By Tom Owens
‘Sure is a good old chimney,’ Jane thought. ‘As good as any chimney in Bates County.’ Jane’s bones ached as she leaned forward and billowed air on the fire. Jane leaned back into the homemade rocking chair and puffed out a sigh. Another dawn-to-dusk day of work came to an end.
Jane Duncan gazed up and remembered how she and her husband Ethan built the chimney. ‘1853 seems so long ago,’ Jane sighed. Jane’s mind flashed back to their stout mule Stubby and the buckboard wagon. “My goodness, we hauled that limestone all the way from the Marais des Cygnes River.’ Jane’s thoughts bounced across the memories. She mixed the mortar. Ethan and his friends shaped and stacked the limestone. They all cheered when the chimney pulled smoke steadily up from the first fire.
‘Yes,’ she told herself again. ‘It’s a fine chimney’.
Jane’s mind vaulted back. She and Ethan looked at each other when they reached the gentle rise of ground above Walnut Creek. “This is where we build”, they said to each other in the same breath as if they were mind readers. It was comfortable enough for the young family, with a single room below and a sleeping loft.
Stubby earned her feed as she hauled the logs in from the timber, then pulled them up the ramp to set in place. Ethan was good with an ax and cut precise notches at the ends of each log. Jane and her oldest son Charles chinked between the logs with a mixture of mud, straw and small stones.
The Duncan farm included 30 acres for corn and oats, then pasture for Stubby and a milk cow. An assortment of hogs, hens, a rooster and geese scurried around the cabin. The hay barn and smoke house were close by. The root cellar preserved vegetables and fruit with cool underground temperatures.
A stand of oak and hickory completed the small farm. Ethan’s grave was at the edge of the timber in the shade of a large red oak.
“Mother, why are you still awake?” Jane heard Charles faintly as he peered from the loft.
“Oh, son, I’m not really sleeping, just winding down. I’ll be up directly.”
“Are you worried about something?’
“No, son, I’m fine. Just a bit tired, I guess.”
“Mother, why did those men kill father?”
“Come on down here, son”. Jane sensed that her son needed to talk.
Charles climbed down the hickory ladder in his nightshirt and sat on a stool in front of the fire next to his mother.
“Son, it’s hard to understand, I know. I guess some things in life come down to a matter of good and bad. And we have good people and bad people around us.”
“But, Mother, Father never did anything to those men. Why did they want to hurt him?”
“Some people are just bad to their bones, son. They don’t need a reason to hurt others.”
“I heard some men talking at the Trading Post. Who was the leader of those men that killed father?”
“They say it was a man named John Brown. He’s not from around here but came to make Kansas a free state.”
“But, Mother, we’re not even in Kansas. We live in Missouri, right?”
“That’s right son. They say it was John Brown and his men that attacked the Cannon farm earlier that day to the south of here. They killed old man Cannon and burned the house and barn. Freed the slaves that old man Cannon had too.
“But, Mother, that still doesn’t have nothin’ to do with us, right? That’s the Cannons and we don’t have slaves!”
“Right, but Brown and his gang were on the way back to Kansas and happened to come across your father as he was returning home from Trading Post that day. I guess the fact that he lived in Missouri was reason enough to do what they done. John Brown would just as soon kill a man as crush a bug.”
Charles finally ran out of questions as Jane ran out of explanations. Some things, as she said, just didn’t have good explanations. “Son, what we know for sure is that we need to keep working and living.”
Still, the distress of Ethan’s death and the hole it blew open in their lives often seemed like a burden too heavy to bear. ‘I’ve got to carry on for my children’, Jane often reminded herself, reaching deep inside for the strength she needed.
Their straw and corn husk-filled mattresses crunched as Jane and Charles settled under their blankets. The warmth of the chimney rose to the loft. Jane was asleep as her head touched her pillow. Charles lay awake a while and thought about his father and his fateful encounter with John Brown and his band from Kansas.
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“Mother, why can’t we ever go to Trading Post?” Micah, now 7 years old, often prodded his mother to get away from the farm. Sometimes Micah encountered other children at Trading Post, just inside Kansas Territory. Micah, like Charles and Elizabeth, enjoyed wandering about the store to examine the array of clothing, tools and foodstuffs.
“Didn’t I tell you to collect me some firewood, son?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, get to it then.”
“Yes, Mother, you told me I needed a new dress”, Elizabeth piped up on the subject of a trip to Trading Post. “They might have some new cloth and I can make my own clothes now.”
“Well, that’s right, Eliza,” as Jane often called her daughter. “You’ve been making some good clothes lately for your doll.”
“So, when can we go?” Micah and Elizabeth blurted forth in unison like they had been rehearsing.
“All right, then. If you can get your chores done early tomorrow, we’ll get over there.”
“Oh, thank you, mother! We’ll tell Charles as soon as he comes in from haying!”
The clouds broke apart the following day after a light, early morning rain. The fresh aroma of the hay that Charles had cut surrounded the cabin, feathered by a light breeze from the west.
“Finish that biscuit, Micah. I done told you twice already. Or would you rather stay home today?” Jane was used to reminding Micah.
“C’mon, Micah, do what mother says or we’ll never get to goin’!” Elizabeth was anxious to get started.
“Mother, I hitched Stubby to the wagon. I’ll get that big boar loaded. We should take a goose for trade too, don’t you think?”, Charles interjected.
“Yes, son, that would be fine.” Jane thought that Charles acted more like Ethan every day.
“Mother, can we take Smokey with us too?”, Micah was gulping down the last of his biscuit.
“Sure enough, son. I think that bluetick hound likes travelling over to Trading Post near as much as you.”
The Duncan family left their farm early that morning in high spirits. A trip to Trading Post offered a break from the daily routine of farm work. Jane and Elizabeth occupied the seat. Charles and Micah sat on the floorboards and kept watch on the hog and goose.
Walnut Creek was low in mid-summer. The ruts in the wagon road were still soft in low areas but easy to pass. It took the Duncans the better part of the morning to reach the Marais des Cygnes River. Smoky travelled on the flanks of the wagon, working scents and cutting loose his deep bellow.
Trading Post had been a fixture there on the banks of the river, it was said, since the French fur traders established trade with the Osage tribe, some 60 years before.
“Why, Mrs. Duncan, how long has it been? Sure is good to see you”, exclaimed Ben Foster, the proprietor of Trading Post.
“A couple months, anyway, Mr. Foster. It’s hard to get away from all our work on the farm. We got our corn put in and the garden looks like it might produce something this year,” Jane reported.
“Your children sure are growin’.”
“Mr. Foster, they’re doing tolerably well. Still chasin’ little Micah around too. He’s got more spring in him than a grasshopper in mid-July.”
“Well, ma’am. That’s all good to hear. Sounds like you’re getting along all right,” Ben Foster noted.
“Mr. Foster, I brought a hog to trade with you and a plump goose too. What can we get from you today?”
Jane and Elizabeth began looking over the bolts of cloth. Charles inspected the tool rack. Micah was fixated on the jars of candy.
“Well, Mrs. Duncan, I don’t suppose you’ve heard the news?” Ben Foster inquired.
“News? Mr. Foster, you know we go for weeks without even seein’ our neighbors, much less get news. Tell me.”
“Well, we understand that the Confederates fired on Fort Sumter back in South Carolina. The Southern states want to secede from the Union. We’re going to have a war, they say.”
“Oh my”, Matlida drew a deep breath, “A war, on top of all the troubles we’ve had. I didn’t think it could get worse.”
The border conflict leapt front and center into her conversation with Ben Foster. Abolitionists began pouring into Kansas from the northern states in 1854. Missourians responded in kind and sought to offset the newcomers by moving into Kansas in alarming numbers. The collision was often violent and destructive.
“Mrs. Duncan, there’s hardly a family I know that hasn’t lost a family member or had property destroyed during these years,” Ben Foster shook his head slowly. “There’s been so much senseless cruelty.”
“Mr. Foster, you know Ethan and I came out here from Kentucky to build something better for our children. This land has turned hard on us. I guess we’ll see what we’re made of before it’s all over.
“That’s right, Mrs. Duncan. You be sure to send word over to me if I can lend you a hand”.
“Mother, this bolt of cloth would make a right pretty dress for me don’t you think? And the price is not real high.”
“That’s a smart young lady you have there, Mrs. Duncan.” Ben Foster observed that Elizabeth could read the prices of the cloth and other products.
“Oh, you know, Mr. Foster, I try to help my children learn a few letters and numbers. I’m wore slick at the end of most days and can’t help them much.”
“Well, Mrs. Duncan, let’s get you loaded up here. That’s a good boar you brought and the goose too. Let’s see. You have that bolt of cloth and let’s get you some thread to match. Charles, do you see a tool that you need?
“Yes, sir, I could sure use a new pitchfork for the hay”. Charles had the habit of speaking directly to adults.
“Good man. I’d better throw in a slug of that rock candy for Micah. He might not go home otherwise.” Mr. Foster was a long-time friend of the Duncans.
“Mr. Foster, you’re too good to us”, Jane concluded. “Children, gather your things. We need to cover some miles before the evening catches us. Micah, you go find that old bluetick before he gets into trouble. It won’t do to leave him behind.”
The Duncans travelled along the Marais des Cygnes for the first two miles. After the spring rains lifted, the water had changed from a chocolate hue to a light shade of green. The water moved slowly through the prairie by Trading Post before emptying into the Osage River and later the mighty Missouri River.
The Duncans made steady progress on the return home. The sun at their backs warmed them and the breeze from the west gained through the afternoon. Smoky moved effortlessly through the underbrush. Micah grinned widely and poked Charles with his elbow. “Look, there he goes again!” Smoky hit a wet track, tilted his head up and unfurled his booming voice.
The chimney of their cabin finally came into view as the first shadows of the evening fell. Stubby pulled the Duncans steadily the last couple miles.
“Mother, thank you for taking us to Trading Post”, Elizabeth exclaimed.
“Yes, mother, thank you,” Charles and Micah joined in.
“That’s fine, children. Charles, you and Micah get that cow in the barn and she’ll be ready for milking in the morning. Eliza, you can help build the fire and we’ll get supper ready.”
Jane thought about her conversation with Ben Foster and the news of the war. She opened the window to the cabin and noticed storm clouds gathering to the southwest as the daylight faded. Jane wondered if things would get worse before they got better.
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Jane and her children settled back into the endless cycle of work on the farm. Charles put the hay up in the barn, Elizabeth finished her new dress, cutting and sewing in the evenings. Micah helped Jane hoe the corn.
“Mother, did you hear that?” Micah’s ears perked up at the sound of Smoky hot on a track.
“Yes, of course, son. Now don’t you think I’m going to let you go tearin’ through the brush trying to keep up with Smoky.”
“But, mother, that might be a big coon. Charles could shoot it and we could sell the pelt!”
“Pay attention to your work, son, and don’t distract me no more.” Jane knew how to be firm when there was work to be done.
The days grew shorter but summer persisted with the season’s final blasts of heat. The evenings signaled the first hints of fall with touches of cool, dry air.
The Duncans had just finished supper and settled into an evening of lessons in numbers and letters by the uneven light of candles and the fireplace. Jane checked Micah’s and Elizabeth’s progress.
Charles was starting to read independently and was focused on a book that Ben Foster had lent him. Charles heard the mule in the corral neigh faintly.
“Mother, Stubby sounds restless. I’ll go check on him.”
Then Smoky unloaded a deep bay. They heard horses and men approaching.
“Charles, hand me that shotgun. Children, back off there into the corner.” Jane’s reaction was instinctive.
“Mother, I’m staying here with you.” Charles was equally insistent. Jane and Charles stayed inside on each side of the closed door.
“Mrs. Duncan, it’s Thomas Jennings. I’ve got three men with me.”
“I remember you Mr. Jennings. Jane cracked the door open. She knew the Jennings family from another Bates County farm. “State your business, showing up here after dark.”
“Ma’am, we’ve been riding hard from over in Kansas. We’re not sure if they followed us. We need to water our horses. And, we’d be obliged if you have any supper leftover. We can’t go straight home.”
“Well, ain’t that just fine! Not sure if you’re followed and you stop right here!” Jane retorted. “And what, might I ask, was your business in Kansas that required you to get out of there in such a hurry?”
“You know how things is, Mrs. Duncan. Those jayhawkers killed my cousin Jed this spring and a friend of his. They were on their way to Butler, not harmin’ no one. We needed to make amends for them two boys. That wasn’t right.”
It was well-known that the Jennings family had slaves. The family often hired out the two enslaved men to other families around Bates County. One was a skilled blacksmith, the other a good stonemason. The enslaved woman and her daughter helped with house chores.
“Mr. Jennings, we don’t want to get tangled up in your affairs. We’ve suffered enough already. We’re peaceful folk, in spite of what that madman Brown did to my husband. We don’t take sides in this quarrel.” Giving support, real or perceived, to Missouri bushwackers returning from attacks in Kansas often resulted in retribution during the long-running conflict on the Missouri-Kansas border. Jane Duncan understood the risk before her.
“We won’t be long, Mrs. Duncan, if you could see your way to help us. We’ll be right on our way.”
“All right. You men get down from your horses and get inside. Charles, get those horses over to the trough. Eliza, stir those embers and heat that stew up for these men, will you?”
Thomas Jennings and his three companions dismounted. They were rough-looking bunch, with slouch hats, flowing shirts and beards that were typical of guerrilla raiders on the Missouri frontier. Heavily armed, each man held a rifle or shotgun across their saddles and a knife and revolver in their belts. The sweat on the horses’ necks and their foam-lined mouths confirmed they had run hard down the road from Trading Post.
“Why, my word, it’s Leland Boylan,” Jane recognized one of the men from a neighboring family.
“Yes, ma’am, it’s me all right,” Leland Boylan replied. We sure do appreciate your hospitality.”
“My goodness, Mr. Boylan, but you’ve been hurt. You’re bleeding there on your right shoulder.”
“Oh, that’s nothing ma’am. Just a scratch. But a jayhawker did take a poke at us.”
“Let me see to that. Eliza, heat some water next to the stew, will you now?” Eliza adjusted the crane above the open hearth and placed the pot of water on a hook above the hot coals.
“Mr. Boylan, you are fortunate the bullet only grazed your arm.” Jane cleaned and bandaged the flesh wound.
Micah sat in the corner, quietly out of character. The young boy sensed the tension of men on the run and his mother’s desire that they move on quickly. Elizabeth was attentive to her mother’s direction and served the men. Thomas Jennings and the three men said little and put down the stew without delay.
“The horses are watered, mother.” Charles entered and found the visitors preparing to leave. He noticed the bandage on the upper arm of Leland Boylan.
“Good job, son.”
“We’ll be on our way now, Mrs. Duncan. Thank you again,” Thomas Jennings turned his horse to the east.
“You men can return the favor by keeping this visit to yourselves. You understand the powder keg we’re sitting on.” Jane felt a firm reminder was in order.
The four men tipped their hats to Jane Duncan before putting their horses to a fast trot and folding into the dark.
“Children, not a word about this, you hear? Treat this visit like it never happened.”
“Yes, mother,” Charles led with the reply. “You can count on us.”
Jane let out a long breath as she looked off to the west. ‘Good Lord, I just hope no one followed those men this way.’
Jane and her children lay awake silently that night. The fire faded in the hearth. The chimney’s limestone pushed just enough heat to the loft. An evening chill settled over the cabin as the Duncan family dropped off to sleep.
_______________________
Jane and the children quickly returned to their life of farm work, uninterrupted by visitors. Jane and Charles brought the corn in and stored it in the crib. Jane put Elizabeth and Micah in charge of clearing the last vegetables from the garden and preparing them for storage in the root cellar. As the days passed, the visit from Thomas Jennings and his band of raiders receded from their thoughts. Jane heard no further news of the war between the north and the south. Gradually the cooler air of late summer combined with the shorter days and urged the Duncans to prepare for the coming cold.
“Hello, the house! Is there anyone home?” Jane heard the man call from behind the cabin as she, Elizabeth and Micah shucked corn in the front. Charles was in the timber with Stubby, cutting wood to repair the garden fences.
“Yes, come around this way,” Jane stood up to receive the visitor. The man rounded the cabin, followed by 20-25 men. The leader was dressed in a blue officer’s coat and carried a cavalry saber. The men under his command were less formal in attire but projected a stern attitude. Only a few wore the blue of the Union army.
The red leggings on the entire brigade distinguished them. Jane’s stomach knotted up as she realized who the men were. The Kansas Redlegs were the scourge of Missourians up and down the border. Ruthless and violent, the Redlegs attacked Missourians indiscriminately.
“Ma’am, my name is General James Henry Lane. These men are part of the Kansas Brigade.”
“Your reputation precedes you Gen. Lane. I have heard of you. How can I help you?” Jane noted immediately that the men and horses had been riding hard. Some of the men had soot or burn marks on their jackets.
“Ma’am, we’re on our way back to Kansas. We’ve just come from Butler, and before that Papinville and Osceola. We had to set things right with those people.”
“I see. Help me understand. Just what does that mean when you say ‘set things right’?”
‘Ma’am, we’ve set those three towns afire. We don’t tolerate the attacks from these Missouri ruffians. Those days are over. We have taken matters into our own hands.”
Charles was heading back to the cabin with Stubby pulling logs for the fences. General Lane took notice. “That young man crossing the field there, is that your son?”
“That’s right. He’s just a boy and of no consequence to you. Now, General, you haven’t answered my question. What is your business here?”
“Our business here”, Gen. Lane bristled as he raised his voice, “is to clear the area of anyone providing shelter or assistance to these bushwhackers from Missouri. This scum has a nasty habit of attacking the freedom-loving people of Kansas.”
“We are peaceful people, General, and don’t take part in anyone else’s fight.”
“You must be Mrs. Duncan, the one I heard about. Your husband was killed some time back.”
“That’s right, General, and Ethan Duncan was innocent of anything ever imagined of him. We work hard every day to put the past behind us.”
“I see. We heard some men passed this way a few days back. They were coming from Kansas. Have you by chance seen any passers-by?”
Jane felt her heart leap up to her throat. She knew Lane attacked without mercy. She managed to control her reply. “No, General, no visitors here. We’re busy putting up the hay and getting the corn in.”
Charles pulled up with Stubby. “Mother, who are these men?”
“That boy speaks right up, don’t he, Mrs. Duncan?” Gen. Lane observed a firmness about Charles that belied his youthful appearance.
Jane responded calmly and confidently. “I raise my children to take care of themselves, General. I have to. We cut our own way out here.”
“Very admirable, Mrs. Duncan.” Gen. Lane eased back while pointing his gaze at Charles and paused. “Well, we don’t harm women and children in this fight. But I will ask you to keep an eye out for any pillagers from Missouri that seek to harm us over in Kansas. There is a war on, you know.” General Lane and his Redleg brigade moved slowly across the Duncan farm and took the road to the northwest toward Trading Post.
General Lane’s visit shook Jane and the children as if a tornado had touched down on them. As the brigade disappeared the Duncan family drew together, hugged and cried with relief. They remembered the visit from Thomas Jennings and how close they had come to retribution for assisting them.
_________________
The Duncans brought in the hay and harvested the garden. They stored vegetables in the root cellar and butchered a hog, then smoked it. Charles built a shed next to the house and laid in a supply of firewood for the winter. He was steadily acquiring his father’s skill with an ax. Their isolated life on the farm again returned to its working rhythm.
Still, the tumult of the war never seemed far away. Occasional passers-by dropped them bits of news. The raging guerrilla war that had kept them on edge for five years became national in scope. They heard about the big battles in the east as well as the ongoing assaults, murders and fighting across Missouri. In the fall of the next year, 1862, word came about a battle called Island Mound, near Butler. Union troops, colored men, they heard, defeated Confederate guerillas. The violence was never far away.
A year passed. It was late summer again, and Charles, always attuned to changes, felt the nights start to chill and watched as the sumacs changed to bright reds. The waning summer reminded Charles they needed to prepare for the season ahead.
“Mother, shouldn’t we make a trip soon to Trading Post? We need a number of supplies.”
“Yes, son, I guess you’re right. Let’s hitch up the wagon tomorrow and get over there.”
“Oh, wonderful, Mother!” Elizabeth was excited at thought of the trip.
“I won’t hardly be able to sleep tonight.” Micah chimed in with visions of hard rock candy.
Sparkling sunshine and a light coat of dew on the ground greeted the Duncans as Charles hitched Stubby to the wagon and they headed west. Smokey’s baying matched his excitement, working scents up and down their route.
Clouds began to gather as they approached the Marais des Cygnes. The sky darkened further as they pulled in front of Trading Post.
“Mother, we should have brought our coats. It looks like rain.” Elizabeth showed some concern.
“We’ll be fine, Eliza. We’ll just have a short visit,” Jane said calmly. She turned to Micah. “And you’ll keep your hands off that rock candy till we see how we come out with the trading.”
“Yes, mother,” Micah struggled to contain himself. Micah clung persistently to his childhood.
“Mr. Foster, we brought a couple sides of bacon, a bushel of sweet corn and a smoked ham. We’ll be needing some flour and other supplies.”
“That’s fine, Mrs. Duncan. We’ll get you fixed up. But first I have some grave news to share.” Mr. Foster’s worried look matched the seriousness in his voice. “A man named Quantrill led another raid on Lawrence. They say it was a terrible massacre. Killed 200 men and boys.”
“Oh, dear.” Jane exhaled deeply and sensed the tragic extent of the news. “There’s seems to be no end to all the killing in this world. And I’m afraid we’ll be hearing more about this affair.”
“I regret to say you are right, Mrs. Duncan. We have been informed of an order from General Ewing that will affect everyone in Bates and Cass Counties.”
“And just what might that be?” Jane was fully alarmed. Her children’s attention was focused on Mr. Foster as well.
“Ewing’s order will evacuate by force every farm in those counties beginning in just a few days, Mrs. Duncan. I am truly sorry.”
“How in the Lord’s name can they justify that? We’ve done no harm to anyone. We live peacefully by ourselves.”
“I’m afraid General Ewing isn’t asking any questions at this point. He hasn’t been able to stop the raids across the border into Kansas and suspects too many Missourians are supporting the bushwhackers.”
“I just fear for what may become of us.” Jane was shaken by the news but managed to gather herself. “Children, don’t worry now. We’ll be fine.”
“Mr. Foster, we are obliged to you again for the supplies. The news of Lawrence distresses us as well as these orders from General Ewing.”
“Children, let’s get loaded and we’ll be on our way.”
The sky darkened further as the Duncans drove the wagon to the east. A gentle rain accompanied them and cooled the air. Stubby pulled the buckboard with his customary steadiness. Smokey stirred the underbrush searching for scent and boomed as the Duncans made their way home.
Five days later, Mr. Foster’s news and Jane worst fears culminated in a cruel reality.
“I understand this is the Duncan farm,” the Union colonel stated as he pulled up with a company of blue-coated militia. “My name is Colonel Jennison. Some call me Doc Jennison. These men are the 15th Kansas Cavalry.”
Jane’s stomach went into free fall. She knew what the visit meant. Doc Jennison had a reputation as one of the most unscrupulous and brutal jayhawkers that raided from Kansas, and was known for blatant plunder of civilians.
“Colonel, I am a woman out here on the frontier with only my three children. Can you see your way to spare our farm?”
“My orders are clear, ma’am. You Missouri people have been sheltering that bushwhacker trash for too long. We’re not here to discuss matters. You’re leaving. Now. If you stay out of our way, we won’t harm you. You have five minutes to collect some food and clothes. Then get your wagon.”
“But, Colonel, we’ve done no wrong. We’ve never taken sides in this fight. We haven’t helped any of these men you call bushwhackers!” Jane spoke from her flaring emotions, but her conscience fluttered as the untrue words left her mouth.
Elizabeth felt the sting of falsehood spoken by her desperate mother for the second time. She struggled to remain composed as the blue-coated men spread out around the farm. Elizabeth never imagined her mother capable of a lie.
“Colonel Jennison, we are ready and await your order,” the sergeant reported.
“Men, light your firebrands. Commence to burning.”
Charles leaned forward with clenched fists. Jane restrained him. “Son, stand fast, I can’t lose you now.” At 15 years, Charles’ age was borderline and could be shot as a suspected guerilla raider.
The Kansas 15th Cavalry was practiced at torching farms under Order No. 11 and made quick work of the Duncan property. The flames engulfed with lightning speed the barn, smokehouse, sheds, fences and other structures. The cabin burned long and hot. The conflagration roared.
“Mother, what will we do? Where will we go?” The Duncans were reduced to tears and huddled together in the yard.
“Where’s Smokey? I want to get Smokey!” Micah was beside himself. Charles’ face was burning with anger and hatred for Jennison and his men. Jane managed to keep her brood close while suffering the sight of their farm incinerating before them.
Jennison’s men went about their work methodically. After torching the cabin and buildings they shot the milk cow and hogs, then tied the hens and geese to their saddles. “Mrs. Duncan, you need to leave now. We’re sweeping Bates County clean.” Jennison spoke in no uncertain terms.
“You have your mule and wagon. I advise you to make use of them without delay.”
Charles understood the urgency of their desperate situation and stepped up to the task. He hitched Stubby to the buckboard wagon, then helped his mother climb to the seat. Elizabeth and Micah rode in the back.
“Mother, which way should we go? We need help! Do we go to Trading Post? Maybe Mr. Foster can help us.”
Jane, still trembled from the vicious attack. “No, son, Missouri refugees such as us won’t be welcome over in Kansas. It doesn’t matter that we were caught in the middle of this mess. We won’t be safe there.”
“Well, where then? Don’t we know people in Butler?”
“Not anymore, Charles. Did you hear that Colonel? They’re emptying the entire county.” Jane took a deep sigh and looked back at the inferno as burnt logs crumbled down. The chimney, though, was still there. Charred, but standing straight and true, the chimney was seemingly unfazed by the destruction and violence that surrounded it.
“Your father had some relations down in Vernon County. We’d best take the trail south, Charles.”
“Mother, look, here comes old Smokey!” Micah was ecstatic at the sight of the blue tick hound emerging from the timber, his long ears flapping.
“Well, look at that, will you?” Jane and the children felt a moment of collective relief.
The Duncan family traveled south all day and passed two other farms that Jennison and his men had destroyed. They saw no one. Bates County had become the “Burnt District” resulting from General Ewing’s Order No. 11.
The Duncans stopped that evening and camped near a spring, the source of Walnut Creek. A hoot owl announced the harvest moon rising in the east. The family nibbled the cornbread they managed to salvage from the house.
The Duncans huddled together as the evening cooled. Smokey burrowed under Micah’s side. Jane held Elizabeth under one arm and Charles under the other. Her motherly warmth helped settle the children.
“Mother, you lied to that Union colonel, didn’t you? About helping Thomas Jennings and those men.” Elizabeth struggled to reconcile these events with the straight and honest image of her mother.
“Your father and I always raised you children to tell the truth. But, Elizabeth, I had a hard choice to make: stay true or watch us all die. It’s a choice I hope you children never have to make. Getting caught in the middle is just as dangerous as taking sides.”
Jane’s mind raced through the dreadful scenes that they lived through that day. As Stubby pulled the wagon away, Jane glanced back. The chimney she had built with Ethan withstood the devastation and agony wrought by Doc Jennison and his men.
For a fleeting moment, Jane thought of Ethan and all the work of building their home. She took comfort in that memory. “Don’t fret now, children. We’ll make it into Vernon County tomorrow. And, just you remember, that chimney is still there. That’s Duncan land and someday we’ll build there again.”
Stubby grazed quietly nearby, his silhouette marked by the moonlight. Smokey stretched, groaned lightly, then snuggled deeper under Micah’s arm.
