Brave Enemies (27 page)

For supper we had grits flavored with a little hog meat and gravy, and there was coffee and stale bread. But the grits tasted like manna to me, and the old bread was sweeter than cake. I warmed myself with the coffee and the little bit of meat glowed in my belly like a piece of hickory wood in a fireplace.

I was so tired I started to get drowsy soon as I'd finished the last bite. I drank the coffee and felt the sweetness in my belly. I just wanted to lie down in my blanket close to the fire.

“You sounded like a real preacher,” T. R. said to me.

“Anybody can sound like a preacher,” I said.

“But you sounded like you had done it before,” Jenkins said.

“Gudger made me do it,” I said. I felt the dust of sleep in my blood, making me weak and floaty.

“If you're a real preacher you can't cuss,” T. R. said. “And you can't do it with girls neither.”

“The hell you can't,” I said.

“Preachers can cuss just like anybody else,” Roberts said.

“A preacher farts and shites just like anybody else,” Gudger said, and spat into the fire.

“But a preacher don't talk like everybody else,” T. R. said.

“How would you know?” Gudger said. Gudger turned to me. “Summers here is the parson,” he said, and shoved my shoulder. I didn't like the way Gudger looked at my eyes. He acted like he knew something, that he was privy to a secret.

W
HEN YOUR BELLY
is full and you're warm and tired, nothing is sweeter than sleep. Sleep raises through you and soaks through your thoughts and tastes rich and powerful. Every time sleep comes in a different shade and at a different angle. Every time sleep has a different touch, and comes from behind or beside you. Sleep whispers in your ear and takes you by surprise.

I was so worn out I was asleep even before I was asleep. I was floating like a thin film of bubbles on top of a pond. I was a thin film that stretched out for miles on a lake. And voices whispered in the sky. They were the voices I'd heard all day, of Captain Cox and Sergeant Gudger. They whispered in the dome of sky.

It was the voice of my baby. It was the voice of my baby already talking in my blood, behind a great rose and lavender mountain, talking way at the back of my head.

I awoke in the night and felt a wetness on my nose. Something cold was licking my face and touching my cheek with wet lips. Was it a little animal? I was still asleep but I listened for rain. I listened for drops. But all I heard was the whine of a fire and a dull prickle and hiss.

I licked my lip and tasted grits of ice. I opened my eyes and something lit on my eyebrows. I looked around and saw a thousand moths flying
around the campfire. But it wasn't moths and millers. It was snowflakes. The air was filled with falling snow. And snow had covered my blanket and all the other blankets of men sleeping around the fire. The snow was quiet as spiders climbing down webs or dropping into shadows. The snow was falling so steadily I seemed to be rising into the still air. The woods were still and the blankets and tents were covered with snow.

“Joseph, get up,” a rough voice whispered. A hand touched my shoulder, and when I turned it touched my breast. I jerked away. It was Gudger, and though I jerked away and couldn't see his face I knew he'd felt my breast. It was what I'd feared most. I wondered if he had known all along. I was awake instantly and waited to see what he would say, to see if he would give me away to the other men.

“Guard duty,” Gudger said. “Your watch, Summers.”

I sat up and wrapped the blanket around my shoulders. I was afraid to look at the sergeant, and when I did look I saw him staring at my eyes. I turned away and picked up the rifle gun. The stock and barrel were covered with snow, and I wiped them off with the back of my hand.

“Go out and replace Jenkins,” Gudger said, and pointed toward the laurel thicket behind the camp. I reckon there was one sentinel by the road and one behind the encampment.

When I stood up in the falling snow the sergeant stood up too. I turned to step among the sleeping bodies and he followed me to the edge of the thicket.

“What do I do if somebody shows up?” I said.

“Holler ‘Halt, who goes there?' If they don't know the password, shoot them,” the sergeant said.

“What is the password?” I said.

Gudger said the password was “Liberty.” He stood close to me in the falling snow and looked into my face. His body was touching my body. “We should get to know each other better if we're going to serve together,” he said.

I jerked away from him and didn't answer. I wanted to get away from Gudger.

“Your secret's safe with me, Private Summers,” Gudger said, “as long as you do your duty.” He said “duty” so I would understand it had a special meaning.

“I will do my duty,” I said, and stepped farther into the woods. The snow was coming down heavier than ever. Flakes brushed my face and touched my eyes like little fingers. The snow lit up the dark woods a little.

“Damn right you will,” Gudger said.

When I found Jenkins he was sitting on a log at the edge of the laurel thicket. I reckon he was cold and lonesome, for he was mighty glad to see me. He was all scrunched down and his hat and coat were covered with snow.

“The password is ‘liberty,'” Jenkins said.

“Have you seen anything?” I said.

“Ain't nothing in this swamp but ghosts,” Jenkins said.

“Ghosts won't hurt us,” I said, trying to sound jovial and confident.

When Jenkins was gone I sat on the log and laid the gun across my lap. I pulled the blanket tight around my shoulders. I shivered, but it was as much from worry as from cold. If Gudger had found me out— and I was certain he had— then he could tell on me any time he wanted to. As the sergeant he had power over me anyway. But now he could force me to do whatever he wanted.

I wondered what the penalty for pretending to be a man and a soldier was. It seemed like an army could do anything it wanted to. An army could make its own laws. An army could shoot you for falling asleep on guard duty. An army could hang you for a traitor if you sassed an officer or even a sergeant. A woman had no business in an army.

The snow was so heavy it whispered and clicked as flakes touched each other and settled on the leaves of laurels and on the ground. There was the hiss of the tiny bones of snowflakes breaking when they hit the ground. It sounded like the snowflakes were talking, but in such a low voice you couldn't understand what they were saying. But it seemed they were trying to say something to me. Was the snow telling me what I
should do or where I should go? Was John's ghost sending a message on the night air? Was the snow whispering of sorrow and suffering? The snow was muttering of cold and danger, and the promise of peace and rest beyond it all.

You are a pilgrim, the snowflakes said. You are a pilgrim like the man in the book John read. You are the pilgrim's wife following him through the woods and thickets and swamps, looking for love and peace, for the path toward the holy city. You are a pilgrim without any home and without any friends. You are a sinner that has killed Mr. Griffin and deceived John and the world. You quarreled with John and you are paying for your mistakes.

It was strangely comforting to think the snow was telling me that. The message was hard, but I saw it was true. And the firmness of truth is comforting. I felt I was touching solid bedrock. Truth was something you could put your feet on. I was a killer and a liar, and I was paying for my sins.

The air was faintly lit with all the falling snow. But you still couldn't see the trees and ground. I saw this light far off in the thicket, where there hadn't been a light before. It looked like the glow of a lantern or little campfire. Had I got mixed up in directions? Was I facing the camp instead of the thicket? Falling snow made the light dance and lean.

I brushed the snow off the rifle gun and held it out in front of me. As the light got closer I saw it wasn't just a yellow light. It was a green and blue light too. It was a light the color of apple wood burning. It was a light with purple and lavender in it.

Who is playing a trick on me? I thought. Who is trying to fool me and scare me in the snow? I thought it might be redcoats trying to trick me. And I thought it might be outlaws or even Indians. They must have special powder to burn to make such a strange light.

As the glow got closer it grew bigger. It wasn't just a flame but something tall as a man gliding through the trees and through the brush. It was an aura like light from a halo. It was a globe of light. Is this a ghost?
I thought. Is this the ghost of a dead Indian? Or the ghost of a dead soldier? Is this the ghost of John come to tell me something?

I aimed the gun as the light got closer. I wondered if I should call out or fire the rifle gun as a warning. What if it was just somebody trying to find their way? What if it was a patriot soldier trying to find his way back to camp in the snow?

As it got closer the light was not as bright as I'd thought. The light was tall as a man but its purples and greens and blues had faded. The glow was weakening, just beyond some laurel bushes, close enough to speak to.

“Halt,” I said. “Who goes there?”

But nobody answered. There was only the swish and crackle of falling snow.

“What is the password?” I said, and raised the rifle. I expected somebody to say “Liberty,” but there was no answer except the whisper and scratch of the heavy snowflakes touching each other and piling up.

I thought I was going to have to shoot. I raised the rifle and put my finger on the cold trigger. But just as I was about to pull the trigger the light melted away. It got dimmer and dimmer and just faded until I couldn't tell when it disappeared. Even as I aimed the barrel I saw the light had gone.

“Who is there?” I said, expecting to hear snickering. But the only noise was the snow sweeping into the trees.

I sat back on the log and studied on the mystery. Jenkins had said there were ghosts there. Was the light what he'd meant? Had he been visited by such a light? All my life I'd heard about ball lightning and chain lightning. I'd heard about swamp gas and wills of the wisp. I'd heard about lights coming out of hills and sinkholes. I'd heard about ghosts that searched all night for their lost loves.

Just then I saw another light way off in the woods. It was to the left of where the other light had started. It was a faint light that got bigger, like a wick was being turned up. The light floated like a lantern on a tide. The light moved steadily through the trees and brush.

These woods are haunted by devils, I said under my breath. These woods are possessed by bad spirits. The glow of this light was redder than the other one. This light was red as a devil light from hell. I knew that somehow the snow had stirred up the spirits in the woods or in the ground. Whether it was swamp gas that was burning or the ghosts of Cherokees, it was the snow that had riled them out of their lairs to wander in the night.

After the red light faded there was another one that came from the left. This one was yellow and lavender and almost flat as a tabletop. The light was so thin it could have been glow worms and lightning bugs floating on the surface of a lake. The light was thin as a razor's edge and cut its way through the dark, so flat you could hardly see it.

When the slice of light faded away I didn't see any more. The woods were dark again and scratching with falling snow like there were tiny beetles and mice all around me. The snow itched and drooled on my face. I pulled the blanket over my head as a kind of hood.

Sitting still in the woods will make you cold no matter how much clothes you're wearing. Sitting still without a fire will chill you to the bone and to the middle of your guts. You could freeze to death just sitting still and never know it, getting numb and weak. I jerked myself and shook myself. As long as you're shivering you won't freeze, I'd heard. Shivering and shaking are a way of staying warm.

There didn't seem to be much need for a sentry out in the snowy woods. No redcoats were likely to be stirring in the snow and in the dark, not even outlaws and deserters would be stirring in the cold woods. Only ghosts and wills-o'-the-wisp were about.

Just then I heard steps, the faint sound of boots crunching in the snow. I reckon the snow was two or three inches deep. I listened and strained my eyes to see into the snow and dark. It was hard to see anything. Somebody was coming and I couldn't see a thing. Maybe if they didn't see me they would walk on by. I wouldn't call out halt unless they got really close.

What cause do you have to be out here in danger? I said to myself. You should be protecting yourself and the baby. A woman expecting has
no right to put herself in danger. You have no business out here freezing and holding a gun. Your duty is to protect yourself.

I turned my head and listened hard. I saw the steps were coming from behind me and not in front. Somebody was coming from the camp. Could it be somebody to relieve me?

“Halt,” I said, “Who goes there?”

Whoever it was kept coming.

“Halt or I will shoot,” I said.

“Liberty,” a man said, and laughed. It was Gudger.

“Can I go back to the fire?” I said. I was going to pretend Gudger hadn't found out anything, that I was just a volunteer and he was the sergeant.

“I brung you a dry blanket and a mug of coffee,” Gudger said. He didn't snarl like he usually did. He sounded like he wanted to be friendly.

“Don't need any coffee,” I said, my teeth chattering.

“You are freezing,” the sergeant said. I could barely see him, but I could smell the coffee. It was hot and rich like coffee that has just been boiled.

“Put this blanket around you, honey,” Gudger said. He took my hand and put it on the warm mug. And then I felt the rifle being slid out of my lap.

“I have to hold the gun,” I said.