Black Angels (23 page)

It took him just a few minutes to get back. He saw the Millers' wagon with a sinking heart. He had been hoping they would not be there, but there they were. James's grandfather was asleep in the wagon. His mother sat with the toddler. Luke wished James's father had come back and he could tell the father instead of the mother.

James's mother looked at him over the wagon railing. “Where James Jr.?” she said.

“Well, uh, ma'am, it's been some trouble,” Luke stammered. He put his hands in his trouser pockets, then took them out.

“I knew it! He done got himself arrested or something worse!”

“No, ma'am,” Luke said, looking at his feet. “No, ma'am, he got shot.”

“My Lord in Heaven!” She stood up, holding on to the side of the wagon. “He dead?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Luke whispered.

Her cries woke up the grandfather, who started yelling, “What rebel killed my grandson. What rebel?”

The other woman was wailing now also. Luke stayed with them until they calmed down a little and told them the soldiers had James's body, but there was nothing more he could do to help.

“I'm going now, ma'am,” he said, “and ma'am, I sure hope y'all have some good luck and I sure am sorry.” In a few more minutes he turned and walked away, saddened and tired.

CHAPTER 35

BOSTON

As he made his way back near to where James had been shot, Luke noticed that the people on the hill had started lighting little fires. At least there was food there, and maybe he could get warm. Nervous but determined, he started out toward the campground. Once he had passed by the colored people who were following the troops, it was close to sundown. One of the soldiers on watch saw him. “Boy,” he said, “ain't you Captain Fields's boy?”

Something told Luke he should say yes. It was easier and maybe safer than saying who he was.

“Here,” said the soldier. “Take this note to Lieutenant Percy. Just ask up there on the ridge. Somebody'll point you in the right direction.”

Luke was glad to have something official to do. That way if someone asked him what he was doing there, he could say he was on an errand for Captain Fields. He started toward the area the soldier had pointed to.

Although he had to ask two more men where he could find Lieutenant Percy's tent, he was finally successful, finding the lieutenant, who seemed glad to see him, or at least relieved to get the paper Luke was carrying. He smiled when he saw Luke.

“Come on in,” he said, “and have a cup of water. You must have walked a long way.” He pointed to a dipper and a bucket of water while he read the note. After he read it, he seemed satisfied. “You might as well curl up there for the night,” he said. “I'll not bother with an answer. What's your name, boy?”

Luke hung the dipper back on the bucket. “Luke, sir.”

“You look exhausted,” said the soldier. “If you are hungry, there might be some beans left in that can.”

Lieutenant Percy was short, and his uniform looked a bit too large, like he might have lost some weight during the war. He had dark, almost black, hair, and was clean shaven. What impressed Luke the most was that he seemed to be a kind man who had a nice smile.

Grateful for a bite to eat, Luke ate greedily and went to lie down on the dirt floor to sleep, thinking about how he might persuade Percy to give him some work to earn his keep. But he didn't have to worry about that.

With the morning, Percy seemed to find it convenient that Luke was there, and glad for the help. He kept asking Luke to do things, run errands, clean and order the lieutenant's space.

That afternoon, Luke even managed to cook a rough supper.

“You mighty handy, boy,” said the lieutenant. “Is Fields expecting you back? You have anywhere to go now?”

“No, sir,” said Luke. So that was it. In exchange for his meals he got to stay and even earn a few coins. He worked hard, but Luke liked Percy and Percy liked Luke, and so all the rest of that year Luke was in the thick of the war, working for Percy, even carrying water to wounded soldiers. Sometimes it was exciting and sometimes it was very dangerous.

Lieutenant Percy also put him to work watering the horses. That had to be done twice a day, after reveille and once in the afternoon, and there was always more than enough to do when it came to caring for the animals, and never enough men. Boston was Luke's favorite horse. He belonged to the lieutenant and had been born in Massachusetts. Except for his two front white ankles, the horse was all black. Boston was an artillery horse. That meant he had very dangerous work to do on the battlefield, pulling the caissons and the battery wagons.

One morning Luke was giving Boston the last piece of sugar he had taken from the lieutenant's supplies, and Boston was nuzzling his face as if to say thank you, when the bugle sounded “to arms.” Luke jumped.

Someone yelled, “Boy, move your behind!”

Luke got out of the way fast so that the horse could be harnessed up to the battery wagon he was pulling. He ran to get his water bucket. Wounded soldiers would soon be needing him.

It didn't look good. They were taking a beating. Soldiers were soon dragging the wounded as far out of the line of fire as they could and leaving them there where the medics could get to them. When they called, Luke would carry his bucket of water to them.

He ran out of water and went to fill his bucket a second time. The deafening sounds of guns, dying men, and shrieking, whinnying horses made it hard for him to hear what the men were saying. He got down on his knees so he could give one man a sip of water and hear him.

The soldier moaned, and as Luke leaned over him, he said weakly, “Son, what are you doing out here? You ain't big as . . . a roasted peanut.” He coughed fiercely and blood came pouring out of his mouth before he could take a sip of water.

“I'm sorry, sir,” said Luke. “I don't have anything I can clean you up with.”

But the soldier was almost gone. “Tell em,” he strained to say, “tell em I did good . . .”

His head fell back into the grass. Luke couldn't linger. He knew war now. He knew that one man's death wouldn't stop a battle. He could hear the screeches of horses being shot by the enemy. Not Boston, he thought, please not Boston. He couldn't stop. He had to go on to the next one crying for water. He kept looking over his shoulder to see if he could get a glimpse of Boston, but it was impossible to see anything clearly in the smoke and confusion.

When the bugle sounded the rally, he knew they had won the skirmish. Soon those left alive were piling up the dead men and horses to be buried. He got his bucket and headed for the makeshift stable to look for Boston. For an hour he helped water and comfort the exhausted horses. But there was no sign of the black horse with the white ankles. Luke gave up and began to make his way back to the lieutenant's tent. He was dirty and heartsick. He felt like he had lost another friend.

Convinced Boston was dead, he was hanging his head and walking slowly when the lieutenant saw him.

“Son, you look mighty low,” he said. “Don't you know our boys won this thing?”

Luke looked up and there was Boston alive and well, standing right next to Lieutenant Percy. He was covered in mud, and blood splattered, but he was alive.

“He got separated out there and found his way back to us,” said Percy. “I was just going to walk to the stables to have him cleaned up, but here, I guess you'd like to do that.”

Luke smiled for the first time that day. “Yes, sir,” he said gleefully. “Thank you, sir!”

CHAPTER 36

VICTORY

Surrender came in April 1865, when he was twelve. Luke would never forget it because it was the last battle Lieutenant Percy was in, and Luke was wounded in the leg.

Percy was up and dressed as usual by five o'clock in the morning. He seemed somehow lighthearted to Luke, not like a man going into battle.

“Luke,” he said, “this war's about to be over. We got them on the run for sure now. Do you know what that means, Luke? You'll grow up a free man. Won't that be fine?” He put his cap on and fastened on his sword. “You stay out of the fray today,” he said. “Don't want you getting hurt. I plan to hire you and pay you a real wage when we get back to civilization.” He left the tent on his way to rally the boys to “fight a good fight,” and Luke wondered if Percy meant he wasn't supposed to carry water that day. Finally, he decided to get out there and do his job. Besides, he wanted to keep his eye on Boston.

In the middle of the battle, Luke was racing along a white picket fence that bordered farmland next to the battleground. Confederate soldiers were beginning to jump the fence. The Union had them beating a retreat and they were running all through the pastureland, stumbling and frantic. Luke was going in the opposite direction, carrying the water bucket. The whole world seemed to be exploding around him. The Southern soldiers didn't even notice him.

In all the uproar he didn't hear it coming. The bullet hit him in the leg. Suddenly his leg collapsed and he was down, yelling and writhing behind a dead horse and a broken caisson, in more pain than he had ever endured.

He woke up in the hospital tent, waiting for the surgeon to sew up his wound, and somebody said, “Here, boy, take a drink of whiskey, it'll help the pain.” He was swallowing whiskey for the first time. It was burning all the way down into his stomach when a private came bursting into the hospital tent and screamed, “It's finally over! The war's over! The South surrendered! We whupped em, boys, we whupped em! Wooeeee!! Hooray for the Union, hooray for the Union!” And all the sick soldiers who could holler did, and Luke thought how glad he was that he had helped the Union win, even a little bit, and he smiled, and then he heard men running and yelling, and that's all Luke remembered, because he passed out when they started sewing up his leg.

CHAPTER 37

SCHOOL

It was 1867. The war had been over for two years. Still, life in Harper's Ferry wasn't all that easy. One Saturday morning Daylily woke up early. This was the day she was going into town with Mama Iona, and she was excited. It was her turn to go. They had to get some supplies. They only went to the general store once in a great while, after Mama Iona had saved up enough pennies to get a few things. They had not been to the store for three months and were out of coffee, flour and salt. The children begged and prayed she'd bring back a little bag of sugar for treats. She didn't promise.

Daylily poured a little water from the pitcher and washed up in the washbasin. She put on a clean shift. The sun was just barely up and they had to walk to town. The walk took about an hour, but it wasn't too long for Daylily. She loved being out in the sun, seeing all the people.

Iona called her softly, “Daylily, you up?”

“Yes, ma'am,” she answered. “You gon wake the young'uns?”

“No, Caswell and Gracey know what to do.”

The walk to the store took them past farms and cow pastures. Soon they began to see buildings that had not yet been repaired and rebuilt from the fierce battles that had taken place in Harper's Ferry, dark burnt-out chimneys, and tumbled-down bricks, and a few other early travelers. Saturday was everybody's day to take care of their families' supplies. There were a few wagons too, drawn by mules and horses. Soon folks started waving. “Morning,” they would say.

Iona and Daylily waved back even when they didn't know the folks. “Mornin to you,” they said. In some places they saw crews of men working on buildings.

When they finally got there, the general store was crowded. There was a line of folks getting chewing tobacco, and another line for yard goods, another one for tools and another one for seed. Daylily looked at the cloth on the shelves and thought she had never seen such pretty cloth in all her life. Her favorite was the blue covered in little white forget-me-nots, but she knew better than to ask for it. They would never have enough money for that!

“Let's come back later,” Iona said. “Too many folks in here. I got business at the Freedmen's Bureau anyway.”

“Yes, ma'am,” said Daylily, wondering what the Freed-man's Bureau was. They headed toward a little white building that said “African Methodist Episcopal Church.” A sign that said Colored Welcome was tacked on the door.

“Thought we was going to that Freedmen's place,” said Daylily.

“This is where they said to come,” Iona answered. Inside, large windows let in the sunlight. A Black man in uniform was sitting behind the biggest table Daylily had ever seen. He told Iona to have a seat in a chair facing him. Daylily stood next to her. Afraid to stare, she looked out of the big window. The man handed Iona some papers to fill out. When she hesitated, he said, “Ma'am? Can I read it for you?”

“I can write my name, sir, and I knows just a few words.”

“It's all right,” he said. “I can fill these out for you.”

He asked her a lot of questions like how many children she had, when and how her husband died, and where she worked, and how much money she made. When he put the papers aside, he looked at Daylily. “Little miss,” he said, “do you go to school?” His voice was loud and deep, and when he spoke to her, she jumped. Iona looked at her as if to say, Answer the man.

“No, sir,” she said in barely a whisper. She fiddled with her dress sleeve. It made her nervous to have to answer the soldier. She thought about Caswell back at the house. She knew he wasn't really supposed to be with them, because he was White, and she wondered why Mama Iona had counted him when the man asked her how many children she had. Daylily was worried there would be trouble and then Caswell would have to leave and she would never see him again like she might never see Luke. Once when Mama Iona took Daylily to church, someone asked her how many children she had “adopted.” After that they didn't go to church very much.