Spring Will Come (54 page)

Robert was aware of noises when he once more gained consciousness.  His mind was a little clearer this time.  He lay quietly, gathering his strength before he opened his eyes and faced the world.  His men had come back while he was sleeping.  Now he would get some answers.  Slowly he opened his eyes and turned his head.  Instantly he snapped them shut again, his head once more swimming in confusion.  Surely he had been mistaken.  He hadn’t really seen...
.

             
“Mama, I brung in the eggs from the chicken house.  You’s got anything else for me to do right now?”

             
“No, Amber.  You run on outside.  There ain’t gonna be many nice days left.  I’ll be callin’ ya when supper be ready.”

             
Robert’s fists clenched under the cover.  He hadn’t been wrong.  The little girl he saw when he had opened his eyes
was
black!  Where was he?  Gradually, he forced himself to relax.  They must be slaves.  But how had he gotten back to the South?  Why was he in this cabin?  The questions once more pounded through his head, making the ever-present ache even more unbearable.  He fought the fatigue that pressed down on him again.  He had to know where he was. 

             
Robert heard the door swing open again.  This time he opened his eyes a mere slit.  He wanted some answers before he let anyone know he was awake.  He had to get back to his unit, but first he had to know what was happening. 

             
“Mama, I sho be hungry.”

             
“You always be hungry, Clint,” the woman laughed.  “Go get some more firewood.  I reckon it’s gonna be a chilly one tonight.”

             
Now Robert was even more confused.  He slumped back against his pillow and tried to make sense of everything.  Just yesterday the weather had been hot and humid.  How had it gotten cold in the middle of September?  He lay still, pondering what he had seen.  A sudden fear gripped him.  What if they had captured him?  What if these black people were planning on hurting him when he woke up?  He gritted his teeth together, waves of frustration washing over him.  None of it made any sense.  Surely he wouldn’t be lying in their only bed if they meant him harm.  The woman had looked harmless enough.  The boy she had called Clint looked to be no more than fourteen.  The little girl couldn’t have been more than five or six. 

             
Another blast of cool air entered the cabin.  Robert didn’t open his eyes again, but he knew someone else had come into the room.  Was it the boy or the girl?

             
“I got me a deer, Polly.  A few more and I reckon we’ll be set for the winter.”

             
Robert managed to stifle his groan as a deep male voice boomed through the cabin.  Holding his breath, he peered through narrowed eyes.  Whoever this man was, he was not to be messed with.  His towering bulk made the woman he was standing beside seem like a child. 

             
“Anything from that fella over there?”

             
Robert snapped his eyes shut and tried to appear still asleep.  The man had to be talking about him.

             
“No, Gabe.  There ain’t been no change.  I tell you what-- I’m beginnin’ to doubt he ever gonna wake up.  If it wadn’t for the fact he still be breathin’, I’d think sho enough he be dead.  It’s been over a month now that he been layin’ there.”

             
Robert felt his head explode with a new round of questions.  Surely the woman was wrong!  But why would she say it if it weren’t true?  A month?  It took all his self-control not to spring from the bed and start shouting questions.  

             
“I’m tellin’ ya, Polly.  I think we got to take that fella somewheres else.  Somebody gonna find him here.  What we gonna do when somebody finds a Rebel soldier layin’ in our cabin?”

             
“Shush, Gabe.  That boy ain’t goin’ nowhere.  You ain’t thinkin’ straight.  First off, ain’t nobody just drop by our house.  And if they did, there ain’t no way to know that boy there be a Rebel.”

             
How did they know he was a Southerner?
  Robert’s mind shouted.  How did he get to this cabin?  It was obvious from the conversation he was still behind Northern lines.  Vague images of a fierce battle floated through his mind, but they were too elusive to patch together. 

             
“I told that fella who left him here that it wadn’t a good idea,” Gabe growled.

             
“And I told him that boy be welcome.  That we’d do what we could to keep him from dyin’!”

             
“Yeah, well, he ain’t been conscious for over a month!”  Gabe retorted. 

             
Polly’s voice softened.  “Look, Gabe.  I know you be scared, but we can’t just be throwin’ another human out of our house.  It gonna be okay.”

             
“Polly, that ain’t just another human.  That boy be
white
, for God’s sake.”

             
“Ain’t no sin to be white,” Polly said calmly.

             
“What if he’s a slave owner?”  Fear radiated from Gabe’s voice. 

             
Robert detected the first hint of fear in Polly’s voice as she answered him.

             
“Then I reckon we cross that bridge when we gets to it.”

             
Who in the world had left him here?  The questions were too much for his pounding head.  He fought the cloud descending once again, but it was too dark - too heavy.

Only the flickering of firelight filled the cabin when Robert woke again.  The pounding in his head was not quite so bad, but thirst wracked his body.  Should he let them know he was awake?  He wasn’t so sure about the man, but he was fairly certain Polly meant him no harm.  His longing for a drink of water grew with each passing moment. 

              “Mama?”

             
Robert turned his head slightly.  The room was too dark for anyone to notice his eyes were open.  Holding the little girl in her lap, Polly was seated by the fire.  The boy she had called Clint was in a chair next to her.

             
“Yes, son?  Talk quiet – Amber’s finally asleep.”

             
“Mama, do you think Daddy’s right?  You think that fella’s a slave owner?”

             
Robert frowned.  Clint’s voice was edged with anger.

             
“Not every white man owns slaves,” Polly replied calmly.  “You know that.”

             
“Yeah,” Clint admitted.  “But I don’t want no slave owner in our house.  Not after everythin’ you and Daddy went through.  What if he tried to take you back?”

             
“I don’t reckon that man’s taking anyone anywhere,” Polly said firmly.  “You got to quit lettin’ your fears get the best of you.  If we quit carin’ bout other human beings then we gonna be just as bad as the white man.”

             
Robert listened in astonishment, his own anger growing.  How dare she...?

             
“The white man decided our people wadn’t full humans.  That gave them the right to own us.  I reckon all it did was make them less than full human.  I don’t aim to be like that.”

             
“Don’t you get tired of lovin’, Mama?”  Clint asked plaintively.

             
Polly’s only response was a low laugh.

             
“I mean it, Mama.  Don’t you get angry sometimes?  Don’t you want to lash out at them folks that hurt you?  Them folks that kept you and Daddy slaves most all your life?”  Clint’s voice was bitter now. 

             
Robert watched Polly put out her hand and touch Clint’s cheek. 

             
“Course I’s get angry sometimes.  I be just as human as anyone.  But, son, there ain’t nothin’ wrong with gettin’ angry.  It’s what you do with that anger that matters.  You can blow up and hurt anyone who gets near you, or you can figure out somethin’ else to do with it.”

             
“What you do with yours, Mama?”

             
Polly chuckled.  “Well - some clothes get cleaner than others, some bread gets kneaded a little more than I reckon it should...”  Her voice trailed off.  “I work off my anger, Clint.  And when workin’ it off ain’t doing the job - I sing it off.  Ain’t no way you can be singin’ and hatin’ all at the same time.”

             
“You sing a awful lot,” Clint commented. 

             
Polly laughed again.  “I reckon I do, boy.  I reckon I do.”

             
Clint changed the subject.  “Is you scared?”

             
“Scared?”

             
“Yeah.  You know -- scared that someone will find him here.  Or what if he dies?  Ain’t you scared to have a white man die in your bed?”

             
Robert frowned.  Polly and Gabe had given up their bed for him?  Why?

             
“I guess I try not to think ‘bout things to be scared of.  I figure that man got brung to us for a reason.  I reckon we’ll know what it be if we wait long enough.”

             
“Don’t look like we got no choice but to wait.  Don’t look like that man’s goin’ anywhere.”

             
Just then the door swung open. 

             
“Gabe!  I wondered where you be.  It’s gettin’ right late.”

             
Gabe strode in, his massive form blocking any light from the fire.  Robert tried to push away his thirst.  If he listened long enough, he might find out more about where he was.  He had been ready to let Polly know he was awake.  Now that Gabe was here, he was suddenly afraid. 

             
“Mr. Green down the road asked me to drive his wagon over past Sharpsburg for him,” Gabe said, settling into a chair by the fire. 

             
Robert heard a strange note of sadness in his voice.

             
“What happened?” Polly asked.  “Sounds like there been trouble.”

             
Gabe shrugged.  “Wadn’t no trouble.”  Then he hesitated.

             
“Come on, Daddy, you can talk,” Clint pleaded.  “I’s almost a grown man now.  Amber’s asleep.  You ain’t got to be afraid of me hearing.”

             
“When you learn how to read minds, boy?”

             
“You always get quiet when you think me or Amber shouldn’t not be hearin’ what you gonna say.”

             
Gabe chuckled.  “I reckon you right.”  Then his voice grew serious.  “I had to drive past that battlefield over at Sharpsburg.  The place this fella come from.”

             
“It bad,” Polly stated quietly.

             
“I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it.  I reckon the army done tried to bury all them men, but they didn’t do such a good job.  Looks like they just scooped dirt over what used to be a real purty cornfield.”  He stopped for several long moments.