Lost Nation (42 page)

Abruptly he turned away. “I’ll be back,” he said.

Her voice low, just loud enough for him to hear, she said, “Luck.”

She sat watching him slip soundless into the fog, the blanket coat bright and then muted and then gone. Still she sat watching after the last spot she’d seen him. Sat until the fire was low enough that she grew cold and then looked to the small heap of firewood and stood up so quick she almost lost her balance.

Seven

Much of the following week passed quiet and cold, the oppression of fog stiff and unmoving over the land, roiling slightly over the rivers and lakes. Broken by the occasional rifle shot of a hunter and the weary repetition of axes as the remaining men threw up the roughest of shelters before winter came upon them—these crude camps little better than squat log bunkers built around the chimneys still standing from the burnt-out homes. Men working alone when it was their own homes to rebuild and in groups when providing for the wives and children of the men taken by the militia to the jail in Lancaster—those men not yet heard from or word of their fate. Some people had left altogether, sometimes just the forsaken women and children, other times whole families whose men had been untouched but still elected to depart the enshrouded bereft land.

The few remaining empty structures were occupied by the members or partial members of two or more families, with no talk of who should profit from the place come spring and who would return to their original pitches to begin again; it was enough to be in tandem against the winter. The people, even the men hard awork, moved through those days with the shambling gait of survivors, struggling to parse what had occurred and what might be done about it but most narrowly bound to necessity. A group of people foundered as sure as a ship with blown canvas, snapped masts, strewn rudders, stove both fore and aft. What men remained were rowers not navigators.

So Blood and Fletcher convalesced undisturbed, each assisted and tended but also spending much time sleeping or abed and so passed
abundant time considering their situations. Fletcher was comfortable as long as he didn’t move and so quietly enjoyed the care of his brother but most clearly Sally, who if not romantic was at least tender and attentive and there was unavoidable intimacy that he was cautious to reciprocate but not exploit, thinking he showed himself in a strong fashion and, watching, believed she was responding to this. He wished nothing more than for her to comprehend him as a gentle man. As for his father and his broken collarbone he allowed only that the man had made a mistake, determined to wait for their next meeting without judgment. For his part, Blood was more agitated. That Gandy was an ineffectual nurse meant spit to him—of true concerns he was divided. The past and future seemed colliding and his damaged leg at times was merely practical—get the damn thing healed—and at other, stranger more fevered times, night-hours mostly, the wound took on mystic qualities. Thoughts he would not revisit during the days, most of which he spent fireside, the leg stretched for warmth, the wound either freshly dressed by himself and other times open to the heat and air. An instinctual combination. He forced himself to hobble around and daily looked for improvement. Sometimes he saw it, other times he thought himself delusional. He was short of patience.

Twice Sally visited him and both times he sent her away. Brusquely and with unkind remarks that accomplished the job. The opposite of what he wanted but determined she would never know that. Not the only reason being that if she were there he would probe after his sons. That job he was saving for himself. Also, he missed her.

At noontime on the fifth day a horseman came up the road from the south and passed unchallenged for there was no sentry. The horse a gaunted gray speckled with dried mud and manure-stained from poor stabling, the rider in black from hat to boots and all points in between but for a boiled white shirt gone yellow at the neck and cuffs, the black of his overcoat and vest and trousers a shabby dull tone, a plumage of neglect and age. A minister of the Congregational denomination from Lancaster who once or twice a year traveled unannounced into the territory to hold a service for the general endowment of the inhabitants and to sanction what unions had occurred through need or desire since
his last appearance. A man respected not so much for his calling or ability as for his simple unambiguous vinculum to the greater world.

The minister tied his horse to the tavern hitching post. Blood was alone, Gandy hunting or as likely sleeping away the increasing quantities of rum he pilfered while Blood slept. As if Blood did not know this.

While Blood had not yet met the minister he knew immediately who he was, even something of the sort of man he was. Luckless in life, lean of faith, dependent more upon his office than it upon him.

Blood inclined his head in greeting. He said, “Reverend.”

“You are the man Blood?”

“I am.”

“I bear a message from Emil Chase.”

Blood nodded as if this was expected. Without mockery he said, “This portion of the building is my domestic quarters. Come take a seat with me. It pains me to stand.”

“You have taken a wound.”

“I have.”

“Mister Chase did not mention that.”

“He would not have known of it.”

“I have no use for public houses such as this. But my reputation suffers nothing from my entering one.”

I expect not, Blood thought. But only hobbled back from the door and swept a hand to indicate the table. Which was clear of all but a pitcher of water and his horse pistol.

The minister stepped inside. “Are your needs being met? Have you care?”

“I want for nothing. Let us be seated. I can offer you water still bright from the stream or tea if you would prefer.”

The minister said, “You’re not the sort I expected.”

Blood said nothing.

The minister went on. “I mean no disrespect.”

Blood sat at the table. He said, “Sit with me or stand as you’re comfortable. I take no offense. Men are the agents of their own fate, Reverend. And that should end our theological discussion. You have a request from Chase?” He suspected he knew already what the request would be and was trying to decide if he should be amused or offended.

The minister removed his hat and held it before him. His hair was surprising to Blood, a rich chestnut brush on a man otherwise devoid of notice.

He said, “The number of men arrested in the insurrection here are too great to be housed within the jail at Lancaster. The majority have no capital warrants beyond simple resistance. Chase is charged with inciting insurrection but it appears he and the Sheriff are coming to agreement. The man Watkin, who was the instigator of this sad event, died in transport from wounds suffered through his own hindering to lawful arrest.”

Blood spoke, not so much in interruption as one clarifying. “The problem is one of population, as well as sufficient grounds for holding such a number of men, is that correct?”

The minister said, “In a manner of speaking.”

“I fail to see what use I may be. I’m no jailer, nor wish to be one.”

“No,” said the minister. Then, as if confused he went on. “Yes. I have not made myself clear. I was merely attempting to offer a broad view of the situation.”

Blood said, “Can you speak plainly and to the point?”

The minister looked upon Blood with a spark of caution. Either more intelligent than he appeared or had been forewarned by Chase. Blood suspected the first. The minister said, “The High Sheriff of Coos County has accepted the pledging of a bond and the sworn word of the men detained in order to secure their release pending further decisions to their fate. Mister Chase has offered to put up the deed of his mill to secure that bond. The men in question, down to the last one, have agreed to be so sworn.”

“A happy and equitable solution,” Blood noted.

“Yes,” the minister enthused. “But between Mister Chase and the Sheriff there remains dispute over the value of the mill deed. The sheriff requires a sum somewhat greater than the two concur upon.”

“And Chase suggests I might provide that sum?” Blood was intrigued.

The minister lifted his face and studied the ceiling beams for a brief time. Then he looked back at Blood. “That is his hope, sir. He believes you might consider such generosity beneficial to yourself, as well.”

“Is that so?” said Blood. His tone mild.

The minister nodded.

“You have a precise figure?”

“I do.”

“No doubt that would include a minor surcharge for your services in this matter.”

The minister purpled. “I seek only to aid men in distress. To assist in what appears to be largely a matter of misunderstanding.”

Blood got the ox goad from where it leaned against the table and brought it between his legs and levered himself upright. He said, “I’m glad to hear that Reverend. It will make it all the easier for you to return to Mister Chase with my answer. Which is this, and a simple one at that—please recall these words: Let Hutchinson hold the deed and the swearing of the men as bond. When those men walk up this road Emil Chase may stop here. Whatever money he lacks to satisfy Hutchinson, we can discuss at that time, as well as the Canadian agreement. Mister Chase will understand that reference.”

The minister said, “I fail to comprehend you sir.”

Blood dug in his breeches and removed a ten dollar gold piece. He said, “Please deliver this to the Sheriff. The issue of money is not the only one that lies between Chase and myself. Today no other money shall travel southward with you. None beyond that ten dollars will go direct from my purse to that of your High Sheriff. I’d as soon fuck a pig. Do you comprehend that?”

The minister replaced his hat. His face the color of raw liver. He said, “I understand you all too well. Would you trifle with the lives of men in such a way?”

Blood said, “If you recall my words exactly, and repeat them to Chase and not to Hutchinson, then I trifle with no one. I believe the burden of trifling lies upon you. Would you have a drink of water before you depart? You look dry.”

That same day a wind roused out of the south and the clammy weather began to disintegrate, the light weak but the warming air enough to melt the hoarfrost and soon the world was wet and emitting a low glisten that rose as much from the muted colors of the wetted brush and limbs as from the blanched sun.

Late in the afternoon Blood gimped outside. Gandy had been gone since morning. Blood made his way in a long tortured circuit about the house and came upon the still-fresh grave of the dog. The heaped soil was thawing and when, at great effort, he bent to touch his finger to the mound it came away wet and brown. He rubbed it off against his pant leg, the one split all the way up his side and tied together at the bottom above his boot. So the cloth flapped open. His leg was chilled but he figured fresh air was good for the wound.

He made his way to the barn. He got an armful of hay over the bars into the pen for the oxen. The milk cow was in distress. There was nothing he could do for her. Even if he were able to lower himself to a milking stool with his leg stretched flat under her he doubted he might ever rise. And in her torment there was no telling how she might react to such a sight as he.

He sighed. To be able to load the oxcart, yoke the steers and go. But this was no longer a choice, no longer a simple practicality.

He made his way to the hog stockade and with great effort turned around to sit on the entryway of the chicken coop and reached behind him to scrabble his hand among the flustering peckish chickens and so one at a time scooped out a half-dozen eggs. These he carried to the house and set in a bowl on the mantel.

He returned to the barn for the halter and lead of braided leather and beat the half-wild milk cow with the goad until she stood quivering, motionless as he haltered her. Then in slow awkward procession he made his way up the road, the cow trailing behind, Blood jouncing rough each step of the way, sweating and tight-chested with the exertion. At the mill the door was open and a group of young boys stood hostile and silent, watching him come, all of them armed, some with rifles or old flintlocks and others with simple weapons such as sickles or froes. He stood in the road and with great unwavering authority ordered one amongst them to obtain Mistress Chase.

She came to the door and stood looking at him, silent.

He said, “Send these children away and shut the door. I’ve news for you.”

She studied him a moment more and then stepped down into the yard and without her speaking the gang of youth drifted up the road, still in sight but out of earshot. She pulled the big door to behind her.

Blood watched her and waited. She was a handsome woman close to his own age with her life marked clearly upon her. As if her misfortunes were not a product of her choice but the nature of life itself. Perhaps, he considered, she was correct.

She said, “I had thought you were out of the country. But you secured a wound as well.”

Blood said, “I was an unwitting and unwilling puppet. But I’ll not plead my case to you. The circumstance of opinion lies against me, I know. But I wished you to know that I’ve reason to believe your men will be released soon. Perhaps tomorrow.”

She was silent a pause and then said, “You engineered this as well?”

Blood held his sigh. He said, “I was approached this forenoon by an agent of Mose Hutchinson. I was offered the opportunity to ransom your husband and the rest of the men. I refused this, being unwilling to have Hutchinson benefit from this sham. But I made clear your husband is welcome to discuss his needs with me in person. It was not the answer hoped for but one I presume will in the end suffice. My belief is that the Hampshire men do not truly know what to do with the men they took from this country.”

“My husband would not appeal to you directly, himself. We are not without means.”

“The proposal put forth to me did not strike me as being to the benefit of either your husband or myself. I simply wish to ease your mind as best I can, informing you of the situation and how I expect it will be resolved.”