Free Jordan's War - 1861 by B.K. Birch Page A

wad of
tobacco out of his shirt pocket and shoved it in his cheek. Jordan had seen him
use this tactic with Ma when he didn’t want to answer a question.
    “Why not?” Jordan
asked again.
    “You’re just like
your ma. You know that?” Pa said and looked over at him out of the corner of
his eye.
    “Well?”
    “Oh, all right,”
Pa scoffed. “We’re not bringing them any food when we come back because we’re
going to drag them both out of here and take them back home. I don’t care if I
have to hogtie the stubborn old coot. There just ain’t no sense in raising a
child that way. I don’t care how lame he is. You happy now?”
    “Yes sir.” Jordan
leaned back and smiled. He knew Pa wouldn’t leave them there.
    He watched the
forest disappear, replaced by rolling fields, herds of cattle and sheep, and
farmhouses.
    “Must be rich
folks living there,” he commented as they passed one of the more stately homes,
perched majestically atop a hill surrounded by budding oaks.
    “Looks like it,”
Pa said.
    Jordan couldn’t
help but wonder what life was like behind those pristine plaster walls. Did
they have slaves to serve them and luxurious carpets on their floors, like the
ones he’d seen in the stores at Lewisburg? Did the women wear fancy dresses and
sip tea like a lady? Did the men wear stiff suits and smoke cigars all day?
    A screaming siren
pierced the tranquil morning and jolted Jordan away from his thoughts of
privileged life. It startled the horses, but Pa calmed them down with his calm,
soothing words.
    “You all right?”
Pa yelled back to Eamon.
    Jordan looked back
and saw Eamon struggling with his team but managing to keep control of the
wagon.
    “What’s going on?”
Jordan asked and looked all around.
    “Something going
on at the mine, I reckon,” Pa said.
    “Why didn’t we
hear it this morning?” Jordan asked. “Gunner said the whistle goes off at six
sharp.”
    “We’re closer to a
bunch of mines now,” Pa explained.
    Could it be the
lunch whistle? This early? He pictured Gunner leaning against a tree with his
salt pork and hardtack bread laid out in front of him, as if it were steak and
potatoes. Jordan wanted to believe someone would take pity on the unfortunate
child and share whatever food he had. He closed his eyes and whispered a short
prayer.
    “You thirsty?” Pa
asked and handed Jordan a full water jar.
    “Is this pond
water?”
    “Would it make a
difference?”
    Jordan wanted to
think it would.
    “I guess not.”
    “Well, it ain’t,”
Pa said. “I got it from the spring this morning.”
    Whew! Jordan drank
half the jar in one gulp. After a few hours, the fields had all but disappeared
and rows of tiny houses lined both sides of the road. They all looked the same
– small porch, a door, one window in front beside the door and an upstairs.
There was no yard, little grass, and the few strands of fence still standing
were broken and stained a dingy gray.
    Sun-bleached bones
lay abandoned in the dirt and dogs were everywhere, barking the news of passing
strangers. Smoke from cooking fires lingered in the air and children in
tattered clothes with no shoes ran out to the edge of the street to watch them
pass.
    “Who lives here?”
Jordan asked.
    “Men who work in the
mines,” Pa said.
    “Why don’t Jim and
Gunner live here?” The houses weren’t much, but at least they weren’t falling
down.
    “I said work in
the mines.”
    “Oh,” Jordan said.
“They don’t look like the make all that much money.”
    “Only one making
any money is the fella who owns the mine.”
    The houses
gradually grew larger and had more space between them. Soon they were riding
through the middle of a small town called Elkins. Shops lined the streets and
people bustled about their business. It reminded Jordan of Marlins Bottom.
    “Look Pa!” Jordan
shouted and pointed at a wagon surrounded by folks rummaging through cartons of
merchandise. “There’s that peddler!”
    “Wonder if