Jordan's War - 1861 Page 4

  Willow beat him to the wash basin. She took her own sweet time to wash her hands before she lifted Selie up to reach the water.

  “Oh, for crying out loud!” Jordan hollered. “Hurry up!”

  “You wait your turn,” Ma said and swatted him in the ear with a damp rag.

  “Ouch!”

  Willow turned around and gave him one of those smirks of superiority that she was famous for, and then lowered Selie to the floor.

  “Look, Jordan peed his pants,” Selie squealed and pointed at Jordan’s backside.

  “Where’ve you been sitting?” Ma asked.

  He ignored her question and submerged his hands in the soapy water. The raw flesh from his burn stung so bad it brought tears to his eyes. He got them a little wet and then held them up out of the water and only pretended to wash, before hastily drying them on his trousers.

  Eamon and Jake raced into the kitchen and fought each other to be next at the basin. Eamon pushed Jake out of the way and he slid across the rug. He stood up and ran smack into Eamon’s gut and they both tumbled to the floor.

  “Get up both of you and quit horsing around,” Ma hissed. “Your pa will be here any second.” She reached down and pulled Jake off Eamon by his hair.

  “I’ll get Grandma,” Jordan volunteered.

  “Don’t take it out on us because Nealy’s going to be a pa!” Jake blurted out while he rubbed his head.

  Eamon scrambled to his feet, lunged for Jake, and clamped his hand over his mouth.

  “What did you say?” Ma asked. “Were you listening?”

  Jake nodded. His eyes were bulging because not only was Eamon’s hand over his mouth, it was also covering his nose.

  Jordan tried to make a quick exit.

  “Don’t move!” Ma ordered.

  Jordan stopped mid-step.

  “Did you hear too?” she asked.

  “Yes ma’am,” he admitted, but refused to turn around, too afraid to look in her eyes.

  “Willow?”

  “Yes ma’am,” she whispered. “But Jordan made me.”

  “That’s a lie!” Jordan yelled and then thought for a second. “Well . . . maybe that’s a little true.”

  Instead of the fury Jordan expected and the others braced for, Ma took a deep breath.

  “Not a word of this around your pa,” she said. “Jordan, yes, please go fetch Grandma for supper.”

  Jordan passed Pa on his way out the door and heard everyone rush to act like nothing special was going on. Pa was whistling a tune as if he didn’t have a care.

  Jordan kept a slow stride beside Grandma as she walked from the cellar over to the house and it seemed like the hungrier he felt, the slower she walked. At last they made it back inside.

  “Did everybody wash up already?” Pa asked.

  They all said yes at once and just a little too loud, even though it was a lie because Eamon and Jake got into a fight before they could wash and the filth was still crusted in their knuckles. They scrambled to their chairs and bowed their heads. Jordan saw Willow cringe at Jake’s hand, but held it anyway.

  “Lord,” Pa began, “Thank you for this food and all your blessings. We ask that you keep us safe during this time of war and suffering. Have mercy on the born and the unborn who have sinned against you. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Jordan said and dug in.

  It was Jordan’s turn to take the slop down to the hogs. It always made him a little nauseous because no matter how good the food was while it was on his plate; it always looked like vomit as it sloshed around in the bucket. He tried to keep from looking at it, but the more he tried not to look at it, the more he ended up looking at it. It was crazy but he couldn’t help it.

  He stood on the bottom fence rail and watched the sows snort and slobber. The piglets were still tiny enough to be cute. He liked to pet them but he didn’t like their moist snouts. He caught the hind end of one of the black spotted ones, but when it squealed like he was killing it, he let go.

  Selie normally got the runt to raise every year and was beginning to get suspicious when her pet pig disappeared around the end of November. Last year, she kept telling everyone they were eating her pig, Lady, whenever Ma cooked bacon or salted ham.

  Jordan strolled down to the barn, picked up a good-sized rock, and threw it at Gus. It missed and Gus barely gave him a second glance. He opened the door to the barn, grabbed an armful of hay, tossed it around the corner and hoped it went over the fence and into that devil’s pen. He took two more armfuls and opened the other door that led to the pasture – the one nowhere near Gus.

  The cows lumbered over and ate the hay as Jordan tossed it on the ground. He walked back into the barn and closed the door behind him. The air seemed alive as dust floated into bands of sunlight streaming through the cracks between the wallboards. Sprinkles of hay pieces fell on his head from the loft above.

  “Anybody up there?” he called. He pictured Eamon concealed between the wool sacks, ready to pounce on him the moment he reached the top rung of the ladder.

  No one answered. He called again.

  Against his better judgment, he ascended the ladder and peered into the loft.

  “Anybody up here?” he called again.

  He heard wings flap, then talons ripped into his shoulders. Feathers flew everywhere. Jordan let go of the ladder, plunged down to the hay-covered floor below, and landed hard on his back. The rooster followed and landed talons first right on his chest. He covered his face with one of his hands and flung the bird as far as he could with the other. The rooster ran crowing to the other side of the barn. Jordan jumped up and ran out the door.

  Goodness. First Gus, then I burn myself, and now this. He dusted the hayseeds off his trousers and ran back to the house.

  He slowed down just before he reached the outhouse and ran his fingers through his hair one last time to get rid of any remaining hay.

  It sounded like everyone was sitting out on the porch. He could hear Pa’s mandolin and when he turned the corner everyone was singing some song he’d never heard. His face turned red when he listened to the chorus and Pa nasally voice singing louder than the others:

  ♫ Jordan better run ‘cause Gus is on his tail! ♫

  ♫ Jordan better run ‘cause Gus is on his tail! ♫

  ♫ Then he burned his ha-and! ♫

  Even Grandma was singing and clapping with the melody, and her skirt moved in rhythm as she tapped her foot to the beat.

  Pa stopped playing when he saw Jordan standing there. Everyone else’s singing drifted off to silence with the music.

  “How you like my new song?” he asked.

  “Very funny,” Jordan smirked. At least no one knew about the rooster flogging him.

  The weather was at last warm enough for the family to gather outside in the evening. Jake sat with his blocks of wood and his pocketknife, while Willow was teaching Selie some sort of silly clapping game.

  “Why’s your hair all messed up?” Ma asked.

  “Gus probably roughed him up again,” Eamon laughed then spit a long stream of tobacco juice over the rail.

  “I don’t know,” Jordan lied and sat on the floor next to Grandma’s chair. She reached down and plucked hayseeds out of his hair while she hummed Pa’s new song. He leaned his cheek against the old worn blanket she always kept on her lap, no matter how hot it was.

  The story is that the blanket was made for her when she was just a wee baby and she always kept it close because her mother had sewn it with magic – or so he was told.

  “Can you tell us a story, Grandma?” Jake asked. “One from when you were a youngin?”

  “She can tell the one about the yahoe again,” Jordan teased. “It gave you nightmares for a week.”

  “Gave you nightmares too,” Jake retorted.

  He was right. Just the description of the evil beast, ten foot tall and covered with hair, who stalked the mountain at night, scared the daylights out of him for a long time. No one would have known, except f
or the fact that Jordan talked in his sleep. Ma told him later it was only a legend and she had heard the same story when she was young.

  “Who’s that?” Willow asked and pointed at someone riding towards the house.

  “I hope they ain’t wanting any dinner,” Ma said and stood up. “Oh good gracious, it’s old man Wheeler. What in the world are we going to tell him?”

  “How about the truth . . . if he asks,” Grandma said.

  There was no more talk until Mr. Wheeler got to the porch and took off his hat.

  “Howdy, Finnian, Bess, Abigail,” he greeted.

  “Evening Vance,” Finnian said.

  “I ain’t supposed you seen my little girl, Sissy Mae?” he asked.

  “You need to sit down,” Grandma said.

  “She here?”

  “She was here earlier,” Finnian said. “We fed her some biscuits and jam and then sent her on home.”

  “Then you know.” The old man’s brow furrowed and his anger was clear on his face.

  “Afraid so,” Finnian said. “She came around here looking for Abigail.”

  “How much do I owe you ma’am?” Vance asked.

  Grandma shook her head and waved him off. “It didn’t take a seer to know what was troubling that poor child.”

  “Yep. I had a long talk with Nealy and Tate about it a few weeks back,” Vance said. “Of course Sissy Mae don’t know. She don’t say nothing no how. Seems they been sneaking out and seeing a lot of each other.”

  “You could say that,” Finnian said. Ma elbowed him.

  “To be honest, I was fixing to shoot him until he said they’re planning to marry when he comes back,” Vance said. “Bess, her ma and I may need some help with the birthing.”

  “Certainly,” she said.

  “What if he don’t come back?” Finnian asked. “Lots of boys going to be dying. We can only pray Nealy ain’t one of them.”

  “Of course he’ll come back. This whole convoluted mess will be over in a couple of months.”

  “I’m glad to see you’re taking this so well. Not sure I’d be the man you are,” Finnian said and shot Willow a look.

  “Well, if you see her, tell her to come on home. Her ma’s worried something awful,” Vance said.

  “If I see her, I’ll bring her home myself,” Finnian said.

  “Much obliged,” Vance said and walked back down the path.

  Everyone remained quiet until Mr. Wheeler was out of sight.

  “Hell, Nealy would say much of anything with a gun barrel pointed at his chest,” Finnian laughed. “No wonder he left so quick.”

  “Sissy Mae’s going to have a baby?” Jordan asked with a convincing air of surprise.

  “Give it up, Jordan,” Willow said. “We confessed to Pa while you were slopping the hogs.”

  “Funny,” Grandma grunted.

  “What’s funny?” Ma asked.

  “Funny, Sissy Mae was over here hysterical, wanting me to give her something to kill that baby and he’s walking over here putting on airs like nothing’s happened.”

  “Maybe Sissy Mae misunderstood,” Ma said.

  “Maybe,” Grandma said.

  Chapter 5

  Jordan was tired of the wool. It was greasy, smelly, and even though it was still morning, it was already getting hot. To make it worse, he was mad because he had planned to go fishing this morning and even spent part of yesterday pulling only the plumpest worms out of the manure pile. He was up and dressed before dawn so he could get to the fishing hole just as the sun came up. But Pa had other plans and now Jake had the fishing hole all to himself.

  Tuffs of the itchy white fiber clung to his neck and hair, and some had even made their way down inside his shirt. He was so sweaty even the occasional morning breeze wasn’t powerful enough to rid him of it and his skin was streaked red from his relentless scratching.

  Eamon wasn’t the friendliest of company either. They’d been bickering at each other ever since Pa told them to load the wagons because neither of them wanted to do it. The sacks were heavy and cumbersome and there were just too many. They’d be there until after noontime.

  Eamon flung the sacks out of the loft as hard as he could, just to clobber Jordan as he worked in the wagon below. He was so angry his ears burned red and his insides were quivering. One of the sacks hit him in the head with such force, it knocked him to his knees, dizzy and confused. Enough was enough. Jordan threw his hat on the ground, stormed into the barn and up the ladder.

  Eamon must not have seen him go inside, because he was about to hurl another sack and stood at the edge of the loft to get a better aim at his target. Jordan jumped off the ladder and knocked Eamon’s feet out from under him. He went tumbling to the floor. Jordan pounced on him, like a wildcat on a bloodied deer, and commenced to pounding any part of Eamon he could find with his fists.

  “Get off!” Eamon yelled and thrashed on the floor to escape the blows. He twisted and turned, but couldn’t knock Jordan off. He was too heavy.

  “Make me!” Jordan hollered.

  Eamon socked Jordan as hard as he could, right in the gut. Jordan felt a burn in his stomach and tasted the bile that erupted out of his stomach and up his throat, but ignored it in favor of the satisfaction he felt at getting the best of Eamon.

  Blaaarrrghhh! Jordan vomited most of his breakfast right on Eamon’s chest. Eamon covered his face with his hands.

  “You ignorant little . . .!” Eamon yelled and shoved Jordan off his chest.

  Jordan slid across the loft floor. Eamon jerked his shirt over his head and threw it down. Jordan got to his feet. Eamon tackled him and they became a tangled mass of limbs.

  Jordan felt Eamon’s weight being lifted off him. He looked up and saw Pa, standing behind Eamon, holding his arms. Eamon was fighting to break free, but Pa seemed to have a pretty good grip on him. Jordan got up, wiped the spittle from his chin and dusted off his trousers.

  “The little bastard got sick on me!” Eamon yelled. He was so mad he was spitting and Pa was struggling to hold onto him.

  “He was throwing the sacks at me!” Jordan screamed. He didn’t bother holding back the tears, which by now were streaming down his flushed cheeks.

  “You boys better figure out how to load that wagon without killing each other,” Pa ordered. “Or neither one of you are going to Fairmont with me.”

  Jordan looked at Eamon. Eamon shrugged and stood still. Jordan took a couple of steps backward when he saw Pa let go of him.

  “Where’s Fairmont?” they asked, almost in unison.

  “Up north.”

  “Why are we going there?” Jordan asked. He’d never heard of the place and they normally took the wool either to Lewisburg or Marlins Bottom.

  “I can get a better price for the wool if I take it up there myself,” Pa explained. “It’s closer to the mills.”

  “How far is it?” Eamon asked.

  “Three days ride, with the wagons.” Pa answered. “We’ll ride to Elkins and stay with Jim. Ma sent word a few days back.”

  “When are we leaving?” Eamon asked.

  “Tomorrow morning if you two can quit fighting long enough to get these wagons loaded,” Pa said. “Now, get moving and don’t forget to leave space in front for Willow’s syrup.”

  Jordan hoped Eamon forgot about their feud, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He kept a close eye on the sacks as they sailed from the loft to the wagon. It took them longer to move the full wagon than to load it. Jordan begged Eamon to hitch up the horse, but Eamon insisted it would take too long and they could do it faster themselves.

  They pushed, pulled, grunted, and cursed a bit, but at last managed to move the wagon out of the way to make room for the next one. This time around, the boys worked like a team.

  They were done in no time and headed back to the house, just in time to eat. Jordan was greeted by the sweet smell of cornbread, butter beans, and fried ham right when he stepped on the porch. Pa was already done with the afternoon feedin
g and was sitting in his chair whispering to Grandma.

  “Why can’t I go?” Jake pouted to Ma.

  “I need you here,” Ma said.

  “What about Jordan? He can stay.”

  “I said no. Eamon has to take one of the wagons and Jordan’s a little more responsible. There’re too many people in the city and Pa would lose you for sure.”

  “I’d stay right with him, I promise.”

  “No.”

  “You can have the worms I dug,” Jordan said to Jake. He’d say just about anything to get him to stop pleading with Ma and besides, they’d probably be dead before he could use them.

  “I already used them,” Jake said.

  “There’s more.”

  “Where?”

  “Under the front porch,” Jordan said. “In the old can . . . by the lilac bush.”

  Jake took off. Jordan wondered if he was really that excited about the worms or just regrouping to nag Ma some more after supper. He felt sorry for him, but he wasn’t about to volunteer to stay behind. Not this time. They were going north.

  Everything was bigger and more exciting up there. Roads were wider, buildings were taller, and folks did other jobs besides farming. The women wore big ornate hats and fancy dresses, while the men wore ties and preferred those silly-looking round topped derby hats to the wide brimmed hats like Pa and Uncle Tate wore. He’d heard many stories, but this would be the first time he’d get to see it himself.

  “Why does Eamon have to take one of the wagons?” Jordan asked. “Ain’t Uncle Tate going?”

  “Not this time,” Ma said.

  He looked over at Pa for an explanation. Pa looked him in the eyes but offered no words. The icy stare was all Jordan needed. He understood he must never ask about Uncle Tate until they talked about him again. This was the longest they’d gone without visiting each other. A chill ran through him.

  Willow blew into the room with her usual grace and fury.

  “Ma, I’d like to go with Pa,” Willow announced. “I need some new cloth for Sunday dresses. You even said they were getting too tight and I’d like to see what the other girls are wearing up north, just to get a few ideas.”