Field of Redemption

by Lori Bates Wright

  “I’m sorry.” The colonel’s condolence sounded so sincere, Abby looked over to see if it was her imagination.

  His expression was gentle and oddly comforting.

  He would make a good chaplain, she decided. The pin on his hat was most likely in honor of a fallen friend or relative, but she decided he must be a compassionate man as well.

  “What you reckon those ladies will be makin’ for dinner?” Fitz patted his flat stomach. “I could just about eat a bear.”

  “I heard them say something about meatloaf.” Abby smiled.

  Fitz licked his lips. “Makes my stomach growl just thinkin’ about it.”

  “Do you see that house on the corner, with soldiers milling about?” She directed their attention to a two-storied home with a porch running all the way around. “That’s Harbor House. The Ladies Aid Society took up donations and purchased the place. It’s now a rest stop for weary soldiers. They serve coffee and pastries all day long and dinner every evening. The ladies gather daily to knit socks and sew blankets. It’s remarkable what they’ve done there.”

  “Cora is the mayor’s wife. So, Elizabeth Lambert is the Doctor’s wife?” As if putting the puzzle pieces together in his mind, Ian squinted off into the horizon before looking down at Abby.

  “Yes. Doc Lambert is Surgeon In Charge at Floyd House Hospital.”

  “That means the little braid girl is a Lambert as well.” Fitz took a stained hankie from his pocket and mopped at the back of his neck.

  Abby nodded. “Penny Jo, the youngest. Eliza Jane is their oldest. And they have a son serving in the infantry up in Virginia.”

  “Them women sure beat the doors down lookin’ for you earlier.” Fitz shook his gray head. “Yes sir, they were set on you meetin’ the Rev. I suppose all the rest of Macon’s women must be spoken for.”

  Abby found it interesting that Fitz referred to the colonel as Rev. His regalia was that of a cavalry colonel and his men were clearly under his command. So where had he parted ways with his calling?

  Realizing that Fitz was expecting an answer, she gave him a friendly smile. “Most of them are.” Abby reached down to pick up another apple and tossed it to a boy standing in front of the telegraph building. “The ones who can still chew their own food anyway.”

  Fitz snickered.

  “Is that the Saberton Colonel?” The boy called out to Abby.

  “Yes, Hickory. Would you like to come and meet him?” She called back.

  Hickory trotted out to where they were walking under the shade of the arching live oaks. He produced an envelope from the pocket of his overalls. “Are you Colonel Ian Saberton?”

  At Ian’s nod, Hickory handed him the envelope. “Wire came for you, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Ian handed the boy a coin in exchange for the telegraph message.

  Hickory ran back to the Mercantile, beaming at his good fortune.

  As the colonel read, then reread the missive, Fitz made small talk about the heat.

  “… yes, sir. A Tennessee summer can be a scorcher, but this beats all I ever saw.”

  Abby wanted to ask the colonel where he called home, but he was still preoccupied with his correspondence.

  She detected a change in him as he read.

  By the time they turned onto College Street, she noticed he was more than a bit distracted, a cool indifference had settled over him. The slight flirtation—whether real or imagined—was gone. Whatever was in his message had his undivided attention.

  “But I tell you what, the little Tennessee women are the purtiest around.” Fitz closed his eyes as if savoring a fond memory. “’cept Abby here. You done put Georgia on the map.”

  “I see.” Colonel Saberton checked his timepiece.

  Oddly enough, it irked her that he hadn’t heard one word of Fitz’s unique compliment.

  “Bad news?” Abby ventured.

  Ian didn’t answer. She couldn’t tell if he had heard her question or if it simply didn’t deserve an answer.

  He finally realized she’d spoken when Fitz nudged him with an elbow. “Hmm?”

  Well, at least he wasn’t ignoring her anymore. Although, she almost preferred being ignored to the distracted glint in his eye beneath the shade of his hat.

  “Your telegram.” She tried another approach. “Bad news?”

  Again, no answer.

  “Your colonel’s not much for conversation.” Abby’s wry observation slipped before she could stop it.

  Fitz wagged his gray head. “He’s busy thinkin’ like he does.” Pressing his lips together, he looked off to the north. “Like it or not, them Yankees are comin’ this way. The Rev’s got a heavy task to make folks ready.”

  Fitz’s revelation was sobering.

  Abby had read in the Macon newspaper that after taking Atlanta the Union forces would most likely swing back north to Nashville. But to think that the frontline was instead moving south toward Macon sent a shiver of apprehension over her.

  She’d witnessed firsthand the aftermath of battle. Envisioning the beautiful city, full of people she cared for so deeply, ravished and in ruin made her stomach turn.

  They approached the wrought iron fence surrounding the Dobb’s grand estate. Whispy willows swaying in the warm breeze flanked either side of the two-storied portico. Six white columns set in front reminded Abby of pictures she’d seen of the White House. No doubt that had been Cora Dobbs’ intention when she’d had the house built.

  “The General and Mayor Dobbs will be waiting for you.” Abby patted Fitz’s arm. “There’s a train due in with more wounded, so I’ll say goodbye.”

  “Would you like to come inside?” Colonel Saberton paused to address her. “I’m sure the conversation will be much more to your liking.”

  She started to decline, but noticed the edge of his mouth twitched as if he were trying not to smile. Just what did he mean by that?

  “Thank you, no. I’m expected at the hospital.” She raised a brow. “I found my chat with Lieutenant Fitz very enjoyable.”

  He did smile at that.

  “Besides, I’ve had more than enough of General Farris.” The last thing she needed was to have to endure him today. “They’ll be looking for me at the hospital.”

  “Fritz can escort you there.” Colonel Saberton gave a nod and a smile before starting up the brick steps.

  “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need an escort.” She turned to go, but stopped before she’d reached the end of the wrought iron fence. Thinking it over, she thought it best to warn him. “Colonel, watch your back. Farris has been known to undermine new commands.”

  His features sharpened. “Thank you, Miss McFadden. I’ll certainly keep that in mind.”

  Waving, Abby headed back down College street.

  Now she had to pray he was an honorable man.

  “A lie that is half-truth is the darkest of all lies.”

  ~ Alfred, Lord Tennyson

  Three

  A curving walnut staircase rose beyond the polished foyer. Columned doorways on either side of the grand entry, with arched glass transoms, stood open to reveal a richly furnished drawing room. On the opposite side, a library with gleaming chessboard floors begged to be explored.

  Every space an intentional reflection of the owner’s good taste. Cora Dobbs no doubt assembled such opulent possessions for the sheer pleasure of boasting about their rare value. Ian removed his hat and tossed his frayed gloves inside.

  Most would say Brechenridge, the Saberton family estate high on the Savannah river, was every bit as elaborate. Though it had never felt this pretentious. Three generations of Sabertons had put all their worldly goods and a lifetime of hard work into their land.

  After three years on the battlefield with nothing but the threadbare uniform on his back and his prized horse, he’d experienced far too much death, destruction, hunger, and deprivation to regard such excess with anything more than disdain.

  Since his father’s death in the Mexican war, Ian’
s mother had turned her knack with thoroughbreds into a thriving operation which now helped supply the Confederate Army with fresh, healthy horses. No slave labor. No selfish gain.

  “This way, sir.” A corporal met them at the door rather than a houseman.

  Just like his home, Ian couldn’t help but wonder how many more changes this ostentatious old house might endure before the war of the states declared a victor.

  A mouthwatering aroma hit him as soon as they stepped farther inside, and Ian’s stomach quickly reminded him he’d had nothing substantial to eat since they’d broken camp in Atlanta. From the look on the Fitz’s face, he’d had much the same reaction.

  They followed voices coming down a hallway that led to a large dining area. Set up as a temporary office for the Confederate cause, the Dobbs’ ample dining table was now littered with newspapers, letters, and maps. Silver candelabras and an arrangement of withered flowers were discarded haphazardly to a corner over by an elegantly draped window.

  “Here they are.” The announcement came from a man Ian didn’t recognize, but assumed was the mayor by his forced smile and elaborate hand gestures. “Come in, come in, gentlemen. Walter Dobbs, mayor of this fair city. Colonel Saberton, you can be seated next to the General and your lieutenant will sit next to me and take the minutes.”

  Ian waited for the General to acknowledge his salute. Instead the commander sat at the head of the table reading a newspaper with a scowl on his face.

  Dobbs knocked on the table as if it were a door causing the general to look up. “Our guests have arrived, General.”

  Farris gave a half-hearted salute and waved at the seat next to him. “Sit. Both of you. What’s this malarkey about Sherman storming into northern Georgia? The lily-livered Governor has taken to the Atlanta papers calling on all Georgia citizens to be prepared to defend themselves against an inevitable invasion. How do you think that looks to the wretched Northerners? Sounds like we’re powerless. A bunch of ne’er-do-wells preparing to hand it all over.”

  “It’ll never happen.” Dobbs insisted. “The North’s propaganda has simply infiltrated the big city newspapers. Tell him, Colonel.”

  “It will happen.” Ian removed the wire he’d gotten and placed it on the table. “And is happening as we speak. Union troops advanced past Picket Mill to take Allatoona Pass this morning. Sherman now has the railroad. Supplies and ammunition will be able to reach his men by train. Our troops have essentially been cut off.”

  Dobbs’ face blanched.

  “Where’s Johnston’s forces?” Farris bellowed as he shifted his ample weight and the chair gave a loud creak. “He’s made it a habit of retreating.”

  The sour stench of alcohol was unmistakable every time Farris moved.

  “Hear tell reinforcements are bein’ called in.” Fitz contributed, though not given permission to speak. He rarely passed an opportunity to tell what he knew. “Including them Texans of Granbury’s. Ain’t no army able to stop that brigade. So far anyhow.”

  “Rain is moving in. That will hold them back for a few days, but both sides have suffered crippling losses.” Ian watched the general closely. The man refused to look him in the eye. “Sherman will want to move in as soon as possible to take advantage of our weakened defenses.”

  “Do they pay you to make guesses, Colonel?” Farris lifted his coffee cup to summon a refill. A young boy standing by the kitchen door was quick to respond.

  “They don’t pay me for anything right now.” Ian’s answer was harsh. “None of my men have seen a dime in months.”

  “Pity.” The general responded, monitoring the amount of coffee being poured. “Might I suggest you refrain from making any foolish predictions, until you are better informed to do so.”

  Fitz’s hand stilled from the minutes he recorded.

  “I believe Colonel Saberton is here on orders from General Lee, himself, Farris.” Dobbs came to his feet. “He’s obviously got the General’s ear. It won’t be to anyone’s advantage if you start things off by offending him. Besides, I wouldn’t think you’d like to call attention to yourself with all you have going on.”

  General Farris took a long sip of coffee before setting his cup down in its saucer with a clatter. “Of course, no offense intended.” He nodded in Ian’s direction without looking over at him. “And I believe news that I’ve had a new bakehouse built at the fort to better prepare rations for the inmates would be welcome news to Lee and his cohorts. They’re sending dozens upon dozens of blue-bellied prisoners daily and expect me to find room for them. I expect they’d like to know the rations—which they have not upped—are being distributed best as can be expected.” He swirled a finger at Fitz. “That, you may write down.”

  Dobbs again took his chair. “Yes, but you might want to leave off the fact that the grease from your new facility is being emptied into the creek branch upstream of the stockade polluting their only source of water.”

  Ian caught Fitz’s questioning glance. He nodded to his lieutenant to record the meeting verbatim.

  Farris didn’t bother to refold the newspaper, flinging it to the floor instead. “Someone must keep them humbled. I’ll not chance an uprising.”

  “I’ve no love for the enemy and that is a fact.” Dobbs pointed at Farris, emphasizing every word with shake of his wrist. “But those Yankee prisoners have only been coming here for three months. You have most of them wishing they’d died out on the battlefield.”

  Farris smirked, clearly pleased with the analysis of his prison camp.

  Ian decided to get straight to the point. “General, my orders are to set up camp beside the Ocmulgee River. I’ll reposition the gold from the depository to an undisclosed location. We will disassemble the stock machinery of Macon Armory immediately to be sent to an armory in Columbia. Arrangements will be made for all surplus, spare machinery, and tools not required for immediate use to be transported to Savannah as soon as possible.”

  For the first time, General Farris turned a bloodshot eye toward Ian. “Your orders are to leave us unarmed? With no cannon or spare rifles to defend ourselves?”

  “Your soldiers are well-equipped to defend themselves, Sir.” Ian stretched a leg and rested a fist on his thigh, saddle weary and in no mood to coddle a disreputable general. “We are removing the excess to prevent enemy forces from using them against you or the good citizens of Macon.”

  “Has it come to that, Colonel?” For once, Dobbs’ hands were still as the seriousness of Ian’s mission began to sink in. “Has Sherman got us outnumbered?”

  Natural empathy for the man threatened to rise inside of him, but Ian was adept at tamping it down. There was no room in this war for sentiment. Only a clear head, without the sloppiness of emotion, would get them all out alive.

  “We’ll certainly do everything we can to see his troops held back. But you’d just as well know with northern Georgia blocked off into Tennessee and without the railroad to help bring in supplies, it’s just a matter of time before Sherman makes good on his threat to take the rest of Georgia.”

  The room fell silent. Even the house help was still.

  Like so many in the South, Georgians had witnessed the war from afar through distorted lenses. Commentaries in Confederate newspapers were geared to keeping up morale despite the unthinkable number of casualties and provisions that had been lost.

  The Rebs could deter the North only so long, outwitting them with creative tactics, but eventually, the ammunition would run out. Along with food, hospital supplies, and transportation. Once the telegraph wires were cut, there would be no communication and they were as good as sitting ducks.

  Ian’s job was to see they understood the dire consequences of losing such a battle. Raiding troops, if given half a chance, would lay everything to waste within their broad path. His cavalrymen would ride out to persuade the hundreds of people from surrounding countryside to leave their homes and take refuge in the city. There was strength in numbers.

  “Bring food.” Gener
al Farris barked and the young house boy scurried into the kitchen. “So all by yourself, you will be handling our country’s gold. You’re sending our valuable armory to South Carolina and all other surplus to Savannah. Isn’t that where you hail from, Colonel? Savannah is your home, is it not?”

  What could he possibly be insinuating?

  “It is.” Ian’s response was measured.

  “And didn’t I just read about a Saberton somewhere in South Carolina doing something of importance? Could he be a relation?”

  “What the …” Fitz was forgetting himself again and Ian held up a hand to silence him.

  “My brother, Rear Admiral Nicholas Saberton. Commanding officer of Fort Sumpter in Charleston.”

  The mayor dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief. “Everyone in Georgia knows the Sabertons. What exactly is your point, Farris? Surely you don’t mean to imply Colonel Saberton would steal Confederate resources for personal gain.” Dobbs waved off a plate of food, so the boy placed it in front of the general instead. “What you’re suggesting is a serious offense. Defamation of character. I’d have to be a witness to your false accusation. Cora wouldn’t like that one bit.”

  “No, no, of course not.” The general answered with his mouth full. Ian’s empty stomach took a turn. “You misunderstood me completely. I was merely pointing out what I am certain are minor coincidences. Just small talk. Eat, Colonel. You must be famished.”

  “I’ll eat with my men.” Ian pushed away from the table and retrieved his hat.

  There was no misunderstanding. Farris was intentionally trying to create suspicion concerning Ian’s integrity. Most likely to defer attention from his own.

  The meeting had gone far enough. Ian had delivered the information as instructed. Now he was ready to help set up camp.

  Fitz scrunched his mouth, replacing the cap on his ink bottle. Shaking his head, there was no guessing what his thoughts were about the odd turn of the meeting.

  “Thank you, gentlemen.” Dobbs stood and extended his hand. “You’ll have the city’s full cooperation, Colonel. Please let us know if there’s anything you need. I believe the ladies are planning on having supper brought out to your men this evening.”