While I lay there tormenting myself with questions I couldn't answer, I heard footsteps. Someone was walking toward my cell. In the dark I made out the figure of a soldier. Slowly and quietly he unlocked the door and stood over me.
My first thought was he had come to take me to the hanging tree. I started to cry out, but his hand covered my mouth.
"Hush," he whispered. "It's me, Otis Hicks. Don't make a sound."
14
WHEN HE TOOK HIS HAND AWAY, I began to shiver. "Am I to be hanged now?"
"Is that what you think?" Hicks squatted beside me. "Trust me, boy, I've come to get you out of this place."
"Get me out?" I couldn't understand his meaning. Was he trying to help me? Why would he do that? He'd be risking his own life.
Hicks pulled me to my feet, hushing me all the while. From down the hall I heard loud laughter and voices.
"I stole whiskey for the guards," Hicks whispered. "And set up a poker game. Took the keys when they was too drunk to notice."
Even though I'd figured out his meaning, I still didn't know why he was helping me escape. "Why are you—"
"Not now," he whispered. "Come on, will you?"
I followed him out of the cell. Edging along the corridor as quietly as we could, we got past the guards while they argued over the fine rules of poker. Hicks shoved me outside the building just as one of the men yelled, "Hey, Hicks, ain't you playing another hand?"
"You boys are just too smart for me," he called back. "You cleaned out my pockets, for sure."
They laughed and went back to playing. I turned to Hicks and asked again, "Why are you—"
"Hush." He pulled me along, sticking close to the jail wall, where the shadows were blackest. When we came in sight of the stable, he stopped. "You want that cussed horse, right?"
I studied his long face in the moonlight. "Is this a trick to get me hanged for certain?"
Hicks shook his head. "Don't be so damn dumb. I got it all worked out. Just go along with what I say and we'll be on our way."
With that, he grabbed my shoulder and strolled downhill to the army stable. Two guards lounged by the doors, smoking pipes. They looked up when they saw us. "Hey, Otis, what's your pleasure?" one called.
Hicks smiled. "Boys, remember that horse Major Dennison brought in this afternoon, the one that used to belong to Captain Powell? Name's Satan. Big fine chestnut."
"Hoo, boy!" one said. "You think anybody could forget that devil?"
"Why, he just about destroyed the stall we put him in."
Otis laughed. "Well, ain't I the lucky fellow? The major sent me to fetch him."
"What does the major want with a horse at midnight?" the guard asked.
Hicks laughed again, a little louder this time. "You know how the major is once he gets a notion." He leaned a little closer to the guard and added conspiratorially, "Especially if he's drinking or gambling. Why, there's no telling what that there man will want. And Lord help you if he don't get it."
The guard spat in the dirt. "Ain't that the truth?"
"Hey," the other guard said. "Isn't that the very boy the major put in jail for stealing the horse?"
"Why, Charlie, he is in fact the very same boy." Hicks gave me a little shake to show he had a good grip on me. "The major asked me to get him out of jail because he's the only one can handle Satan. Didn't I tell you the man's been at the bottle? Him and the boy's uncle, both. They got some sort of bet going."
Charlie turned to his companion. "What do you think, Caleb?"
Caleb shrugged. "Don't make no matter to me where the boy goes. Or the horse, either. Good riddance to both of 'em, I say. And you, too, for that matter." He winked to show he was jesting with Hicks.
"Go on and get the plagued animal, then." Charlie laughed. "It's your hide, not mine."
Hicks let me into the stable. When we found Ranger's stall, the horse reared up and whinnied. His hooves struck the boards with a sound like thunder. Hicks took a few step backward.
"Seems like he's in a right foul temper," he muttered. "You sure you can manage that animal?"
Instead of answering Hicks, I went right up to Ranger and spoke nice and calm to him, telling him what a fine steed he was and stroking his head where his coat felt like cropped velvet. His nostrils flared and he stamped his feet, but gradually he composed himself and let me saddle him. By the time he was ready to go, Ranger was nuzzling my face and neck, breathing his warm horsy breath down the front of my shirt. It seemed he was as glad to see me as I was to see him.
I brought Ranger out of his stall, admiring the grace of his walk and the curve of his neck. Hicks kept a respectful distance.
"You lead the horse," he said. "I'll walk ahead."
The guards watched us come out of the stable. Ranger acted skittish, but he let me lead him.
"Think you can manage?" Caleb asked Hicks. "Not that I'm volunteering to go along and help you."
Charlie laughed and slapped his thigh. "You'd be more of a hindrance than a help."
"I'll be all right as long as the boy leads him," Hicks admitted.
"Be sure and bring the little Rebel back," Caleb said. "There'll be hell to pay if he gets away. To hear the major talk, you'd think that there boy was Mosby hisself."
Once we were out of sight of the stables, I mounted Ranger. With Hicks walking beside me, I led the way down side streets and alleys, doing my best to avoid encountering a guard on patrol. Every now and then we saw soldiers and hid in the shadows till they passed. Luckily for us, most of them were coming back from the taverns, too full of merriment to notice us. But one group lingered just ahead, blocking our path, laughing and talking. To avoid trouble, Hicks and I cut down an alley and waited for them to be on their way.
"Where are you heading?" Hicks whispered.
"My uncle's house. I have to get a few things." Mainly what I wanted was Papa's revolver and the ammunition hidden under my mattress. That and some food from the pantry. If I had time, I'd write a note to Rachel. I didn't dare wake her to say good-bye. She'd cry and beg to go with me. Rouse the whole house. And I'd be back in the major's hands without hope of another escape.
"And then what?" Hicks asked.
"My brother's in Petersburg. I'm going down there and do my best to find him." Never had I missed Avery so much, never had I wanted to see him so badly. He'd know what to do. Things would be all right again if I could just find him.
The soldiers began moving on, their voices fading as they walked past. I was about to leave the alley, but Hicks had more to say.
"There's a siege around Petersburg. You know that?"
"Of course I know that. Everybody knows that."
"The Union's got the town surrounded as tight as a noose around a dead man's neck. Nobody gets in, nobody gets out."
I scowled at him, angered by his cowardly opinions. "Don't worry about me. I'm not scared of you Yankees. I'll find my brother."
Hicks gave me a mournful look. "It ain't going to be easy."
"Why do you care?" I felt my temper rise. "I wouldn't be here right now if you and your cronies hadn't come to our farm looking for James Marshall. My mother got sick and died on account of what you did. Rachel and I haven't got a home because you burned it down. Thanks to you and this war, we haven't got crops to plant or livestock or anything!"
The words spewed out of me like vomit. I hated the Yankees so much I thought I'd rather have been hanged than be beholden to Hicks. "I hope you and Captain Powell and all you Yankees burn in hellfire! "
I was about to gallop away, but Hicks reached out and grabbed the bridle. "Hold on, Haswell," he begged. "I'm sorry for what I done at your house. Sorry for lots of other things I done in this war. It's why I got you out of jail. To try to make up for all that—and to tell you how bad I feel."
"You think apologizing is going to make everything right again? You think it'll bring Mama back? Or our farm?" It seemed there was more sorrow and anger crammed into me than my heart could hold. I felt it p
ushing its way up my throat till I thought I'd choke on it. "I hope you feel bad all your life. I hope you go to your grave feeling bad. I hope you burn in hell feeling bad!"
Hicks stepped back and stared at me as if I'd put a curse on him. Maybe I had. But he deserved it. They all deserved it.
"You don't mean that, Haswell," he said. "Surely you don't."
"I mean every word of it!" I saw tears glitter in his eyes, but I didn't care. "And more!"
"But, Haswell, it weren't my fault. I tried to stop them other boys from burning the house. Honest I did. And it weren't me who shot that Bushwhacker. Or hurt your mama."
I clenched my teeth and glared down at the man. He was a sorry sight, but he wasn't worthy of my pity. Or my forgiveness.
"God Almighty, boy, haven't both of us seen enough of war and dying and misery?" Hicks looked me straight in the eyes as he spoke. "It ain't just the South that's suffering. You got to know that. It's all of us."
He was speaking from his heart, but even though his honesty shamed me, I couldn't forgive him for what he'd done. I sat on Ranger's back and stared down at him, my eyes cold.
"I done what I was told, Haswell," Hicks said. "That's what soldiers do. Obey their officers."
Hicks started coughing then. Like many another soldier I'd seen, he was worn down before his time, old and wasted, though he couldn't have been more than twenty. The cough was a bad one, deep in his chest and hard enough to make tears run down his face. I'd heard James Marshall cough that way, and I wondered if Avery was also afflicted.
"What are you going to do?" I asked. "If you go back to camp, the major will most likely have you hanged in my place."
Hicks scratched his head. Lice, most likely. My own scalp was itching already. Seemed the varmints were everywhere. You just couldn't get rid of them.
Stifling another cough, Hicks said, "Home. I'm going home to Pennsylvania."
"But the war's not over."
Otis Hicks shrugged. "It will be soon enough. General Sheridan's got orders to take us down to Petersburg. I ain't got the stomach for no more fighting."
"You can be hanged for deserting," I said.
"I know it." He started walking away but turned and looked back, his weary face ghostly in the moonlight. "You be careful, Haswell. The way you're going, you might find yourself smack in the middle of a battle."
I sat on Ranger and watched him begin his long journey home. His back was bent and he favored one leg. I still hated the man for what he'd done to us, but at the same time I was grateful to him for saving my life. Maybe in his eyes the two things balanced each other out somehow. When he was almost out of earshot, I called after him. "Hey! Thanks for getting me out of jail."
Otis Hicks raised a hand in farewell and continued on his way.
When I could see him no longer, I signaled Ranger to move on. Despite all Hicks had done to grieve me, I found myself hoping he'd make it back to Pennsylvania.
15
EVER WATCHFUL FOR SOLDIERS, I approached my uncle's house and tied Ranger to a tall oak tree where the shadows were darkest.
"Stay," I whispered, "and don't make a sound."
Light shone from the parlor window. I crept close and peered inside. Uncle Cornelius and Major Dennison were deep in the whiskey and talking loud enough to be heard outside.
"Look here, Corny, you've got no defense left in the Valley," Major Dennison was saying. "Jubal Early's troops are all dead, captured, or running for their lives. Mosby's holed up somewhere, but he can't do much harm anymore. And Sheridan's about to head for Petersburg. Once he arrives, he'll end the siege and the Confederacy will collapse."
"Oh, now," rumbled my uncle, "it's not over yet. No, sir. Petersburg's secure. You Federals have been trying to defeat our men since last summer, and where's it gotten you?"
The major laughed again. "You Southern boys just won't quit till you're all dead." He broke off to take a swallow of whiskey.
"Ah, what's the sense of talking about it?" Uncle Cornelius sounded weary. "Seems there's many a dead man on both sides. Maybe it would be better to see it end." He rose from the chair with some effort and yawned. "Time to call it a night."
Major Dennison yawned, too. Tossing down the last of his whiskey, he stood up. "I'll be on my way home soon. Just in time, too. Couldn't bear another summer here. Don't know how you stand it. Too damn hot."
Uncle Cornelius blew out the lamps, and the two of them vanished into the dark hall.
I stayed where I was to give them time to settle down. After twenty minutes or so, I climbed the old fir tree at the side of the porch. I'd heard John tell Avery that's how he sneaked in and out of the house. It was just as easy as he'd claimed. Like climbing a ladder.
I stepped onto the porch roof and slowly slid my bedroom window up. Safe inside, I removed the revolver and the ammunition from their hiding place. I lit a candle and found paper and pencil on John's desk. It seemed nothing in his room had changed since he'd joined the army. His books, paper, pencils, and pens waited for him to come home.
Dere Rachel, I wrote. You won't belive this but Otis Hicks set me free from jail and tricked the gards into giving me Ranger. Now he has deserted and is going home to Pensilvany. I hope he gets there for he isn't relly a bad man even tho he's a Yankee and has done rongful deeds.
I paused and thought about what to say next. Don't be mad at me for going without you. I have to find Avery as fast as I can so he can take care of us and the farm. We will come to Winchester and get you. Wait for us. Your brother, Haswell C. Magruder.
I spent some time signing my name with fancy flourishes. Next I folded James Marshall's letter in with Rachel's and added a P.S.:
Pleese mail this to James Marshall's father so he'll know he's dead. Pleese tell him ware he's buryed and how he died. Shot in the chest not the back. I woud do it but you spell and rite better than I do.
I tiptoed across the hall to Rachel's room and slowly pushed the door open. At her bedside I stood over her for a few seconds and watched her sleep. Her hair was loose and spread on the pillow. She had Sophia in her arms, but her face looked pale and sad. I'd never noticed how much she resembled Mama.
I wanted to kiss her good-bye, but I was scared of waking her. Instead, I tucked the letters under the doll and left my sister to her dreams. I hoped they were good ones.
Making no more noise than a cat, I crept down the back stairs and sneaked into the pantry. I filled a kerchief with apples, cheese, biscuits, and cold ham. Tying it into a bundle, I slipped out the door and headed for the stable to get feed for Ranger.
The stars were out and the moon was sinking down from heaven toward earth. A cool wind stirred the tree branches, bringing with it a nice damp smell, the kind that comes when the ground's warming up and things are starting to grow. It was March, and I could almost smell plants bursting out of the earth and reaching for light.
I touched Papa's revolver to make certain it was still in my pocket and ran to the oak tree. Ranger was waiting quietly, just as I'd told him to. I climbed onto his back and set out to find my brother.
***
I rode through the night, sometimes falling asleep in the saddle, trying hard to put as many miles as I could between Winchester and me. By dawn Ranger was showing signs of fatigue. I reckoned we still had almost two hundred miles to go. At this rate it would take at least three weeks to get to Petersburg—probably more if I ran into trouble along the way.
I checked the road behind me. No one was coming. Up ahead I heard nothing except birds singing in the woods. Ranger and I might have been the last survivors of the war.
I saw a stream flowing out of the woods and followed it into the trees. When I was sure we were out of sight of passersby on the road, I slipped from the saddle, as worn and weary as I'd ever been. Ranger nuzzled me, and I reached into the saddlebags for his oats. While he ate his breakfast, I ate mine—half a biscuit and a piece of ham. Though it didn't fill my belly, I didn't dare eat more. My food had to last as long
as possible. We both drank deeply from the stream. No danger of using up the water.
By then the sun was already high in the sky and the day showed signs of being warm and fair. I bedded down in my blankets and fell asleep at once, one hand gripping the revolver, just in case.
We passed several days like that, traveling by night and sleeping by day. When I was little I was scared of the dark. I'd lie awake long after everyone was asleep, listening to the stairs creak, sure the bogeyman Grandma Colby told me about was coming to get me on account of all the bad things I'd done. No matter how hard a paddling I got, I'd wet the bed rather than face the outhouse in the nighttime. Going there was bad enough in daylight, when I could see the spiders and their webs. And there was always the chance a monster of some sort lived down in the pit, waiting to grab me.
Now, of course, I knew Grandma Colby made up the bogeyman to scare me into behaving. And I knew the only thing in the outhouse pit was what we put there ourselves. But still, when I rode along those dark roads with no company but Ranger, my imagination turned every sound into danger. Rustling noises meant Yankees were nearby. A twig snapping meant a half-crazy deserter was sneaking up to kill me and steal Ranger. The wind sighing through the trees was the whisper of dead soldiers longing to come back and finish their lives. The hoot of an owl reminded me of Grandma Colby's belief that the owl was death's messenger: he called to warn you your time on earth was nearly up. So far I reckoned the owl had been calling someone else, not me. But sooner or later my turn would come.