Jordan's War - 1861 Read online

  “I did say that,” Ma agreed.

  “Then can I go?”

  Willow knew there would be a store somewhere in town filled with reams of cloth – every color, texture, and print imaginable. Every large town had one. Her eyes sparkled. Although Jordan admired her approach he doubted she’d be successful.

  “No,” Ma said. “Not this time. Perhaps when things calm down.”

  “You mean the war?”

  “Yes. That place is going to be crawling with strangers.”

  “But please mom,” she begged. “I’ll have some money from selling the syrup. I always sell it all.”

  “Tell Pa what you want and he’ll pick it up for you,” she said. “It’s just not safe. Finnian, can you help me here?”

  “It’s not safe,” Pa said. “And you’ll have to tell Jordan what you want though. I won’t remember.”

  “Ohhhh,” Willow said through clenched teeth, grabbed Jordan’s arm, and pulled him into the kitchen.

  They were up and dressed before daybreak. Jordan stuffed his face with as much food as he could during breakfast. He didn’t know when Pa would stop again to eat, and he didn’t want to be the first one to whine about being hungry.

  He looked back at Jake as they rode off. He grew smaller as they got farther away and Jordan couldn’t decide if he could still see his lip curled down around his chin and the sadness in his big brown eyes or if it was his own guilt playing with his imagination. He felt sad, but it didn’t last long as they traveled down the path to the turnpike.

  He kept repeating in his head what Willow told him about the fabric: six yards of blue, two yards of a blue plaid, six yards of green, not too dark, just medium, six yards of white, no print, six yards of that gorgeous burgundy she’d seen at Marlins Bottom, twelve pearl buttons, and don’t forget to memorize what the girls up there were wearing. He knew Willow would never forgive him if he messed it up. She even made him promise to pray to God to help him remember.

  The sun was just coming into view to the east, but it was already getting hot. It seemed odd to turn north on the main road, instead of their usual south, but it was all still familiar to Jordan because this was the same pass they took at least once or twice a year to Marlins Bottom.

  Five men on horseback emerged from the shadows of the trees and approached the wagons the moment they’d turned onto the main passage. They were dressed similar, in varying shades of gray and all of them were armed.

  Soldiers! He never thought they’d be so close to home. They rode side by side and looked so distinguished, so noble, so. . . .

  Jordan gasped. One of the soldiers was none other than that devil, Luke Vander. Four of them stopped, including Luke, while one of them kept riding. Jordan figured this man was their leader and studied him, looking for any characteristics which set this man apart from the other three. He didn’t bother counting Luke – he was just a stupid indigent.

  “Morning boys,” Finnian said and stopped the wagon. Eamon stopped his behind Pa’s.

  “Morning sir,” the man said. “I’m Sergeant Hummel, of the Lewisburg Home Guard and these men are with me.”

  The other men moved in closer to the wagons. Jordan stared at the ground. He could feel Luke’s stare burning into the back of his head and even though he was a good three feet away, Jordan could still smell his putrid breath.

  “Home Guard . . . Lewisburg . . . What are you doing all the way up here?” Finnian asked and looked at Jordan. Jordan shrugged.

  “Yes sir,” Sergeant Hummel said. “There’s been Union activity up around Philippi and we’ve been assigned to patrol this area.”

  “Philippi!” Finnian laughed. “Hell son, you got the wrong end of the state. Philippi’s a two day ride north.”

  “I understand that sir,” the sergeant said. “I have my orders. We’ll need to search your wagons.”

  “For what?” Finnian asked.

  “We’ll need to search them sir,” Sergeant Hummel said and offered no further explanation.

  Luke was the first one off his horse and into the wagon. He pulled a large-handled hunting knife from his belt and slit one of the sacks from top to bottom.

  “No need to cut it son,” Finnian said. “All you got to do is open it from the top. They ain’t fastened too tight for you, are they?”

  Luke sneered at Finnian and slit another sack the same way. Fluffs of wool escaped the tightly packed sack and floated off with the breeze.

  Finnian stood up, jumped out of the wagon, and walked around to the back. He grabbed Luke’s arm, the one that held the knife, before Luke was even aware he was out of his seat.

  “I ain’t going to tell you again son,” Finnian said.

  Luke jumped down and attempted to knock Finnian off his feet. Finnian twisted the knife out of Luke’s hand and threw it on the ground next to him. Sergeant Hummel grabbed Finnian by his shirt but he was too solid of a man to get a good hold on him. Finnian shook him off and walked away.

  “You do that again, sir, and I’ll have you arrested,” Hummel warned. He was out of breath and Jordan thought he heard his voice tremble. Pa had a way of scaring folks sometimes.

  “For what?” Finnian asked.

  “For assaulting a soldier.”

  “That ain’t no damn soldier,” Finnian scoffed. “That’s just one of them thieving, lying, Vander trash.”

  “He is a soldier in the Confederate army and is due the utmost respect.”

  “Here’s all the respect he needs.” Finnian spit a large chaw of tobacco out of his mouth next to Luke’s foot.

  Jordan watched in horror as one of the soldiers pulled a revolver and pointed it at Pa.

  Finnian backed off and leaned on the wagon.

  “Put the gun away, Olin,” Sergeant Hummel said and turned to Luke. “There’s no need to destroy this man’s hard work. Just a quick search will do.”

  Jordan watched the man’s hand tremble as he put down the gun.

  Eamon and Jordan got off the wagons while Luke and two other soldiers rummaged through their belongings.

  Luke picked up a jar of Willow’s maple syrup he discovered up in front, under a few sacks of wool. He started to pull back the seal.

  “That ain’t yours,” Jordan said.

  “What are you going to do about it?” Luke hissed and let the jar slip from his hand. To Jordan’s surprise and Luke’s disappointment, the jar didn’t break when it landed on the ground. The sergeant tapped Luke on the shoulder and he jumped to attention. Jordan snickered and grabbed the jar off the grass.

  “Nothing here sir,” one of the men called.

  Sergeant Hummel walked over to Finnian.

  “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.

  “Wh
at 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 a
bout 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.