Ian laughed at the whimsical interpretation of his regiment. They were all risk-takers and a few were half wild. Because of it, they followed him into impossible situations without question.
“I can’t tell you how impressed I was at hearing your regime intercepted not one, but two raids headed for Macon in August. Sherman was sent back to Atlanta with his tail between his legs.” General Hawthorne tapped a pencil against the table to emphasize his words.
It was not common knowledge that his cavalry had been the main deterrent on that mission. But Ian was pleased that Hawthorne had taken the time to read his briefings.
“I will convey your kind regards to my men, General.”
“You are very well-spoken. Where did you attend school?”
The man taking notes paused and pushed his spectacles up on his nose, looking over at Ian for the first time.
Farris pounded his fist on the table. “What has this got to do with my removal from this post?”
He reminded Ian of a child not getting his way.
“Yale University, Sir.” Ian didn’t usually discuss those days, but he took an immediate liking to General Hawthorne. “Divinity School actually.”
“Ahh! A man of the cloth.” General Hawthorn also appeared to ignore Farris’s tantrum. “I imagine you are called upon to speak regularly for our troops.”
Ian remained silent.
He’d not offered a sermon since giving up the Chaplaincy early in the conflict. “Gentlemen.” Farris’s nostrils flared like an angry bull. “Shall we?”
“Certainly. You are reassigned to oversee the prisoners at Camp Oglethorpe. I will be taking over your duties, in addition to others, here in Macon. Captain Cuyler will remain as Arsenal Commander, as will the laboratory stay with Lieutenant-Colonel Mallet. Colonel Saberton remains in charge of Special Forces.”
“Outrageous!” Farris again took up his tirade. “I shall write to Brown, myself.”
“The changes were instigated by Governor Brown with full cooperation from the Secretary of War.” General Hawthorne smoothed his long graying beard, and Ian could almost swear he had done so to cover a smile.
“Camp Oglethorpe is overrun with blue-bellies. Not enough resources to feed and house the ones they have. They’re expecting hundreds more in days to come.” Farris had resorted to whining.
“Then, I suggest you get creative and find some solutions, Farris.” General Hawthorne flipped through some documents in front of him, clearly not pleased with the role he’d just inherited. “We do what we must to see this war come to a favorable end. Rally your troops and put your best foot forward. Or your next reassignment may have you peeling potatoes in a mess tent.”
The closing of the front door reverberated down the hall and energetic clicking of heels pattered against the wood floor. “Walter? Georgie?”
Cora and an entourage of ladies marched in with wicker baskets dangling from their arms. “We’ve come bearing goodies to welcome our new General.”
Every man stood out of gentlemanly respect.
With great fanfare the women each laid their basket on the table nodding at the general and his assistant. Ian was the only one who noticed Farris grab up his hat and leave the welcoming committee to their task.
Mayor Dobbs reached for a sugar biscuit, and Cora shooed him back with a lace-gloved hand. “Just for the soldiers, Walter. We’ve made plenty extra at Harbor House. I’ll see some are put aside for you.”
“Ladies, this is indeed a treat. Thank you. And for the next several weeks, we look forward to making Macon our home.” General Hawthorne prompted his assistant with a shuffle of his boot.
“Y-Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” The young soldier sounded like he was from the backwoods.
Most likely fresh from a schoolyard somewhere. His grin widened when Cora removed a slab of brown sugar fudge just for him.
“Speaking of Harbor House, Colonel, I believe it’s just about time you meet Abby for dinner.” Cora clasped her hands in front of her.
Bonnets bobbled all over the room.
“So it is.” Ian was grateful for a reason to be dismissed. “General, if that’s all?”
Saluting with one hand, a sweet roll in the other, Hawthorne gave him permission to leave.
On his way out the door, Ian looked up at the clear blue sky. He couldn’t help but offer a word of thanks. For the Governor’s quick response. For sending a commander that met with the ladies’ approval. For a more secure Macon.
Glancing toward the hospital, Ian settled his hat low on his head.
Most of all, for answering Abby’s prayer.
“It’s a matter of taking the side of the weak against the strong,
something the best people have always done.”
~ Harriet Beecher Stowe
Twelve
Macon quieted for the evening, just as things were getting busy at Harbor House. By five o’clock, soldiers in transit and officers from every division were seated to enjoy a home-cooked meal.
Abby saw weariness on every face, even so the men remained courteous, grateful for a respite from camp fare. As usual, the ladies worked tirelessly to see them fed and encouraged before sending them on their way by seven.
Tables were cleared, and the noise of hungry soldiers waned. Only the sound of cicadas high in the trees, buzzed through the open windows on the cool night air where Ian and Abby were the last ones seated.
Under the watchful eyes of the ladies washing dishes in the kitchen and wiping down tables around them, she knew this was a safe place to enjoy his company without compromising her reputation. She had no parlor to entertain guests and the hospital lobby was closed to visitors after six p.m..
Here at Harbor House, a table for two was always set up for them in the back corner with a vase of fresh flowers. Quaint and beautifully furnished, every room in the house had been transformed into dining space. Sofas and armchairs were laid out in groupings against the walls and in front of the fireplaces. Perfect for the men to relax with a cup of coffee and a piece of Eliza Jane’s pecan pie.
The kitchen out back had been expanded and the carriage house provided covering for tired horses.
The front door swung open and Mayor Dobbs came through with his acting city manager, who was at least ninety years old—too old to serve in battle but eager to contribute, nonetheless.
“Cora, I’m back, dear.” The mayor called toward the back then turned to shake the old man’s hand. “I believe that’s the last of our business, Ned. Go on back and see if there’s any pie left before you go.”
Closing the leather binder in his hand, the mayor strolled over to Abby’s table. “As you know, our esteemed president, Jefferson Davis, will be here in Macon to give his speech from the train in one week.” He accepted a steaming cup of coffee from one of the women. “George has given his approval for the Harvest Festival to go on as scheduled in October.”
Abby watched a look of doubt cloud Ian’s expression. “Supply trains have become scarce. Even the ships are having a hard time getting their cargo this far north.” He leaned forward with arms on the table in front of him. “By then, we may not have anything coming in at all.”
A newspaper man followed Walter inside and took notes at another table.
Mayor Dobbs approached him, and shook the man’s hand with a pat on the back. “According to our polls, most Maconites were against celebrating Harvest this year with so many farms out of commission. Folks have become weary of this conflict. But as I always say, when faced with hardship, all the more reason to celebrate.”
Abby took a sip of her coffee to keep from saying what she was thinking.
The mayor needed to take a field trip to Atlanta to see what hardship was really all about.
“We must celebrate.” As if to draw an audience from the ladies lingering in the dining rooms, Mayor Dobbs became animated, talking with his hands. “We must keep up the morale. It’s up to us who remain on the homefront. We must see that life goes on as usual.
”
Stunned, Abby bit back the questions that immediately formed on her lips.
What, exactly was usual? Overnight, the country became divided, so thoroughly torn apart that nothing was usual anymore.
Her beloved country would never be the same.
Abby rubbed her arm as a shiver of apprehension chilled her to the bone.
“I was hoping I could count on you to serve on our Christmas Pageant committee this year, Abby.” Walter Dobbs stood smiling at her.
“Christmas?” Abby looked from the mayor to Ian who leaned back in his chair. How could he even consider elaborate Christmas festivities this year?
“Yes, of course. You’re very well thought of here, and we all know you have a way with children. Mrs. Horace Parker fell ill and has declined the opportunity to direct the play this year, and—.”
“Mayor, you do realize there is a very real threat bearing down on your city, do you not?” Ian frowned.
“Well, yes, certainly. I’ll leave that in George’s capable hands. In the meantime, folks need a diversion.” He brought a fist down into his other hand, side-glancing at the newspaper man. “As long as I’m mayor, I’ll see that our good citizens are not deprived of the small joys they’re accustomed to here in Macon.”
“I’m sorry, Mayor. The hospital is overflowing with wounded. I’m much too busy right now.” Abby kept her expression closed. As long as Hickory and the shanty town kids weren’t welcome to participate, he’d have to find someone else to be on the committee.
“Abby, I do wish you’d reconsider.” The mayor took a chair at the table across from theirs. “Cora, make her reconsider.”
Cora entered the room from the back, putting on her satin gloves. “Walter, she turned you down last year, too. And you know why.” Tying her purple hatstrings under her chin, she came to stand next to Ian. “We all love Abby, but she’s stubborn as a mule. Especially when it comes to those little ragamuffins she’s so fond of out at the shanty town. That’s what this is truly about.” Clicking her tongue, she gave Abby a scolding shake of her head. “Until Walter agrees to let all children in the area be included in our Christmas Pageant, including that little scamp Hickory, she refuses to lift one finger to help.”
The mayor joined his wife in shaking his head. “If Macon is going to survive all this unpleasantness, we must take a strict approach to protect our population. Letting those hooligans loose on the city would be asking for lawlessness to abound. I’ll not have it.”
“How does a nine-year-old pose a threat to Macon’s population?” Abby removed the napkin from her lap and tossed it to the table. “We’re talking about children here, Mayor.”
The mayor gestured helplessly to Ian. “She’s completely unreasonable.”
“I admire her determination.” Ian finished the last of his coffee and set the cup on the table. “Abby’s passionate about what she believes in and sticks to her convictions.”
“Where there are questionable children, Abigail, there are questionable grown persons.” Cora’s familiar argument was grating.
“It’s a Christmas play for pity’s sake. Where is the goodwill?” A thick curl fell across Abby’s cheek and she swiped it behind an ear. “The children have no say in the difficulties they’re born into. Truthfully, it’s my hope that once the children become involved, the questionable grownups will follow. Isn’t that what Christmas is all about?”
When she glanced over at Ian, he nodded with an arm casually hooked over the back of his chair. Something in his indulgent grin bolstered her courage.
“And I’ll tell you another thing. I hope to see every person in this county given an equal opportunity to worship together in that church of yours one day.” Her daring words were about as effective as whistling in the wind.
Cora ignored her completely. At least they didn’t seem inclined to string her up for speaking her mind like Farris would.
“Maybe we should put her on the election ballot.” The newspaper man laughed as he put his notepad in the front pocket of his jacket before walking out the door.
Abby had forgotten the man was in the room.
Now, Walter Dobbs looked dejected, and Cora scorched her with an angry glare.
Abby went to where Cora spread a fine lace shawl about her shoulders. She’d need to appeal to her good qualities to get out of this mess. “Cora, you’ve been so wonderful to me. Please, don’t think I’m ungrateful. You’ve shown me such kindness.” Cora turned from Abby, throwing one end of the shawl over her shoulder with dramatic flair. Clearly, she was going to make Abby work harder for her forgiveness.
“You’re charitable and generous. And you truly love the people here.”
Again, Cora turned from her. Abby persistently followed. “So, I know you understand that banishing the children just because they live in shacks outside of town is heartless.”
Cora continued to smooth the lace, dismissing Abby as if she were a pesky fly on the wall.
Her impertinence finally worked Abby’s dander into a dither, as her father used to say. Resting a hand on either side of her waist, she stepped in front of both Cora and Walter as they prepared to leave. “Do you even care that those babies go to bed hungry every night?”
“Abby …” Cora’s gave an exasperated sigh. At least she had the woman’s attention. “I agree. It’s a sad state of affairs those children find themselves in.” Cora gently pushed Abby’s shoulder aside to clear her path so she and Walter could be on their way. “Most every soldier in camps all over the land are going to bed hungry tonight, too. It’s a shame, but until the last battle is over, I’m afraid this is their plight.”
“Soldiers are grown. They signed up for this. The children did not.” Abby’s huff was highly unladylike as she pursed her lips. Her indignant look was lost on them, however, as Walter hurried to follow Cora out the door.
They never looked back.
After a long minute, Ian picked up his hat and well-worn gloves. “Come on. Let’s walk.” Abby took a deep breath. Her temper had gotten the best of her again.
This wasn’t Ian’s fault that the children weren’t going to be invited to the Christmas Pageant again this year. Unfortunately, he’d had to witness her rant just the same.
She really should apologize for snapping at Cora.
“Irish?” His question took her by surprise as they stepped out onto the porch.
“Me?” Of course, he was talking to her. Abby felt her cheeks warm. “Yes. My father was Irish.”
“I should have known by the way your hair takes on strands of burnished copper in the light o’ the sun.” His flattery came in an impressive Irish clip.
“Lovely to look at whilst waiting for a wee bit o’ wisdom ta turn it gray.” The memory of her father’s favorite saying made her smile in spite of a need to be annoyed.
Ian unhitched his horse and led him along as they walked back to the hospital. “That would explain your fiery temper.” Ian had the audacity to wink at her.
Abby put on a scowl to tell him what she thought of that.
When he laughed, she sucked in her cheeks to keep from smiling, which made him laugh all the more.
The night sky was enchanting with its vast glittering of stars. A cool breeze ruffled her hair, sending unruly curls stirring around her face. With so many camps lit up surrounding the city, a warm glow haloed the outbuildings at the far end of the street.
Without warning, the smell of smoke assaulted her nose and a familiar rise of panic gripped her throat. The air was thick from smoldering campfires on every side.
“Abby?” Ian stopped and steadied her with an arm around her shoulder. “What is it?”
Embarrassment flooded her as she fought to regain her composure. “The smoke.” Her mouth had gone dry. Running her tongue over her lips, she tried again. “I guess it caught me by surprise.”
“The smoke from camp? Are you bothered by it?” Abby didn’t have to look up to know he was concerned.
“No.” Sh
e quickly reassured him. “I mean, yes, it bothers me. But not how you think.”
She’d give anything to take back her unreasonable reaction. Talking about her childhood fears was something she avoided at all costs.
“Then, why did it shake you?” Ian’s question was low. The warmth of his arm around her was as comforting as a soft blanket.
Her resolve to keep her reasons to herself shattered the moment her eyes met his.
Moonlight reflected in the dark depths and she was unable to look away. “My mother and father were killed in a fire that destroyed the small village where we lived. I don’t remember much, I was very young. But I do remember the smell. I couldn’t get away from it. Couldn’t wash it from my hair.” Her explanation came in a breathless whisper, not entirely the fault of smoke.
Ian wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her into a warm embrace.
Years had passed since she felt as secure as she did in that moment. Closing her eyes, she tried not to move, content to simply rest in the safety of his arms.
“Tell me about them.” Ian stepped back and she immediately felt the void. Folding her arms in front of her to replace the warmth, she resumed their walk, keeping her attention on the road ahead.
“My father was a trained physician but had a proclivity for ministering. My mother was a natural care-taker. When they married, they applied to the missionary council, and set out to build a mission for the Indians in the mountains out west.” Abby’s memories of them were rare. Mostly, the conjured images in her mind were figments of her own imagination. She’d lost the ability to remember actual details of their faces a long time ago.
“You mentioned they were killed. Indians?”
“There was an Indian uprising. The mission was burned to the ground.” Abby told it as if she were retelling a story she’d once read in a book. “I’d gone with Brother Benjamin, a young novice missionary, to get food and supplies from the fort nearby. As we came back over the rise, we saw huge black billows of smoke. The mission was fully engulfed in the valley below.”
Field of Redemption Page 10