Cade's Quest
The Beginning
Copyright©2005 by Ed Howdershelt
ISBN 1-932693-27-0
Caution: Some Erotic Content
Chapter Two
The rather portly man on the school stage paused for breath, fixed the front rows of the student audience with a steely gaze, and forcefully concluded his oration with, "We, the enlightened, truly Christian citizens of these United States, have fought against reprehensible evil for the past full year because we cannot simply stand by while fellow human beings are brutally, viciously enslaved by our own countrymen."
Slamming his open palm on the dais made a sound like a shot as he shouted, "We most certainly can not! As good Christian men, we must not!"
Stepping back from the podium, US Army Major Harold Fillmore stood as tall as possible and gave his blue uniform coat a settling tug that rattled his six medals, posturing by the dais as another man rose from a line of seated school officials behind him.
Apparently quite happy to be referred to as 'men' as well as 'enlightened', the student audience began clapping, whistling, and cheering. A few of the older boys stood, then more got to their feet and their ovation went on for another minute or so.
Ed Cade also got to his feet and -- after putting down the book he'd been reading -- mimed clapping along with the others, mostly to avoid unnecessary schoolyard harassments and confrontations with 'true believers'.
Unlike most of his classmates, Cade had always been generally unmoved by political, religious, and patriotic rhetoric. Some odd turn of his mind seemed to examine every phrase for hidden motivations and meanings.
In his opinion, posturing blowhards like Major Fillmore were just shills who came to schools to recruit cannon fodder for the Army by wrapping current issues in patriotic and religious oratory and infecting the minds of callow students with dreams of battlefield glory.
The Major had leaned heavily on the issue of Negro slavery. Cade had no doubt that recruiting shills in the south were leaning just as hard on the other side of the same issue.
Cade didn't need a pudgy Major to tell him that slavery was wrong. He'd met enough local Negroes to know that they had the same general interests as everyone else and -- although most Negroes were poorly educated -- they didn't seem inherently more stupid than anyone else.
In the agricultural south, slavery was an issue that by itself had caused several states to secede from the Union. Slaves were their core labor force. Freeing them would not only mean having to pay them, it would mean watching far too many of them leave in search of better lives.
But in the north, slavery wasn't even close to being the true reason for the war. Nothing was more important to the Union government than the territory, population, and revenue to be lost by the Confederate States' secession.
As the school principal beat his gavel on the podium and requested -- then demanded -- quiet in the auditorium, Cade considered his options yet again.
He'd turn eighteen in four months, right after graduation. Since there was nothing physically or mentally wrong with him, he could pretty much count on being conscripted, and failure to report when called would land him in prison.
His family didn't have money enough to pay someone to take his place; hell, they'd barely had money enough to help him stay in school.
Leaving the country would mean never returning for fear of being imprisoned or hanged, and opportunities further north didn't appear too rich, as the Canadian government had already voiced its opinion of "cowards" who ran from military service.
Cowardice had nothing to do with Cade's reluctance to participate. He was a student of history and he knew that wars were both extremely expensive and vastly profitable; expensive as hell for the average citizenry -- especially those who'd lose their sons, homes, and farms -- and profitable beyond reason for the select few in positions of power, most of whom were already bloated with wealth.
For all the fine, proud words about emancipation and 'bringing the joys of equality and democracy to the Negro man', this war was about nothing more than land, power, and money, just like most all other wars throughout history.
Companies supplying weapons and ammunition, wagons, tents, uniforms, horses, food, and other staple items to the militaries would grow fat with profits.
The men who carried, wore, and used all that equipment would receive pitifully small wages in exchange for risking their lives daily. Some would survive, but far too many would return missing arms and legs if they didn't end up in a pine box.
Correction; if they didn't end up stripped of their uniforms and gear, dumped into a long trench with their fellow dead, and buried in some far away and anonymous plot of land.
For some, the scars of war would be internal. They'd return to their farms and homes -- if their farms and homes still existed -- and discover that such places no longer suited them or that they now posed a danger to themselves and the very people they'd fought to protect.
That had been the fate of Henry Vance Lee, who'd fought and slaughtered Indians as an Army scout for sixteen years before realizing they were human beings who were just defending their ancestral lands.
Lee had married an Indian woman and settled on a farm two miles from town. He'd spoken out about his newfound beliefs too often and been soundly ridiculed. When he'd continued voicing his beliefs, local officials had used late tax payments to 'appropriate' his property and they'd jailed him when he'd objected.
Lee's wife had returned with their infant son to her tribe to wait for him, but illness had claimed both mother and son during the following winter.
After almost a year of being a vicious drunk day and night, Henry Vance Lee had walked out of the town's only pub and disappeared during a winter storm. His frozen body had been found on the trail by the river; apparently he'd simply sat down against a tree and waited quietly for oblivion.
Cade didn't want to have to kill or be killed or end up a physical or mental cripple in order to help some company fill its vaults with gold or further the career ambitions of politicians.
But without the documented religious convictions of a conscientious objector and being unwilling to go to prison, deliberately cripple himself, or to leave the country, Cade would have only one viable option. He'd simply have to make the best choices possible when he entered one of the militaries.
The school principal said a few more words, then dismissed the assembly. Cade re-strapped his three school books, shouldered his bundle, and left the hall, avoiding clusters of other students who -- still stirred by the Major's rousing speech -- blathered intensely at each other about such things as heroism, glory, and great moral causes.
About four fingers' depth of new snow had fallen during the day. Cade trod carefully on the worn stone steps of the school and the cobbles of Volant's main street as he made his way a block south to a parallel unpaved street and surer footing.
Where his cross-country shortcut home began by the stream at the edge of town, Cade stopped to roll up his left sleeve and unwind his sling from his arm.
After one of the other boys had mentioned Cade's previous sling, Cade had been called to the school office to endure a lecture about civility. The fact that Cade might miss an opportunity to bring home some small game for the table made no difference to Principal Hoag, who confiscated Cade's sling.
Cade's response had been to make a new sling and to no longer keep it in his pockets, which were now subject to impromptu inspections in school.
Shaking out the cords, he spit lightly on the leather pouch between them and folded it, then rubbed the sides against themselves to soften them.
He always stopped in the same place on the way home because there were plenty of smooth, small round stones in the stream that flowed from nearby Potter Lake.
After choosing a dozen marble-sized stones, Cade slung his book bundle on his left shoulder, placed a stone in the sling's pouch, and moved on, alert for any motion that might turn out to be a rabbit or a good-sized bird.
Using the road, home was a bit more than three miles from school, but by taking the creekbed shortcut through Becker's farm, Cade shaved almost two miles off his daily walk.
Market wagons from surrounding farms usually provided him rides to school in the mornings. If time permitted, Cade would help the farmer unload, then walk the two blocks to school. If not, it didn't really matter; the farmers were also neighbors, and more than once in his young life Cade had helped build someone's new barn or harvest a crop.
A quarter-mile farther along the creek, three big rabbits broke cover and ran. Cade's sling whipped through a single swing and the rabbit to his left slidingly tumbled to a stop.
Cade reloaded his sling and moved forward. Another rabbit spooked from behind a snow-covered bush and Cade's stone found it. He automatically reloaded his sling as he watched for a third target and continued moving forward.
When the third rabbit failed to reappear, Cade took a bit of cord from his pocket, snapped the rabbits' necks and tied them to his belt, and continued onward along the stream.
Just before he reached Jim Becker's fence, the door of the farm's outhouse just up the hill opened, startling another rabbit into dashing under the fence and across the small garden plot beside Becker's house. Cade let fly a stone and the rabbit dropped a few feet from the house.
"Damned good shot!" said a male voice -- not Jim Becker's -- "Yessir, that was a whiz-bang damned good shot, boy! That there bunny was runnin' flat out and a-haulin' ass!"
The broadly grinning man was holding his pants up with his left hand and holding a cocked Colt revolver in his right. He let the hammer down gently as he conversationally exclaimed, "And by God, you got two more of 'em! Sumbitch! You're probably better with that thing than I am with this Colt! But does ol' Jim Becker know you hunt rabbits on his land?"
Nodding, Cade answered, "Yes, sir, that he does."
Cade saw three yellow stripes on the man's sleeves. That made him a sergeant. He was in his late twenties and favored his left leg as he turned to reach back into the outhouse for a crutch.
He shrugged before he tucked it under his left arm and said, "I'm supposed to use this damn thing for a while yet. Caught a ball in the leg. Just nicked the bone, but it hurt like a sumbitch at the time, I guaran-damn-tee ya. Still hurts now'n then."
Cade nodded slightly and said, "Not to be impolite, sir, but I need to get to that rabbit before it comes to."
The man chucklingly repeated the word 'impolite', then grinned and waved for Cade to proceed.
"Yeah, sure. I'll get myself together and see you up there in a minute. Cora's in the house."
'Cora'. That seemed a rather familiar way to refer to another man's wife. Could he be a relation? Cade slipped through the fence and hurried to the rabbit, snapped its neck, and walked to the front door of the house.
Before he could knock, Mrs. Becker opened it and greeted him effusively -- as she always did -- then praised his hunting skill as he presented her with the latest rabbit.
As the sergeant hobbled up behind him, Cade saw her fingers deftly check to see that the rabbit's neck had been properly broken, then she held the limp rabbit up with a big smile and said, "Guess what's for dinner, Dave!"
"Well," said the grinning sergeant, "Seein' as how Cora's so happy an' all, I guess ol' Jim prob'ly does know some kid's been huntin' his rabbits."
"Ed Cade," said Mrs. Becker, "Meet Jim's brother David. He arrived this afternoon and he'll be staying with us while he recuperates."
Cade looked more closely at the man as he approached. He only had a couple of weeks' worth of beard, so he was probably only about that long away from a hospital.
His uniform had definitely seen better days; the brass and leather needed attention, some small seam rips had occurred along the pockets and sleeves, and the uniform needed a good cleaning as badly as the man needed a bath.
The man noted Cade's critical examination of his uniform, but said nothing.
Extending a hand, Cade said, "Glad to meet you, sergeant."
Becker took his hand and asked, "You know what these stripes mean, huh? Good for you, boy! The time's a-comin' when you might be takin' orders from somebody with stripes like these. If you ain't wearin' bars, that is."
His last few words hadn't really sounded complimentary, but he reached to slap Cade's books lightly and said, "If I'd spent more time with those, I might've had myself some bars, too."
In a slightly self-righteous tone, Mrs. Becker commented, "I seem to remember a number of people suggesting..."
Sighing, Becker said, "Yeah, yeah. Too late now, Cora, so save it for this kid. Maybe he'll listen better'n I did." Faking a side-whisper to Cade, he added, "She was like that when she was ten, too, but Jim seemed to like her well enough."
With a sigh of her own, Mrs. Becker thrust the rabbit at him and said, "Here, soldier boy. Make yourself useful while I see if I can find young Mr. Cade some hot soup."
Becker laughed as he took the rabbit and hobbled toward the board table by the garden gate. Mrs. Becker started to lead Cade into the house, but Becker's shouted "Hey! You want me to dress those two while I got my knife out?"
"No, thanks," said Cade, pointing along the stream, "I still have a mile to go. I don't want the blood smell on me in the woods."
Nodding, Becker turned back to the rabbit as Cade hung his rabbits on a peg by the front door and went into the house.
"I can't stay long," he said as he pulled the door shut, "I have to split some wood before dark."
Cade set his books on the table, then set his coiled sling and remaining stones on top of them. No point in putting them away; he intended to hunt all the way home.
As she set his soup to the table, Cora Becker very quietly said, "I feel as if I should suggest that you limit your contact with David. He's not the same man I knew before the war."
Looking up from his soup, Cade met her gaze and just as softly asked, "Not the same how, ma'am?"
She sighed. "Apparently happy one minute, moody or angry the next. Short-tempered. His patience with someone can burn out with no warning at all. When that happens, he'll either order them to be quiet or treat them as if they ceased to exist."
Nodding slightly, Cade sipped his soup. He knew half a dozen such people among his neighbors. Most had lost family members -- often children -- to accidents and felt they had good reason to be short with others at times.
The blacksmith, for instance. He'd hired local boys to work in his shop for years, but since a mule had kicked and killed his only son, he'd worked alone and had become so brusque as to be unpleasant with any boys who asked about a job.
The door opened and Sergeant Becker came in with the freshly skinned rabbit, which he gave to Cora Becker before he hobbled to the other end of the table and gently sat down.
Sipping soup, Cade noticed Becker eyeing him and met his gaze for a moment. Becker made a little facial grimace that might have been an attempt at a small smile, but his eyes were like stones and he seemed to be looking through Cade more than at him.
Cade stirred his soup gently as he spoke.
"Sergeant Becker," Cade began, choosing his words with care, "A rather long-winded Army major came to my school today. He gave a rousing speech intended to inspire young men to dash to the nearest recruiting office."
Becker replied, "You don't sound too 'inspired'."
Pausing, Cade looked up from his soup and said, "No, I wasn't, but I turn eighteen in four months and there's no reason to think I won't be conscripted immediately. Would you care to offer me any advice?"
Cora Becker had frozen in place with a horrified look on her face. She rather unthinkingly let the ladle lower back into the soup, then that hand rose to cover her mouth.
Her eyes brimmed and she softly muttered, "Excuse me," as she set the ladle aside and hurried to the door.
David Becker watched her leave, then fixed his gaze on Cade. His eyes seemed to rakingly evaluate Cade before they settled on Cade's sling and stones.
He reached to pick up one of the stones and studied it between two fingers for a moment, then flicked it at Cade's chest as Cade was spooning up some more soup.
Cade's left hand flashed out and caught the stone almost a foot from his chest. Becker's left eyebrow went up as Cade wordlessly placed the stone back with the others on his books.
Their staring match continued for some moments before Becker said, "You're a bit more alert than some, I'll give you that. I'd be obliged if you'd bring me that soup Cora never quite managed to bring over here, kid."
"Ed," said Cade, as he rose to his feet.
"Ed," Becker repeated with a nod, adjusting the lean of his crutch against his chair and resting his elbows on the table.
Cade ladled a cup of soup and glanced back before turning to take it to the table. Becker seemed lost in thought. On general principles, Cade chose to deliver the cup on Becker's crutchless right side and stayed alert as he neared the table.
When Becker's right hand flashed out, Cade had only to raise the cup a bit, let the backhand swing go by, and quickly place the cup on the table.
Stepping back, Cade said, "Sergeant Becker, if you want to know how I'd take being covered with soup, I'll tell you. You don't have to make a mess in Mrs. Becker's kitchen."
Glaringly regarding him in silence for a short time, Becker growled, "So tell me, kid; how would you take it?"
Sitting down, Cade said, "Not well. I'd leave and I'd avoid you from then on." Pausing a moment, he added, "But I'm pretty sure I'm about to go into the Army soon, and I'd like to hear what you have to say about that, so I'd really rather you talk to me than throw soup at me."
As Cade sipped soup, Becker snorted a snide laugh.
"You want some war stories, huh? You sure about that? I'll tell you what, kid; I can tell you things that'll have your soup coming back up in no time flat."
Shaking his head, Cade said, "Very doubtful. I worked with Doc Faust all last year. I saw broken bones, gunshot and stab wounds, cholera, and even a few bad burns. I also helped look for bodies after the spring floods wiped out nine farms. Twenty-one dead. We didn't find some of them for days and others weren't found for over a week. I'd imagine their condition by then might turn even your combat-hardened stomach, Sergeant Becker."
Becker's left eyebrow raised slightly and he seemed to reevaluate Cade.
"I'm looking for more practical information," said Cade. He gestured at Becker's sidearm and said, "I've shot rifles. Never revolvers. I've seen a parade, but I've never had a reason to learn to march. I've camped overnight on hunting trips, but never had to live in a tent very long. Or in a barracks."
Sipping his soup, he added, "I'm just looking for some tips. A head start on things; some way to be more than just another ignorant new recruit when I get there."
Idly plucking at his sleeve, Becker seemed deeply thoughtful for a time, then he sipped his soup and asked, "Where'd you learn to use a sling?"
"I read about them, then I made one and figured out how to make the stones go where I wanted them to go."
"Nobody showed you?"
"Nope. Nobody around here'd ever seen one before."
Becker sat back in his chair and indicated Cade's books.
"You read all those yet?"
Cade nodded. "Yes."
"Then why are you carting them around?"
"School rules. Show up for a class without the right book and you're flunked for the day. It doesn't matter whether you know what's in them or not."
With a chuckle, Becker said, "That's kinda like the Army. Gotta have a razor in your kit whether you're old enough to need it or not."
He pulled his revolver out of its holster and laid it on the table as he asked, "Ever seen one of these up close before?"
"Yes. It's a model 1858 Colt .44. Fulton's hardware store carries them."
The gun's brass frame was darkly tarnished and much of the original finish on the steel barrel had long since been worn off. Where the metal met leather in the holster, bare shining steel gleamed. The walnut grips were pitted and sweat-stained and worn slightly away from the frame. A new-looking cylinder seemed rather out of place.
Sighing, Becker asked, "Doesn't look much like the ones in the store, does it?" He tapped the new cylinder with a finger and said, "I had an Army gunsmith put in some new parts. The action was getting real loose, shaving lead every shot."
Picking up the gun and eyeing it, Becker said, "I fancy this is about how I look these days. Once -- less'n two years ago is all -- I was like you, kid; all brand new and shiny." Holstering the gun, he added, "But now I could use some new parts, too. Lemme think about it while I eat."
He started eating and said no more as he and Cade finished their soup. Cade was a little surprised that Mrs. Becker hadn't come back in from the afternoon cold, although she might be in the barn.
As Cade gathered up spoons and cups and took them to the washtub by the window, Becker asked, "How do you think you're gonna feel the first time you know for a fact that your shot killed a man?"
Cade gave that some thought and finally ventured, "I'll probably feel relieved, mostly."
Giving Cade a wry look, Becker chuckled and asked, "Yeah? And just why do you think that?"
Meeting Becker's intent gaze, Cade replied, "Because unless I change one helluva lot between now and then, I won't have shot anyone unless I had to."
Nodding, Becker grunted, "Uh, huh. What about when you've had to shoot so many men your gun rattles like a baby's toy?"
"Well, I guess I'll probably feel just about the same way you seem to feel right now, Sergeant Becker. Somewhat guilty. Bitter and resentful. But since it isn't very likely that I'll be able to avoid conscription, what's the point of wondering about things like that?"
Becker eyed Cade for a moment, then said, "All those killin's add up, boy, and they get real damned heavy to carry around at times. Trust me on that."
They heard the door to the small shed attached to the front of the house open. Tools rattled, then the door closed.
"Cora's coming back," said Becker, "No need to tell her what we've been talking about."
Nodding agreement, although he doubted that Mrs. Becker was as naive as Becker thought she might be, Cade said, "I need to get going, anyway. I guess if I see you tomorrow, I'll find out then how you feel about advising me."
Becker remained seated, but he said rather flatly, "If I'm not outside, come up to the house. We'll talk. Maybe shoot some rabbits with something other than that sling."
Picking up his sling, stones, and books, Cade said, "I'll be here. Thanks."
"Don't thank me yet, kid," growled Becker, "I'm not one of your prissy classroom teachers. I'll be showin' you how to stay alive, and if you make a mistake, you'll hear about it loud, clear, and quick."
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