part 2 chapter

35

w hen we reached afton’s crest in mid-morning, a westerly wind stirred gray clouds

of insects above our heads. where oak trees and cedars parted to give an open view of the

valley, farm after farm was circled by charred land, scorched barns, and shattered fences.

collectively, we gasped. is this how we’d find our homes? the sounds of distant cattle lowing

might once have ridden on mountain updrafts but now were gone. hawks soaring above the

mountain crest made the only creature noises.

at one point on our descent, we heard horses’ hooves clopping on the road beyond the

mountain’s curve. we slipped into the shadows of some oaks until we could see who

approached. a band of blue- coated men, federal militia with rifles across their saddles,

meandered into sight. we thought we were well concealed, but the leader spotted us and called

out. “step into the center of the road where we can see you.” there were ten of them, and they

halted their horses in a double line across the road. beards had startled when the officer called

out, and his face was ashen. i noticed that his fists were clenched.

i told him, “it’s okay. no need to worry.” he looked at me sideways and said nothing.

“show your papers before you pass on,” the fellow in charge demanded. i fumbled in my

pocket, rattled by the command. the officer snatched for the folded scrap and glanced at

schoepf and ahl’s signatures. he looked me over. “a prisoner, eh?”

“we’re headed home.”

“well, keep moving,” he said and geed his horse forward. he threw the papers in the dust

behind him. beards scurried to gather the documents, and then we watched the soldiers ride out

of sight.

“sons a’ bitches,” jim blue said. he spat in the dust after them.

the ground flattened when we reached south fork, a river too swift and deep to ford on foot.

the three of us had been resting for an hour by reeds at the water’s edge, when blue set up a

whooping and hollering. through the oaks, the prow of a rowboat floated into view, followed by

the sight of an old man plying the oars.

“hey there, can you help some johnnie rebs get home? we need a way across the river,”

blue yelled. the boat drifted slowly into the cattails on the river’s edge and lodged in the mud.

its occupant, gray hair drooping in sparse clumps around his wizened face and a homespun shirt

flapping on his stooped frame, examined us warily. jim blue explained that we’d been prisoners

at fort delaware. the expression on the man’s face changed to sympathy.

“where’s home for you boys? you headed to staunton or parts south? because if you’re

headed to staunton, you’ll find more federal troops than you ever witnessed in prison.”

my heart sank. there’d been yanks on horseback on the road from charlottesville, and

richmond was full of them, but i hadn’t expected them to be so plentiful near home. “what do

you mean?”

“there are two yanks for every man, woman, and child, some say. soldiers toting guns

patrol the streets every night. there’s a ten o’clock curfew.”

beards gave me a sharp look, impatient to move along. “we’re headed out the bethel road,”

he said brusquely.

“alright, fellows, i can see you’re in a hurry.” the old man stiffly settled down at the rusty

oarlocks.

we floated quietly for few minutes, but then i couldn’t help myself. “do you know anything

about folks living along the bethel road? whether there was much burning there?” i asked.

“i heared there was some, but i don’t know much about it,” he said.

“do you know anyone living in bethel?”

“can’t say that i do,” he said.

the boat ground into the mud on the other bank. we jumped over the side of the boat and

waded to shore. he muttered to himself as his oars splashed away from us in the river.

it was time to part from blue. beards and i were headed south, while blue was headed north

to the staunton outskirts. blue and beards hugged in a rough embrace. “we’ll see each other

soon, right?” blue said as he slapped me on the shoulder. i didn’t have it in me to answer. i’d

been with blue for four years, side-by-side, suffering together and making sure the other one

made it to this moment. until he passed out of sight around the curving road, my eyes lingered

on his departing back.

“well, that’s it,” beards said, and we trudged off through wild blackberry brambles toward

bethel, silent for fear of letting our feelings show.