Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home . . .
As everyone was singing or humming, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Sarah gazing at him with sorrow-filled eyes.
“All of us have lost someone dear. We have a saying that death is merely moving from one house to another.”
“She had such a hard life,” he said, barely able to get the words past the burning in his throat. “She did so much for others.”
“And now she’s free.”
He removed a kerchief from his inside pocket and wiped his eyes and face. When he made no move from where he was, Sarah said, “You have so many friends here who are happy to see you’ve returned from the war safe and sound. Come meet them.”
He nodded. “Give me a minute.”
“Take your time. There’s no hurry.” She brushed her fingers down the side of his jaw. “We’re not going anywhere, and neither will they.”
It took several minutes for him to master his emotions, longer than he thought it should have, and even then his control was tenuous. He stepped out from behind the chinaberry tree. Everybody had moved away from the gravediggers and were gathered around the minister’s buggy. Reverend Christian was removing his stole and folding it neatly. He looked up at Buck’s approach, his face somber but soft with understanding.
“She was a fine woman,” he said. “I feel privileged to have known her. She was very proud of you.”
Uncertain how to respond to this tribute, Buck said, “It was a beautiful service, Reverend. Thank you for the prayers and benediction.” He turned to the black folks who stood a small distance away and went to them.
“Thank you all for coming.”
“You ‘member me, Mr. Buck? I’s Rastus. Used to tend your poppa’s horses.”
“I remember you well. I never did meet anyone could calm a skittish horse as well as you.” He peered at the woman beside him. “Lulabelle, that you?”
“Yessir, Mr. Buck, sure is.”
He greeted all but one of the others by name. The exception was a field hand who’d come on the place after he’d left home.
“We sure be glad you’s back, Mr. Buck,” Benson said enthusiastically. “We planting come spring? I knows where you can buy seed. Two year old, but still good.”
“We been working in the cotton gin over to Gadsden, but I sure would like to get back in the fields where things is quiet, ‘cept for the birds and mules. They’s always brayin’, but it sound a mighty bit better than in that gin house.”
“You tells us when you wants us, Mr. Buck,” Dola Rose said. “Just leave word at the gin.”
“It may be a while,” Buck temporized. He looked over at Sarah who was watching him and clearly listening as well. “But I’ll keep y’all in mind.”
They thanked him profusely and started wandering off on foot. He realized he had no idea where they lived or how they’d survived, or until now how much he’d missed them.
Sarah came up beside him. “They sure like you.”
“I never beat them.”
“From what I hear you tended all their needs.”
“Somebody had to.”
She smiled in a way that said it didn’t have to be him. “Well, they haven’t forgotten.”
“You ready to go?” he asked and started toward the group talking with Reverend Christian.
Rex approached. “I’ll be leaving now.”
“You’re not coming with us?” Sarah asked.
He looked a little sheepish. “I have an appointment in town.”
“A lady, no doubt,” Buck commented.
“You know me too well.”
“Thank you for coming, Rex. Let’s keep in touch.”
“Definitely. I haven’t given up on convincing you we need good doctors in Columbia.”
They shook hands. Buck and Sarah watched him limp toward his young stallion.
“There’s something I want to do before we leave,” Buck told her.
He strode over to the cabin Emma had lived in most of her life. On the porch above the door was a horseshoe that had been there since before he was born. He reached up and pulled on it and was surprised it was so securely fastened to the ancient wooden crosspiece. He went inside, got a stool and climbed on it. It still took a mighty heave, but then, with a sharp crack it came loose and he dropped nimble-footed to the ground, horseshoe in hand.
The panicky neigh of a horse caught his immediate attention. He looked over to see Rex fighting to gain control of Scamp, but the stallion was strong and uncooperative. He reared again, then made a dash to the right. Rex tumbled off the side of the saddle, but the foot of his crippled left leg got caught up in the stirrup. Even more spooked now, the horse kept whirling and pitching. Suddenly there was a sickening snapping sound. Rex went completely limp. Rastus, the groom, raced over and grabbed the horse’s bridle, hung on and brought the animal to a standstill.
There was no mistaking what had happened. Semi-conscious and moaning in pain, Rex was suspended from the stirrup, his crippled foot at an unnatural angle.
Buck catapulted from the porch to the horse, which was still skittish. Rastus grabbed the stallion’s upper lip in a vice-like grip, stilling the animal. Carefully Buck removed the boot from the high stirrup and eased the leg to the ground. Nearly breathless, Rex’s upper body was writhing in pain.
One of the black men separated himself from the group and drew closer, curious to see what was happening. Buck looked up. “Benson, get my saddle bag off Gypsy. Hurry.”
“Yessir.”
“Rex, I’m going to have to cut your boot off. I’m sorry,” he said, referring not to the boot but to the added pain he was about to inflict.
“That’s . . . all right,” Rex said haltingly. “I don’t think . . . I’ll be needing it . . . anymore.”
Benson placed the saddle bag on the ground beside Buck.
Reverend Christian appeared behind him. “Tell us what else you need, doctor.”
“A board to use as a splint and something to tie the leg in place. Anybody have a sharp knife?”
One of the gravediggers stepped forward, pulled a large, wicked-looking blade from a leather scabbard and handed it to him.
“Somebody hold his shoulders and his left thigh down,” Buck instructed. “This is going to hurt.”
“Just do it,” Rex muttered between clenched teeth.
Another gravedigger offered him a stick to bite on, then pressed down on his shoulders. A gurgling grunt erupted from Rex’s throat as Buck proceeded to slit the fine leather boot from top to heel and slowly eased it off. Already the ankle and foot had turned a sickening purple and blood was oozing from the site where a spicule of bone had lacerated the skin above the joint. Buck knew what had to be done, but he kept his counsel for the present.
Digging into the saddle bag, he removed a flask of laudanum, gently raised Rex’s head and told him to sip. “It’ll take a minute, but then this’ll ease your pain.” He looked up at the clergyman. “Where can we take him?”
“To the vicarage. We’ll have to use the hearse though.”
The people around them grew round eyed with shock at the unconventional use of the long, glass enclosed vehicle, but it was clearly the best suited of the conveyances available, all of which were smaller and afforded no room for anyone to lie down. The hearse’s driver brought it alongside the injured man.
By the time a weathered board and old harness straps had been brought, the laudanum had taken effect. Rex moaned softly but no longer seemed in distress. Buck proceeded to secure the mangled limb to the board.
“What will you need at the vicarage?” Reverend Christian asked. Buck had no doubt the man knew what was coming.
“A table large enough to lay him on. Lash two together if necessary. Then place my instruments and sutures in a pot of boiling water and leave them there until I arrive. I’ll also need a white napkin, a tea strainer and plenty of clean bandages.”