Ambrosia

by Rosanne Kohake

  Ambrosia’s strength returned much more slowly than she anticipated. Even a full month after her fever had gone, she was unhappy to find that she tired after the slightest exertion, that she required much more sleep than she had ever needed before. It seemed a struggle to simply get up each morning, and even more of one to remain on her feet the entire day. Often the effort made her feel nauseated or set her head to throbbing until she feared she might faint. Yet she could not bring herself to accept any more charity from Susannah and the other women to whom she was already so heavily indebted. Especially since there was enough work to take up every waking hour of their time and hers too.

  The house in which Ambrosia convalesced was in dire need of repair, as she discovered the moment she was up and about. Susannah had seen to it that she was given one of the two habitable rooms, which had been hurriedly scrubbed and whitewashed the very day she arrived. But the remainder of the rooms were sorry cubicles of falling plaster, deep cracks, or victims of a gaping hole in the roof. At Susannah’s urgent request, the church had sent money enough to mend the roof and any structural damage, but the remainder of the cleaning and painting and general repair was left up to the women themselves.

  Though she was hardly committed to the righteousness of the task the women were undertaking, Ambrosia could not bear to watch them labor while she sat idle, particularly since she needed so to regain her strength if she ever expected to leave here. She could not even consider remaining in Charleston after what had happened. Somehow she intended to get money enough to go elsewhere, to get far away from her past. She could not admit to herself that she might still be too weak from her illness. Ignoring Susannah’s repeated objections, she began to work beside the three ladies, saying very little but always taking a full share of the work load and driving herself daily to the brink of total exhaustion.

  Susannah watched with growing concern as Ambrosia’s skin lost its newly achieved healthy color, as her cheeks grew thin, her features sharp, as the telltale smudges of purple-gray circled her eyes. The girl was working herself into a grave, and there seemed very little Susannah could do to stop her. Gentle reminders to eat well and rest more often had no effect on her behavior, and even firm instructions were met with excuses. She would never admit to being tired; she was never hungry; she never felt ill. And perhaps worst of all, no matter how open and honest the others were with each other, she never wanted to talk.

  Conversation with Ambrosia was a constant struggle. Her responses were short, unemotional, unrevealing. Susannah wrung her hands in frustration and did the only things she could do to help this woman who seemed unwilling to help herself. Each morning, before they began the day’s work, Susannah began assigning specific tasks to each woman, making certain that Ambrosia was kept busy, but seeing to it that her work load was light. Mary eagerly agreed to this plan, but Rebecca objected. As far as she was concerned, Ambrosia and the rest of them deserved to suffer for the war they had caused, a war that had cost Rebecca her husband. And if Ambrosia chose to live off their charity, then the least she could do was her share of the work. It made Rebecca angry that Susannah insisted on taking Ambrosia along whenever she went out to purchase supplies-she felt herself every bit as deserving of the fresh air and sunshine and was envious of Susannah’s doting concern for Ambrosia. She made her feelings known with her ambiguous comments and cutting remarks.

  On the occasion of her first outing, Ambrosia tried to disguise the fear she felt at the prospect of being recognized. She was relieved that they remained in the northern section of Charleston, which was crowded with Yankees and soldiers. There was not much chance of running into someone who had known Madeline Bowman or her sister, or even worse, her father. She was relieved, too, that she had never been friendly with any of the Yankees she had met at Maggie’s. If she did see anyone who recognized her, she would simply turn away and there would be little chance of their forcing a conversation. She was only truly afraid of seeing Drayton again, for she knew that he would confront her, and she did not think she could bear to face him. So she lowered her head and kept her face concealed beneath her bonnet, and prayed that she would not chance upon him.

  Susannah was very aware of Ambrosia’s initial reluctance to leave the house and at first thought it might have something to do with Rebecca’s obvious jealousy. But Susannah quickly noticed the way Ambrosia anxiously scanned the faces of people everywhere they went. Now and again, someone stared at her as well, their eyes narrowing as if in recognition. But no one ever stopped her, or spoke to her, and Ambrosia never said a word. Susannah wisely held her tongue and pretended to look the other way. There was little doubt in her mind that the girl had known people here, that she was terrified of meeting someone. It was only after several weeks of uneventful outings that Ambrosia’s timidity began to fade somewhat, that she seemed almost comfortable walking beside Susannah, a wicker basket slung over her arm. Yet Susannah noticed that her head was generally kept bowed so that the brim of her bonnet all but concealed her face. It was a lovely spring morning in late February when it finally happened. Susannah was haggling with a woman over the price of a fresh-caught fish when she happened to flash a sidelong glance at Ambrosia. With a quick double take, Susannah stopped her bargaining midsentence and turned her head to follow Ambrosia’s wide-eyed, panicked stare. For a long moment Susannah studied the man whose mere proximity caused the woman beside her to tremble with apprehension. He was tall, broad at chest and shoulder, with obviously well-muscled limbs that swelled beneath a resplendent blue uniform decked with gold and brass. There was something incredibly masculine about his dark, striking features, about the hard, bronzed ruthlessness etched in the aristocratic nose, brow, and chin. There was a confidence in the way he moved, the way he spoke to the woman at his side, his every gesture smooth, sure, and calculated. Susannah took an instant dislike to him, and to the pretty woman whose arm was linked possessively in his, whose breasts brushed him brazenly at every opportunity. Susannah did not like the cold, knowing gleam in his dark blue eyes, or the practiced, flirtatious way the girl flounced beside him. He seemed the type of man who would use a woman, then discard her without a second thought. A dangerous, heartless man. And as her eyes slid again to Ambrosia, who cowered close beside her, she felt a surge of pity. A Union officer. A few pieces of the mystery were beginning to fall into place.

  Without a word, Susannah paid the full price the woman was asking for the fish, took hold of Ambrosia’s arm, and hurriedly left the market.

  A week passed swiftly by. Then another, and another. The Vermont First Christian School for Freedmen was finally ready to open. Large crates packed with books and supplies from the North arrived, and after three days of registration, advertised on placards and with handbills the ladies themselves had distributed, the school enrolled fifty children and seven adult students, all willing and eager to learn.

  Susannah, Mary, and Rebecca were soon devoting long hours each day to educating their new charges. More and more, Ambrosia was left to do the necessary cleaning and cooking, tasks which she gladly assumed. She seldom did such work, however, without thinking of Sheba and wondering what had become of the black woman who had remained so loyally by her side only to be abandoned. She pushed the guilt firmly from her mind, reminding herself of the future, knowing that if she once allowed herself to look back with regret she would never have the courage to go on. She was adamant about finding some outside employment in addition to her work for the Christian ladies, and eventually enlisted Susannah’s reluctant help in finding a job at a nearby boarding house.

  It was with some shock that Susannah faced a snide comment from Rebecca one morning, just after Ambrosia mumbled a hurried apology and ran from the breakfast table. “I said,” Rebecca repeated pointedly, responding to Susannah’s inquiry with a sarcastic smile, “if I weren’t so aware of that woman’s impeccable Southern upbringing, I’d wonder if she hadn’t gotten herself into a delicate situation.”


  Susannah’s cheeks actually paled as she forced herself to face the possibility that Rebecca was right. She considered several things she had conveniently ignored until now. Ambrosia’s constant nausea, her continued fatigue, and her lack of a monthly flow could no longer be attributed to the fever she had suffered in December. And she recalled that Ambrosia had spoken recently of leaving Charleston, had hinted once that she might even accept a small loan from Susannah to allow her to do so. Susannah had pointedly ignored the hint in the hopes that Ambrosia would reconsider and remain a while longer, at least long enough to stop running from whatever it was she feared, long enough to reconcile whatever it was she felt for the Union officer she had seen in the market that day. Susannah was certain that she had nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to. And whether she would admit to it or not, she needed someone to care for her. But now-a child! Dear God, a child!

  ‘’I will not tolerate such talk, Rebecca,’’ Susannah said in her normal smooth tone, her blue eyes flashing an authority which neither Mary nor Rebecca ever thought to question.

  Some time later the breakfast ended in silence. But it did not escape anyone’s notice that Susannah’s mind was far from the business of eating, or that for the first time in anyone’s memory, she nearly forgot to lead grace after the meal.

  “Is there any possibility you could be with child?” Susannah’s voice sounded calm and serene as always in the empty room. No one would have guessed that she was quivering with uncertainty inside.

  There it was. Out in the open. The question Ambrosia had feared for weeks now had finally been asked. She was almost relieved. At least Susannah had chosen to take her aside. At least the confrontation was a private one that allowed her to salvage some semblance of her pride. She met Susannah’s gaze for a long moment before she lowered her eyes and gave a reluctant nod. She offered no excuse, no explanation.

  “The father?” Susannah asked quietly.

  There was no answer. Susannah had not really expected one. Still, she knew instinctively who the father was and would have wagered her last dime on the accuracy of her instincts.

  ‘’A man can be legally coerced into assuming his responsibilities in many such cases,” Susannah began.

  “No.” Ambrosia’s voice was firm and final.

  “Ambrosia.’’ She waited until the intransigent green eyes lifted to meet hers. “Did he threaten you?” she asked gently. “Or force you in any way to-to submit to him?”

  An odd look came into her eyes, distant and sad. “No,” she said softly.

  Susannah heaved a helpless sigh. “Perhaps if you spoke with him then, told him about the child-”

  Ambrosia’s chin lifted and she stubbornly shook her head. “I’m leaving Charleston, Susannah,” she stated quietly. “I’m leaving as soon as I have enough money to-’’

  “But where will you go?” Susannah burst out in exasperation. “What will you do? You will be all alone if you leave here, and with a child to care for! Who will help you when the baby comes?”

  Ambrosia bit her lip. “Please don’t worry,” she pleaded. “I’m accustomed to managing on my own.” She placed a small hand on Susannah’s arm, the first gesture of affection she had ever shown the older woman. “You’ve already done enough.”

  She turned away then, pretending not to notice the tears that had filled Susannah’s eyes, and quietly left the room.

  Chapter 21

  For the following two days Susannah fasted and prayed, asking God for guidance in dealing with a situation she had never faced before. She had lead a sheltered life until the war called upon her to respond to the needs of countless wounded soldiers, and the untimely death of her husband called forth in her a courage she had never dreamed she possessed. But she had not been so sheltered as to be ignorant of Ambrosia’s plight. She had heard too many stories about women on their own, women who bore children without fathers. They were ostracized. Taunted. Hated for their mistakes. And oftentimes, forced to prostitution to support themselves.

  Ambrosia was making a terrible mistake. A child needed a father. Even a bad father was better than none. At least the child would have a name. Yet Susannah did not know if she had the right to interfere. There was always the possibility that the man was already married. Her heart nearly stopped beating at the thought. If he were married, then there was little hope for the child Ambrosia carried. And Susannah’s interference could only cause problems unless... Her eyes hardened. He could at least contribute in some way to the support of the child, she thought. If only she were certain the Lord wanted her to act in this matter. She opened her Bible, trying to relieve the bitterness and hostility she felt for the man who had caused such pain. “Bear ye one another’s burdens,” she read. Her eyes lifted and she pondered for a long moment. And then she was certain what needed to be done.

  The following day, Susannah dismissed her class after a short review of the previous day’s lesson and left school to visit Mr. Whittemore, a longtime acquaintance who had served as Mr. Burton’s chaplain early on in the war. Mr. Whittemore had since been named assistant superintendent of education by the head of the Freedman’s Bureau and was in a position, Susannah hoped, to help her locate the man she would describe to him.

  Less than an hour later, she was hurrying off, armed with the information she had sought. Major Drayton Rambert. She had recognized the name at once when he mentioned it. Drayton. Ambrosia had repeated that name over and over in her feverish delirium. That, and another name Susannah could no longer recall. She stopped to catch her breath before the entrance of a large house, one of several along South Battery which had been converted into temporary offices for high-ranking Union soldiers. She li(ted her chin and mounted the steps, pausing before a short, rotund corporal whose merry face seemed out of place behind the cluttered desk. His full, ruddy cheeks lifted above the confusion of the mountains of paperwork, and Susannah met a pair of lively brown eyes. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “My name is Mrs. Burton, Susannah Burton, and I am here to see Major Drayton Rambert.’’

  “Do you have an appointment with him, Mrs. Burton?”

  “No, but-”

  “Then could I ask what you need to see the major for, ma’am?” the corporal inquired politely. He was accustomed to screening all visitors, though most of the walk­ins demanded to see General Sickles immediately. No one had ever asked to see old “Die-hard Drayt” before, with the exception of Carolyn Craig, of course.

  “It is a personal matter of some urgency, Corporal.”

  The corporal’s thin brows shot up as his eyes flashed up and down Susannah’s trim form. Mrs. Craig wouldn’t like this at all. And she’d know about it before the day was out, the way she kept track of old Die-hard.

  “Uh-a personal matter,” he stammered. “Yes... well, I-I-I’ll tell him you’re here, ma’am.”

  The corporal left his desk and hurried up the stairs, racing down them again just a few moments later, red­faced and breathless. He paused before he descended the last three steps, straightened, and squared his shoulders importantly as he strode crisply toward Susannah. “Major Rambert said he isn’t in.”

  Susannah stiffened, and her chin lifted haughtily. ‘’He said what?”

  The corporal’s eyes flew open in embarrassment. “What I meant to say was...I mean, what the major meant to say was-that is, what he did say was that he won’t-er, I mean, he doesn’t-er, handle things like you.” A confused frown flitted across his brow. “What I mean is-’’

  “Is the major in or isn’t he, Corporal?” she interrupted frigidly, hoping to spare herself another rush of nonsensical explanations.

  Feeling himself caught between the proverbial rock and hard place, the flustered corporal tossed a fearful glance over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “He’s in, ma’am, but- “

  “Then I’ll wait.”

  Her cool blue eyes gave the corpora
l no hope. “Uh­ yes, ma’am,” he mumbled to himself as she turned away and took a seat. “You’ll wait.”

  It was all of two hours later when an unsuspecting Major Rambert descended the stairs. Susannah bestowed a chilly stare on him as he handed the corporal a stack of important-looking papers.

  “What are you whispering about, Corporal?” Drayton barked irately. “Speak up, man!”

  The corporal’s face became so red that it very much resembled an overripe tomato. “The lady, sir,” he stammered quietly, nodding his head in Susannah’s direction. Drayton met her eyes briefly as she rose from her chair and waited expectantly for him to approach her. He looked away. “What about the lady?”

  “It’s Mrs. Burton, sir. The woman who wanted to speak with you. About a personal matter, sir.”

  Drayton turned to regard Susannah a bit more carefully, then scowled and lifted an envelope from the corporal’s desk. “I don’t even know the woman, Corporal,’’ he said in a low growl. ‘’I’m very busy. Now get rid of her.”

  Susannah overheard just enough of Drayton’s order to decide she’d had enough of polite waiting. “I don’t intend to leave, Major Rambert,” she retorted as she moved to block his path. “I’ve already waited two hours. I’ll stay here all day and all night if I must, but I will speak with you...sir,” she added sarcastically.

  Drayton’s brow arched a bit at her outburst. The woman was clothed in a plain gray dress with white collar and cuffs and wore a small silver cross just below her right shoulder. A religious woman of some sort, obviously. She probably expected a donation for a “worthy cause.”

  “I haven’t much time, Mrs. Burton.”

  “Neither do I, Major,” she snapped back. “And we do seem to be wasting quite a lot of it.”

  Drayton stared at her a moment longer. Feisty for a religious woman, he thought. He relented, sweeping an arm toward the stairs. “My office?”