Horrible Harvest

We cut through the path on horseback with a great deal more difficulty than I remember from my boyhood. It ain’t been used by human nor horse in decades. The woods had a great deal more tangle in it than it used to. I expected Allison to give complaint after complaint about the conditions, but she didn’t. She set silent listening to my story. She didn’t speak a word ‘til I was done.

“What’s this about you capturing Yankee cannons?”

“There’s nothing to it.”

“Your daddy thought there was something to it, and from what you say, he didn’t think that much of you.”

“Daddy was also stupid. He took to rumors and lies that fit his thinking. In his mind, Tennyson’s was heroes, so he believed I done what they say I done. Heroic things is done in war, but not as many as get reported. Little speck of truth might be in there somewheres, but when you get down to it luck finds the right day, the right time in that day, and the right fella – Or wrong fella, depends on which side you’re on.  All that gets mixed around and turnt into a story ‘bout a hero saving the day.”

“What was the mix around in your story?”

I give a sigh. “I did rush a row of cannons. I did do that. Not to save my men. Not because I was some kind of super soldier, no ma’am. That had nothing to do with it. I done it hoping I’d get kilt. I was done with everything. The morning, the day, the war – life. I was just done. I run at them cannons begging’em to fire on me.”

She set quiet in my declaration for a tick. “I’m guessing they didn’t fire on you since you’re still here.”

“Nah, they did.”

“But you ain’t – dead.”

“Cannon misfired. Took out the whole lot of’em. I hated every one of them sumbitches for taking my death from me. Instead of me ending up grave deep, I was give handshakes and pats on the back for killing eight bluebellies and taking out three cannons single handed. I told Captain Doc the real for true story, and he responded by pulling out his Bible and reading verses to me. All that did was make me wish double that I was dead, so I kept secret my intent that day to save me the bullshit that comes from that kind of confession. They wanna believe me a hero, let’em. Didn’t make a damn to me.”

We crossed the line between woods and farm just as the word “me” pushed past my lips. Only it wasn’t hardly a farm no more. It was the corpse of a farm. Our little house didn’t have but three walls to it. The rest of it was caved in, and the porch was being strangled by weeds and dead leaves. The barn wasn’t nothing but a piece of or two of it’s old frame. The paddies was nothing but swamp. I was struck sad by the state of it. It was hell for me as a boy, but in that hell I had momma, and I had Charles. The old Charles. The boy who give me comfort when the Devil stalked about.

Allison sensed my sadness. “This ain’t it.”

I turnt to her, not knowing what she meant.

“It don’t look like this. This ain’t how it really is. I see a whole entire, tiny little house and a barn in good standing shape. Oh, and the paddies. Would you look at those. Rows and rows of rice plants – or whatever the hell you call that sort thing. I see all that. Don’t you.”

I smiled. “I know better than anyone that things fade with time, Allison Weaver Duffy. You ain’t gotta worry ‘bout what I see. This don’t do nothing to me, but remind me time is on my heels, and I got things to do before it catches up to me.”

“What sort of things?”

I jumped off my mount. “Well, for starters. I’m gonna gather wood for a fire and find a place to bed down.”

“You’re talking around my question.”

“That I am.”

She climbed off her horse. “Alright then. How ‘bout you tell me the last time you were here.”

I looked over the property and considered her request. “I can do that.”