means gittin’ yo’ feet on de way to dat ol’ pearly gate—an’ sayin’ goodbye to dat ol’ debil!” The big man waxed eloquent, but when he was finished, Thad was no wiser.

“Well,” he said, “I was christened when I was a baby, so I guess I’m all right.”

“No, dat won’t answer,” Toby objected with a fierce shake of his head. “You got to git rid of all yo’ sins, an’ only Jesus can do dat little job! You jes’ listen good to de parson tonight, and do what he says—he’ll git you on de way!”

Thad was sorry he’d ever heard of a camp meeting, and decided not to go; but when Mr. Winslow passed him later that morning, he wasn’t sure. “Pet told me you’d be going to the meeting this evening, Thad,” Sky said. “I’m glad to hear it. Hitch up the big buggy and you can go with us. Tell Toby he can use any of the wagons to take the slaves who want to go.”

The big carriage had three seats, and Dan crawled in the back and immediately went to sleep. Mr. and Mrs. Winslow took the middle seat, and Pet sat down beside Thad and said, “Let’s hurry or we’ll miss the exhorting.”

He dared not ask what
that
was, but drove the matched
blacks at a fast clip on the road north. The camp meeting, Pet informed him, was to be held in a brush arbor close to where the Youngs lived.

“Don’t expect we’ll see Dooley at a religious meeting,” Thad ventured. The young man in question had stayed out of the army for a year, claiming that he was going to wait until the
real
fighting started and they stopped all the fooling around. In the meantime, if the reports about Young’s activities were true, Thad knew the man was trying to cram all the parties and wild times he could into the intervening year.

“Oh, Dooley’s been there every night,” Pet told him. “Of course, he just comes looking for girls, but he’ll get under conviction if he keeps on listening to Rev. Boone.”

“Guess I won’t be the only sinner there, then,” Thad grinned. “Not with Dooley on hand.”