Charlie Martz and Other Stories (21 page)

“I have a ride, thanks.” He said then, “Perhaps you'll be coming to Mexico again sometime. Do you think?”

Megan smiled. “To the plaza de toros?”

Eladio nodded. “I'll dedicate a bull to you. I feel I owe you one.”

She watched him pick up his coat and suitcase. As he walked off into the darkness, she was half sure she would see him again. She was completely sure she would hear of him again.

T
HERE WERE UNION SUPPLY
wagons passing the house, part of General Sooy Smith's forces, moving through the mist and the chill and the February mud, moving back through Okolona.

Olin Worrel watched them from the front porch. He had knocked on the door and now stood gazing out at the road, at the slowly moving line of gray canvas.
They've got all the time in the world,
he was thinking.
Seven thousand Yankees. They can back off for a while and let Bedford Forrest worry himself sick. Then come back any time they want.

A company of cavalry came up on the wagons, thinning single file to pass along the tree-lined shoulder of the road. Olin Worrel recognized them by the lieutenant in the lead—part of McCrilli's Brigade—and he waved to them, dropping his arm abruptly and turning away as the last rider filed past the house.

He was about to knock on the door again, but he saw the knob turn. He pulled off his hat and with a quick, self-conscious gesture,
smoothed his mustache, brushing it out from the corners of his mouth with thumb and second finger, then dropped his hand as the door opened and said quietly, “Virginia, I wondered if there was anything I could do.”

“I don't believe so, Olin. Thank you.”

She was dressed in black, a young woman who looked at Worrel calmly and without curiosity. Her features, small and well defined, were accentuated by the pale, drawn appearance of her skin. Her hair, dark and parted in the middle, was combed back into a tight, flat-shaped knot.

Worrel looked beyond her into the hall. “Is there someone with you?”

“The ladies from Okolona were here.”

“I thought I heard somebody.”

“They were here this morning.”

Worrel stood tall to look past her, thrusting out his chin and stretching his neck.
He's older than thirty-eight,
the girl thought absently, her eyes on the face that was close to hers and looking beyond her. Worrel's head came down and she lowered her eyes.

“You should have somebody with you,” Worrel said. “I mean all the time, not just for a visit.”

“I'll be all right.”

“Virginia, I wish there was something I could say.”

She was thinking:
Don't try to say anything. Just leave.
But she felt the silence lengthening and she said, “Finding words of sympathy is never easy. You don't have to say anything, Olin; I know how you feel. Everyone has been very kind.”

“You still ought to have somebody.”

“Olin, if you don't mind.” Her hand moved up the edge of the door. “I'd like to rest now. I've been up since five o'clock.”

Worrel moved closer, taking her hand. “I'm sorry. I'm not making it any easier, am I?”

“I'll be all right in a few days, Olin. Let me just rest and think a little bit and I'll be all right.”

“You take your time,” Worrel said gently. “I know this will delay our plans, but I don't mind. I've waited a long time for you, Virginia; longer than you realize. I watched you even before you were married, so I guess it won't hurt me to wait a little bit longer.” He hesitated awkwardly. “Just how long do you think, honey?”

“Please . . . we'll talk about it later.”

“I'm always saying the wrong thing. Virginia, sometimes I could cut my tongue out. I mean I can run a business, give people orders that work for me. But I swear, Virginia, I get with you and I'm like a twelve-year-old boy.”

“It won't be long,” she said patiently.

He patted her hand gently. “You get a good rest and don't worry about anything. I'll keep an eye on the house. With all those Yankees marching through, you just don't know. Oh, they'll be back, I know that; but right now they're skittery, nervous because of Forrest—” He broke off, looking suddenly past her.

“I heard it again. Virginia, there's somebody in your house whether you know it or not.”

“Olin, it's all right—”

“I know there is. I heard it.” He shifted his position, raising his head and looking beyond the hall into the parlor. “There!” His hand tightened on hers. He was tensed, listening, but now there was only silence and his hand eased open slowly. “Virginia, you heard that,” he whispered earnestly. “For Lord sake, like somebody falling to the floor.”

He hesitated, studying the girl suspiciously, then brushed past her before she could stop him, hurrying through the front room to the dining room, then through it to the sun parlor. There, in the doorway, he stopped.

A man he had never seen before was lying on the floor with both
hands pressed tightly to his side. A Dragoon revolver was on the floor an arm's length away from him, near a basin of rust-colored water. Long strips of cloth, cut from a sheet, were draped over one end of the sofa.

“Virginia, he's a soldier!” Worrel stared at the man's faded gray jacket, unbuttoned but held almost together by a belt that crossed his chest to holster beneath his left arm. His eyes were closed, held tightly closed, and his jaw was clenched so that Olin could see his teeth through the light beard stubble that covered his face. He was a young man, perhaps no older than Virginia.

She moved past him, stooping over the wounded man, then glanced back at Worrel. “Help me get him onto the sofa.”

Worrel was frowning. “How'd he get here?”

“He came to the back door, not an hour ago.”

They raised him by his shoulder and heard him suck in his breath. But once on the sofa he seemed to relax. His eyes were still closed, but now his face was composed and his chest rose and fell evenly with his breathing. Worrel looked over her shoulder, watching her raise the wounded man's hands from the bloodstained bandage that circled his waist. “It's bleeding again,” Virginia murmured. “The bullet went cleanly through his side; but every time he moves it starts bleeding.”

Worrel shook his head. “He's got to have a doctor.”

Virginia said, “There isn't a doctor in Okolona. You know that.”

“Yes there is.” Worrel paused. “One in McCrilli's Brigade I know of for sure. He's billeted right down the street from me.”

Virginia looked up. “You'd hand him over to the Yankees?”

“I'm thinking about the man's life.”

She had unfastened the bloodstained bandage and now pulled it gently from beneath the wounded man. “He wants to get back to his company,” Virginia said quietly.

“You talk to him?”

“A little bit. He's been asleep most of the time.”

“Who is he?”

“His name is McLean. A lieutenant in Tyree Bell's Brigade.”

“That's Forrest,” Worrel said. His voice rose nervously. “Virginia, will you tell me why you ever took him in?”

“Olin, the man came to my door bleeding to death.”

Worrel stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “We've got to think of something.”

Virginia looked up again. “I don't particularly care what happens to him. I don't care much if he lives or dies. But I'm not going to turn him over to the Yankees.”

“All right, then send him away. Make him get out the way he came.”

“Is that what you'd do?”

“I wouldn't hesitate a minute. Not with seven thousand Yankees in the neighborhood and all of them nervous mean because Forrest is breathing down their necks. No, sir, I wouldn't hesitate even a second.”

Virginia began, “If it's certain Forrest will retake Okolona—”

“Listen,” Worrel said. “The only thing that's certain is the Yankees are here this minute and that's reason enough to get rid of him.”

“He wants somebody to take him through the Union lines.”

Worrel stared at her. “Are you serious?”

“It's the only thing he talks about.”

Worrel stirred restlessly, frowning, looking from McLean to the girl. “But how'd he ever get here in the first place?”

“Early this morning he was west of town with a scouting party and they ran into Yankees.” Virginia was holding a fresh cloth to McLean's side now, not looking at Worrel as she spoke. “Mr. McLean was shot, but he clung to his horse until back somewhere beyond the orchard he dropped off. He said that he passed out; then, just about an hour ago, he came to the back door.”

“The Yankees could come here any time,” Worrel said absently,
glancing toward the drawn curtains of the windows. He was thinking of what he would say next, building the words in his mind. He glanced at McLean and saw his eyes still closed.

“Virginia, listen to me. Listen carefully so you'll understand the situation.”

“Olin, I'm aware—”

“Just a minute, Virginia. Listen and think it over like a reasonable person. Here's the thing. General Sooy Smith comes down here from Memphis with over seven thousand Yankees, marches the whole way here in a week and nobody stops him. In the meantime Sherman has marched from Vicksburg clear to Meridian and nobody stops him either. You see what I'm driving at? Two Yankee armies controlling just about the whole of Mississippi.”

This isn't real,
Virginia thought.
You are going to marry him and you can't even bear his serious, whining voice.

“All right. Sooy Smith doesn't get all the way down to Meridian like everybody says he was supposed to. He gets as far as West Point and finds Bedford Forrest with his scrawny little brigades pecking at his flanks. Good. But not good enough. Smith doesn't join up with Sherman, but they say he's destroyed a million dollars' worth of corn, cotton, and railroad and picked up three thousand Negroes on the way. Not retreating, Virginia, just backing up now he's done a job. Next thing, Forrest with his brother and Tyree Bell and Richardson and them, they come flying at Sooy Smith's rear, and everybody thinks they got him on the run.”

“A moment ago,” Virginia said, “you described them being nervous mean, afraid Forrest would overtake them.”

“Virginia, listen to me. That's true. A rear guard action isn't the same as fighting head-on. You're at a disadvantage, sure; but it's temporary and it doesn't mean you're going to get licked.”

Virginia nodded patiently. “And what does that have to do with Mr. McLean?”

“The point is, the Yankees have Mississippi. Whether we like it or not they're here. And if Sooy Smith pulls out of Okolona today. That doesn't mean he won't come back tomorrow. He could come swinging back before you even unload your Mr. McLean and you'd be worse off than you are now . . . I'm saying, Virginia, accept the facts. The Yankees are here to stay, so you might as well try to get along with them.”

Virginia shrugged. “If the Yankees find him here, all right. If he wants to leave here on his own, that's all right too. I don't intend to help him, and I'm past caring about the war or what happens to me or anyone in it.”

“What about us, Virginia. You don't care what happens to us?”

“Olin, let's stop.” She rose abruptly and walked past him, through the dining room to the front of the house. In the parlor she turned, waiting for him. “Just leave now, Olin. Forget you ever saw him.”

Worrel shook his head gravely. “I can't do that. Not while you're in danger for even one minute.”

“Don't dramatize it, Olin.”

“I'm serious,” Worrel said. “I'll find a way to lick this and I'll come back. Just trust me, Virginia.”

For some time she stood with her forehead pressed to the door. Worrel's footsteps had faded to nothing, but still she stood listening, gradually becoming aware of the silence and the dim emptiness of the house.
I'm tired,
she thought.
And there's no sense to this
.

But he's still there,
she thought then, and moved from the door, passing soundlessly through the soft gray rectangles of light that stretched across the rug from the curtained windows, seeing him then in the sun parlor, beyond the dim length of the dining room, seeing his head turned on the pillow to face her and with his eyes open.

His eyes were clear and held her gaze calmly, though the lines of his face, the beard stubble and lean, drawn expression, told of days with little sleep.

She stooped, picking up the basin of water, and placed it on the side table. She noticed McLean's revolver and stooped again, glancing at him this time, and saw his arm extended.

“How do you feel?” She stepped close enough to hand him the revolver.

“I'm afraid to move to find out.” McLean slipped the Dragoon under the pillow. He lowered his eyes then as Virginia kneeled beside him. She pulled open his jacket and gently peeled the bloodstained cloth from his wound.

“You shouldn't have got up.”

“You left the door open,” McLean said. “I wanted to get out of view, but when I stood up it was like I didn't have any legs. I just fell over and the blood started coming again.”