Tennessee Twilight: A Civil War Novel – Free Online Novel – Webnovel

This is a work of fiction. The main characters and the incidents in their lives are fictional. The setting, historical personages, and events in the Civil War are real.

Chapter 16 << – Index – >> Chapter 18

Chapter Seventeen

January 1865

Amanda hadn’t told anyone, but she was concerned about her health. Her heart had begun to beat with great intensity at times, and rattled around in her chest like an old wagon with a bent wheel. She agonized over every little decision, knowing that everything she did would have an impact on the women in the commune. Fatigue was her companion day and night.

Her emotions sometimes went out of control, which was hard to hide from the women, especially Widow. Some mornings, she could hardly get going, and this was one of those mornings.

It was Sunday. There wouldn’t be much activity in the commune in the afternoon. They honored God by attending church and resting on the Sabbath. Amanda decided to walk to the livestock pens in the woods while Josie napped.

She needed to build up her strength if she was going to be ready for spring, and all the work that season entailed. The size of the garden in the woods seemed to increase every time she saw it. The women had done an admirable job of getting the ground ready for planting.

She chatted a while with Rachel, who was on guard duty, before she left. She was beginning to feel the fatigue gnawing at her limbs. As she reached the main path leading back to Bluesmoke, she heard something. She looked around, but saw nothing. She climbed a little embankment beside the path and looked across the field.

There was a dark-clothed figure at the cemetery, its silhouette in stark contrast to the leafless trees behind it. She thought it was a child at first, or someone very short in stature. Then she realized that the figure was kneeling. It looked like this person was at Luke’s grave, but it was hard to tell. There was no gravestone there yet.

She crouched down, crossed quickly to a nearby tree, and stood behind it. She saw what looked like a head bowed and hands clasped together, as if in prayer. The figure stayed in that position for quite some time. Then came the sound of great heaving sobs.

Who could be weeping at Luke’s grave?

Finally, the figure stood up, it seemed with some difficulty, trying three or four times before it was fully erect. When the figure turned to walk away, she saw that it wore an old slouch hat. She knew someone who had a hat like that.

It was Crocker! She could see now—the slow halting stride, the manner of throwing his head back and looking at the sky, reaching into his shirt pocket for his corncob pipe.
Crocker had stayed away from Bluesmoke recently. Amanda tried not to be bitter. She begged God to help her get past the anger. She was thankful that Pearl had survived her illness. Amanda saw her at church every Sunday, and she was as lively and bouncy as ever.

February 1865
Emily rode to the house one afternoon to find Amanda. “I heard an awful commotion coming from the direction of Silver’s hut,” she said breathlessly. “It sounded like gunshots.”

Amanda grabbed Molly’s reins from Emily, and rode quickly to the mountains. She found Silver on the ground outside her hut—naked from the waist down. The front of her shirt was soaked with blood.

A few feet away lay a man who was obviously dead. Amanda recognized him immediately. He was one of the men she had seen with Judie Baker.

“No!” she shouted, running to Silver’s side. Amanda’s hands began to tremble uncontrollably. She thought Silver was already dead; but when she cradled her head in the crook of her arm, Silver opened her eyes.

“They did it, didn’t they? Judie Baker and those animals who travel with him.”

Silver nodded.

“I’ll kill them all!” Amanda screamed in a voice full of rage.

“You cannot avenge me,” Silver whispered.

Silver didn’t believe in the Cherokee custom of avenging the death of a loved one. “If one avenges another, then they kill another, and the killing never stops.” Silver had also told her that the spirits of the dead couldn’t go to the “darkening land,” until their death was avenged.

“What do you mean I can’t? How can I not?”

“They will kill you.”

“I don’t care!” Amanda shouted.

“But you must,” Silver said. “You have so many who need you now.”

“No!” Amanda sobbed. “Please don’t leave me! I love you.”

“And I love you, my sister,” Silver whispered, “but I am ready to be with my tribe again.”

“Wait!” Amanda shouted. “Where shall I bury you?”

“Long Island,” Silver said, and exhaled her last breath.

“How can you take her from me, too?” Amanda shrieked, looking skyward. She let out a wail that sounded more feral than human.

She felt a stirring in the air as Silver’s spirit passed up through the trees.

Someone was riding hell-bent for the clearing.

Probably Judie come back for me.

It was Emily, her hair wild and flying—obviously frightened by Amanda’s scream.

“Is she?”

“Yes.”

Emily fell to her knees and began to cry.

“I don’t know what to do—I can’t think,” Amanda said. A certain peace had come over her when Silver’s spirit rose up.

“First, we have to get her to the house,” Emily said.

“We’ll build a dray.”

“What do we need?”

“Two long limbs. And some strong vines.”

Amanda finally dried her eyes and began to prepare for another burial, wondering how she would find the strength to live through it. She brought a large leather cape from Silver’s cabin, and they lashed it to the limbs with the vines. They gently placed Silver’s body on the cape and tied it securely with more vines. In an odd way, she felt that Silver was still with her. She was still warm to the touch, and her face looked completely serene.

Amanda remembered Silver telling her about Long Island. It was in the middle of the Holston River up toward Virginia. It was sacred ground to the Cherokee. Silver’s ancestors were still living there when the whites moved in and began to push them off their land.

When Amanda reached Bluesmoke, all the women were soon crying. Amanda hadn’t realized how much they had grown to love Silver.

Emily offered to bathe Silver, but Amanda refused. “I’ll do it myself,” she said. “I owe her so much.”

“We all owe her,” Emily said.

Amanda lifted Silver’s petite body and placed it on the makeshift table the women had built in the kitchen. She was surprised at how little Silver weighed. She washed her, and cleansed the wounds on her chest. She placed a bowl of fresh water on a chair beside the table and washed Silver’s graying hair. She brought the better of the two blankets she slept under and wrapped Silver’s body tightly from head to toe, leaving only her face exposed.

“Just us, you and me, will go to bury Silver?” Emily asked later.

“I guess,” Amanda stammered. She hadn’t thought that far ahead.

They would leave the next morning. It would be a long and arduous journey. As tired as she was, Amanda wanted to go. It was the last wish of a woman who had richly blessed her life.
****
It was long before first light when Amanda stumbled to the barn. She had been unable to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Judas Baker’s face, and she had to get up again. She would let Emily sleep a while longer.

As she neared the barn, she heard a voice. “Crocker, what are you doing here?”

“I’m going with you to bury Silver,” Crocker said, stepping out of the door into the moonlight. “Her medicines saved my child. I understand how you feel—“

“You haven’t the slightest idea how I feel!”

“You’ll never forgive me, will you?”

“Not as long as I draw breath,” she whispered, glaring at him.

“At least be sensible. You’ll need a man out there.”

“I’d rather be in danger than to be with you,” Amanda mumbled.

“You can be spiteful and refuse my help, but should you risk Widow’s life, too?”

“Widow?” Amanda said.

“Emily’s not going,” Widow said, and stepped out of the shadows. “I am.”

“Who decided this now?” Amanda asked.

“I did,” Widow said firmly.

“Widow, you’re too old—I didn’t mean that,” Amanda said, wishing she could stuff those words back into her mouth. “I meant to say you’re too fragile for such a long journey.” That still wasn’t the right word.

“Beg pardon,” Widow said haughtily. “I’ve lived alone since I was twenty-eight years old. I have farmed, raised hogs and chickens, cut wood, and maintained a good home in these Godforsaken mountains. Ain’t nothing fragile about me.”

“What I meant was, why would you want to go on such a long trip, in the company of two bullheads, such as us?’” she said, pointing at Crocker. “Who’ll most likely be bickering all the way.”

“I don’t trust you to take care of yourself,” Widow said. “You won’t eat or rest properly unless you’re forced, and I’m the only one who can force you.”

“You’re just getting to know me too well for my comfort,” Amanda mumbled.

And then, she remembered seeing Crocker at Luke’s grave.

“Crocker, get those horses hitched, if you insist on helping.”

“You mean I can go?” Crocker asked.

“Not if you don’t get a move on,” Amanda said.

Just then, Emily walked up. She was dressed and ready to go.

“Emily, I’m sorry to leave you out,” Amanda said, “but Widow’s going.”

“Sure you are,” Emily said angrily.

“But there’s a very special job you can do for me here,” Amanda said.

“What’s that?” Emily asked.

“Take care of Josie for me. He’ll be lost without me and Widow, and he’s grieving terribly for Silver. If anyone else dies, the rest of you will have to tell him. I just can’t do it again.”

“He won’t make up to me,” Emily said.

“He loves you as much as the others. You just don’t know it yet.”
* * *
Amanda crawled on her belly to the top of a knoll to get a better view of the encampment. She had seen their campfires in the distance. The soldiers had obviously meant to catch all passersby. They had placed their tents astride the road. Night was falling and Amanda’s little group was trapped, with no other way out except in the direction from which they had come.

They were hoping to find a nice dry barn to bed down in until morning.

“There’s only a few of them,” Crocker said. “We’ll wait for them to fall asleep, skirt the road through the edge of those woods, and be on our way.”

“Those are pickets, which means there’s a large body of soldiers camped somewhere nearby. And they’re right in our path. I can’t tell if they’re Rebels or Yankees, and I’m afraid to trust them. We have to get Silver to the burial ground. If they were to detain us—“

“But we can’t go on, not with them in our front,” Crocker said.

“We might be able to find an alternate route—if you’re up to it,” Amanda said.

“I’m going no farther,” he stated firmly.

“I guess we’ll have to put it to a vote.”

“No more voting,” he whined. “I always lose.”

“I’m going to knock your heads together,” Widow whispered, “if you don’t stop this infernal bickering.”

“You were warned about this,” Amanda said.
* * *
They were traveling slowly, down a little gully, when they heard the trickle of a stream up ahead. Amanda was riding the lead horse, which was pulling the wagon carrying Silver’s body. She saw the wooden structure ahead, but couldn’t see that the bridge’s planks were gone, until it was too late. Amanda panicked and pulled Molly to the left. Horse, wagon, and all went headfirst into the water.

“Good navigating, Crocker,” Amanda screamed when she resurfaced.

“I might have known it’d be my fault,” he grumbled. “You told me to find an alternate route, and I found it.”

“Well, you might have made sure there was a bridge across this creek while you were at it.”

“Can’t I do anything right?” he said loudly.

“Keep your voice down, before you get us taken prisoner by those soldiers back there,” Amanda said.

“You opened your big mouth first,” he said.

“Why don’t you both shut up!” Widow said.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m standing elbow-deep in water,” Amanda said a little quieter, “and Silver’s body is—oh, no—floating down the—”

Amanda lunged and caught the end of the blanket she had wrapped around Silver’s body, and it began to unwind in her hand. By this time, Widow and Crocker had jumped in and grabbed Amanda, who was struggling to reach Silver’s body, which was slowly drifting away. The cloth continued to uncoil.

Crocker finally got a firm hold on Silver’s body, and pulled it to the side of the creek, out of the current. He waded out to Amanda, and helped her to the shore. Amanda began to laugh. Soon they were all giggling and splashing around in the water.

“Quiet,” Amanda whispered, which only made them laugh harder.

When they finally got out of the water, everyone was soaked, and cold. They had to build a fire, and dry out, making the alternate route hardly a shortcut.
***
The following day at the burial ground, there was nothing funny. Crocker dug a small burial pit next to a large mound, which Amanda hoped was the resting place of Silver’s ancestors. It looked like the place Silver had described to her a long time ago. Crocker and Widow looked as sad as Amanda felt.

Crocker made a sling out of his saddle blanket, and they each held a part of it as they lowered Silver’s tiny body into the grave.

They slept that night at the edge of the woods. Amanda wasn’t ready to leave quite yet. As long as she remained in that place, she wouldn’t have to say a final good-bye to Silver Plume. The next morning, she stood at the gravesite and read some passages from her favorite Wordsworth poem:

“The Rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the Rose,
The Moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare,
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where’er I go
That there hath past away a glory from the earth.
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home.
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now forever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.”

Amanda read in a calm voice, but at the end, Widow saw that she was on the verge of collapse. Widow reached for Amanda, put a strong arm around her waist, led her to the wagon, and helped her into the seat.

“That’s all you can do for her,” Widow whispered to Amanda.

On the way back to Bluesmoke a moist snow began to fall, the kind that settles in white tufts on evergreen boughs, the kind that hurts your eyes when you look directly at it because it is so bright.

Amanda longed for a dreary day, to match her mood.
* * *
A few days later, Amanda went to the hut and gathered Silver’s possessions. To anyone else it might look like so much trash; but to Amanda, it meant everything. She took the leather pouch Silver had worn around her waist, to hold special little goodies she found in the forest. She wrapped Silver’s tools in a large piece of leather; they would be able to use them in the commune.

Being in Silver’s hut made her so sad and lonesome she could hardly bear it—and angry! She had been so busy since Silver’s death she hadn’t had time to think about Baker and his men, but she thought of them now. An angry bile rose in her throat. It was physically painful to be filled with so much rage.
***
In the dark of early morning, Amanda walked quickly and quietly in Silver’s moccasins, and soon reached the gap between the two huge boulders that provided the only access to the bushwhackers’ camp. It was a natural fortress and much too beautiful to be inhabited by such an animal as Judas Baker.

She climbed undetected onto one of the boulders and stuck her gun into the back of the guard who slept there.

“Don’t shoot,” he yelled. He dropped his weapon and jumped down off the rock.

“Quiet, you cretin,” she whispered, jumping down in front of him, thrusting her pistol into his gut. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m here just yet.”

She could feel the trembling of his body through the gun that she jabbed into the soft flesh of his belly. “It’s your boss I want,” she said.

“Major Baker?”

“Oh, a major, is he?”

“He once was,” the man said.

“Go get your ‘Major’ so I can have a word with him—if he’s not too much of a coward to come out and talk to a woman.”

“He’s sleeping.”

She transferred the pistol from his stomach and pushed it so hard under his chin she could no longer see his face. “Get him,” she growled. “Now.”

“No, ma’am. I mean, yes, ma’am. I’ll do that right now.”

“Tell him to come alone.”

The man nodded as he ran into the forest.

Morning was coming on; the sky was lightening. The timing was perfect, just as she had planned it. She readied herself for what would happen next.

Judie Baker came creeping up to the gap between the boulders, gun in hand, half a dozen of his men several paces behind him, their weapons drawn as well. Amanda jumped down from the boulder and stuck her gun in Judie’s ear. He dropped his weapon.

“Tell your men to drop their guns and walk on out of here, or you’re a dead man. You see, Major Baker,” she said, her voice as cold as stone, “the fact that one of them might shoot me after I kill you doesn’t scare me in the least.”

“Go back to camp,” he said softly, motioning to his men. They didn’t move. “Get out of here!” he yelled.

“Don’t dawdle, boys,” Amanda said. “Or make any sudden moves. I’ll blow his head right off.”

They took off in a run.

“Now, isn’t this a comeuppance. Not so brave by yourself, are you?” she asked, her gun still in his ear.

“Woman,” he said, “you will die if you hurt me. Make no mistake about it. It might not be today, or tomorrow, but my men will get you. What’s this about anyway?” He looked sideways, trying to see her face.

“You killed Silver Plume.”

“Who told you that?”

“Oh, Judie, I’ve learned more about you than I ever wanted to know.”

“She killed one of my men,” he said.

“And what did he do to cause her to kill him?”

“Nothing.”

Amanda jabbed the pistol harder into his ear. “Not the correct answer,” she said, teeth clinched.

“He was just trying to be nice to her. He liked the old squaw for some reason.”

“He molested her!”

“No, not that,” he stammered. “He just wanted to be nice to her.”

She thrust the pistol even harder against his head. “He molested her, didn’t he?” she shouted.

“I guess that’s what he did,” he whined.

“You know it, don’t you?” she yelled.

Her hand began to tremble uncontrollably. The gun was banging against his skull.

“That thing’s gonna go off, you keep hitting me with it,” he said. He let a little smile touch his lips, like if he made a joke of it, he could talk his way out of this situation.

“You know it, DON’T YOU?”

“Yes!” he yelled. “All right? He told me he was going there to give her some—uh-uh—loving. He didn’t mean her no harm. She stabbed him for no good reason.”

“Did it ever occur to you that she didn’t want what he gave her?”

“All women want it,” he mumbled.

“What did you say? All women want it? You rotten son-of-a-bitch!”

“You all want it. You’re just too uppity to admit it.”

“You dog!” she shouted, and banged the gun hard against his skull.

An explosion left her temporarily deaf. Her shoulder jerked back so hard she thought somebody was ripping off her arm. Judie Baker’s head flew back violently. In slow motion, she watched his face float to the ground in a spray of red. It looked so funny she was tempted to laugh, but something was wrong. Where did all the blood come from?

Then everything went dark.
* * *
Her vision suddenly snapped back into focus, and the realization of what she had done slashed through her mind like a whip. She stood for a minute, a minute that seemed to go on forever, until she heard footsteps running through the woods. She urged her legs to move, but they were paralyzed. She couldn’t stop looking at Judie Baker.

The sound of running feet, getting closer, brought her back to reality. Someone was calling, “Major! Major!”

A searing pain seized her back, like a thousand nerve endings grating against each other. It was the closest to unbearable pain she had ever experienced, pain so intense that she thought if it didn’t stop at that very instant she would go mad.

Move! Move! Follow the creek. Leave no trail.”

The water that trickled down the gradual slope of the hillside, was a clear blue-green, changing to an opaque white as it cascaded over the rocks. Thin spindly branches arched out over the creek, getting caught in her hair and slowing her down.

She stumbled and flailed through the water, sometimes on all fours, unable to stand upright, hunched over, panting like a dog, trying to stretch the pain out of her back. Finally, slowly, it began to subside. For the first time in several minutes, she was able to take a deep breath. As she raised her body up, relieved that the pain had passed, she was assaulted by nausea, wave after wave of sickness. She clasped her hand over her mouth, trying to keep from retching.

She stopped and stood still for a moment, and listened intently. At one point, she thought she heard dogs barking. Now everything was quiet—too quiet.

Move! Move!

The water was cold; it quickly soaked through her moccasins. Her legs, then her whole body, began to tremble. Weakness overcame her. The water was becoming deeper and deeper, but she stumbled on.

Her toe hit a large stone underwater, and she fell face first into the creek. She soon came up out of the water, arms waving, gasping for air, and making entirely too much noise. Her fingers located the source of the pain in her head: a large, bloody bump protruded from her forehead.

She lay down in the creek bed, her head just above water level. The blood flowing from the wound blinded her completely in one eye, partially in the other. She tried to wash it out with water, but the blood kept coming.
Deep woods with dense underbrush grew right up to the creek bank now, on both sides. The creek changed its course every several yards, making sharp turns left and right, and rising and falling in elevation.

Still, she could barely see. She crept to the edge of the creek and positioned herself up under the eroded bank, below the roots of a massive tree—afraid to leave and afraid to stay. She lay there, cold and wet, for what seemed like thirty minutes. She heard nothing but normal forest sounds. No dogs. No voices. No footsteps.

Then, suddenly, in the distance, the sound of leaves being crushed, and underbrush being trampled.

Move! Move! They’re coming for you!

Chapter 16 << – Index – >> Chapter 18