Horrible Harvest

Tate shoved Monroe’s gun down the front of his britches and put himself behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll give your shoulder a squeeze when I’ve determined it’s prudent for you to free yourself and take Monroe’s weapon from my waistband.”

I give a sigh. “Bailey’s right. Don’t overthink this. This ain’t time for caution.”

He pushed me ahead, and we made our way through the long hallway, following the sound of a fiddle to the second dining room at the front of the house. It was a near round room with paned glass windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. It give a grand view of the world outside to those who set down for supper at the long cherry wood table. The white-speckled sky of black hanging high above the treetops outside give the room a flavor of piece it didn’t near earn. To the side of the windows was an old white woman. Every bit of her sag and aged skin was on full display as she was as bare-ass naked as the domestics. She stood playing the fiddle before a stand that give hold of a stack of sheet music.

I spotted Mr. Miller first thing. He was set at the head of the table. His cheeks and temples was washed over by a red rash. His beard was ratty and wild, a condition of grooming he wouldn’t never allowed ‘fore the war. His lips was dry and covered with flakes of dead skin. He looked like a body two-week dead. On top of everything, he was swoll-up something awful.

My brother Charles stood at attention in the back of the room. He give a scowl at the sight of me being escorted into the dining hall by Tate. Three other men from Miller’s brigade stood guard here and there. The men from Company K sat as guests at the table, wearing the dresses Mr. Stockton had ordered collected. Some of them had ribbons in their hair, while others were adorned with jewelry and bonnets. All wore makeup. The most heavily painted face belonged to Kenneth, who set trembling at the opposite end of the table from his daddy.

Upon seeing us, Mr. Miller quick snatched up the handgun that set on the table in front of him and turned the barrel in our direction.

“Who goes there?” The fancy fiddle music drowned him out, so he fired his gun into the ceiling, startling all in the room. The fiddle come to a screeching halt.

“Goddamn it, woman. Pay attention. We’ve got company.”

The fiddler hunched over and positioned the instrument over her lower biblicals while giving cover to her uppers with her free hand.

Mr. Miller stood and turned his swollen head in our direction. Pointing his revolver at us, he asked, “Who goes there? You hover in the dark, so I cannot see. Are you the one who brings mutiny to my home?”

I seen him squint as he tried to focus on us. It was clear as day the man couldn’t see near a thing.

“It’s me, General, sir. It’s Tate.”

Mr. Miller relaxed just a hair. “Tate. Yes. I know. It’s clear who you are. I know – And you’ve captured a conspirator – An assassin?”

“He has,” I said.

A smile spread across his face. “I know that voice.” He squinted even harder. “You are – It’s your brother, Charles! Is it not?”

“It is, sir.”

“Boy, what took you so long?” Mr. Miller asked as he stepped away from the table and moved towards us. “I’ve expected this moment to come since the day I first put eyes on your chubby-cheeked face all those years ago. I saw a premonition on the day we met – This boy will one hour come for me, I thought. He will bring sword and dagger – One to remove my head. The other to remove my heart.”

“Day’s come,” I said.

Charles stepped forward.

“Back, Charles. He poses no threat. He is subdued by my most obedient of servants.”

As Mr. Miller moved in closer, I caught wiff of him. He had an abiding stench that come from near every inch of his body. He weren’t just unwashed. He smelled like hot death.

“Tate, my boy, you’ve earned double rations for a month. Take from whatever servants you choose – Kenneth, fix your face for your paramour! He’s come to avenge you – That is why you’re here – ”

He was interrupted by the sound of screams and loud banging from the second floor. “What is that infernal racket?” He chuckled. “My men sometimes play too rough with our fancy maids, but they earn such proclivities to be satisfied. They are the finest brigade in the Confederacy. Surely, you know of our reputation, Augustus. Surely, you’ve heard of our victories and hard triumphs. We must be the talk of the entire military enclave – Confederate and Yankee alike. We hold the admiration and respect of all who dress in service to either side. Our greatness is the topic of conversation even in the Orient and Europe. There is no escaping the eminence of the Miller Brigade.”

“Heard plenty. Can’t say nothing of what the bluebellies say, but the Confeds got opinions. They say you’re shit, is what they say. A pile of it.”

Mr. Miller’s rash went deeper into the red. “You are of no consequence, boy. Madness jumps from your tongue. Your mind flutters into chaos – ” More banging and screams from the second floor took his attention. “I wish that noise to cease. At once.” It grew louder and more intense as a man could be heard releasing a blood-curdling scream. “Ah. Our proud bucks are skirmishing again.” He went from mad to joyful in a blink of an eye. “Rage from want. Toxicity of desire. It is the quintessence of a true warrior. They take the fruit of a woman, even if it must be wrested from a comrade-in-arms. Listen to them. They murder each other for their God-given right to experience pleasure. It is music to my ears – ” A cry for help come from one of his men upstairs, and Mr. Miller looked up, happy as a lark. This was his playground. Murder, rape, the want for it, it give him great pleasure.

A woman laughed, and he give a look of concern. “Charles, boy, reinstate order upstairs. Find that cackling female and remove her tongue. I will not tolerate such perversion. The Lord does not allow a woman to find lascivious pleasure in a warrior’s conquest.”

Charles didn’t hesitate. Once his general’s orders reached his ears, he darted out the room and marched toward the staircase at the entrance of the house.

Mr. Miller stood silent for a moment as he fought to find a thought that wasn’t jumbled into knots. When he finally spoke, the words struggled to pass through his dry lips. “What – What is it – What am I to do with you – I know your fate – Augustus. You are to watch your corruption undone. But that is for the morning – But what now? I am bored, and I look for entertainment. Can you entertain me, boy?”

“Got a talent for killing fat sumbitches. Wanna see?”

Mr. Miller snickered and playacted he was hurt by planting his hand over his heart. “Your sharp words do wound me so. There was such promise for you, Mr. Tennyson. Your father’s temperament swims in your veins. Your mother’s thirst for knowledge resides in your brain. My cunning imparted upon you in lesson and observation. The world was yours to rule, even more so than my own offspring. You betrayed your own entitlement – Granted to you by race and favor – You betrayed your future for a failed beat of your heart – Not just failed, but wicked and aberrant. I find your choices maddening and incomprehensible, for even if my son were born female, a more undesirable female would not exist. He is weak even for the fairer gender. What appeal does my son hold for you? Tell me. I must know.”

I stood. Stone faced. I weren’t angry. I weren’t scared. I weren’t anxious. I was determined. The fucker would die by my hand. I was set on it.

“Answer me, boy!”

“I will. When you’re on your last breath, I’ll surely whisper it to you, so you can take it with you to hell.”

The front door to the house opened with a loud thud.