Here and Again (17 page)

“I don’t regret any of it,” Mr. Wolfe said.

“I know,” she replied as she walked to the door. “Thank you, Mr. Esch, for advising me about the cow.”

He shrugged as he tucked the covers beneath his chin.

“You two stay out of trouble.”

“I’ll call Josh Wheldon,” Jack said. “He’ll help with the cow. Where you live?”

“Far from here, in Virginia.”

“You said that. Where?”

“A place called Smoot’s farm. Off of 81, north of Woodstock.” She opened the door.

“Near the covered bridge?” Jacob asked, scooting up a little.

Ginger spun around to look at him. “Y-yes. H-how do you know that?”

“I love covered bridges,” Jacob said, grinning. “That’s a pretty one.”

She nodded slowly.

“I can tell Mr. Wheldon how to get there,” he added and rolled over.

“Thank you,” Ginger replied, dumbfounded.

She stepped out of the room and as the door closed behind her she heard Jack Wolfe say, “Something’s happening, Jacob Esch.” And then he laughed.

May 22, 1862

Near Front Royal

Dear Juliette,

We’ve been marching, if marching is what you could call it. For nine days now, our commander has us marching and then, after a time, we stop and are ordered to lie down. Not sit. Not stand. Lie down. Rest completely. Then, after a time, we stand again and march on. So it has been and though Jackson’s order is strange, we obey. I will say that after marching long and in this fashion, we have become as one body, fast moving and silent when ordered. Some say we are like wolves. We are not a pack of wolves. We are a pack of cats—silent when ordered and fast. As we move, chills race my spine, for we have become a truly dangerous thing to behold.

Alas, there has been no place where we can demonstrate our nature, exactly. We are simply waiting. The sea of blue before us grows and grows and the great battles are now in the west and on the Atlantic. If those efforts push the battle in our direction before we find a place to pounce, I’m afraid we shall be no more than a tick on the back of the Union, squeezed from both sides until we let go.

I know this valley, and as we march I watch our progress etched on the horizon by the passing mountains. Winchester is again in Yankee hands, and if I know anything, we will take it back. Jackson has sent men out this day—scattered them to tear at railroad tracks and cut telegraph lines. But the rest of us will not war on machines this time. Tonight is rest for us and will be much needed for what must be
ahead of us on the morrow. But we are tense like a great cat with eyes closed, body tight, poised and camouflaged, waiting to show off our nature.

And we shall—tomorrow, if I am not much mistaken. I am not mistaken. I hear the bird and as I lie here, stealing a secret letter to you by firelight, I answer the call. I whistle just as it does. Uncertain am I to its purpose, but I know it is a friendly spirit. It sings in me courage and will. I want to fight now. I want to fight so the war will end. There will be nothing of my future with you until it does. Your peace fills me so completely now and I know I cannot find you until the war is done.

So I say, let it come. Let screams and smoke and keening beasts fill my ears and eyes. Let my hands grow black and burnt from musket fire as blood pours upon the Earth. The Valley of Death must be crossed to reach the other side, where now I know you wait. Only in its crossing shall spring weep its gentle tears and wash all away.

I sing the bird. I am crossing now to you. And I shall see you on the other side. Pray for me, Juliette.

Your devoted,

Samuel

Mr. Rogers to the Rescue

T
he wind was cuttin’ a shine in a clear blue sky when Ginger left work and her drive home seemed to take thirty minutes less time than usual. She wasn’t sure if it was a tailwind pushing her truck or if the mountains had blown Smoot’s farm closer to Highway 81, but as she drove down the lane on this blustery Sunday afternoon, she found people and cars blocking her drive. They were seeking the bridge and in so doing they filled her drive like so many leaves swept by the wind into a pile, impeded from further progress by a great mound of dirt. She slid by a station wagon that was leaving, as it had found nothing much to look at, which was always the case when coming to Smoot’s farm. Then she pulled up into her drive behind a red Dodge pickup and disengaged the engine.

As she opened her door a large bang sounded from the direction of the barn and quickly she hopped from her truck, slammed the door, and trotted up the gravel incline. A rolling crash from
the direction of the bridge made her jump and she froze in place, unsure which direction she should go.

“Good afternoon, Virginia Moon.” Samuel was at her back. She didn’t even need to turn around.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Well, Mr. Rogers is here with his wife fixing the tractor. Grandma has taken Henry and Oliver to ride the horses in the corral to keep them from getting underfoot in the barn. The horses seemed relieved also. Bea is watching Mr. Rogers fight with Henry’s Child with great concern, but she will not talk about it and I did try to talk with her. And five men with a strange vehicle have maneuvered around your orchard and bridge toward where I came across the river.”

“Holy cow!” Ginger declared and, dropping her purse and lunch bag on the gravel drive, took off at a run toward Jesse’s tree. She had forgotten about the park ranger and she seethed with anger at herself because she hadn’t discussed it further with Osbee.

Deep ruts in the streambed next to the bridge made her hiss and her feet beat like a drum across its wooden floor. Loud sounds of a chain saw poured through the walnut and ash and she flew like the crows above her head in that direction. She skidded to a halt as she emerged from the trees and screamed, “
Stop!
”

Three men worked the trees. One was atop the pine with a chain saw rattling away at branches while two others were securing a heavy chain to Jesse’s fallen ash. A large ATV was attached to a winch, around which the other end of the chain was secured. Two men stood next to the winch supervising the entire operation and none of them made any indication that they had heard her.

“
Stop! Stop! Stop!
” she yelled, waving her arms as she trotted over to the ATV.

The man with the chain saw was the only person facing in her direction, and when he saw her he cut the machine off.

“Stop,” she said, holding her chest from her run. Silence echoed and in the sudden quiet the trees creaked above her head as if irritated by the windy gusts that blew down the Shenandoah.

“Ma’am?” the man nearest her inquired. His green uniform made it clear that he was a park official from the other side of the river.

“Wait,” she said.

“Uh, wind’s expected to pick up and we’re already working in unsafe conditions,” he said, walking closer to her.

She nodded as a small branch from a walnut tree to the right tumbled from above, punctuating the man’s sentence.

“What’s the plan?” she asked.

“Beg pardon?”

“What are you doing?”

“We need to detach the trees to clear the river.” He gazed at her with an isn’t-that-obvious look.

“River needs to be clear,” Samuel said from behind.

“I want that tree left whole,” she said, pointing to Jesse’s ash.

“I don’t think that’s possible. The top branches are tangled in the pine,” the ranger said.

“As whole as possible. C-can you, like, swing it around so it lays flush to the river’s edge that way?” She pointed up the river to the left.

“I can, but if the water rises with the spring flow, it might be picked up anyway.”

Ginger bit her lip. Her throat tightened as tears threatened. How to tell this man who stood with a perplexed look on his face what the tree meant? How to explain without going into anything
too deeply? This was something she didn’t want to share with anyone. It was hers alone to bear.

“Sometimes it is best to open a wound to help it heal,” Samuel said.

Ginger gazed over her shoulder.

He stood with his hands behind his back, looking into her gently. “But you know that, being, as you are, a nurse.”

She nodded and, turning back to the ranger, said, “Losing it in a wash is a risk, I know. But I need to keep it. It belonged to my husband. He’s, um—” She peered up to the crackling branches above her head. A tear rolled down her cheek as she returned her eyes to those of the ranger. “He died in Iraq and that tree was his favorite place. He taught his kids to swim here. I just need . . .
to keep it if I can
.” The last words she didn’t say but shrugged as she mouthed them.

As Ginger gazed from one man to the next, they all nodded and, without another word, the two men who had been attaching the chain began to detach it.

“If we move the winch over there,” the man on the pine said, pointing to his right, “we can pull it around and lay it behind that boulder there. I think it can reach.”

“We’ll make it work,” the ranger said. “Sorry for your loss.”

Ginger shrugged again and smiled a little as she took a deep breath. “I’ll make some coffee for you guys. It’s cold out here,” she said and, turning around, gazed into Samuel’s soft brown eyes. As if she had taken his hand, he turned and together they walked back toward the house.

“That was hard,” she whispered to him.

“It’s private,” he replied.

Ginger looked over to him and he to her.

“Never heard a tear shed that wasn’t personal,” she offered.

“Never shed one myself that wasn’t personal,” he added.

A great gust roared through the bridge. Like a flood of water, the wind rushed at them. Ginger put her head down, pulling Jesse’s coat tighter around her body, and as she looked at Samuel she found that he, too, slumped forward as if in effort against it.

“Can you feel the wind?” she called.

He grinned and stood up straight, his hair and clothing perfectly still, as if it were a heavy summer’s day with hardly a breeze to mention. He said, “I was commiserating.”

They laughed together as the trees shook and moaned behind them, seeming both angry and sad at being left alone with five strangers in their midst.

Squinting in the small, flying debris, Ginger approached the bridge, saying, “Need to fix that streambed. Look at those ruts. What a mess.”

“Let the water heal it,” Samuel replied as they entered the covered bridge.

“There is no water,” she said.

They were quiet as they cleared the bridge and walked past the orchard. Apple and pear trees rustled and danced, their limbs whispering that the little white buds were ready to bloom.

“Why is there a bridge if there is no water?” Samuel asked.

Startled, Ginger turned her head and found his look of puzzlement laughable. He had pondered the bridge over a dried-up stream in the quiet between them. “So people will drive down Highway 81 and see a historical marker indicating that it is out here and they’ll get off and drive five miles of back roads to see it.”

His face reflected his mind; it mulled over this information as they passed the walnut tree. “Why?”

“So there will be something to talk about down here where
nothing happens.” She burst out laughing again, remembering Jesse and once having this exact conversation with him.

Samuel let out a chuckle and shook his head, just as she had done all those years ago. She was now Jesse, living with that bridge, watching the cars come down the lane, one after another after another. They’d stop, look, look harder, sure there was something to see, shrug at the fact that there was a whole lot of nothing, take a picture maybe, turn around, and go back to the highway. There was no purpose to any of it, no purpose at all. And that was funny.

“Ginger?”

She nearly jumped backward, surprised to see Ed’s wife, Lorena, standing in front of her.

“Uh, hi,” she said awkwardly, gazing back to Samuel. He had stopped and stood a polite distance off to the right.

Lorena smiled, following Ginger’s gaze. “What was so funny?”

“Oh, I was just remembering a conversation from long ago. Some wind we’re having.” She changed the subject.

“Not a thing can rest in it,” Lorena replied. “Ed is nearly finished with Henry’s Child.”

“Excellent.” Ginger’s smile widened. “Can I see?”

“Of course. We brought dinner also.”

“Ah, you didn’t need to.”

“I know, but we did. That way we can stay.” Lorena let out a small laugh.

“You’d be invited anyway.”

“I know,” she said, entwining her elbow with Ginger’s.

There was a loud pop and then a hesitant cough of an engine. The tractor sputtered and spat as Ginger entered the barn. Henry’s Child seemed none too thrilled at being awakened from its
long sleep, but Ed Rogers had nudged it fully to life and it chugged along in idle, the exhaust filling the barn with smoke.

“These things are sensitive,” he said to Bea, who stood next to Penny’s empty stall, her face impassive. She didn’t nod, didn’t smile. Nothing moved on her but her eyes, which flicked between Henry’s Child and the man bent over its engine. Finally, they turned at last in her mother’s direction. A crease deepened in her stony brow.

“Mama?” Bea walked over, full of purpose. Henry’s Child warmed to the idea of moving as Bea’s gaze fell between Lorena and her mother. She was looking at Samuel.

“Yes, Bea?”

“I’m thinking about something. Something’s happening.”

That was what Jack Wolfe had told Jacob Esch. She could have said something, could have prompted her daughter with a question. But in this quiet moment, filled only with the sound of Henry’s Child stretching to move at last, it was as if she was in a breath between notes again. She waited. Ed Rogers cut the engine off and Ginger hung in the silence of that space like valley air between two mountains, waiting to be moved by wind.

“Mr. Rogers gave us Penny and Christian.”

Ginger said nothing.

“He really loves Henry’s Child like Grandpa Henry loved it.”

“I don’t exactly love it,” Ed Rogers corrected.

“So Mr. Rogers has Christian and Penny’s bridles and yokes and such.”

Ginger said not—a—thing.

“I’m thinking . . . Henry and Oliver and I . . . Well, Henry’s Child is mine. That’s kinda how it’s been and—and I’m thinking we give it to Mr. Rogers because he will care for it like Grandpa did. And he can give us Penny and Christian’s stuff and we farm like—like the help that’s come used to do. Back then.”

Bea motioned her head toward Samuel.

“What help?” Lorena asked, confusion furrowing deeply between her eyes.

A huge gust blew through the yard, shook the walnut tree, and bound into the barn, sending the exhaust from Henry’s Child scattering like unwanted rain clouds in a bright blue sky.

“Farm with horses,” Ginger repeated her daughter’s idea.

“Um, you can’t do that, Ginger,” Lorena said.

“I agree,” Mr. Rogers said. “There’s a lot to learn in farming and that just adds to the complication.”

Ginger turned around, looked at Samuel, and then gazed past him toward the covered bridge.

“There’s no purpose to that bridge . . .” She breathed. “Except to bring people down here.”

“Where they find nothing happening,” Samuel said, chuckling.

Ginger spun on her heel and looked intently at her daughter. “Little Bea. That there is your daddy’s tractor.”

“I know,” Bea said, her eyes moistening as she straightened her shoulders.

“I can’t ask you to give it up.”

“I know,” she said, her face twitching in hidden hurt. The little girl swallowed.

Birds chirped as they flew by. The wind blew through the barn, rustling and whistling as it did so. No one moved. No one spoke. Finally, Bea turned with square shoulders, raising her chin bravely to look upon Mr. Rogers.

“We need Penny and Christian’s stuff, please. I’ll trade you Henry’s Child for it.”

“I think your daddy would rather you keep this,” the man answered.

“I think this is exactly what my daddy would want if he was here. We really need this stuff, Mr. Rogers.”

Ginger gazed at the man, who met her with steady eyes. His look appeared as if he was going to question this decision of Bea’s, but Ginger shook her head at him. He breathed in, picked up a white rag, leaned back against Henry’s Child, and began wiping his oily black hands.

“Well, this tractor is worth quite a pretty penny, Bea,” Mr. Rogers said. “I’m not sure that the horses’ yokes and such are of equal value. What else you think you’ll need?”

Bea looked over at her mother, who shrugged. She knew nothing of farming.

“Tell him you need plows, tillers, harrows, rollers, planters, mowers, and rakes,” Samuel said.

Ginger smiled.

So did Bea. “I need plows, tillers, harrows, rollers, planters, mowers, and rakes,” she said.

Mr. Rogers stopped cleaning his hands and stared at the little girl.

“You have those, Mr. Rogers?” Bea asked.

Samuel snickered.

“Maybe a tedder, too?” Mr. Rogers asked with eyebrows raised.

“I do not know what that is,” Samuel said.

“Um, sure,” Bea replied.

Samuel laughed. Bea looked over at him, grinning. Ginger watched Ed follow the little girl’s gaze. He saw nothing and shook his head.

“Not a thing,” Ginger whispered.

“All right, Miss Bea,” he said, standing up. “I’ll estimate the cost of this tractor and bring the requested equipment plus anything else I think you’ll need. Does that work?”

“I think that’ll do,” Bea said, offering her hand to Mr. Rogers.

“To self-sufficiency,” he said, smiling for the first time as he took her palm in his.

Bea’s eyes opened in surprise at the friendliness of it. She smiled back as he shook her hand. “What’s self-sufficiency?” she asked.