The Cellar (3 page)

He jumped at what seemed like the sound of
the echoing laughter that he had heard before, he looked around and listened to
see if he could discern where it had come from, he could hear nothing from the
outside and the sound seemed to have been too faint to have come from his new
abode.  The only thing he heard for certain was the clock striking eight from
somewhere above.  As he strained to hear where the laughter might have come
from another matter arose to distract him.

It came to Ike that he couldn’t remember
having emptied his bladder in nearly three days and the urge was becoming
pressing.  He wondered if he had wet his uniform, but it was so sweat soaked
and filthy that it would have been hard to determine. Dehydration had made
passing water less of an issue until now.  He was wondering if there was a
corner in the cellar that would be any more acceptable than another when the
door creaked open and Marcus entered carrying an enameled chamber pot and a
crutch.

“Missy say you prob’ly be needin’ this
‘bout now.”  Marcus said, lifting the chamber pot.

“She must be a wise woman, Marcus, I am
about to explode.” Ike said, hoping to get a smile out of the taciturn giant
who was helping him to his feet.  Getting no reaction, Ike finished his
business, marveling at how good it felt to empty his bladder.  In civilian life
he would have had a hard time voiding himself with someone else watching, but
two years of passing water with so many others in attendance had rid him of
that problem.  He was usually glad to finish without someone else wetting down
his shoes.

“Made that crutch fo’ one of Missy’s boys
when he fell off’n a hoss and broke his leg a few years back.”  Marcus said. 
Something about his manner made Ike think that he was saddened by the
recollection.  The crutch was made of oak, with a thick heavy head that fit
nicely under Ike’s arm.  The head had been carefully smoothed for the comfort
of its user.  The shaft was made from a tree limb nearly as thick as Ike’s
wrist and the length was perfect for Ike’s build.  The bark had been removed
and it also had been shaved with obvious care.

Marcus went back out, closing the door
behind him and returned a few minutes later with the chamber pot, which had
been emptied out and rinsed, hanging from his elbow by its bale.  He also
carried the tray with a water pitcher and bowl along with the drinking cup,
another bowl of what he assumed was more mush also occupied the tray.  The tray
was placed on the table and the chamber pot was relegated to the corner of the
cellar farthest from the door.  Marcus gave a small bow and went back up the
steps, closing the door behind him.  Ike noticed the sound of something heavy
being placed on the door after the big man’s exit.

Ike attacked the bowl, which he discovered
contained oatmeal with cream and a few fresh blackberries on top.  This time he
did lick the whole concern clean and let out a belch that felt wonderful.  He
washed it all down with water from the ewer and proceeded to wash himself as
thoroughly as he could with the remaining water and a sliver of soap which
smelled to him of lavender.

The soap smell reminded him of Emma.  He
closed his eyes and pictured her sitting on their bed after a bath brushing out
her hair.  His loins began to quiver as his mind’s eye wandered over the
delights of the young woman on his bed.  Ike opened his eyes and shook his head
to sweep the image of Emma from his consciousness; much more of this would just
be torture. 

He tried to focus his mind on his
situation.  His squad had been ambushed while foraging at the woman’s house. 
He had accidentally avoided being killed by having gone for water to cool his
fever and had been grazed by a bullet that was meant to kill him and fell and
cracked his leg while seeking cover during the assault.  The homeowner had
taken him in and was caring for him and nursing him back to health.  Why was
she doing this?

Something told him that the blow to his
head had affected his mind.  He remembered that he was married to Emma, but he
could not remember her maiden name or their wedding.  He remembered that he had
a brother who had died at Shiloh, but could not remember his face or much of
their childhood.  The scars on his hands and arms looked like they might have
been burns but he had no recollection of how they came to be.  Most disturbing
of all was the feeling that he wasn’t alone here and the snatches of laughter
that seemed to echo in his mind.  He sat still and listened for the voice that
seemed to call his name from time to time but there was nothing.  He finally
managed to focus on the reality of where he was at present.

Ike was formulating questions he wanted to
ask when the door creaked open and he heard the woman’s voice.  “Are you
decent?”

“Yes Ma’am.”  Ike responded, instinctively
standing up with the aid of the crutch as the woman appeared.  His head swam
again, but he managed to recover and remain upright.

She came down the stairs followed by
Marcus, who was carrying another chair.  The second chair was placed facing the
one already present.  Marcus went back up the steps without speaking but did
not close the door. The sunlight relieved the gloom and warmed Ike’s body and
to a lesser extent his spirit.

“Please sit down.”  The woman said
indicating the second chair.  “Your break was not bad, but you need to keep
that leg elevated for a while.  You lost quite a bit of blood from your head wound
and you will be weak for a few days”

At that Marcus appeared again carrying a
small footstool in one hand and another tray in the other.  The footstool was
placed in front of Ike and the tray replaced the previous one on the small
table.  Marcus went back up the steps with the first tray after gently placing
Ike’s left foot on the stool.

“Would you like some coffee?” she said,
pouring from a china vessel into one of the cups.  “There isn’t much real
coffee in it.  I have extended my supply by adding chicory, but it is the best
I have for now.”

“Thank you, we’ve been out of coffee for
days since the…… since our supply lines were interrupted.”

He took the cup from her and waited as she
poured her own.   He waited for her to take the first sip out of a sense of
decorum.  He also had a nagging fear that she might try to drug him.

The ersatz coffee was not bad.  The
chicory added an earthy flavor that was not unpleasant.  Compared to the
outlandishly strong brew that he was used to being served up by his Sergeant
this coffee was excellent.  She watched him as he sipped the dark liquid.

“I suppose you have questions about what
happened.”

“Yes Ma’am I do.  Particularly about my
squad, did anyone survive except me?”

“Your Sergeant and the big blond fellow
who was at his elbow escaped unharmed.  They were close to my house and weren’t
fired on.  Four of your men are buried next to my garden and several were
apparently wounded but were able to get away.  You were overlooked and indeed
Marcus and I didn’t notice you until sometime later.”

Ike was relieved to hear that Sarge and
Billy were alive, he thought of asking her to describe the dead men, but grief,
fear, and uncertainty made him hold his tongue for the moment. 

As if she had read his thoughts the woman
said “I will describe the ones we buried, one was short with red hair, two had
coal black hair and beards and looked like brothers, and there was a fellow
with light brown hair and freckles who wore glasses.  Marcus and I said a
prayer over their graves and gave them what dignity we could.  I am sorry, I
suppose they were your friends.”

“Yes, the little red haired fellow was my tent
mate; he was a character…….”  Ike said, holding back a sob.  “I didn’t know the
others as well, but we went through a lot together.”  He had to close his eyes
as he thought of Johnny lying buried close by.   Johnny would no longer be
teasing Sarge and his other comrades and singing and dancing with the
contrabands.  Johnny who had loved and enjoyed life to an extent Ike sometimes
envied but couldn’t always approve of would never again go “a wenchin’” as he
called his nocturnal forays.  Ike imagined the young Negro women keening over
the young man who had paid them so much attention.

It seemed that he could remember more
about Johnny than he could about himself.  Like a lot of the people who
inhabited the southern end of his home state of Illinois, the O’Donnell’s had
come from the south.  Only one generation from Ireland they were small time
farmers and sharecroppers.  They had not been able to compete with the slave
holding planters and had moved farther north to free soil.  While they were not
prosperous, they eked out a living and held a grudge against the system of
slave labor that they blamed for having kept them down.

Ike had first met Johnny at Camp Butler,
where their regiment had been sent to train as the war was erupting.  He had
resented having to share a tent with this loud illiterate, whose very purpose
in life seemed to be amusing himself at someone else’s expense.  Little by
little, the two had become close friends.  Johnny was outspoken and gregarious
while Ike was quiet and reserved.  Ike came to realize that other than his
brother and later on his wife, he had never been as close to anyone as he had
become with Johnny.  Long and sometimes one sided conversations revealed a
young man with many of the same insecurities and fears that Ike had.  Ike was
devastated that two of the people that meant the most to him were now gone and
Emma was so far out of his reach as to be nearly lost to him as well.

Johnny had said that he enlisted so he
could go back and whip the “nigger drivers” that had kept his family poor.  He
also admitted that he didn’t care much for farming and thirteen dollars a month
plus food and clothing looked like a better prospect than staying home.  As the
two of them became closer Johnny confided that if he had stayed around home
much longer a certain young woman was likely to become pregnant.  “I just
knowed we’d end up married and have a whole herd of young ‘uns and she’d end up
lookin’ like her ‘ma and outweighin’ me.  Sleepin’ in a tent with you fellers
ain’t so bad when I think about th’ alternative.” He had said.  Ike wished he
could remember his own motives for joining the army.

Ike decided to mourn his comrades at a
later time when he was alone with his thoughts.  He was beginning to suspect
that he would have ample time soon enough.  He looked down at his leg as he
thought about his squad members and decided he should change the subject.  “I
appreciate how well you attended to my leg.”

“My late husband was a doctor.  I assisted
him at a great many things.  Your leg seems to have only a very small fracture
so I didn’t have to set it.  You should be able to walk on it in a few weeks if
you behave yourself.”

“Then I suppose I will just have to behave
myself.”  Ike replied with a smile, hoping to get another in return.  The
woman‘s expression still didn’t change.

“My head wound…..is it deep?”

“No, it seems the bullet just grazed your
skull, there was a lot of bruising and a small fracture and indentation but it
did not penetrate the skull itself.  I fear there will be a permanent scar. 
Why do you ask?”

“My memories seem….disorganized, I
remember some things but not others.  It is disturbing to me that I can’t seem
to remember what I did for a living before the war, or what my wife’s maiden
name was.”

“Do you remember your name young man?”

“Isaac Lowery Ma’am, from Florence,
Illinois, most people call me Ike.  At least I remember Florence, as small as
it is.”  He smiled at the fact that he could recollect his home, but again the
smile was not returned.  “Might I have the pleasure of you name?”

“I am Mrs. Micheline Pendleton.  You may
address me as Mrs. Pendleton.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Pendleton, for
everything.  I appreciate that you haven’t turned me in to the Confederate
authorities……” he said as the thought and its accompanying question (why?)
entered his mind.

“I gave it a good deal of thought young
man, but I expect you would have not been well cared for and there has been
enough suffering here for now.  I prayed about what to do with you and I
believe I have an answer.  I assume you are a praying man Mr. Lowery?”

“Yes Ma’am, I am.  I think I have prayed
more fervently in the last few months than at any period in my life.”  Ike
responded, he had clear memories of conversations with God during gunfire.  Though
he remembered that he and Emma were churchgoers, it seemed that his beliefs had
been more academic and theoretical before his life had been in so much peril. 

“In my case, I believe I have been favored
with a sign, Mr. Lowery.” The woman said with her back to him.  “I have been
asking for God to show me that I have not been forgotten.  Have you ever been
angry with God, Mr. Lowery?”

Ike thought for a moment as he carefully
sifted through his remaining memories and replied “Only once Mrs. Pendleton,
when I lost someone dear to me.   I can’t say as I am still angry, I can’t even
remember who it was, but….” He paused, unsure of himself and trying to analyze
why he could so vividly remember being angry, but not whose loss had triggered
his anger.  “I just remember being angry….but I believe his ways are above our
ways and maybe I will understand some day.” 

This time she looked at him with more interest. 
Ike thought there might have been emotion in her face as she turned to address
him again.

“I too have lost people dear to me, nearly
everyone.  Four of my sons have died in this war.  Gunshot and disease have
taken four of my dear sons.  My poor husband had a stroke and eventually died
of grief when we were told of the last one.  I have one son left, Mr. Lowery,
do you have any children?”

“Not yet Ma’am.” He replied thinking of how
Emma longed to have children and how they had begun to be afraid that there
would be none as she failed to conceive.