Under the Tulip Tree

by Michelle Shocklee

  At the very end of the row, I saw him, a blanket tucked beneath his chin with only his face visible. His eyes were closed and his skin had a gray tinge to it. I could detect no movement whatsoever.

  Was I too late?

  Before I had a chance to turn and run from the room, his chest rose and fell ever so slightly. Then again. He was alive, and all the fear I’d bottled up since he walked away from my tent before the fighting started came out in a feral sob.

  His eyes slowly opened. Seeing me, he tried to smile, but a grimace came to his face instead. “Frankie,” he whispered. I could tell it took every ounce of strength to speak that one word.

  “Oh, Sam.” I fell to my knees beside his cot. I didn’t know the extent of his injuries, so I didn’t reach for him.

  “I told him I couldn’t go without seeing you.”

  His voice barely made it past his parched lips, and I had to lean in to hear. “You ain’t going nowhere. You’re gonna stay right here and get better.”

  He shook his head. “It’s time.”

  I realized then he meant it was time for him to die. For some crazy reason, that ignited my anger instead of my fear.

  “You listen to me. You is gonna get well. You promised me we’d marry up when the war was over, and I’m holdin’ you to it.”

  A hint of a smile raised the corners of his mouth. “We woulda had us a good time, Frankie.” He sounded weaker, if that were possible.

  Tears sprang to my eyes. “You hush now and get some rest.”

  His gaze locked on mine. “I don’t regret it, Frankie. That boy. I don’t regret it.” His eyes fluttered closed and his body went limp.

  “Sam?” My heart dropped to my toes.

  “He’s still with us,” Illa said from behind me. “He’s been in and out of consciousness since they found him on the battlefield.”

  I turned and gaped at her. “On the battlefield? What was he doing there?”

  “He volunteered to help carry the wounded from the field.”

  I looked at Sam’s ashen face again. “Fool man,” I hissed. “Why didn’t you stay where you’d be safe?” Hot tears streamed down my face and dripped onto my dress.

  “Sam saved many lives, Frankie.”

  I stared at him, wishing I could see that maddening smile again. “But now he’s gonna die because of it.” His words came back to me. “What boy is he talking about? What doesn’t he regret?”

  Illa sat on the edge of Sam’s bed near his feet. “From what I’m told, Sam saw a young soldier go down during the height of the fighting and rushed to pull him from harm’s way. The Confederate who shot him charged forward with his bayonet at the ready. Sam didn’t stop. He hoisted the young man onto his shoulders and tried to make a run for it, but the other man was faster. He stabbed Sam several times. When they found him after the shooting ended, he’d crawled on top of the young man to shield him.”

  My chin trembled as I fought sobs that threatened to explode from me. Sam was a hero. And now God was going to take him away from me, just as he’d taken away everything I’d ever loved.

  Illa left a short time later. She was needed back at the hospital where she’d found me. I knew I wouldn’t leave Sam’s side until his spirit slipped away. Nurses and volunteers came and went from the ward. No one checked Sam’s bandages, and I knew they expected him to die. I took it upon myself to bathe his face, wondering for the first time what it might have been like to be Sam’s wife.

  Time passed, but Sam didn’t awaken again. His breath grew shallow and labored. I couldn’t sit here and watch him die. I needed a distraction. Glancing about, I saw a burlap sack underneath his bed and tugged it out. Inside were Sam’s worn hat and his Bible, muddy and wet but still intact. I guessed he’d had it on him when the enemy tried to end his life. I carefully opened the small book, the pages parting on their own to the Psalms. How Sam loved the poetry of those words. We’d talked about them many a time over the years, relishing their beauty and discussing their meaning.

  I stopped at the Twenty-third Psalm, Sam’s favorite.

  “‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.’”

  A lump formed in my throat and my lips trembled. I could almost hear Sam’s deep voice reciting the words.

  “‘He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.’”

  Tears choked me, but I kept going. “‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.’”

  I slammed the book shut.

  I didn’t want Sam to walk through that valley. Why must he? He was a good man. He loved his neighbor better than anyone I’d ever seen. Be they white or black, it didn’t matter. Sam deserved to live. I was the one who should die. I was selfish and mean-spirited. The world wouldn’t miss me the way it would miss Sam and all his goodness.

  “Take me,” I breathed. With my eyes squeezed tight, I started rocking where I sat. “Take me, take me, take me.” Over and over, I whispered the words until my body and my mind were exhausted.

  I fell in a heap on the floor beside Sam’s bed and clutched his cold, lifeless hand. If the Almighty was going to take Sam tonight, I was determined to go too.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Frankie.”

  I heard Mammy calling. “I’m coming, Mammy.”

  “Frankie.”

  I opened my eyes, expecting to see Mammy’s face above me. I found Illa instead. She helped me sit up, my body unusually stiff and sore, and it all came rushing back. Panic surged through my heart.

  “Is he . . . ?” I couldn’t look at the body in the cot next to me.

  A soft smile touched her lips. “No, he’s not. In fact, he’s a bit improved.”

  I scrambled to my feet, not believing her. But she hadn’t lied. Sam’s breath wasn’t shallow as it had been last night, inching ever closer to the death rattle. His face had lost its grayish hue, although his coloring wasn’t back to normal either.

  “The doctor wants Sam’s bandages changed and the wounds cleaned.” At my hopeful look, she cautioned, “We still don’t know if he’ll live, but we mustn’t let infection set in.”

  Together, we cleaned Sam’s wounds. I didn’t know how he’d survived such a brutal attack. He’d lost so much blood, it was a wonder he had any running through his veins. Throughout our ministrations, Sam remained unconscious, which was a blessing. After we had him tucked back under the covers, Illa departed, promising to check on us later that afternoon.

  I found a straight-backed chair in another part of the hospital and set it beside Sam’s bed. I spooned thin broth between his parched lips, bathed his face, and read from his Bible. Some hours later, with a weary body and mind, I closed the book and rested my eyes.

  “Ma’am, would you keep reading?”

  I turned to find the man in the bed across from Sam’s looking at me. A blood-soaked bandage covered half his face.

  “I ain’t never heard a black woman read before,” he said. “It does my heart good to listen to the Book read by you.”

  The awe in his voice humbled me. “Miz Illa taught me after the army took Nashville.”

  “I’d never knowed it. You read real good for such a short time.”

  I glanced at the book in my lap. Sleep beckoned, but I couldn’t bring myself to deny his request. “Any particular story you want to hear?”

  “A preacher man came to the plantation once and talked ’bout what heaven gonna look like. It seemed too good to be true.”

  I knew those verses. Sam and I had discussed them on many occasions, wondering at the beautiful images they conjured in our minds. It seemed fitting in a hospital with death all around, the men’s thoughts would turn toward heaven. Perhaps we all needed a reminder of what awaited on the other side of this life.

  I turned pages until I found the twenty-first chapter of Revelation. “‘And I saw a new heaven and a new earth,’�
� I began, “‘for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away.’”

  I read for another hour. When I finished with one passage, someone else in the room asked to hear such and such story. After I closed the book and said I needed to take a break, most every one of those men thanked me, a measure of peace on their faces that hadn’t been there earlier. I realized, too, the fear that had held me captive since coming to Sam’s bedside left while I was reading.

  With one last look at Sam’s closed eyes, I made my way outside for a breath of fresh air. The sun hung low on the horizon. I longed for my cot, yet I didn’t want to leave Sam. What if he woke up?

  A young woman I’d seen working in the hospital stood on the step, looking at the sky. When she turned to me, her eyes weary, she nodded a greeting.

  “I’s just listening for the guns.”

  Her words took me by surprise. In my worry over Sam, I’d near forgotten the fighting might continue. But as I strained my ears, all I heard were wagons, voices, and normal sounds of the city settling in for the night.

  “Is that your man in there?”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer. My feelings for Sam were too big and too confusing to explain to this stranger. “He’s a friend.”

  She nodded. “I hope he makes it.”

  “Thank ya.”

  “I ain’t seen my man since the fightin’ commenced. I keep hopin’ he’ll turn up. . . .” She shrugged and returned her gaze to the sky.

  I knew the dead were still being buried, black men among them. But our people didn’t have the benefit of a marked grave like the white soldiers. I silently prayed her man wasn’t among them.

  After making use of the indoor privy, the likes of which I’d never seen before, I returned to Sam’s room. A lone lantern sat on a table near the entry, casting shadows over the beds. Some of the men slept; some stared at the ceiling. I settled next to Sam’s bed, grateful no one had carried off the chair while I was gone.

  I dipped a cloth in the basin of water and gently washed Sam’s face.

  “You gotta wake up now, Sam.” I kept my voice low, not wishing the others to hear me but hoping Sam could. “The Yanks is chasing the Rebs south. I heard they’s down in Columbia. Makes me wonder if they’ll keep going till they get to the shore in Alabama.”

  Did his eyelids flutter?

  I leaned in close. “Miz Illa made it back from Franklin. Said things was fierce for a time, but now she’s back, working hard as ever. She’s over to the hospital on Front Street, but she comes by here to check on you.”

  I waited.

  My shoulders sagged when no response came. A heavy sigh escaped my lips. “Sam, you gotta wake up. You gotta get better. You made me a promise, and I’m gonna hold you to it.”

  I rested my head near his heart, comforted by the steady beat beneath the blanket. As long as there was breath in his body, I wouldn’t give up.

  It was some hours later when I woke with a start. Had someone spoken to me? Called my name?

  I sat up. The room was dark save the lone lantern. The other men continued to sleep. No one stirred. I must have been dreaming.

  When I turned back to Sam, I found his clear gaze fixed on me. “Sam,” I breathed.

  A slight movement to his lips confirmed I wasn’t imagining. “I always keep my promises.”

  Before I knew what I was doing, I planted my hands on either side of his face and kissed him. When I moved away, his smile deepened. “That there is what I been waiting for.”

  Weakness kept his words from going beyond me, but it didn’t matter. He was awake and talking.

  I fought tears that threatened to spill over. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you went out on that battlefield just so’s you could end up here, worrying me to death.”

  He chuckled, then grimaced. A reminder to both of us his wounds were far from healed.

  “Did we win?”

  “Yes. The Confederates are on the run.”

  He nodded and closed his eyes for a long moment before meeting my gaze again. “Did the boy live?”

  The man amazed me. Despite nearly dying, his thoughts were on someone else.

  “I don’t know.”

  He was quiet for a time before he noticed his Bible in my lap. A knowing look came to his eyes. “You been reading God’s Word.”

  It wasn’t a question. I looked down at the book. “The others like hearing the stories.”

  Sam’s gaze went beyond me to the darkened room, where beds were mere shadows. “How many?”

  “Two dozen in this room. Lots more in the hospital.” I knew he’d want to hear the whole story. “The Federals lost about four hundred men, but there’s nearly three thousand wounded. That don’t include enemy soldiers. They say the prison hospital over on Cherry Street is overflowing.”

  He closed his eyes. A lone tear slipped from beneath his lashes. “Why do men do it, Frankie? Why are they so bent on killing each other just so’s they can claim to be the victor?”

  “I don’t think even they know why they do it. Someone gets a hateful idea in their head; then they convince others on it. Like a disease spreading.”

  We sat in the stillness of our thoughts for a long time before Sam said, “You need to go to them.”

  I puzzled over what he meant. “Go to who?”

  “The wounded over in the prison hospital.”

  I nearly tumbled out of the chair, shocked at such a fool thing for him to say. “I ain’t going to help those men. What they ever done for me but keep me in slavery? I’m staying right here till you’re well. You ain’t getting rid of me that fast.”

  I thought he’d laugh at my joke, but he didn’t. He didn’t even smile. “I mean it, Frankie. I don’t know why, but you gotta go to them. You gotta.” He tried to rise up, but his face contorted with pain.

  “Sam, be still or you’ll open your wounds.” I gently pushed him down. Surely the pain must have him confused. I didn’t want to upset him further. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now, you gotta get some rest.”

  He settled back on the cot and closed his eyes, seemingly appeased by my words. I sat in the dark room, listening to his even breathing when he eventually drifted to sleep. While I was grateful he’d finally awakened, he had a long way to go to full recovery. Infection killed many and was still a real threat.

  But along with worry over his well-being, I was baffled by his adamancy that I go to the prison hospital. Why would he insist I go there? I’d seen several hundred Confederate prisoners marched into Nashville, covered in mud, with their heads hung low. Some were transported in wagons, their uniforms bloody and their faces pale. No doubt the prison hospital was brimming with fallen Rebs, but I had no desire to attend those men. They deserved to die, and nothing Sam said would change my mind.

  Illa arrived with the sun. Sam woke in time for her to feed him a breakfast of watery porridge while I fought to keep myself awake.

  “Why doesn’t thee get some sleep, Frankie?” Her eyes held kindness as well as concern. “I’ll stay with Sam until the doctor sees him.”

  I wanted to argue and declare myself fit to remain by his bedside, but I knew I wasn’t. I could barely keep myself upright. Finally I consented. “I’ll be back soon as I rest a bit.”

  Sam’s weak smile assured me he understood.

  I walked out of the hospital into a bitterly cold day. Puddles laced with a thin sheet of ice and frozen mud gave evidence of a heavy rain during the night, although I’d never heard it come or go. I pulled my coat tight, the threadbare garment inadequate against such frigid air, and trudged through the mess as fast as I could. I was numb by the time I reached my tent. There was no sign of Nell, and I hoped she’d taken over my duties as laundress for the officers like I’d asked. Even with most of the army marching south, there were still men in camp who needed clean clothes.

  I crawled beneath the blanket and curled into a stiff ball. Although my tired muscles eventually relaxed in exhaustion, my mind wouldn’t settle. S
am’s words kept me awake longer than I liked, making me angry.

  “I ain’t going to that prison hospital,” I hissed into the silent tent, the words puffs of white on the cold air. I flopped over and presented my back to the opening as though some unseen person stood outside, beckoning me to go tend wounded Confederates.

  “Leave me be!” I shouted and squeezed my eyes closed. “Ain’t nothin’ you or Sam says is gonna change my mind.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Jael arrived home. She had news.

  “There was an incident on the streetcar.” Her somber tone told us all was not well. “A gal got on at Cherry Street. The conductor wouldn’t take her ticket book. Said she had to pay the fare, but she didn’t have it. Her employer bought her the book so she could go home every Sunday to check on her girls and not worry about carrying fare.”

  Alden shook his head, disgusted. “I’ve seen this happen before. That conductor should be fired.”

  “Those of us on the streetcar got nervous when the gal and the conductor starting yelling at each other. Some of the white passengers got off.”

  Frankie reached her hand out toward Jael, who came forward to take it. “I’m sorry you got caught in all that mess, baby girl.”

  Jael sniffled, and I realized she was quite shaken by the confrontation.

  “What happened to the woman?” Alden asked.

  “A kindly old gentleman offered to pay her fare, but she refused. Said her book was good enough. When the conductor threatened to throw her off the car if she didn’t pay, she threatened to tell her employer about him.” Her eyes widened. “I thought that man was gonna hit her right there in front of us all. I guess some of the people who’d gotten off notified the police because an officer arrived about then. He dragged the woman off the car, kicking and screaming. The conductor laughed, then turned to those of us still seated and said he hoped we learned a lesson today.”

  My blood boiled at the injustice, yet what could I say to Frankie and Jael? A white man had done this to a black woman, simply because he could.

  I remembered the man who’d boarded the streetcar with me the day I learned about the job with the FWP. Laws forced him to sit in the back while I was free to sit wherever I pleased. I recognized now how unfair it was to treat people as though they were inferior simply based on the color of their skin, but it shamed me that it had taken so long.