The Other Side of Life

by Andy Kutler

  A scathing smile. “Hardly.”

  Shannon furrowed his brow. “I don’t understand. I thought you were looking for him.”

  “My apologies, Major. My name is Emily Garrity. My husband is Colonel Calvin Garrity of the First Virginia Cavalry Regiment. He is a prisoner somewhere in the north, I do not know where. We have a six-month-old baby, and I am here, because I have nothing left. No home, no money, and no food or milk for my child. I have taken a room in a boarding house and Charlie is being watched at the moment by the proprietor. We have until the end of the week. I was hoping Major Saunders, or Colonel Saunders now I suppose, could be of assistance. Our families have ties.”

  “Do you have other family that might—”

  “None. My parents have both passed away, and our nearest family is in Wilmington. Their situation is as desperate as mine.”

  Shannon bit his lip. He reached into his coat and pulled out a worn leather billfold. “Perhaps I can offer—”

  She stopped his hand from pulling out the bills. “Major, that is exceptionally noble of you, but given the cost of things, whatever you may have in there wouldn’t get us through the week. Not that I would accept it anyway. I wish to work.”

  “Mrs. Garrity, I served in the Fourth Virginia Infantry. Your husband’s regiment was well known to us, and saved our hides on more than one occasion. I wish there was something more I could do.”

  He thought for a moment and then smiled. “There is a man, McCloskey, he’s the Chief of Staff, runs the president’s cabinet, or what’s left of it. I don’t know him very well, having just posted here, but I may be able to get you in to see him. Perhaps he can find employment for you somewhere in the government.”

  Her spirits lifted. “Oh, that would be wonderful, Major.”

  An hour later, Emily sat in an ornately decorated office, a cup and saucer of tea in her hand. Across from her was L. Charles McCloskey, Chief of Staff to the President of the Confederate States of America. He was a handsome man, perhaps forty years of age, with broad shoulders and neatly-combed dark hair with flecks of silver. His smile was earnest, showing rows of white teeth, and despite the strain she was sure he was under, she sensed a kindness about the man. He listened patiently while Emily finished her story, sitting back in his chair with his legs crossed and fingers laced.

  “I have great sympathy, Mrs. Garrity—”

  “Emily, please.”

  “Well, Emily, my family is facing its own hardship in Mississippi, with my wife and daughter having to move in with Annie’s folks in Oxford. The Yankees put a torch to our plantation house, and my girls were lucky to escape with their lives. Three of our slaves roasted to death in that fire. How is that for irony?”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. It seems every one of us has our own story, each worse than the next.”

  “Indeed, and I want to help you. I truly wish I could. But I have no employment to offer you. We have cut this government to the bone, and frankly, our sole function within this building now is to find the resources to feed and arm what is left of our army.”

  “Surely you require a capable person here to—”

  “Look at it this way, Mrs. Garrity. Whatever paltry wages I could muster to pay you to perform clerical duties here would be money we could spend to feed an entire squad of men in Lee’s army. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience, would you?”

  Truthfully, she would be fine with that. Charlie was her priority now. Her only priority.

  They had managed until now based on the proceeds from the sale of the Richmond house, which she had no choice but to sell for pennies on the dollar. She did so on the advice of Caldwell, who ventured before he left for Norfolk to find his lady friend of many years that there wouldn’t be a single house standing in the capital in less than a year. Best to get what she could now before she was holding a worthless deed.

  But she was down to her last few dollars, unable to purchase that which she desperately needed—milk. It was terribly frustrating that her body wasn’t producing it; a necessity that should have been free and abundant but inexplicably wasn’t. Her doctor was of no use, blaming it on her own malnourishment, and insisted that she find some means of procuring cow or goat’s milk for the baby, and immediately.

  This proved to be nearly impossible. There were shortages of everything in Richmond now, food and medicine most of all, and the only milk to be found was among the black marketers who roamed the city, charging overinflated prices for the most basic goods. She loved her father dearly, but she found herself cursing the man for his foolhardy investments, squandering everything her grandparents had built, and leaving them in such squalor. And they were truly alone here, as her remaining family and friends were scattered from Norfolk to North Carolina. Emily had no means of leaving the city and the Union Army held virtually every road in the Commonwealth now.

  “Mr. McCloskey, my son will starve if I don’t have any income. I am pleading.”

  He held up a palm and sighed. “Emily, even if you found a position here, the government will pay you only in our own currency.”

  She sat back, completely deflated. That ended the discussion. With the outcome of the war no longer in doubt, Confederate dollars were almost entirely without value. The black market sellers accepted only gold or Union greenbacks now. Come winter, the Confederate script would likely be used for kindling.

  Emily stood, again fighting back tears of frustration. “Thank you for your time, Mr. McCloskey. I know you have far more important matters to attend to.”

  He stood as well. “Please wait, Emily. Wait one minute.” He gestured for her to sit again and she did.

  McCloskey pulled open a drawer from his desk and removed a small change purse. He counted out five gold coins and placed them in a stack on the edge of his desk near Emily. She started to protest but he spoke first.

  “That is because I am a father. This is my personal money, Emily. And if my wife were ever in your position, I would hope someone would show her similar compassion. I regret that is probably only enough gold to sustain you for a short while. But please, do not allow your pride to cause your son to go hungry.”

  Emily hesitated, then collected the gold pieces and placed them in her own purse.

  “Sir, your generosity moves me. I am greatly indebted to you, and insist on paying you back someday.”

  He smiled, rising from his desk and moving to the door, though he gestured for her to remain seated. “No, you owe no debt to me. That is a gift. But I do have a sort of unusual proposition for you.”

  He closed the door and returned to his chair. “I am not just a father, but a husband as well. A husband with…needs. I have been away from my wife for more than a year now. It would be nice to spend some time with a woman. Away from all of this…bedlam and depression.”

  Emily felt her temper rising. “I am a married—”

  “If I have offended you, take that gold and leave here now. You will never have to see or hear from me again. But please hear me out. I am merely offering you an option that would free you from your financial worries and ensure the continued good health of your son.”

  “What sort of woman do you take me for?”

  “The sort that would want her child to survive this war.”

  “By doing what?”

  “Having dinner with me, to start.”

  “To start?”

  He smiled. “I did not rise to this position by mincing words. Yes, I am interested in some companionship.”

  “‘Companionship?’ That sounds like a nicely-minced word to me. It suggests that all you seek is…conversation. And I suspect it is something more.”

  McCloskey stayed quiet and impassive. But he did not avert his eyes from hers.

  She shook her head in disbelief. “My husband is alive, Mr. McCloskey. After everything he has been through, do you believe I would betray him like that?”

  “We have all been through it, Emily. I was at Shiloh, lost both of my brothers on the sam
e day to Yankee sharpshooters. I ate rats at Vicksburg. I was brought here because President Davis and I were classmates, and there are few men left here in the capitol that he can trust. I’m not a depraved man, Emily. Just lonely.”

  She could not believe she was having this conversation. “Have you tried some of the houses down in the eastern end? I am sure you could find—”

  “I don’t want those women. I want you. To be candid, your beauty unnerves me, and it takes a great deal to unnerve a man such as myself, I assure you. You have a warm heart and frankly, I would rather put my gold in your pocket than theirs. I promise you, I will be discreet. No one will know of this but you and me. Your husband will never learn of this, certainly not from me.”

  Her head was spinning now, and she could no longer hear his words. She had exhausted every option she could fathom for keeping Charlie alive and safe. How many more nights could she spend with her child in her arms, ceaselessly crying because there was nothing in his stomach? They had both lost weight, but with the baby she knew it was life threatening. And the worst was yet to come; the Yankees were not in artillery range yet. McCloskey was offering her a solution that would keep them both well, but at a price she could not even conceive.

  She could no longer seriously consider this. It wasn’t who she was, and she knew the second she unfastened a single button, her marriage as she knew it was effectively over. It would destroy Cal and decimate the unbreakable trust the two had maintained since the day they met. Her dignity seized her, and she removed the gold coins from her purse, slamming them on the desk. She did so knowing she had enough money left for one, maybe two more paltry feedings of Charlie, and nothing for herself. As she stormed out of the office, McCloskey’s face was expressionless, having surrendered to his own demons long ago.

  She returned two days later.

  A crash of breaking glass from inside the house brought Emily back to the present. Hannah nervously pulled on her bit as Caldwell instinctively reached for the shotgun at his feet. He tossed Emily the reins and nimbly moved his 250-pound frame to the ground, stepping cautiously to the front steps.

  “Whoever is in there, you got ten seconds to show yourself or you will surely regret it.”

  Caldwell listened for a moment, heard nothing and charged up the steps. He kicked open the door, splintering the wood hinges, and disappeared into the house, his shotgun pointed ahead. He emerged a minute later, holding a squawking chicken by its legs upside down.

  “Woo, hee!” he cried out uncharacteristically as the scrawny hen angrily flapped her wings. “This here is a good sign. You may have the last feathered animal in Rockingham County!”

  For the first time that day she smiled. Yes, a good sign.

  I’m not giving up.

  CHAPTER 26

  The stones weren’t all that heavy. About the size of a lady’s hat box, they weighed maybe fifteen or twenty pounds each. But after lifting several dozen, Caldwell’s shirt was soaked through and his lower back felt like he had been mule-kicked. He dropped one of the larger rocks into place at the base of the wall, exhaling in relief.

  Perhaps, as Mrs. Garrity had subtly implied, he was getting a bit old for this.

  William Moore Peyton had constructed this wall himself, back near the turn of the century when Caldwell was just a toddler. He built it about three feet high using stones he hauled from the nearby creek and a simple mortar. The wall stretched out nearly a hundred yards from both sides of the gravel path, another engineering feat he had managed on his own. Why he built the short wall, Caldwell had never been told. Some men just liked their walls, he figured. It stood nearly a half-mile from the house, screened by a dense grove of elm trees in the distance.

  Caldwell took a swig from his canteen before moving toward the next stone. He had made a mental note to repair the wall on the day he and Emily had arrived. As they turned from the road and on to the gravel path that first day, he could see a section, maybe ten feet in length, had been knocked down, the stones littered across the ground. It looked as if an angry locomotive had punched through it.

  While they certainly had more pressing needs to attend to with the house and barn, Caldwell was determined to replace these stones first. He owed that to Emily’s grandfather. Owed the man everything.

  He tossed away the next stone, realizing it was too large for the gap he was trying to fill. He turned to select another when he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, followed by the clear sound of crunching gravel. His hand instinctively dropped to his hip.

  “I wouldn’t,” said a voice behind him.

  He froze, cursing to himself.

  “You pull that gun, you’re liable to shoot yourself in the foot, you worthless old coot.”

  Caldwell smiled.

  ***

  Emily was no longer useless with the hammer. She could drive a nail into the oak fence rail with just three or four swings. It was her grandfather’s hammer and it warmed her to know that she was using the same tool he had when he built this home.

  Still, they were fast running out of both hardware and surplus rails that Caldwell had salvaged from across the estate.

  Emily thought of Caldwell again. He knew she had nothing to pay him with, yet he clearly was determined to stick it out here with Emily and Charlie. She also knew the man had no family and nowhere else to go. No matter. She desperately needed him, though she would never admit that to another soul.

  She also owed him her life.

  They had never spoken of it, of course. He had simply appeared one evening outside of the Richmond boarding house where Emily and Charlie had taken a small room. She was returning from another visit to McCloskey’s home, anxious to relieve Mrs. Hayden who was watching Charlie for her. She thought to hide herself at first when she saw Caldwell perched on the front porch. Then she saw Charlie in one of his arms and her carpetbag at his feet. A bag she learned later he had filled with the remainder of their meager belongings. And then she immediately understood the futility of hiding from a man like Gus Caldwell.

  She had not seen him in months, since he had traveled to Norfolk to find an old love he thought may need his help. Emily had no idea why Caldwell was back in Richmond or how he knew how to find them. And most alarming, how he knew about her dalliance with McCloskey. But she was certain he did; she could read it in his face as she approached the front steps of the boarding house.

  Caldwell was never one to offer a warm greeting, and without wasting a single word he informed her they were leaving Richmond. The Yankees were coming fast and he was certain they were going to raze the Southern capital. She accepted with a simple nod, admitting her defeat and knowing she had no choice but to follow him. She also resisted the impulse to throw herself into his arms and weep.

  Emily put down the hammer and rubbed her hands, allowing the strong breeze to cool her face. The callouses were not going away anytime soon, the thin deerskin gloves offering little protection. Strangely, she found the thought of rough hands pleasing, a badge of determination, maybe even a faint sign of her old self. She gripped the tool again and hammered in another nail, their last decent one, as Sarah held the rail steady.

  “What now, miss?” the girl asked.

  Emily wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Why don’t you fetch us some cool water? I’ll pull some more nails from those boards and see about straightening them.”

  Sarah, perhaps fourteen or fifteen, moved toward the spring well that the Yankees had thankfully left functioning. Emily was grateful for the extra pair of hands, but Sarah’s presence was appreciated for other reasons as well. After more than a month of living on the property with the introverted Caldwell, who kept himself busy day and night with repairs, Emily found herself longing for company, any company, and another human voice. She had surprised herself a couple of weeks back, feeling genuine relief to see a face at her door, even if it was a colored one.

  The girl had hobbled down the gravel path leading from the turnpike. Emily l
ater learned she had been a house slave in Roanoke but was now just another war refugee trying to find her way north. The girl’s threadbare cotton dress was faded and torn, her hair a tangled mess, and as she stood in front of Emily on her porch, it was clear she was on the verge of collapse.

  “Just looking for something to eat, ma’am,” she croaked, her hoarse voice barely above a whisper.

  Emily looked her over, could plainly see the girl was half-starved, her lips dry and cracked. “I don’t have very much, but you are welcome to share what I have. If you are willing to work for me. I can’t pay you right now, so it will have to be for room and board.”

  The girl stared at her with vacant eyes, the concepts of employment and compensation as foreign to her as her newfound freedom. Emily didn’t really notice, too busy musing to herself about what her father would think of her were he still here.

  He was dead now, of course. Unlike so many in the Southern aristocracy, her father was no coward, and joined the fighting even after it became apparent the war would be lost. It was the day he left Richmond that he finally confided in Emily that much of the Peyton wealth had been severely diminished by the war. He had invested heavily in the Confederacy and so many of their family holdings were quickly evaporating. And when he was killed up in Strasburg and the creditors had come calling, she learned how penniless they really were.

  Emily stepped on a charred board and twisted the hammer claw to remove another bent nail. The corral they were repairing was a priority. In addition to Hannah, they had an old milking cow that Caldwell had somehow acquired in nearby Staunton. There was also the chicken they inherited, currently jammed into a makeshift hen house Emily and Sarah had pieced together. She fantasized about roasting the chicken almost every day, but the eggs had far more value.

  Sarah returned, placing the bucket of water on the front steps. She used a dipper to pour a cup for Emily, who came over and gratefully accepted the drink.

  Emily could hear Charlie crying in his crib. He was hungry. They were all hungry. After four years of war, food supplies in Virginia were almost non-existent. A Union wagon had brought her two sacks of flour and a bushel of potatoes, but that was weeks ago, and they were back to sustaining themselves mostly on the meager yield from their small garden and whatever the hen could produce.