Through Darkest America

upstairs it was hard to tell she was there.

It was nearly noon, but for Howie the day seemed no further along. The hours stretched wearily by and even Papa stopped pretending there were things to do. He sat at the big table with his hands in his lap and looked at nothing at all.

When the sun was just overhead, though, he did a peculiar thing—something Howie would never forget. Without a word, he got up and walked out the front door and off the porch and into the yard. Howie followed. At the same time, he saw a single rider move out of the grove and start for the house—as if they both knew the other would be right where they were.

The rider was a copy of the others, but somehow not the same. And no one had to tell Howie it was Colonel Jacob. He rode straight and silent, without looking to either side, letting the horse make its own way. It seemed forever before he touched his reins and stopped just before the spot where Papa stood.

“Milo,” he said, “it’s been a long while.”

“It has,” said Howie’s father.

There was something in Papa’s voice Howie hadn’t heard before. Whatever it was, the Colonel heard it, too, and looked at Papa a long moment without moving his eyes. He was an older, thinner man than Howie remembered. A face gone to leather, and a body tight and hard as stone. The eyes, though, were the same—and he remembered how they’d looked at him, and at his mother, and what he’d seen there, even being twelve and not knowing much at all. And when Jacob’s glance touched him again, he stared straight back and didn’t turn away.

“The boy’s grown some,” said Jacob.

“He has.”

“Looks a little like you in the face. Got Ev’s color, though.”

Papa didn’t answer; Jacob shifted in his saddle and looked up at the low clouds. “The little girl. She coming all right?”

“Carolee went from us,” said Papa. “At the Choosing.”

“Well, now. That’s fine, Milo.”

“I guess it is.”

Jacob nodded and shifted his gaze to Howie. “You sure have sprung up, boy.”

“Yes, sir,” said Howie.

“Be big enough to serve, soon. You know that?”

Papa looked up sharply. “If he chooses, Jacob. Don’t know as he’s given any thought to soldiering.”

Jacob shrugged. “Maybe. Might come to something else though, Milo. It’s a terrible war out there. Men dying in frightenin’ ways. Or gettin’ sick and wishing they had a clean bullet in their bellies ’stead of filth and pollution.” He shook his head. “You got to see it to know what I’m saying. See it, and wash your hands in a man’s blood, and smell his corruption.”

Papa stood tall and still, his gaze staying right on the Colonel. To Howie, it seemed as if Jacob’s eyes had gone different while he talked—like he’d been somewhere a long way off a minute, and just come back. -

“The war,” said Papa. “You said somethin’ about the war. How it might come to—somethin’ different. I don’t reckon I understand that, Jacob.”

Jacob gave him a weary smile. “Simple as rain, Milo. Soldiers are dying out west faster than boys are joining up. War’s got a awful appetite, I’ll tell you. Eats up armies like corn in a field.”

“Then you might better stop your war, I’m thinking.” “Can’t do that. Not now.”

“Can’t. Or don’t care to.”

Jacob’s smile faded. “You haven’t fought,” he said stiffly. “You’re out of line, Milo, if you ain’t been there.”

“Maybe,” said Papa. “And maybe folks that like fighting so much ought to do as they please. And leave those that don’t to themselves.”

Jacob stared at him and laughed out loud. “You haven’t changed a damn bit, Milo! A simple man with simple answers.”

“Suits me well enough,” Papa said darkly.

“Suits you, is right. But not the world, not anymore. The world’s changing—it’s not a simple place anymore, Milo. It chews up simple men and spits ’em on the ground.”

“Like Jess, you mean.”

Jacob’s face went hard and the two men just looked at each other, neither backing away. Howie figured he could measure the silence between them. Finally, Jacob sat back in his saddle and shook his head.

“Lordee,” he said, letting out a long breath, “that was a bad thing, Milo. A real bad thing. It ain’t easy to do what you have to do. Sometimes, though, a war jus—”

“Have to do!” Papa exploded. He stared up at Jacob and the cords of his neck went tight. “Damn, man, what’s happened to you? You talk like you hung a stranger from that tree!”

“He was a stranger to me,” said Jacob.

“He was a man you grew up with, Jacob. Jess and you and me and the rest. Right here. The same dirt, the same—”

“No. That’s not so, Milo.” He looked at Howie’s father with no expression at all. “I was a boy here and that’s true enough. I grew up out there. With men that ain’t anything like you and Jess.” He seemed to lose himself in thought a minute, then his eyes went tired again. “Hell, Milo. We go back a long way. You know that?”

“We do, Jacob.”

“War’s hard on a man. You got to understand that.” “I reckon that’s so.”

“A man don’t figure on changing, but he does. It’s not something you got much say in. You…” He looked at Howie, and ran a dry hand over his mouth. “You got some cool water in there, boy?”

Howie looked at his father.

“Get him some water, Howie.”

“No, no.” Jacob held up a hand and raised himself in the saddle. “Reckon I’ll walk in with you. Give me a chance to iron out the wrinkles. Ev inside?”

“She’s inside,” Papa said evenly.

“Well, then…”

“She’s feeling poorly, Jacob.”

The challenge in Papa’s voice was clear enough. Jacob gave him a curious look, then eased back in his saddle. “You’ll tell her I asked, Milo.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Well…” Jacob looked up at the house, then back again. “A lot of years’ve gone by, ain’t they?”

“They have, for certain.”

“Things change…”

“I guess they always will, Jacob.”

Jacob touched his reins lightly and the mount skittered to one side.

“This business, Milo…” He gestured over his shoulder toward the grove. “It’s something that’s got to be done.”

Papa didn’t answer. Jacob studied him a moment, then turned his horse smartly, kicking up dust, and galloped back to the grove.

Papa watched him go. He stood where he was until the wagon was loaded, the stock gathered, and the long column of soldiers had followed Jacob back over the hill the way they’d come.

In the afternoon Howie’s mother came downstairs and sat at the big oak table. Papa tried to get her to eat some hot bread or take a bowl of soup, but she said she wasn’t hungry at all and would just as soon have a little honeywater to sip on. Howie wanted to cry looking at her. She seemed so frail and tired, like all the life had gone out of her. In a little while she asked Papa if he’d mind seeing to supper, something Howie couldn’t remember her ever doing before.

“Papa,” he asked later, when she’d gone back upstairs, “she’s going to be all right, ain’t she?”