Maybe Hood was right. No army ever formed could possibly come up against Atlanta’s fortifications. All they had to do was snip Sherman’s tenuous supply line stretching to Chattanooga. Without food and ammunition, what else could the Yankees do but starve, scatter, or surrender? Both armies had already picked the countryside—and the rural homes—clean of all the food that could be foraged.
The rain stopped around eight o’clock in the morning, and still no sound came from the Union line. Have we done it? Is it over? Hope dawned inside him as the clouds parted for the bright red sun in the east. Soon he could hold Ana in his arms again.
And release Caitlin to find her Jack. If, in fact, he was still alive. For Caitlin’s sake, Noah prayed he was. For his own sake, he stuffed down the bitter disappointment that when this was all over, he could not invite her to be part of their lives forever. It would have been so wonderful for Analiese. He would not admit how wonderful it would have been for him.
A chilling blast from the north shattered Noah’s daydreams, as Sherman’s guns thundered to life. In seconds the sky writhed with screaming lead and twisting fire, arcing like hell’s rainbows over the Confederate trenches and directly into Atlanta. The earth shook and the heavens roared furiously as ten Confederate and eleven Federal batteries squared off along the north and west of the city. Twelve-pound chunks of iron ripped through the air, coming within five feet of Noah’s position in the works. All hands not employed at the artillery guns grabbed their weapons. The picket lines popped and rattled with fire as men fought it out beneath the flaming sky.
Before the exhortation arrived from General Hood, every soldier knew what the general did not need to write. They were to hold their positions to the very last. “The destiny of Atlanta hangs upon the issue.”
Atlanta, Georgia
Tuesday, August 9, 1864
BOOM! B-BOOM BOOM! BOOM!
Stunned, Caitlin locked eyes with Naomi at the table. After a lull in the shelling for a few days, war exploded once more above their heads. Rushing in to Ana in the parlor, they squeezed hands and watched silently through the window while Rascal whimpered and emptied his bladder on the floor.
The inferno of noise swelled at intervals by the roar of a falling building. All the fires of hell and all the thunders of the universe seemed to blaze and roar over the city. Caitlin’s well-trained ear heard four-and-a-half-inch guns and twenty-pounder Parrots firing, as quickly as they could be loaded.
Great volumes of sulphurous smoke rolled over Atlanta and trailed down to the ground. Through this stifling haze, the sun glared down as a great red eye peering through a bronze-colored sky.
In a terrible crash, lead and light broke through the ceiling on the other side of the room. Plaster dust danced in the air before coating Caitlin’s, Naomi’s, and Ana’s skin. Yelping, Rascal ran out of the room with his tail tucked between his legs.
White-faced, the women wrapped their arms around Ana in a protective huddle, but did not seek a safer place. Only the hand of God can shelter us.
“Be merciful unto me, O God, be merciful unto me,” Naomi quoted from the psalms, “for my soul trusteth in thee: yea, in the shadow of thy wings will I make my refuge, until these calamities be overpast.”
Only when the shelling ceased did Caitlin realize Rascal was gone from the house completely.
Confederate fortifications, north of Atlanta, Georgia
Saturday, August 27, 1864
Noah Becker felt as though he’d been holding his breath ever since he awoke yesterday morning to the most foreign sound of all: silence. As far as the eye could see to the north and the west, the Union trenches running parallel to the Confederate works were empty. No smoke rose from the bivouacs beyond. There were no flags shuddering in the hot breath of summer. No tents. No glint of sun on steel.
Throughout the day yesterday, the batteries on the defense line sent cannonballs out to feel for the enemy. No Union guns responded. It appeared as though the entire Federal army had emptied overnight. Was it a trick?
But today, word came down from General Hood in no uncertain terms: “Sherman has been starved out! We have won!”
Finally, Noah dared to breathe again. It was over. The emaciated Confederate army had held their own against superior numbers, saving Atlanta after all. The tens of thousands of Rebels who had died had not done so in vain. The moment was bittersweet. Atlanta was safe, and so was slavery, for as long as the Confederacy lived.
The breath Noah drew now as he inspected the abandoned Union trenches was decidedly sour. Black dog flies covered everything—bowls, chairs, ammunition boxes. Discarded clothing, new and old, crawled with lice. Also left behind were small brick furnaces where they must have heated their cannonballs into “hot shot,” spreading fire as well as debris upon impact.
Between Yankee and Rebel trenches, scavengers hunting relics joined rats and crows, and the occasional fox scouring the torn-up land.
Farther north, behind the trenches, were crude bunks. Apprehension carved Noah’s brow when he came upon crates of abandoned hardtack and desiccated vegetables. Strange leavings for a starving army. On a headboard, a note was written with coal in large bold letters. “Goodbye, Johnny. We are going to see you soon, and when we come to Georgia we will remember Kennesaw.” It was signed, “YANK.”
Instinctively, Noah cocked the revolver in his hand.
“Hold it right there, Johnny Reb. I’ve got a bead on you so put your hands where I can see them.”
A straggler. Armed and aiming right at Noah. Without turning around, Noah said, “It’s over. We need not continue this pointless bloodletting.”
“I feel the same way, but here you are with a revolver in the enemy camp.”
“It’s deserted. Except for you. Now why do you suppose that is?” Noah’s voice held steady, but sweat slicked his palms. The fight was over. The Rebels had won. Atlanta was saved. He did not escape death thus far just to be killed by some disgruntled Yankee deserter mere miles from his home!
“Never mind that. Just put your weapon down.”
“Capital idea. You first.”
The Northerner chuckled. “You mean you don’t trust me?”
“Not with a threat like this staring me in the face.” He nodded to the charcoal message scrawled on the bunk in front of him. “You write that?”
“No. Drop your weapon.”
“You going to shoot me in the back?”
“No such thing.”
But who could trust a man who spent the last several weeks bombing innocent civilians? Clenching his jaw, Noah whirled around, his barrel pointed at the Yankee sidestepping toward a bunk that stood between them. Noah’s revolver remained trained on him. “You shelled my city. I ought to shoot you where you stand for that.”
The young man swallowed. “Not all of us wanted to do that, you know. Sherman’s orders.”
“You must have dropped four thousand shells in the city on August 9 alone.”
“Five thousand.”
Noah stepped closer. “God knows how many women and children you killed.”
“I swear I didn’t want to do it.”
“So you knew there were noncombatants in the city?”
The Yankee shrugged. “Sherman said they’d been ordered out, that as a military post, they had no business being in there anyway.”
“Have you any idea what it’s like to have the ones you love in harm’s way?”
“Yes.” The Yankee swallowed. “I even know what it’s like to be the cause. Now tell me. Is there anything worse than that?” Slowly, he lowered his weapon, and Noah did the same.
They stood there for a moment, the Billy Yank and the Johnny Reb, the hunger and weariness of one reflected in the other.
“Care to tell me your story?” Noah asked.
“I don’t know where to start.”
“Well, how is it that you are here, when the rest of the bluecoats have vanished?”
The young man sighed. “I hid when they left
during the night. I’ve got business to attend to in the city.”
Noah raised his eyebrows.
“Yesterday, though, I didn’t dare go anywhere for fear of those wretched shells and cannonballs you all were tossing over here throughout the day.” He half-turned and nodded at a large black orb on the ground. “That one over there scared me half to death when it rolled on through. Thank God it was a dud. Not unlike so many of your others, I must say.” He brought his canteen to his lips, but finding it empty, tossed it aside.
The explosion that followed lifted Noah off his feet on a wave of pressure before sending him to the ground in a shower of red dirt and gravel. His vision spun like a reckless carousel for several moments as he lay still. Hands covering his ears, he waited, wincing, for the ringing to recede.
When his stomach settled back into place, Noah slowly pushed himself up, shaking his fingers through his hair. “Funny thing about those duds, eh, Billy? Never can tell when you might tap one back to life.” His voice sounded faraway, muted by the clanging between his ears.
Pressing his hand against the pain expanding in his head, Noah cautiously walked between the splintered remains of two bunks. “Hello, Yank?”
Hang it all. Noah found him, alive, but injured. Below his knee, blood turned his Union blue trousers dark purple. Shrapnel had peppered his chest and blasted through his thigh, taking a chunk of flesh and muscle with it.
Oh no. Noah sank to his knees beside him. “It’s not bad. Hang on.” The man needed medical care, and he would not get it way out here. He would have to be treated in Atlanta. But he’d not get in wearing blue.
Noah peeled the man’s Union jacket from his body and began rolling it into a tourniquet for his leg.
The Yankee whispered, and Noah asked him to speak louder.
“Atlanta,” he tried again. “Your city?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Noah leaned in to read his lips.
“Then you can help. There is a letter in my pocket …” He winced. “Can you see … that it’s delivered? Afraid I don’t … have address.”
“A letter?” Noah hoped he wasn’t shouting.
The young man nodded.
Noah fished out an envelope and turned it over.
Caitlin McKae, Atlanta.
Atlanta, Georgia
Saturday, August 27, 1864
Caitlin hardly knew how to feel as martial music blared on the streets and neighbors emerged from perforated houses and steamy gopher holes with tremulous smiles. Most everyone was smiling. Atlanta had survived without surrendering like Vicksburg had.
Caitlin’s heart had been so battered during the siege she could barely trust its conflicting beats. She was livid the Union army had targeted a civilian population, grateful the shells had stopped, and suspicious of Sherman’s so-called defeat. Vivian had told her to watch for Jack, but her brother had never come. And what of Noah? Was he safe? Would he come home soon?
Idle thoughts, useless questions. Caitlin and Naomi tidied Noah’s house the best they could, sweeping plaster, wood splinters, and brick rubble out the door. The kitchen and carriage house had been demolished by a shell, and the garden seemed torn up beyond repair. Nothing could be done about the hole in the roof and the second floor. Ana mourned Rascal’s departure as yet the loss of another friend from her crumbling world. But, Caitlin told her own stinging heart, at least we survived.
Twenty-two others had not. Some said at least 107 residents of Atlanta had suffered through amputations without anesthesia, same as the soldiers. Dogs and cats had disappeared, and Caitlin wondered if they had found food, or become it, during the five-week siege. Thoughts of Rascal were swept away as quickly as they alighted.
“I bet you wish you’d gotten on that train to Macon, Naomi.” Caitlin leaned on her broomstick as she stood on the back porch.
“And leave you and Ana? After all you’ve done for me? Not a chance.”
Caitlin looked past the woman, focusing instead on two raggedy male figures coming through the splintered trees at the back of the lot.
Naomi followed her gaze. “Ah. More bummers. Do you want me to tell them we’ve got no more food to eat than they? If it weren’t for General Hood sparing some rations for those of us families who stayed, I don’t know what would have become of us. Wait a minute—one of them’s hurt.”
“How is it they came all the way down to the southern part of the city?” Caitlin shielded her eyes from the sun.
Naomi shrugged. “Maybe the northern section’s all filled up. Every house on Peachtree took in patients and convalescents, it seems.”
Nodding, Caitlin stepped off the porch, tossing her fraying braid over her shoulder. The man supporting the injured one halted when he saw her stride forward. Then the wounded soldier collapsed, and the other hoisted his limp body over his shoulder like a sack of grain.
“Naomi, some water.” But the faithful nurse was already at the pump.
Caitlin quickened her pace, lifting her skirt above the late August jungle of thistles underfoot. And then she stopped. “Noah?” she gasped, then jogged toward him. “Is it really you?” His body was sinewy beneath his rags, his eyes piercing, electrifying blue.
“And Jack.”
Her heart nearly stopped. “What?”
“He was looking for you,” he panted. “I told you I’d help you find Jack. Is Ana—”
“She’s fine, thank God. But is Jack—is he—”
Noah closed his eyes for a moment, the lines of his face visibly relaxing. “Injured. Passed out.” He pushed past her. “He will live.”
Long-bottled tears overflowed in sweet release as she trailed them into his house. Thank You, God, thank You, thank You. She wiped her face with her apron and hoped she had not made the mess worse. To have Noah and Jack both, it was a dream. Her dream come true.
To be so near Caitlin after wondering if he’d ever see her again, to watch her shed tears of joy for another man, was almost more than Noah could bear. She was never mine to lose. Noah laid Jack on the dining room table and backed away, allowing Caitlin and Naomi to tend his wounds.
“What happened?” Naomi asked while Caitlin bent over him like a willow to the river, whispering in his ear.
Noah looked away as he answered. Perhaps he should not be here for their reunion. “A shell exploded. Shrapnel struck his leg.”
“Raked his chest, too, I see. His leg bandage is already sodden …” she murmured.
“Papa?” He heard Ana call. “Papa?” But why didn’t she come running?
Heart thundering, he strode across the hall toward her voice. His knees nearly betrayed him when he found her in the parlor, both legs tied to broken pieces of furniture. In a fraction of a second, he was at her side, barely registering that a shell had plowed through the room. “Ana, what has happened? Are you in pain?” He crouched on the floor beside her, wrapped his arms around her thin body. Her sobs shuddered against his chest.
“Susan said you’re not my Papa!”
Anger licked through Noah’s veins. “You are the daughter of my heart. I chose to be your Papa, and I will be your Papa for the rest of your life.” He kissed the top of her head and prayed she would believe him.
“She tried to take me away even though I said I didn’t want to go! I said I would wait here for you but she didn’t listen! Miss McKae found me at the Car Shed and—and—I jumped off the train but my legs broke when I fell!”
It was too horrifying to be true. “You jumped from a train? It wasn’t moving was it?”
She nodded, and visions of her on the tracks, mutilated by the iron horse surged in his mind. Thank God it was only two broken legs!
Caitlin appeared in the doorway. “I am so sorry. I tried to catch her—the doctor said her little legs were just too weak for the angle at which she landed.”
Too weak. Because of smallpox, likely, but also because there had not been enough food for a growing girl. “I made the wrong decision,” he said into his daughter’s hair. “I s
hould have been here the whole time. None of this would have happened if I’d been here.” His head ached with growing pressure.
“But, Noah.” Caitlin knelt beside him. Did she realize she was using his Christian name again? “They would not have allowed you to stay home. And you did it. You stopped Sherman’s army at the gate.” Tears filled her sparkling brown eyes again. “If it weren’t for you, I never would have found Jack. I don’t know how you did it, but I am forever in your debt. I thought I’d never see my brother again.”
Noah’s eyebrows plunged. “You have a brother?”
Her eyes widened. “Yes! Jack! I thought surely he told you.”
“Jack. Jack is your brother?”
“Yes! Who did you think he was when I first mentioned—oh.” Her cheeks bloomed pink. “Of course not. I mean, of course, Jack is only my little brother. There is no other man—except—oh dear. You’ve only just come home. Spend some time with Ana, she has missed you so.” She pushed herself up to leave, but Noah caught her hand.
“But you did not?”
A lump bobbed in her throat. “I missed you.” Her voice was but a whisper.
“Caitlin, I—” Words failed him, utterly and completely.
She smiled. “We have time. You’re home now. We are all together at last, the way it should be. There is time, and I will answer all your questions.” She gave his hand a light squeeze and returned to the dining room to see Jack. Her brother. Noah remembered then, what joy felt like.
“I—I suppose Ana told you. What Susan said on the train?”
Noah unlatched his gaze from the rubble that had once been his kitchen and turned to Caitlin. “Yes, she told me.”
She blinked, looked down at her fingers pleating and unpleating her apron. “So … how are you?”
He concentrated on her lips to filter her words through the relentless ringing in his ears. “Susan was completely out of line.” He sighed and leaned against the porch column, the sharp edges of its peeling paint prickling through his shirt. “Nothing will change my love for my daughter, and thank God, Ana seems convinced of it now.”
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