Each Other

by Pamela Erickson

  ***

  Arriving home from town I opened the gate to find my neighbor, Lacey, hanging laundry across the fence from her. August brought with it an occasional hint of autumn on the wind, a welcomed change from summer’s oppressive heat.

  “Nice breeze, Miss Annie.”

  “Isn’t it glorious, Lacey?” I’m beginning to feel that autumn is in the air. It’ll be time to make apple pies before we know it.”

  “Dat man in your kitchen will surely agree.”

  I looked towards the house and back in Lacey’s direction. The afternoon breeze picked up the bottom edge of the sheet.

  “The man…” my voice trailed off. “Warren?” I asked and as I did so, turned on my heels and ran up the stairs to the door. Pulling open the door, I poked my head in, and entered.

  Lacey had to have heard my greeting him and then the silence that followed.

  “Warren! Thank God, it is you. You’re home. I don’t believe it…”

  Finally we emerged from the house arms around one another, smiling.

  Warren tipped his hat in Lacey’s direction. I stole the hat from his head and held it in one hand with the other wrapped around his waist. We didn’t have to hide our feelings. We were at home and Lacey’s low laugh told us that she found our affection comforting. Besides, as the town saw by appearance that we were both friends of the Confederacy, it didn’t matter that we were together.

  With the afternoon waning, I prepared Warren a hearty stew with summer vegetables and chicken along with freshly baked rolls.

  “Ah, this is just what my poor body needed. A home cooked meal. It beats that corn chowder and camp corn bread we’ve eaten for what must be weeks now.”

  “Wasn’t there anything besides corn to eat?” I asked, wondering how Warren had survived on such fare.

  “We ate a lot of potatoes, and whatever game or fish we caught. Sometimes we ate rabbit. Sometimes the men and I caught fish. But while on the trail, quick corn or potatoes were our staples.” He looked up from his bowl, “Great cooking, Annie.”

  Finding another piece of crusty bread, he dabbed at the gravy while I filled him in on Sarah’s visit and my work of the past six weeks or so.

  “It was so strange to arrive home after seeing you and finding my ill sister waiting here, suffering alone. I want you to meet her someday. And Warren, Lucy has arranged for me to work in the prison adjacent to Westerly Hospital because of an outbreak of chest colds and lung problems. They told me that I had a lot to offer them because of my knowledge with herbals.”

  I paused from my meal and went on. “Now, I’m paying neighboring children in bread and vegetables if they agree to gather certain plants from the fields surrounding Marsh Station. Lucy’s found volunteers from the Woman’s Guild to harvest as well as deliver the concoctions and mixtures for tinctures to the hospital. They are made up according to instructions we’ve written down. Lucy has her driver deliver the herbs for us as well.

  “My God, Annie, that’s quite an endeavor. How in the world do you have time to make bread? And what is it that you are harvesting?”

  “Well, due to the severity of the men’s wounds, we already have required cart loads of shepherd’s purse for bleeding, as well as plantain, comfrey and horsetail for poultices. I’ve been supervising the work. I rarely collect the plants myself anymore. There’s no time. But, I’ve trained wonderful volunteers to make infusions, oils, and syrups by the gallon for treating respiratory ailments.

  Mullein, sweet violet with peppermint, hyssop and thyme create a chest rub for the thick breathing of the men brought in from the battlefields, particularly after fighting in the rain. Women around here are getting their honey and beeswax in and I think the volunteers have unearthed every unused jar in the county. And soon it will be time to harvest Hawthorne berries for treating weak bowels, a disease that’s swept through whole battalions within days due to the filth of the conditions. With fall coming, we have to work with all we’ve got.” I took a breath.

  That’s when Warren pushed away his bowl and looked me square in the eye.

  “Yes indeed,” he said, “The prison is up there too. I’ve heard all kinds of stories about the conditions. Update me on what you know. Have you heard anything at all?” Warren asked. I wondered why he asked but answered him in a straightforward manner. Anything else would have undoubtedly raised suspicions.

  I recounted to him the first time in mid-July when I was called into the prison, another building separated by a dingy courtyard where well-behaved prisoners were allowed to recreate for one to two hours each afternoon. Lucy had approached me with a doctor by her side.

  “Annie dear,” she started. “Dr. Linamen asked me a question that I could not answer; only you could.”

  The doctor looked at me, a sanguine smile on his face, and toweled his hands dry. The wrinkles in his shirt mirrored those in his exhausted face. It had probably been two or three weeks since the man had had a full night’s rest or a hot meal. He was trying to manage the unmanageable numbers of sick and mangled bodies that were brought to him, sometimes after days lying in the open fields and mud; men delirious with pain and whose bodies held them prisoner, no longer able to function in any predictable way.

  Looking down, then up again catching my eye, Dr. Linaman cleared his throat, “Miss Cunningham, I am very impressed with the medicine you’ve been offering these soldiers in the last few weeks. In fact, I am very grateful for your kindnesses and your abilities. We’ll be getting a few more nurses for the hospital as we ‘spect to have more men coming in and I was wondering if …well…I know that they’re Yankees, but ma’am, I was hopeful that you wouldn’t mind serving in the prison for a while. You see, many of those men have the same ailments as these soldiers and though our men come first, of course, I know that you have the means to treat their wounds and bowels, rashes, and the like with your herbs, and those poultices of yours.”

  Warren looked up at me from his, dabbed his mouth and said, “So you are serving in the prison most of the time now?”

  “Yes, I am,” I answered. “Of course after Doc Linaman proposed it.”

  Perhaps I’d said too much, but looking into his eyes, he seemed content with my explanation and I didn’t pursue why he’d asked the question in the first place.

  I pushed back my chair along the wooden floor, picked up the plates from the table and prepared to soak them in the pan of heated water on the stove. Warren, sat back, arms crossed staring ahead without expression. But as I walked by, he reached up and lightly put his arm around my waist, nudging me towards him and kissing my mouth gently.

  Soon the lamp was blown out and we retired to my large feather bed and the bliss that two bodies can make.

  Morning found us wrapped around each other secure in bed. The early filtered light caught us in sleepy repose and Warren rose first to prepare hot water for tea.

  Later we dressed and started breakfast. We caught up on each other’s news over the past two months. Warren talked of the war, and of the politics of land exchange after each battle.

  “What do you think of the Confiscation Act, Annie?” He asked me as I poured batter on a hot griddle. “Slaves of disloyal masters are contraband. Seems to me that this war is becoming more about slavery than about rebelling from the Union, or preserving it.”

  “That surprises you?” I asked.

  “Well, yes as a matter of fact. This war was all about states’ rights, but now people are tired of the war, suspicious of one another. You be careful, Annie. Especially if you’ll be working in the prison.” He had no time to say more, though it seemed like he was going to.

  We were interrupted by a knock at the front door. I looked at Warren and back towards the front of the house. Warren stepped into the shadows of the hallway. A young newsboy stood on the stone stoop. His brown hair curling about his ears at the edges of his cap, framed his face, which was rosy from a lingering chill in the morning air. Behind him and standing at the bottom of the steps stood a y
ounger version of the boy who stood before me. I recognized the brothers. They were often selling newspapers in front of the general store or swapping gum and soap to soldiers for stories about their time at the front lines.

  “Morning, Miss Cunningham,” the oldest brother said, introducing himself. He couldn’t have been older than ten or eleven. “I’m Thomas Willy and this is my brother, Charlie. Mr. Beard sent us. Said we should give you a morning paper. Here it is Ma’am,” he said leaning into the doorway with his outstretched hand. I opened the screen door, trying to read his face for any hidden message that could shed light on this unusual delivery.

  “Why thank you, Thom. How much do I owe you?”

  “Oh, you don’t owe us a thing. You see, Mr. Beard covered it.”

  “Well, would you and your brother like a bite to eat to take back with you?”

  “No Ma’am, thank you. We’ve been asked to return quickly. You see this morning Mr. Beard is paying us to run errands around town. I think he has extra chores in his store that he needs help with. So, we’ll be gettin’ back there.”

  The boys were so polite and I found it astounding because it appeared that they were on their own a good deal of the time. Who were these boys? Did they have a family? Both boys looked almost as thin as some of the men I tended at the hospital. Despite that fact, they appeared well-groomed and happy.

  “Wait, before you go boys, I have something for you.” I said. I returned with a pancake and a penny for each of them. They smiled and tried to thank me with full mouths. Finally, they gave up, turned around to leave, waving as they got to the street.

  I brought the newspaper back to Warren who was leaning against the door frame which separated the hallway from the kitchen. “Must be a new service that the grocer wants to start up,” I said.

  Smells of griddle cakes, bacon and coffee met me at the threshold as I opened up the paper to the front page. Leaning against Warren, I opened up the folded newspaper to see the headline which read: McClellan Returns in Pope’s Place While Pope Heads West to Sioux Country. Included was a drawing of the Union’s General Pope. Next to him was an ink sketch of General McClellan.

  I read the headline to Warren then read on: “It appears that Manassas has been a fortuitous location for the Confederacy especially now in the wake of the Second Battle of Manassas. Sources close to the Federal’s White House indicated that General Pope will be sent to Minnesota to tame a Sioux uprising and that General George McClellan ‘of Richmond fame’ will return to lead the Union army.”

  “Or is it to lead them astray?” Warren asked.

  I continued, “Despite Lincoln’s effort to have a Union victory and having put off the offer of mediation by France, Great Britain, and Russia, the Second Battle of Manassas proved to be more than a skirmish. The Confederate victory was another Union disaster. The Union Army was driven back to Bull Run. Both sides endured heavy casualties.”

  “It’s clear that Lincoln is becoming desperate. He needs a victory so he can deliver to the nation the speech that he read to Congress in July, ‘The Proclamation of Emancipating the Slaves’,” Warren said turning me towards him as I closed the paper. “This means that the Confederates will be heading north through here and to Maryland continuing to pressure the Union army.”

  Looking past Warren and thinking through this scenario I pondered the South’s strategy.

  He continued, “When Lee goes north, he’ll want to create havoc in the supply routes, a similar strategy used throughout the war by the Union, like the naval blockade or like Pope’s occupying Culpeper, to cut off the Rebel supply lines between Richmond and the Shenandoah Valley. Lee knows that if supply lines can be controlled, so can the resistance of the Union. He’ll go all the way to Washington if the rail lines are destroyed.”

  I listened, but his words about Lee seemed obvious. He went on.

  “Anyway, I’ll be needed to supply them with goods and equipment. I’d better get back before they start looking for me. I may not be able to visit you for a few days at least. But you know…if I can, I will. Annie, you know that don’t you?”

  “Know what?” I said in a teasing voice.

  “Know that I’m in love with you and I’ll do anything I can to be with you.”

  “Are you sure…anything?” I asked.

  “Everything and anything, my love.” He kissed me quickly on the tip of my nose before he left.