Crossing Ebenezer Creek Page 4

  The cracklin’ bread she’d packed—how long would she have to make it last, Mariah wondered as she went to help the Doubles bring their sacks and bundles over to the scrub oak tree. One of Miss Chloe’s was bound to hold hyssop, pennyroyal, dandelion, and bundles of other roots and herbs. Bark too. And Mariah was pretty sure that Miss Zoe wouldn’t have come away without at least one cast-iron pot, skillet, and some cooking utensils.

  “I’ll go for water,” said Mariah after everybody got settled, then to Jonah, “You’ll see to firewood?”

  “Yup,” Jonah replied.

  “I’ll get to work on a couple of lean-tos,” said Mordecai.

  “Zoe packed some ham, biscuits,” said Chloe.

  “You’ll find some cracklin’ bread in one of my sacks,” said Mariah as she headed for the stream, a bucket in each hand and a calabash canteen around her neck.

  Along the way Mariah found herself smiling. Smiling at the people she passed. Smiling at the trees. At freedom. Smiling, too, at the thought of Caleb coming back.

  LEARN THEIR STORIES

  “One chicken per dozen or so, one sweet potato each.”

  That’s what Caleb heard Captain Galloway tell Privates Sykes and Dolan as he drew near.

  “Colored people are not the only ones in need,” the captain had said earlier. “My men are needy too. In need of seeing how the world should be. In need of seeing how much they don’t see … the family of man.”

  Captain Galloway was the most unusual white man Caleb had ever met. He was leery at first, suspected the captain’s kindness was a cover for a coming trick. After traveling with him for thirty miles, Caleb was convinced that the captain was genuine.

  Days back, while they supped together, before he knew what came over him Caleb told Captain Galloway about his life in Atlanta. About what a rascal he had been. About those days of hosting evil. How close he came to murder. Then about his turnaround.

  “Appreciate it, sir, if you keep it all to yourself,” Caleb had asked.

  “You have my word,” Captain Galloway pledged, stirring his three-legged cast-iron pot. Then he shared his own journey to faith. He also told Caleb about his mother’s side of the family. “Two plantations on Maryland’s Eastern Shore. At the start of the war, they had over a hundred slaves.”

  “Your father from the South too?”

  “No. New York born and bred.” After a pause, Captain Galloway said, “I’m sorry, Caleb. So very sorry.”

  “You can’t help what your mother’s people did.”

  Captain ladled a helping of beef stew into Caleb’s mucket. “Not talking about just them.”

  Caleb thought he saw tears in his eyes.

  “I thought I knew how evil slavery was,” the captain continued. “Reading about it doesn’t tell the half. Hearing Douglass or Brown or some other soul fortunate to have escaped, even that doesn’t truly capture it, because when such people are giving lectures and writing their books, they’ve had some time to heal. But on this march I see hundreds, thousands who aren’t even at the start of that.” After a pause the captain said again, “I’m sorry, Caleb, so sorry.”

  That was the first time Caleb ever heard a white person apologize to a colored for anything. When the stagecoach ran over Keziah Turner’s lad, there had been no sorry. When Jeremiah Auld falsely accused Mac Purdy of stealing horses—and got him whipped—there had been no sorry. For all that Caleb’s father had endured—no sorry. And when Caleb went after the man who destroyed his sister, he knew there’d be no sorry from him. By then Caleb hated them all. Since then, he had worked hard to conquer hate, but there were moments on the march when bitterness got the best of him. Captain Galloway’s sorry helped. That and the man’s efforts to make a mission field of the march, aiming to convert as many of his men as he could to see the world as he did. To see colored people as he did.

  A time or two Caleb sat in on one of the captain’s talks where he handed out tracts about slavery. And now he watched him put another plan into action, starting with Privates Sykes and Dolan. “They say they are Christians. I want to help them prove it.”

  Captain Galloway had the privates load a wagon with food, then said, “Twelve. Get them in groups of twelve or so. They might be one family, might be two, possibly more. If there’s any bunching up to do, let them know it’s only for purposes of provisions. Once the meal is done they can belong as they wish.”

  Private Dolan, slack jawed and rangy, ran a hand through his tousled blond hair. “I should get our rifles?”

  Galloway peered at him. “Rifles?”

  “To round them up?”

  “Round up who?”

  “The nig—the colored people.”

  Caleb could see the captain struggling not to lose his temper. That was one of their bonds. Both had worked hard to tame their tempers.

  “Private Dolan, there is no rounding up!” said the captain. “You simply move out across the field, call them over, and explain things in a Christian but firm way.” He looked from Dolan to Sykes. “Understood?”

  “Yes, sir!” said the privates in unison.

  “Then you hand out the food,” Galloway continued. “As I said, one chicken per dozen or so, one sweet potato each.”

  Caleb had seen the captain hand out more than chickens and potatoes. He guessed he wanted to keep Sykes and Dolan’s first time simple.

  Sykes, stout and ruddy, scratched his head.

  “Is there a problem, Private Sykes?” asked Captain Galloway.

  “No, sir. Well, sir, I was just—it sounds like we’ll be serving the … them.”

  Caleb looked down, tried not to laugh.

  “You will be serving your Lord and Savior,” said Captain Galloway.

  When Caleb looked up, he saw the two young men heading off on their mission.

  “And one more thing,” Captain Galloway called out.

  The privates about-faced.

  “Talk to them,” said the captain.

  “About what, sir?” asked Private Dolan.

  “About anything that will allow you to learn their stories.” The captain pushed his slouch hat over his eyes as he watched the privates cross the field, park, and wave people over.

  The people just looked at them. The privates waved again.

  “Food, we bring you food,” hollered Private Dolan. “In the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ!”

  Caleb drew up beside Captain Galloway. “Good work, sir.”

  “There’s hope for them yet,” said the captain.

  “Looks like it.”

  “Sup with me tonight?”

  “No, sir. Some business I need to tend to.”

  COPPER-SKINNED BOY WAS BEN

  Mariah returned with another two buckets of water and another full calabash canteen around her neck. During her first trip back she saw Zoe getting food from the two scruffy ones, and so she knew they could save her cracklin’ bread and Zoe’s ham and biscuits for tomorrow. And it wouldn’t be long before her hunger was gone.

  Zoe was about through dressing the chicken, Mordecai about done building one lean-to. Zeke and Dulcina still sat by the scrub oak, behind a fortress of sacks and bundles. Both looked like they had not a care in the world. And to Mariah’s eyes, that was a good thing.

  She set the buckets down, stretched her back, took the calabash canteen from around her neck, then headed for Zeke and Dulcina. As she gave them sips of water, Mariah tried to get a read on the folks they wound up with for supper.

  Old man, olive-skinned, rigging up a spit.

  Old woman, nutmeg, impish eyes, keeping the fire.

  A brown-skinned girl, younger than Mariah and shy-looking, just sat there fumbling with her fingers.

  About Josie’s age, Mariah reckoned of the short, dark-skinned, bowlegged woman in the family way. The rail-thin pop-eyed girl on her lap was maybe three.

  “I’ll make her some sage tea,” Mariah heard Chloe tell the woman after checking the child’s glands.

  B
efore long the chicken was on the spit, the sweet potatoes in the ashes. While they all readied for supper—brought out tin plates, cups, gourd dippers—there was soft talk, acquaintance making.

  Mariah learned that the old man was Hosea and the old woman his wife, Hagar. She told everybody that the timid one was Miriam and that they’d taken her in after they saw her join the march by herself. The way Miriam shied away from her gaze, Mariah wondered if the girl was mute. Or had her mind gone loose like Dulcina’s?

  “Name’s Rachel,” said the pregnant woman. “And this my daughter, Rose.”

  “Like Miriam,” said Hagar, “when we seen Rachel and Rose with only theyselves, we welcome them in, too. A few miles later he come along on a wall-eyed pony.” Hagar pointed at the copper-skinned boy who had helped Jonah fetch firewood. The copper-skinned boy was Ben.

  More than once during supper, with the children given mostly the stray parts—liver, gizzard, heart, neck, feet—Mariah saw Zeke stare at Ben’s right hand, at the forefinger with the first joint gone. Each time Mariah steered her brother’s attention to something else, like sucking the chicken neck clean.

  Every now and then Mariah glanced around the campground.

  Was Caleb really coming back?

  GENERAL REB

  Caleb came back with a dinted coffee pot, a couple of large tin cups, canned peaches, hardtack, a bar of soap, blankets, bedsheets, brocade draperies, a wedge tent.

  He nodded, said “Pleased to meet you” as Mariah introduced him to Mordecai, the Doubles, Jonah. After he put the basket of goods on the ground he took out something wrapped in a coarse linen towel, handed it to Mariah.

  Caleb watched her unwrap the package and light up over an almost new pair of lace-up boots.

  In no time at all Mariah had her beat-up brogans off and her new shoes on.

  A fine fit, Caleb could see.

  “Mighty grateful,” said Mariah.

  It did Caleb’s heart good to see Mariah happy for at least a moment in time. And he pretended not to notice Jonah’s dirty looks. Instead Caleb turned his attention to Zoe inspecting the hardtack. She sniffed it, gave it a titmouse taste, arched an eyebrow.

  “For emergency,” Caleb explained. “In case there’s no time to cook or weather won’t permit. Kept dry, hardtack will last a hundred years.”

  Now that he got a long look at them Caleb was convinced that the only way to tell the Doubles apart was by their duties and dispositions. One not prone to much chit-chat, the other sunnier. The way the silent one took charge of the peaches and the hardtack, Caleb figured she was a cook. The way the other one was grinding up some bark and herbs with a mortar and pestle—a healer. But clearly no miracle worker, he thought as he glanced at Zeke sitting in Mariah’s lap staring into another world and Dulcina picking lint that wasn’t there from her grimy bundle.

  Watching Mordecai and Jonah floor two lean-tos with pine boughs, Caleb guessed from their bearings that one had been a butler or coachman, the other a field worker—and Jonah seemed to be spoiling for a fight. Let it not come to that, Caleb said to himself, then went to work on the tent. A tight fit for the women and Zeke, but surely they’d rest better.

  “There are pickets posted around the campground, on guard all night,” Caleb explained. He told them about the bugle call for lights out, the bugle call for rise.

  Caleb saw Mariah watching his every move. How he laid out the canvas, where he drove the stakes, joined the poles, assembled them. When done, he handed her the mallet. “Come morning I’ll show you the quickest way to strike.”

  Caleb sat down on his haunches, lowered his voice. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell y’all about the need to keep alert and watchful. All along the march we’ve run into Rebel sharpshooters. Mostly if they ambush they go after Yankees. But still …” He paused as Zoe arched an eyebrow and Chloe, Mordecai, and Mariah leaned in. Jonah tossed pine knots on the fire.

  “Rebels ain’t the only ones you need to watch out for,” continued Caleb. “You especially need to keep top eye open for the commander of the corps we’re with. He hates us and got not one quarrel with slavery. Believes it’s what we fit for. Some soldiers call him General Reb—but only behind his back.”

  Caleb paused to let it all sink in.

  “I told them what you said about us bein’ like cattle to some Yankees,” whispered Mariah. “Now you say some Yankees favor slavery?”

  Caleb nodded, then told them about one of General Reb’s recent orders. “He complained about there being too many what he called ‘useless negroes’ on the march, that our people eat food much needed by the troops and take up too much space in the wagons.”

  “ ‘Useless negroes’?” Mordecai frowned, rubbed his bald pate.

  Caleb nodded. “And what General Reb decreed is that no wagons are to carry colored people or their belongings. Except for ones serving certain officers, no colored are allowed to ride on horse or mule.”

  “How will we know this, this General Reb?” asked Mariah.

  “First off, generals have stars on their shoulder boards, and General—”

  “Shoulder boards?” asked Mariah.

  Caleb tapped one of his shoulders. “Patches on each,” he explained. “General Reb, he has two stars. His face fits his spirit. On the ghoulish side. Bushy mustache and beard. Hangdog pasty face. Cold blue eyes. Right deadly.”

  “What kind of horse he ride?” asked Mariah.

  “I’ve seen him on a dark bay, a sorrel, but mostly on a dapple gray.” Caleb looked over his shoulder, then back at the group. “Adding salt to the wound is his real name. You’ll never guess.” When no one did, Caleb said, “Jefferson Davis.”

  “What that cuss have to do with General Reb?” asked Mordecai.

  “No, that is General Reb’s name. Jefferson Davis.”

  “You joshin’!” Mariah gasped.

  “Not one bit,” said Caleb.

  “Jefferson … Davis.” Mariah frowned, shaking her head in consternation that this hateful Union general had the same name as the president of the Confederacy.

  Caleb rose, looked at Hagar and Hosea’s band making their campsite some ten yards away. Didn’t recall seeing them before. “Put it on the grapevine for everybody to be on the lookout for General Reb. Don’t let him catch any colored riding in a wagon or on a horse or mule. I also advise not letting him catch sight of any of us receiving kindness from a Yankee.” With that, Caleb bid them all good night. Even Jonah.

  AT THE CUSP OF DAWN

  A part of her walked with him until Caleb was out of sight, the outline of his body blended into the night.

  Then duty called.

  Mariah had to get Zeke and Dulcina settled in the tent and off to sleep. Zeke under a blanket, Dulcina under the drapes. That done, she joined the others around the fire, only half-listening to their talk. She reckoned Caleb was two, maybe three years older than her, and she wondered what manner of man he was.

  She remained around that fire after the Doubles said their good night, after Mordecai stretched out his long bones in his lean-to. The last thing Mariah wanted to do was sleep. And she knew that if she stayed up, Jonah wouldn’t head for his lean-to anytime soon.

  Mariah tightened her cloak around her.

  “Warm enough?” asked Jonah.

  Eyes on the fire, she nodded, knowing Jonah would lay on more firewood anyway, which he did.

  In the distance somebody blew a few notes on a harmonica, eased into a lilting, yet mildly mournful tune.

  “Sure is a fine night,” said Jonah.

  Mariah gave him a quick smile.

  Jonah cleared his throat. “Our long wait is over.”

  “Moments I can’t believe it’s true, fear I’m in a long dream.” Mariah looked around at the night.

  Couples cuddled up.

  Mothers rocked babies.

  She imagined bobwhite quail and timberdoodles nestled in the woods.

  Jonah leaned in. “What you thinkin’?”

  Mari
ah pictured whitetail deer padding close by. “About freedom.”

  “But you seem so … solemnlike. Ain’t you gladhappy?” Jonah pulled his cap down tighter on his head.

  “Gladhappy?” Mariah stretched her arms, her back. “Gladhappy is … a hambone to flavor soup, new cloth at Christmas. Those the sort of things that make for gladhappy.” She saw Jonah turn glum. Had she accidentally given him the look?

  “It’s a look that tells me you think I’m thick,” he had once grumbled. “Like when you got on me about lessons.”

  How well Mariah remembered that argument. Her pushing Jonah to learn his letters. Him saying there was no need for both of them to be able to read and write. Her pretending she didn’t catch his drift.

  Jonah had called it quits after learning the alphabet and how to spell a few simple words like dog, cat, and okay. “Can’t see how readin’ come in handy if you hungry or freezin’ to death.”

  Mariah knew that if Jonah had to choose between hunger and cold, he’d choose hunger. So great was his fear of the cold, a fear that came on him after that day they were helping Sadie in the cookhouse. Sadie sent Jonah to the Big House with a tray of groundnut brittle, meant for white children soon to come caroling. After he laid the tray on the front hall table, even though Sadie had said she had set some aside for him, Jonah couldn’t resist temptation. He snuck a piece of brittle into his pocket, and Judge Chaney saw him.

  No shoes, no stockings. No coat, no cap. In just his tow cloth shirt Jonah was made to stand out back for what seemed like hours, shivering so on that cold and windy Christmas Eve. Little Mariah had wondered if his tears would freeze.

  Jonah added sticks to the fire.