Jerusalem's Landing, Vermont, 1857
My father looked me up and down, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth making me feel a touch nervous.
"Do I look all right? I asked.
He nodded. "Ya look jus' fine, son."
"Then why are you smiling like you're seeing something funny?" I was wearing my newest pair of trousers and my newest shirt, and I was thinking I appeared the best I possibly could.
"Tha's not what's makin' me smile," my father said. "I'm just marvelin' at how big ya've gotten, how yer almost a full growed-up man. I guess it just makes me happy ta see it."
I felt my face heating up under the compliment. My father must have seen it too, because he glanced away, not wanting to embarrass me further.
"I expect all the town kids will be at the church dance," he said. "That should mean you'll have a good time." He paused as if considering what else he wanted to say. "Will Rebecca Johnson be there?"
"I guess she will. Why do you ask?"
"I just noticed the way ya been lookin' at her lately. An' the way she looks at you."
My lips began to form a denial, but the words wouldn't come. My father's next comment let me off the hook.
"I can't imagine any young buck not bein' taken with her. She sure is a beautiful girl, sweet as can be too; should grow inta a fine young woman any man would be proud ta know."
"Yes sir."
"Well, ya git yerself off now. An' don' forget ta ask that young girl ta dance."
"I don't know how to dance."
"Ain't nothin' to it. Jus' tell her yer jus' learnin' an' she'll help ya out. Womenfolk are like that. Then jus' take her right hand in your left hand, put your right hand on her waist, and move yer feet ta the music. Also, it's best ta pick somethin' slow till ya learn yer steps." He smiled broadly. "You'll do jus' fine, son."
* * *
The dance was in the barn behind the church, the beams and rafters now draped in bunting, the dirt floor cleared and raked. A makeshift plank stage had been hammered together up against the rear wall, and Edgar Billingsley and Cory Jimmo had added to their usual banjo-and-country-fiddle duo by bringing in Lester Blow and his squeeze-box. Beside the open front doors long tables had been set up and the ladies of the church had filled them with a spread of homemade food and jugs of cold apple cider. It was autumn, the leaves having just filled the hillsides with color, and the dance was a celebration of the season, in itself a quiet acknowledgment of the long, cold winter that lay ahead and the fact that many of the townspeople would see little of each other until spring.
Inside the barn boys of varying ages were gathered to one side, while girls banded together on the other, each group casting furtive glances across the width of the building. Johnny Harris, Abel Johnson, and I stood together as always.
"Hey, Abel, I think Jubal is eyein' yer lil' sister," Johnny said. He was smirking, trying to goad me into a denial.
Abel slipped his arm around my shoulder. "He always does. But so do you. Ya just won't fess up ta it."
Johnny let out a scoffing laugh but I could tell that Abel's remark embarrassed him. "No offense, partner," he said, trying to recover, "but that sister a yours is a bit of a goodie-goodie, an' I like ladies when they're a bit wilder, if ya know what I mean."
Abel punched me in the arm and we both started to laugh. "Well, ya sure got a big choice of wild and wanton women right cheer," Abel said.
I raised my chin toward one of the food tables, where Edith Summers was serving up her baked beans. She was in her early seventies and skinny as a rail. "I hear old Edith has a real wide wild streak," I said. "Maybe you ought to mosey on over there, get a plate of her beans, then see if you can get her up in the hayloft."
Johnny squared his shoulders and wiggled his eyebrows comically. "I'll be up in somebody's hayloft long afore either of you are," he said.
Abel winked at me. "The great lover, Johnny Harris, has spoken. Say, Johnny, I hear tell there's a woman up ta Richmond who takes in visitors by the hour. They say she weighs two hundred pounds, but she's available fer some quick lovin'. Maybe she'd be worth a try."
Johnny let out a cold laugh. "Don't need no whore," he said. He was still grinning, still having fun with the teasing. When it stopped being fun, his mood would quickly change. I'd seen it happen before. Johnny puffed himself up. "Now, I'm not sayin' I wouldn't mind a loose lady like that, but I'll leave the ones who weigh two hundred pounds ta Abel here. Big as he is, I'd be pleased jus' ta look in the window an' watch 'em break the bedsprings."
I couldn't help laughing at the image. It even made Abel laugh. I'd never been with a whore, but I'd imagined how it might be, and deep down I found the idea a bit intimidating. I secretly believed the others probably felt the same way.
"Shh," Abel hissed. "Rebecca's comin' over.
I watched her approach. She was wearing a simple white dress that was modestly buttoned to the neck, but which still couldn't hide the lovely lines of her sixteen-year-old body. I raised my eyes to the soft contours of her face, her vivid green eyes, and I felt my breath catch just looking at her.
"Why are you just standing here?" she asked as she stopped in front of us. "Aren't the three of you going to ask anyone to dance?" She turned pointedly to me.
I began to stutter. "I'm . . . I'm just learning, Rebecca . . . I'm not very good at it yet . . . Somebody else . . . well, they might be more fun to dance with."
She reached out and took my hand. "I think you'll be just fine," she said. "Come and show me what you can do."
I saw Abel roll his eyes and heard Johnny give out a big guffaw, and as Rebecca led me out to the center of the barn I could feel my heart beating in my chest, and I thought I hadn't felt it beat so wildly since I was eleven and first saw a buck in my rifle sights.
Rebecca smiled up at me as she took my left hand in her right, and placed my right hand on her waist. There was a faint smell of lilac rising about her and it overwhelmed my senses. It took a moment before I heard the music and I was immediately grateful it was a slow rendition of "When I Saw Sweet Nellie Home."
I heeded my father's advice and moved my feet to the music, feeling clumsy and awkward. At the same time, Rebecca moved as though her feet weren't even touching the ground.
"You're going to be a good dancer, Jubal," she whispered up at me. "You just have to learn to relax."
I wondered if that would ever be possible. Maybe it would happen with some other girl, but never with her. Certainly not when I felt her so close to me, her body moving under my hand as it sat on her waist; my nostrils filled with her scent, and her beautiful green eyes staring up at me. No, that would surely never happen.
* * *
Manassas, Virginia, 1862
It had been a slaughter. Rumor had it we had lost nearly 10,000 men, killed and wounded, while the Reb's had lost just over 8,000. We had stormed Stony Ridge with 62,000 men under Major General John Pope, the new commander of the Union Army of Virginia, to which we were now assigned. Just before the assault began our officers had told us we had Confederate General Stonewall Jackson trapped on the ridge and we were going to crush him and his army—the very same one that had defeated us at the First Battle of Bull Run the previous year. But by the time the battle ended it was our left flank that had been crushed by the unexpected arrival of Confederate General James Longstreet and his force of 25,000, who took up position on Jackson's right and sent us into a full retreat toward Centreville. Only a bitter rearguard action had kept our entire army from falling victim to the slaughter.
Johnny, Abel, Josiah, and I were seated under a stand of pine, trying with little success to soak some strength back into our bodies. For myself, I was amazed we were all still alive, the battle having been that fierce.
Abel was seated across from me. He stared at me, shook his head, and let out a long sigh. "I'm ready ta call this war a draw an' head on home," he said. His face was covered in gunpowder residue and streaked with sweat. "Every day I'm here the less sense it all makes." He glanced at Josiah. "I know the slavery part makes sense, I don' mean ta say it don'. But this killin' each other by the thousands, an' all of it dependin' on where you was born, that jus' makes no sense at all."
"I know what I'm fightin' for," Johnny said. "I'm fightin' to keep myself alive. I don't intend to let some Johnny Reb blow my ass to kingdom come."
"Amen," I said. "Let's keep all our asses in one piece and get ourselves back home."
A tall, lanky soldier came slouching along the dirt lane we'd been traveling down on our way to Centreville. When he reached us he pulled up short and grinned down at Johnny.
"Glad ta see ya made it outta that shithole," he said.
"Barely," Johnny replied. He turned to us. "This here's Bobby Suggs. He's assigned ta the company that was on our left flank. Bobby, this is Jubal Foster, Abel Johnson, and Josiah Flood, all boys from back home in Vermont." He raised his chin toward Suggs. "Bobby here is the best scrounger in the unit. You wanna find somethin' the quartermaster ain't got, he's your man."
Suggs stared down at Josiah. "Didn't know ya had niggers up in Vermont," he said. "Ya enlist, boy?"
I felt my blood turn hot. "Josiah's our friend," I said. "He's our long-time friend. We don't call him a nigger and we sure as hell don't call him a boy."
"Ta each his own," Suggs smirked, then turned to Johnny. "Speakin' of scroungin', there's an ol' farmhouse back yonder that 'peers ta be abandoned. Ya wanna come along with me an' have a look-see?"
Johnny struggled to his feet. "Might as well," he said.
"We're gonna be pullin' out soon," Abel warned him.
"Don't worry," Johnny said. "Ya pull out afore I'm back, I'll sure as hell catch up ta ya. After goin' through that meat grinder back there, I ain't about ta get myself shot fer a deserter."
We watched them head back down the road. I had an uneasy feeling about Suggs, and from the look on Abel and Josiah's faces I could tell they felt the same way.
"You ever meet this Suggs before?" I asked them.
Abel shook his head. "Don't think I have."
"I seen him," Josiah said. "Ain't never talked ta him. If I had I'm thinkin' he woulda axed me ta shine his boots or kiss his skinny white ass."
"I woulda liked ta see that," Abel said. "Just ta see how far ya shoved his rifle up that ass."
I let out a short, harsh laugh. "Next time you start pullin' wounded bodies off a battlefield, you make sure you take a real close look. You find him lyin' out there, you just tell him you're not gonna offend his white sensibilities by putting your sorry black hands on him."
Josiah fought off a smile. "Had one like that t'other day. Kept screamin', Come git me, boy! You do what I tell ya an' git on over here, boy! Just had a graze on his leg, but he was yellin' like it was blowed clear off. An' there I was wif minie balls wizzin' by my ears." He let out a snort. "Well, I jus' went stone-cold deaf. Musta been some artillery shell went off too close an' plugged up my ears, an' I left that sumbitch layin' there screamin' at me and moved off an' took care a the ones what really needed help." He raised his chin in the direction Suggs and Johnny had gone. "Whatcha think Johnny sees in that one, he'd go off wif him like that?"
Abel shook his head. "Johnny's gettin' stranger by the day."
"This war is makin' us all strange," I said. "Yesterday I saw our sergeant sittin' on a Reb body while he smoked a cigar, just using it for a stool."
"Yeah, I know what yer sayin'. It's like the dead ain't really people, an' never was," Abel said. He drew a long breath. "T'other day I saw a Reb no older'n us shot down right in front a me, an' it was like he din' really exist, even though I saw him runnin' across a meadow jus' a minute afore a minie ball lifted him off the ground." He shook his head and looked across at me. "Why ya think that is, Jubal? Ya think we're jus' gettin' cold inside?"
"I heard one a the docs talkin' at the hospital," Josiah responded. "He said our minds jus' block things out. Said we see so much terrible stuff that we'd go plum crazy iffen our minds din' shut it off like that."
"I hope he's right," I said.
"Yeah, me too," Abel said. "Cause if he ain't there's gonna be an army of monsters goin' home when this here war is finally over."
The sergeant came through and got us up and moving toward Centreville again. Josiah went back to his hospital unit and Abel and I were sent to join a rearguard unit that would make sure the Rebs didn't sneak up behind us.
Back at the rear I watched Johnny and Suggs cutting across a field, hurrying to get back to the column. Each had a sack in his hand and I assumed they had found things worth taking from the abandoned farmhouse. I hoped it was something good that we could all share, like a slab of bacon or a salted ham. We had been taught early on that it wasn't stealing. It was living off the land, taking food the Rebs would use if we didn't confiscate it. I smiled at the thought. Seemed like you could justify anything in war, or almost anything, and I wondered what my father would say about it. I remembered back when we were seven and Abel and Johnny and I raided a neighbor's apple tree. The neighbor had complained to my father, who sent us to do chores for the neighbor to make up for the apples we had taken. "Stealin' is stealin'," he had said then. I suspected he'd say the same thing now.
This made me think of home and I reached into my pocket and pulled out a letter I had gotten just before we went into battle. It was from Rebecca, and I had already read it three or four times. I read it again now. It ended with the words: I miss you, Jubal. Stay safe for me and come home soon. I hoped that I would.
* * *
Jerusalem's Landing, Vermont, 1865
My father and I rode out to Ed Billingsley's farm to question him about Bobby Suggs. When I had told my father about Suggs he had volunteered to go along.
"It ain't that Ed don' respect ya, son, it's jus' that he might still think of ya as a boy, cause that's how he's known ya all yer life. If so, he'll be expectin' ta talk ta me, so if ya don' mind, I'll jus' go along sort of as yer helper an' let him know yer runnin' this here investigation."
I tried not to smile at my father's words, but in the end I had to turn away to hide it. I'd had a professor at the university who'd been a great advocate of a new science called psychology, and I wondered what he would have said about my father's attempt to soothe my psyche.
We dismounted in Ed Billingsley's dooryard where we were greeted by his wife, offered something cold to drink, and, when we declined, told we'd find Ed in the milking barn.
Entering the barn brought back memories of the first time I'd been in one. The smell was overwhelming, and back then it had put me off drinking milk for almost a month.
Cows are strange creatures. They come in from grazing and go straight to the same stall each day, and if another cow is confused and has taken their stall, they'll stand behind it, stomping their hooves and bellowing a complaint until the farmer removes the offender and puts it in its proper place. Then they'll stand there eager to be milked, all the while shitting and pissing into the narrow ditch that runs behind each row of stalls. The ditches are mucked out twice a day, but the smell never leaves, and after my first visit to a cow barn I'd been sure the same smell came off the next glass of milk I tried to drink.
"Ho, Ed," my father called out now.
Ed Billingsley rose up behind the haunches of a cow he'd been milking and waved us over. "Ya come ta help me git my milkin' done?" he said with a grin.
"Not likely," my father replied, reaching across to shake his hand. "Ya remember my boy Jubal, don' ya?"
"I do," Ed said. "Though I'd hardly recognize him, he's gotten so big. Back home from the war I hear," he added, trying but not succeeding in keeping his eyes off my pinned-up sleeve.
"Yes sir." I reached my good hand across the cow to shake his.
"Well, Jubal's the deputy town constable now," my father explained. "An' he's investigating the murder of Johnny Harris. I jus' wanted ta let ya know that he's in charge of that, cause I know he's got some questions ta ask ya."
Ed nodded; then he grinned at me. "The deputy constable, eh? That there's a far cry from burnin' up the town bandstand like you and yer friends did a couple Fourth of July's back, now ain't it?"
My father let out a loud guffaw and I lowered my eyes and smiled at my boots.
"Yes sir, it is. I guess I'm never gonna live that one down."
"Not in this town, ya ain't. Now what kin I do fer ya, son?" Billingsley was a large man, almost as big as my father. He had a round belly that pushed out against his overalls, but like the rest of him it looked hard as a rock. He was wearing a straw hat, which I knew had little hair beneath it, and a full beard flecked with gray that covered most of his round face. His blue eyes always seemed to have a smile in them, and I'd always thought of the man as one of the happiest people in the town.
"Well, sir," I began, "I was talking to Doc the other day and he told me you'd had a man by here asking after Johnny Harris."
"Sure enough did. Said his name was Bobby Suggs. I 'membered it, cause it sounded strange ta me. Suggs, that is. Don't have no people named Suggs up hereabouts. Least none I ever heard of. Said he was from Pennsylvania, an' that he fought with you boys in the war. Even mentioned ya by name, Jubal."
"I remember Suggs," I said. "He was more Johnny's friend than mine."
"Well, he sounded real anxious ta meet up with Johnny agin. Said he'd had a devil of a time findin' this here town. Din' like the way he said that, kind of smart, ya know, so I din' offer him no help findin' young Johnny. Then when I heard 'bout Johnny gettin' kilt I thought I better pass the information on."
"Did this Suggs say where he was staying?" I asked.
"No, never did. I got the idea he might be stayin' up ta Richmond, but not because he tol' me that. He did axe if there was any work hereabouts. I tol' him ta try some of the other dairy farms, maybe the sawmill, and some a the loggin' camps. Said he'd do that; then he left."
I thanked him and asked that he let me know if Suggs came back, and after some neighborly gossip my father and I started out for home.
"I'm headed up ta Richmond tomorra," my father said as we rode back toward town. "Got some more tax money ta deposit in the town account. While I'm there I'll check fer any strangers stayin' in any of the roomin' houses. Meantime, why don't ya ride out ta the local farms, the sawmill, an' the logging camps?"
"I'll start with the sawmill as soon as we get back to town, then I'll set up a route that'll take me by all the farms and camps. Should be able to do it in a day, a day and a half."
My father nodded agreement. "You'll be earnin' yer money an' more this week," he said.
* * *
The sawmill manager, Jesse Barton, told me that a man named Suggs had indeed been by looking for work, but there had been none he could offer him. "I tol' him ta try some a the local loggin' camps an' gave him directions on how he might find 'em. Did the same fer some a the bigger farms who take on workers from time ta time."
Barton was a short, stocky man with a face that was deeply weathered from years of working out in the open. He had a gruff manner about him, but my father claimed he had the softest heart in town. He ran a hand through steely gray hair, and thoughtfully rubbed an equally gray beard. "Ya know, Jubal, there was somethin' 'bout that fella I jus' din' like. Kind of a shifty sort, he was. Scraggly beard, battered old Union cap, and all the time actin' like he was owed sumthin'."
"Did he ask you about Johnny Harris?"
"Oh, he was here a good week afore we lost poor Johnny," he said. "If that's whatcha was thinkin'. But no, he din' ask me nothin' 'bout nobody in particular."
That told me one thing: Suggs had probably already located Johnny by then. I thanked Jesse, and decided I'd try the store to see if Suggs had stopped by there.
Rebecca was behind the counter when I got there and it gave me a rush of pleasure to see her look up at me and smile.
"Hello, Jubal, I was hoping I'd see you today."
"Why was that?" I asked, thinking she had something specific in mind.
"I always hope I'll see you. Certainly you know that."
Her words added to my pleasure but left me floundering for a response. "You're very kind to say so," I said weakly. I shifted my weight and hurried on. "I'm trying to track the movements of a stranger who came to town about a week ago. His name is Suggs, Bobby Suggs. He's a tall, lanky fellow about my age, has a scruffy beard, and was supposed to be wearing an old Union cap. He knew Johnny and me during the war, and Ed Billingsley said he came by his farm asking where Johnny lived. I wondered if he might have stopped at the store."
Rebecca thought about it and slowly shook her head just as her stepmother came behind the counter.
"Who are you asking about, Jubal?" Mary Johnson asked. She was wearing a gingham dress and her hair was pulled back severely, a sharp contrast to Rebecca, whose pale blue dress seemed to make her long, reddish-blond hair all the more striking.
I repeated the description of Bobby Suggs and thought I saw a hint of alarm come into Mary Johnson's eyes.
"No, I don't believe I saw anyone like that, but I'll ask Walter, and if he did, I'm sure he'll tell you what he knows."
"Is Mr. Johnson around now?" I asked.
"No, he's not. He took the buckboard up to Richmond to pick up some goods that came in on the train."
"He should be back late this afternoon," Rebecca added quickly, casting a glance at her stepmother.
"Good. I'll be by then," I said. I turned to go, but Rebecca's words stopped me.
"I was just going to have my lunch, sort of a picnic down by the river," she said. "Would you care to join me, Jubal? It's just apples and cheddar and a bit of cider, but it's all very good."
I still had several stops to make in my search for Bobby Suggs, but I took her words as a signal that there was more she wanted to tell me. "I'd like that," I said. "But I can't stay too long. There are several other places I have to stop at today."
* * *
Rebecca spread a small blanket on a flat rock just above the river and set out her basket. I used my knife to cut up two apples and slice two slabs of cheese, while she poured us cider.
"You know that Mary was lying to you, don't you?" she said at length. Her voice was harsher than I expected and that surprised me. I knew Rebecca didn't like her stepmother, but her tone bordered on something more.
"I had a feeling she wasn't telling me everything she could have," I said.
"She thinks she's a very good liar, that she can fool people quite easily, but she can't. Oh, she fools my father, but it's only because he wants to believe her. But I always know when she's not telling the truth."
"How is that?" I asked.
"She has to turn her eyes away from me and that's when I know. And that's what she did to you when you asked her about that Suggs man. As soon as you described him, she knew who he was."
I'd noticed the same thing. "Why do you think she did that?"
"I think she's fearful that Johnny told Suggs about their affair, and that when you find Suggs he'll tell you."
"Still, it would be her word against his," I said. "And he's a shiftless sort, just passing through. When he asked Jesse Barton for some work at the sawmill Jesse wouldn't touch him, and you know what kind of rough characters he's like to hire."
Rebecca's eyes hardened. "She wouldn't take the chance. Not Mary. She believes in protecting herself at all cost, and she knows she'd be in danger if my father believed what Suggs said. If he did, he might very well throw her out. And then she'd have no place to go, no one to take care of her. When Johnny was alive I think she held out hope that he'd go off with her if they got caught."
"If she thought that, she didn't know Johnny very well. At least not the man who came back from the war."
"No, she didn't."
* * *
I guided my horse Jezebel up Sherman Hollow. Recent rains had left the path rougher than usual, and I took care to keep her well away from the many potholes. By the time I reached Rusty LeRoche's dooryard it was nearing on two o'clock.
Rusty's daughter Chantal came out of the cabin, her hair tousled, her breasts swaying beneath the thin blouse she wore. She looked up at me and gave me an impish smile. "You come back ta see me, deputy?"
"I'm afraid not. I'm looking for your daddy."
"He's out in the woodlot," she said, grinning again. "Don't expect him back till suppertime. Yer welcome ta come inside an' wait fer him."
I could imagine Rusty's reaction if I accepted her offer. "Can you tell me what path to take to get out to your woodlot?" I asked.
"You afraid of me, deputy?"
"I just want to respect your daddy's wishes. I also need to see him now, so I can get home in time for my own supper."
She shook her head. "My, my. I'm startin' ta wonder if that war hurt more'n yer arm. You all right everywheres else?"
"I'm fine, Chantal. But thank you for your concern. Now why don't you stop teasing me and tell me what path to take?"
"I don't mean ta tease ya, deputy. It just gets real lonely out cheer, if you know what I mean. I'd just enjoy the company of a good-lookin' young fella."
"I take it as a compliment, Chantal. But I've got some work I've gotta get done." I hesitated, then thought I'd ask her about Suggs.
"Did a fella named Suggs come by here looking for work?" I asked.
"Bobby Suggs? Yeah, he came by. But as soon as Daddy found out he was a frienda Johnny's he tol' him ta get off his land an' not ta show hisself agin."
"Did he ever come back?"
Chantal offered up a coy smile. "He came back one time when Daddy was out workin' the woodlot. Took me for a little walk in the woods, he did."
"Did he say where he was staying?"
"He din' say it, but I heard Daddy tell Momma that he'd taken a job at Billy Lucie's place. Ain't seen him since I heard that, so I suppose it's true."
Lucie's place was located on a high, flat ridge that overlooks the Huntington Gorge. "I still need to talk to your daddy," I said. "Can you point me in the right direction?"
* * *
I could hear the axes long before I saw the clearing where Rusty and his sons were working. I rode in slowly, taking care not to veer into the path of a falling tree. Rusty noticed me, buried his axe blade into the tall pine he'd been working, and approached.
"Whatcha lookin' fer now?" he said as a way of greeting. His face and beard were covered in grit and dripping sweat.
"Fella named Bobby Suggs. A scraggly-looking man, might of been wearing—"
"Yeah, he was by here coupla weeks back. Lookin' fer work, he said. Friend of Johnny Harris, he said. Soon's I heard that I throwed his ass offen the place. Birds of a feather, I figured, an' I don't need none of that hangin' aroun' Chantal."
"Did you ever see him again?"
"No, but I heard he came back. My missus saw someone looked like him sneakin' out of the woods; saw Chantal sneakin' out a few minutes later."
"What did you do?"
Rusty's face turned into a snarl. "Whatcha think I did? I figured he was stayin' with his friend in town, so next time I was droppin' off a load of timber I went ta the parsonage an' asked the reveren' iffen he was there. That skinny ol' Bible-thumper tol' me Suggs'd taken a job up at Lucie's woodlot. Lucie's got a cabin fer his workers so's I figured he was stayin' there."
"Did you go on up to Lucie's place?"
"Don't have time to go runnin' all over creation after some no-account drifter." His eyes hardened. "I figured he came sneakin' aroun' my place agin I'd sure enough catch up ta him."
"Did you see Johnny when you were at the parsonage?"
"No, he weren't there." He gave me a cold stare. "Now I gotta git back ta work."
"Thank you, Mr. LeRoche. You've been a help and I appreciate it." I turned to remount my horse, hesitated, and turned back. "If you do run into Suggs again I'd appreciate it if you'd let me or my father know."
LeRoche let out a snort. "I run inta him up cheer on my land, I'll deliver him ta ya in a basket. Whatever's lefta him, that is."
* * *
It was three thirty when I turned Jezebel into the gorge road and headed toward the skid slash that would mark the route up into Lucie's woodlot. Billy Lucie had a house along the road, but there was little chance of finding him there this early in the day. He'd most likely be up with his men making sure he was getting a full day's work out of each of them.
The land rose steeply behind Lucie's house, angling up steadily for at least three hundred yards until it leveled out into a wide, flat woodlot. I'd hunted bear there with my father years ago and I knew how dense and isolated the land was, pocked with rock outcroppings and riddled with caves that coyotes and bobcats used until a bear claimed it for its winter den.
I stopped at Lucie's house just in case he was there, but was told by his wife that he was up in the woodlot. She was a stocky woman in a homespun dress, with a broad smile and twinkling blue eyes, and she gave me a cold glass of cider, which I accepted gratefully.
"He should be headed down soon, iffen ya want ta wait," she said.
I thanked her for her kindness and explained there was a man up in the woodlot I wanted to see, then went back out to remount Jezebel.
Halfway up the slope I met Billy Lucie headed down as his wife had predicted.
"Ya lookin' fer me, young Jubal?" he asked.
I tipped my hat out of respect. "It's a pleasure to see you, Mr. Lucie, but actually I'm here to see one of your men."
Lucie was about average height, but thick in the arms and body like most loggers. He had a weatherworn face, marked by a large, drooping mustache and warm brown eyes. Now the eyes took on a look of worry. "One of my boys in trouble with the constable's office?"
"Not that I know for certain," I said, trying to put his mind at ease. "I'm looking for a man named Bobby Suggs. I knew him during the war, though not well. But he was a particular friend of Johnny Harris, and I'm told he was trying to locate him a week or so before Johnny was killed."
Lucie nodded. "He's up in the woodlot, but I wouldn't be surprised if all them boys have headed ta the bunkhouse early now that I'm gone." He looked at me steadily. "Ya think he mighta had somethin' ta do with young Johnny's killin'?"
"I don't know, sir. Right now I just want to talk to him."
"You want me to go back on up with ya? He's kind of a rough sort, a little shifty too, if ya ask me. I only took him on because one of my regular boys busted a leg and I was shorthanded."
"I think I'll be all right, sir." I smiled at him. "But if you hear any shooting come right on up."
Lucie laughed. "Don't allow no guns up there. Don't want those boys poachin' deer, or shootin' each other over a poker hand. Bad enough they punch each other up now an' agin, or cut each other when somebody ends up with five aces. Stop by and see me when ya come back down. You'll be welcome ta supper."
I thanked Billy and turned Jezebel back up the steep slope. When we reached the plateau I could see the bunkhouse across a wide swath that had already been clear cut. I turned in my saddle and looked down into the valley below. The Huntington River moved through the land like a winding blue line, and you could see where the gorge cut deep into the rock, the white foam from the rapids and the small waterfalls that moved it steadily down and on toward Richmond. It was a special place for me, had been since I was a small boy. And I drew in a deep breath, almost as though I could taste it if I tried hard enough.