Promises to the Dead

  "I wish I could go with you, but I reckon I'd best go on home," I said slowly. "My uncle's a cussed old critter sometimes, but he needs me to look after him."

  Perry's lip jutted out like he was fixing to cry, but the others nodded as if they understood. It occurred to me they might not want a white boy tagging along with them. What would I be but an everlasting reminder of their old life? It distressed me to think such thoughts but, like it or not, a person has to face facts every now and then.

  Seeing how upset Perry was, I asked Maror if it was all right for him and me to take a walk together.

  "Stay close by," she said. "I don't want some Yankee taking potshots at you."

  Once we were by ourselves, Perry wouldn't talk. He acted just like he used to, sulking and pouting and refusing to look at me. Finally I got fed up, the same as I always did.

  "Listen here, Perry," I said. "I got important things to tell you, and this is my last chance to do it. You sit down on that there stone and listen."

  Took by surprise, Perry did as I asked. I pulled the bag of money out of my pocket, glad to rid myself of its weight, and dangled it in front of him. "You see this?"

  "'Course I do," Perry said, as sassy as ever. "I'm not blind, you know."

  "Well, there's almost three hundred dollars' worth of gold coins here, and it's all yours." I dropped the bag in his lap.

  Perry picked it up and felt its heft. Then he peeked inside as if he suspicioned he'd find rocks. His eyes widened when he saw the gold coins. "Where did you get this, Jesse?"

  "From your grandpa," I said.

  "Judge Baxter?" he asked.

  "You know of any other grandpa you might have?"

  Perry shook his head. "But where did you see him? I thought he was in Baltimore." The suspicious look came back.

  "Well, as I was waiting for the ferry, who did I see but Miss Polly and the judge. I reckon Baltimore was no longer to the judge's liking—all them Yankees making life hard for him. Anyway, he come right up to me and asked where you were. I told him I hoped to find you at a Yankee camp across the river."

  I paused to see how Perry was taking my lie. I'd been thinking it up ever since I'd left the colonel. As far as I could tell, I'd done what the villain asked. I'd told Perry the money was from his grandpa, and that was the truth.

  "And then the judge gave you this?" Perry lifted the pouch.

  "That's just what your grandpa did. I reckon he must have felt bad about not doing anything for you before."

  Perry opened the bag again and took out one of the coins. He studied it a while and then put it back. "Let's go tell Grandmother and Aunt Hyacinth," he said. "Won't they be happy?"

  Perry ran toward the tent, and I followed him, my heart heavier than the bag of gold. It was one thing for Perry to believe my story, but I was pretty sure Maror and Hyacinth would see the holes in it.

  I stood back and watched Perry give his granny the money. As she took it, she shot me a look full of questions. The first chance she had, she took me aside. Making sure Perry was busy playing with Pearl's baby, she said, "No more stories, Jesse. What did Abednego tell you before he gave you that money?"

  She'd figured it out even faster than I thought she would. So even though I was worried of hurting her in some way, I told her the truth. "The colonel said he was Lydia's daddy and Perry was his grandson, and that I was to give the money in his pocket to Perry and tell him who it come from. Which I did." I raised my eyes to hers. "It ain't my fault the only granddaddy Perry knows is Judge Baxter."

  "You have more sense than I thought," Maror said softly. Turning her head, she watched Perry for a few seconds. When she looked at me again, her face was full of sorrow. "I pray that child never learns he's kin to the colonel. Much as I loved Lydia, I didn't choose that man to be her father. I fought him as hard as I could, but he was stronger than I was. That's the truth of it."

  I understood what she was saying, and it made me hate Colonel Abednego Botfield more than ever.

  "I did my best to convince Lydia not to let a white man take her the way the colonel took me," Maror went on, "but she was so sure Peregrine was a good man. I reckon he was, up to a point. But he didn't have any qualms about sending Hyacinth and me away, did he?"

  Maror paused and looked at me hard. "Lord," she said, "listen to me talking to you like you're a grown man instead of a boy. I don't know what came over me."

  She got to her feet and went to Perry. "Come along, child," she said softly. "It's time to get some rest." Turning to me, she added, "You lie down, too, Jesse. You've had a mighty long day."

  I lay down beside Perry, and Maror covered us with a Union army blanket made of the scratchiest, smelliest wool ever spun from a sheep's back.

  "I wish you were coming with us," Perry whispered. "I'm going to miss you awful bad."

  "I'll miss you, too, Perry."

  "Maybe you can come visiting after we get settled," Perry murmured. "Maybe we can..." His voice trailed off in a drowsy murmur, and he fell sound asleep.

  I was mighty tired myself, but I didn't fall asleep right away. I lay still and watched the others bed down, Maror and Hyacinth sharing one blanket, and Thomas, Pearl, and the baby sharing another. I listened to them talking, their voices too low for me to catch their words. It was a soothing sound, soft and comfortable.

  Outside the tent, soldiers moved around, talking and laughing, cussing each other every now and then in a mostly good-natured way. A horse whinnied somewhere. A man hollered. The wind tugged at the canvas walls of the tent, making a creaking sound like sails on a boat.

  For some reason, I felt safer than I had since I'd left the Shore, maybe because the colonel was dead. I didn't need to fear him nor his ghost, for I'd kept my promise to him.

  But at the same time, I was sad, for this was the last night I'd spend with Perry. Tomorrow he'd be on his way to his new home, and I'd be on my way to my old home. Most likely I'd never see him or Maror or Hyacinth again. Though it shames me to admit it, I pressed my face into that smelly old army blanket and cried myself to sleep.

  CHAPTER 18

  The next day I said my good-byes, though it nearly broke my heart to do it. Thomas and Pearl went on ahead, but Hyacinth and Maror lingered a while to give Perry and me a little more time together.

  "You won't forget to mark Mama's grave?" Perry asked.

  I shook my head, only slightly riled he'd ask such a question. "It's the first thing I aim to do."

  Perry stuck out his hand, and I shook it. "Thank you for bringing me here, Jesse," he said. "I hope to see you again sometime."

  Tears rose up in his eyes, and he turned his head to wipe them away. I was close to crying myself.

  Maror took Perry's hand. "It's time to go. We have a long journey ahead of us."

  "You be careful now," I told him. "I don't want to hear nothing about slave catchers when I come out to Ohio for my visit."

  With a heavy heart, I watched Perry walk away, Maror on one side and Hyacinth on the other. Several times he turned and waved, and I waved back. At a curve in the road, Perry waved one last time, and then he was gone. There was nothing for me to do but turn my back on the mountains and begin my long journey home.

  ***

  I don't know how many miles I walked, getting a ride every now and then in some kind soul's wagon. I lost track of the days, too, but I can tell you they were long and hot. Or long and rainy. Don't know which was worse. But I wore the soles of my shoes clear through long before I got to Baltimore.

  From time to time I ran into a bunch of Federals on patrol. I soon learned to hide when I saw them coming, for they always questioned me as if they suspicioned I was a spy for the South. Sometimes they made sport of me, teasing and threatening to put me in jail, roughing me up, boxing my ears and such. Once they took the only food I had, a loaf of bread an old lady had given me.

  The Confederates were just as bad. The one time I met up with some of them, they wanted to draft me on the spot. Or kill me for fear
I'd tell the Yankees I'd seen them. I was lucky to escape with my life.

  By the time I reached Baltimore, I was surprised to see even more soldiers than before. The city was crawling with bluebellies as thick as ticks on a hound dog. But they paid no mind to me. In Baltimore I was just another barefoot boy, of no danger to anyone.

  I made my way to the harbor and began searching for Captain Harrison. It took me a long while to find him, but I finally spotted him on the dock, overseeing the sale of his catch. When he saw me coming, I swear he turned pale.

  "Jesse, is that you in the flesh?" he asked.

  I stretched out my hand, and he took it real cautious-like. When he felt the solid flesh, he drew me close and hugged me, filling my nose with the good smell of fish.

  "We'd given you up for dead, boy!" he cried. "You and that little child both."

  "No, sir, we're both living still," I said. "It's Colonel Abednego Botfield that's dead, not Perry nor me."

  While the crew readied the Sally H. to sail home, I told the captain all that had happened since I'd said good-bye to him that day in April. He interrupted me every now and then to praise the Lord. When I was done talking, he shared his dinner of cheese and bread with me.

  "Your uncle will be mighty pleased to see you alive and well," Captain Harrison said, "but I got to warn you, he's doing poorly hisself. He took a chill hunting turtles last month, and he's been ailing ever since. Miss Sally's done her best with poultices and such, but he don't seem to improve."

  It was just as I feared. Without me to do the hunting and fishing, Uncle Philemon had got himself into a sorry state. "He ain't fixing to die, is he?"

  Captain Harrison gave me a glum look. "It just might be the sight of you will perk him up some."

  So instead of enjoying the journey down the Bay, I stood at the rail and worried about my uncle. As the shoreline slid past, I couldn't help thinking about the colonel as well. I'd been running from him for such a long time I could hardly believe the old villain was really and truly dead. What if those men I'd sent to fetch his body found him alive after all? Why, at this very moment he could be coming after me on a big steam boat, wanting his money back, wanting Perry, wanting the devil knew what. Hadn't Colonel Abednego Botfield said he'd be the death of me? And yet it hadn't happened that way. He was dead, and I was alive.

  But still—what if the colonel's ghost came to me? I'd done what he asked but not the way he'd wished. Despite the hot sunshine, I shivered and looked over my shoulder. All I saw was Daniel Wrightson mopping the deck, his shadow moving slow and natural as he worked.

  When the Sally H. docked, I was the first ashore. I thanked Captain Harrison and ran for home, scarcely feeling the crushed oyster shells cutting my bare feet. Couldn't help glancing behind me every now and then, but there was neither horse nor man following after me, just the empty road striped with shadows from the afternoon sun.

  The old house was as tumbledown as ever, but I sure was happy it was still standing. Delia saw me coming and ran to meet me. Though I hoped for a big smile, all I got was a scolding and a box on my ears for being gone so long.

  "We gave you up for dead months ago," she cried. "What caused you to run off like that, with no word to anyone? Why, we even had dogs searching the marsh for your body."

  Delia dragged me into the house, fussing every step of the way. "And your uncle almost dead himself," she cried. "How come you to be so ungrateful and me thinking you was a good boy!"

  When she finally stopped shaking me and hollering in my face, I told her about Lydia and Perry and Maror and all that had happened since that day in April. It took a while to get the story out for she kept asking questions, but when I was done talking, she hugged me and busted out crying for joy and sorrow both. Joy that Maror was safe along with Perry and Hyacinth. Sorrow that Lydia wasn't with them.

  Wiping her eyes and blowing her nose, Delia said, "Oh, my Lord, Jesse, I plumb forgot about Mr. Philemon. You get on upstairs and see the poor man. He's missed you something terrible."

  I ran up the steps two at a time and flung open the door to Uncle Philemon's room. The old fellow was lying in bed, propped up on his pillows, snoring away the afternoon. I went up to him and touched his shoulder.

  He was so startled to wake up and see me, he hollered out loud and then started into coughing like he'd never stop, all the while staring at me like I was the angel of death, come to take him across the river Jordan.

  "It's just me—Jesse," I said. "As you can see, I ain't dead after all."

  Uncle Philemon took a drink of whiskey and stopped coughing. "Where the devil have you been all this time, boy?"

  "I'm sorry I was gone so long, Uncle Philemon, but, truth to tell, I got into some trouble." I hesitated for I wasn't sure what to say next, knowing his feelings about aiding and abetting and such.

  "I reckon it had something to do with that little slave child Abednego Botfield wanted so bad," Uncle Philemon said.

  I stared at him, surprised. "How did you know about Perry?"

  "Oh, Miss Sally Harrison dropped a few hints when she was treating me for the pneumonia. She believed I was dying and hoped to put my mind at ease about you. Running off to Baltimore with a fugitive slave. What a damn fool thing for you to do." Uncle Philemon coughed and took another sip of whiskey. "I figured Abednego had most likely murdered you. A man like him don't stop at nothing to rid his self of enemies."

  "The colonel done his best to kill me," I said, "but it may surprise you to know it's him that's dead, not me."

  Uncle Philemon nodded as if I was telling him old news. "Seems Abednego's corpse got home before you did. The rascal's been in the ground for almost a month, I reckon, buried nice and proper in St. Michael's churchyard." He poured another glass of whiskey and lifted it like a toast. "Well, God speed the man's soul to perdition, I say. Now I don't have to pay him the money I owed him from our last card game."

  "Hear, hear," I said, joining the toast without having a drop to drink. Nothing could have pleased me more than knowing the colonel was truly in his grave, all promises kept and no reason to haunt me.

  Uncle Philemon reached for my hand. "I must say I missed you, Jesse, and I'm glad you're home, even though I fear you picked up some Yankee notions while you was gone. You know how I feel about aiding and abetting. If I was well, I'd give you a good thrashing."

  He lay back and closed his eyes. "But I ain't well and I need my nap, so you run along now and make yourself useful. Hunt me up a turtle or something. I ain't had a decent meal since you left."

  I did as my uncle said and went on downstairs. It didn't seem worthwhile to start preaching at him about what I'd learned in my travels with Perry. The old man was set in his ways now and not about to change his views.

  ***

  The very next morning I went down to the marsh and caught the biggest turtle in all of Talbot County. Delia made the finest soup ever concocted, and a few days later Uncle Philemon rose from his bed, feeling almost like his old self. He took a seat on the veranda and set me to work hammering and nailing whilst he sipped whiskey. It seemed many things had fallen apart in my absence.

  "This is your chance to learn the art of carpentry," Uncle Philemon told me, "A fine and useful trade."

  The first chance I had, I used my newfound skills to fashion a cross from hardwood. When it was done, I carved Lydia's name and dates deep so the letters and numbers wouldn't wear away. If Uncle Philemon knew what I was making, he didn't say a word. In fact, he never spoke of Lydia nor the colonel nor my Yankee ways again.

  One fine July morning, I walked through the marsh to the place in the woods where she lay waiting.

  I pounded the cross into the ground, and then I knelt down and read the words out loud to her. "Here lies Liddia, deerly beluved mama of Perry, and her baby girl. Died 1861. Rest in Peece."

  I was silent a minute or two. The sun shone through the leaves, burning hot, and gnats buzzed around my face. The earth had sunk some where Lydia was buried, a
nd moss had started growing, a nice green cover for her and the baby. Birds sang like a church choir, and I felt sad but peaceful.

  "I done my best to keep my promise to you," I told Lydia. "Perry's with your mama and sister now, living free in Ohio. I know you wanted him to stay with Polly Baxter, but she wasn't much use. I hope you won't blame me none for not doing exactly what you asked."

  I swear I heard Lydia's voice saying I did well, though I guess it must have been the leaves murmuring in the breeze.

  "Another thing," I added, "Colonel Abednego Botfield is dead, so he won't be chasing Perry ever again."

  Those leaves fluttered like they was laughing.

  "I just wish you was in Ohio with Perry," I told her, "not lying here in these dark woods."

  Once again the breeze ruffled the leaves, splashing sunlight in my eyes. I laid a handful of wildflowers on the grave and got to my feet. Then I walked slowly home. There was still plenty of work waiting for me.

  AFTERWORD

  Promises to the Dead began as most of my books do—with a vision. I saw a boy in a marsh on a rainy day long ago, hunting turtles for his uncle. As I pondered the story he was no doubt a part of, I saw him again—this time in a dark woods, captured by a runaway slave. As a result of that encounter, Jesse leaves his home on Maryland's Eastern Shore and journeys first to Baltimore and then to northern Virginia across the Potomac River from what is now Brunswick, Maryland.

  In the spring of 1861, Maryland was a slave-holding state with a strong inclination to secede from the Union. The Eastern Shore and the city of Baltimore were particularly loyal to the southern cause. Indeed, had not the federal government intervened, Maryland would most likely have joined the Confederacy.

  The Pratt Street Riot on April 19, 1861 was Baltimore's response to President Lincoln's effort to squelch the rebellion begun in South Carolina on April 12, 1861. On April 13, Major Robert Anderson, Union Army, surrendered Fort Sumter to Confederate General Pierre Gustave Toutant Beauregard. The federal fort had been under fire by southern troops for thirty-four hours; in all that time no one on either side had been killed.