Hear the Wind Blow (12 page)

"Don't you two look beautiful!" Aunt Hester said, smiling at the two of us decked out in borrowed nightclothes. Rachel's flannel gown trailed behind her, both longer and bigger than mine.

"All clean and fresh and ready to be tucked into bed." Aunt Hester smiled broadly and gave us each a small kiss.

"Come this way." Aunt Esther led us to the back stairs, the ones usually reserved for servants. "We don't want to disturb Corny and the major."

"Or Mother," Aunt Hester added. "She sleeps so light. The slightest noise wakes her. A mouse creeping across the floor. A creaking step. A cough, a snore."

The aunts took Rachel to a small guest room. Before she left me, Rachel handed me James Marshall's letter. "It fell out of your trousers, too. Good thing I saw it, or it would be burned up in the fire by now."

"What's that?" Aunt Hester asked.

"A letter I promised to mail."

Aunt Esther held out her hand. "I'll see to it, Haswell," she said, "though I can't guarantee the postman will be able to decipher the writing. The ink's faded and the envelope is filthy."

I held on to the letter. "No, thank you, Aunt. I have to write something to go along with it."

"James Marshall wrote it," Rachel put in. "It's for his father, but Haswell wants to say how James Marshall was killed by the Yankees."

Aunt Esther turned to Aunt Hester. "Why, sister, that seems the proper thing to do."

Aunt Hester agreed, and the two of them showed me to my cousin John's old room. The first thing I did when they left was hide the revolver and the bullets, as well as James Marshall's letter, under the mattress. Then I crawled into the big soft bed.

Tired as I was, being in John's room saddened me. The news of his death at Gettysburg had brought on Aunt Caroline's death, Mama had said, for she'd died the very next month, still in mourning for her only child.

I reckoned Uncle Cornelius was in mourning himself, which made it all the harder to understand his getting so chummy with a Yankee officer. But then I recalled Papa's saying Uncle Cornelius treasured his comfort above all else. He loved good food and fine wine. He smoked the best cigars and enjoyed card games and horse racing. Much as it disgusted me, it seemed my uncle was willing to consort with the enemy if it meant living the good life he was accustomed to.

The wind tugged at a loose shutter, bang, bang, banging it against the side of the house. It was a haunting, knocking sound. I shivered under the warm covers, for it occurred to me John was buried somewhere out there in the dark and cold. Suppose the wind was his spirit at the window, knocking to come in and lie in the bed where I now lay?

To drive my fearsome thoughts away, I forced myself to think about John's summer visits. He and Avery used to swim across the river down at the farm, racing each other. John always won. He was three years older than Avery, and that was definitely to his advantage. He'd stand on the bank and crow like a rooster. Avery would holler, "Just wait till next time. I'll beat you yet!" And then they'd wrestle and fool around.

I was little at the time, too puny to swim across the river, but I used to imagine myself getting bigger and beating John. Then I'd have my chance to crow.

Now those days seemed like a hundred years ago.

T
HE NEXT DAY I WOKE
thinking I was at home in my own bed looking at the tiny blue pineapples on my wallpaper. A second later I remembered. I was in Uncle Cornelius's house in a room papered just like mine. Mama and Aunt Caroline had chosen that pattern together, Mama had told me. I shut my eyes against the sunlight streaming through the window. It seemed I saw reminders of Mama everywhere I looked.

I didn't have long to lie there. Rachel came bounding into the room and jumped on my bed. "It's time to wake up, Haswell!" she cried. "Don't you smell hoecakes cooking? And grits? Coffee, too."

She looked lost in a dress obviously owned by a bigger person, but her face was clean and her hair was neatly braided. Mama would have been pleased to see the color in her cheeks.

I sat up and sniffed. Though it hardly seemed possible, I smelled what my sister smelled. My stomach woke up with a growl that made Rachel giggle.

When her stomach answered mine, she laughed harder. "Our bellies are talking to each other, Haswell!"

"And I know what they're saying." I reached for a pair of trousers Aunt Esther had laid out the night before. They'd belonged to John and were a bit long in the leg and wide in the seat, but at least they were in one piece.

Rachel grinned. "They're saying, 'Let's go eat!'"

Pulling up the suspenders, I ran down the hall after her, both of us laughing and shouting about who'd eat the most. Ahead of us a door opened and a voice bellowed, "Good God! You are totally unschooled in proper behavior!"

The major stepped into the hall and blocked our way. "Some people enjoy a few extra hours of sleep in the morning! They don't expect their slumber to be disturbed by a pair of rude children caterwauling outside the door."

Rachel and I looked as surly as we dared. Before either of us could think of an appropriate answer, the aunts came bustling up the steps and down the hall toward us.

"Oh, Major Dennison..." Aunt Esther began.

"...we're so sorry you were disturbed," Aunt Hester continued.

"The children meant no harm," said Aunt Esther.

"They're just high-spirited," Aunt Hester agreed.

Aunt Esther nodded. "Like colts in the spring, frisking their little selves in the pasture."

"Well, let them frisk their little selves in somebody else's pasture," the major snapped. "Never have liked children. Perhaps I can find rooms more to my liking elsewhere."

"Oh, major, I do assure you it will not be necessary to move," Aunt Hester said, her face anxious.

"Haswell and Rachel won't awaken you again," Aunt Esther added, equally anxious.

"Isn't that true?" Aunt Hester asked us, skewering our consciences with a pleading look.

Though I'm sure Rachel wanted to disturb the major even more than I did, we nodded our heads solemnly. "Yes, ma'am," we chorused.

"I advise you to keep your word." With that, Major Dennison withdrew to his room and shut the door.

As we followed the aunts downstairs to the kitchen, Aunt Esther begged us to avoid annoying the major. "I told you last night what will happen if the major leaves."

"Why, we'd starve to death before spring," Aunt Hester put in. "And this house would end up as quarters for the infantry. You can imagine how they'd treat it. And us."

With that, Aunt Hester placed a steaming plate of hoecakes right under my nose. "Eat all you want, Haswell. You need to put some flesh on those big bones of yours."

"Yes, indeed." Aunt Esther thumped a pitcher down. "And pour some of this good molasses on them."

I gave in to the weakness of the flesh and heaped hoe-cakes on my plate, just about drowning them in molasses. Shamed as I am to admit it, I enjoyed my second helping just as much as I'd enjoyed my first. Which proves Isaiah to be one of the wisest of the prophets, for didn't he say, "Everyone is a hypocrite and an evil doer"?

After I'd eaten, I went out to the stable to feed Ranger. When he saw me coming, he raised his head and nickered sweetly, which made me feel good all over. An animal's greeting is something to value. Not one of them is a hypocrite—except perhaps for cats who only act friendly when they're hungry.

I sat down in the stall and watched Ranger eat, loving the sound he made chomping on his oats. When he'd finished, I began currying him. His coat had been sadly neglected. By the time I was done, he looked like a different animal, shiny and sleek, a handsome beast with the lines of a Thoroughbred.

I was so absorbed in admiring Ranger, I didn't hear the major until he coughed. I whirled around to see him leaning on the gate of the stall, studying Ranger as if he'd never seen a horse before.

"Where did you get that fine animal?" he asked me.

I thought fast. "Papa gave him to me on my thirteenth birthday," I said, borrowing James Marshall's story about his horse. I knew he wouldn't mind.

"Is that right?" Major Dennison kept on studying Ranger. "I have the oddest feeling I've seen him somewhere."

His words gave me a shiver. What if he'd known Captain Powell? "There's lots of fine chestnuts about," I said, keeping my voice steady. "I reckon many of them resemble Ranger."

Major Dennison took his pipe out of his pocket and lit it. He never took his eyes off Ranger except to blink. "Not many as fine as this one," he said slowly.

I smoothed Ranger's flanks with the curry brush. "I'm lucky to have him."

The major pulled on his pipe. "You know, I don't see you as the sort of boy whose father could afford a horse like this. Your uncle told me last night your papa was better at philosophizing than farming. Your grandma didn't approve of your mother marrying him. Did her best to talk her out of it."

I swallowed hard. "Truth to tell," I said slowly, "Papa won this horse in a card game." Lies were coming easier and easier, proving I was indeed an evildoer as well as a hypocrite. Mama would be ashamed of me. And so would Papa, who valued honesty above all virtues in this sinful world. What's more, he'd never played a game of cards in his entire life.

"A philosopher and a card player." The major exhaled a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke. "My, my. No wonder he wasn't too good at farming."

With all my heart I wished the major had business to do instead of standing here in the stable staring at Ranger and me.

"There wasn't anything wrong with Papa's farming. That's just Uncle Cornelius's way of talking," I said. "He's a city lawyer and makes his money gouging people out of their savings." If my uncle could tell stories about Papa, I could tell stories about him. I'd heard both Mama and Papa say it, so it wasn't a lie.

"You're a regular little hothead, aren't you?"

"What if I am?" I glared at Major Dennison, the time for good manners long gone.

The man scowled. "I tell you, boy, sooner or later it's going to come to me where I've seen that chestnut. I never forget a man's face or the shape of a horse. If it turns out you stole him from the Federal Army, I'll see that you go to jail."

With that, Major Dennison strode out of the barn, leading his own swaybacked mare.

I lingered with Ranger and watched the major mount. The way he sat a horse, he didn't deserve a better one, that was for certain. He looked back once and then rode off down the sunlit street.

If the major really did recognize Ranger, I could end up in jail faster than you can say Jack Robinson. Worried in spite of myself, I sat down on an overturned bucket and pondered my future. This might be a good time to begin my journey to Petersburg to find Avery. Rachel was safe, if not happy. No one but her would miss me.

From somewhere outside, I heard my sister singing "Dixie," most likely in hope of offending someone. Much as I wanted to hop on Ranger's back and leave that very minute, I couldn't go off without telling Rachel good-bye. I decided to wait till dark, being ever watchful as far as the major was concerned.

Before I went back to the house, I cleaned Ranger's saddle. While I was polishing it, I saw something I should have noticed earlier. The captain had branded the leather with his name, "J. K. Powell." I couldn't think of a way to remove those letters. Anything I tried would just draw Major Dennison's attention.

I sighed and threw a blanket over the saddle. I couldn't afford to get rid of it. It was fine leather and well made. I had a long ride ahead of me and would suffer without a good saddle.

"Why do you have to be such a fine specimen?" I asked Ranger. "If you were an ordinary horse, the major would never have noticed you. But no, you have to be as handsome as the king of horses, an animal men remember."

Ranger lowered his head and blew through his nose. He cared nothing about his looks. All he required was a bucket of water and his oats.

***

Later that afternoon I was back in the stable, hiding from Grandma Colby. She'd been fussing at me all afternoon, and I couldn't bear any more of it.

"Don't sit there snuffling," she'd told me at the lunch table. "Go find a handkerchief and blow your nose. I can't abide rude sounds. That includes slurping your soup."

Turning to Rachel, she'd added, "Remove your elbow from the table at once, young lady. And turn the spoon away from you when you eat soup."

Rachel kicked me under the table and made a face, but she removed the offending elbow.

After lunch I sat down to read one of Uncle Cornelius's translations of Pliny only to have Grandma Colby take the book away. "This is a rare edition," she said sharply. "You'll ruin it with your dirty hands."

When I started to tell her I'd washed them before lunch, she said, "You should be outside exercising. It's bad for a growing boy's health to mope around the house with a book. You'll grow up to be a dreamer like your father."

So I slipped off to the stable to check on Ranger, positive she'd soon follow me there to say I should be inside reading and improving my mind. A few minutes later, I saw Major Dennison rein his horse to a stop just outside the stable door.

The major wasn't alone. Riding behind him was one of the men who'd come to our house with Captain Powell—the skinny runt with the wispy mustache. Hicks, I believe he was called.

The major strode up to me and grabbed the front of my shirt. "I told you I'd remember where I'd seen that horse." Turning to Hicks, he said, "Well, am I right, Corporal?"

Hicks eyed Ranger nervously. At last he said, "He surely does resemble Captain Powell's horse, sir."

T
HE MAJOR POINTED
at the blanket I'd hung over the saddle. "Go in the stall, Hicks, and see if the captain's name is on that saddle."

Hicks hesitated. "That horse don't like me, sir. Never tolerated nobody but the captain hisself. In fact, I don't see how that puny boy could ever have managed Satan."

Satan.
If that wasn't like the captain to name his horse after the devil himself. Truth to tell, Ranger was beginning to show signs of a devilish nature. The whites of his eyes showed and he stamped his feet.