And on the opposite side of the blade, his great-great-grandfather's name.
It was a precious relic and he held it for a long time before he decided: yes. He slid it back into the brassmounted scabbard and snapped it onto his belt.
Thus, I pledge, he thought, staring up at the dim line of his ancestors, That I will be true to you and to our country. I will not give way to fear. I will fight for the right and for the Confederate States of America.
He drew the saber with a hissing scrape and presented it.
I will never give in.
ELEVEN
"My Lord, oh, my Lord," said Willie, staring first at Vyry, and then back at the man who lay curled sightlessly in the back of the jitney. "What they do to him, girl? What did they do?"
Vyry felt numb as she too looked down at what was left of Johnny Turner. Her man… his arms about her at night, his roughness in loving her… It's not all over, she thought, drawing a shuddering breath. I'll bring him back. I got to.
"Will you help me with him, Willie?"
"Sure, girl, sure. But where you goin' to take him? Back to your place?"
"No, can't do that." She had to trust the fat comical-looking man; had to trust him, as Johnny had, because he was Railroad. "The man who did this knows where I live. Or can find out. I had to tell a hell of a tale to get Johnny back and sooner or later he going to wise up and come after me."
"I don't see how you done it at all. It was the patrollers caught him, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
"Oh, man." Willie stared at the blanket-covered form. "If Johnny talked, we in deep shit."
"He didn't say a word. They told me. But sooner or later they going to figure out he was at Town Point and then they'll come after him — and me. You've got to hide us, Willie. He's your friend!"
"He sure is. Hey, man," he rapped on the door to get the white driver's attention. "Would you mind drivin' on down this street, take a couple of rights? Be an extra five in it for you."
They lifted him from the jitney when it stopped, waited, and then began the long carry. Together they lugged him up the narrow stairs. As his legs dragged he seemed to stir, opening his eyes, but when she called his name and smoothed his shaven head he didn't respond.
China grasped it all at a glance. "Git him in here on the bed," she said, running for blankets. "Where does he hurt? Willie, that your friend the Turner boy, ain't it?"
"Yeah," said Willie. "Where does he hurt? He's hurt in the mind, mama. Where it don't show."
Vyry straightened his limbs and slipped a pillow under his head.
"Ah seen men like that before," said the old woman. She pulled one of Turner's eyelids up and peered under it. "He's gone away to the spirit world. Seen chil'ren do that, seen it happen to a woman once. Say they could help her, but she never come back from down the river."
"This is different," said Vyry. "They did it to him, but I'm going to bring him back. He's going to get well. You hear?"
China shook her head and her eyes gleamed. "You have faith, chile. You is got that sure enough."
The first thing he needed was food, she thought. The next — stimulants? He had to be shocked out of this state. A doctor? No white doctor would come into West Main — and there were no colored doctors the length and breadth of the South. She could give him medicine, there was a black market on the streets — but what kind? Amphetamines? Narcotics? Cocaine, penicillin, sulfa? She blinked back tears. She just didn't know.
China was back, bent under the weight of a tattered, ancient book, interleaved with scraps of paper and rag and dropping small dried leaves as she flopped it open. She scrabbled through the brown-inked pages, muttering to herself.
Just before dark there was a series of soft taps on the door. Three. Two. One. Vyry jerked awake — she had been dozing by the bed — and went to open it, leaving the chain on.
"I'm Leo," said the thin, almost white young man. "You must be Vyry Lewis."
She watched him through the door.
"Can I come in?"
"What for?"
"Johnny knows me."
She unhooked the chain and let him in. His eyes widened as he saw a washed-out, haggard Turner, slumped in one of Willie's broken-down armchairs.
"Turner. They tell me you were captured."
The dark eyes shifted to him at the sound, but that was his only response. Leo looked at her. "What's wrong?"
"He's a long ways away," she said. Her shoulders slumped; she was exhausted. First, there had been the hours-long argument with China, and her reluctant acquiescence in allowing the old woman to use her remedies. Then — after forcing the nauseating infusion down his throat — she and Willie had begun to walk him up and down the room. Up and down, hour after hour, stopping only for China to feed him more of the drug. Walking, slapping him, they had at long last brought a spark of recognition back to eyes that seemed to have looked into hell. "But I think he's coming back a little. What do you want with him7"
Leo squatted by the chair. "Turner? It's me, Leo. What did you tell them?" He waited. "Johnny, did you talk?"
"He can't talk to you."
"He can if he wants to. Turner, remember Shiloh?"
The distant eyes drifted downwards from the ceiling to meet Leo's. Watching, she felt a chill. They weren't Johnny Turner's. They were the eyes of someone else, someone… not quite sane.
He nodded. Leo smiled. "He understands."
He put his hand on Turner's knee. "Listen, man. We have to know what happened, where you were. Most important, did you tell them we knew about Shiloh?"
After almost a minute his head moved slowly left, then right. "He didn't," said the octoroon gleefully. "Oh, this is a fine man. They couldn't break him. I don't know what they did, but they couldn't break him. The Railroad's proud of you, Johnny."
So that's who he is, she thought. A Railroad man. That same Railroad that had tempted her man out of a sickbed, then seen him caught, and hadn't lifted a finger to help.
Leo was talking swiftly, almost babbling. "You'll see, we'll make them pay for what they did to you. We'll do it, we will. I'll take over for you. We've got a boat picked out—"
"No," Turner said.
"His mouth seems to be hurtin' him," said Vyry swiftly. "You best leave. I got to get him some soup, then he's going to bed."
"But he said something. Didn't he>"
"I say… no."
The seated man stared down at one arm. It trembled, then lay still. Then it trembled again, and slowly lifted from the arm of the chair. The fingers became a fist.
"He's coming around," said Leo.
"China!" she called. "China, come quick!"
The old woman came in, a pan in her hand, took a look, and nodded. She went back into the kitchen. A sound of frying began.
Turner closed his eyes and shuddered. It was more like a convulsion, his bunched arms and chest tensing in a long spasm that moved downward, rippling over his body. She wiped away the sweat that formed over the staring eyes.
"What… day."
"Tuesday, Johnny. Twenty-second."
"… Men?"
"They're getting ready now. We got guns and Finnick's picked out a boat. We'll be going out at midnight."
".. Going."
"What did he say?"
"I don't know." She was relieved that he was speaking, but she felt horror too. He hadn't looked at her once, hadn't even recognized she was in the room.
"I… going," said Turner, with an effort.
"No, Johnny. I'll take care of it all. I was supposed to lead anyway. We'll do it, your men and I. You rest, and — " he stopped speaking as the hand fell on his arm.