A Thousand Shall Fall

by Andrea Boeshaar

  “They’ll try to stop us, but they can’t win. Not this time.”

  Carrie pressed her lips together, watching as Colonel Collier stuffed the map into a circular container. Something inside said she should accept this most generous offer and still something else held her back. “What if your aunt doesn’t like me? What if we don’t get along?”

  “I don’t believe that will happen.” The note of confidence in his tone was unmistakable. “However, if it does, you’re free to seek other accommodations.”

  “Or leave town?”

  The colonel hesitated. “Or leave town.” His eyes met hers. “I can’t very well hold you against your will.”

  No, he couldn’t, and those were the words she’d wanted to hear. She wouldn’t be indentured. “I’m glad you believe me, Colonel.” She held his gaze, unabashed. “But why are you offering me this position? Truly, it sounds too good to be true.”

  “It’s payback. Plain and simple. You helped me when I needed it so now I’d like to return the kindness. Besides, as I said, you’ll be doing me another favor by looking after Aunt Ruth.” His features brightened. “I think you’ll like her.”

  Carrie hoped so, prayed so.

  And, with God’s help, she’d find Sarah Jane. Maybe by then, Papa would be home. He’d have some choice words for Mr. Veyschmidt, that’s for sure. Papa’s presence would calm Mama and she’d allow Carrie to return home. Soon her family would be reunited. Maybe the farm could be rebuilt with the funds Papa earned from the sale of textbooks along with Carrie’s income from her new position.

  “So we have a verbal agreement?”

  “Yes.” A deal with a devil cavalryman. What would Joshua say? Would he call her a traitor?

  A shiver of dread trickled down her spine.

  There was nothing so glorious for Ruth than to watch the Union army marching past her house … except she wished they were marching into town, not retreating. Standing on her front porch, she and Tabitha waved United States flags. Several soldiers nodded their direction. A couple of them shouted, “We’ll be back!” while the band played “Battle Cry of Freedom” amidst taunts, boos, and hisses. Secessionist women shook their skirts at the soldiers, a wish of defeat to Union troops.

  A horseman, riding alongside the formation, stopped in front of the house, tethered his mount, and then climbed the steep bank of steps that led to the porch.

  “Miss Ruth Collier?” He doffed his hat.

  “Yes. I’m Ruth Collier.” She spied his rank on his coat’s sleeve. “What can I do for you, Sergeant?”

  “Ma’am, I was ordered to deliver this message to you personally.” He retrieved a sealed envelope from his inside pocket.

  “Why thank you.” Spying the penmanship, which she knew as well as her own, Ruth’s heart beat faster. Peyton! Word from Peyton! Looking back at the soldier, she noticed the weariness etched into his dirty face. “May I get you anything? Something to eat? A refill of water in your canteen, perhaps?”

  “Another time, ma’am, but I have orders to keep my men moving.” He gave a small bow before turning and hurrying back to his horse.

  “May God go with you, Sergeant.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he called from astride his roan. He waved and rode off to catch up with his regiment.

  Ruth wasted no time. She reentered the house and made for her writing desk. Tabitha was on her heels.

  “Who’s that letter from?”

  “Peyton.”

  “Must be important if he’s writing. Our boy ain’t much for letter writing.”

  “Quite true.” And much to Ruth’s great disappointment. “I hope he’s not injured.” Finding her letter opener, she unsealed the message.

  “What is it? What’s it say?”

  “Give me a moment to read it. For heaven’s sake!” As she pulled the letter from its sheath, several dollar bills fluttered to the floor.

  Tabitha picked up the bills. “Well, look at this. Our boy sent us money.”

  “Praise God. The Union wasn’t in town long enough for me to make a transfer from our bank in Washington.”

  The letter unfolded now, she took in each word from her beloved nephew. “We’re to expect company in the next few days, although it could be as long as a week from now before Peyton can secure her a safe transport. She’s a young lady by the name of Carrie Ann Bell, from Woodstock, but with loyalist sympathies. She’s currently assisting Dr. LaFont as a volunteer nurse.”

  “What’s our boy sending her here for?”

  “He doesn’t say.”

  “He ain’t never sent us a young lady before.”

  “No, no, he hasn’t.” Ruth frowned, puzzled.

  “This here fell out with the money, Miss Ruth.” Tabitha handed her a smaller piece of paper.

  “Why, it’s the young lady’s measurements. The handwriting is not Peyton’s, so I’m left to believe it’s hers.” Ruth was impressed. “It’s very neat penmanship too.”

  “Now, what on earth are we supposed to do with a stranger’s measurements?” Tabitha placed her hands on her slender hips.

  “Apparently, our guest will be needing clothes.”

  “This ain’t making no sense.”

  Ruth put the pieces together. “Obviously Miss Bell is a long way from Woodstock, and if she’s volunteered to give medical aid at a Union camp, perhaps her belongings were destroyed or had to be left behind in a great hurry.”

  Tabitha wagged her head of wooly-white hair, neatly combed and swept up in its usual chignon and covered with a snood. “He wouldn’t dare send one of them camp followers.”

  “Indeed not!” Many of those laundresses and nurses by day were prostitutes by night. A year and a half ago, Ruth might have fretted over the possibility, but not now. Peyton was a changed man. “He ends his letter with, ‘I believe you’ll like her.’”

  “What does he care if we like her or not? If she’s company, we’ll do right by her and he knows it.”

  “Of course we will.” Ruth glanced between Peyton’s missive and the more delicate penmanship that appeared on the slip of paper. Then she looked at Tabitha. “I imagine our questions will be answered soon enough. Meanwhile, you and I need to go into town and visit Miss Isles and see about some dresses.”

  “But, Miss Ruth, it ain’t like our boy to send us a young lady and want her outfitted too.” Tabitha’s brown eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “It is quite extraordinary, isn’t it?”

  “I’m wondering if …”

  “The same thing I’m wondering, no doubt.”

  A grin split Tabitha’s dark face. “Maybe we didn’t fib to Miss Frances after all.”

  CHAPTER 9

  August 20, 1864

  Carrie Ann stood at the edge of a stony hillside and gazed westward. The sun began its descent on this Saturday above a rare parting of storm clouds that cast eerie shafts of light across the lush, green meadow below. Her body ached from bouncing on the hard wagon bench beside Private Owens, a young Ohioan assigned to drive the ambulance.

  With hands on her waist, Carrie made several slow neck rotations, hoping to stretch out the kinks. The march today had been long and tedious, and many evidences of the numerous battles were still on sickening display. To Carrie’s horror, burned-out wagons, human skeletal remains, and shallow graves of unknown soldiers lined the roadside. Buzzards circled overhead then swooped down to peck at the decaying horseflesh left from a more recent conflict. As the Union army’s wagon train neared, the birds scattered, looking like pieces of shot dotting an already mournful sky. Meanwhile, the Yankee cavalrymen commenced setting fire to haystacks, wheat fields, storage barns, and mills. At times, the thick, black smoke blotted out the intermittent sunshine.

  If only this war would end.

  Carrie looked at the heavens. Why did God allow war? Why didn’t He put an end to it?

  As if in reply, a single raindrop fell and struck Carrie on the cheek. Perhaps God’s heart was breaking as much as hers.
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  But, of course, a sovereign God wasn’t shocked by this war or the weather. It had rained on and off the past five days—ever since the night she left Woodstock. The deluges doused numerous fires and most likely spared the outbuildings of many Shenandoah Valley residents. Still, without livestock and crops, how would people survive? Meanwhile, the Yankees ate well—Carrie included, although she felt pangs of guilt with each bite.

  And to think her family might be starving …

  Carrie whispered a prayer that God would protect and provide for them, just like He had for her.

  A slight wind blew against her face as a noisy wagon clattered by. Carrie turned in time to read the bold print on the side: U.S. Mail. She smiled. Letters to the men from friends and loved ones had found their way here from Harpers Ferry. She wondered what it felt like to receive a personal letter, particularly from a sweetheart.

  Behind her, a man cleared his throat. Carrie whirled around and the gravel beneath her feet shifted. The earth suddenly gave way. Instinctively her arms sailed upward. Someone clamped onto her forearm and gave a yank. She slammed into something blue and unyielding.

  Her gaze moved upward. “Colonel Collier!”

  Wide-eyed, he stared at her for several seconds then peered over the edge of the hill. “You certainly do like to tempt the Almighty, don’t you?”

  “No … at least not on purpose.”

  He guided her to solid ground before releasing her. Then he removed his hat and nodded toward several boulders a safe distance from the edge of the hill. “Let’s sit, Miss Bell.”

  She chose a large rock and waited for her heart to resume a normal rhythm.

  “Falling off bridges into trees and now standing on the edge of a steep hill.” He gave a wag of his head. “What am I to do with you?”

  She detected traces of humor and smiled. “I confess I’m drawn to views overlooking the countryside. I always have been. The panoramic view from the top of Massanutten Mountain, for instance, captivates me every time.”

  “Hmm … you on top of a mountain is a frightening thought. Evidently, you keep your guardian angels busy.”

  “Or a Union colonel on his toes.” Her smile grew.

  “Indeed.”

  She tipped her head, suddenly curious. “Do you believe in guardian angels, Colonel?”

  “Yes, because I believe the Bible. It says that God will give His angels charge over us to guide us in all our ways.”

  “You believe the Bible?”

  “Yes.” The lines around his eyes creased in display of his amusement. “You ask as though you’re surprised, Miss Bell.”

  “You’ve given me no reason to doubt your statement.”

  “Does it surprise you, Miss Bell, that I’m a Christian man?”

  She lifted a shoulder, not wanting to admit that she often wondered if Yankee Christian was a contradiction. “My friend Joshua called you and your command ‘devil cavalrymen.’”

  His expression darkened. “And you agree?”

  “No. I don’t think so. Everyone in your command has been very courteous to me.”

  “Good.” He punctuated the word with a single nod.

  “You’ve been exceptionally kind, Colonel, although in the past I have met Yankees who fit that devil description.”

  “I don’t doubt it. Some Union soldiers have shamed our army, and those men have either got hatred burning in their souls or they’re power-hungry brutes.”

  “Exactly. I’ve run into both sorts of miscreants at the Wayfarers Inn.”

  “On behalf of the Union army, please accept my apologies for their poor manners.”

  “On behalf of myself, Colonel, I accept your apology.” They both laughed lightly.

  “Thank you.” He inclined his head most graciously before gazing out over the Virginia countryside. “I’m sure you’re equally aware of the atrocities committed by deserters and bushwhackers—men masquerading in Union uniforms.”

  “Yes, in fact, I wrote an article once about those sorts during a time when people in the Valley were frequently being robbed and beaten.”

  “It’s unfortunate.” He pulled a cigar and match from his inside vest pocket. “Do you mind?”

  She shook her head.

  “I didn’t think so, but I thought I’d be polite and ask anyway.”

  She enjoyed their banter, and the man was beguiling to be sure.

  “Tell me more about the article you wrote.”

  “Which article?” She blinked. “Oh … the one about the deserters and bushwhackers.” Good gravy! She’d taken momentary leave of her senses. “The point of it was that Unionists as well as Confederates suffer at the hands of those scoundrels.”

  “Quite true.” He struck the match and lit the tobacco. “Tell me, Miss Bell, who looks out for you—protects you?”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. I’ve gathered from what you’ve said that you’re responsible for your sisters and mother. But what about you? Why couldn’t anyone else help you after your farm burned down? Why did you wind up working for room and board at the Wayfarers Inn? And don’t tell me it’s because your friends and neighbors couldn’t manage a few more mouths to feed.”

  That’s exactly what she’d been about to say.

  “Anyone can see that you’re not only a hard worker, but you’re resourceful.”

  “Thank you.” At least she thought he’d complimented her. “The truth is … well, it’s Mama. Not to be disrespectful, but it’s on account of her that no one wanted to take us in. Over the years she has offended most everyone in Woodstock, and then, after the fire, she was touched in the head. However, after a good rest, which she got after I checked into the Wayfarers Inn, she snapped out of her spell. Except, by then, I owed Mr. Veyschmidt a hefty sum and still had nowhere else to go.”

  The colonel eyed her speculatively for several moments. “You’ve had the weight of the world on your shoulders for a long while.”

  “No more than anyone else.” Carrie glanced back at the sunset.

  “Your Confederate friend, Joshua—he couldn’t help you?”

  Carrie shook her head. “He was off fighting for liberty against those evil Yankee invaders.” She smiled to let him know that she teased him. But truth to tell, she’d rather have him miffed at her than have his pity.

  The colonel’s cigar’s tip turned a reddish-orange as he puffed on it. “I get the feeling that you enjoy goading me, Miss Bell.”

  “Maybe just a little.” She’d admit it.

  Another noisy wagon rattled past followed by limbers of artillery.

  “All joking aside, Miss Bell, I admire the way you protect your family.” The colonel blew out a puff of cigar smoke that matched the distant gathering rain clouds.

  “I haven’t been very effective lately.” Somehow confiding in the colonel lightened that weight he’d mentioned. “My sister Margaret enjoys flirting a bit too much, and Mr. Veyschmidt encourages it. Good for business, he says. Meanwhile Sarah has been unhappy and now she’s run away. I try to help them and do everything I can, but they don’t listen to me.”

  “Miss Bell, your sisters are old enough to know right from wrong.”

  “You’re not the first to say so, but I feel responsible for them just the same. As for Mama—”

  “You can’t mother your mother, Miss Bell. It’s disrespectful.”

  “I never thought of it that way.” She did now.

  “Look, I don’t claim to have all the answers, but I don’t believe I’m ill advising you here. Your best option—for you and your family—lies in Winchester with my aunt.”

  “Thank you, Colonel. You’ve more than paid me back for the kindness I showed you last year.”

  “Hardly. And you’ll both help your family and search for your sister in a safer, smarter way by working for me—for my aunt.”

  The idea lifted her spirits.

  “Perhaps the position in Winchester will equip you to better handle your home situation. Aunt Ruth will be a
good influence on you, and meanwhile, you’ll earn a salary … which reminds me.” He pulled several bills out of the same inside pocket that harbored the cigar. “My men got paid today, which means you do also.”

  “But I’m not employed by the Union army.”

  “No, but consider this money a sign-on bonus of sorts.” Standing, he leaned forward, took her right hand, and placed the money in her palm. “My hope is that by accepting the sum our agreement will be sealed.”

  “It already is. I gave you my word.”

  “And I believe you’ll keep it. Nonetheless, you’ve worked harder these last four days than some of my enlisted men, so take the money.”

  She counted it. Four dollars! “I don’t think I’ve ever earned this much money before.”

  His brow furrowed. “Veyschmidt doesn’t pay you?”

  “Room and board only.”

  “He’s gotten quite a deal, practically slave labor.”

  “I’ll say! A pity I didn’t have another choice.”

  “Now you do.”

  Carrie stared at the money. Could this really be happening? Arrested by Yankees one day and earning wages for decent work only a few days later? “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” The colonel brought his booted foot up on the rock, appearing quite relaxed as he enjoyed the rest of his cigar. “Tell me more about yourself and your family …”

  Peyton wanted to keep up the small talk with Miss Carrie Ann Bell. Not only did it give him insight into her life, which, in his opinion, sounded more and more like a sad Cinderella tale, but it affirmed his decision to send her to Aunt Ruth. True, Aunt Ruth had a close and trusted friendship with Tabitha, who was as crusty as week-old bread, but Miss Bell would bring a certain energy and excitement that would stimulate both women and keep their minds sharp.