The Root Cellar (14 page)

“There, now.” Mrs. Jerue put her arms around Susan and hugged her tightly. “The war’s been an awful grief to us all. We had letters regular up to February. Then they stopped. The regiment come home last week and the adjutant says there’s boys still to come who’ve been wounded or took sick or had special duties with another regiment. He says Steve took sick and that he got a wound. But”—her voice faltered—“he couldn’t tell me nothing more. I didn’t know, of course, to ask about Will. Oh, imagine those boys doing that and not telling a soul. Anyway, he said he was sorry to say he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Steve since they was in Richmond. Come to think of it, now I recall he said, ‘those boys,’ but I didn’t pay much mind at the time. Then he said we’d have to wait, that’s all we can do, and, my sweet lamb, that’s all I can tell you.” Mrs. Jerue took a large handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped away a tear.

“We won’t wait,” said Rose. “We came here to find Will. If he’s in Richmond we’ll have to go there.”

“Oh, no, son, you can’t go to Richmond!” Mrs. Jerue was aghast. “Why, Richmond’s away down south hundreds of miles from here, and what’s more, it’s all burned out. I suppose you don’t hear about those things across the lake. The rebels burned out the city the night before our soldiers marched in. And there’s sickness and desperate people. Desperate people all through the south, I daresay. You can’t go down there by yourself, a delicate little fellow like you.”

“Not by myself,” said Rose firmly. “Susan and I are going together.”

“Well, now.” Mrs. Jerue was somewhat taken aback. “You’re a right forward little mite, aren’t you? What’s your name, son?”

“David Larkin. I come from New York City. I … I ran away when my father and brothers were killed in the war and my mother had to go out to work. But the war’s over now and Susan said she’d take me home.”

“I must say you’re a plucky little fellow. You can’t be too much older than Charlie here.” Mrs. Jerue put her hand on the curly brown head of a boy standing beside her. He looked to be about eight.

“I’m twelve,” declared Rose.

“Land sakes! Aren’t you something! Your mother will be in a state over you. She’s lost all those boys, and for all she knows she’s lost you,
too. You oughtn’t to have run off like that. Well, there’s trains every day to New York and there’ll be no trick to finding someone going there who’ll take you along and see you find your mother. For now you just stay with us. And Susan, you’ll have to go on home. Who brought you over?”

“Arn Colliver.”

“Arn don’t usually stay more than a day, so you can likely go back with him in the morning. Come along inside, the both of you, now and have a wash-up and a bite to eat.”

Rose had not figured on Mrs. Jerue being difficult. “We can’t go back yet,” she insisted stubbornly. “We have to find Will. We need to go see that captain you talked to at the fort.”

“I declare I never saw the likes of you!” Mrs. Jerue put her hands on her hips and blinked down at Rose. “You can’t go to Richmond, son. I’d never sleep a wink nights worrying about you. It’s bad enough in the north with soldiers on the loose all over the countryside—oh my, no, the good Lord wouldn’t give me a minute’s peace if I let you go. But I don’t suppose there’s any harm in you going on up to the fort to talk to Captain Prentiss if it’ll settle your minds. After dinner, Charlie here can show you the way.”

Huffing and puffing from heat and exertion, Mrs. Jerue led the way into the house. The
children Rose had taken for neighbors turned out to be the seven small Jerue boys. Whispering and staring, careful not to miss a thing that was going on, they followed. A small, fat cocker spaniel waddled after.

“And you keeps boarders along with all these young ones?” Susan was incredulous.

“Oh my, yes. The children fit neat as pins into the spare corners and the men don’t mind at all. They’re mostly sailors from over your way. Mother kept boarders before me. That’s how Bob Morrissay come to marry my sister Patty and took her off to Canada.”

As she talked Mrs. Jerue squeezed herself down a narrow hall and into a large sunny kitchen at the back of the house. It was a big square room with a large scrubbed wooden table in the middle. Between the tall windows at the back was a big black wood stove. To the right of it was a stairway and a pantry beyond. It reminded Rose of old Tom Bother’s kitchen without the clutter.

“Now you”—Mrs. Jerue set her shopping basket on the table—“you get along to the washroom and wash up the dirt. Outhouse is out back if you need it.” She took off her bonnet and shook out her fading blond ringlets. She turned to the stairway and shouted in a voice that would have served a drill sergeant well, “Girls!”

Feet pounded. Three girls, from about nine to fourteen years of age, in dresses made from the same blue cloth with white pinafores over them, came down the stairs.

“Sally, Jenny, Louisa, this is Susan Anderson from your Aunt Patty’s across the lake. It’s a while since you been there; you may not remember Susan.” The girls all smiled. “And this here’s David.”

In fifteen minutes, under their mother’s watchful supervision, the girls had put a meal on the table: enormous plates of cold chicken, potato salad, lettuce, tomatoes, fresh rolls, and fresh peaches with cream so thick Mrs. Jerue had to spoon it on. She said a quick blessing, the children scraped their chairs, nudged each other, shushed each other loudly and giggled throughout the meal. The cocker spaniel watched every mouthful eagerly, obviously expecting a share.

“Well, now, I expect it will set Patty’s mind more at rest too if you was to go up to the fort and talk to Captain Prentiss.” Mrs. Jerue got up from the table. “Charlie,” she said. Gleefully Charlie detached himself from the group. “Follow me,” he commanded.

The day was sultry. There was no breeze and people were walking slowly, some of them fanning themselves with newspapers or fans. Charlie marched along smartly while Rose and Susan kept pace half a block behind.

“She’s right,” said Susan anxiously. “Richmond’s too far for us.”

“No, it isn’t.” Rose put her hand in her pocket and pulled out Will’s song. “This is for good luck, remember? We’ll get there and we’ll find Will.”

“It ain’t no use. It’s too far. We shouldn’t have come.”

Rose firmly began to hum Will’s song.

The fort was a confusion of tired-looking soldiers in blue uniforms. There were soldiers everywhere, lounging on the grass, walking around, standing on duty. The air smelled of sweat and horses.

Charlie presented himself to the sentry. “I want to see Captain Prentiss. I’m Stevie Jerue’s brother.”

“That so, sonny?” the sentry smiled. “Well, we got a lot of brothers here and we’re pretty busy getting them sorted out. We got no time for children, so how’s about you just running along now?”

Rose pushed her way forward. “We have to see Captain Prentiss. We’ve come all the way across the lake. It’s important.”

“Please,” said Susan.

“Sorry.” The sentry was firm.

Rose was not to be thwarted. She opened her mouth and shouted, “Captain Prentiss! Captain Prentiss!”

“Now that’s enough!” The sentry was no longer smiling. “You just get yourselves—”

“Wait a minute, sonny. Captain Prentiss is right over there. Wait here.” A soldier standing inside the gate had been listening to them. He went over to a group on the far side of the parade square and spoke to a tall officer. Together they came back to the gate.

“Yes, I’m John Prentiss. What can I do for you?” the captain asked Susan.

“We’re looking for Will Morrissay,” said Rose.

Suddenly the captain looked very tired. Rose felt a pang of fear. Beside her Susan drew in her breath sharply.

“I see,” said the captain. He looked down at Charlie. “And what’s your name?”

“Charles Walker Jerue.”

“I see.” Captain Prentiss looked at Rose again. Susan couldn’t stand it any longer. “Is Will dead?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” said the captain. “I really don’t know. The last time I saw either of those boys was in Richmond outside the Libby prison as the flag was going up. Things got pretty disorganized for a while after that, and by the time we had ourselves sorted out those boys had disappeared. I don’t know what happened to them. I’m sorry.”

“ ’Scuse me, Captain.” It was the soldier
who had spoken up for them before, a short, red-bearded man.

“Yes, Christie?”

“I couldn’t help hearing what you was saying and I wanted to tell these kids that I knowed both them boys and there ain’t no one in the Union army could have called either of ’em a skedaddler. I seen Steve wounded at Cold Harbor and he never once stopped to think about it through the whole battle, and when he took sick Will was like a nurse to him.”

“Was—was Will hurt?” Susan’s face was pale.

“No, no, he wasn’t hurt, not so far as I remember. Could be, you know, they got separated from the rest of us at Richmond. Steve was pretty sick.”

“It’s possible that they attached themselves to another regiment,” said Captain Prentiss. “The only thing we can do is wait to find out. I’m sorry.”

“If they took sick, where would they be?” Susan’s voice shook.

“Well, it would likely be in Washington—but, see here, you youngsters can’t go down there by yourselves!” Captain Prentiss was thunderstruck.

“Mister, if them boys is lying in some hospital needing care, I expect there’s no way for us to know about it without we go and find out.” Susan’s eyes flashed. Rose could hardly believe it was Susan suddenly so bold.

Captain Prentiss told them it would be impossible for them to go to Washington. “A young girl with only a little boy for protection. It’s a long, expensive, tiring journey. There’s almost no chance of finding the lads. If they’re in a hospital in Washington they’ll be sent home as soon as they can walk. And if.…” Captain Prentiss did not finish his sentence. Instead he said gently, “I’m afraid you really will have to wait like the rest of us.” He wished them well and went back across the green.

“They were a good pair of lads,” said Christie sadly to himself, and followed the captain.

Susan was badly shaken by what Captain Prentiss had said.

“That’s what he told Ma,” said Charlie. “Go home and wait. Ma says it’s no use hanging around the train station like some folks do. You want to go down to the ball field?” he asked Rose. “Or go swimming?”

“No, thank you.” Rose was busy thinking. Charlie offered one or two more suggestions, gave up, and as soon as they reached the foot of his street, he took off.

“We’ll take the train,” announced Rose when Charlie was out of earshot. “Mrs. Jerue says they go every day. We’ll go to Washington. But first we have to talk her into not sending you home.”

But Mrs Jerue would not hear of it. No matter what they said, no matter how they pleaded.

“Arn Colliver’s gone already,” she told Susan, “but Jake Pierson from your bay is going in the morning. As for you, young David, you stay here by me until I can find somebody going to New York City. Now then, Susan, as long as you’re here you might as well give my girls a hand at getting supper for the men. You run along with the boys, David. Mind, no mischief.”

Rose had only one thing in mind. Looking carefully in all directions to make sure she was not being observed, she sauntered toward the bottom of the street and around the corner. She asked the first person she saw for directions to the railroad station. Then she ran.

The station was a big barn of a building with tall dusty windows all around. At one end of the room were high-backed benches in rows; at the other end the ticket seller was reading a newspaper behind a wicket. The station was otherwise deserted. Standing on tiptoe to make herself seen, Rose asked what time the train went to Washington and how much it cost. “Eight o’clock, same as always,” answered the ticket seller, not looking up from his newspaper. “Change at Syracuse, Albany, and New York City. Fare’s thirteen dollars and eighty-five cents.”

“Is it eight in the morning or eight at night?”

“Eight in the morning. You get to New York at seven-thirty p.m. Connections to Washington at twelve midnight.”

When Rose arrived back at the Jerues’, the boarders had been fed and the family was sitting down to a meal larger than the one they had eaten at noon.

After dinner Mrs. Jerue said, “Well, it’s all arranged with Jake Pierson. He says to be down to the wharf by half past seven, and if the wind’s come up good he’ll sail.”

Susan said, “Yes, ma’am,” obediently, and went upstairs to the little room they had been given to sleep in.

“Now, you children brighten up them long faces,” Mrs. Jerue told them as she bade them goodnight. “You’d think tomorrow was hanging day for the both of you. It ain’t. Susan’s going home where she’s needed, and you’re going home where I’m sure your mother is going to be one mighty happy woman. I know it’s a trial, but you have to have some faith that our boys will get home safe without your help. The good Lord’s been running this old world a long time without your telling him how to do it, and I wouldn’t be one bit surprised if he was to go on doing it long after you’re both pushing up the daisies.”

After she had left them they looked the room over for a means of escape. All that
offered itself was one window with a porch roof below, but the porch was at least twelve feet down, and there was another twelve or thirteen feet from there to the ground. It seemed as though Mrs. Jerue had known what they meant to do. The only entrance to the room was through her bedroom.

They sat for over an hour concocting wild plans. Sitting on their cots, they talked in whispers of tying sheets together and lowering themselves out of the window. Susan was sure they would fall and break all their bones. Rose said that even if they managed to get away and hide all night in the railroad station, Mrs. Jerue was sure to discover they had gone.

“She’ll come marching down to the station to get us.” Rose giggled. “I can see them, the seven little boys, the three girls, and maybe all the boarders, too. ‘Give them up!’ they’ll shout. Then they’ll lead us off in chains.”

“What if we set out for the schooner without making no fuss and then slip off and go to the train?”