The Cellar (8 page)

Mrs. Pendleton stepped into the room and stared
at Ike in his purloined clothing.  “Were you planning on going somewhere Mr.
Lowery?”

“It had crossed my mind.  Not knowing what
else might be required of me this evening I thought it might be a good idea to
be dressed in something other than that nightshirt.”  He met her gaze and tried
to remain expressionless.  Tension hung in the room like a fog.  “It looks like
we have some problems here, at least two down in the cellar,  with the house
being guarded it will be difficult to dispose of them discreetly.”

“Moon be a settin’ in about a hour.” 
Marcus said, breaking the silence.  “They’s that ol’ dried up well behind the
barn.  Some quicklime and dirt take care of they carcasses.”

“Can we get them out there without being
seen or heard, Marcus?”  Ike asked, relieved at the thought of a solution.

“I go walk around and see where them boys
posted befo’ the moon sets.”  Marcus said, standing up slowly.  “Head’s feelin’
better now.  Thanks sodjur.”

With Marcus outside determining where the
Colonel had placed his pickets, Ike and the woman resumed their challenging
stares.  Neither spoke or even blinked for a few minutes.  “Can’t read her mind
Ikey, but I think she’d like to get you back down in the cellar.”

“At this point Johnny, it might be the
best place for me.  If I try to get away and get caught by the home guard or
the cavalry about the best I could hope for is to be shot on sight.  Their
blood’s up and I can’t entirely blame them.  I’m the one that went crazy and
killed those two for assaulting the flower of southern womanhood and I’m  a  damned
Yankee.”

Mrs. Pendleton finally looked away, tired
by her evening’s travails and not being able to gain an advantage in the
contest.  Ike stood up and walked toward her peering at the knot on her
forehead.

“Shouldn’t we put something on that?”  he
offered.  When she did not respond, he went to the cabinet and retrieved the
salve.  He led her to a chair and helped her sit down.  She did not resist as
he knelt beside her and cleaned the abrasion on her forehead and applied the
balm tenderly.  When she finally turned to look at him there were tears in her
eyes.

“I am afraid that I have treated you badly
Mr. Lowery.  Thank you for all you’ve done this evening.  It’s likely that you
saved my life.”  She said putting her head on his shoulder and began sobbing,
“This war has been so ugly and taken so much from so many.”

They remained there in silence Ike
instinctively put his arm around the woman’s shoulder as she clung to him and
vented her pent up sadness.  Marcus stepped into the kitchen and registered no
surprise or dismay at the scene.  “Nobody anywhere close to the well and the
moon behind  a cloudbank.  We better do this thing now if we gonna’ do it.”

“Marcus, is there any chance we could get
them into the creek behind the barn so they could float away and maybe be
found?”  Ike asked, mentally picturing the landscape he had seen when his squad
first reconnoitered the area.

Marcus looked thoughtful for a moment. 
“Creek is up right now and everthin’s in shadow, ain’t but about ‘nother fitty’
yard.  Dat way iff’n the ‘Federts find ‘em they be settlin’ down a while an’
won’t be lookin’ around so much.  Good idea dere sodjur.”

Teddy was the lighter of the two dead men
and had only voided his bladder at the moment of his demise.  George on the
other hand was heavy even after having evacuated nearly all of his internal
contents as well as bleeding from his head wound.  “It’s going to stink down
here for days.”  Ike groaned in disgust as he and Marcus rolled the dead man’s
mortal remains onto an old piece of canvas and carried him up the steps and
onto a wheelbarrow.   Ike shed his borrowed clothing and floated the dead men
out to the center of the stream and sent them on their way

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, if the good
Lord don’t want ‘em, the devil must.”  Johnny intoned as the corpses drifted
away.

“That’s very angelic Johnny.”  Ike
replied, thinking of all the men he had killed in the last two years.  These
two had worn the same uniform as he and his comrades but their deaths were less
troubling to him than a number of the enemy that he had seen crumple to the
ground when he shot them.  These two men’s demise had been close at hand and he
had stopped them from the commission of rape, multiple murder, and arson. 
Still he wondered if these two had families somewhere.  It was possible that
one or both of these miscreants had people who would always wonder what had
happened to them.  He had seen no identification on either one of them, but he
hadn’t searched them thoroughly either.    It had crossed his mind to try to
purloin any knife or other weapon that might be on the men’s bodies, but Marcus
had been too close to make that a possibility.  The thought of using a weapon
against Marcus was abhorrent to him anyway.  He went in to the barn to put his
clothing back on.  The moon peeked out from behind the cloudbank for a few
minutes before it sat behind the trees.  The pale light reflected on the water
and illuminated the wake of George and Teddy’s last journey.

Marcus said little as he and Ike went
about cleaning up the cellar and erasing the traces of the two intruders.  “See
ya’ in da mawnin’” he finally said as he went up the steps for the last time
and closed the door.  Ike heard the bar and the stone being replaced as usual.  He
also saw the brandy bottle sitting on the table.  He stared at it for a few
moments, and then changed back into his nightshirt which had been returned to
him, and blew out the candle and went to bed. 

“That bottle is a callin’ you ain’t it
Ikey.”  Johnny intoned.  “You’re wantin’ more than just a nightcap.”

“Yes, Johnny it’s tempting me, but I think
I can get through this without it.  Some people can handle the beast, and some
can’t.  It’s never brought me anything but grief.”

Ike turned his back on the bottle that he
could not see but whose presence he could feel.  He prayed fervently for the
strength to resist a temptation that had gotten the best of him so many times
before.  Johnny’s voice was silent as Ike prayed.   After a time, he slept and
dreamed of home for a while.  Then his dreams turned to loss and death and
flames.  The violence of the previous evening was revisited as he once again
witnessed George and Teddy dragging Micheline Pendleton down to his abode. 
Scenes of other violent events swam through his mind, he saw the first man he
had killed jerk with the impact of the bullet and crumple to the ground and
felt the horror that had frozen him in his tracks until Jimmy had grabbed him
and drug him back into the retreating line of soldiers.  Once again he was in
the cellar as two Union Soldiers drug Mrs. Pendleton down the steps.  This time
it was Ike and Johnny laughing and abusing the woman as she fought and sobbed. 
He awoke to the screams of a woman dying as her house burned down around her. 
He listened intently to make sure that the screaming was not for real, but only
heard the ringing in his own ears.

It was a couple of hours before dawn and
Ike’s bladder kept him from rolling over and going back to sleep.  He still
remembered some of the dream and thought it was a shadow from the fear he had
felt when George had threatened to burn down this house that had become his
home or his prison.  He felt his way to the chamber pot and sweet relief.  His
fingers brushed the bottle as he passed the table on his way back to bed. 
“Ikey……..” Johnny warned, but the desire for the brandy crowded out all his
warnings. 

A short swig turned into another longer
one.  The first small burst of warmth fanned the flames of Ike’s desire for the
feeling of detachment and separation from the pain of living that he had always
found in alcohol.  There was not enough brandy left to give Ike the release he
sought.  “Nothin’ good woulda’ come from this old friend.”  Johnny intoned, his
voice sounding more like an echo. 

“Shut up you red headed bastard!  I don’t
want to hear you anymore!  You aren’t for real, I’m just sick in the head and
making you up.  I wish there was enough brandy to make you go away.  Why won’t
you leave me alone!” Ike said out loud as he dashed the now empty bottle
against the stone wall by the chamber pot and fell into Todd Pendleton’s feather
bed.   He dreamed again of a conflagration, this time he thought he might be
glimpsing Hell. 

He was walking unsteadily down a street
that felt familiar even though he couldn’t place where it was or why he would
know of it.  Thunder had muttered at first and then gained in volume and
frequency as lightning flashed and lit up the surroundings.  Shabby houses sat
close to the dirt and gravel track that could only be called a street with some
generosity and would soon be a mire of mud as the rain started in earnest.  The
earth shook as a bolt struck so close that the white of it nearly blinded him.
He smelled the smoke first and then saw the flames.  He was drawn toward an
orange glow at the end of the street.  People were coming out of their houses
as they watched the fire.  The first Rebel soldier that he had killed that
first morning at Pittsburgh Landing stood gaping at the fire.  A hole in the
man’s chest oozed blood in small rhythmic spurts, pumped by a heart that should
have long ago stopped beating.  George and Teddy stood pointing at the house
and laughing and passed a bottle of Jasper Pendleton’s brandy back and forth. 
The structure looked like the Pendleton house at first and then it shifted and
became a smaller somehow familiar house as it was consumed.  Ike staggered and
then ran as if his life depended on it.  The fire that could only have been a
block away seemed to recede.  He ran like a man possessed but his progress
toward the fire was slow, his legs and lungs ached as if he had run for hours.  A
skeletal hand grabbed his right ankle and stopped him in  his tracks briefly. 
Looking down Ike saw the corpse that he and Johnny had been dragging to the
burial trench in his previous dream.  He dragged the corpse for several yards
until the rotting fingers separated from the hand and scattered along the
road.   Pain from the intense heat of the burning structure soon surpassed that
of his limbs and breathing apparatus as he finally drew near the conflagration. 
He put his hands up to shield his face from the fire but he couldn’t help
himself, someone was in that house and he had to save them.  Just as he was
about to plunge into the fire other hands grabbed him and dragged him back, his
clothing smoking. 

For the next two days Marcus brought
breakfast before daylight and supper well after dark, lunch was included on the
breakfast tray.  Ike assumed that traffic to and from the cellar was minimized
to avoid drawing attention to his abode.   The only comment made about the
broken bottle as the shards were swept up and removed was when Marcus shook his
head and said “Jasper’s last bottle of ‘Poleon brandy.”

Johnny’s voice was no longer present.  Ike
felt relieved, believing that it was a sign that he was recovering both his
health and his sanity.  His memory was still in shambles, but the absence of
Johnny’s running commentary gave him hope that they might return on their own.

The third day after the attack Ike heard
hoof beats in the yard and booted footsteps in the kitchen above.  He sat still
and prayed that his presence would remain a secret, as troubling as his
situation was; he wasn’t ready to be a prisoner of the confederacy.  Marcus
informed him later that the home guard had discovered what was left of George
and Teddy a mile down the creek.  The guard around the house was lifted and
Marcus and his mistress could move about more freely.   Ike knew that this
freedom did not apply to him.

The fourth evening after the incident,
Mrs. Pendleton herself came with the evening meal.  She had gone to great
lengths to prepare the food.  There was crisp fried chicken, biscuits,
potatoes, and greens fried with bacon and onions and apple pie that was still
warm. 

The abrasion and bruise on Mrs.
Pendleton’s forehead was fading and had been powdered carefully to further
conceal it.  She smiled at Ike and asked about his well being.   After they had
eaten she gave Ike the small package he had been eying since she came down to 
his domicile.  He unwrapped his gift and find several sheets of what looked to
be very expensive stationary, an envelope, a pen, and a small bottle of ink.

“I have decided to fulfill your request to
send a letter to your wife.  I can imagine the joy it will bring her and your
families to know that you are still alive.   I know too well how it feels to
have lost someone you love.   Marcus can get your letter into the hands of one
of the slaves that are continually slinking away and going north.  It was his
idea actually, but I agree that you have earned our gratitude and this is some
small thing we can do.  I do intend to read the letter and I do not expect you
to be sending a message to the military revealing your situation.”

“That’s fine Ma’am.  I appreciate that
this might be difficult for you.  It will be a comfort to Emma to know that I
am still alive even if I can’t divulge the complete circumstances.”  Ike said
and decided to change the subject.  “You’re looking well, I’m glad to see you
recovering.  I know it must have been awful for you.”

“Yes it was Mr. Lowery, but I believe the
incident is just one more sign that you were sent here for a purpose.  If you
hadn’t been here, I might very well have been killed after suffering greatly
from those beasts.  You even kept the balance when you killed those two awful
men.  The two dead Yankees for the two poor youngsters they slaughtered.  I
have prayed long on these matters and am reassured you are here as a
counterbalance for Todd.  You and he are linked together…..do you see it?”

“I….suppose so.  In some way there is a
connection.”  Ike replied with caution wondering just how many others George
and Teddy must have killed.  Part of him wanted to bring that to her attention,
but he decided to wait until his letter had been written and delivered first. 

“But can you not feel it, Mr. Lowery?” she
said breathlessly, leaning toward him and searching his face as if she was
looking for a sign.

For a moment Ike found himself wondering
if there was really something to the woman’s delusion.  After all, he was the
one who had spent months in conversation with someone who wasn’t really there. 
Was her delusion any less believable?

As a way to change the subject Ike thought
of a question he had been meaning to ask one of his captors.  “What day is it? 
I am used to putting a date on correspondence and I have lost track of time
since I have been here.”

Mrs. Pendleton had to think for a moment
herself.  “Wednesday, November 18 I believe.”  She looked to Marcus for
confirmation.

“Yas’m.”  Marcus intoned.

The following day Ike devoted himself to
writing his letter.  He felt at a loss for words for a while and prayed for
guidance.  He found himself missing Johnny and his interjections.  Finally the
words started to come.  He wrote them down as if he were in a trance.  He had
much he wanted to say, but didn’t want Mrs. Pendleton to have the satisfaction
of seeing too far into his private life.  He paid close attention to his
handwriting and made sure not to let the pen drip and make blotches on this
treasured missal.  He was restrained in his expressions due to the knowledge
that Micheline Pendleton would be reading every word.  He let the ink dry, read
it over one more time,  folded the letter neatly and placed it in the envelope,
which he had addressed so carefully.  He sat staring at the address and
thinking of home and the reaction the letter would cause.  Try as he might,
there were details of his life that he could not bring to mind.  The message
seemed too short and sterile to him, but he could think of nothing else to
add.  He wondered if the letter would really find its way North.

He read it over one last time.  It seemed
like a letter written by someone else, but it was the best he felt that he
could do in his circumstances.  He was reaching out to the one person he loved
most in this world, but it seemed like she was in some other world so far from
him.  He pictured Emma’s expression when she drew the letter from its
envelope.  He held the treasured message in his hand and prayed that its words
would bring comfort and hope.  Try as he might he could not remember much of
what he wrote after he put it in the envelope, he drew it out once more and
read it.

Thursday, November 19, 1863

Dearest Emma,

Yes, I am still very much alive.   I would
expect by now that you might have heard that I was killed in a skirmish.  While
I was lost to my regiment and suffered a minor wound, I have had the good
fortune to be rescued by others and while I can’t divulge the details, I am
held captive by a more benign element of the confederacy and will be until the
war ends, which I pray will be soon.  I am being well cared for and my health
is improving.  My only suffering is that I am separated from you and our loved
ones.  I think of you constantly and pray that this letter finds you in good
health.

Please relieve the anxiety of both our
families by letting them know of my survival and robust health.  I particularly
want you to convey my thoughts to my poor aged Father.  When he and I last
parted company there was much unpleasantness, and while I am sorry for my part
in it and have the greatest respect and affection for him my position has not
changed.  I look forward to seeing him again and amiably working out our
differences.  I fondly anticipate shaking his trembling old hand once more in
friendship before he passes on.

Dearest one, my happiest memories are of
time spent with you in our home.  I often picture you on our porch with dear
Freddy at your feet guarding you and our home with his characteristic loyalty. 
I dream of the time when I will walk back into our yard to see his noble head
rise from his paws in recognition.  I think often of our desire to start a
family and pray we can do so in a more peaceful country, my circumstances for
now give me time to reflect on how important family is and what a wonderful
mother you will be.

Please pray for me, that I will have the
strength to endure my exile.  I pray that you will take comfort in knowing that
the worst part of this ordeal is my separation from you.  You are always in my
most fervent of prayers and the anticipation of seeing you again is what makes
this life endurable.

Your loving Husband,

Ike

Mrs. Pendleton read the letter that
evening after supper and nodded approvingly.  She stared at Ike for a long
time.  “I believe Marcus will get this into capable hands.  He knows how to do
many things well.  I do not know what I would do without him.”  She said
looking distant.

“I take it that Marcus has been with you
for a long time.”  Ike said, trying not to seem as if he was prying.

“Marcus has looked out for me since I was
a baby.  He came with me here when Jasper and I married and looked after my
sons as if they were his own.”

“Do you ever worry that he might run
away?”

“You people from the north just don’t
understand our Negroes.  Marcus has always been more than just property, he is
family.   He will not leave me.  He has had papers that said he was a free man
for years, he was never technically a slave, but he insists on staying.”

Ike thought of the many slaves who had
greeted the Union army as their liberators.  He had heard stories of
mistreatment that rivaled those in “Uncle Tom’s Cabin”.  What he heard the most
was the simple desire of human beings to direct their own lives.  He supposed
that in his own way Marcus was using his freedom in the way he wished. 

Life in the cellar returned to a routine
of sleeping, exercising, eating, and reading.  Ike looked longingly at the sky
through the knothole in the cellar door.  Mrs. Pendleton had informed him that
the confederacy was still in control of this part of Mississippi and that the
home guard kept a close watch on the area around her farm.  He had been allowed
to keep the clothing he took from Todd’s room on the night of the attack and
wore it during the daytime as the weather became cooler.

Ike could hear the
chimes of the clock in the kitchen above him.  He had seen the clock when he
was in the kitchen on the night of the attack and it reminded him of the clock
that Emma had brought with her when they were married.  He had paid attention to
when the clock stuck and on sunny days he scratched marks on the first wooden
step with the tines of his fork that marked the position of the bar of light
from the crack in the door to correspond with the hours.  Within days of his
imprisonment he had improvised a primitive sundial and could tell the
approximate time by the location of the beam.  His treasured pocket watch had
been damaged when he had plunged into a creek on a foray to try to find a short
route to Corinth, Mississippi a few days before the attack at Pittsburgh
Landing.  He had mailed the watch back home in hopes that he could one day have
it repaired.  Emma had often chided him for being so obsessed with knowing what
time it was.  Time seemed to stand still sometimes during his stay in Mrs. Pendleton’s
cellar and seeing the hours progress was reassuring.  He told himself that
every hour brought him closer to freedom.

He used one of the
remaining sheets of writing paper to make a calendar.  It had been May the 20
^th
when Ike had first set foot on Micheline Pendleton’s property.  He had spent
six months of his life in this cellar.  This was the longest span of time he
had spent in one place since his childhood, and as it had been in childhood,
the days seemed to stretch out forever.  Having a calendar might make it seem
longer, but something in Ike always wanted to know what time it was, and what
day.

On clear nights he watched the stars
through his small private portal.  Orion strode across the sky in pursuit of
game.  The old hunter’s endless search reminded Ike of how he and his brother
had watched the sky with their Pa when they were children.  He hadn’t thought
of Jimmy much since he had been in the cellar, and still could not remember his
face or many details of their childhood, but seeing the same stars they had
loved to watch as children brought back a lost memory of their childhood and re-opened
the wound that had been gouged in his soul when Jimmy died back at Shiloh. 
Loneliness nearly overwhelmed him as he looked at that night sky.  He mourned
the loss of his brother and for the first time he was able to begin to mourn
the loss of Johnny, who had become like a brother to him.

Ike sat looking up at the sky and thought
back to the day Jimmy died.   His brother’s face became more distinct to him as
he recalled the last day he saw it. 

The camp was just coming to life that
morning.  Bacon was frying, coffee was boiling, men were complaining about all
the little things there are to complain about when you spend the night in the
open with only a ground cloth and a wool blanket between your body and the
ground.  They had been ordered into line back on Friday and had stood, sat, or
lain on the ground to sleep a little since then.  Their pickets had been
hearing noises and seeing movement in the woods and had claimed to have
exchanged fire with Rebels just to their front.  Ike would rather spend the day
drilling and watching the woods and fields of Tennessee come to life as spring
brought about its countless miracles than to remain in line waiting for an
enemy that General Sherman and the rest of the high command seemed to believe
was not there.

Ike had been to the latrine trench and was
walking back to camp.  Johnny had just stood up and was scratching his behind
when they heard noises to their front.  At first it sounded like children with
firecrackers.  One or two pops were followed by a sound like a large string had
been set off.  Then there was a ripping sound like someone was tearing heavy
cloth.  Then came the long roll of the regimental drum.  Men grabbed their
clothing, cartridge boxes and other things they would need to perform the
duties they had been preparing for most of the previous year but never really
expected to do in earnest.  Men looked at each other with eyes that had been
drowsy and half lidded moments before.  White showed all around on most and
everyone was quiet as they went about their preparations, even Johnny O’Donnell.