Fishing for Corn

This is a story I heard from my wife's aunt over Christmas dinner a few years ago about
one of her great uncles. I wrote it for my freshman mid-term exam. So you'll see some
obvious lit techniques that I was testing that semester.
A special thanks to Maggie L. for explaining the difference between heifers and cows. I've
lived here this long, and I didn't know.

Fishing for Corn

Jonas awoke just before dawn. This was his favorite time: when the darkness
had gone, but before the sun had not yet peeked over the trees that hid the
Atlantic Ocean a mere 10 miles east. In the silence of the morning, it was nearly
impossible to believe that a civil war was raging two states away.

He closed the bedroom door quietly, so he wouldn’t wake his wife and his infant
son. Jacob had been born nearly a month ago, and named after Jonas’ great,
great, great grandfather, an indentured servant from England who for all intents
and purposes sold himself into slavery for passage to this new world. After the
elder Jacob had served his seven years of servitude, he was free to buy land and
give his family roots in Milton, Delaware. This land was his legacy. Jonas smiled
as he thought of his little Jacob; he wanted to do the same for his son and
grandchildren.

Delaying breakfast until the morning chores were done, Jonas Clifton stoked the
fire, threw two logs in the hearth, and donned his coat. He stepped outside into
the brisk March air. The faintest pink was starting to creep over the horizon. The
only sound was an insistent crow and moo from the barn area. He gazed across
the fields—his family’s fields—empty now except for the lingering wispy fog,
which would lift by the time pancakes would be on the table. Taking a deep
breath of pride, he stepped off the porch and walked toward the barn.

Ten minutes later, the chickens were feasting, and Jonas was milking a very
appreciative cow. The flap of his blissful bovine's tail and the rhythmic stream of
milk hitting the side of the pail comprised the daily morning music in the barn.

Jonas cocked his head to the side as a new sound added discord and broke the
pre-breakfast concert. A quick percussion of hooves was coming closer. Jonas
tried to finish this chore before turning to his visitor who was abruptly halting his
horse and dismounting.

“Jonas! The conscripts are here,” William said excitedly. “They’re coming house
to house to round up soldiers for three-month tours in the war!”

“Volunteers?” replied the other as he stood and turned to his visitor.

“No. They’ll take you now…unless you’ve got money like Doc. Hickman. He paid
Sam Watson to go to war in his place. A soldier’s a soldier, as long as they get
somebody.”

Jonas’ eyes shifted from William’s face to the empty fields. Next month he would
be planting his crop. Without it, the next year would be hard for his family. Worse,
they could lose the land his great, great, great grandfather sacrificed his life for.
Conscript officers were not known for their understanding. When they showed up
at his house, they would not care about his family and farm. They wanted a
soldier.

Delaware, while geographically a northern state, held supporters of both Union
and Confederate beliefs. As a result of this division in loyalties, Jonas just didn’t
feel strongly enough either way to give his life for their cause. His cause was in
the house asleep. If he widowed his wife or took a father from his son, what future
would there be?

He patted his cow twice and lifted the filled milk bucket. “Thanks, William.” He
poured the milk into the waiting pitcher. “I don’t have any spare money, so I won’t
be hiring a substitute.” He turned his back on his visitor

“I just thought you should know,” said William after a silent minute. “They should
be here sometime today.” The teenager mounted his horse and rode off to warn
someone else.

Jonas grabbed the empty milk bucket and his fishing pole and walked about fifty
yards into the cornfield. He sat down on the overturned bucket. Jonas dug into the
dirt and found a soggy, half-decomposed piece of corn stalk buried a quarter of
an inch down. He baited his hook with the stalk, checked his sinker, and cast.
The fog was beginning to lift. His wife and son should be awakening soon. He
wished he had eaten breakfast.

The day came and went. As dusk neared, two horsemen wearing Union uniforms
started up the lane. Jonas began reeling in. The hook snagged on an old stalk.
He fought it and after a few seconds, freed the hook. He reeled in the rest of the
way and recast.

The horsemen dismounted and walked slowly to the fisherman. The taller one
spoke hesitantly. “Jonas Clifton?”

“Yes sir?” he replied focusing on the hook that had snagged again. The rod
nearly bent in half as he fought to get it back.

“Are you catching anything?”

“No, but they’re bitin’.” He finally got his line reeled in. “They keep taking my bait,
so I know I’ll get one soon.” He grabbed another piece of stalk to put on the hook.
His stomach growled loudly. “I expect the Mrs. will want some supper.”

The tall conscript looked to the house to see a woman and an infant staring from
the doorway. He looked back at Jonas, who was still fishing, then to his partner.
The shorter recruiter flashed a sad look, shook his head, and motioned toward
the horses.

“Mr. Clifton,” the taller one said at last. “You have a nice day.” With that, he
mounted his horse and headed to the next farm.
When they were out of sight, Jonas stood, grabbed his pail and rod, and headed
in for supper.

Copyright 2005 Tony Varrato