Hear the Wind Blow (16 page)

In the evening of the third day, I saw a cabin set way back from the road with light shining from a window. It was nearly dark and the rain was still falling, but I could make out a thin plume of gray smoke rising from the chimney, barely discernible against the heavy clouds.

Praying the inhabitants would be as kindly as the Capleses, I turned Ranger down the lane leading to the cabin. The water was up to the horse's hocks, but he lurched along, with me clutching the reins. My hands shook, my teeth chattered, my head felt two or three times its usual size. I was thinking this was my last chance. If the folks who lived here turned me away, I wouldn't last the night.

When I got closer, a pack of dogs started barking. Ranger hesitated. I saw they were fenced in and urged the horse on.

A boy peered out of the window and shouted to someone behind him, "Polly, it's a boy on a horse. Should I let the dogs loose?"

Another face appeared, a girl's this time. She took one look at me and vanished. A few seconds later, the cabin door opened and she stepped out onto the porch.

"What do you want?" she called. In her hands was a musket old enough to have belonged to her great granddaddy. The way she held it told me she knew how to use it. And her eyes told me she'd pull the trigger if she had to.

I urged Ranger toward the cabin anyway. By now I was swaying from one side to the other. I couldn't stay in the saddle much longer.

"Please," I croaked, "I'm half dead of fever." I reached out and felt myself plunge into blackness.

The next thing I knew, I was lying on a pallet made of blankets and quilts. The fire was burning bright, warming me through and through. My clothes were hanging on the back of a chair, drying. Under the blankets I was naked.

I turned my head and look around. The girl, Polly, was watching me. When she saw my eyes open, she hopped up and offered me a tin cup full of hot broth. "Sip it slow," she warned me. "You don't want to throw it up. Be a waste of good food if you done that."

"Thanks." I held the cup, but my hands shook so bad the broth slopped over the sides. Polly reached out and steadied the cup and helped me drink.

"You feeling any better?" she asked.

I nodded. "Warm, dry, out of the rain."

"It took me and Henry both to drag you inside. You slept so long I was afeared you was dead." She paused and her thin face flushed. "Hope you don't mind us taking off your clothes. We had to get you dry."

"Where's my revolver?" I asked. "And my horse?"

Polly picked up the gun and handed it to me. "Don't worry. We ain't thieves. Henry put your horse in a shed behind the cabin, so he ain't out in the rain. He's a mighty fine animal."

"Those dogs won't bother him, will they?"

"No, they're just old coon dogs. I never knowed them to bite anybody. They just bark and growl and look real mean. Scaring people off, that's what they're good for."

I sipped some more broth. It was almost as good as Mama's, and it slid down my throat in a comforting way.

"I'm Polly O'Brien. What's your name, and how come you're in these parts?" Polly asked.

"Haswell Magruder. I'm heading to Petersburg to find my brother, Avery. He's there with the Confederates, holding off the Yankees."

"Do your ma and pa know where you are?" Polly asked. "Or did you just run off?"

I turned my head to the fire so she wouldn't see the tears in my eyes. Being sick has a way of making a person cry. It must weaken you or something. "Mama and Papa are dead," I said. "My sister and I need to find Avery and bring him home, so we can keep our farm going."

Polly didn't say anything for a while. "Our ma's dead, too," she finally said. "Fever took her a couple of years ago. And Pa's at the war. We ain't heard from him in a long time, so could be he's dead, too. Henry and me been doing our best, but we ain't had much luck. Except we're still alive. Some might say that's lucky."

While she talked, I studied her face. Freckles on top of freckles, more than a person could count. Greeny gray eyes, a wild mop of red hair, a straight little nose. She reminded me of Maura, our Irish maid, the one who ran off with the Yankee soldier. Pretty. But sad. Especially her eyes.

"I hear the war's almost over," I said.

"So they say. I hope it's true."

"Me, too."

We fell silent again. The fire was burning low, and shadows hid most of Polly's face. "How old are you?" I asked.

"Almost fifteen."

"I'm thirteen."

"Henry's only eleven, but he thinks he's all growed up. The war, I reckon. It ages a person, don't you think?" She smiled at me. "You want some more broth? Or water?"

I shook my head. "I just want to sleep."

Polly got to her feet. "Henry and me sleep in the loft. He's up there now. If you want anything, just holler." She smiled again, showing a little dimple in one cheek. "That is, if you got the voice to holler."

"Don't worry. I'll be fine."

The next time I opened my eyes it was morning and the sun was shining. I could hardly believe the rain had stopped at last. I sat up slowly and was glad to see some of my strength had come back already. Polly was nowhere in sight, but Henry was sitting at the table staring at me. His hair was even redder than Polly's, and I swear he had freckles on top of freckles on top of freckles.

"I fed your horse some grass," he said. "Your pa must be rich to give you a horse that fine."

I grinned. "My pa isn't rich, and he didn't give me Ranger."

"Then how'd you get him?"

"Let's just say he used to be in the Union Cavalry, but I liberated him."

"You stole him from the Yankees?" Henry's eyes widened in admiration.

It occurred to me I was showing off. Next I'd be telling the boy about Captain Powell's death and my escape from jail. It might be better to keep my mouth shut about some of my deeds. "I found him," I said, "that's all. I guess his owner got killed or something."

"To them Yankees, it's all the same. You could be hung for a horse thief."

"I guess so." I was tired already from sitting up so I rested back on my elbows. "Where's Polly?"

"She's gone down the road to Widow Ransom's place, hoping to talk her out of a few eggs." Henry scowled. "That old lady will make Polly do some chores first. So it may be a while 'fore she comes home."

"How about a drink of water? I'm parched."

Henry jumped up. "Drat. Polly told me to fetch you water and I plumb forgot."

He went out to the well behind the cabin. While he pumped away, I pulled on my clothes, dry now but stained with mud. By the time Henry returned I was dressed and sitting at the table, still feeling a bit trembly and achy. Carefully he filled a cup from the bucket of well water and handed it to me. I was glad to see my hands were steadier.

"There's some porridge left," Henry said, "and some bread. Polly said you can eat if you want."

The porridge wasn't much thicker than water and the bread was hard, but it tasted fine. Soon I was sleeping again.

***

Polly came home from the widow's with some eggs about the middle of the afternoon. She'd no sooner sat down to rest than we heard the rumble of men and horses coming our way. We stared at each other. "It must be the Yankees," Polly whispered.

As the steady drum of hooves grew louder, Henry grabbed the musket and headed toward the door. Polly stopped him. "Where in tarnation do you think you're going with that gun?"

"I aim to shoot them Bluebellies. Kill as many as I can." While Henry struggled to escape Polly's grip, I grabbed the musket from him. Next thing you'd know, he'd blow somebody's head off. Maybe his own. Maybe mine.

"You ain't going to do nothing of the sort!" Polly yelled. "You'll just get your stupid self kilt, and what good will that do?"

"She's right," I said, keeping the musket out of the boy's reach.

Henry ran to the window and looked out. "They'll be here soon. Can we at least go see them?"

Polly glared at Henry. "If you promise not to do nothing stupid like throwing rocks or hollering insults."

He gave her a sulky look. "Can we loose the dogs on them?"

"You know them hounds won't do nothing. Most likely they'll run off with their tails between their legs, and we won't never see them no more."

Polly turned to me. "You think you got the strength to walk down to the road?"

For a minute I considered staying in the cabin, for there was a chance Major Dennison might be among the soldiers. But I was so caught up in the excitement, I decided he'd be too busy leading his men to notice me.

We made our way down the lane. It was still muddy from the rain, so my shoes suffered somewhat. Neither Polly nor Henry wore anything on their feet. I doubted they had a pair of shoes between them.

I was glad to boost myself onto the fence and sit a spell. Polly sat beside me. Her faded gingham dress was worn so thin I could almost see through it. It was tight, too. The seams strained even though the girl hadn't an extra pound anywhere. I glanced at her feet. They were narrow and freckled. Her second toe was longer than her big toe. First time I'd ever seen that.

"I see their flag!" Henry shouted. "Just coming round the bend up yonder."

What a show those men put on. Though some were old and tired, many were young and fresh and their buttons shone in the sunlight. Their horses pranced and held their heads high. In front of the flag bearers marched a drummer boy and a fifer, both about my age. As they drew near, the boys struck up "The Battle Cry of Freedom," and the soldiers burst into song. With one eye on us, they belted out the chorus.

The Union forever,
Hurrah, boys, hurrah!
Down with the traitor,
Up with the star;
While we rally round the flag, boys,
Rally once again,
Shouting the battle cry of Freedom.

Of course, Henry had to bellow "Dixie." I doubted anyone heard his thin little pipe of voice, but Polly did her best to shush him. She even put her hand over his mouth. Some of the cavalry laughed at the sight of her struggling to control Henry.

One hollered at him. "Hey, boy, you're watching the end of the South pass right in front of your nose."

Of course, Henry slid off the fence and grabbed a rock. "No!" Polly shouted and tackled him. He threw the rock anyway, but it went wide and missed the soldier.

"I seen all I want to see!" Polly gave Henry a shaking hard enough to rattle his teeth and pulled him up the lane toward the cabin. I followed them. I'd seen all I wanted, too.

W
HEN DARKNESS FELL
, we ate our supper. Polly scrambled the eggs and cut more hard bread. I wasn't as tired as I had been, so the three of us sat by the fire and talked about our families and the days that used to be. Suddenly, Polly began to sing "Hard Times" in a sweet, quavery voice.

Henry and I joined in the chorus.

'Tis the song, the sigh of the weary;
Hard Times, Hard Times, come again no more.
Many days you have lingered around my cabin door;
Oh! Hard Times, come again no more.

While I sang, I couldn't help recalling the night Mama had sat at our little organ as Rachel, James Marshall, and I sang those very words. We'd all been so happy, never dreaming Hard Times was about to pound on our door and change everything.

When the last chorus was sung, Polly wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "Don't know why I picked that song to sing," she said. "I just opened my mouth and it came spilling out."

"It's a fitting song," I said.

Polly nodded. "Hard Times been knocking on our door for a long while, as far back as I can remember. But now it's worse than ever." She raised her head and stared at me. "You think Hard Times will ever stop his knocking and knocking and knocking?"

It was a tough question. And it required a tough answer. "Even when this war is over," I said slowly, "I believe Hard Times will be knocking on our doors for a long, long time."

Polly lowered her head. "Lord," she murmured, "give us strength."

"Amen," I whispered, for I knew I needed strength as much as she did. And maybe more, because I wasn't used to Hard Times like Polly was. We'd never been rich, but we'd had a sight more comfort and ease than Polly and Henry had ever enjoyed.

"All this sad talk has wore me out." Henry rubbed his eyes and yawned. "I'm so tired I can't hardly see."

"And you, Haswell." Polly turned to me. "You ought to be getting lots of rest. You need to build your strength so's you can go find your brother."

I didn't argue, for I was just as fatigued as Henry. Being up and about had shown me I wasn't quite as fit as I'd thought. I curled up in my blankets and watched Polly and Henry climb the ladder to the loft. "Good night," I called.

Polly paused and smiled down at me. "Sleep well, Haswell."

I nodded, but when I closed my eyes, I saw those Yankees again, marching, marching, marching toward Petersburg. "Please, God," I prayed, "spare Avery's life. Don't let him be killed. Keep him safe from harm. You know Rachel and I can't make it without him."

***

I knew I had to go on my way soon, but the next day another hard rain commenced. It kept up for three days, flooding fields and roads, making it difficult to go anywhere for several days afterward.

It wasn't just the weather that kept me. My fever lingered, low in the mornings, high in the evenings. Polly fussed over me, but Widow Ransom kept her busy, doing chores in exchange for food.

"That old woman used to have slaves do her work," Henry told me one day while Polly was gone. "But they run off long ago."

"We never had slaves," I said. "Papa thought it was wrong."

"How come he and your brother went off to the fighting, then?" Henry asked.

"To keep the Yankees off our land."

Henry nodded. "That's why Pa went. He didn't care nothing about slavery one way or t'other. He just didn't like Yankees."

We sat quietly for a while, pondering the war. "The Yankees came anyway," Henry said. "And it don't look like they'll be leaving any too soon. Damn them."