When Johnny Came Marching Home (26 page)

I gave her a friendly smile. "I'm sorry to say that's not what I'm looking for. I'm looking for a man named Bobby Suggs. I was told he might be here."

"Shoot, an' yer the first good-lookin' clean man I seen in a week." She offered up another coy smile. "I know Bobby from Dooley's Tavern, but he goes ta another lady in the trade. She's a few doors up. Goes by the name Ruby."

"Thank you," I said. "I appreciate the information."

"Well, ya come back now an' I'll give ya somethin' y'all really 'preciate. An' don' ya worry 'bout that arm none. I takes care of a lotta wounded soldier boys."

I knocked on the second door and was greeted by a slender woman with long, wavy blond hair. She was heavily made up, her cheeks painted an unnatural pink hue that contrasted with her bright red lips. She was dressed in a simple shift that seemed to be lacking any undergarments.

"Well hello, ya handsome boy. I'm Ruby." She smiled at me, revealing a missing lower tooth. "Ya here ta give me some mornin' lovin'?"

"I'm sorry," I said. "I truly wish I could, but I'm trying to find someone. A fellow named Bobby Suggs. I was told he might be here."

Ruby gave me her best smile. "Well, he left 'bout an hour ago. Boy near wore me out. You'll prob'ly find him up ta Dooley's Tavern, I'm guessin'. Ya sure ya don' wanna stay a bit?"

"I'm afraid not, ma'am. But thank you for the offer."

"Well, ain't you the gentleman. Ya come on back whenever ya wants ta. Ruby'll be here waitin' on ya."

I started to leave, then turned back. "This Bobby Suggs, he's someone you'd be safer to avoid," I said.

"Why is that, honey?"

"He's a bad man, a truly bad man."

"Well, I'll take that in account," she said with a smile. "But that's part a the trade. There's a lotta men come through this here door, an' I'm guessin' most of 'em ain't gonna make it through the pearly gates."

 

* * *

 

Dooley's Tavern was on Main Street, one block up from the railroad station and directly across from a small commercial hotel frequented by drummers who were passing through town. It was a small, dimly lit room with a long bar taking up the rear wall, and a scattering of scarred wooden tables and chairs on either side of the door.

Bobby Suggs was at the bar, his back to me, a mug of beer set out before him. I took the place next to him and ordered a beer for myself.

He jumped at the sound of my voice, his eyes glaring hatred.

"You followin' me aroun' now?" he snapped.

I remained silent, letting his surprise and anger play out.

"Are ya?" he demanded.

I took a sip of my beer and set the mug back on the bar, then turned slowly to face him. The barkeep was watching us, so I shifted my shoulders so the edge of my badge would show under my canvas coat. I didn't need any interference from outside sources.

I kept my eyes on Suggs. "Bobby, you were a loud-mouthed little shit in the army, and civilian life hasn't changed you any. Now, you give me that mouth again and I'm going to slap my gun upside your head, tie your skinny ass to your horse, and ride you down to the sheriff's office. You understand me?"

Suggs balled his fists in anger. "Ya din' have that badge I jus' might let ya try. Then break the one arm ya got left an' stomp yer ass inta the floor."

"Don't mind the badge, Bobby," I said.

"I don' beat up on cripples," he scoffed.

"Don't mind the missing arm, either. One's good enough to break your skinny neck."

"Whatcha want from me, Foster?" All the phony agression was gone out of him.

"I want your ass down in Jerusalem's Landing until I find out who killed Johnny Harris. I don't care if you need a woman. I don't care if you need a beer. You keep yourself close by or you're going to be dealing with me. Is that clear enough for you?"

"Man's got a right ta get on his horse an' ride somewheres," he argued.

"I hope you heard me," I said after a long pause.

"I heard ya."

"Then you get on your horse and head back. Billy Lucie needs you swinging an axe. Go swing one."

 

* * *

 

Fredericksburg, Virginia, 1863

We were bivouacked outside Fredericksburg on May 11 when we learned that Confederate General Stonewall Jackson was dead. The wound he had sustained at Chancellorsville had necessitated the amputation of one arm, but had not been considered life-threatening. Jackson, however, had contracted pneumonia while recovering, and six days later he succumbed to the illness. The irony, we now learned, was that Jackson had been wounded by his own men. He had been leading a small force on horseback, trying to determine if a surprise moonlight attack on Chancellorsville was possible, when he and his men were mistaken for Union cavalry and fired on as they returned to their lines. That and the loss of 13,000 Confederate troops were the two lone points of victory that had come from the battle.

My men and I were exhausted from the extended fighting at Chancellorsville, and were allowed nearly a week's rest before again being sent out on reconnaissance patrol. When that order finally came, we left camp two hours after dark and began scouring the Rappahannock River for abandoned boats that would take all ten of us across. By nine o'clock that night we had what we needed, and using a moonless sky we crossed the river in two skiffs, which we then hid in a patch of reeds for our return to camp.

Once on shore we moved slowly, dodging occasional Rebel patrols that had been sent out to watch our troop movements from the Chancellorsville side of the river. We found a small detachment of men encamped outside the hamlet, but saw no sight or sound of Lee's main force.

"So whatta we do now?" Johnny asked.

"We'll split into two groups: one will move out to the northern side of the hamlet, the other will stay here at the southern end. Then each group will move inland about two miles and see if we can find the main body of Lee's army."

"Hell, he's supposed ta have 70,000 men," Abel said. "They sure as the devil shouldn't be hard ta find."

"All right. Abel, you take four men and move out from here. I'll take another four and move to the northern side of Chancellorsville. We'll meet back at the boats in three hours. Nobody crosses until everyone is back." I turned to Johnny. "Pick three other men and follow me into those woods. We'll move on up to the Plank Road and head in from there."

We forged through a heavy patch of scrub pine for about a quarter of a mile, stopping every fifty yards or so to listen for any movement ahead. The bed of pine needles we treaded across kept our shuffling silent and secure. When we reached the Plank Road we kept to both sides, ready to dart into the trees if we heard any sounds coming toward us. About a half mile in, we came across what must have been the encampment of Stonewall Jackson's army, an open field of beaten-down grass and dead campfires. It was strewn with the litter his men had left behind, including papers and letters from the 4,000 Union troops they had captured and searched before marching them off to a Rebel prison.

"There ain't nobody here," Johnny said. "Look's like they left a small garrison to guard the hamlet and keep watch on us, and moved ever'body else out fer God knows where."

"If that's true, then the garrison's no more than a decoy to keep us in place while Lee takes his army somewhere else," I said. "We'll head another mile, a mile and a half, and see if we're right."

We moved slowly inland, following the line of march Jackson's army had taken, which appeared to be going directly toward the Shenandoah Valley, the preferred route Lee had used in the past when sending his army north and south. Once we were approximately two miles in, we turned back and headed toward the area Abel had been sent to explore. There we found the abandoned encampments of Lee's main force.

We worked our way back to the patch of reeds where our boats were hidden and found Abel and the other men holed up in some dense brush thirty yards from the river.

"You find anything?" I asked as my men and I moved up beside him.

"'Peers they all took off like a flocka geese," Abel reported. "Even their field hospital's gone. We found where their hospital wagons moved off from the others and headed toward Richmond, while the main body headed west."

"Toward the Shenandoah Valley," I said needlessly.

"'Peered like it ta me," Abel said.

Johnny grabbed my arm and pointed upriver toward the hamlet. A two-man patrol was headed our way, walking slowly with their rifles resting casually on their shoulders. They looked more like hunters out for jackrabbits. But the jackrabbits they were about to find were a bit more lethal.

"I want to take them prisoner," I said. "We'll bring them back for interrogation and find out what the hell is going on with Lee's army. So no shooting unless you have no other choice."

We split up and moved out, using the brush for cover. The two Rebs were talking, telling stories from home as best I could hear, but it was enough to distract them and, together with the moonless night, cover our movements.

When we were five feet from the riverbank we crouched down and waited, and as they started past we jumped up and leveled our weapons at them, ordering them to halt. One of the men stared at us wide-eyed and immediately dropped his rifle. The second spun on his heel and started to run directly toward me. I swung the butt of my rifle and caught him on the jaw, the blow throwing him back against a large rock. The crack of his skull hitting the rock was a loud, sickening, wet sound, and I knew before I even knelt down beside him that he was dead.

I approached the second man, who Johnny had forced to his knees, the barrel of his Colt pressed against his ear.

"How's that other boy?" he asked.

"Dead," I said.

"Oh, sweet Jesus," the prisoner said. "He was only fifteen."

I felt the bile rise in my throat, but forced it down and squatted in front of the other Reb.

"How old are you?" I asked.

"Sixteen," he said in a shaky voice.

"If you lived to be seventeen when would your birthday be?" I asked.

"In August," he said. His voice was hoarse with fear. "August 3."

"Well, son, if you tell us what we need to know, you're going to live to blow out the candles on your cake. You understand me?"

The boy nodded his head.

"Shit," Johnny said. "I wanna shoot this sumbitch. Don't tell 'em nothin', kid. I ain't kilt me a Reb all day."

"Put your pistol away, Johnny. Let's see what he has to say. Then we'll decide whether we kill him or not." I turned my attention back to the boy. "Where did General Lee's army go?"

The boy's lips began to tremble. "All I knows is what the talk about camp was. Ever'body was sayin' the army was headed north to take the fight back to Yankee territory."

"You sure about that?" I asked.

"Yes sir, I'm sure. It's what ever'body was sayin'."

"Okay. You're coming with us. We have some officers who'll want to talk to you. You don't give us any trouble while we take you across the river, you're going to live to have that birthday cake."

"I won't cause no trouble. I promise ya, sir, no trouble at all."

Chapter Twenty

Jerusalem's Landing, Vermont, 1865

Rebecca was wearing a blue dress and matching hat when I picked her up at the store on Sunday. I recognized the material from the purchases she had made during our trip to Burlington, and I marveled that she could fashion such beautiful clothing from the bolt of cloth and bows and buttons she had carried home that day.

"What are you staring at?" she asked. "You're looking at me as if you've never seen me before."

"Your dress," I said. "I'm just amazed that you could make it from all those things I loaded into the buggy a few days ago."

She made a slow, deliberate turn, showing herself off, then smiled up at me. "And a bonnet too. See what a clever woman you've set your sights on?"

"Are you certain I've set my sights on you?" I teased.

"Just remember . . ."

"Remember what?"

"That my father has a gun."

I took her arm and started across the road toward the church. "Then I guess I've set my sights on you," I said.

It was the first time I had taken Rebecca to a regular Sunday service, and we immediately became the source of repeated glances and whispers among the good ladies of the church. Such an act among our quiet country people normally marked the beginning of a courtship, and when my father entered the church and chose to sit with Walter and Mary Johnson it was, I'm sure, taken as a final seal of familial approval.

Even Reverend Harris smiled down on us when he took the pulpit to deliver his sermon, although the topic—"The Sins of the Flesh"—brought a few more glances from the women in the congregation and made me squirm a bit in my seat. I recalled that he had given that sermon, or something quite similar, many years before, when Abel and Johnny and I were just entering puberty. Off in the woods later that day we had spent considerable time wondering aloud about the meaning of that phrase, and even more about when we would be able to enjoy those mysterious and obviously delightful temptations.

At the end of service there were the usual greetings among those who lived in outlying areas and who seldom saw each other outside church, although several village women took special care to speak to Rebecca—hushed conversations held out of my hearing that were interspersed with occasional glances in my direction.

As we were leaving the sanctuary I leaned in close and whispered in Rebecca's ear: "I decided that it's not your father I have to worry about."

"Oh," Rebecca replied, raising her eyebrows. "And why not?"

"Because before he got to my front door, he'd have to fight his way through all the church ladies marching toward my house with torches."

Rebecca covered her mouth to suppress her laughter. "Don't you forget that either," she whispered back.

 

* * *

 

Reverend Harris greeted us at the door of the church. "It's nice to see you both together," he said as he shook my hand. "Jubal, I've been thinking about your investigation, and there's something I want to talk to you about. Could you stop by this evening after supper?"