The Good Lord Bird

He turned to Owen and said, “Take Fred, Weiner, Bob, the Onion, and the rest of the men to Osawatomie. See what you see and report back with the men. But leave the Onion in Osawatomie with your sister-in-law Martha or the Adairs, for she has seen enough killing. Don’t tarry.”

“Yes, Father.”

He turned to me and said, “Onion, I is sorry I am taking you out the fight. I knows how much you like fighting for your freedom, having seen you in action at Black Jack”—I ain’t done a thing there that I recall other than cower and holler in that ravine when we was taking fire, but the Old Man looked over there and saw me down there with the best of his men, and I reckon he claimed that as bravery. That was the thing with the Old Man. He seen what he wanted to see, for I knowed I was square terrified, and unless you count hollering uncle and curling up into a ball and licking your toes signs of courage and encouragement, there weren’t nothing too courageous about what I done down there. Anyway, he went on: “Brave as you are, we involved here is men, even Bob here, and it is best that you stay in Osawatomie with my friends the Adairs till things calm down, then think about heading north to your freedom where it is safer for a girl to be.”

Well doggone it I was ready to hit out hooting and hollering that minute. I was done with the smell of gunpowder and blood. Him and his men could pick fights and spur their horses into shoot-outs for the rest of their days as far as I was concerned. I was finished. But I tried not to show too much joy about the whole bit. I said, “Yes, Captain, I will honor your wishes.”

Osawatomie was a full day’s ride from Prairie City, and Owen decided to lead his men on the main California Trail, which was a little more risky for chance meetings with Pro Slave patrols, but he wanted to get back to his Pa in quick fashion. The Adairs who I was set to stay with lived off that trail too, in the same general direction as Osawatomie, so all the more reason to take the trail. It worked out well at first. As we rode, I gived a thought or two to where I’d slip off to once Owen and the Old Man’s men left. I had a few boy’s items I’d picked up in my travels, and a few little items. But where to go? North? What was that? I didn’t know north in any way, shape, fashion, or form in them days. I was considering this thought as I rode along with Fred, which always made me feel better about myself, for Fred didn’t require but a half a mind to talk to, being that he weren’t but half a glass, which made him a good talking partner, for I could think one thing to myself and chat to him about another, and he generally was agreeable to anything I said.

Me and him lingered in the rear of the column, with Weiner and Owen leading up front, and Bob in the middle. Fred seemed blue.

“I heard Owen say you know all your letters now,” he said.

“I do,” I said. I was proud of it.

“I’m wondering why I can’t hold a letter in my head,” he said drearily. “I learns one at a time and forgets ’em right off. Everybody else can hold their letters in their head except me. Even you.”

“Knowing letters ain’t all it’s cracked up to be,” I said. “I ain’t read but one book. It’s a Bible picture book I got from the Old Man.”

“You think you could read it to me?”

“Why, I’d be happy to,” I said.

When we stopped to water the horses and eat, I got my book out and throwed a few words at Fred. I gived him my version of it anyway, for while I knowed my letters, I didn’t know more than a few words, so I cooked up what I didn’t know. I gived him the book of John, and John’s tellin’ the people of Jesus’s coming and Jesus being so great that John weren’t even worthy to fasten his slippers. The story growed to the size of an elephant in my retelling of it, for when’s the last time you read in the Bible ’bout a horse named Cliff pulling his wagon ’round into the city of Jerusalem wearing slippers? But Fred never said a cross or contrary word as he listened. He liked it fine. “It’s the most dandy reading of the Bible I ever heard,” he declared.

We mounted up and followed the trail that crossed to the north side of the Marais des Cygnes River, which cuts through Osawatomie. We were passing close to the Brown settlement but not quite at it, when the smell of smoke and hollering suddenly drifted into the wind.

Owen rode ahead to look, then returned at full gallop. “The Missourians is having it out with a bunch of Free State Indians, looks like. Maybe we should run back and fetch Father.”

“No. Let’s join the Indians and attack the rebels,” Weiner said.

“We got orders from our Pa,” Owen said.

Them two argued about it, with Weiner favoring joining the Indians and attacking the redshirts, and Owen in favor of obeying the Old Man’s orders and movin’ on to check on Osawatomie, or at least run back and fetch the Old Man. “By the time we get anywhere, the redshirts will have burned them Indians out and moved into Osawatomie,” Weiner said.

“We got my orders to ride on,” Owen said.