Under the Tulip Tree

by Michelle Shocklee

  The thought of such a thing scared me to death. Not because I didn’t care for Sam. I did. Somehow, he’d wormed his way into my life, and it saddened me to imagine freedom without him. But everything I’d ever loved had been taken away from me. I worried if I let my heart open up and truly allow love for Sam to grow, something terrible would happen to him.

  I shrugged and turned away. “He’s a good man, but I don’t know that I’m the marryin’ kind.” I stood, ending the conversation. “I’m going for a walk.”

  I wandered over to the soldier camp, thinking I’d sort the officers’ laundry and prepare for work on the morrow. If the battle wasn’t going to commence anytime soon, the men would need clean clothes.

  A commotion caught my attention. I joined a group of people watching as four dirt-caked men wearing Confederate gray were marched at gunpoint toward a wagon.

  “What’s going on?” I asked the woman beside me.

  “The Federals captured some prisoners.”

  The men wore defeat on their pale, thin faces. I noticed two of them were barefoot even though December was upon us. For just a moment, a hint of sympathy swept through me. I’d heard rumors about Camp Chase, the Union prison up north. As one might expect, prisoners of war weren’t treated kindly. But these men being loaded into the wagon had chosen to fight for the Confederate cause. Were they slave owners? Had they been cruel masters like the man who’d owned Nell or like the Halls, who’d left me with a crippled hand and no family?

  My sympathy evaporated.

  Some of the folks nearby spat at the wagon when it passed, and I found myself joining in. Let the devil have those men, I thought. They deserved no better than what they’d given.

  I attempted to reclaim my normal routine over the next three days while we waited. Nell volunteered to help me with the officers’ washing, and I was grateful for the company. The report of guns could be heard throughout the sunny days from skirmishes fought in the south, and we learned several men had been wounded and were taken to a hospital in town. We still hadn’t heard from Illa, and her absence troubled me. I gathered enough courage to ask one of the officers if Illa could get through the Confederate line if she tried to reach Nashville, but he thought it highly unlikely. The Rebs wouldn’t let anyone sympathetic to the Federals—woman or otherwise—cross their line.

  On Thursday we awoke to a bitter wind blowing in from the north. Despite the change in temperature, cannons continued to roar and the pop of gunshots echoed until dark. The next day brought a sleeting rain that eventually turned to snow. Nell and I hunkered down in the tent most of the day, shivering and wrapped in thin blankets. When we did venture out, it was to huddle over one of the many campfires dotting the land. I recognized wooden fences and even bits of furniture being used for fuel. With most all the trees long felled for breastworks and forts, precious little remained to provide warmth in such frigid weather.

  Tempers flared under the hard conditions. Residents of the contraband camp as well as the hundreds of soldiers were ill-prepared for such intense cold. Arguments broke out over which blanket belonged to whom or who let the fire die down. With so many mouths to feed, food was rationed. I took the gold coins I’d buried beneath my cot and went to town, despite the ever-present fear of gunfire. I found a baker I remembered from my days working for Mr. Waters. The man had always been kind toward me, and I trusted him to be honest now since I’d never bought anything with my own money. He traded two coins for a loaf of bread and some salted meat he’d managed to keep out of the hands of the soldiers. I thanked him and hurried back to camp, surprised by how many men in blue uniforms I passed on my way. I supposed many of them had never been to Nashville and were determined to see the sights in spite of the imminent battle. Rumor had it the cannons weren’t the only thing booming. The city’s saloons and brothels saw steady business with the influx of soldiers.

  Two more days went by with little change in activities. We began to wonder if there would ever be a battle, or if the two sides would continue to simply hold their ground. The waiting wore on our nerves inside the contraband camp, but the soldiers seemed to take it in stride. After nearly four years of war, they’d surely seen their share of waiting.

  Each day I searched for Sam, but each day I was disappointed. I hoped he was staying warm and dry. The air still held a heavy chill by Sunday afternoon, but folks seemed to settle in for a day of rest. Even the guns had grown blessedly quiet, giving us a much-needed respite from the relentless fear of war.

  I decided to walk to the fort and take a look around. Sam felt we’d be safe there once the fighting began, but I’d never stepped foot behind the high limestone walls. It seemed best to acquaint myself with the layout before things grew dire.

  I climbed up the hill to the sally port, the only entrance into the great fort. The wooden gates were closed, and without Sam or Illa to accompany me, I didn’t have the courage to approach the guardhouse. I walked the perimeter of the huge wall instead, scouting the best place for Nell and me to hide when the shooting started.

  Atop Saint Cloud Hill, the view from the fort held beauty despite the impending battle. The whole country surrounding the city, on both sides of the river, looked like one big tented field. Thousands of cheerful campfires sent smoke into the clear sky, offering warmth and comfort, belying the uncertainty of the soldiers’ tomorrows.

  To the north, the Cumberland River teemed with war vessels and ships, their masts waving in the cold breeze. Hills, barren and stripped of trees, dotted the horizon in all directions. I saw the newly finished capitol building gleaming in the sunshine, strong and sure. To the south, a half mile across Franklin Pike, Fort Casino buzzed with activity. I couldn’t make out details, but I imagined their artillery looked similar to that of Fort Negley.

  Out of breath, I stopped and leaned against the high wall. I hadn’t taken much time to consider the fort all these years, despite living in its shadow, but I marveled now at the workmanship. I’d witnessed men, two at a time, hauling these thick limestone blocks up the hill, where they were laid out in such a way folks referred to it as an enormous star. Although I couldn’t see it now, I knew a tall wooden stockade and towers occupied the center. Should the enemy breach the walls, the stockade would act as the last defense for the men inside. Soldiers stationed high above me manned cannons at the ready while others served as lookouts and guards.

  A flapping sound drew my attention. I looked up and saw a large flag hoisted high on a pole, snapping in the stiff breeze, declaring to the world this was Union territory that would not be easily taken. As I stared up at the Stars and Stripes, I couldn’t help but hope it’d still be flying once the fighting was over. A shiver ran through me, and I refused to even consider what it would mean to have the fort taken by Confederates.

  I headed back down the hill, satisfied Nell and I could find adequate shelter on the north side of the fort if and when the battle began. A group of young soldiers came toward me, chatting and laughing. Since I was the one who didn’t belong, I stepped off the path to let them pass.

  “Ma’am.” The fellow at the back of the group tipped his soldier hat politely as he passed me.

  I noticed something shiny fall to the ground, but he kept walking, unaware. I went over and picked up a brass button, stamped with the emblem of the Union Army.

  “Sir,” I called. He turned, and I held up the button, identical to the dozens I’d sewed onto the officers’ coats the past two years. “I believe this fell off your uniform.”

  He looked at his coat, surprise on his face. When he approached, he said, “I thank you, ma’am. I’ve been meaning to mend that loose button ever since we got off the boat.”

  I handed it to him and waited for him to turn away.

  “I’m Albert Underwood, with the Ninth Indiana Light Artillery.” He indicated his companions further up the hill. “We thought we’d take a look around the fort.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.” For some reason, I thought a
bout this boy’s mama and what she might say to him if she knew he’d face the enemy soon. “You take care of yourself when the fighting starts.”

  Appreciation filled his youthful face. “I will, ma’am.”

  I watched him go, praying God would keep Albert Underwood safe.

  On my way back to camp, I passed the graveyard where the bodies of more than seven hundred slaves had been laid to rest. Men and women alike, they’d died from illnesses that continued to plague camp or from injuries acquired during the building of the fort. I couldn’t help but wonder how many more graves would be added once the fighting began.

  The following day brought more cold air, snow, and hundreds of soldiers mounted on horseback. Rumors abounded that the cavalry crossing the river meant a move toward battle was imminent. Yet despite the snow turning to rain the next day, the soldiers remained in camp.

  Finally, on a foggy morning three days later, cheers went up as line after line of soldiers marched out of camp, headed south. By noon, the air was filled with smoke from cannons and guns, the sounds of them a constant echo in the hills. Nell and I took our blankets and meager possessions and made our way up the hill to the fort. Many others from the contraband camp were of the same mind. Although we weren’t allowed to take shelter inside the stockade, we hid ourselves against the north walls, away from possible Confederate gunfire.

  Each blast from the cannons shook my insides. I pushed my fingers in my ears, but it did little to keep the fury of war from rattling my brain. As the sun set, a welcome quietness settled over the fort. Shots could still be heard further south as the Federal Army pushed the enemy back, but the battle had seemingly left us and the fort unscathed.

  Nell and I had scarcely made it to our tent when an urgent call drew me back outside.

  “The hospitals are flooded with wounded,” a white woman I’d never seen before shouted. “If you’re willing and able, come quickly.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I rose early Sunday morning despite staying up late reading Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Although different from Frankie’s true-life tales, the story invoked the same feelings of injustice deep inside me. I could well imagine how the country, especially those in the South, received this book when it was first published in 1852. Northern abolitionists were incensed at the treatment of slaves while those in the South cried foul at being portrayed so harshly.

  Alden planned to pick me up at ten and drive me to Frankie’s. He couldn’t stay, he’d said with disappointment in his eyes, but he’d happily return to drive me home later. I tiptoed down the stairs, breathing a sigh upon finding the kitchen still dark. Mama hadn’t been pleased that I’d been gone all day Saturday, so I hoped to appease her by having breakfast ready when she woke before breaking the news that I planned to be gone today, too.

  I opened the refrigerator and took out the necessary items for breakfast, noting the barrenness of the shelves. Mama usually went to the market on Saturday, her day off from the shop. Had she not gone?

  The aroma of coffee filled the kitchen when she appeared in the doorway an hour later, dark circles beneath her eyes.

  “My goodness.” She seemed genuinely surprised to find pancakes and fried eggs ready.

  “Good morning. I thought I’d make you breakfast.” I smiled from my place at the stove, my peace offering displayed on the table. I poured her a cup of coffee and doctored it with a splash of milk. “Come sit down.”

  After a moment, she settled at the table. “This is a lovely surprise, Rena. Thank you.”

  I sat in my usual chair on her right. “I know I haven’t been around much lately. I thought we could talk over breakfast.”

  She sent me a look of suspicion but delved into the meal without further comment. We talked about the mild weather and how the flower beds in the backyard needed to be readied for winter. She asked a few questions about Alden, and I shared what I knew about his life in Chicago.

  Mama glanced at the clock. “We’d best get ready for church. Mary and the children are coming by after the service. It would be nice if you’d spend some time with your niece and nephews for a change.”

  I hated to spoil her good mood so soon, but it couldn’t be helped. “I’m not going to church this morning. I promised Frankie we’d try to finish her interview today.”

  Mama’s face hardened. “You’re going to skip church to go down to Hell’s Half Acre? Quite ironic, wouldn’t you say? Doesn’t that woman believe in honoring the Lord’s Day?”

  “Mama, Frankie is 101 years old. She rarely leaves the house. But I know her to be a woman of faith. She told us just yesterday about the day she made peace with God.”

  Mama harrumphed. “What could she possibly have against God?”

  I took my time answering, not wanting to end our discussion in an argument. I simply wanted Mama to see the truth about slavery and what the FWP was trying to do with these interviews. “She was a slave, Mama. Owned by another human being. She suffered at the hands of her owners, including a disfigurement and being sold away from her family. I imagine I’d be angry at God if that had been my life. Don’t you?”

  The kitchen remained silent. Finally Mama’s shoulders eased some. “I suppose there are aspects of slavery that I’ve never considered. But it all happened so long ago, I don’t see the need to dredge it back up. Going down to that neighborhood and talking with that woman will not change the past, Lorena Ann.”

  “I know that, but maybe it can change the future for the better.”

  She gave a humorless laugh. “The only future it will affect is yours. Once people find out where you’ve been spending your time, no young man worth his salt will be willing to court you, mark my words.”

  I thought of Alden, his rapt attention on Frankie as she told us her life’s story. I had to fight the smile his name brought to my lips these days. “Mama, if a young man can’t see that what I’m doing has merit, then he isn’t the kind of man I want to spend time with.” I reached out and put my hand over hers, waiting until her gaze met mine. “You don’t need to worry about me. I promise. I’m finally doing something I truly enjoy, and I’m getting paid to do it. That’s something to be happy about, isn’t it?”

  After another long silence, she sighed. “I’ll be glad when this job is finished. I need you.” She glanced to the closed door of the study. “Your father is ill. I tended him all through the night.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” Other than the usual drunkenness and all the wonderful ills that came with it.

  “He’s having pain and swelling in his abdomen, as well as severe nausea.”

  A hint of worry edged its way past my normal apathy. “Do you think it’s serious?”

  “I don’t know. I hope to see Dr. Ridley at the service today and talk to him about it.”

  I glanced at the refrigerator, realizing this was the reason Mama hadn’t been to the market. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help, Mama.”

  She studied me a long moment. “What is it about this Frankie that you find so fascinating you keep going back?”

  I gave a slight shrug. “She lived in a time I’ve only read about. She experienced things we never will. Just yesterday she told us about the Battle of Nashville. I barely remember reading about it in school, and yet Frankie’s telling of it made me feel like I’d experienced it myself.” At the look of horror on Mama’s face, I chuckled. “I don’t mean the gore and all, but the emotions of waiting for the battle to begin, the frigid weather.” I recalled Alden’s and Frankie’s discussion about the rebuilding of the Civil War fort. “Did you know the Works Progress Administration is rebuilding Fort Negley? Won’t it be wonderful to see what it looked like and walk around inside?”

  Mama made a sound of disgust. “We lost the Battle of Nashville, Rena. Why on earth would we want a reminder staring down on us from atop a hill in the middle of town?”

  I realized then Mama and I would never see eye to eye on the past.

  Mama left for church an hour later. She
checked on Dad and found him sleeping peacefully. I felt a twinge of guilt for not volunteering to stay home until she returned, yet the thought of dealing with my father sent me hurrying to leave the house when I heard Alden’s car pull into the driveway.

  Frankie was waiting for me when we arrived at her house. “Is Alden not coming inside?”

  “No,” I said, hoping my disappointment wasn’t too obvious. A friend from the Works Progress Administration had asked to meet with him, although Alden didn’t say why. I turned to see him wave to Frankie before he drove away.

  “Well, it’s just you and me then. Jael is at the church. She loves singin’ in the choir and teachin’ the kiddies in Sunday school.” She noticed the small sack I carried. I’d asked Alden to stop at the market so I could purchase the makings for a meal of pork chops and vegetables.

  “I’d like to make lunch, if that’s all right with you.”

  She gave a deep chuckle. “Don’t no one ever have to ask if they can cook a meal for me. I’ve had plenty-a time in the kitchen and I’m more than willing to let you young folks take over.”

  After putting the groceries away and pouring us each a cup of coffee, we settled in the living room.

  “I can’t remember where I left off yesterday,” she said, staring out the window. “After you children left, my mind kept a-going. It’s hard to turn off the memories once they start flowing.”

  I took out my notebook and turned to the last page. “You said a white woman you’d never seen before came to the camp to ask for volunteers to help in the hospitals.”

  “Oh yes, I remember now.” She shook her head, squinting as though seeing the past in her mind’s eye. “That Miz Michaels was right. You can’t imagine the terrible things a bullet or a cannonball can do to a body. Nell wouldn’t go with me, which was just as well, but me and some others climbed up into the wagon the woman brought. We drove into town, not knowing what we was getting ourselves into. You’d have thought it was market day, the streets were so crowded despite darkness falling upon us. Dozens and dozens of army wagons called ambulances flew hither and yon, bringing in the wounded and going back out for more.”