CHAPTER 9

VENGEANCE

Cassie’s anger melted away like butter on a hot biscuit, replaced by sheer shock. She was dumbfounded. How in the name of heaven could Philip—dull, work-all-the-time Philip—cook up such a scheme? Plod-along Philip never thought fast on his feet. That was Jacob’s style.

Here Cassie was all set to give Philip a talking-to on being a loyal Confederate, when all along he was more devoted than she was. Why, then, did she have this sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach that going along with Philip’s plan would only be trading one kind of betrayal for another? Sending the Yankee on his way was one thing. Pretending to be his friend, then handing him over to the Confederate army to be thrown into prison, was another thing entirely.

Then again, thought Cassie, Gus was a Federal soldier. He came down here on his own accord and took up arms against her people. No telling how many southern boys just like Jacob Gus had shot at and killed.

Cassie felt torn apart. How on earth could a person be sure in a war such as this what was wrong and what was right?

While all this was going on in Cassie’s mind, she was standing planted under the willow. When a woodpecker swooped out of a hollow right above her head, it startled her. She realized her mouth was hanging open, and Philip was still talking to her.

“There’s an infantry encampment about four miles this side of Danville, Myron told me. I figure we can finish the corn by tomorrow evening and set off with Gus after Mama and them are asleep. We’ll tell Mama we’re leaving before dawn to go to Myron’s and help him with his planting.”

“Hold on,” Cassie said. “I ain’t agreed to nothing yet. I got to study on this, all right?”

“Dang it all, Cassie. You pick a fine time to get cautious on me. Since when did you ever take time to study on a thing? Usually you’re ready to hurl yourself into the fire and tug all the rest of us in with you. Now, when we get a perfect chance to get back at the Yankees, you don’t have the guts to go through with it.”

“Ain’t a question of guts. I got twice the guts you have.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I’m not sure it’s right, is all.”

“He’s a Yankee, Cassie. Look at all they done to us. Look at what they done to Jacob. It’s eye for eye and tooth for tooth, like Pastor Hicks preached on last Sunday. Same thing, only this is brother for brother.”

Put in that light, Cassie thought, what Philip said made sense. What did one Ohio farm boy matter in a savage war like this one? One less Yank around to kill someone else’s brother, that’s how she had to look at it.

With the garden planted and the spring-cleaning finished, Mama insisted that everyone pitch in and help Philip with the planting. So the next day, Cassie found herself plowing and planting out in the cornfield under a sun brutally hot for early spring. While she worked, she tried to smother the nagging of her conscience about what she and Philip planned.

Cassie had never felt so bad-tempered. She ached to get the corn in the ground and be finished with what had to be done to Gus. She clammed up and wouldn’t talk to anyone, not even Ben, and when he pestered her to take him swimming, and again to help him find birch buds to nibble on, and again to hunt for morel mushrooms, she lost her temper, yelled at him, and made him cry. Then she felt guilty for that on top of everything else.

At sunset, when they finished the corn planting, furious black clouds were rolling across the sky. “It’s going to pour tonight,” said Mama at supper. She claimed she could smell rain in the air. All Cassie could smell was corn pone and steaming turnips.

Cassie waited for the rain all evening while she worked on knitting a pair of socks for Pa and then while she lay in bed waiting for Emma to drop off to sleep. She kept thinking about Gus in the cave, wondering if he might get trapped by a flood like she had, and feeling bad at the prospect.

Every so often a flash of lightning flooded the room, but it never did rain. When Cassie closed her eyes against the bright flashes of lightning, she saw behind her eyelids rows and rows of plowed red earth. Finally she must have dropped off to sleep because she dreamed about being chased through the woods by something, which at first she thought was wild hogs, but then it was the deserter. She saw his sharp yellow teeth. She thought he had grabbed her and was shaking her. She wondered how he knew her name.

Then suddenly her eyes were open, and it was Philip standing above her shaking her, not the deserter. He looked deadly serious and determined. Cassie didn’t know if she was feeling drowsiness or fear, but the last thing in the whole world she wanted to do was get up and go out into that night.

“Come on,” Philip whispered. “We got to get a move on. It’s long past midnight. Get dressed and come out to the barn. I’ve got a lantern stashed behind the wagon.”

Cassie dressed by moonlight and tiptoed downstairs. She stopped in front of Mama’s closed door, she didn’t know why. Maybe she was looking for courage, courage to see this thing through. If only she could sort out her feelings, know for sure what was really the right thing to do.

Finally, Cassie forced herself away from Mama’s door and into the dark sitting room. She looked about the room, gathering in its familiarity: the pine blanket chest against one wall, and the drop-leaf table against the adjacent wall; on the table, Mama’s writing box with the mother-of-pearl inlay, and above it, the old planter’s clock with pink and blue flowers painted on its face. The walnut armchair was in one corner, and in front of the hearth were the other chairs: the slat-back straight chair with the rush seat, and Mama’s rocking chair. On the mantel were the brass candlesticks, the ironstone coffeepot, and the matching ironstone pitcher that was chipped on the bottom …

Wait a minute! Something was missing from the mantel—Jacob’s silver mug. Grandpa had sent the mug from Richmond when Jacob, his namesake, was born. It was the most valuable thing in the house, and practically part of Jacob. Now it was gone! Anguish cut Cassie to the quick.

Her anguish, though, immediately turned to anger. It didn’t take much imagination to figure out what had happened—Gus had stolen the mug.

Cassie could hardly believe it. She had felt sorry for Gus before because she thought he’d only taken what he needed to survive. Now, to think he had had the mug all along … Cassie burned with fury when she thought of him, sitting in the cave, laughing to himself at how easy it had been to fool two ignorant southern bumpkins.

Then she thought of something else, something that planted doubt in her mind. Even though Gus was the logical thief, had he really had an opportunity to steal the mug? He couldn’t have had it when they found him; he was wearing rags. It was possible, Cassie supposed, that Gus could have sneaked back to the house while they were all out planting corn, but it wasn’t very likely. How could Gus find his way alone through those thick piney woods?

Maybe there was another explanation. But what?

Mama.

Mama had said only yesterday how hard it was to be reminded of Jacob at every turn. Mama must have taken the mug from the mantel and put it away so it wouldn’t make her think of Jacob.

Cassie understood why Mama did it—it felt like a thousand needles pricking Cassie every time Jacob came to her own mind. Still, it hurt Cassie to think that Mama would remove the mug without saying a word to anyone else.

Suddenly all the grief of losing Jacob welled up fresh in Cassie’s heart. Then, just as quickly, her grief turned back to anger. It was the Yankees’ fault—all of it was—Yankees just like Gus. It was them that had come down here, invaded Virginia and the rest of the South, and if bad things happened to them here, well, it was nothing more than they had dished out, was it?

Fiercely Cassie pushed aside all her doubts about what they were doing to Gus and hurried out to the barn where Philip was waiting.