by Lyn Cote
Then a Scripture passage his mother used to quote came to mind, and he spoke it. “‘Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’ From the book of Matthew.”
She smiled, and her shoulders relaxed. “I stand rebuked. I will take joy in this victory. It cost us much.” She looked toward Vicksburg. “And cost our enemy even more.”
Dev ordered his men to tend to their own horses before they joined in the celebration. He dismounted and led Faith’s horse to the corral. There he helped her down from the saddle. Resisting the urge to prolong his hold around her waist, he released her. “I will have someone see to your horse.”
She hesitated and then agreed. She murmured good-bye to Horace, her mount for the day, stroked his head, and hurried away.
Dev couldn’t help himself—he watched her walk away till he could no longer see her, swallowed up in the reveling crowd.
The lieutenant beside him, currying his horse, said, “She’s quite an unusual lady.”
Dev merely nodded his agreement. He listened to the happy voices around him and let the ease of a battle won work its way into his heart. He wouldn’t look beyond today. “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” Then he wondered what the terms of the surrender would be. But that responsibility lay with Grant, not him.
Heading directly to the hospital tents, where she expected to find Honoree, Faith threaded and pushed her way through the milling men, all shouting or singing. One hatless young soldier grabbed her around the waist and danced her in a circle as if they were at a jollification. She pulled away, smiling but shaking her head at his invitation to celebrate.
Finally, ahead, she glimpsed Honoree outside the hospital mess tent. Faith lifted a hand.
Honoree saw her and hurried forward. “Did you … ?” Honoree’s voice trailed off.
Faith grasped both Honoree’s hands. The artillery barrage might have ended, but the rejoicing all around them created nearly as much noise. Leaning close to Honoree’s ear, she said, “We spoke to a slave away from the main house, and Shiloh had been there. But on her way to the auction in New Orleans.”
Honoree pressed her hand over her mouth and turned away.
Faith claimed her friend’s shoulders and rested her cheek against the bright-blue kerchief tied over Honoree’s braids. “Not the best news, but the most we’ve found to date,” she said. “We won’t give up.”
Reaching back, Honoree put her hand over one of Faith’s and nodded. “Port Hudson’s still holding out.”
“Yes, but how long can they do so now that Vicksburg has fallen?” Faith said, forcing a smile while holding in tears.
Amid the tumult of celebration around them, they stood as an island of sadness.
“Is thee certain thee wants to come with us to offer aid to the fallen city?” Faith asked Dev as they walked through camp in the morning. The victory celebration had ebbed into routine. Grant had given his permission, so they were entering the defeated city to aid the civilians there.
The normal day sounds still felt abnormal to Dev’s ears. Forty-seven days of almost-constant artillery noise had left him disoriented. Hearing birdsong again was strange.
“I have no pressing duties today,” he said, “and I think you will need protection.”
“We are bringing food and medical supplies. Why would anyone attack us?”
Dev considered it a foolish question.
“Ella wouldn’t come with us today,” Honoree murmured to Faith. “She was afraid of entering Vicksburg, said no good would come of it.”
Dev didn’t know who Ella was, but he agreed with her.
Faith shook her head as if denying Honoree’s words. “If that is what thee thinks, perhaps thee should not come either.”
This exchange reminded him of their argument over whether or not to nurse Jack. Personally he thought Honoree should remain in camp. She could be a target of nastiness.
“I’m coming, but I’m not thinking I’ll meet any thanks,” Honoree said grimly.
Honoree was evidently the realist and Faith the idealist. But he didn’t comment, merely walked with Faith, Honoree, and Dr. Bryant beside a wagon packed with food and medical supplies. The colonel had brought a few of his men along for added protection.
The Southern civilians he’d met in similar situations hated the Union with a virulent, sometimes-violent passion. Walking into this defeated city to offer aid would be like trying to help a wounded wild animal. Would they get bitten or savaged for their efforts?
The terms of surrender had been settled. The Confederate soldiers—thirty thousand men—had promised not to fight again and to go home. The day before, Dev had watched them march out of the city, some of them nearly naked in ragged, worn clothing and all looking pitifully starved and defeated.
He’d been proud to see many of his fellow Union soldiers open their haversacks, sharing their hardtack and offering cups of coffee to the defeated Rebels. Some even had given clothing to those who needed it.
But now Dev felt as if he were once more on reconnaissance, exposed to danger and watching for the enemy. He stepped closer to Faith, his every sense alert.
As they entered the city, their party beheld a scene beyond the imagination of most. He’d heard the artillery every day, but now he saw the destruction it had inflicted. Rubble covered the streets, mixed with remnants of exploded shells; destroyed houses leaned against each other. A few gaunt people, sitting on straight-backed chairs in front of a damaged house, turned hollow-eyed stares at them.
Dev couldn’t stop himself. He imagined Baltimore, his hometown, devastated like this, and a pressure gripped his heart. Thank God Maryland had not seceded.
“Good day!” Dr. Bryant called to the family in front of the house. “We’ve brought food and medicine. I’m a doctor, and these women are my nurses. Do you have any sick who need help?”
The people continued to stare in silence.
Dr. Bryant repeated the question louder.
An emaciated woman, her hair unbound, burst out of a nearby home. “You have food? Medicine?”
“For the sick. I’m a doctor. Do you have—?”
She ran to him and grasped his hand. “My daughter. Come. Please.”
Faith and Honoree accompanied the doctor inside. Dev gestured for his men to remain guarding the wagon while he went inside too. On a sofa in the parlor lay a girl of about thirteen, almost a skeleton in a thin nightgown too large for her.
Dr. Bryant touched her forehead and spoke softly to Faith. “High fever.” He turned to the woman. “How long has she been ill?”
“Four days. Can you help her, please?” The mother twisted the hem of her threadbare apron in her hands.
“We’ll do our best.” He knelt by the child and quickly examined her. “It’s measles.”
That word filled Dev with revulsion. Measles had swept away thousands of soldiers who’d signed up to fight but instead had died in camp.
“We need to bring down her fever and feed her up,” Faith said.
“Exactly,” Dr. Bryant confirmed. “I will leave her in your capable hands, Nurse Cathwell, while I go on ahead. I’m sure I will be needed elsewhere.” He turned to the mother. “Nurse Cathwell has much experience with measles. She will do everything possible for your daughter. Listen to what she tells you.”
He turned to go, nodding to Dev as if to say, Please stay and protect them.
Dev bowed his head in agreement and tried not to glance at the ill child. Though used to battlefield devastation, he was not prepared for this. A house stripped of all possessions; civilians sick, starving, defeated. He had trouble drawing a full breath.
“I’ll do all I can,” Faith said, kneeling beside the patient. She looked to the girl’s mother. “I am going to add some alcohol to the water thee has been bathing her face with. That will make it more effective. And Honoree will mix some hardtack with sugar and wine for thee to feed thy daughter.”
The woman looked surprised at Faith’s Quaker plain speech.
Honoree carried a small sack of ingredients to the fireplace mantel and mixed the slurry. She offered the small bowl to the woman. “Here, ma’am. We’ve found that this is nourishing and helps with fever.”
The mother glared at Honoree but accepted the bowl, muttering to herself.
This woman’s reaction reminded him of Jack, who’d cursed Faith even as she nursed him. But Honoree had refused to nurse his cousin. Why had she come here today?
When the mother knelt beside her daughter and began to feed her, Faith rose. “We will bring more food before we go back to our camp. Thy daughter most needs nourishment and liquid to help her fight off this fever.”
The woman stared at her. “I don’t understand.”
“Pardon?” Faith halted, gazing at her.
“Why are you helping us?”
Dev could understand why the woman asked the question and why Faith looked confused.
“‘Love your enemies… . Do good to them that hate you,’” Faith quoted, and then she and Honoree turned to leave.
The woman glared at them, looking extremely irritated. “Don’t preach to me. I’m as Christian as you are.”
Faith glanced over her shoulder. “Of course.”
The woman continued to scowl at Faith’s and Honoree’s backs till she looked down at her daughter, and her face softened.
Outside, Dev accompanied the two women as they caught up with Dr. Bryant. He kept close to them. He sensed that Faith, her plain Quaker speech marking her, might act as a lightning rod here. Just as slaves warmed to her when they heard her speak, that same speech today would no doubt attract unpleasant reactions.
Out on the main street, more citizens had come out to stare at them.
Then two thin black women in tattered clothing hurried toward their procession. “Kin we come with you to freedom?” one implored, her hands held forward in supplication.
An image of Armstrong hit Dev between the eyes.
“Of course,” Honoree said.
A white woman ran after them. “You come back here! You belong to me.”
“No, they don’t—” Honoree began.
The woman slapped Honoree’s face.
Honoree returned the favor.
People from all around surged forward, yelling curses and threats.
“Stop or I’ll shoot!” Dev bellowed, raising his carbine. “Back! Get back!” His men drew their weapons too, forming a circle around Faith, Honoree, and the two others, facing the woman who’d slapped Honoree.
Everyone in the area froze.
“If you require food or medical aid,” Dev ordered, “you can remain outside. If not, return to your homes. Now!” His heart beat fast. Would he be forced to kill a civilian?
The people around them stared for a moment before beginning to retreat. Finally only the woman who’d slapped Honoree remained, but she looked defeated. “How can you leave me?” she said to the two women who’d run from her. “We’ve been together all our lives.”
Dev repeated her words in his mind. Again memories of Armstrong wrapped around his throat. He lowered his carbine.
“Only because we couldn’t leave,” the older black woman replied. “We don’t wish anythin’ bad on you, but we want our freedom.”
“I’ve lost everything and everyone. How can you leave me all alone?” The white woman began to weep.
“We just want our freedom,” the black woman repeated.
In Dev’s mind, the words echoed, but in Armstrong’s voice. Armstrong, I only wanted your best.
Her shoulders drooping, the woman shuffled off without a word.
Dev felt her loss as keenly as his own. He stiffened himself, not allowing any of this weakness to show. Besides, their cases weren’t identical. He’d always wanted Armstrong to be free eventually, just not in the middle of a war.
Faith and Honoree exchanged glances. “Stay close to the colonel,” Honoree urged the newly freed black women, “till we leave.”
After a couple of hours, the wagon had been emptied of food and medicine. More freed slaves had joined the first two, and as they walked out of town, the slaves crowded cautiously around the wagon.
Dev fell into step beside Faith. She looked at him. “This must have been difficult for thee today.”
He tried to think what she was referring to.
“‘No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other,’” Faith quoted, “‘or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other.’”
Dev puzzled over the quote. What did that Scripture have to do with him? He didn’t often struggle between serving God and serving money—no more than any other man. He covered his confusion with a noncommittal “Oh?”
Just as they left, a rifle shot zipped overhead. Dev drew his carbine, threw one arm over Faith, and ran, bent over, with the others. They hurried out of town. So much for surrender.
With Vicksburg in Union hands, supply boats had begun docking and delivering food, clothing, medicine, newspapers, and letters and packages from home. While Faith read a letter from her mother, Honoree sat near her, fanning away flies and chatting with Ella, who stood near a bubbling, steaming open kettle. Ella had asked if she could do their personal laundry for extra money, so she’d come today and was boiling their whites over the low fire. Faith and Honoree had taken turns helping to carry water so Ella could work more efficiently. Soon all their underthings and bedding would be fresh and ironed. What a lovely feeling that would be.
The drummers still measured out their days, but everyone looked happier than they had in months. Faith, however, fretted over how they could ever get to New Orleans when Port Hudson, the last outpost of Confederate resistance on the Mississippi, still blocked them—along with other concerns.
In war one did not just set out across military lines. Yet she must somehow get to New Orleans, the only place they might find any information about Shiloh’s whereabouts. Faith sighed and continued reading. “Oh!” she exclaimed, holding the letter out like a snake as she came to the final paragraph.
“What is it?” Honoree turned to her.
“I’m afraid …” Faith swallowed and then continued. “John has been conscripted, and thy brother Samuel has enlisted.”
Honoree rose and came nearer. “Let me see.”
Faith handed over the letter from her mother, pointing to the part she’d referenced.
Honoree read the passage and stooped to be at Faith’s level. “I didn’t think it would come to that.” Her voice vibrated with concern.
Faith was sick at heart. And now, along with the colonel and Armstrong, her brother and Honoree’s would be thrown into this terrible fiery hurricane of war. She linked hands with Honoree. “God, please protect our brothers,” Faith prayed aloud.
“Your brothers?”
Faith glanced up to see Colonel Knight. He stood nearby, a full cloth bag in hand. “Colonel, yes, my brother has been conscripted, and Honoree’s has enlisted. We’d hoped this war would be over before that happened.”
“Your brother will go to war?” the colonel asked Faith. “I didn’t think Quakers served in the military.”
“My mother writes that John found himself caught between opposing violence and desiring to help preserve the Union. He chose the latter.”
“And my brother turned twenty-one and made his own decision,” Honoree added, picking up their water buckets as if ready to go fetch more.
“Is this John your brother who attended college?” the colonel asked Faith.
Faith nodded. “He began teaching two years ago at a boys’ academy.”
The colonel shook his head as if in sympathy.
“What can we do for thee, Colonel?” Faith asked, folding the letter and slipping it into her apron pocket. She hoped he’d brought some news about Port Hudson.
“I was going to ask you to recommend a laundress.” Dev nodded toward the woman who was tend
ing to theirs. He was a bit surprised to see her helping with the laundry instead of Honoree.
Faith turned to the pretty young woman. “Ella?” The young woman eyed him uncertainly.
“Shall I bring my things here or … ?” Dev asked, a bit uncomfortable about the sack in his hand. In the past Armstrong had taken care of his clothing and so much more.
“Is that thy laundry?” Faith asked, eyeing the sack.
“Yes, and I have more—shirts to be washed and ironed too,” he admitted, not wanting to meet her gaze.
His reticence about laundry appeared to amuse her. “Colonel, if those are whites in that sack, Ella can add thy laundry to ours today.”
“Do my laundry with yours?” Dev was sincerely shocked, his jaw hanging loose.
Faith laughed. “We will avert our eyes so we don’t have to watch the promiscuous mingling of bachelor and maiden laundry,” she teased, snatching the bag from him and tossing it near Ella.
The young woman looked hesitant, but she picked up the sack and emptied it into the large kettle. Honoree grinned in amusement, and Faith shook her head at him, chuckling.
“You are laughing at me,” Dev said.
“A bit. It feels good to be able to laugh again.”
Dev bowed his head toward her, enjoying her laughter though he didn’t say so. Faith moved in his direction. “The colonel will pay the same, Ella.”
“No, he won’t!”
The four of them turned at the outburst, only to witness a very angry young soldier approaching quickly.
“Landon,” Ella said, looking nervous, “I’m just doing our laundry. And I added these good ladies’ things to the pot.”
“Ella, that’s not all you’re doin’. And I won’t have it. White women don’t take in laundry. It’s bad enough I can’t hire ours out—”
“Ella, won’t thee introduce us?” Faith interrupted.
“Miss Faith, this is my husband, Corporal Landon McCullough,” Ella said, looking even more nervous.
Faith politely offered her hand. “Corporal McCullough, I’m Faith Cathwell and this is my friend Honoree Langston.” Then she nodded toward Dev. “This is Colonel Devlin Knight.”
The young man looked uncomfortable but shook Faith’s hand as briefly as possible, glanced at Honoree, and saluted the colonel. “Sorry, sir. I was distracted.”