The Pilgrim Song, page 21
“Maybe so, if we get through in time.”
Kat ran to his side and trotted along, asking questions a mile a minute. “How do you plow such a straight line, Clint?”
“You don’t look down at the ground in front of you. You keep your eye on the end of the row. Kinda like life, I guess. Always keep your head up and look to see where you’re heading in the future, and you won’t trip up or get off a straight path.”
“I’m not good at thinking ahead, Clint. About all I can see is right now.”
Clint laughed and looked down at her, the plowline around his neck and his two big hands gripping the plow. “I guess I feel about the same most days.” His head snapped up at a man approaching. “Look, there’s Jesse.”
The two took the plow to the end of the row, and Clint stopped the mules, tying the lines around the plow. They walked over to greet Jesse, who was standing at the corner of the freshly plowed garden.
“Howdy, Clint . . . missy.” Jesse doffed his hat and said, “Wanted to come by and tell you about the reenactment we’re doing this afternoon. I meant to mention it to you earlier, but I guess I forgot.”
“What do you reenact?” Clint asked.
“A bunch of us old-timers get together and try to reenact a local battle from the war.”
“The Civil War?”
“That’s right.”
“I didn’t know there was a battle fought around here.”
“Well, it weren’t no battle really,” Cannon snorted. “No more than a little skirmish. Three Yankees got ’emselves killed, and one of our boys too, but everybody sure enjoys goin’. There’s a heap o’ dancin’ and music and enough food for the whole Confederate Army.”
“Who furnishes the food?”
“The politicians. They all chip in and buy a cow, and the women cook it up with all the fixin’s. The beef’s a lot easier to swaller than those speeches them fellers make. You be sure and come, now.”
“All right. I think we all deserve a little break.”
“You come too, missy. There’s games for the kids and fireworks and all kinds of goin’s-on.”
“I sure will, Mr. Cannon.”
As soon as Jesse left, Clint turned to Kat. “Well, I guess we can call it a day. We’ve worked pretty hard.”
“I’m going to see if Dallas will go. He and Tennie never go anywhere.”
“You go on ahead. You come right back, though.”
Dallas was the boy Kat encountered in the woods the day she had gotten lost. Dallas knew the woods like no one else. He could name all the flowers and plants, and he had taken Kat squirrel hunting once, even letting her try her hand at shooting. She’d missed the squirrel but had had the time of her life.
Now she made the three-quarter-mile trip quickly and found the two out plowing their own garden behind a blue-nosed mule.
“Why, hello there, young ’un,” Dallas’s grandmother said, taking the black gum stick out of her mouth. It had to be black gum, Kat had been informed. Nothing else would do. “What are you up to today?”
“I came to be sure you and Dallas will be at the reenactment.”
“Don’t reckon so,” Tennie grunted.
“Why not?” Kat demanded. “It sounds like fun. Jesse said there’ll be lots to eat and music and games too, and shootin’ off muskets.”
“We don’t go to things too much in town,” Tennie explained. “They don’t keer for us there.”
Kat shook her head with determination. “You’ve got to come. I want you both there with me. We’ll do all the stuff together, and it’s free.” She was so persuasive that after ten minutes Tennie threw up her wrinkled old hands. “You’d talk a possum out of a tree, young ’un. All right, we’ll come but don’t reckon we’ll stay long.”
Dallas had said nothing this whole time. He was surprised that his grandmother had surrendered to Kat, but his eyes lit up when she did. When Kat came over to him and talked excitedly about the upcoming festivities, he finally uttered what for him was a long speech. “I reckon we’ll come.”
“Wouldja look at that!” Jesse Cannon snorted. He and Clint were standing together in gray battle dress, the others scattered around before an open field. Two lines of men in blue had approached, and one of them had stopped and let off a fusillade of shots. Clint hadn’t wanted to participate, but at Jesse’s insistence, he had put on one of the extra uniforms and was learning the routine as they went.
“Reckon if anybody ever shot for real at them boys, they’d run like skeered rabbits.”
“I expect I would too.” Clint grinned.
“No you wouldn’t. You’re like them boys in my old outfit. You’d go until you stacked your musket at Appomattox.”
Lewis was standing close enough to hear this. “I’m surprised they found any men here willing to wear the Northern uniform.”
“Oh, it ain’t easy, but we all take turns now. One side gets to be Confederate one year and then the next year they gotta be Blue Bellies.”
“Look, there’s Tennie and Dallas!” Kat cried, running toward the pair with Jenny and the others close behind. Neither Tennie nor Dallas had bothered to dress up. They looked ragged and out of place.
Jenny felt a little ashamed at her thoughts about the pair. Well, I suppose that’s all the clothing they have, but they look like scarecrows.
Tennie was looking apprehensive, not being used to crowds and knowing that the townspeople didn’t think much of her.
Kat ran right up and pulled at her hand. “I’m so glad you came, Tennie.”
“Well, I don’t know if’n I am or not. Lotsa doin’s.”
“C’mon, you and Dallas, we were just going to go over and eat. You see those tables of food? It’s all free!”
Kat led the pair to the refreshment tables filled with pitchers of lemonade and plates piled high with fresh-baked cookies. The others followed, and when the ladies that served them looked askance at the tattered pair, Kat said loudly, “There’s going to be a tug-of-war. Will you be in it, Clint?”
“I doubt it. I believe Jude Tanner could outpull everybody in the village.” He winked at Jenny and said, “I hear he’s kinda sweet on you.”
Jenny flushed but didn’t answer.
Hannah was watching Tennie, feeling sorry for the old woman. There was nothing for her in life but hard work and hard times, nor had there ever been. Now as she watched the old woman’s weathered features, she saw a gentleness in them and thought, She’s not used to people being nice to her. Aloud Hannah said, “I’ve been meaning to come over and get you to show me the plants you find in the woods. I don’t know anything about them.”
Tennie smiled. “You just come any time you’ve a mind to, Miss Winslow. We’ll get us some poke salad. Ain’t nothin’ like fresh pokeweed to set a body up.”
****
The Winslows wandered around during the speeches, which took up the greater part of the afternoon. They paused once beside a group of women, and one of them looked directly at Jenny and said in an audible whisper, “It’s a shame the way some women take out after preachers, ain’t it, Hazel?”
Hearing the remark, Jenny flushed but knew there was noth~ing she could say to make the woman understand that she was just doing her job.
Later on, when she encountered Jude, he said, “First dance tonight, Jenny, all right?”
“All right, Jude.” She hesitated and then said, “You’re a deacon, aren’t you, at Brother Crutchfield’s church?”
“Not a very good one, but yep, I am.”
“Have you heard any talk about him and me?”
Jude looked uncomfortable at the direct question. “Well, a little maybe. The deacons are a bunch of knotheads. They confronted the preacher about the two of you.”
“What did he say?”
“He put the run on ’em,” Jude said with a laugh, then quickly sobered. “That ain’t too good, though. In a Baptist church all it takes is a majority of the people to get rid of a preacher. Not like the Methodists or Episcopalians. They can stay on as long as their bishop says so.”
Jenny walked around with Jude until the dancing started. She noticed that as she and Jude approached the dance platform, Clint was playing his harmonica with the musicians. Jude gathered her up in his arms and swept her around the floor, nearly lifting her off her feet. Enjoying the company of the good-natured young giant, Jenny tried to forget about the remarks concerning her and Brother Crutchfield.
Several young men cut in to dance with her, most often a blond man named Lee Foster. He was about twenty-five years old, she guessed, handsome and well dressed. He was witty, and she found herself liking him.
“I see where you caught the prize catch, Jenny.” Jude grinned as he claimed another dance.
“Who’s that, Jude?”
“Why, Lee Foster! Don’t you know who he is?”
“No, who is he?”
“Only the son of the richest man in the county. If you catch him, you won’t have to worry about nothin’ in life. His old man’s got enough money to burn a wet mule!”
Jenny laughed, saying she wasn’t exactly sure how much money that was.
The next time Foster cut in, he leaned close and said, “Why don’t you and I go over to Milton? They got a nice theater there and a cozy café. We could have a good time.”
“You’ll have to ask my father. I only go out with men he approves of.”
Lee grinned at her. “I like old-fashioned girls. I’ll do just that.”
Hannah stood on the other side of the dance floor watching her sister dance with one partner after another.
“I reckon this is my dance, ain’t it?”
She turned her head, startled by the voice, and stared up at a tall man with shoulders as wide as an ax handle. He was pushing his chest out and had obviously been drinking. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I don’t dance.”
Jordan Skinner was a prideful man, and even without any liquor in him, he had a short fuse. “You’re gonna dance with me and make up your mind to it,” he said, whistling the words through his missing front teeth. He grabbed Hannah’s arm and yanked her onto the floor. She was helpless against his strength, although she tried hard to pull away.
“You’re gonna dance, so you might jist as well—”
Suddenly Jordan’s arm was seized, and he was swung around to face a lean, muscular man of his own height. “The lady doesn’t want to dance.”
“Who are you?”
“Clint Longstreet.”
“Well, I’m Jordan Skinner.” Skinner raised his chin high as if he expected the name to mean something. “We’re gettin’ along without your help here, Longstreet.”
Clint was unimpressed. “I said the lady doesn’t want to dance.”
“And I say she does.”
“Then why don’t we go someplace private and settle it?”
Skinner scanned the crowd, seeing that the music had stopped and everybody was watching.
“Fine. You wait here, lady. As soon as I squash this bug, I’ll be back.” He turned and plunged through the crowd with Clint right behind.
In a moment Josh was at his side. “Don’t fight him, Clint. He’s busted up several men around here bad.”
“Have to do it,” Clint said steadily, then turned and eyed Josh with surprise. “You know him?”
Josh hesitated, not sure what to say, and Clint shook his head and left.
Jordan led Clint to an open area he thought was somewhat private, but when he turned to face Clint, he saw that all the men had followed to watch the fight. Not minding an audience, he smiled and looked around. “You watch, boys, I’m gonna bust his teeth till they ain’t nothin’ but snags. Then I’ll bust his nose so he whistles when he breathes.” His boast was meant to catch Clint off guard, but Clint was ready when the first blow was delivered. Had it connected, it might have ended the fight right there. Skinner was as strong as a bull, but he was also no faster. Clint simply moved his head back, and when the blow missed his face, Clint shot his right arm out and caught the big man full in the mouth. It had all of Clint’s one hundred eighty-five pounds behind it and drove Jordan back on his heels.
Jordan touched his mouth, then looked at the blood on his fingers, enraged by the sight. “I’ll kill you!” he yelled, throwing himself forward.
Longstreet wasn’t worried. He believed he could beat most of the people he’d seen duking it out at the fights he’d watched. He did not try to put the man down, just moved around lightly, shooting lefts and rights and dodging the return blows. He soon had Skinner’s face looking as if he had run into a meat grinder.
In his fury Jordan caught Clint with a surprise blow in the chest. The man’s phenomenal strength drove him backward to the ground. Jordan ran forward and kicked him in the side, driving any remaining breath out of Longstreet. He rolled over quickly to avoid more, and several of the men rushed forward to hold Jordan off until Clint could regain his breath. He staggered to his feet, and the men backed off, allowing the fight to continue. Clint, even with his speed, could no longer avoid all the blows. He took a lot of punishment, but he still gave out even more. He saw that the more Jordan moved, the more out of breath he got, so Clint changed his strategy to try to wear him out. As he moved away, his opponent followed him every time, swinging wildly, and was soon snorting for lack of breath. He threw a punch at Clint, which missed; then Clint drove his fist deep into the man’s stomach. Such a blow would have destroyed any other man, but it did not put Skinner down.
The two men were moving slower now, but Clint was still fast enough to avoid most of Jordan’s blows and deliver a few of his own. At one point Skinner’s brother, Billy Roy, stepped forward intending to drive a blow into Clint’s face from the side. But Billy Roy felt himself suddenly immobilized by a huge arm, and he squirmed to get loose. He turned around to see the face of Jude Tanner. Tanner simply squeezed harder, and Billy Roy gasped with pain. “You’re crushin’ my ribs!”
“You behave yourself, little man, or I’ll break every rib you own.”
The spectators stared in amazement. Many of them had seen Jordan Skinner demolish his opponents easily, and now they were watching him stagger around, his face bloody and his blows losing their power.
Clint drove another right into Skinner’s face, and this time he felt the nose give. The man uttered a short cry and fell backward, wallowing on the ground. Clint stood over him and said, “Had enough?”
While Jordan struggled to his feet, Jude Tanner released Billy Roy and said, “You two get out of here.”
Through bloody lips and eyes swollen almost shut, Jordan Skinner whispered huskily, “This ain’t the end of it, Longstreet.”
At that moment Sheriff Noel Beauchamp stepped forward. “I’d better not hear any more of this, Skinner. Now get on outta here.”
He turned and said to Clint, “You’d better go on home too and soak in some water, as hot as you can stand it.”
“I guess you’re right, Sheriff.” Clint smiled through a haze of pain.
Lewis Winslow, who had felt helpless at his inability to stop the fight, came forward and said to Josh, “Go get the others. We’re going home.”
Lewis turned to Beauchamp and said sternly, “Why didn’t you stop it, Sheriff?”
“Because I wanted to see Jordan Skinner get what he deserved. I thought Longstreet looked like he might could do him in. I seen Skinner beat up a lot of decent men who did him no wrong. Good to see justice done once in a while.”
“It was pretty hard on Clint too,” Lewis said angrily.
“Yes, it was. Maybe I was wrong. Those Skinners don’t forget things like this. You might keep that in mind, Clint.”
****
Clint settled carefully into a big tub of hot water. Hannah had directed the operation, organizing the family to heat the water and bring the big tub into the kitchen, where she’d then hung up blankets around it for privacy.
Relaxing in the soothing water, Clint was feeling the blows now. He soaked until the water started feeling cool, then got out, dried off, and painfully put on his clothes. When he stepped outside the blanket curtain, he found Jenny waiting for him.
“I’m glad you did that, Clint,” she said. “I hate fights, but he deserved it after what he did to Hannah.” She reached up and gently pulled his head down, then very lightly kissed his cheek before turning and hurrying away.
Hannah had been standing in the doorway watching, although neither Jenny nor Clint had seen her. She now stepped back out of sight and leaned against the wall, feeling a strange tugging inside. No man had ever fought for her before, and she was very grateful to him. But seeing Jenny kiss him had made her lose her courage. Jenny was so beautiful and so winsome. . . . Hannah couldn’t help her jealous thoughts as she turned away. She can have any man she wants!
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A Taste of Honey
The July heat of the Deep South was more oppressive than Lewis Winslow could have imagined. He moved down the rows of the garden with a hoe, chopping the weeds, trying to remember if summers in New York had ever been this hot. From time to time he paused to pull his bandanna from the hip pocket of his overalls and mop his forehead. “Don’t think it was ever this hot,” he muttered, “but then, I was usually inside, not out in the sun chopping weeds.”
He moved steadily down the row, conscious that his hands were no longer blistered. He had worked up a set of callouses of which he was secretly proud. He still had not adjusted to a life of poverty and had lost several pounds. His skin had turned to tan under the hot Georgia skies, and he felt strong physically, but the shock of losing everything still felt like a fresh wound, and every day he had to wake up to his new life as a poor man.
A toad looked up at him with its jeweled eyes and lifted itself slightly, as if to hop away, then sat back down. Lewis tapped him with the blade of the hoe, but the toad merely uttered a raucous grunt, then settled down stubbornly in the shade of a pepper plant. Lewis smiled faintly, then moved on down the row, leaving the creature to its solitude.
The vegetables were coming in abundantly now, and the fresh produce was a welcome addition to the family’s meals. They had a plentiful supply of meat with the boar they had butchered and fish from the river, and Clint had been gathering edible plants in the woods. Tennie Sharp and her grandson had also given them some of the excess from their excursions into the woods to gather plants. The old woman seemed hungry for friendship, and her grandson had begun to speak more now. He had been silent as the sphinx at first, but Lewis smiled at how he and Kat now roamed the hills together looking for herbs and edible plants. “Strange pair,” he muttered.
