by Ginny Dye
Angry mutterings erupted around the fire pit.
“How do you know?” one man asked, leaning forward to catch the answer.
Moses watched as Palmer stared into the woods, shook his head in disgust, and then turned back to hear Adams’ answer. Moses smiled at the idea of Adams’ providing a cover for him. His smile dimmed quickly, though, as he realized the cover wouldn’t last for long.
“I saw him with a unit of Union soldiers foraging our plantations after the Battle of Williamsburg. He was leading them to food. They were stripping the countryside as they went.”
“If you find him, you let us know,” a voice rang out. “We’ll help you hang him up.”
“Oh, I’ll catch him eventually. I seem to have a nose for that one. For him and his wife,” Adams said with a mean laugh. “I know right where his wife is. It won’t be long before I head north to finish what I started. There are still plenty of ways to cross Yankee lines. It ain’t so hard.”
Moses clinched his fists at the thought of Adams getting near Rose again.
“Yep. If that boy knew how close I came to having his wife, he wouldn’t be down here spying for them Yankees. He would be getting his wife as far away as possible!”
“What are you talking about Adams?” Palmer snapped. “I know you’re dying for us to ask, so go ahead and tell your story. Then we have work to do.”
Adams smirked. “You got plenty of time to pull your food together. You know as well as me you won’t be sleeping much tonight,” he said sharply. “Anyway, it’s a great story. I was way up in the peninsula when I found a man’s body floating in the Potomac. He’d been dead a right long time, but I found some papers on his body. Papers for a couple of slaves named Rose and Moses. I knew right away they were the ones who’d run off from the plantation I worked.”
Moses leaned forward as Adams talked. How in the world had he found Mike O’Leary’s body? Sorrow filled him as he remembered the cheerful Irishman who had been their conductor on the first stage of their escape through the Underground Railroad. He had been killed by two men hunting who had then dumped his body in the river to make sure no one discovered what they had done.
“Anyway, I was pretty sure those two had taken off for Philadelphia. I headed that direction as soon as I could. I only had to hang out there a week to find that wife of his. Caught her when she stopped to buy sweet potatoes from a street vendor I’d bribed to lure her over.”
Anger roared through Moses, pounding in his ears and making his eyes pulse, as he listened to Adams talk about his wife. Clenching his fist and gritting his teeth, he listened as hard as he could. Was Rose back in the South? Had she been hauled back to slavery? He had to know.
“Weren’t no big deal to catch her,” Adams sneered. “For a slave woman, she’s a right pretty thing. I didn’t see no reason not to have a little fun with her before I took her back for the reward money.”
Moses leaned against a tree and gripped the bark till blood ran from his hands. It was all he could do to keep from bolting into the clearing and killing Adams.
Adams’ voice continued from the clearing. “One of those Yankee nigger lovers messed up my plans.”
Moses held his breath and leaned forward farther.
“Big redheaded fellow heard her yell for help and knocked me out cold. When I came to, they were both gone.”
Moses shook his head. Who had saved Rose?
“Did you go back after her?” a voice called. “I hear those women make mighty fine lovers.”
Adams shook his head. “I had some other slaves to carry back home. I figure I’ll stay gone a while and let her think she is safe. When she least expects it, I’ll pop back into her life,” he said with a mean laugh. “When I set out to get a nigger, I don’t give up so easy.”
Once more the roaring in Moses head made it almost impossible for him to see or hear. Fury became a living thing, threatening to destroy all reason. God help me... Moses finally managed to groan quietly. Slowly reason returned. Rushing into the clearing would accomplish nothing other than assuring his death. There was any number of men out there who would gladly shoot him once they discovered he was the spy Adams had told them about. Think. He had to think!
Palmer’s voice rose into the night. “Where is Samuel? Mike and Chad, go find him. Adams is right. They aren’t to be trusted. Find him and bring him back. Maybe he needs some reminding of what his place is.”
Moses had heard all he needed to. It would do no good to wait for Adams to leave. He turned and melted back into the shadows.
CHAPTER SIX
Matthew Justin stepped off the plank leading down onto the dock at the end of Washington Street and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He was glad to be home. The streets of Philadelphia seemed a continent away from the battlefields he had recently called home. He moved aside as a steady flow of stretchers carrying wounded soldiers streamed past him. He could only imagine the relief of the young men who were just arriving in Philadelphia after two weeks in the field hospitals of Virginia. Their moans and cries had filled the boat as they plowed up the coastline. Crowds of people were waiting on the dock to welcome them home and to care for them. Philadelphia had responded rapidly to the medical needs. Hospitals, capable of caring for over ten thousand men, were already established in the city.
Matthew watched for a few minutes and then broke away from the crowd to walk rapidly up the street. His lanky form was beginning to fill out again after six months of confinement in Richmond’s Libby Prison. His beard remained, but he had cut his hair close to his head again. His work as a war correspondent for the Philadelphia Tribune demanded he maintain a respectable look. When he was in the city, anyway. There was not a single man on the battlefield that cared a whit how he looked. He was just another man doing a job.
“Hey buddy! Watch where you’re going!”
Matthew stepped aside as a wagon groaning under its burden of munitions rolled by on its way to the docks. Shaking his head, he laughed at himself. He’d better pay closer attention. He could allow his thoughts to wander when he returned to his office. He gripped his briefcase a little tighter and continued to hurry up the street. He had a lot of work to do before he could join Aunt Abby and Rose for dinner tonight.
He smiled as he thought of Aunt Abby. She was not related to any of the people she so lovingly opened her heart and home to. She had family down South, but there was little connection. Even though she was a wealthy and respected business lady, she refused to let formality stand between her and those she loved. Matthew could hardly wait to see her again.
Philadelphia was a city at war. Soldiers and sailors thronged the streets - marching through on their way to Washington, waiting for ships being either repaired or built, or wistfully enjoying their leaves. The hot summer day released its stranglehold as dusk approached, casting off its heat and allowing a cool breeze to blow in from the bay. As Matthew moved farther away from the docks, women dressed in brightly colored dresses decorated the landscape, meshing with the flowers blooming in myriad colors inside window boxes. If it weren’t for the sight of ambulance wagons transporting wounded soldiers to hospitals, one could almost believe it was a normal summer day.
“Prisoners coming through! Prisoners coming through!”
A loud calling jerked Matthew’s attention away from his surroundings. He watched as everyone within hearing distance stopped to stare and gawk at the manacled men being conveyed down the road in a large, open wagon. Matthew could feel nothing but sympathy for the dozens of men being transported to one of the various northern stockades, or to Fort Delaware on Pea Patch Island below the city. He knew firsthand the misery of prison life. Long after the crowds had turned away to go about their business, Matthew stared after the wagons, hating the reality of war. Those soldiers might well be in prison for the duration of the war. He had been exchanged only because he had been a civilian, a journalist, when captured. Most of the men with whom he had shared his confinement were still languishing in o
ne of the southern bastions.
Matthew shook his head and moved on. But he had changed directions. Suddenly all he wanted was to be in the warmth of Aunt Abby’s home. His soul longed for comfort and friendship. He would not go to the paper’s office first. That could wait until tomorrow.
Rose was in no hurry as she sauntered down the street. She was tired from a long day at school, but it was a good tired. A tired that said she had learned much and been challenged to stretch herself intellectually. It was the kind of tired she had longed for after long days of work in the plantation house when she was so tired she could barely hold her eyes open to sneak in a few minutes of reading before she had succumbed to the exhaustion claiming her body. Taking in deep breaths of the cooling air, she allowed herself to relax. Suddenly her eyes opened wide.
“Matthew Justin!” She was delighted to see the tall man striding toward her.
“Hello, Rose,” Matthew said with a wide smile. “Heading home?” When she nodded, he asked, “Mind if I walk home with you?”
“That would be wonderful. Aunt Abby will be thrilled to see you. You’re early, aren’t you?”
Matthew shrugged. “I couldn’t face going to the office today. I found I much preferred the idea of being in the company of two lovely ladies.”
Rose smiled and then searched his face. “Did you by any chance...?”
Matthews shook his head. “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t see Moses while I was there. But that doesn’t mean anything bad has happened. There are over one hundred thousand men serving in the army of the Potomac under McClellan. He could have been any number of places.”
“I know - I was just hoping...” Rose fought to control her disappointment. The last letter she had received from Moses was over three weeks ago. She knew mail did not always move easily from the camps, but she was achingly aware she had not heard from him at all since the first battles to take Richmond. Was he dead? Had he been injured? Had his cover as a spy been discovered by Southerners only too willing to kill him?
“How is school going?”
Rose knew Matthew was trying to take her mind off of Moses. She struggled to pull her thoughts back. “Fine. School is going fine.” She forced a smile. “Another teacher from the contraband camp at Fort Monroe came to talk to us today.”
“I was there,” Matthew replied.
Rose spun to face him. “You were at Fort Monroe? What’s it like? How many blacks are there? What are the conditions? What...”
“Hold on there,” Matthew laughed. “I can only answer one question at a time.” He paused. “Fort Monroe is a military base. But General Butler has taken in hundreds of fugitive slaves. My best guess is that there are close to a thousand - counting women and children.”
“That’s what the man said who came today,” Rose mused.
“The men are doing work for the army. So are the women. They do cleaning, laundry, and cooking. The children are going to school.”
“What do they live in?”
Matthew frowned. “Different things I guess. There is a place they call Slab Town. The huts are made out of the rough outside of logs that have already been sawed into planks. There are houses being built in the burnt-out remains of Hampton. Some are living in big buildings built by the army.” He paused again. “I wasn’t really there long enough to pass much of a judgment.”
Rose was watching him closely. “But you don’t feel good about it.”
“I don’t really know how I feel about it,” Matthew said with a frown. “They are certainly not living in conditions I would care to live in, but it might be a whole lot better than slavery. I guess what made me uncomfortable was the man who had been put in charge of the ex-slaves. I was asked by my paper to do an interview with him. A fellow by the name of Tallmadge. From all I can tell, he is uncaring and dishonest.”
“I heard about him.”
“How in the world did you hear about him?” Matthew asked, astonished.
Rose smiled. “From the man who came to talk to us today. His name is Mr. Lockwood. He’s been down at Fort Monroe as a representative of the American Missionary Association. He determined the same thing about Tallmadge. He returned to the North to talk with officials, to try to have something done about it. And to find more teachers,” she added, trying to speak casually.
Now it was Matthew’s turn to watch her closely. “Have you changed your mind about going? I know you want to stay in school as long as possible so you’re prepared to help your people the best you can.”
“I don’t know, Matthew,” Rose said slowly. “I’m confused right now.” She paused, suddenly glad to have him there to talk to. “Have you ever heard of a woman named Mary Peake?”
Matthew thought for a moment. “I heard her name while I was down at Fort Monroe. Is she one of the teachers?”
“She was one of the teachers. In fact, she was the very first teacher in the camps. She’s dead now. She had been ill with tuberculosis for quite some time. In spite of her bad health, she continued to teach. She died a few months ago. More teachers have gone down, but there aren’t enough to meet the need.”
“Matthew Justin. You’re home!”
Rose looked up, startled. She hadn’t realized they were almost to the house. Aunt Abby, with a wide smile, stepped from the porch and began to walk to meet them.
Matthew strode ahead and wrapped her in a big hug. “Aunt Abby. It’s wonderful to see you,” he said warmly.
Rose watched as the woman who had become like a mother to her smiled up into Matthew’s face. Aunt Abby’s huge heart had won her over the minute she laid eyes on her. The love had grown daily.
Abigail Stratton had taken over her husband’s business when he died unexpectedly - still a young man. Her struggle to make her way in a man’s world had both strengthened her and deepened her compassion. She carried herself with confidence, not seeming to mind she stood taller than most the men around her. Soft brown hair, now sporting streaks of iron, framed a pair of startling bright gray eyes. Her voice, low and melodious, invited Rose into her world, her caring and warmth soon making her feel totally at home with her. Aunt Abby had welcomed Rose and Moses into her home - had made them part of her family. Rose loved her fiercely. Thinking about it only made what she was contemplating even more difficult.
Rose followed Matthew and Aunt Abby into the house.
“Dinner won’t be ready for an hour or so,” Aunt Abby apologized.
“I’m early,” Matthew responded. “I found your home has a much stronger pull than the office. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Nonsense. I’m delighted you’re here. You can relax while I finish dinner.”
Rose headed for the stairs. “I’ll change and be down to help.” As she climbed the steps, she pondered the haunted look in Matthew’s eyes.
It wasn’t until they were finishing dessert of fresh strawberries that talk turned to serious subjects.
Aunt Abby turned to Matthew. “Tell me about Richmond. I’m so worried about Carrie, Robert, and her father. I’ve read about the fighting, but I know I can trust you to tell me the whole story. I suppose there are benefits to having a war correspondent as part of my family.”
Rose pushed aside her plate and leaned forward to listen. The dishes could be taken care of later.
Matthew leaned back in his chair. “From all I could tell, the battles at Seven Pines were a pointless killing of thousands of men. After two days, the lines were the exact same as before it started. Except that they were minus over six thousand men on both sides.”
“So the papers didn’t exaggerate the numbers.”
“Not this time,” Matthew said grimly. “They published it the way I sent it to them. I was hard put to decide who I felt worse for. I’m just as concerned as you about Carrie, Robert, and Mr. Cromwell. It must be horrible for the people in Richmond to wonder every minute if their city is about to fall. But they had a major advantage. Their wounded soldiers were only a few miles at the most from hospitals equipped to care
for them.” He paused for a long moment. “It broke my heart to see thousands of young men lying in the dirt, on straw or makeshift mattresses, and waiting for spaces in tents or buildings to open up.” He shook his head.
Aunt Abby reached out and put her hand on his. “It must have been horrible.”
Matthew sighed heavily. “It was like nothing I have ever seen. I wish to God I never have to see it again, yet I know this is just the beginning.” He shook his head again and seemed to forget Aunt Abby and Rose were there as he stared off into the distance. “I was at the supply depot at White House when troops started to bring the casualties in. Several hundred at a time came on boxcars. They were packed tightly in the cars, dead and alive together - many with no initial treatment of their wounds - but all hungry and exhausted.”
His voice faltered. Aunt Abby squeezed his hand but he seemed not to notice. “So many of them had such awful wounds... they were alive with maggots. And the smell - the stench was enough to make me vomit. All the hospitals were full. Some of the fallen were carried aboard boats. Others lay by the tracks in the rain for hours until room could be made for them. Piles of amputated limbs were everywhere. Dead bodies were stacked on platforms...” His voice dropped to a whisper. “It was like being in the midst of a long nightmare that would never end. It seemed like the flow of wounded would never cease... So much waste…” He shook his head heavily. “So much waste,” he mumbled.
Rose made no attempt to stop the tears streaming down her face. She knew there were memories she could never erase from her mind – she suspected they would rise to taunt her all her life.
“I’m so sorry, Matthew,” Aunt Abby said tenderly.
“What?” Matthew straightened suddenly, his eyes opening wide as if he were just remembering they were with him. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. You shouldn’t have to hear such things.”