Beyond the Fire Page 11

  It was midmorning when a lone rider came into the yard. “Cotton!” he called. When Bill appeared at the door, he continued, “You are to report for troop selection one hour past noon.”

  “Has there been a call to arms?” Bill asked.

  “There has!” the rider snapped, wheeling his horse around. “Don’t be late!”

  Bill began to fret, as time was short. They would have to leave almost immediately if he had to tote their belongings into town, deposit them at Dolly Trumbell’s house, and still make it to the assembly.

  Once packed, Mary began to clean the house. “Mary!” Bill complained. “Why are you cleaning the house? No one is going to see it!”

  “I don’t care!” she huffed. “I’m not leaving a dirty house.”

  Rather than argue, Bill grabbed a rag and began a poor pretense of dusting the few pieces of furniture their cottage contained. A few minutes later, he was ready to leave again, but Mary was nowhere to be seen. He found her in the bedroom, lost in thought as her fingers slowly traced the crown on the head of the figure at the center of the headboard.

  Bill’s anger subsided as he watched his childlike bride. Gently he said, “Mary, we really must be going.”

  She turned and smiled. “I’m ready now.”

  They hadn’t walked far when they began to meet people headed east: old men pushing carts, children playing tag, and women walking resolutely away from their beloved homes. Only Mary and her cart were headed west into Capri.

  People were fleeing to Waterfront, Sebring, or Stonewall. Some of the people they met were from Capri, but many more were from villages farther west. Offers were frequent to take Mary and her cart with them to Stonewall, but with each offer, Mary grew more resolute. Her mind was made up.

  She was shocked, however, upon her arrival in Capri. Hundreds of men were milling about the streets, but other than that, the town resembled a ghost town. Houses were empty, windows were boarded up, and people she had known all her life were gone.

  When they reached Dolly’s store, they were greeted by the old clerk, Peter. “So, you’ve come to stay with your mother a bit?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Mary said politely. “Is Mother here?”

  “She’s in the back, getting my pay.” Peter gestured with his head.

  “You’re not leaving too?” Mary asked with alarm.

  “Yes.” The old man sighed. “If Jabin’s men were to come to town, I’d only be easy sport for them.”

  Mary glanced at Bill but continued to address the old man. “But Peter, I had hoped you would stay with us. We could protect each other, couldn’t we?”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Mary, but I’m too old to ever handle a weapon again.”

  Just then, Dolly bustled into the room. Gliding over to Mary, she threw her arms around her daughter and exclaimed, “Gracious, child, I didn’t think you were ever going to come! Peter has just dealt me such a blow.” She looked coldly at the timid man. “He’s not going to stay with us!”

  “I know,” Mary said softly. “He told us.”

  “Men!” Dolly said in disgust, eyeing first Bill and then Peter, and then Bill again. “They up and run away at the first sign of trouble, leaving us women to fend for ourselves.”

  Bill knew it would be of no use to start a fight. Neither Mary nor her mother would change their minds. Instead he turned to Mary. “I’ve got to report for duty. Would you like to come along? I don’t know how the selection process will work, but if you come, you’ll know how it turns out as soon as I do.”

  Hope surged in Mary’s heart. “What will I see?” she asked as they turned to leave.

  “Nothing but men and weapons,” her mother called behind her. “Be reasonable, child. Stay here and don’t tire yourself.”

  “But Bill might not have to leave,” Mary called over her shoulder. “I’m praying that will be the case.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized what she was saying. Bill looked at her in surprise, but her eyes warned him not to say another word.

  In silence they walked into the street and headed for the town square. Mary hurried to keep pace with her man. She knew Bill believed in God and wanted her to believe as well, but she didn’t know why it was so important to him.

  After about a block, she was nearly winded. “Bill, can you slow down a bit?” she pleaded. “I haven’t hurried this fast for weeks.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bill said, slowing quickly. “Are you all right? I’m afraid my mind was miles away.”

  They stopped beneath a giant oak tree, which blocked the sun and cooled the air. Mary looked longingly at the man she loved. “Where did your mind go, Bill?”

  “I was hoping you had begun a relationship with the Lord.”

  There it was! Mary felt the old resentment and anger returning. Was she going to get a sermon today? Her words were sharper than she intended them to be, “I already have a relationship with you, Bill. Wouldn’t you be jealous if I had one with God too?”

  Bill stared at his wife in disbelief. “No! What on earth do you mean?”

  Mary was angry now, and he’d asked for it. “I hate it when you spend so much time with God! You think more about Him than you do me. Last night I went to bed crying. Did you come and comfort me through my tears? No! You sat up half the night praying. And praying to whom? I didn’t see anyone. Is God a figment of your imagination? Just think: a full-grown man talking to a figment of his own imagination. The idea is absurd!”

  “But,” Bill stammered, “only a moment ago you said you would be praying for the outcome of the selection process. What was that all about?”

  Mary blushed deeply. “I don’t know. I didn’t know what I was saying. You seem to find relief when you pray. I thought it seemed like the right thing to say.”

  Bill’s face softened. “Honey, if you had a problem too big to handle, where would you go for help?”

  She eyed him suspiciously but answered, “To you or to someone who could help, I suppose.” She searched his face for a clue to the reason for the strange question.

  “Precisely.” Bill grinned. “That is all I do when I pray. If I have a problem too big to solve myself, I go to someone stronger or smarter than I am. I take my problems to my heavenly Father.”

  They had begun to walk again, but they slowed beneath an old cottonwood tree. Bill clasped Mary’s shoulders between his big hands. “Mary,” he began. “I love you, and I’ve made some very foolish decisions lately. I’ve created some big problems for both of us, and I am so sorry. I don’t really know where else to turn.”

  “But how does talking to thin air help you?”

  “I don’t talk to thin air.” Bill led his wife to the trunk of the huge tree and placed her palm against its rough bark. “Who made this tree?”

  Mary was at a total loss. “What are you talking about? I suppose someone planted it and watered it a long time ago, and it grew.”

  Just then, a woman came to the door of her house nearby and threw some water out the door onto a struggling garden. Bill pointed at the scene and asked, “Who thought of making water? It didn’t just happen. Someone had to make the first batch.”

  Mary’s patience was growing thin. Exasperation edged her voice as she asked, “Bill Cotton, what are you getting at?”

  Laughing, Bill took his wife’s tiny hand in his own and gently laid it on her burgeoning tummy. “Who made this?”

  “I think you and I both had something to do with it,” she said hotly.

  “Sure,” Bill said with a grin. “But who is making it grow, and who will give it that precious breath of life when it is born?”

  “Isn’t that just the way of nature?” Mary asked.

  “Yes and no!” Bill answered. “It is the way nature works, but nature follows a carefully designed plan. Nothing just happens in life; everything follows a plan. Someone made a plan fo
r each of us to follow, and that plan is not always easy. Look at this old tree. It is twisted and bent from enduring violent storms as it grew, but it still stands and gives shade to all who pass beneath its branches. Those hardships were part of our Creator’s plan for this tree. He made a plan for you and me as well.”

  “A plan?” Mary asked. “What plan are you talking about?”

  “You—” Bill started to say, but his words were cut short by a loud trumpet blast. He jumped. “Wow, I’ve got to report!”

  They scurried toward the town square. Soldiers were everywhere. The number of women present surprised them both, for the town had seemed nearly deserted. Unknown to them, most of these ladies were already packed and waited only until the selection process was done before they left town.

  Mary noticed that the men were all wearing a funny black hat that had two brass straps running across it. She’d laughed at Bill’s when he’d shown it to her, but now, with all the men wearing them, they looked quite distinctive.

  Bill gave her a quick hug and left her in the shade. Each unit had one hundred men, twenty abreast and five rows deep. Bill hurried to find his place.

  Master Johnson had committed nearly all the soldiers in his community to the cause. He hoped to leave his town deserted so they could concentrate their efforts elsewhere. Out of twenty-five units, twenty would head for war.

  Commander Barker strode through endless columns of men, pausing from time to time to look deeply into some man’s eyes. Did he see eagerness? Dread? When Barker stopped before Bill Cotton, Bill knew that Barker could see a willingness to go—but a stronger desire to stay.

  Finally the commander strode to the center of the assembly. “Gentlemen, we have been called to war! Twenty units will march with the army of Amity. The other five will remain in Capri and prepare for a possible invasion. I will number each unit, one through twenty-five, and each fifth unit will stay.”

  Bill glanced nervously at Mary as the numbering began. When his unit received number twenty-three, he wondered if Mary understood. He knew he was going to war, but how would Mary respond? There were further instructions about weapon selection and preparations to leave, but Bill thought only of Mary, standing there in the shade, worrying about the baby and the future.

  Finally the men were released for their final preparations, and Bill slipped quickly over to where Mary stood expressionless beneath the trees. Slipping his arm about her waist, he said, “Come with me to the armory, Mary. I won’t be able to walk you back to your mother’s, but the armory is on the way.”

  As if in a daze, Mary turned and tottered silently along. Her silence bothered Bill, and he stopped and looked her full in the face. “Mary, are you all right?”

  Mary’s eyes suddenly flashed with anger. “Is this how your God answers prayer?”

  Bill held her tight so she couldn’t run away. “The Lord doesn’t always say yes to our desires. Sometimes He asks us to do things we don’t want to do. We must trust that this is His will for us!”

  “Trust God?” Mary spat. “You’re a fool, Bill Cotton! Why did I ever marry you?” She gave a violent tug and tore free from his grasp. Turning on nimble feet, she fled down the lane.

  Bill watched in shock as his wife disappeared around a corner.

  Mary turned the corner and found a bench near the street. Collapsing onto its shaded surface, she gasped for air. This little run and her sudden outburst had left her breathless. She hadn’t done too much lately, for Bill had insisted on doing almost everything for her, including the laundry. He didn’t want her to strain herself in her “condition,” and now she was out of shape.

  Flushed and hot, Mary swept hair from her brow and allowed the breeze to cool her face. The anger she had felt moments before was ebbing away.

  The sun was still high, but the intensity of its heat had passed, and as she cooled, Mary’s mind began to clear. Her first thoughts were of Bill. She felt a pang of remorse for the angry words she had spoken at their parting.

  Bill would have no pleasure or comfort tonight, but neither would she. Thinking of Bill’s arms about her was too much. Her head dropped into her hands, and sobs shook her fragile body. She thought of all the hateful things she had said and done to Bill these last few days.

  Is it my own fault? she wondered. Did Bill join the army just to get away from me? Suddenly, alarming thoughts entered her mind. What if Bill should be killed and he never sees his baby? Why did I leave him that way? Will he know I really love him?

  Out of habit she began to rub her swollen tummy, a tune on her lips. “Hush now, baby, don’t you cry. You need not worry; your mama’s nearby. Hush now, baby, don’t you cry.” The lullaby had a calming effect on Mary, and her tears ceased to flow.

  Gathering her wits about her, she began to plan her next move. Had she heard the instructions Commander Barker had given? Yes—and no. She had been so angry with God for not answering her prayer that she wasn’t really sure what the commander had said. She thought the men were to collect their weapons, food, and supplies and then camp in the square during the night. The army of Amity would march from Stonewall late tonight and camp east of Capri. They would pass through town tomorrow morning, and the men of Capri would fall in behind them.

  Maybe, she thought, I can sneak down to see Bill tonight. No! Mother would never let me out of the house. But maybe I can come early tomorrow morning before he leaves.

  These thoughts buoyed her spirits, and she dried her tears with a handkerchief. “I mustn’t look like I’ve been crying when Mother sees me. She hates weakness.” She’d spoken out loud, and her voice startled her in the silence. The street was completely empty, and though she had sat there quite a long time, not a soul had passed by.

  Slowly she rose to leave, but a sharp pain in her lower back stole her breath away and forced her to sit down again. The pain grew in intensity, spreading around her body and drawing her abdomen tight. She could not breathe! Then, as suddenly as it had come, it was gone. Gasping for breath, she sat perplexed, wondering what had just happened.

  The next time she arose, nothing happened. She carefully brushed the wrinkles from her long skirt, straightened her hair, and turned toward her mother’s home. Taking her time, Mary strolled down familiar streets, examining each house and dredging up memories of former playmates, now grown and gone.

  She smiled as she reached the main road. It was paved with cobblestones from the creek and lined with large, beautiful trees. This was a lovely street anytime, but it was especially so in the fall when the leaves turned their vibrant hues of red, orange, and yellow.

  Many businesses along the cobblestone street were now empty. There were no goats or cows at the butcher shop, and the carpenter’s shop was entirely boarded over. She passed the silversmith’s and the dry goods store. Further on there was a tailor shop, a cobbler’s shop, and finally, Dolly Trumbell’s.

  Dolly lived in the rooms above her late husband’s toy and craft shop. Mary noted that this was the first building she’d come to that was not fully boarded up. She smiled at the etching in the glass window: Tinker Trumbell’s Toys. Her father had not been a big man. He’d been unable to do the heavy labor common to all industrious communities, so he had turned his hands to craftsmanship. Mary surveyed the laden shelves through the window. Most of her father’s wares had been sold. The store now served as an outlet for others.

  Memories surrounded her as she surveyed the handiwork of other craftsmen. She remembered how her father had delicately cut thin sheets of tin and twisted them into toy soldiers, tiny rocking chairs, or entire sets of tiny furniture. She remembered his painstaking labor while carving a miniature horse and cart. The rich smell of wood, paint, and lacquer filled her senses as she climbed the steps.

  Lifting the latch, she half expected the same odors to fill the room. She almost anticipated her father’s call, “Greetings, my one and only. Come see my new toy.�
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  But there was no familiar smell, no laughing voice. All was silent, except for the door maiden’s chime. Dolly called from the back, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Bustling in, Dolly quickly transformed the quiet room into a vision of activity. Dusting the shelves and moving articles from one spot to another, she began an endless tirade of conversation. “Oh, Mary, darling, it’s you. Thank goodness you’re not late. Did your Bill get to stay? Of course not. I can see that in your face. I’m sure not many did. Our good Master Johnson thinks that when there is trouble everyone should pack up and run to Waterfront. Just go and leave all our things here. Well, not us! We’ll show them. We can make it without men for protection. Now, I started some stew for our supper. Run back and wash up dear. My, you look dreadful! Have you been crying? Shame! Shame! You shouldn’t cry over someone who would run off and leave you at a time like this. Well, don’t worry. I’m here. Mama will take care of you now.”

  Without stopping for a breath, she gently took Mary’s shoulder and pushed her into the hallway that led to the kitchen. Several rooms branched off this dimly lit corridor, and the first one Mary came to was her father’s old work room. Pausing to glance into the darkened room, she half expected to see her father sitting behind his bench, wiry white hair flying about the fringe of his bald head, his long white mustache drooping nearly to his jawbone, his eyes twinkling with perpetual youth over his wire-rimmed spectacles.

  That was how she remembered him. “Ah, my pet,” he would call. “Come see what I’ve made today.” Mary instinctively wanted to run to his embrace. Tears welled in her eyes, for she had not been here the day his heart had stopped beating.

  Unaware of her daughter’s thoughts, Dolly became impatient in the hall behind her. “What is the matter, child?”

  “Nothing!” Mary dabbed at her eyes and turned toward the kitchen.