Free The Winter Family by Clifford Jackman Page B

“We’ll stay with you till the bridge is destroyed.”
    Sevenkiller tittered and said, “It’s a good chance to try out my new toy!”
    No one paid him any mind.
    “All right,” Tom said. With an effort he hauled himself out of his chair.
    “Lieutenant, with all due respect, I think we’ll leave Private Bread here on the farm,” Tom said. “I think he could use a little time to recover.”
    “Hrmm,” Stoga said. “I do not like to leave him alone in a distillery.”
    “Well then,” Tom said, “I suppose we’ll have to tie him up in the barn with the bummers. I hate to do it, but if I can’t trust him in the pantry, I can’t trust him on an errand like this.”
    “All right,” Stoga said.
    Bill looked at the floor and said nothing.

19
    Meanwhile, at the Williams farm, Mrs. Williams was preparing porridge for a hundred ex-slaves. While she was distracted, Duncan Empire swiped a dozen spoons. They felt cold and hard in his hands as he slipped them into his bag and walked back outside.
    Quentin sat on a chair on the back porch. He was examining a map and speaking with the ex-slaves, including the old man Croesus.None of the ex-slaves had seen a map or knew how to read, so Quentin was asking them questions and writing the answers in a little leather-bound book, stopping frequently to lick the tip of his pen.
    In the distance, plumes of smoke were rising into the air as the railway ties and cotton gins burned. Upon Lieutenant Ross’s orders, Sergeant Service and Sergeant Müller were leading the ex-slaves in the general destruction of the countryside. The lit up anything to do with the cotton industry, flipped over railway tracks and burned the ties, and wrapped white-hot iron rails around the trees. The railway and the cotton fields were legitimate targets of warfare. Still, Sergeant Service had been concerned, particularly with the decision to employ the former slaves, a move guaranteed to inflame local sensibilities.
    Duncan squinted and saw that selfsame Sergeant Service coming up the path from the woods. Duncan’s face gave nothing away, save for a slight contraction around his eyes.
    “How wide is the river?” Quentin asked.
    “Oh,” Croesus said. “Real wide. Say from here all the way to the woods.”
    “Deep? Swift?”
    “Yes sir, and yes sir,” Croesus said. “Can’t get across it with no wagons, that’s for sure.”
    “Many bridges?”
    “No sir,” Croesus replied. “Only one for miles.”
    “How far?” Quentin said.
    “Oh, many many miles, sir,” Croesus replied. “Lord! Many miles. Got to go many miles before you find another bridge.”
    “Sounds like an important bridge,” Quentin said. “Now, none of you have seen any soldiers for days. Is that right?”
    “No sir,” Croesus said. “They walked through three days ago. They’s going south, to Macon.”
    “Excellent,” Quentin said.
    “There’s some troops still here,” one of the blacks said. A tall, powerful young man.
    Croesus pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head without turning around.
    “Really?” Quentin said. “Where?”
    “Saw one back at the plantation. He had a blue uniform on,though, and he was a black man. But he had straight hair like an Indian.”
    Croesus arched his eyebrows skeptically. The other ex-slaves let out incredulous noises. But Quentin made eye contact with Gordon Service, who was just arriving.
    “Indeed,” Quentin said. “Where did you see this man?”
    Now the black man who had spoken paused.
    “I went back to the plantation.”
    “After you escaped?” Quentin said.
    “What’s your name, boy?” Gordon said.
    The big black did not reply.
    “His name’s Freddy,” Croesus said.
    “That’s just about what I figured,” Gordon said, slinging his rifle off his back.
    “Is there a problem, Sergeant?” Quentin asked.
    “Yeah,” Gordon replied. “This one killed his owner. The word’s all over town.”
    “Is that true?” Quentin asked Johnson.
    For a