Freedom's Banner

by Freedom's Banner (retail) (epub)

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘You’re going to have to explain to Mr Sherwood where four of his precious bottles of whisky disappeared to!’

  * * *

  Atlanta fell at the beginning of September. Mattie, on a trip to Macon with Joshua, watched with helpless pity the straggling, scarecrow columns of shuffling men in ragged grey or homespun uniform that marched in exhausted retreat from the fallen city, saw too the long and terrible lines of trucks full of dead and dying men that clanked perpetually over the rails in defence of which so many had died. Many of the fighting men, like the civilians that Sherman turned mercilessly from their homes in the captured city, were clearly sick and looked half-starved. The streets of Macon were full of distressed and displaced people, many of them having lost everything in the bombardment and ensuing fighting. Mattie stayed for three days with the Morrisons, helping in the overcrowded hospital and in the small canteen Mrs Morrison had organized to help feed the refugees. To her surprise and embarrassment, however, Joshua refused utterly her order to return to Pleasant Hill without her. ‘The master’d have my hide, Miss Mattie,’ he said, in calm dismissal, when she tried to insist.

  ‘But, Joshua, we can’t leave Mr Sherwood out at the plantation alone. And Star – you know what danger the poor old thing is in here – those that don’t want to steal him for transport are after him for the pot!’

  ‘That’s right, Miss Mattie. But if you stay, I stay, and Star stays with both of us.’

  In the end it was Mrs Morrison herself who persuaded Mattie back to Pleasant Hill. ‘My dear, of course you’ve been the most tremendous help, but the pressure’s easing now, and we’ve plenty of hands, I promise you. The doctor does think you should go tend to Logan – there’s no knowing what the silly man will do, left to himself.’

  Mattie was all too conscious of that worry herself. Moreover, at three that morning, a boy of eighteen she had nursed for three days had died in her arms, screaming; she was in no fit state to argue. To her tired embarrassment she cried almost the whole of the way back to Pleasant Hill, snuffling apologies to Joshua, who suggested, oddly and gently, that her tears were probably good for both of them.

  Week followed week, strung with uncertainty. The stream of people fleeing the city died to a trickle, then stopped altogether. It was strange, almost unnerving, no longer to hear the constant rumble of the bombardment. Towards the end of the month rumours began to circulate that Sherman had openly declared his next objective to be Savannah; if it were true then Pleasant Hill might indeed be in danger. But on 28 September the President of the Confederacy, Jefferson Davis himself, visited Macon to lend his support to a benefit for impoverished refugees from Atlanta. The event – as it was supposed to – boosted morale and spirits enormously. Surely there could be no danger if Davis himself could show his face so near the fallen city? The arguments that Mattie heard that day were optimistic and convincing; Sherman had stretched himself too far. He could not defend his lines of communication for much longer against the daring and successful raids of the Confederate cavalry led by the legendary Nathan Bedford Forrest. Sherman, sooner rather than later, would have to leave the city and retreat or he himself would be cut off and besieged.

  Heartened, Mattie returned to Pleasant Hill to labour with Prudence and Sapphire over the autumn’s curing, pickling and preserving. Nothing that could be stored and used was wasted. There was a long winter ahead.

  * * *

  It was on a chill night in the middle of November that something woke Mattie.

  Curled on the floor beside her bed Jake was growling, a low and somehow dangerously uncertain sound that raised the hairs on the nape of her neck. She swung her legs from the bed, reaching for her woollen robe. As she pulled it on, the soft material snagged harshly on a sore patch on her roughened hands and she caught her breath.

  One of her shutters was broken, and rather than struggle with it she had left it open. Beyond it the sky to the north-west was filled with the merest suggestion of light; a slight, rosy glow that might, in the east and on a summer’s morning, have been taken for the first herald of dawn. Drawing the robe around her, she ran to the window and swung open the other shutter. There could be no doubt; the horizon was warm with a faint, unnatural, smudgy light.

  In the darkness Jake had left her, and she heard his big paw scratch at the door, the growl turned to an expectant whine.

  ‘Be quiet, Jake.’ Her eyes were still on that glowing sky.

  Again the dog made that small, excited growling sound, and again his blunt claws raked the door.

  Then she heard it, soft but unmistakable. The faint whinny of a horse.

  Her heart all but stopped.

  Jake growled again.

  Somewhere in the house she thought she heard a door close, very quietly.

  Mattie forced her suddenly paralysed brain to something approximating rational thought. She could shout an alarm; but who would hear her? Certainly not Joshua in his quarters underground. And Logan, who had taken to sleeping on the couch in the library, had grown in these past years more than a little hard of hearing; would he hear her? She doubted it.

  The dog whined, snuffled at the door. She steadied a little; he was protection if anything was. All she had to do was to get to Logan – he slept, she knew, with a handgun by his side.

  Leaving her robe buttoned but loose, she pulled the belt from around her waist and slipped it about Jake’s shaggy neck before opening the door.

  Out on the balcony the glow in the sky was more pronounced than ever. Fire. A huge fire, and in the direction of Atlanta. She fancied she could smell it, borne on the breeze.

  Jake towed her down the stairs to the door that led into the main hall. Before opening it she yanked him fiercely to her, hissing at him. Trembling with excitement he sat, his weight fully on the hem of her robe, dragging it down. She wrenched it free, gently turned the door handle.

  A small lamp was burning, very low, upon the long side table. In the moment she had before the dog leaped forward tearing the makeshift leash from her sore fingers, Mattie saw a figure standing, half-lit; saw the gleaming gold insignia upon the neat, dark Yankee uniform, the long, glinting sword and the pistol in the polished leather holster. As she filled her lungs to scream he turned fully to the light, Jake tore himself free to leap upon the intruder and she froze as if struck to stone.

  The uniformed man – the Yankee soldier – dropped to one knee and threw his arms about the dog. ‘Jake, Jake! Hello, old boy!’

  Very, very slowly Mattie closed the door behind her, leaned on it for support. Her legs were trembling.

  Robert straightened, the dog still worrying happily at his leather-gloved hand. ‘Mattie,’ he said, quietly.

  ‘Robert? Wh-what in the world?’ How she reached him she did not know, but she was in his arms, clinging to him in a sudden flood of tears, the dog dancing in mad circles about them.

  ‘Mattie – Mattie, there now, no need to cry –’

  The sound of his voice brought her to herself with a jolt. ‘Ssh!’ She laid fierce fingers across his mouth, took his hand in hers, pulling him towards the doors that led into the sitting room, picking up the lamp as she went and carrying it with her. ‘Be quiet! If he should hear you!’ She pushed open the doors and drew him into the room, closing the doors behind them; opening them again a second later as Jake indignantly scratched at the wood. ‘Oh, you damned nuisance of a dog!’ Her voice was still far from steady, her face wet with tears, but the shock had passed and she was thinking clearly. She turned to Robert. ‘Your father mustn’t find you here. He’s sworn to kill you. Sworn it. Robert – he means it. He won’t have your name spoken – he won’t – he can’t – forgive you.’ She hesitated for one moment and then blurted, ‘The others – your brothers – they’re dead –’ and could have cut out her own tongue at the clumsiness of it as she saw his face drain of expression and colour in the shadowed light of the lamp. She took his hand, holding it tight. ‘I’m sorry. It’s a terrib
le way to tell you. But it’s a terrible thing, and there’s no time – no time for gentleness.’

  ‘When?’ he asked. ‘Where?’

  ‘Shiloh.’ She had lived with it for so long now, wept so many tears, that she could speak of it almost dispassionately. She spoke very rapidly. ‘Just after you left. Russ was defending a road, during the retreat. The others heard of it and went to help him. They were all caught in the Yankee advance –’ For the briefest of moments she allowed her eyes to flick over his sober uniform, could not curb the sudden and even to her unexpected edge of bitterness in her voice.

  Robert made no attempt to disguise the pain in his eyes. And this time she was ashamed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  Jake, whining, scratched at the French doors that led out onto the front porch.

  ‘Jake! Quiet!’

  But Jake was well awake now, and wanted to be out amongst the rabbits. The whining grew louder. He looked at her expectantly and gathered his breath to bark.

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! You’ll wake the whole house!’ Mattie flew to the doors, unlocked them, shooed the dog out. Then stood, looking at the reflected glow in the sky. ‘What is that?’

  Robert came to stand behind her. For a moment she closed her eyes. The height, the breadth – the very smell of him – reminded her so –

  ‘It’s why I’m here.’ His hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face him. ‘Mattie, you have to take Pa and get clear away from here. Now. Tonight. Sherman’s coming. He’s vowed to march to the sea through Georgia, and he’s promised to make the state howl as he does it.’ He saw her eyes turn to the glow in the sky again. ‘Atlanta’s burning,’ he said, quietly. ‘Destroyed. And that’s what he’ll do to anything in his path – he’s a man who keeps his promises.’

  ‘Burning? But – why? The city surrendered! Surrendered a month ago! Why burn it?’

  ‘Because it’s his way. Mattie, I had to come, to warn you – get Pa away from here – and Joshua–’ he paused for a second, a flicker of doubt in his eyes ‘– Joshua – he hasn’t gone? He’s still here?’

  ‘Oh, of course he is. What would you expect?’

  ‘And – the others?’

  ‘Most are gone. Run north, or to the Yankees.’

  He nodded, drawing her back into the room. ‘Listen. Tell Joshua –’ He stopped.

  The inner door had opened.

  Mattie was pulling on Robert’s arm. ‘Robert – go! Please go!’

  Robert resisted her. Stood straight and still as his father walked into the room; kept his eyes unflinching on the older man’s face, ignoring the small gun that was levelled steadily at his breast.

  ‘How dare you, Sir?’ Logan Sherwood said, very quietly. ‘How dare you defile this house with your filthy presence?’

  ‘Mr Sherwood, please – he came to warn us –’ As she stepped towards Logan Sherwood, Mattie found herself caught from behind and swung ungently clear. She stumbled away, catching at a chair to prevent herself from falling.

  ‘Stay out of this, Mattie.’ Robert had stepped not away from but towards his father.

  The gun came up, perfectly steadily.

  ‘Pa, will you please listen?’

  The flame of fury that flared through Logan Sherwood at the unthinking, affectionate diminutive was almost tangible. He stepped forward and with his free hand struck his son a brutal, backhanded blow across the face. Robert staggered, regained his balance. A bright bead of blood broke and threaded down his cheek. He stood, hands loosely by his side, making no move to avoid the next blow as his father raised his hand and hit him again, with all his considerable strength, open-handed. Despite being prepared for it, Robert’s head rocked with the force, and another smear of blood appeared upon his broken lip.

  ‘Stop it!’ Mattie shouted. ‘Stop it!’

  ‘Get away, Mattie!’ Robert held up his hand, still watching his father. ‘Sir, all I ask is that you listen to me – please!’

  The gun had come up again. ‘I swore I’d kill you,’ Logan Sherwood said, ‘And by Christ I’ll do it –’

  ‘Please!’ said Mattie, desperately, ‘you can’t!’

  ‘At least your brothers died in honour. You, Sir, deserve only to die in shame.’

  Robert’s face was bone white. He took a quick breath to reply; and in that fatal instant his attention was distracted.

  ‘Drop the gun, Mr Sherwood,’ Joshua said softly from the door.

  Logan Sherwood’s head lifted sharply. Mattie never afterwards could have said which gun fired first. Robert went down as if poleaxed. Logan Sherwood staggered, dropped his gun, grabbed at the back of a chair, bringing it crashing down with him.

  Joshua stood, arm hanging by his side, the gun a sudden dead weight in his hand.

  Mattie suffered a moment of shocked paralysis. Robert lay spread-eagled, knocked almost through the open doors and onto the porch by the force of the bullet that had taken him full in the chest. One look at his face was enough to recognize death. Logan Sherwood lay curled upon the floor moaning, blood-covered but alive. She ran to him. On the edge of her vision she saw Joshua cross to where Robert lay, kneel by the blue-clad body and take it in his strong arms, holding the dead man to his chest like a baby, rocking back and forth, fierce and soundless, as if he would will life back into the body.

  ‘Leave him, Joshua,’ Mattie said. ‘He’s dead. Please, help me here –’ She dropped to her knees beside Logan.

  Joshua ignored her. Suddenly, shockingly, still clutching the body, he threw back his head and howled like an agonized animal. It was the most savage, most harrowing sound Mattie had ever heard. She hunched her shoulders for a moment, trying to close her ears and her mind to the awful cry. Then, shaking, she reached for Logan. Blood was pumping messily from his shoulder. His eyes were open. ‘If I help you, can you walk?’ she asked.

  Teeth clamped against pain, he nodded his head. She slid an arm under his good one, gave him a wad of material to hold against the wound.

  Joshua ignored them, sitting silent now, and rocking still, his face sheened and shining with tears. Robert’s arm hung stiffly, lifeless, like a doll’s. Mattie determinedly averted her eyes. With huge effort she hauled the semi-conscious old man upright, dragged him towards the door. In the hall the door had burst open to admit Shake and Prudence, both wide-eyed and frightened.

  ‘Shake, give me a hand here – carefully now! Take him into the library – put him on the couch – gently for goodness’ sake. Where the devil is Sol? Prudence, we need bandages – and – and perhaps a knife – I don’t know if the bullet’s still in there.’

  It wasn’t. In the only fortunate circumstance of that dreadful night, the bullet had driven through Logan, from back to front, leaving a dreadful, gaping hole where it had exited. Having poured half a bottle of whisky into the old man and the other half over the broken flesh, with shaking hands Mattie did her best to clean and close the wound, tying the bandages that Sapphire brought as tightly as she could about it to stop the gruesome pumping of the blood. ‘Prudence, where’s Sol – he surely can’t have slept through this?’

  Prudence avoided her eyes. ‘Doan’ know, Miss Mattie. Doan’ know where he be.’

  ‘We have to go to Macon.’ Working as swiftly as she could, Mattie was thinking out loud. If Pleasant Hill indeed lay in the path of Sherman’s advancing army then circumstances were bad enough; the consequences of facing the Yankees with a dead Federal officer in the house did not bear thinking of. That the dead officer was Robert was something she was firmly putting from her mind; hysterics would mend nothing. ‘Someone get Dandy and tell him to bring the biggest cart Star can haul to the front of the house. Prudence, when we’ve finished here, go to the kitchen and collect what supplies you can. Shake, when the cart comes round, you and Sol – if you can find him! – make a bed in it for Mr Sherwood – I’m sure that we shouldn’t move him, but I don’t see –’ She stopped. Even in her abstracted state she could not but notice the silence that had fall
en about her.

  ‘Dandy ain’t here, Miss Mattie,’ Shake said, gently. ‘Nor Sol. They gone.’

  Her hands stilled, Mattie lifted her head sharply, her face incredulous. ‘Sol? Sol’s run?’

  ‘Sure has, Miss Mattie.’ Shake held out his hand to huge Prudence, who had with difficulty dropped to her knees beside the couch with Mattie. Prudence took it and with strange and somehow reluctant dignity came to her feet. ‘We’s goin’ too, Miss Mattie.’ Shake’s voice still held a quiet, almost tender note of regret. ‘I’s sorry, but there it is. This –’ he indicated with a wave of his hand the bloodstained cloths, the man who lay still as death on the couch ‘– this ain’t nothin’ to do with us. We don’t have to stay no longer. The Yankees is here – we’s free – Lucy told us that –’

  ‘Well, Lucy told you wrong,’ Mattie said, very calmly. ‘Come now, Shake, don’t be silly. Go and get the cart.’

  Shake’s ebony face was sober. ‘No, Miss Mattie. We’s goin’.’

  ‘Where?’ Mattie came to her feet, faced them obdurately, defying the panic that given the slightest chance would, she knew, overwhelm her and set her screaming. ‘Where will you go? Have you thought of that?’

  ‘To the Yankees, Miss Mattie. That’s where we’s goin’.’ Prudence found her voice.

  ‘Just like that?’ Mattie shook her head. On the couch Logan Sherwood stirred and groaned. ‘The Yankees don’t want you. Don’t you know that?’ She knew, looking at their closed, determined faces, that she could not win. There was a long moment’s silence. Then, ‘Go, then,’ she said, coolly. ‘Find out for yourselves. But don’t come crawling back here when Sherman’s devils drive you off. Go starve somewhere else.’

  For one moment she thought she saw doubt upon Prudence’s bewildered face. But Shake was not to be sidetracked. He reached for Prudence’s plump arm and drew her after him to the door. In the silence of despair, Mattie let them go.

  * * *

  It took half an hour for her to pour enough whisky down Logan Sherwood’s throat to send him into an uneasy sleep, the only thing she could at the moment think of to keep him still. Once she was sure he was all but unconscious, in dread she crossed the hall to the sitting room.