When Johnny Came Marching Home (30 page)

I checked them both and found that, like the Negroes outside, their deaths had been fairly recent.

Johnny came down the stairs from the second floor. "Whoever done it cleaned the place out pretty good," he said. "Even dumped the mattress on the floor. I guess they was lookin' fer any money these folks had hid." He was staring at the woman's body as he spoke. She was about the same age as his mother, but he didn't seem to make the connection. A few years ago he would have, I thought.

"We'll bury them all before we pull out," I said.

"Damn, we gonna miss supper we do that," Johnny objected.

"We'll bury them all," I repeated sternly. "Tell the others and get started."

I went outside and began checking the bodies again. I gently turned over the body of a small boy, maybe seven or eight years old. His smooth brown face was frozen in pain and his hands were balled up in two small fists. He had been stabbed repeatedly in the chest and stomach. I guessed it had been done with a knife, not a bayonet, because the wounds did not go entirely through his small body.

I reached out to open his hands so I could fold them across his chest. As I opened his right hand a brass button fell to the ground. It held the letters
U.S.
I picked it up. It was identical to the one on my own tunic. I placed it in my pocket.

 

* * *

 

We returned to camp shortly after seven, and while the men scrounged what food they could find, I went to our lieutenant's tent and asked permission to speak with him. He was new to the unit, having fought in the Western campaign under General Grant. There, he had been severely wounded and had lost his right arm. It was rumored among the other junior officers that he had begged to keep his commission and return to the fighting. The rumors claimed he was seeking revenge against the Rebs for the loss of his arm. He was from Ohio and his name was Arthur Nettles.

"What did you find out there, Foster?" Lieutenant Nettles asked. I told him about the absence of any Rebel troops, although I had come across a Sergeant Riddle who claimed to have seen some deserters. Then I told him about the farm we had stumbled across and the evidence of rape and murder that we'd found there.

"Probably those Reb deserters Sergeant Riddle saw," he said.

I handed him the tunic button I had found. "This was in the hand of a dead young slave boy. He was no more than seven or eight."

He stared at it for several moments. "I'll look into it," he said. "What did you do with the bodies?"

"We buried them, sir. I can show you where."

He ignored my offer, saying: "Good, good. It was the Christian thing to do."

"My men and I can give you statements about the number and the conditions of the bodies," I offered, unwilling to let it go.

"I'll get back to you on that, sergeant. Thank you for bringing this to my attention." It was a dismissal, so I saluted and left the tent.

I returned to my unit and found that Abel had brought me a plateful of food he had found somewhere. I thanked him and sat down next to him, exhausted, and began to eat.

"What'd the lieutenant say?" he asked.

I picked at the food on my plate. "We buried the bodies, and the lieutenant is about to bury my report."

Abel shook his head. "It ain't right."

"No," I said, "it's not. But there isn't much in this war that is."

 

* * *

 

I found Sergeant Riddle the next morning and told him what my men and I had come across. He just nodded and made no comment.

"I guess you didn't stop at that farm," I said.

"Passed more'n a few farms, but din' go inta any less we saw somethin' 'spicious aroun' 'em. We saw anythin' like 'at, we'd check fer Rebs. From what ya tell me, this 'un din' show any life at all."

"You see any other Union troops?"

Riddle shook his head. "Jus' you boys."

I told him about the Union tunic button I'd found in the boy's hand.

He took a deep breath. "Lemme tell ya somethin', Foster. My men been fightin' fer months, some of 'em even been fightin' fer years. They seen their friends blown all ta hell, jus' like yer boys have. They seen 'em bayoneted by Rebs chargin' their lines. They been talkin' to a boy one minute, turned away, an' then found that same boy wit his head blowed off when they looked back. Far as I'm concerned, they wanna kill them some Reb lovers, I ain't gonna worry myself 'bout it."

"These were children, small children, and slave women. The couple inside the house were older. I didn't see any weapons laying near them."

"Whoever done it prob'ly took the knives an' guns they had," Riddle said.

"And the children and the young women?"

"War's hard, Foster."

"Riddle, you tell your men that if I find them pulling off a raid like that, I won't stand by and tell them that war is hard. I will blow their asses to kingdom come."

Riddle nodded. "I'll be sure ta tell 'em, Foster. I surely will."

Chapter Twenty-three

Jerusalem's Landing, Vermont, 1865

My father and I sat across the supper table from each other enjoying our final cup of coffee. My father lit up a pipe and waved away the initial cloud of smoke that encircled his head.

"I wanna axe ya somethin', Jubal."

"What is it you want to know?"

He took a drag on his pipe and blew out a perfect smoke ring. "You gonna axe that girl ta marry ya?"

"Rebecca?"

"Ain't seen ya moonin' over no other." He smiled broadly. "Are ya?"

"I'd like to."

"Thank the Lord I din' raise no stupid son," he said.

"I think she'll say yes."

He started to chuckle. "Say yes? She'll have ya hog-tied two minutes after ya open yer mouth. Girl's been plannin' on this fer years."

"You think Mr. Johnson will approve?" I glanced down at my empty sleeve.

"Don' ya worry 'bout that. I think he's plumb scared ya won't axe her. Only one worries 'bout that bum arm a yourn is you." He reached into his shirt pocket and placed two rings on the table. One had a small red stone in it; the other was a solid gold band. He slid them toward me.

I had never seen either before. "Were these—?"

"Your momma's," he said. "The one with the lil' ruby in it, I give ta her when she said she'd marry me. The t'other was her weddin' band. I been keepin' 'em for ya. Don' worry if they don' fit, we kin have 'em fixed up at the jewelers in Burlington."

I kept staring at the rings, visualizing photographs of the mother I only vaguely remembered, trying to imagine her accepting a ring from a much younger father, then later holding me in her arms with the wedding band on her finger.

"How do ya feel 'bout doin' it?" my father asked.

"I guess it scares me a little."

"Ya'd be a damn fool if it din'," he said. "Scary thing, takin' a wife. Yer all footloose an' fancy-free an' all of a sudden there's somebody else dependin' on ya." He took another long drag on his pipe. "Then comes a chil', an' tha's even scarier."

I smiled across the table at him. "You trying to talk me into it, or out of it?"

"Son, if I kin talk ya outta it, then sweet young Rebecca ain't the gal fer ya."

"You won't talk me out of it," I said. "I'll go see Mr. Johnson in the morning, and ask his permission to speak to Rebecca."

My father's eyes glistened with tears. It was the first time I had seen that happen. "I wish yer momma was here," he said. "She sure would be proud."

 

* * *

 

Everyone was in the store when I arrived the next morning. Rebecca and Mary were waiting on more than the usual number of customers and Walter Johnson was busy stocking shelves. Even Josiah had been hired to haul boxes of goods in from the barn.

"Looks like land office business," I said as I approached Walter. I nodded to Josiah as he dropped off a box containing sacks of dried beans.

"Folks'r jus' stockin' up fer the first snowfall," Walter said.

I waited until he'd placed the last sack of dried beans on the shelf. "I wanted to talk to you, Mr. Johnson. Privately, if possible."

"This 'bout Johnny Harris?" he asked.

"No sir. This is a personal matter that I need to speak to you about."

Walter Johnson's eyes brightened. "Best we go upstairs," he said. "Ladies kin handle the store." He went to the rear door and called to Josiah, who had gone for another sack. "I'm gonna be upstairs fer a bit, Josiah. You kin rest up a spell."

He ushered me into the upstairs parlor and offered me coffee, which I declined. I perched nervously on the edge of a small, fragile chair, which creaked under my weight. Walter took a heavy chair stuffed with horsehair and folded his hands across his protruding belly. As always I was taken by how much Abel had resembled him, and thought again that this was how he would have looked had he been allowed to live into his fifties.

"What kin I do fer ya, Jubal?" he asked.

I shifted nervously. "I don't know what else to do, except to come right out with it. I'd like your permission to ask Rebecca if she'll marry me."

A slow smile spread across Walter's face. He unfolded his hands, sat forward, and slapped his knees. "Damn, if that ain't wunnerful news. Of course ya have my permission ta ask her. I think we both know what her answer'll be." His smile suddenly disappeared. "God, I wish Abel was here ta see this day. Did ya know that he wrote ta me, tellin' me he thought he was gonna have ya as a brother-in-law when the war was over?"

"No, I didn't know about the letter, but he told me the same thing."

"He loved ya, Jubal. He loved ya like ya was his own blood."

"I know he did, Walter. I hope he knew I loved him too."

Walter forced the smile to return. "When do ya plan to . . . well . . . talk ta Rebecca?"

"I thought I'd see if she'd take a buggy ride with me this afternoon," I said.

"Ya got a pretty spot picked out, do ya?"

"Yes sir, I do."

He winked at me. "Well, I guess I better give her the afternoon off."

We went downstairs and found Josiah standing just inside the rear door.

"Time ta get back ta work, Josiah," Walter said. "Bring me in a barrel of coffee beans."

"Yes sir," Josiah replied, gesturing with his head that I should come outside.

I went out the back door and followed Josiah into the barn.

"What is it, Josiah?" I asked.

He led me to an area in the rear of the barn, where I could tell he had recently moved some goods. He pointed toward two remaining boxes. "Look behind them boxes," he said.

I did as he asked and saw an awl up against the barn wall.

"Looks like dere's dried blood on it," he said. "Blood startin' at the point an' goin' right up ta the hilt."

I took the neckerchief from around my neck and carefully wrapped up the awl and placed it in a side pocket of my jacket. "I'll take it to Doc Pierce," I said. "I need you to keep this between us. Just between us, nobody else."

"I unnerstan'," Josiah said.

 

* * *

 

I walked over to Doc's office. From the road I could see two women sitting in his waiting room, so I went to the rear door and let myself into his kitchen. When he ushered a local farm boy out of his office he saw me sitting at his kitchen table, and I heard him tell the next patient that he'd be just a minute or two. A moment later he took a chair across from me.

"You got a problem, Jubal?"

I took the neckerchief from my pocket and slid it across the table and watched as he carefully exposed the awl. He looked it over; then picked it up using the ends of the neckerchief and headed back to his office. "Come with me," he said.

I watched him as he placed the awl under a microscope and carefully examined it. He leaned back in his chair. "Looks like you'll be riding back into Burlington," he said.

"Blood?"

"Definitely, and my guess would be that it's Johnny Harris's blood. From the look of this weapon, the shape, the length of the blade, it's my bet that if we exhumed Johnny's body—which we may have to do—we'd find that it matches the wound in his chest and heart."

I stared at the awl but said nothing.

"Where did you find it?" he asked.

"Josiah found it while he was working in Walter Johnson's barn," I said.

Doc pursed his lips. "You think Josiah might have put it there, to throw suspicion off himself?"

I shook my head. "If Josiah killed Johnny he would have taken that awl out in the woods and lost it for good."

"I guess maybe the gossip was true," Doc said at length.

"What gossip is that?"

"Just remember this is gossip. It's nothing that I know for sure, but a few months back I overheard two women in my waiting room talking about Mary Johnson. They were talking about her marrying Walter, and her being only a few years older than Rebecca. Then one of them said that maybe Mary had found herself a younger man as well. She said Mary seemed to spend a lot of time talking to Johnny Harris."

I didn't respond. I just stared at the awl. A panicked woman might hide a murder weapon in her barn, hoping to get rid of it later, or believing that no one would ever find it. So might a cuckolded husband.

"I had a talk with Walter this morning," I said. "I asked his permission to speak to Rebecca, to ask her to marry me."

Doc leaned back in his chair. "Son of a bitch," he said. "What are you going to do, Jubal?"

"I'm going to ride into Burlington and show this awl to Dr. Evers."

 

* * *

 

Before I left town I stopped back at the store and told Walter Johnson that something had come up that made it necessary to ride into Burlington. "I'll have to put off speaking to Rebecca," I explained.

Walter looked at me with a hint of suspicion. "Must be somethin' pretty important," he said.

"Yes, it is." I hesitated, watching him for a reaction. "It's about Johnny's murder."

"Oh." He shifted his weight as if suddenly uncomfortable. "Well, it can't be helped, then," he said.

 

* * *

 

I reached the medical school shortly before noon. Dr. Evers was teaching an anatomy class in a large, elevated lecture hall, and I slipped inside and took a seat in the rear. There was a detailed drawing of the human body on the wall behind Dr. Evers, and a cadaver lay on a table set out before him. The cadaver had been opened from neck to pubis, the ribs pulled back to expose the vital organs. Evers was lecturing on the functions of the human heart. Using a pointer and the drawing behind him, he enumerated the various chambers of the heart, then invited the students to come up to the cadaver and view the atrium and ventricles.