Free Black Noon by Andrew J. Fenady Page A

during the crossfire gave words of solace and hope, before, during, and after the bloody conflicts.
    During one of the respites from battle Keyes had asked the minister why he risked his life to be with the wounded and dying.
    â€œTo help heal the wounds.”
    â€œIsn’t that a doctor’s duty?”
    â€œMy friend, there are different kinds of wounds. Some visible, horribly visible, others are not, but just as deep. Sometimes deeper and more horrible. I can try to help, the only way I know how.”
    It was inevitable that there would be more deaths and more wounds, when Custer and Stuart would converge for a third time and Captain Jon Keyes would be there . . . at Yellow Tavern.
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    Keyes sat on that log at San Melas, quivering, with the fingers of his right hand stroking the side of his head just behind his ear where he could at times recall, and feel the effects of the wound, and then he felt other fingers, soft and soothing, between his own, gently brushing the same area.
    He turned, the figure of Deliverance now stood near him, bathed in moonlight, as beguiling a figure as he had ever seen—or any man could hope to see.
    She reached across and touched his face with cool, consoling fingers for just a moment and with a questioning look in her eyes.
    â€œOh, Deliverance . . . I . . . was just thinking of something . . . something about the war . . . it’s over now . . . it seems so far away . . . especially now that you’re here.” He smiled. “I’m all right.”
    Her questioning look was still unanswered. She persisted as best she could without benefit of speech.
    She pointed at him, then opened both palms close together.
    â€œSomething about me . . . and a book?”
    She indexed her forefingers as if in prayer.
    â€œThe book . . . a Bible?”
    Deliverance nodded and pointed at him again.
    â€œA minister?”
    Her lips formed a yes. Then she stood stiff-back straight and simulated shooting a gun.
    â€œA soldier? Yes. Before I became a minister I was a soldier.”
    She touched the area of his head where he had been brushing. Her questioning eyes widened.
    He nodded.
    â€œA wound from the war . . . sometimes I can feel . . . part of the cartridge is . . . still there . . . and sometimes. . . well, I become aware of it”—he smiled—“but not now. You asked if I could help you, but now it seems you’ve helped me. Thank you.”
    He looked toward the shed.
    â€œYou’re working late with the candles.”
    She smiled and nodded. Then motioned toward the trees and the star-studded sky.
    â€œYes, it is a beautiful night.” He looked upward. “The moon is almost full . . .”
    This time it was Deliverance who trembled, and her eyes were disquieted.
    He rose and came close to her.
    â€œWhen I mentioned the moon . . . you thought of . . . him . . . you’re frightened. Isn’t that it?”
    She did her best to cloak her anxiety but couldn’t completely mask her apprehension.
    Keyes put his arms around her.
    â€œDon’t worry, Deliverance. I’ll . . .”—he almost said I’ll take care of you . . . but said instead—“Things will be all right.”
    He held her for just a moment more, then let his hands fall free.
    â€œI’d better get upstairs now . . . Lorna . . . I’d better see how she is.”
    He thought Deliverance was motioning her thanks to him, but didn’t want to think more about it . . . or her.
    He turned and walked away leaving Deliverance outlined in the moon gloss.
    With just as silent footsteps as he left, Keyes entered the bedroom and moved toward Lorna.
    He needn’t have been so silent. She had submerged into a deep cavernous sleep. Her jaws clenched tight.
    He made his way to the dresser, took off his shirt, then noticed the Bible was now open.
    Even in the darkness of the room there was enough moonlight to make out a passage his eyes fell