by Lyn Cote
“Yes, it’s time,” Faith agreed firmly. “I’d requested Blessing bring crutches on her next visit, so we are ready to begin.”
Dev looked from one woman to the other, and it finally dawned on him. His fever had lifted a few days ago and now he was weak not from the fever, but from almost two months of inactivity. By this point his wounds had healed as much as they ever would. I’m not going to die … not now.
His mother had said, “You had best plan what your future will be.” He hadn’t expected to see the future. But the future had come. And he knew that before he could handle the future, there were two matters he must deal with: Armstrong, the friend he’d disappointed; and Faith, his own unexpected wife. He could evade them no longer. But how to make things right?
On Christmas Eve, Faith’s and Honoree’s families gathered in the Cathwell cabin. They were dressing warmly to visit the family burial plot, as was their custom. Tonight they remembered the loved ones lost: Faith’s twin, Patience; her brother and sisters who’d died even younger; and the runaway slaves who had perished while hiding in the secret room at Cathwell Glassworks. Devlin appeared bemused by this unusual family tradition but was coming along.
The sound of a wagon driving up turned them all toward the door.
“I wonder who is coming,” Honor said and moved forward.
Faith had been hoping that Honoree and Armstrong would get a Christmas furlough and come home. Had they? She followed her mother.
Honor opened the door before anyone knocked. “Hello?”
Over her mother’s shoulder, Faith recognized the snow-white hair of Honoree’s grandfather Brother Ezekiel. He was helping a woman down from his wagon. The moonlight illuminated the woman’s face.
“Shiloh!” Faith gasped, wondering if her eyes were playing her false.
Shiloh ran toward them. “It’s me! I’m home!”
Pandemonium broke out.
Royale, Shiloh’s mother, pushed past Faith and Honor and wrapped her arms around her daughter, her long-lost child. Faith stood back, watching and weeping. She’d searched and searched, and here was Shiloh. Relief drenched her. She wanted to ask a hundred questions, but amid the homecoming chaos, she couldn’t.
Then Faith noticed a stranger standing by the wagon, a tall black man dressed in army fatigues with a sling holding up one arm. He leaned back as if tired.
She hurried forward through the two families milling around Shiloh. “Come in. I think thee should sit down.”
The man followed her to the nearest chair at the table. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Shiloh broke free of her family and moved to stand beside the stranger. “This is Jim Sanford. He served with Armstrong and was wounded at Missionary Ridge.”
The soldier was welcomed warmly.
Faith swallowed all her questions once again. How had this happened? How had Shiloh finally come home to them?
“Let’s go to the family plot,” Shiloh said. “And when we come home, I’ll tell you everything. But I hoped to arrive in time to take part in this remembrance.”
Quiet approval greeted these words.
“I’ll stay here with Mr. Sanford,” Dev offered.
Faith nodded her agreement and then, leaving the two soldiers behind in the warm cabin, they all set out for the family plot in the woods behind the glassworks.
Shiloh’s parents linked arms with their daughter, and the three walked in step.
The group observed the simple ceremony, where each name was solemnly read aloud. At the end, Brother Ezekiel led them all in a prayer that concentrated on gratitude for Shiloh’s safe return and concern for the Union soldiers.
Back inside the warm house, everyone gathered around. Faith sat beside Devlin at the table. The younger members of the family lounged against the walls or sat on the floor. The tension in the room was palpable. No one wanted to miss Shiloh’s story.
“I was able to escape during the battle that Jim was wounded in,” Shiloh began, gazing toward the fire. “I reached the Union line without getting killed by a stray bullet.” Her tone was matter-of-fact. “When things calmed down, I went to the hospital to offer my help, and …” Her voice faltered. “I found my sister.”
Faith’s throat was knotted with emotion.
“I worked with her until all the wounded had finally been treated.”
Faith knew that meant days, not hours.
“I met her husband, Armstrong, and finally, after five years of bondage, I was able to breathe free once more.”
No one spoke. A log on the fire disintegrated and gave way.
“I’d nearly lost my arm,” Jim spoke up, “but Miss Honoree told the head surgeon she could save it with a little work, and he let her treat me.” He grinned. “I still have my arm, and I was able to get a furlough to go home. Only I don’t have a home. I’d run away in Mississippi during the Siege of Vicksburg.” He turned to Faith. “I recognized you from camp there.”
Faith managed to nod.
Shiloh smiled at the soldier. “So Honoree decided that Jim could safely escort me to our home. He can rest up before he has to go back.”
“You are very welcome here, Jim,” Shiloh’s father, Judah, said. “Now I think we should take Jim to our cabin and get him settled. He looks exhausted.”
Faith held up a hand. “Before thee leaves. Shiloh, this is my husband, Colonel Devlin Knight.”
Dev rose and bowed over Shiloh’s hand. Shiloh sent Faith a questioning look over his head, but they couldn’t speak with everyone here watching.
Shiloh and her family left with farewells, and Faith’s family sat around the table, too stirred to seek their own beds.
“I’m so happy,” Faith said, trying to put into words her relief and the backlash of some emotion. “But it doesn’t feel real somehow.”
Her mother reached over and took Faith’s hand. “Thee focused on finding Shiloh for so long, and then God restored her to us by his good will and in his time.”
“Shouldn’t I have gone looking for her?” Faith asked, trying to put it together.
“Of course thee should have, as thee did. I never discouraged thee. And think of all the men thee helped as a nurse. Would thee have been half so insistent on going if not for thy search for Shiloh? Half as determined not to be dissuaded or turned back by those who opposed thee?”
Faith considered this. “True, I was able to help soldiers, but there were so many I couldn’t help.”
Her father cleared his throat and said in sign, “We can only do what we can. Nothing more.”
Faith gazed at her father and mother and thought of Patience. Shiloh had returned to them, but her twin sister never would. She recalled what King David had said when he’d discovered that his child with Bathsheba had died. He’d said something like, “I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.” And it was true, for now. But she would see her dear sister someday, and that was certain.
Now, when she thought of how she and Honoree had believed they could locate one woman in the whole of the South in the midst of a war, she could only wonder at their presumption. Only God was capable of returning Shiloh to them. And he had.
A few days later, Dev and Faith were alone in the cabin. Faith sat by the fire, mending. The rest of the family, including his mother, Shiloh, and Jim, had gone to Cincinnati for Sunday meeting. This was among the first times he and his wife had been alone since his health had taken a turn for the better. He was both glad and nervous. The time had come to face the truth, the future.
Trying to think of a way to say what he wanted to her, Dev walked on his crutches to one wall, turned, and walked back to the opposite wall. He was alive. He was walking with pain but he was upright again. He couldn’t quite believe it.
After days of practicing little by little, today he would exercise till he became too weak to go on. Then he would sit for an hour and get up to do it again. He lacked stamina, and there was only one way to regain that. He must push himself to his limit again and again.
Soon she stood beside him and set down ink, pen and paper, sand, seal, and wax.
“Thank you.”
She smiled, went back to the fire, and sat down to her mending.
Dev stared at the paper for a moment; then, with determination, he picked up the nib pen, dipped it in the black ink, and began writing.
December 28, 1863
Dear Armstrong,
I write to you from Faith’s family home in Ohio. After many weeks of recovery, I am able to take pen in hand and write.
I have had no direct information from anyone in my old regiment but know that Sherman has taken Chattanooga and will head to Atlanta. No doubt you’ve seen action by this point.
Now I am walking with crutches and Mother has come for an extended stay. Your mother is at her home, seeing to the household while my mother is away. Before leaving Maryland, Mother visited my uncle and told him the news of Jack’s death. I don’t know if I shared this with you, but I saw my cousin fall in the skirmish where I was wounded. He was dead, or nearly so, when I was finally able to dismount and reach him.
I thought I too was going to die of the wounds I received that day, but here I am, alive. And now I must face a very different life.
I don’t only mean the fact that my damaged hip will never let me walk without a cane (or at least I hope I will graduate from my present crutches to a cane in the future).
I am referring to the much different country we will face after this war.
He began a second sheet.
Once and for all, I ask your forgiveness for breaking faith with you. You above all others have always been honest and stood as my true friend. I should have kept my word. I have no excuse. My motive of wanting to keep you from facing battle does not absolve me.
I know that I also feared losing you and, in that, losing the way things had always been. But it makes little sense now. Who can hold back the tide of history?
I never wanted to hold you in bondage—even as I did.
Faith confronted me with Matthew 6:24, how no man can serve two masters. And she was right, as she so often is. Even as I fought for the Union, I was trying to keep from choosing sides; thereby I branded myself foolish and I own it as true.
Faith is not going to return to the battlefield since I cannot. She plans to busy herself here, gathering supplies to send to Dr. Bryant and trying to help those in the contraband camps.
I hope this letter finds you and your wife safe and well. We rejoiced to see Shiloh home at last. Let us know if you need anything in particular and we will try to send it to you.
Again, please forgive me, Armstrong, for betraying your trust and treating you as if you needed me to decide what was best for you. I hope when we meet that you will shake my hand as you once hoped and forgive me for my double-mindedness.
Ever your obedient servant and, I hope, friend,
Devlin Knight, Colonel, retired
“Faith, I’d like you to read this letter.”
Faith had been curious about whom he was writing. She laid her sewing in the mending basket and joined him. Standing at his shoulder, she read the letter silently.
Warmth flooded her heart. “Devlin, I’m so glad.” She gripped his still painfully thin shoulder, wishing she had the nerve to lean over and kiss him. Would he never speak to her about them, about their marriage?
He looked up into her face then. “Please sit beside me.” He took her hand and nudged her.
She did so, giving him all her attention, hoping the moment had come. “What is it?”
He cleared his throat, suddenly thick with the importance of what he had prepared to say. “Faith, you married me out of necessity. I never said to you the words I should have said.”
“Thee was ill,” she replied gently, trying to help him say what she so longed to hear.
“But I have not been deathly ill for weeks now—though for some reason that didn’t dawn on me till my mother arrived.” He paused, gathering his courage. Now or never. “I was ill but still not ready to admit I was wrong. I love you, Faith. I have for a long time, but I refused to admit it even to myself because of our situation.”
“I understand. We faced death every day.”
“Yes, imminent danger, but also I was a man who was refusing to face reality.”
“Has thee faced it now?” she asked, though she’d read it in his letter to Armstrong.
“Yes. I admit that I was a double-minded man, thinking one way and behaving in another. Living at cross-purposes. You said it all to me, challenged me. I hope that Armstrong can forgive me.” He claimed her hand. “And I must ask. Do you want to be my wife?”
“Thee means do I want to be thy wife in more than words?”
“Yes. You are aware of my physical limitations, but I don’t think that—”
“—matters to me,” she finished for him.
“In the letter, I have asked Armstrong to forgive me, and now I ask God to forgive me and you to forgive me as well.”
“Of course I forgive thee for thy confusion. Thee was torn between thy mother’s ways and thy uncle’s ways. Ideas sound easy, but people can make matters hard to see.” She smiled and chuckled at him, drawing closer. “And I love thee, silly man.”
“I have been more than silly. I’ve been foolish.” He nudged the letter. “I said so here.”
She did not look at the pages but met his gaze. “Armstrong will forgive thee.”
He believed her. If only Armstrong survives. “I hope we get to meet again after the war.”
“That is in the Lord’s hands.” Is thee going to kiss me, Devlin Knight?
Her nearness prompted him. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “My sweet, my wife.” He leaned forward boldly and kissed her lips. They were as sweet as he’d imagined.
She returned his kiss.
Her wholehearted response flooded him with an energy he’d not felt for a very long time. “Tonight,” he promised.
She chuckled at him again, stood, and went to shoot the bolt on the door. “We will be alone for hours.” She offered him her hand, her everything.
Almost not believing her, he rose and slipped his crutches under his arms. “Lead the way, wife.”
So she did, shutting the door to their bedroom and kissing him with all she felt for him, all the love, all the passion.
He returned her kisses and held her close, as he had long desired. They would become one at last.
APRIL 30, 1865
Faith and Dev waited, listening, beside the railroad track west of Columbus to watch President Abraham Lincoln’s funeral train pass by. They had decided not to join her sister Blessing and her family the previous day to pay their respects to their fallen president in crowded Columbus, Ohio’s state capital. The funeral train had stopped there for one of the many memorial services on its way from Washington, DC, to Springfield, Illinois, where the president would be interred.
America was in mourning. Even here, far from any city or town, the railroad tracks on both sides were lined with people dressed in black, some holding flags, many women weeping.
Faith’s heart was also heavy. How soon the joy over Lee’s surrender at Appomattox had turned to sorrow when Lincoln had been murdered in cold blood.
Dev moved, obviously shifting his weight from his damaged hip. He still leaned heavily on a cane beside her.
She wanted to tell him they could return to their gig. But she was always careful not to mention his daily pain nor point out his physical limitation. Her husband liked her to ignore it.
Then the chugging of the steam engine came to her ears. Every head turned toward the sound. Silence fell. A baby cried and the mother crooned softly, soothingly.
The funeral train appeared around the bend. Men
removed their hats. Faith felt tears streaming down her face. She thought of the president’s family, their sorrow and suffering through the long, terrible war—and then to lose their husband and father so horribly. She pressed a handkerchief to her lips, holding in the sobs that wanted to burst forth.
The slow train passed, draped in black crepe. No one spoke; no one looked away. Even when they could no longer see it, merely hear the sound in the distance, they still stood. Finally Dev shifted and turned to her. “Let us go,” he murmured in the continued hush.
Grieving, Faith made a sound of agreement, still unable to speak words. People nodded to them as they wended their way to their gig. He propped himself against the side of the vehicle and helped her up into the seat. Then he walked around and climbed in beside her. They would spend the night at an inn and drive the rest of the way home tomorrow. It would be good to be home with their family. Again Faith said a prayer for Mr. Lincoln’s family to be comforted. What would have happened to their nation if a lesser man had led them through this dreadful war?
When Faith glimpsed her family’s home, she felt instant relief. Ella came out to welcome them, still dressed in mourning for her husband, who had fallen at Atlanta. “You’ll never guess!” she called. “You’ll never guess who’s here!”
Dev drove up to the Cathwell door, and Faith climbed down, hoping she was guessing right.
Honoree ran from one of the nearby cabins. “Faith!”
Faith flew to Honoree and they wrapped their arms around each other. Faith couldn’t speak, but her tears flowed. Finally the two of them parted, still holding hands.
“I’m so glad to see you home at last—”
“Where’s Armstrong?” Dev interrupted.
“He’s here. He’s been mustered out. Right now he’s over yonder watching them make glass,” Honoree replied. “We stopped in Maryland and found his mother had gone to Baltimore. She is with your mother, Colonel, and intends to move here with her.”
That was the plan. Dev had decided not to return to Maryland, and that suited Faith. She never wanted to leave her family again. Dev had recently taken over keeping the books for the Cathwell family business.