by Al Lacy
Jenny poured the tea into a cup, let her mother sip it for a moment, then set it down and picked up the bowl of hot oatmeal and placed a spoon in it. “Here you go, Mama. See if you can eat it all, okay? Then I’ll give you your paraldehyde.”
Taking the bowl, Myrna lifted the spoon and began eating. Jenny poured tea into the other cup, and sipped it slowly. When Myrna had eaten half the oatmeal, she said, “Honey, that’s all I can do.”
Jenny sighed, took the bowl, and put it on the tray. She gave her mother a heavy dose of paraldehyde, then handed her the cup of tea to finish.
Myrna took a couple more sips of tea, then handed the cup to Jenny.
“Thank you, honey.” With that, she laid her head back on the pillows and closed her eyes.
Gazing down at her mother’s pallid features brought tears of frustration to Jenny’s eyes. “I’m so sorry that your life has turned out like this, Mama. So very sorry.”
Myrna opened her dreary eyes and set them on Jenny, but did not respond.
“Mama, you need to lie down again. Let me help you.”
When she had her mother lying comfortably, Jenny said, “See if you can nap a little, Mama. I’m going after Dr. Griffin. I’ll be back shortly.”
Jenny leaned down and planted a kiss on Myrna’s forehead, then picked up the tray and carried it back to the kitchen. Making quick work of the cleanup job, she put on her coat and returned to her mother’s room to check on her. When she stopped at the door and saw that her mother was sleeping, she turned and hurried out the front door of the house.
It was a magnificent autumn day. The air was brisk under a brilliant blue sky. The trees still had a few golden red leaves, and as she walked down the street, the beauty of it all overwhelmed her. As she drew within a block of the doctor’s office, she said, “Please, Dr. Griffin, please help my mama.”
When Jenny returned to the house and stepped up on the front porch, she saw her mother at the parlor window, sitting in her rocking chair. She was weeping and wringing her hands, saying something Jenny could not distinguish.
Jenny hurried inside and rushed toward the parlor. Even before she reached the parlor door, she could hear her mother babbling. “He’s dead! My poor William is dead! He will never come home to me!”
Jenny dashed to her and took hold of her hands. “Mama, listen to me! Papa isn’t dead. He’s alive and will come home to you when the War is over.”
“No, Jenny! Your papa is dead! He’s never coming home!”
“Dr. Griffin will be coming soon, Mama. He had some patients with appointments, but as soon as he finishes with them, he’ll be here. He will be able to help you.”
Myrna sniffed. “Jenny, if your papa doesn’t come home, nobody can help me! I’ll just collapse and die.”
“Mama, I’m going to give you some more paraldehyde. You’ve got to settle down. I’ll be right b—”
Jenny’s words were interrupted by a knock on the front door.
Myrna’s eyes widened. “Honey, did you lock the door? That may be your papa! Maybe he’s home! If the door was unlocked, he would come in. Hurry, honey! Go let your papa in!”
Jenny felt her stomach twist. “Mama, the War isn’t over. It can’t be Papa. It’s probably Dr. Griffin.”
Myrna frowned, her eyes losing focus. “Dr. Griffin?”
“Could be. I had to walk back. He has a horse and buggy.”
Myrna blinked and shook her head, as if there were cobwebs trying to clog her brain. Her eyes were wild. “Jenny! Your papa’s dead, isn’t he? He isn’t coming back … ever!”
There was another knock on the door.
“No, Mama. He’s not dead. Settle down. I’ve got to go to the door.”
Myrna threw her head back, and what burst from her lips was a shrill, frightened scream that echoed through the house.
Jenny ran into the hall and dashed to the door. When she opened it, she was glad to see the face of Dr. Adam Griffin.
“Jenny, is that your mother screaming?”
“Yes. Please hurry. Like I told you this morning, she thinks Papa is dead.”
Myrna was still screaming. The doctor bolted ahead of Jenny, who followed close on his heels. When they entered the parlor, Myrna was sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, her head bobbing loosely on her neck. Her mouth hung open and her blank, staring eyes were at a demented angle. She stopped screaming when she saw the doctor come in. “He’s dead, Doctor. William is dead. He isn’t coming home. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand it!”
Griffin leaned down. “Mrs. Linden, let’s get you up here on the sofa.”
She looked at him blankly as he set his medical bag down, took hold of her arms, lifted her to her feet, and eased her down on the sofa. He knelt in front of her and took hold of both trembling hands. “Mrs. Linden, there is no reason to believe that your husband is dead.”
“Yes, there is. I saw cannonballs explode and kill him! I saw it, Doctor! I saw it!”
While Jenny looked on, biting her lips, Griffin worked with Myrna for several minutes, trying to convince her that what she saw was only a dream. She kept shaking her head, insisting that William was dead and would never be coming home.
When Griffin saw that talking to her would do no good, he picked her up in his arms and said to Jenny, “When did she last have a dose of paraldehyde?”
“This morning, just before I came to your office. I gave her an extra large dose. I was about to give her some more when you knocked on the door.”
“All right. Would you bring my bag? I have some in there. I’ll give her some.”
When they entered Myrna’s room, the doctor laid her on the bed. She continued to stare at him while mumbling something indistinguishable in a dazed tone of voice. Dr. Griffin asked Jenny for some water and a cup. She watched him mix sedative powders and saw her mother get a heavy dose of paraldehyde, along with the strong sedative.
A few minutes later, Myrna was fast asleep.
Dr. Griffin set compassionate eyes on the worried daughter and said, “Jenny, I’ll leave the rest of this paraldehyde and these sedative powders with you. Give both of them to her in the dosage I just did three times a day. I’ll write them down for you. Make the last one just before her bedtime.”
After writing the dosage down on a slip of paper, he gave it to Jenny. “I’ll be back about this time tomorrow to check on her. If you need me before then, send a neighbor to let me know.”
Jenny nodded, her face void of color. “All right, Doctor. Thank you.”
When Dr. Griffin was gone, Jenny sat down on the overstuffed chair near her mother’s bed. She looked at her sleeping mother for a long moment, then tears surfaced. She bent her head down and put her hands over her face. “Oh, Papa, we need you here so very much. I’m afraid Mama’s going to do just as she said … collapse and die. All the medicine in the world isn’t going to help her if she gives up on living. She needs you, Papa. And so do I.”
Jenny sniffled and wiped tears with the palms of her hands. As she was doing so, her thoughts went to Nate Conrad. An ache rose in her heart. She stood up, made sure her mother was still sleeping, left the room, and made her way down the hall to her own room.
She was still sniffling some when she sat down at her small desk. With shaking hands, she took out paper and pen, thumbed tears from her eyes, and concentrated on what she wanted to say to the man she loved.
Memories of her times with Nate flooded her mind. They served only to more intensify the ache in her heart. It took a moment to calm herself, then Jenny dipped the pen in the inkwell and began to write.
Friday, October 14, 1864
My darling Nate,
Well, sweetheart, here it is. Letter number 20. I need desperately to feel closer to you. Since the news came that your artillery unit was in the Winchester, Virginia, battle, I have had to reach deep inside to keep up hope that you are alive and well. And I have to admit that sometimes I am hanging on by a thread.
I’m so frightened, da
rling. All my hopes and dreams are wrapped up in you and the love we share for each other. If anything happened to you, and you didn’t come home to me when the War is over, I would just collapse and die. I love you with all of my heart, and life without you would be hopelessly empty.
I miss you so very much. Like I said in my last letter, I know you miss me too. And I am trying to hang on to the dream in my heart that we can talk about our lonely hours when we are married and living in our own home here in Harrisburg, when all this horrible loneliness and uncertainty is over.
Until then, my love, don’t forget that you are the only one for me.
All my love,
Your Jenny
By the time she had signed the letter, Jenny was weeping. She pressed it close to her face as if it were Nate. “Oh, darling, I love you so very much. I hope somehow, wherever you are, you can feel the presence of my love and my thoughts.”
When she stopped weeping and dried her face with a handkerchief from a desk drawer, Jenny saw that her tears had smeared the letter so that most of it was unreadable. She used a blotter to dry the paper, then folded and planted a kiss on it. She then opened the drawer that held the small bundle of letters and placed it on top of the others.
Jenny rose from the chair and sighed. “Well, it’s time I cleaned this house up good, as I always do on my day off.”
Though her body felt the strain of so little sleep the past three nights, she swept every room except her mother’s, and used a feather duster after sweeping. In the kitchen, she mopped the floor, then polished the table and gave the counter a good scouring. While doing these familiar chores, it a brought a calmness to her and a small contented smile curved her lips.
She went back to her room and changed the linens on her bed, making a mental note to do the same for her mother when she awakened. She would then do the washing.
With everything done as much as possible at that point, Jenny returned to her mother’s room. As she moved up quietly beside the bed, Myrna Linden was still in a deep sleep.
Jenny stroked her mother’s hair softly. The sedative is really working. She needs the rest, for sure.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she had only had a cup of tea since supper last night. She noted by the clock on her mother’s dresser that it was almost noon.
As she walked back toward the kitchen, Jenny admired the clean house, and was pleased with her hard work of the morning. Letting herself daydream for a moment, she pictured what her own home would be like when she and Nate married.
There was a pang in her heart as the impression forced itself into her thoughts: That is, if he lives through the War to come home to me.
Entering the kitchen, Jenny stoked up the fire in the stove, put a pot of coffee on, then sliced a piece of cold roast beef. She cut a wedge of pungent cheese and after slathering two slices of bread with creamy butter, made a sandwich. When the coffee was hot, she sat down and enjoyed the sandwich and coffee, along with a soft molasses cookie.
As Jenny was cleaning up after eating, a deep feeling of lassitude invaded her already weary body. She went to her mother’s room, and when she found her still sleeping peacefully, she sat in the overstuffed chair nearby. Her eyes grew heavy immediately, and in less than a minute, her chin fell to her chest and her own eyes closed in sleep.
More than three hours had passed when Jenny was drawn from her slumber by the sound of her mother’s covers rustling. She raised her head, rubbed her eyes, and found her mother looking at her. She sat up straight and let a tiny smile curve her lips. “How are you feeling, Mama?”
Myrna smiled back. “I’m better, honey. You were sleeping when I woke up a few minutes ago. I had to change positions. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”
Jenny rose from the chair and took hold of her mother’s hand. “It’s all right, Mama. I’m just glad you’re feeling better. Your eyes are much clearer than they were this morning.”
“Jenny … I—”
“What, Mama?”
“I was just thinking …”
“Yes?”
“Is … is there some way you could find out from army headquarters in Washington, D.C., if your papa survived that battle near Rome, Georgia? Certainly they would know.”
Jenny shook her head. “No, Mama. I didn’t tell you, but I investigated this very thing a few days ago. I went to the army recruiting office downtown. They told me that the army knows with reasonable accuracy how many men are killed, wounded, and missing in battles, but they do not register the dead and missing for public information. The army simply doesn’t have the personnel to handle such a formidable task.”
Myrna’s countenance fell. “Oh.”
Jenny raised the hand she held to her lips and kissed it. “Mama, we’ll just have to wait till the War is over. Papa will come home to us.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Well, I can’t, but we have to keep our hopes up. It’s the same thing I have to do about Nate. We can’t give up, Mama.”
Myrna’s eyes filled with tears. Jenny leaned down and hugged her, and Myrna clung to her for several minutes.
When Myrna let go, she wiped her tears with the sheet. “What would I do without my precious daughter?”
Jenny smiled. “You’ll never have to worry about that. I’ll always be close to you, even after Nate and I get married.”
Myrna bit her lips again and patted Jenny’s hand. Her eyes grew heavy, and within a few minutes, she settled into a light sleep.
Jenny sat back down in the overstuffed chair. She told herself she would have to continue to encourage her mother by putting on an optimistic attitude, though the optimism was only on the surface. Inside, she feared that she would never see her father or Nate again.
That night, after administering the paraldehyde and the sedative to her mother per Dr. Griffin’s specifications, Jenny crawled wearily into her bed. Her thoughts were on her father and Nate as she fell asleep.
Moments later, in her dream, she was standing in the Harrisburg railroad station, watching the army train roll in. The crowd of people all around her was in a jovial mood, talking about how the Civil War had ended weeks before and they were eagerly waiting for their beloved soldiers to arrive.
When the train rolled to a halt with a loud hiss from the bowels of the engine, Jenny’s anxious blue eyes darted from coach to coach as uniformed men began to get off. Wives, mothers, and sweethearts were rushing to the men.
Suddenly, she saw her father appear on the rear platform of one of the cars, looking around. She ran to him. “Papa! Papa! Papa!”
A smile broke over his face when he spotted her, and he hurried down the steps. “Jenny, honey,” he said, “you’re prettier than ever!”
She clung to him with all her might. At the same moment, she looked over his shoulder and to her delight, she saw Nate getting off the train. Their eyes met, and Nate dashed to her. She let go of her father, and was folded into Nate’s arms while Captain William Linden looked on with a smile.
After a few minutes of exchanging words of love, Jenny and Nate drew back to look into each other’s eyes.
Nate drew a deep breath and smiled from ear to ear. “Sweetheart, I love you so much.”
“And I love you so much, darling,” she said.
Nate looked at Captain Linden. “Sir, I want to ask you something very important.”
William smiled. “Of course, Lieutenant. What is it?”
“May I have your daughter’s hand in marriage?”
Jenny’s heart was banging her ribs as she waited for her father’s reply.
William’s smile was still there. “Of course, young man. I know that both of you love each other, and I’m happy to give my permission.”
Suddenly Jenny was sitting up in her bed, breathing heavily. Moonlight was streaming through the window, giving the room a silver glow. Only a dream, she thought. I can only hope that both Papa and Nate live to make that moment come true.
10
; IT WAS LATE IN THE AFTERNOON on Saturday, October 15, when the army wagons from Macon pulled through the gate of Andersonville Prison Camp with the new group of ninety-one Union prisoners.
At gunpoint, several guards ordered the prisoners to get out of the wagons and assembled them in front of Captain Henry Wirz’s log cabin, just inside the gate. They were told to stand at attention, which they did, though most of them did it reluctantly.
Inside the cabin, Lieutenant Harry Fisher stood at one of the small windows while the prison commandant sat at his desk. Fisher turned and said, “They’re ready, sir.”
Wirz nodded, rose from his desk chair, and headed toward the door. Fisher preceded him and opened the door. The captain put on a stern face and stepped past Fisher, who closed the door and followed, halting at the captain’s side, a half step to the rear.
Wirz introduced himself, then laid down the rules to the new prisoners in a harsh voice, warning that if the rules were broken, the guilty parties would suffer the consequences, which were always severe. Wirz pointed out the dead line around the inside of the stockade fence. He cautioned them about prisoners moving inside the flimsy cordon, then told them the number who had been shot to death who had ignored the rule.
An invisible cloud of gloom hung heavily over the men in blue uniforms.
Wirz let his line of sight roam over the group, noting that there was one captain and three lieutenants. “We’re heavy on inmates, so we’re short on canvas and blankets. We’ll provide what we can, and you boys will have to make do.” He pointed with his head toward the man behind him. “This is Lieutenant Harry Fisher, chief of the prison guards. I warn you, he is not the man to rile. Obey any and all orders he gives you immediately, without question or comment. Lieutenant Fisher, I want you to take a sufficient number of your men and lead these new prisoners to the area they will occupy.”
Fisher took a step that brought him close to the commandant’s side. “Yes, sir.”
Wirz lifted a finger, signaling that he wanted to say something else. Eyes roaming the enemy faces, he said, “Since winter is not far away, if you Yankees want to dig holes in the ground in your assigned spot to help give some shelter from the cold nights, you will be given shovels. You will do the digging while these armed guards look on.” The commandant’s face hardened. “If any of you should try to use the shovels as weapons against the guards, you will be shot down like rabid dogs! We have plenty of space in our graveyard outside the stockade. There is sufficient room for your dead body. Keep that in mind at all times.”