Brave Enemies (6 page)

After I sat there a long time the dampness seeped through my clothes. The cold began to sneak between the threads and fibers of Mr. Griffin's coat. I must have gone to sleep and dreamed, for I thought the river flew by me two or three times like a big bird. And when I woke it seemed I'd just heard a scream. I listened and heard only the breeze stirring limbs, and a flutter off in the leaves. A dog barked so far away I wasn't even sure it was a dog.

When you are out in the cold your body burns like its own stove. I could smell my warmth against the cold dampness. I shuddered as the
warmth of my blood and the smell of my sweat fought the cold soaking in through the clothes. My skin tried to seal itself off from the cold as I huddled in the little house of myself.

I hunkered down in Mr. Griffin's coat and tried not to breathe. I sat still and hoped to hold in all my smells. When you stay awake the night stretches out longer and longer. I sat there listening to all the rustles and flutters, the chirps and barks. I listened for snakes crawling and bats flying. I must have gone to sleep again, for when I opened my eyes again there was light and I could see the trees around me.

What a relief that day was coming. I'd made it through the night. I was comforted to know I had lasted through the night. Without shelter or fire I'd stayed the whole night in the strange woods. But I had to find something to eat. And I had to find a place to stay for the next night. I felt the handkerchief with the coins in my pocket.

As the sky got brighter it was clear which way the east was, and which way the river was. I needed to go farther away from the river. I needed to keep going to the west. I stretched myself and felt how stiff and sore I was where Mr. Griffin had hurt me. I'd have to walk slowly until I felt better.

The oak woods that had appeared closed in in the dark looked open in daylight. I picked my way through trees; there was no sign of a path or trace. I was hungry and cold. I had to find a farm or camp. But there was no clearing in the woods. I couldn't even find a rabbit trail.

I must have walked a mile when I heard a shout. I froze and listened, and there was another shout. Something banged like a stick on a log. The sound came from far down the long hill. I heard a cry and then laughter.

Where there were people there might be something to eat. I started running toward the shouts, but as I got closer I slowed down to tiptoe steady and quiet. I was so short of breath I thought I would smother.

I came to a creek among laurel bushes, and the shouts seemed to be on the other side. I waded through the gravel and mossy rocks and climbed into the thicket. When I pushed a limb aside I saw a kind of
road through the woods. A party of men was coming and I slipped back out of sight.

Through the laurel leaves I saw the men were carrying something on a pole. It was big enough to be a bear or panther. There were at least a dozen men shouting and laughing. And someone was crying. As they got closer I saw the thing slung on the pole was not an animal but a woman, an old woman. They reached an opening in the trees and stopped, and they cut the woman's feet loose so she could stand with her hands still tied to the pole.

“Long live the king,” she cried. I saw she didn't have any teeth. All her clothes had been torn off. Her face looked old but her breasts appeared surprisingly young.

“If we cut your eyes out, granny, you can't be no Tory spy,” a man carrying a pistol said. He had long brown hair and a big belly that pushed through his vest. He seemed to be the leader. Another man had started a fire, and they hung a bucket over the flames. The bucket had a stick in it and I could smell tar. “We're going to dress you up, granny,” the man with the pistol said.

“You'll burn in hell,” the woman spat out.

A man with a razor caught her head in the crook of his arm and started to shave her head. The gray hair came off in hanks and bunches. When all the hair was gone her scalp looked raw and was bloody in places. The man with the pistol took a gourd and dipped tar out of the bucket. With a rag he smeared hot tar on the woman's face and head. The hot tar must have scalded her, for she screamed and kicked at him. He wiped tar all over her shoulders and back, over her breasts and thighs and legs.

Another man opened a sack of feathers and shook feathers on the tar. Feathers fluttered across the clearing and men ran to pick them up. They covered the woman's face and body until she looked more like a snowman than a person.

“We don't want you to get cold,” the man with the pistol said, and
threw a handful of feathers in her face. As soon as she was covered they cut the woman loose and she fell to the ground. But then she picked herself up and started stumbling away. She limped and tripped, caught herself, and started running.

“Squawk, squawk, squawk,” the men shouted, and flapped their arms like wings. They cackled and laughed as the old woman ran down the road shedding feathers like a broken pillow. Soon she was out of sight.

“This calls for a drink,” the man with the pistol said. Someone passed a jug to him and he hooked his thumb through the handle and took a long swig. The jug was passed from hand to hand and they all took a long drink.

“I think we ought to go to McIver's next,” one of the men said.

“No, we promised to settle with Brattle first,” another said.

“Why don't we go to Brattle's and then to McIver's,” the man with the pistol said.

“What if somebody warns them?” a man with spectacles said.

“That's why we have to hurry,” the man with the pistol said.

I wished they would leave so I could go to their fire and warm up. If I had fire I could have a light in the dark, and I could cook a fish if I caught one in the creek. The men didn't seem to have anything to eat, but at least there was the fire. I held my breath and stayed still.

They took their time and passed the jug around again. And then the man with the pistol took the bucket off the fire and opened his pants. He pissed on the smoldering sticks and when he finished there wasn't even a wisp of smoke.

They finally started walking down the road, and when they were out of sight I ran to the charred sticks and found only ashes and the smell of urine. Feathers were scattered all over the clearing and tar was dripped on the sand.

I started walking again. I was so hungry I felt I was dreaming. I walked away from the road toward the west, away from the river. My legs and feet were numb. I kept thinking I heard somebody walking behind
me, or to the side of me, but when I turned to look nobody was there. A hawk floated far overhead. A ground squirrel scurried away in the leaves. I hoped my mind wasn't going strange the way Mama's had.

I walked all day through the woods, and near dark came to a little river. Without taking my shoes off I stepped across the rocks and shallow places. Then I climbed up the far bank and sat down to rest. I didn't want to spend another night alone in the woods. I had to find something to eat, and I had to find shelter. I had to find somebody to help me. As the sun disappeared the air got colder. I couldn't sit against a tree for another night. I looked around at the darkening woods.

And then I saw a lantern way off up the hill between the trees. It was a weak light, but where there was a light must be people. I had to find people. I couldn't stay by myself out in the cold woods any longer. I started walking faster toward the light, dodging limbs and stumbling around bushes and big trees. But the light didn't get any closer. Whoever held the light was moving too. The yellow of the light was mellow as melting butter. I followed the lantern as it swayed and bobbed along through the trees. I heard voices too but couldn't tell what they were saying. I just followed the lantern as quietly as I could. Maybe they were outlaws, or maybe rebels like Mr. Pritchard's gang.

Now the strangest thing was I saw this other light coming through the woods on my right. It got closer and closer, and I heard the people carrying the second light greet those with the first lantern. It was good to hear somebody speak in the dark woods.

“Are you going to the meeting, brother?” a voice said.

“Aye, sir, to the meeting at Zion Hill,” a second voice said.

I followed both lights on the trail, walking quietly, trying not to break a stick or rustle the new-fallen leaves. Were they going to a rebel meeting? Was I following outlaws starting on a raid? The country was full of robbers and deserters. And then I heard a woman's voice too and figured they would not be outlaws. You didn't hear of outlaws traveling with women. In the dark I got as close behind as I dared. The trail ran through
some pine woods and then came out in a clearing. And way ahead I saw a lighted window.

As we got closer I saw other people around the glowing window. There were people gathered there. And when we got closer still I saw it was a little building with a steeple on it. It was a little church sitting on a hill surrounded by woods. A tide of relief washed through me. Mama and I had never gone to church that much, but I'd been baptized when I was a baby. I'd gone to church on Easter and Christmas. A church house seemed like a safe place.

I set Mr. Griffin's hat straight on my head and marched right up to the door of the log church like that's where I'd meant to go all along. As I came into the little building people turned to look at me and a few nodded. Some women stared and a few smiled. There were maybe ten or twelve benches in the room, and two lanterns hung up front above a table. I shivered and sat down on a bench at the back. Now that I was inside, I saw how cold I'd gotten. There was no fireplace in the building, but it was warmer inside than out.

A tall skinny man in a black coat stood up at the table in front. He didn't look to be more than twenty-four, maybe twenty-five, years old.

“My friends, you are all welcome,” he said. A white scarf was tied around his throat, but all his other clothes were black. His voice was plain but pleasing. He said he welcomed us there to a place of worship, in these troubled and desperate times. He said he welcomed us to the fellowship with each other, with song and prayer, and to fellowship with the Lord in Heaven.

“Without are wolves and thieves and whoremongers,” he said in a quiet voice. “But in here we are gathered to praise the Lord. In here we are gathered to rejoice and praise the Maker with prayers of Thanksgiving. We are gathered to uphold the light in darkness. We are gathered to ask the Lord's blessings on our lives in these days of great peril.”

“We will lead in song,” the preacher said. “We will raise our voices in a hymn.”

The song he started singing I'd heard before. It was “Jesus Shall Reign” I found out later. He started singing and the others joined in, and I found myself singing too.

Jesus shall reign wher-e'er the sun

Does his successive journeys run;

His kingdom spread from shore to shore,

Till moons shall wax and wane no more.

When everybody was singing these words it felt as if the church was a different place. The log church was lifted up to a new level. The lanterns got brighter and sweeter. Everybody was singing together. A few minutes before I'd been out in the dark of the creek bank, trembling with fear, and now I was with other people singing sweet music. It seemed impossible a little log church and a few words set to music would make such a difference.

When the hymn was over the preacher bowed his head and prayed. I bowed my head but didn't close my eyes. I was still too afraid to close my eyes. The preacher prayed that the Lord would bless us and guide us. He asked the Lord to hear our voices, and to show us the way in these dark times.

When the prayer was over the young minister looked out over the gathering. There were old men and women, and people in good clothes, and there were people in rags or nearly in rags. There were big old boys that smelled like liquor, and there was a blind man holding on to a stick.

“My friends, I don't know what burdens you carry in your hearts tonight,” the young preacher said. “I don't know what sins of omission or commission you carry on your conscience. I don't know what deeds of charity or deeds of selfishness are on your minds. But I know that in our hearts we are all troubled. In these perilous times we are all fearful. I know that we must comfort one another.”

After he had talked for several minutes the preacher asked if anyone had a testimony to share with the congregation.

A woman who held a baby to her breast stood up. The baby was asleep and the woman talked in such a low voice I had to lean forward to hear her. “I'm here to witness the Lord's mercy,” she said, not in a whisper but like she was talking to just one person, the preacher. “I was a woman barren like Sarah and I prayed the Lord would give me a child. It looked like I would live to old age and have no one to care for me and comfort me.

“One night I had a dream and in the dream I seen this herb garden on the mountaintop. And a voice in the dream said if I picked the herb and drunk a tea from it I would have a child. I told nobody about the dream, but the next day I walked toward Chilton Mountain and found the herb there. It was unlike any herb I'd ever seen. My friends, the leaves was gold and shaped like guineas. I brought the leaves home and dried them and made a tea.

“Within months I was with child. And last year was born this beautiful daughter. The Lord gave me this Rebecca. I'm here tonight to thank him.”

When the woman sat down I saw the tears on her face. In the lantern light the tears shone like sparks.

“You have honored us, Sister Wensley, with your witness,” the preacher said.

The old man with the cane stood up. His eyes were cloudy and turned the wrong way. He had a week's beard and his hair pointed every which way. He turned away from the preacher to the crowd, as if he was going to preach himself. He leaned on his stick and faced us, but you could tell he didn't see anything.

“The Lord has sent me a vision,” he said in a trembling voice. His voice sounded like a saw scratching on a nail. “The Lord troubled me until I couldn't sleep and I got up and walked outdoors. With my stick I climbed up on the hill behind my house and turned my face to the stars. Lord, show me your message, I said.