Hear the Wind Blow (8 page)

I
N THE ROOT CELLAR
Rachel knelt beside Mama. The firelight lit the two of them like figures in a painting.

Rachel looked up at me. "I coaxed her to drink more tea, but most of it just ran out of her mouth."

I dropped down beside Rachel and took Mama's hand in mine. Her skin near burned me. "Won't you please drink something, Mama?"

She shook her head and coughed. "I told you, your papa's on his way. Don't you hear his horse?"

I listened hard, fearing it could be someone else—one of Captain Powell's men returning to look for us, maybe, or a marauder who'd seen our fire. A fox barked a long way off. The wind sprang up and the tree limbs rattled like dry bones. But even when I went to the cellar door and looked out, I neither saw nor heard a horse.

I sat back down and took hold of Mama's hand again. She murmured Papa's name, and I hoped she was dreaming that nice dream about her and Papa walking in the green woods. Rachel leaned against me, clutching Sophia, and slept like a baby. Every now and then she twitched and squirmed, but nothing woke her. I reckoned she was worn out from all that had happened to us.

At some point Mama began to sing in a voice so low I had to lean close to hear. "Down in the valley, the valley so low," she sang.

It was her favorite song, the one she lulled Avery and Rachel and me to sleep with when we were little children scared of the dark. I joined in, keeping my voice as low as hers.

"Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow," we sang. "Down in the valley, hear the wind blow."

Slowly her voice faded and she looked at me and smiled. "Those were good times back then, Haswell. All of us together. Safe. No war. The Valley was so green, so lovely. And we were happy, weren't we?" She closed her eyes again and slept, her hand holding mine tight.

Although I meant to watch Mama all night, I must have fallen asleep, for the next thing I knew the gray light of dawn was creeping down the cellar steps and spreading across the floor like spoiled milk. Rachel had toppled over on her side, sucking her thumb in her sleep. Sophia sprawled beside her, her arms outspread, her china face expressionless.

I looked at Mama, hoping the fever had gone down in the night, but when I reached over and touched her forehead, she felt as hot as ever. She opened her eyes and smiled. "It's Papa," she whispered.

She sounded so sure I looked at the cellar door, expecting to see Papa standing there, not dead after all, ready to make everything right again. But all I saw was the blank gray sky. The flash of hope faded, and I turned back to Mama.

I didn't need to touch her again to know that she was gone. "No." I grabbed Mama's hands. "Come back, Mama, don't leave us!"

Rachel sat up, startled out of her sleep. "Haswell, what's wrong?"

"It's Mama," I wept. "She's—"

Rachel flung herself on Mama, sobbing loud enough to wake her. But Mama was beyond hearing. She neither spoke nor breathed nor moved.

I don't know how long the two of us crouched beside Mama, mourning her passing. At one point Rachel fell asleep, leaving me to sit alone and wonder what to do next. Grandma Colby's house was half a day's ride from our place. If we set out by noon, we'd get there before dark. But how could we leave Mama behind?

By the time Rachel woke up, I'd decided what to do.

My sister looked at Mama and started crying again. "Oh, Haswell," she sobbed, "I was hoping it was just a bad dream."

I stroked her hair. Rachel had never looked so pitiful. Mama had kept her neat and clean, her dresses fresh, her hair combed. Now she looked like the orphan she was, her dress torn and dirty, her face and hands grimy, her un-braided hair a tangled mop.

"What are we going to do?" she asked. "What will become of us?"

"We have to go to Grandma Colby's, like Mama said."

"And leave Mama here?" Rachel stared at me, her face pale under the soot and dirt.

"We'll carry her to the springhouse. She'll be safe there."

Rachel thought about my idea and sighed a deep sigh.

"We can't stay here," I said softly.

Slowly Rachel nodded her head. "But what if Avery comes home? He won't know where Mama is. Or us, either."

"When we get to Grandma Colby's, I'll write him a letter. Or maybe I'll go find him myself and bring him home. Where he ought to be. We need him." Once again my anger grew. What did the army want with a boy like Avery? He should have stayed with us. He should have helped us. He should be here right now telling me what to do.

"You can't go off looking for Avery," Rachel said. "I need you." She started crying again. I put my arms around her and she clung to me, her head pressed against my chest.

Though I said nothing more to my sister, I decided then and there to leave Rachel with Grandma Colby and set out to find Avery. The biggest problem would be getting from here to Petersburg. It was a long way, almost two hundred miles, even farther than Richmond. I'd been to the capital many times to see Papa's relatives. Once I got near the city, I'd keep going south, following signposts to Petersburg. I had a good horse to ride and I was sure I could do it.

Gently I freed myself from my sister's arms. "Help me wrap Mama in her blanket, Rachel."

"We should wash her first," Rachel said softly. "And comb her hair. That's what Mama did when Grandma Magruder died."

Rachel tore off part of her slip and dipped it in the bucket of water I'd brought from the springhouse. Carefully she washed the soot and dirt from Mama's face and did her best to tidy her hair. By the time she was done, Mama looked more like herself. But her face was sad.

I hoped someday I'd remember Mama's smile and her laugh, the bedtime stories she told and the songs she sang. But at that moment I couldn't picture her any way but the way she was now.

Without saying a word to each other, Rachel and I wrapped Mama in the blanket. Somehow we got her up the steps and across the yard. Gently we laid her on the stone floor next to James Marshall. The cold had kept him well. I hoped it wouldn't warm up till Grandma Colby sent someone to bury the two of them properly.

Rachel and I knelt together. When we'd said all the prayers we knew, we kissed Mama and James Marshall good-bye and left the springhouse. After I shut the wooden door tight, Rachel helped me gather stones to heap in front of it to make certain Mama and James Marshall would be safe.

While Rachel watched, I used my pocket knife to carve Mama's and James Marshall's names, followed by "Rest in Piece," on a charred board from the house. I wanted anyone who passed this way to know the springhouse was now a tomb, not a place to seek drinking water. I wished I had flowers or something pretty to place there, but all I saw was patches of snow and ice, gray and ugly under the cloudy winter sky, bare trees and bushes, and what was left of our house.

"We've got nothing now," Rachel said in low voice. "Nothing." She pawed at her runny nose with the back of one hand and clutched Sophia to her chest with the other. "We're orphans, Haswell."

"There's still Avery," I said. "When he comes home, he'll take care of us."

"Avery's our brother, not our parents. Besides, he's an orphan, too." Rachel sniffed and turned away to study the marker I'd made. "You spelled 'peace' wrong," she said.

"I did not. I know how to spell just as well as you do."

"You wrote the wrong word, then. It should be
p-e-a-c-e
and you wrote
p-i-e-c-e.
" With that, she started crying as if she never meant to stop.

I stood beside her, feeling helpless. I knew it wasn't my ignorance that made her cry, but I didn't have any idea what to do or say to comfort her. Finally, I touched her shoulder. "We'd best be going," I said as gently as I could. "I'd like to get to Grandma Colby's house before dark."

Rachel flung her arms around me, letting the doll clatter to the icy ground. "Oh, Haswell," she cried, "I don't want to leave Mama. What if she's not dead? What if she wakes up beside James Marshall in the dark and she can't shove the stones away and we're gone and there's no one to help her?"

"Rachel, Rachel." I held her tight. "Mama's not going to wake up anymore than James Marshall is."

She pulled back and gazed at me. "Are you certain?"

I nodded.

"Can we wait here a while and make sure?"

I looked at the sky. Even though it was covered with thick gray clouds, I could see the sun like a pale spot rising up toward the meridian. I hated to delay. The roads were bad enough in the daytime with soldiers hunting one another in the woods and fields, but at least you could see them coming. After dark, there was no telling what lurked in the bushes or behind the trees.

"Please?" Rachel tugged at my arm to get my attention.

I sighed. "Well, just for a few minutes."

We sat down side by side in front of the pile of stones.

"Should I make another marker with the right 'peace' on it?" I asked Rachel.

"No," she said softly. "People will know what you meant."

I stood up. My rear end was cold right through my trousers from sitting on the ground. "We have to leave, Rachel. While I saddle Ranger, go to the root cellar and gather all the food you can find."

She scowled as if she were about to argue, but she thought better of it. Getting slowly to her feet, she trudged across the muddy yard toward the ruins of our house.

"Bring the blankets, too." I called after her.

Rachel stopped and stared at me. "What on earth for? Grandma Colby has plenty of blankets."

"We can't be certain of anything these days." I didn't want to worry her, but it was the truth.

I went to what was left of the stable and fetched Captain Powell's fine leather saddle from the hitching rail. The big horse sniffed at the saddle, but he stood still while I threw it over his back and adjusted the girth. Every now and then he pawed the ground in an agitated way and rolled his eyes at me. I kept talking the whole time, soothing him with my voice, hoping he'd soon grow accustomed to me.

While Ranger watched, I dumped what was left of the oats into the saddlebags. "See? I'll take good care of you," I whispered. "You'll never have to go into battle again. And I'll never use this." I showed him Captain Powell's whip and he shied away. While he watched, I broke the damnable thing over my knee and tossed the pieces aside.

I stroked his side and told him he was a fine horse. To my relief, he let me lead him out of the barn. He had a graceful walk, and his neck curved in a way that showed his breeding. Yankee-born or not, Ranger was without a doubt a noble steed.

After I boosted Rachel into the saddle, I wrapped her in a blanket and mounted the horse in front of her. She wrapped her arms around my waist, and I felt the doll's china face press into my back One touch of my heels against his sides and Ranger was ready to go.

I looked back once at the ruins of our house. Somewhere in those ashes was the body of Captain Powell. His little daughter would never see him come riding home. Most likely no one would know what had happened to the man. Well, he wasn't the first soldier lost. Nor would he be the last.

Then I turned my face toward the road and left my home behind.

A
T THE END OF OUR LANE
, I turned Ranger toward Grandma Colby's farm. Snow and ice lingered in gray lacy patches under trees and in shadowy places, but most of it was gone already. The road was muddy and rutted, and Ranger picked his way carefully.

A cardinal as red as blood flew past us and a flock of crows cawed from the treetops, but we saw no one. The road stretched ahead, winding through fields and in and out of woods. Not too long ago, we would have passed farmers with carts, men on horseback, families in carriages, or folks just walking along. Now there was no one. Not even a soldier.

Over our heads, trees swayed in the wind, making a sound like a crowd mourning a great loss. Gray clouds hung low and heavy above the brown fields. Frozen ponds reflected the dull sky. Not a cow to be seen. Not a sheep. Not even a squirrel.

"Are we almost there?" Rachel asked after a couple of hours. "I'm cold and hungry. And my legs hurt from sitting so long."

I looked to the west. The sun was barely visible through the clouds, but I could tell it wasn't far above the mountains. It would be dark in less than an hour. "We must be close," I said.

"I surely hope so. Seems like we've been riding all day," Rachel said wearily.

"Would you rather we were walking?"

"No."

"Well, then."

Rachel sighed and shifted her position. For a while she was silent. The sun slid farther down the sky, lighting the horizon with a long streak of purple. Darkness gathered in the woods, as thick as wool spun from black sheep. The wind rose, rattling in the trees like something trying to break free, moaning every now and then in a woeful way. With all my heart I wished we'd left home earlier.

"You said we'd be there before nightfall." Rachel sounded fearful.

"We will," I said, praying I was right.

Rachel held me tighter. "But, Haswell, the woods look so dark. Will bears eat us?"

"Of course not. They hibernate in the winter. Don't you know anything?" Nonetheless, I touched the butt of the revolver, which I'd stuck in my waistband. It was good to know Rachel and I had some protection. Not from wild animals but men. Deserters, raiders—who knew what manner of person you'd meet so far from houses and towns?

By now we'd reached a bridge I remembered from other trips. I knew that bridge meant we were almost to the farm.

"We're close now, Rachel. Remember that bridge up ahead?"

Rachel hugged me. "Yes, Papa used to pretend it was the bridge at Concord and he'd recite that poem about the shot heard round the world."

I nodded, but for some reason I felt uneasy. The woods on the other side of the bridge were already dark. Tree crowded against tree. Branches intertwined across the road, so it looked like a tunnel leading into the night. A crow cawed and flew out of a tall oak, followed by three or four others. Ruffians, Mama called them, making trouble wherever they went. Outlaws, bandits, thieving rascals.