When Johnny Came Marching Home (34 page)

Jezebel was saddled and waiting for me outside the station. "I woulda brought the buggy," my father said. "But we never woulda made it with the mud. Kin ya ride okay?"

"Yes sir. I'm still a little clumsy with the arm missing and all. I have to get used to a new sense of balance. But I can ride."

"Does yer arm still hurt ya?"

"There's something the doctors call phantom pain," I explained. "Sometimes I'll feel pain in my hand or wrist or lower arm, where there is no hand or wrist or lower arm. Sometimes the stump hurts or tingles or itches like hell. But the wound is physically healed."

We rode on quietly, my father still smiling, his eyes lively and bright and pleased with the day. "What are ya goin' ta do with yerself, Jubal? Other than take a good, long rest, I mean. Have ya thought 'bout it at all? I mean such as goin' back ta college, somethin' like that?"

"I don't know. I suppose I'll need to find some work I can do for a start."

"Well, I been thinkin' on that. Doc Pierce has been after me ta ease up a bit. Says a galoot my age needs ta cut back iffen he expects ta reach a ripe ol' age. So I been thinkin' it might be good if ya became my deputy an' helped me with bein' constable. I gotta right ta hire a deputy under the town charter, an' it would sure be good ta work alongside each other, at least till ya decided whatcha wanted ta do."

I glanced across at him, wondering if this was some act of charity for his one-armed son, but decided to let it go for now. "I'd be pleased to help you," I said. "After I sleep for a few days . . . or weeks."

He laughed at that, knowing me better. "What about Rebecca? She talks ta me all the time 'bout when ya might be comin' home, 'bout any news I got from ya. Ever' time I see her she's got a question."

"I'll see her. I'll see Mr. and Mrs. Johnson too, to tell them about Abel."

"There's some bad news there," my father said. "A few months back Mrs. Johnson passed on. Fell inna river an' drowned." He hesitated several moments. "Fell, or jumped. Folks have different views 'bout that. Anyways, she never got over Abel dyin'. It hurt her deep down. Awhile back Walter Johnson took hisself a new wife. Lady from up here in Richmond. Lost her first husband in the war, she did. She's a bit younger'n Walter, a lot younger, really. He tol' folks he needed someone ta help with the store an' all. Got tongues a waggin'."

I felt as though I'd been hit in the belly. I had truly liked Mrs. Johnson. In many ways she'd been a mother to me. "I didn't know," I said.

"I guess the letters me an' Rebecca wrote ya never got ta ya afore ya left fer home."

"The mail was always weeks and weeks late, sometimes months. Then they'd all come in a rush." I peered off into the passing forest, thinking of the pain everyone I loved must have felt. "Poor Rebecca. First Abel, then her mother, and now her father finding a new wife."

"It's been hard," my father said. "Be soft with her when ya see her."

 

* * *

 

It was late evening when we rode through town. We passed by the darkened Johnson store, the only lights coming from their living quarters above it. The church and parsonage were also dark. We rode on the short distance to our home, dismounting outside the barn at the rear of our house. My father took the reigns of both horses and led them inside the barn.

"Go on inta the house, son," he said. "Won't take me but a minute ta tend ta the horses."

"Let me help you," I said. "If I remember right, old Jezebel likes to be combed down a bit while she's getting her water and oats."

We tended to the horses, and after a time my father brought up a question I could tell he'd been waiting to ask.

"Ya din' say anythin' 'bout wantin' ta see Johnny Harris. He never says much 'bout you, neither. There some bad blood goin' on there?"

"About as bad as it gets," I said.

He came around the side of my horse so he could see my face. "How so?"

"It's not something I'm ready to talk about. It will only bring hurt to people who don't deserve to be hurt more than they have been already." I studied my boots, hoping I had not already upset my father. "It's not that I don't trust you. It's just better this way. I hope you can understand."

"Course I do, son. Sometimes a man's gotta keep things inside fer a time. Jus' know that if ya ever feel a need ta talk 'bout it, ya jus' come an' let me know."

 

* * *

 

The next morning I changed into civilian clothes for the first time in four years. My father helped me pin up the sleeve of my shirt and coat, and dusted off my old Stetson hat and boots. He handed me a constable's badge that matched his own, told me to consider myself sworn in as his deputy.

"There's gonna be a service at church tonight fer President Lincoln," he said. "I reckon folks are gonna be mighty surprised ta see ya."

It was late morning when I gathered the courage to walk down to the Johnsons' store. Walter Johnson and a woman I assumed was his new wife were standing behind the counter. Walter was reading a newspaper and did not look up. The woman smiled at me. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"I'm here to see Mr. Johnson," I said.

At the sound of my voice, Walter Johnson's head snapped up and his eyes looked at me in wide disbelief. Then he hurried around the counter and put his arms around me, almost as fiercely as my father had the previous day. "Jubal, Jubal. Thank God you're home." He choked up momentarily and then turned to the woman behind the counter. "Mary, this is Jubal Foster. He was my boy's best friend. He was with Abel when he . . . when he died. Jubal, this is my wife. I guess you heard about Abel's mother."

"My father told me last night," I said. "I'm very sorry. She was a wonderful woman."

Walter nodded his head, his face suddenly filled with sorrow. "Abel's death was too much for her to bear," he said.

It was an awkward moment, broken when Rebecca rushed into the store. She stopped in her tracks when she saw me, her eyes wide and tearful. "I heard my father call out your name, and I couldn't believe it. And now you're here, standing right in front of me, and I still can't believe it."

"I came home late last night."

She rushed toward me and I stepped back awkwardly, moving the left side of my body away from her. The movement stopped her and she looked at me, confused and hurt. Walter didn't seem to notice and he turned to his new wife.

"Mary, could you watch the store alone fer a spell. I wanna take Jubal upstairs so we kin talk 'bout Abel."

 

* * *

 

The Johnson living quarters were just as I remembered them. I must have been smiling slightly, because Rebecca asked me what I was thinking about.

"All the time we all spent here when we were children," I said.

"It seems impossible that yer all not here," Walter said. "Have ya seen Johnny yet?"

"No, I haven't." I could hear the cold tone in my voice, and Rebecca appeared to have noticed it as well. Her father had not.

"Kin ya tell us 'bout Abel? he asked. "The army letter didn't say much, 'cept that he died durin' the Battle of the Wilderness in Spotsylvania County in Virginia."

"We were together," I said. "And Josiah Flood was with us. We were crossing a field when we were hit by an artillery barrage. Abel died next to me. His last words were that he wanted to go home to you"—I looked at Walter Johnson—"to his mother"—I turned to Rebecca—"and to you. Your name was the last name he spoke, Rebecca."

I gave them both time to weep and then Walter asked a choking, halting, sobbing question. "Where . . . where is . . . Abel buried?"

"In a military cemetery outside Chancellorsville, Virginia," I said. "I visited his grave before I headed home. It's very beautiful there, overlooking rolling green hills. Now that the war has ended it will become a very peaceful and restful place. I'll draw you a map so you can go and visit him."

"Is that where you were wounded, in the same field where Abel died?" Rebecca asked.

"Yes. The war ended for me there too. Josiah Flood carried me to the hospital. It was too late for Abel. He died in that field."

"Johnny said he was with ya," Walter said.

"Johnny was in a farmhouse about a hundred yards away. He and the men he was with were captured by Rebel troops." I paused, fighting to control my anger. "I'm sure he saw the artillery shells hit our position." I kept my voice cold and flat and emotionless.

Rebecca stared at me, as if she understood there was more that could be said. "Did you get the letter I wrote you about my mother's death?" she asked.

"No. It hadn't arrived before I left for home. I'm very sorry. She was always very kind to me."

"She loved you, Jubal. Just as we all love you," Rebecca said.

 

* * *

 

When my father and I entered the church that evening, people I had known all my life rushed up to us. Many of the older women had tears in their eyes as they welcomed me home; many told me how they had prayed for me; almost all looked at my empty sleeve with sadness.

Reverend Harris and his wife came to us before the service started, welcoming me home and explaining that Johnny had gone to visit a friend that evening but would be back later. When he took the pulpit, Reverend Harris began by praising the Lord for my safe return.

The service for President Lincoln had been going on for almost an hour when Mary Johnson arrived and took a seat next to her husband. Walter smiled at her and whispered something in her ear. Rebecca just stared straight ahead as the choir and the congregation began singing "The Battle Hymn of the Republic."

When the service ended I was again surrounded by well-wishers, and while I appreciated their kindnesses I very much wanted to get away and be off by myself. I worked my way to the door as politely as I could and thanked Reverend Harris for the service and for his kind words and finally stepped out into the cool April night. I had only taken a few steps when I heard Johnny's voice.

"Hail the conquering hero."

I turned and saw him leaning up against a maple tree. He seemed thinner than I remembered and his face had a pale, pasty look to it.

I walked up to him and stared into his eyes.

He sneered at me. "Did ya tell all the folks how you an' fat ol' Abel got ta meet President Lincoln at Sharpsburg?"

"No."

"Too bad, they woulda been
mighty
impressed. Jubal, ya look like ya wanna kill yer ol' friend. I know ya tried ta get me stuck in front of a firin' squad." The cold smile returned to his lips. "But that din' work out too good fer ya, did it?" He looked behind me at the people gathering outside the church. "Too many witnesses," he said. "Guess you'll havta wait till later."

"There's no rush," I replied coldly. "No rush at all."

Johnny let out a short, barking laugh and lightly cuffed the stump of my left arm. "Be easier if ya had two arms an' two hands," he said as he stepped by me and headed toward the parsonage.

 

* * *

 

Johnny was sitting on the front steps of the parsonage when I left my house the next morning. He watched me as I crossed the road and headed toward him; then he stood and walked around the side of the house and back to his barn. I followed him and saw him enter the barn. I walked up to the open door and stopped to allow my eyes to adjust to the change in light. I had put on my sidearm, letting my jacket conceal its presence, and now I pulled back the side of the coat so the Colt was more easily accessible.

"Well, well, the sergeant's got his pistol," Johnny said as I stepped into the barn. We were only six feet apart. There was a rifle leaning up against one of the stalls and Johnny's hand inched toward it. I took two quick steps forward and kicked it out of reach, then hit Johnny as hard as I could, driving him back against the side of the stall.

As he tried to regain his feet I hit him again, then drew the Colt and shoved it up under his chin and cocked the hammer. The two clicks it made sounded like explosions.

"Ya gonna kill me now, Jubal?"

I could hear the quiver of fear in his voice. It seemed to match the shaking of my hand and I drew the Colt back and lowered the hammer. Johnny was drawing a deep breath when I slammed the Colt against the side of his face, knocking him to the ground. Blood ran from a cut above his eye. I leaned down and stared into his face.

"Not yet," I said.

I picked up his rifle and unloaded it and threw it across the barn.

"You see, Johnny, one arm's good enough to handle a piece of dog shit like you."

 

* * *

 

Five months later, as I was saddling my horse, a recently returned Josiah Flood came and told me that Johnny Harris was dead.

Chapter Twenty-six

Jerusalem's Landing, Vermont, 1865

I took Rebecca for a buggy ride the day after we exhumed Johnny's body. It was a bright, sunny day, the air brisk but carrying none of the winter that would soon be upon us.

Rebecca smiled as I turned into the road that led up to the base of Camel's Hump Mountain. "Are you taking me to that beautiful place—the place where you asked me to marry you?" she asked.

"Yes, I am."

"Why? Are you going to take back your ring?" she teased.

"I can't," I said. "Your father has a gun."

"I'm glad you remembered."

I pulled the buggy to the spot where I had proposed to her only a day earlier. "I need to tell you something," I said.

She looked at me curiously. "What is it?"

"We exhumed Johnny's body last night."

She was startled, trying to get her thoughts around what I had just told her. "W . . . Why?" she asked at length.

"We found the weapon that killed him," I said. "And we had to be sure it fit the wound on his body."

"Did it? Did if fit the wound? Where did you do it, where did you take his body?"

I told her and she shuddered at the thought of it.

"The weapon was an awl," I said. "The blade was covered in dried blood. Josiah found it and came straight to me."

"How did he know it was blood?"

"Dried blood was something he saw every day for the past four years," I explained. "I took the awl to the university and confirmed that it was human blood, and when Doc reexamined Johnny's body the blade fit perfectly into the wound."