Isaac's House

Chapter 16 In The Blowing Rain Isaac was almost finished with the house. He needed to get back to work at the mill, for he was running out of money. He had played the part of a fool, leaving home, leaving Jennie, leaving everything he loved behind. The reason was clear to everyone who knew him. He wanted to pine and sulk. Alone. To free fall into the quagmire of his own selfishness. They all knew he was disgusted he couldn’t do anything about Graystone. Jennie, Jonathan, Jude Parker and his Grandpa Church had all warned him that he must not try to take the place of the law where it concerned the carpetbagger. Isaac mounted Glory and looked back over his shoulder. Even with all the pain of losing Jennie and ostracizing himself from everyone, he loved his house. It was splendid. Serene. But it won’t amount to much without someone to share it with, he thought. In the cool of the late fall afternoon, with leaves drifting down weighted by the misty rain and the fog moving in, Isaac left his bittersweet pining place and rode toward Sarepta. When he neared home, he had the inclination to keep riding toward the Jamison farm. He was not happy with his appearance. Unkempt, bearded and dirty. Roguish—he looked the part of who he was. He was certain he reeked, having neglected to bathe for days, and now he was drenched. Maybe it would wash off some of the stench. He dared even wish it might wash away some of his sins, although he was smart enough to know it didn’t work that way. He rode on, glad for the rain that disguised the depth of his emotions, tears pouring down his face. He pulled Glory to a stop and yelled to Jennie from the hitching post. Lightning skittered; a thunderbolt drowned out his voice. But the anger in the sky was no match for his. He yelled louder. “Jennie! Jennie Jamison!” Then the thunder cracked and rolled and lightning flashed, bolting across the dark southern sky striking the top of a pine tree and splitting it down the middle. A cloud of smoke puffing out the top was just as quickly smothered by torrents of rain. Glory thrashed about, restless from all the commotion. The rain beat against Isaac’s frame, leaving him cold and shaking. He was sick. Sick that he was not fit to walk up on the porch and greet her like a gentleman. Sick that he had made so many mistakes and done so many things wrong. He knew he could never make amends. So why try? Calling her out looking like this would do nothing but anger her. “I say, Jennie!” Isaac yelled again, emphasizing his waywardness. She was not there. He wiped his wet face with his bandana, refocused, and there she stood. On the porch. Her left arm in a sling. She was so pretty. So clean, her shiny blonde hair blowing in the stormy blast. The South had its drawbacks, its stigma since the war, but it had produced the most beautiful women on earth. Hands down prettier than those repulsive women of the night who had often shown up in their camps. Jennie was the prettiest woman he had ever laid eyes on. She just stood there, never changing her expression. Never flinching from the blowing rain that swept across the open porch, smacking her full in the face. Seeing Isaac in such wretched condition repulsed her. That is, on the one hand. On the other hand, she wanted to run to him, wrap her arms around his filthy frame and bring him back. Her better judgment stopped her short and refused her the privilege. Instead her words were sharp and hurtful. “What happened to you, Isaac? What happened that so harshly changed you?” she yelled above the torrent of rain. “Guess I just needed time.” “Time for what? To forget me? Time to forget that you wanted to marry me and be with me forever?” “Jennie, please.” “No, Isaac. It’s too late. For two long months, you’ve proven you don’t want me.” “I … I’ve been going through a hard time, Jen. Don’t you understand?” “I understand that you totally abandoned me, walked out on your family, and just—just got lost.” “I know. I’ve hurt everybody.” Jennie moved closer to the edge of the porch, the blowing rain pelting her body, chilling her to the bone. Her voice quivered as she spoke. “Isaac, I painfully recollect the days you held me in your arms and you taught me so much about life. About the war. About love and hate and how you balanced that part of your life. I always wanted to be just like you. To be strong and courageous. To help the South. To help the children, and you encouraged me. You helped me, yet you cannot help yourself. Or maybe you no longer want to help yourself or share your pain for any help I might offer.” Isaac jerked Glory and left Jennie standing on the edge of the porch, crying, reaching out to him in the pouring rain. He hated himself. Hated the wretch he had become, but he was a rogue, mean-spirited, useless to himself and everyone he knew. Jennie had not said the things he wanted to hear. She was like the others. Like his mother. His father who, though dead, spoke. Like Jonathan. And Doc Malone. They had all said the same thing. Given the same advice. He rode hard to Pittsboro in the slopping mud and pouring rain. When he reached the edge of town, he slowed his horse to a trot to gather his wits. He had to think this through. He tied Glory to one of the hitching posts in front of the Courthouse and took the steps two at a time to reach the portico that surrounded the old building. He made his way to the sheriff’s office, removed his muddy boots, and turned the knob on the door only to hear what he didn’t want to hear. “Why, Isaac, he’s not been found yet. He’s a mite shifty, they say. Some darkies saw him in the Delta, but they couldn’t tell the law his whereabouts. I allow the Nigras took him in.” “Well, I don’t,” Isaac said, loud and angry. “I think I know the likes of him. The carpetbaggers are in the South to save us from ourselves. They’re stirring in our dead ashes, trying to resurrect us but into their own image. They’re misguided and ruthless. They despise that we are not helpless, neither are we uneducated idiots. And … they don’t like our Nigras. They never have. Never will. So, no, I don’t believe the Nigras in the Delta are harboring him. They wouldn’t like him. Wouldn’t trust him.” Isaac got louder and more animated. “I just can’t understand why he hasn’t been found. He near killed my girl and left her for dead in a ditch by the side of the road. He bound and gagged Winfield Cooper, who gave him the shirt off his back. And Winfield sits rotting in jail. He was tied up in his own stable for over two days when Jonathan found him. You know all of this. Why can’t they find Graystone?” “Isaac, you don’t need to get all riled. They’ll get him and when they do, we’ll send him back to Massachusetts where he belongs and they’ll try him up there.” “How can you be sure?” “Because the law always wins out, Isaac. Now, leave it alone and get on with living.”