The Cellar (5 page)

Marcus broke what had become an
uncomfortable silence when he came down the steps carrying a bed frame.  
Carrying the heavy oak frame looked like it would have been a chore for two
men, but Mrs. Pendleton’s vassal made the job look effortless.   Ike hadn’t
noticed that the straw and blanket had been removed while he was enjoying his
afternoon tea.  The frame was placed where the pallet had been with the head in
the corner.  Marcus headed back up the steps.

“I thought you might be more comfortable
and recuperate faster if you had a decent bed.”  Mrs. Pendleton said.  “This
was Todd’s and it will be again someday.  I hope you enjoy it.”

The thought of sleeping
on an actual bed was almost unbelievable to Ike as he watched the civilized
furnishings being assembled for his use.  It had been two years since his
slumbers had been supported by anything softer than an army blanket and some
leaves.  He and his comrades had slept in railroad cars and on the decks of
river steamers but never on so much as a rude cot since he had left home.  One
night he and Johnny had slept on a brush pile to avoid the mud and the water of
a creek that was backing up into their camp.                            

Marcus returned with a
feather mattress and placed it on the frame.  He had sheets and a comforter
over one massive arm and prepared the bed as Ike watched with a mix of
emotions.

“Looks like you oughta’ sleep like a baby
there Ikey!” Johnny chimed in. “Wonder why she just didn’t move you upstairs? 
Sure woulda been less work for ol’ Marcus.  Wonder why that big buck never run
off,  reckon he’s takin’ care of Missy in other ways?”

“You look tired again Mr. Lowery, would
you like to lie down and rest a while before supper?”

“Thank you Mrs. Pendleton, I think I
would.  Your kindness is……”

“You are quite welcome young man.  It is
our Christian duty to care for those who are ailing and infirm, but I do have
more selfish reasons as you know.  I will return later.”

The bed seemed to swallow Ike as he lay
down.  He closed his eyes and prayed, for guidance, for healing, and for Todd Pendleton
wherever he was. 

“Yeah, Ikey, I think you better pray for
that young fella’ cause if somethin’ happens to that boy his momma’ might not
be bringin’ you no more biscuits and jam.”

“Johnny, I’m trying to pray here, you
shouldn’t be interrupting me.”  Ike grumbled at the voice.  He was beginning to
tire of the constant commentary and wondered again if it was a sign of some
mental problem on his part.

“Sorry Ike, I’m new to this ‘guardian
angel’ duty.  I kinda think I took on somebody that needs some real guardin’.”

Ike continued to pray.  He asked God to
help him maintain his sanity and for Johnny’s voice to go away.

“Aw come on now, I’m just doin’ my job the
best I know how.”  Johnny said in a mock simper. “Just lay down yer’ head to
sleep now and your guardian angel’s gonna stand picket.  You’re safe……fer now.  
‘Til that ol’ gal gets another letter anyway.”

Supper was roast chicken and potatoes with
a slice of dried apple pie.  His hostess was chatty and took her supper in the
cellar with her guest.  Afterwards she read to Ike from the Bible.  She was on
the book of Job on her latest sojourn through the scriptures.

“I sometimes feel a kinship with Job,
having lost so many in my family.  But I think it is my least favorite book in
the Bible.  Do you have a favorite part, Mr. Lowery?”

“Well, it definitely wouldn’t be Job.  I
always felt like God and Satan were playing a game with him.  I don’t like to
think of God like that, he just seems cruel and disinterested in Job’s
suffering.  I guess I like the epistles of Paul as well as anything.  I like
his way with words.”   Ike had always been impressed by the apostle’s colorful
prose with his imagery of gongs booming and cymbals clashing and how he talked
about seeing “through a glass darkly.”  He paused for a moment and his mind
wandered back to happier times.  “When Emma and I were first married, we read
from the Song of Solomon together.  Emma would get the giggles sometimes…..” 

“You miss your wife terribly.” She said
looking down.

“Yes, we have been apart for so long…..” 
Ike replied trailing off.  His memories of Emma were vivid in some ways but
sketchy in others.  It was as if his mind was a book and some of the pages had
been torn out.  He briefly wanted to share those thoughts with Mrs. Pendleton,
but decided to keep his reserve.  Her book seemed to be a nightmare tale and he
was sure that he would have liked to have not been a part of this or any
chapter.  They both were quiet for a few moments.

“When you are united to the right person,
parting is painful.  I miss my husband Jasper every day.  In a way I miss him
more than our sons.” She paused, sighed, and then brightened.  “But let us not
dwell on our losses, in your case at least you will see your Emma again I’m sure
and I will have Todd by my side in my dotage.  We must be thankful to the Lord
for the blessings we have.  All we have to do is keep you healthy and safe. 
Now you must do your part by getting a good night’s sleep.”  She rose at this
and looked down at him with a soft smile.

“I always liked that part about old Balaam.” 
Johnny interjected as Mrs. Pendleton left the cellar.  “You know, that feller
that got the talkin’ too from his ass?  My brothers and I got tickled when the
preacher said ass in church.”

“I am beginning to think that God sent me
a talking ass.” Ike responded silently as Johnny went into hysterics and made
braying noises.

The days that followed took on a routine
and went by dreamily as Ike’s hurts healed.  He was well fed by Marcus and
given a clean nightshirt and water for a bath on a regular basis.  Jasper Pendleton
had accumulated an extensive library and Ike was allowed to read one volume at
a time by the light from the knothole during the day and by candle light at
night.   Marcus delivered him a new book every few days as he worked his way
through the Pendleton’s favorite authors.  He was also given an old Bible to
keep in his room.   Ike was never given matches, but Marcus lit the candle
every evening at supper time and made sure he had a fresh one when needed. 
Mrs. Pendleton usually took his evening meal with him and read to him from the
Bible afterwards.  Their conversations were polite but never deep.

Sundays were church days.  Mrs. Pendleton
came down late morning and read scripture and a homily from a book.  They sang
common hymns like “Shall we Gather at the River”, “Amazing Grace”,  “Happy Land
of Canaan”, and “What a Friend We Have in Jesus”.  Marcus’ deep rumbling
baritone and Mrs. Pendleton’s tenor carried Ike’s weak alto.  Johnny sang along
in Ike’s head.

Ike tried to keep track of the time by
marking how many Sundays he had been in the cellar.  He made a small mark on
the back of one of the steps after every service, but he wasn’t sure how many
weeks he had been here before the services began.  It seemed that it must be
October by his reckoning and by the cooler but still mild weather.  He could
begin to see some color in the few trees that were visible through his knot hole.

Johnny was a near constant presence,
commenting on everything and seemingly finding much humor in Ike’s situation.

“Still like being dead, Johnny?”  Ike
asked one day when boredom was setting in.

“Not too bad Ikey, company could be better
though”  he snickered.

“I’ve been thinking lately.  Since you say
you’re not exactly an angel, are you a ghost?”

“Ooooh Ikey, I always been afeard of
ghosties!” Johnny replied trying to sound ominous and then paused.  “I don’t
know too much and if I did I don’t think I could tell you a whole lot.  I just
know that I ain’t afraid of anything anymore.  I know my time of fear an pain
is over and there’s better yet to come.  I don’t just believe it or think it, I
know
it.  I’m just a livin’ in your head for now and waitin’.  Somethin’
about it kinda’ reminds me of somethin’ my old Irish Papist Grandma’ used to
talk about, now what did she call it?  Started with a
“P”……porky…..perky…..perkytory I think it was.”

“Purgatory.” Ike corrected him.  “The
Catholics believe that when you die with sin on your soul you are sent to a
temporary place where your remaining unforgiven sins are washed away so that
you will be pure before your final entry into heaven.”  Ike had always liked
the idea although his Methodist faith officially saw it as a pagan heresy.

“Yeah, I think that was what she called
it.  My folks had parted ways with the Papists, but Granny still said her beads
and read from her prayer book she brought with her from Ireland after the
‘tater famine  and ignored it when my folks tried to get her to go to their
church and get sanctified.  I think Granny was as sanctified as anybody I ever
knowed, the old girl loved us kids, even me, an’ love’s what’s important, I
know that for a fact.”

“So you’re in my head being purified before
you move on?”

“Somethin’ like that.  Your head’s kinda
cramped though, lots of cobwebs up here and some ol’ mud dobber nests like
somebody’s attic.”  Johnny said with a giggle.

“Well get used to it.  As I recall the
soul in Purgatory had to stay longer if they were stained with too much sin.  I
may be stuck with you for a long time.”

Johnny laughed a laugh that sounded like
his old guffaw from back in camp but with a tone that sounded gentler.  It
wasn’t the laugh of derision but a laugh of joy.  “It may take a while Ikey,
but what’s time to a ghost or an angel, or whatever I am?”

“Were you a churchgoer back home Johnny?” 
Ike asked.  “I didn’t see you at the chaplain’s services very often.

“Guess I’d become what you’d call a
backslider, Ike.  I sat in the anxious seat and got prayed over a couple times
back home, but I was never sure it really took ‘til I started goin’ to the
Nigger services back there in Memphis.  I know the rest of you thought I was
just a flirtin’ and wenchin’ with them brown beauties.  I started out that way
but then this one girl, she musta’ been a African princess, she insisted I go
to a meetin’ with her.  Ikey, that there girl was beautiful as any white girl I
ever seen, her skin was so perfect an’ smooth and her eyes were so big you
could just get lost in ‘em.  She seemed to think I was funny and laughed at
most of my jokes, but she wouldn’t sneak out in the woods with me like some
did.  She wasn’t mean about it or anythin’ she would just pat me on the cheek
and smile and shake her head.  One day she told me to come out to the woods
with her, only it was to this big prayer meetin’.  Them folks treated me like I
was one of their own, they had me singin’ and a dancin’ with them, even if I
couldn’t dance so good as they did.  I never saw so much joy at a church
service in all my life.  Before I knowed it I was gettin’ baptized by this big
ol’ buck of a preacher.  Ikey, I felt closer to God among those Darkies than I
ever did at a white service.”  

Ike imagined Johnny being lowered into a
creek by a gargantuan preacher that resembled Marcus.  “How long did the
preacher hold you under?” he said out loud with a chuckle.

“Just long enough, Ikey, just long
enough.  I knowed I was different when he drew me back out of that water.  I
looked around me at all them folks, half expectin’ that they was havin’ a good
laugh at my red headed self a drippin like a drowned rat and all I saw was
people that loved me.  I sorta’ understand what Momma Pendleton thinks about
God puttin’ people in the right place at the right time, I know he put me in
Memphis for a good reason, and I’m sure he put me here for a good reason too.”

The two were quiet for a while and then
Ike remembered what he had been meaning to ask Johnny. 
e
He chastised himself for taking these conversations so seriously,
but he couldn’t help himself.  His eyes were tired from reading “Ivanhoe” by
the light from the knothole. 

“Johnny, what was dying like?”

“Oh Ikey, it was awful!  I’ve had some
pain in my life, but bein shot where I was hurt somethin fierce.”

“Where were you hit?”

“In the front yard!”  Johnny said laughing
so hard it made Ike’s head hurt.  Johnny was having a good time telling his
story.

“Well, let’s just say if I’d lived I
wouldn’t be doin anymore wenchin’.  Sorry to say that was my first thought
before the pain really set in, I was mortified that my manhood was so mangled
up.  One of them Graybacks managed to put a round through my head while I was
standin’ there hollerin’ and mournin’ the loss of my favorite parts and the pain
stopped.  I came to and found myself just a floatin’ over that mess of flesh
that used to be ol’ Johnny O’Donnell.  As odd as it was, I wasn’t scared or
anythin’.  I was just glad to be outa’ the pain.  Hard to explain it Ikey, but
it wasn’t just the pain of havin’ my privates near blowed off that felt so good
to leave behind, but the pain of livin’ with all the fear and hurts we give
each other.”

“What about the others?  Did you see
them?”

“They were there too.  The Wiggins boys
were smilin’ like they knew the funniest thing ever and even old four eyed
Charlie Olsen had a grin on his face.  They looked like kids that had been let
out of school early.  We all hung there just a smilin’ at each other an’ then
somethin’ or maybe someone told me I oughta look over by that waterin’ trough. 
Next thing I knowed I was lookin’ down on your half dead carcass thinkin’ you
was a gonna’ float up to me.  There for a little bit I seen you come out and
you just hung there like somebody had picked you up by your coat collar, but
you never completely opened your eyes, you just kinda’ blinked once and then
you sunk back down into yerself and moaned.  I looked back toward the others
and they was gone.  I didn’t know where they went or how to get there so I just
stayed there a watchin’ you sprawled out in the dirt.  Without even thinkin’
about it I hollered at  ol’ Marcus.  He was startin’ to dig a hole for my sorry
remains and he flinched like he heard me.  It was funny how he looked around
kinda suspicious and went back to diggin’.  I hollered again and told him to
come over by the waterin’ trough.  He looked around an’ decided he needed a
drink anyhow so he moseyed over to the pump and spotted you layin’ there so
purty.   He called the woman over and they looked at you fer a while an’ she
told him to haul what was left of you down here.  I just been watchin’ the show
ever since.   Seems like that’s what I’m supposed to do.  Actually it don’t
just
seem
like it, I know this is what I’m supposed to be a ‘doin. 
That’s the great thing about it, I really know that for once I’m a doin’ what
I’m supposed to do, even if I’m a little short on details.”

One evening after supper Ike decided it
was time to ask Mrs. Pendleton a question that had been on his mind.  “Is there
a possibility that I could send a letter to my wife?   I would like to let her
know  that I am still alive.  I just don’t want her to despair.”

The woman looked thoughtful.  “Well, I
can’t just take it to the post office, but there may be other channels.  I will
not promise anything and I would expect to read your letter, but I will think
about it.”  She was quiet after that and left shortly after this exchange.

Although he was never allowed out of the
cellar, Ike heard comings and goings in the house over his head.  He could hear
footsteps in the room directly above, which he believed was the kitchen.  He
recognized Mrs. Pendleton’s light tread and Marcus’ heavier but still graceful
footsteps.  Other people came and went and Ike could hear voices but could not
discern their conversations.  He assumed that the callers were the reason he
was kept in the cellar.  According to Mrs. Pendleton the Home Guard kept watch
over the neighborhood as much for Confederate deserters as for marauding
Yankees. 

“You think I could make it if I tried to
escape?”  Ike asked Johnny one day.

“I wondered if you were a gonna’ be
thinkin’ about that.  I ain’t no fortune teller or nothin.  Cain’t see into the
future, but I’d say it might be risky until you get to walkin’ better.  You’d
look funny limpin’ around Mississippi in that nightshirt.”

As his leg improved and the pain in his
head diminished, Ike walked back and forth across the cellar to exercise
muscles that might otherwise have atrophied.  Sometimes he would pick up one of
the chairs and set it back down repeatedly to work his arms.   When he was
sufficiently healed he marched with his crutch on his shoulder and would stop
and do maneuvers with it, it was not as heavy as his Springfield, but it helped
him maintain his upper body strength.   As he gained strength a nervous energy
kept him moving like a trapped animal, he pictured a bear walking back and
forth in the cage of the traveling circus he had seen once in his youth. 

“You are kind of like a ol’ bear Ikey. 
Lettin’ your beard grow kinda’ adds to the appearance too.  Just don’t get too
growly.”

Micheline Pendleton’s son Todd had let his
beard grow in competition with his fellow riders and his mother had decided
that it was appropriate for Ike to let his beard grow as well.  After a few
days of itching he became comfortable with the beard and didn’t miss the feel
of Jasper Pendleton’s razor on his skin.  It crossed his mind that possibly Mrs.
Pendleton didn’t like the idea of his having control of a sharp object even if
Marcus was supervising.  He also wondered what Emma would think of him growing
a beard.

As a result of his daily routine of walking
and calisthenics Ike’s strength improved, but it only added to his
restlessness.  He tested the door when things were quiet and found that it was
secured with a wooden bar that slid into iron brackets at each end.  He found
it easy enough to raise the bar by sliding his butter knife between two boards
and carefully lifting it at each end.  Once he had the bar free of its
attachments he carefully lifted the door.  The bar slid off the side and
clattered to the ground when the door was opened to a point where Ike could
make it through.  From his position the sound of the bar falling was
thunderous.  He looked over the edge of the door to see if his activity had
been discovered.  From somewhere to the far side of the house he could hear
what sounded like someone chopping wood,  he hoped it might be Marcus and that
the noise of the axe had covered for the noise of the bar falling.  Ike looked
and listened, straining to hear any evidence that his attempt to escape had
been noticed. 

“Go on Ikey, I don’ think they heard
you.”  Johnny said in a breathless whisper.

“Why are you whispering?”  Ike replied in
his head in a similar manner.

“Force of habit, I guess.  This is kinda’
excitin’ to me, you been pretty boring lately.”

“I wonder where Mrs. Pendleton is.”  Ike
thought.

“Maybe she’s on the other side of the
house puttin’ posies on my grave.”  Johnny replied, still whispering, but
giggling.

There were clothes on a line behind the
house, clothes that could only be those of a very large man.  Ike walked over
and unpinned a pair of pants and a shirt that would have covered he and Johnny
both.  He was about to go behind the smokehouse to change into Marcus clothing
when he spied the door of the cellar yawning at him, advertising that something
was amiss.  He eased the door and its bar back into position and then headed
back to the smokehouse.  Just as he was about to reach the cover of the
building his bare foot found a sliver of broken glass that penetrated his right
foot just far enough to send a bolt of pain up his leg.  He stifled a scream
and hopped on the other foot to the shade of the outbuilding and pulled out the
glass.  The cut wasn’t too deep, and he had other things to concern himself
with.