CHAPTER 4
Spring 1862
Kirby had been plowing for two weeks, averaging an acre and a half per day. By the middle of May he had the ground broken in twenty-one acres, which was just over half of the farm. What he would plant was entirely up to him, and he planned to do twenty acres of corn, ten of wheat, and ten of oats. He had already spoken with Mr. Matthews, who’d agreed to take his crops as soon as he could get them out.
“Truth is, they ought to bring a premium this year,” Matthews had said. “What with the war goin’ on an’ all, there’s a demand for the produce, and with so many men bein’ off to do the fightin’, not as much will be grown as in years past. It’ll be a sellers’ market, that’s for sure.”
Kirby had done some figuring and thought the chances were good that he would be able to bring in at least fifteen hundred dollars. He planned to save as much of it as he could to have for his father and brother when they came back home.
If they came back home.
Reports had already been received from a battle that happened in April at a place called Shiloh. Kirby had never heard of Shiloh, and he didn’t know if his pa or Luke had fought in that battle or not. If so, he was reasonably sure that they hadn’t been killed. The casualties for Stone County, including names from both participating armies, had been posted on the door of the courthouse in Galena. Neither Emmett’s nor Luke’s name was on the list, but Lee Willoughby’s name was.
So far, the family had received only two letters from Emmett. In one of them, he told them that he and Luke had been split up, and he had no idea where Luke was. They hadn’t heard from Luke.
Kirby was thinking about this when he got the whiff of an awful smell.
“Hell’s bells, Ange!” he swore at the mule. “Ain’t you got no better sense than to fart in a man’s face? Damn. You are the fartin’ess mule I’ve ever seen. Why ain’t you more like Rhoda? She don’t hardly ever fart. I guess she’s more of a lady than you are a gentleman.” Kirby picked up a clod of dirt and threw it at the offending animal.
He was just reaching the end of a row when he saw Janey approaching. “Whoa,” he called.
Janey was carrying a canvas bag.
“Hi, sis. You’re bringing water, I hope.”
Janey smiled. “No. I brought you something better.” She reached into the bag and pulled out a jar of tea. “It’s sweetened,” she said as she handed it to him.
Kirby had worked up quite a thirst during the plowing and he took the sweetened tea with grateful hands, then took several, deep, Adam’s apple bobbing swallows, until more than half of it was gone. Finally, he pulled the jar away, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and smiled at Janey. “Damn, that was good. If you weren’t my sister, I’d marry you,” he teased.
“I told you. I’m never goin’ to get married. And I wouldn’t marry you, even if you weren’t my brother. You’re too onery.”
Kirby drank the rest of the tea, but saved the last mouthful, and spit it out toward his sister.
“Kirby!” Janey complained to his laughter.
“That’s what you get for calling me onery.” He handed the empty jar back to her. “What’s Ma cookin’ for supper?”
“What difference does it make? You’ll gobble it down like a hog. You always do.”
Ange chose that precise moment to let go another fart.
“Oh, what is that awful smell?” Janey screwed up her face and waved her hand back and forth in front of her nose.
“You ain’t plowed behind a team of mules a whole lot, have you?” Kirby asked, laughing again. He slapped the reins against the back of the team. “Gee!” he called, and the team turned to the right.
* * *
Janey stood at the edge of the field, watching as Kirby started back across the field. She was thankful to him for keeping secret the incident he had happened upon between her and Merlin Lewis. She also realized that he was faithfully fulfilling his promise to their pa to “be the man of the place.” She couldn’t help but feel a little guilty as she lay in bed every morning when, while still dark, Kirby would go out to harness Ange and Rhoda, then start a full day of plowing. If he found the work too strenuous, he never complained. If he ever had the urge to leave the farm, he never spoke of it.
Janey wanted nothing more in the world than to leave the farm. She hated farming and everything about it. The only reason she was still there was because she felt a sense of obligation to her mother and to Kirby.
She was sixteen but could easily pass for twenty. If she left home now, that’s the age she would assume. She was fully developed by the time she was twelve. Although some of the other girls had envied her, it wasn’t necessarily a good thing. She sometimes felt as if she were a full grown woman trapped in a young girl’s body. She began to have fewer and fewer friends because the things that most interested them seemed childish to her.
The woman she most admired in town was Belle Robb. She had never spoken to Belle. She knew that her ma would be mortified if she did. But she had watched the woman riding by in the back of a carriage, glancing neither left nor right, either oblivious of, or unconcerned about, the stares and gossip.
What would it be like to have so much money that she didn’t care what others thought? Janey wondered.
She also wondered what it would be like to be with a man. . . not a boy like Merlin Lewis, but a real man.
* * *
As Kirby started back toward the house that evening with thoughts of supper on his mind, he was surprised to see three mounted riders out front. The riders were wearing military uniforms . . . and the uniforms were blue.
“What’s this about?” He hurried, not bothering to take the team to the barn, but going directly to the house. His ma and sister were standing on the porch, talking to the soldiers.
“Ma, what’s going on?” he asked.
“Nothin’ you have to be concerned about,” Pearl replied. “They’ve come to try ’n take you into the army.”
“Wouldn’t you like to serve your country, boy?” asked the soldier who had three stripes on his sleeve.
“His father and his older brother are already serving,” Pearl said. “Kirby is only fourteen years old. Is the government drafting fourteen-year-olds now?”
“Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but he sure don’t look like no fourteen-year-old.”
“Can you read, Sergeant?” Pearl asked.
“Yes, I can read.”
“I got his name wrote in the Bible, along with his sister’s and older brother’s names. That tells when they was born. If you can read and cipher, you can figure out for yourself how old he is. Do you want to see the Bible?”
“How would I know you didn’t just put down when he was born so’s to keep him from gettin’ took into the army?” the sergeant asked. “Is that true, boy? Are you only fourteen?”
Kirby looked the soldier in the eye. “You ain’t callin’ my ma a liar, are you, mister? ’Cause I don’t think I’d take too kindly to that.”
“Feisty, ain’t he?” the sergeant said to the two soldiers with him. They laughed.
“All right, boy. We’ll take your ma’s word for it. But if this war’s still goin’ on when you come of age, you need to think about your duty and come join up with us. Come on, men, we’re gettin’ nothin’ done here.”
Kirby watched the men ride away.
“You didn’t tell ’em Pa and Luke had joined up with the Gray, did you, Ma?”
Pearl shook her head. “I thought it would be best not to. Supper will be ready soon.”
“I’ll be in soon as I put the mules away.”
Supper was pork chops, poke salad, and corn bread. As Janey had predicted, Kirby ate heartily.
* * *
The little town of Lamar, Missouri, was sleeping when Angus Shardeen approached it on the July morning. He held his hand up to stop the thirty-six men riding with him.
“What do we hit first, Angus?” Billy Bartell, Angus’s second in command, asked.
“Start by burnin’ the houses,” Shardeen said. “That’ll get ever’one drawn out to put out the fires and save the citizens, then we’ll be able to ride on into town without much opposition, I’m thinkin’.”
Bartell stood in his stirrups, then looked back toward the other riders. “All right men, get them torches lit!” he shouted.
A match was struck to light one torch, then it was used to pass the light on down until twenty torches were aflame.
“Let’s go, men! Burn the town!” Shardeen shouted.
The group rode into town at a gallop. As they encountered the first houses, they tossed the torches toward them. Citizens ran out into the street and were shot down without regard to age or sex. By the time Shardeen’s men reached the middle of town, at least eight houses were burning and sixteen men, women, and children had been shot down.
The Jayhawkers stopped in front of the town’s only hotel.
“Bartell,” Shardeen ordered. “Take five men down to the marshal’s office and kill anyone you find there.”
“What if somebody’s in jail?”
“Kill them, too,” Shardeen ordered. “Tompkins, find the newspaper editor and bring him to me.”
* * *
One hour later, ten women and girls were being held in one of the Lamar Hotel rooms. Shardeen was in the dining room, enjoying the breakfast he had forced the cook to prepare for him. He looked at the emergency broadsheet he had forced the newspaper to print.
PEOPLE OF LAMAR
YOUR TOWN HAS BEEN CAPTURED BY THE SHARDEEN RAIDERS. TEN OF YOUR WOMEN ARE BEING HELD PRISONER. THE TOWN IS BEING CHARGED A RANSOM OF FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS FOR THEIR RELEASE. IF THE MONEY HAS NOT BEEN COLLECTED BY THREE O’CLOCK THIS AFTERNOON, THE WOMEN WILL BE KILLED.
BY ORDER OF COLONEL ANGUS SHARDEEN,
COMMANDING OFFICER
“Yes,” Shardeen said after reading the paper. He smiled and handed it back. “This is exactly what I want. Now, print enough copies so everyone in town will be sure to see it.”
“Don’t hurt the women, please,” the newspaper editor begged.
“If you do your job, and if the town responds, none of the women will be killed.”
“Bartell?” Shardeen said after the editor left.
“Yeah?”
“Which one of the women is the best lookin’ one?”
“Well, the best lookin’ one would be the mayor’s daughter. But you almost couldn’t call her a woman, seein’ as I don’t think she’s much over fourteen or fifteen.”
“Then she’s woman enough. I’m goin’ upstairs to find me a room. Bring ’er to me.”
“All right if I take ’er after you get ’er broke in?”
“Fine with me.”
* * *
One hour later, Brenda Tadlock, fourteen-year-old daughter of the mayor of Lamar, lay dead in the alley behind the hotel. Bartell never got his chance at her. Brenda had jumped out of the window as soon as Shardeen left her alone in the room.
* * *
News of the Shardeen raid on Lamar spread throughout southwest Missouri. Small communities held meetings to discuss the possible organization of a militia to defend themselves should such an attack occur against their town.
“What good would a militia do?” Tom Byrd asked in Galena. “Most of the fightin’ age men are already gone. The rest of us is on farms outside of town. Why, by the time you got us mobilized, it would be too late.”
“Tom’s right,” another said.
After an hour of discussion, it was finally decided that raising a city militia would not be possible. The meeting disbanded without any action.
Kirby had come to town, hoping that some sort of militia would be formed, because he was sure that they would take him. He was disappointed with the results of the meeting.
Janey had come with him and, as the meeting was being conducted, had gone to Bloomberg’s Mercantile to buy some jars for canning. She was surprised to see Belle Robb there. It was the first time she had ever seen the woman anywhere but riding in her carriage. Looking around to make certain that she wasn’t being observed, Janey mustered up the courage to approach the notorious madam. “Hello, Miss Robb.”
Belle glanced up, obviously surprised at being addressed by a local citizen. When she saw that it was a young and very beautiful girl who had spoken, and not one of the matriarchs of the town, she smiled. “Hello, dear. Can I help you with something?”
“No, I just wanted to say hello.”
“How nice of you.”
“Also, I was wondering how . . . I mean, suppose someone wanted to do what you do, how would—” Janey stopped in mid-sentence. “Uh, never mind. I have no right to bother you.”
“What is it, exactly, that you think I do, dear?”
“I don’t know, exactly, what you do,” Janey admitted. “All I know is that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And you seem to be rich.”
Belle laughed. “Oh, believe me, I am rich, Miss . . . what is your name?”
“Janey. Janey . . .” She started to tell her last name but at the last minute thought better of it. “Just Janey.”
“Well, ‘just Janey,’ not everyone can do what I do.”
“I suppose not. I’m sure that someone would have to be very beautiful.”
“Don’t you worry about that. You are certainly beautiful enough. But it takes more than beauty. It takes someone who has the ability to put aside what others may think or say about her. Do you think you could do that?”
“I . . . I don’t know. I’ve never actually thought about it.”
“But you are thinking about it now?”
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
“The farm,” Janey said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You don’t know what it’s like. It’s nothing but work and drudgery from dawn to dusk. And the thought of marrying a farmer and living the rest of my life that way is almost more than I can take.”
“You’re wrong, honey. I know exactly what it’s like. I was raised on a farm near New Madrid, Missouri. Not a large plantation with slaves to do our every bidding, mind you, but a small pig farm. I couldn’t wait to get out of there.”
“Then you do understand,” Janey said with a broad smile.
“Oh, yes. I understand all right. How old are you, Janey?”
“I’m . . . uh . . . eighteen.”
Belle smiled. “How old are you, really?”
“Seventeen,” Janey lied.
“I’ll tell you what. Wait a year. When you’re eighteen, come visit me and we’ll have a long talk.”
“A talk about what?”
“Why, Janey, we’ll talk about anything you want to talk about,” Belle said.
“All right, and thanks. I’m sorry I bothered you.”
“Oh, honey, you have been nothing but nice to me. How could that possibly be a bother?”
Later, as Janey was loading her purchases into the buckboard, a man approached her. She thought he might be the most handsome man she had ever met. His dark hair was perfectly combed, he had a neatly trimmed moustache, and he was wearing a dark green jacket with mustard-colored pants which were tucked down into highly polished boots. The vest was white, and a pearl pin was stuck in the red ascot at his throat.
“May I be of assistance, Janey?”
“Thank you, I—How do you know my name?”
“I heard you give your name to Belle.”
“You . . . were listening to our conversation? Sir, you should have made your presence known.”
“I feared that to do so might cause you some embarrassment. Please forgive me if I erred.”
“What is your name?”
“Paul Garner at your service.” He lifted his finger to his eyebrow.
“Mr. Garner . . .”
“Please, it is Paul.”
“Paul, how is it that you aren’t away at war?”
Garner laughed. “You do get right to the point, don’t you?”
“My pa, my brother, so many of the county men are at war. I was just wondering why you weren’t, is all.”
“Do you believe in this war, Janey?”
“I’ve never given any thought to whether I believe in it or not.”
“Well, I don’t believe in it. I don’t believe in the concept of holding men and women as slaves. I don’t own any myself, nor have I ever, and I won’t fight a war so those who do own slaves can keep them.
“On the other hand, I think if some states want to break away and go out on their own, they certainly should have the right to do so. I won’t fight for an army that would force a state to belong to a union to which it no longer wishes to belong.
“So, as you see, Janey, I see nothing noble or uplifting about either belligerent party in this war. Were I to go, I would have no idea which side to support. Therefore, I have made the conscious choice to remain neutral.”
“I’ve never heard anyone talk like you do,” Janey said.
“You mean in my observation of the futility of the war?”
“No. Yes, but I mean, I’ve never heard anyone use pretty words the way you do. Not even my teacher talked like that. That is, when I had a teacher. She’s gone now. Besides, it’s been a long time since I was a schoolgirl. Are you an educated man, Paul?”
“Yes. I attended school at Westminster College in Fulton,” Paul said.
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a peddler.”
“A peddler? You mean like Mr. Gray, who goes about in a wagon selling pots, pans, notions, and the like?”
“Not exactly. I sell money.”
“Money? How do you sell money?”
“I deal in investments. People invest in me and I make money for them. When I make money for them, I also make money for myself.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“It can be quite lucrative,” Paul said with a broad smile.
She tried not to smile back. “I must get back home,” Janey said.
Again, Paul touched his eyebrow. “It has been a most pleasant few minutes, Janey. I do hope we see each other again.”
* * *
They did see each other again, several times, at first meeting “by chance” in town, until finally, Garner took the bold step of going to the farm where Janey introduced him to her mother and brother.
“I don’t like him,” Kirby said after a few visits.
“He seems like a nice enough young man,” Pearl said.
“I can’t help but feel like he has somethin’ up his sleeve. Ma, he has to be twenty-three or -four, or somethin’ like that. And Janey’s only sixteen. What’s he doin’ hangin’ around her? Don’t you think she’s too young for him?”
“Kirby, you know that Janey ain’t none like you or Luke. Ever since she was a little girl, she’s been more like a feral cat than a tame kitten. Your pa and I have worried a lot about that girl, wonderin’ what is going to become of her. It could be that this feller, Paul Garner, is just what Janey needs. And I warn’t but seventeen when I was married.”
“I hope so, Ma. But I don’t mind tellin’ you, he seems a bit uppity to me. I’ll keep quiet about it, though. Who am I to tell Janey who she should or shouldn’t like?”
“I would appreciate you doin’ that,” Pearl said.
* * *
Frequent and nourishing rains throughout the long summer ensured a bumper crop and, as Fred Matthews had suggested, it was a sellers’ market when Kirby took his harvest in to peddle. He was paid $2,088, which was the biggest single year, ever, for the little farm.
“What are you plannin’ on doin’ with that two thousand dollars you made from selling your crops?” Paul Garner asked during one of his frequent visits.
“What makes you think I made two thousand dollars?” Kirby asked, obviously irritated by the question.
“Why, Janey told me.”
“She had no business telling you.”
“Janey and I have no secrets between us,” Garner said.
“Yeah, well this ain’t just between you ’n Janey. This is the whole family, and as far as I’m concerned, you got no business knowin’ anything about it.”
“I can understand your concern, but my interest is more than mere curiosity. The reason I asked, is because if you will trust me, I can double your money for you in no time.”
“How?”
“As I explained to your sister, I deal in money. My profession is to invest money in certain mathematical probabilities, doing so in such a way as to maximize the return.”
“Sounds to me like you’re usin’ big words to say that you are a gamblin’ man.”
Garner laughed out loud. “Yes, in any investment transaction there is a degree of risk, so, I suppose you could call it gambling. But the degree of risk is inversely proportional to the skill with which the transaction is handled.”
“Garner, you can use all the big words you want, I’ll not be trusting you with money that I broke my back for most a year to earn. Except for what it takes my ma, my sister, ’n me to live on, I’m puttin’ the rest of the money away so that when Pa comes back home, we’ll have a good stake to start with.”
“Have you not read the Bible?” Garner asked. “Are you not aware of the parable of the talents?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“In the Book of Matthew, it tells of a wealthy master who left money with three of his servants. Two of his servants invested the money so they could give even more of it to the master when he returned. But the third buried the money he was given, and when the master returned, that servant gave him only what had been left with him. ‘You wicked, lazy servant! You should have put my money on deposit with the bankers, so that when I returned I would have received it back with interest. ’ Is that how you want to face your father when he returns, not with an increase, but only with what he left?”
“That don’t apply to me,” Kirby said. “Pa didn’t leave me any money. He left me only a team of mules and forty acres of rock and dirt. I wasn’t given the money I’m holdin’ for him. I earned it.”
“Yes, and you are to be commended for it,” Garner said. “I only wanted to help, is all. Of course, it is your money and you should do with it as you wish.”
* * *
“You were rude to Paul,” Janey said to Kirby later that evening after Garner left.
“I wasn’t rude. I was honest with him. He has no business bein’ concerned with how much money we have, and you had no business tellin’ him.”
“Why not?”
“Janey, I’m going to have to agree with your brother on this,” Pearl said. “Your pa always said it’s best that not ever’one knows our business.”
“I’m sorry,” Janey said. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. I was just bragging on you, Kirby. I’m real proud of what you have done.”
“I’m just askin’ you not to share all our business with him. Sometimes it’s good to keep secrets.”
The expression on Kirby’s face reminded Janey that he had kept a secret for her, and she understood exactly what he was saying. “All right, Kirby. I won’t say anything else about it. Please don’t be mad at me.”
Kirby smiled, and kissed his sister on the cheek. “I’m not mad at you, Janey. I just want you to be careful, that’s all.”
* * *
After their initial meeting in Bloomberg’s Mercantile, Janey had become more bold, frequently visiting Belle in her place of business. On one of her visits, one of the customers—Belle referred to them as “guests”—mistook Janey for one of the girls who worked there.
“She is not on the line,” Belle said. “And I’ll expect you to honor the code that we all follow here. Just as the visits of my guests are kept secret, so too shall the presence of my friend be kept secret. If I ever hear anything spoken about her, I will hold you responsible, and the consequences will be grave.”
Belle’s admonition to her clients had been heeded, and men that Janey recognized—married men and officials of the town—were confident that knowledge of their visits would not go beyond Belle’s establishment. Janey was equally confident that her secret was safe, and she and Belle’s clients developed a symbiotic relationship.
* * *
“It’s called a rubber,” Belle said, showing it to Janey.
She had asked how it was that the girls who worked for her didn’t get pregnant.
“After it is used, it must be washed very thoroughly to make certain that nothing is left in it. Then it should be lubricated and put back into its box.”
“And that will keep me, uh, I mean the girl from getting—?”
Belle looked at Janey knowingly. She nodded. “Yes. It will. I’ve made every man I’ve ever been with use it before I will let him lie with me, and I’ve never gotten pregnant. You are asking about this for yourself, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Janey replied rather sheepishly.
“Paul Garner?”
“Yes. I’ve been lucky so far but every time, I’m frightened as to what would happen if I got pregnant. How would I face my Ma and Pa?”
“It’s probably smart of you to have him wear this.”
“What will I say to him to make him use it?”
“All you have to do is ask him. He has used it before. Many times, I suspect. I see no reason why he wouldn’t use it with you.”
“He has?”
Belle put her hand on Janey’s shoulder. “Honey, you didn’t think you were getting a virgin, did you?”
“No. No, I guess not.”