Field of Redemption

by Lori Bates Wright

  “I delivered the mercury salts myself. It’s much too potent to entrust to a child.”

  “When she got there, ol’ Farris was beating on Sallie.” Hickory spoke up. “Abby sure got riled up that day. She took a pot and busted it over his back. And she kept on swingin’ it til she had the general backed clear out the door in his long johns. Everyone laughed that a skinny girl like her could get the best of a army general.” Hickory grinned.

  “Abby threw that medicine bottle out at ol’ Farris and said he needed it worse than Sallie did ’cuz it was likely he’s the one spreading that sickness around at Dove’s in the first place.”

  Abby closed her eyes briefly while the other ladies snickered. She’d forgotten that part.

  “Ol’ Farris stood out in the street while folks came from every side of the street to have a look at him standing out there in his red drawers with his medicine bottle in his hand.”

  “Oh, my!” Though it was forty degrees outside, Mrs. Haverwood’s fan waved furiously.

  Somehow Hickory’s version of it sounded much tawdrier than it had felt in the moment. Abby smoothed her skirt. “Yes, well, over the next few months, it became apparent that General Farris was one to hold quite a grudge.”

  Dottie Saberton leaned a hip against her desk while Tori took a chair next to her.

  “Hickory, would you mind taking Rachelle out to see if cook needs any help with those cookies she’s making?” Tori asked and the two children bounded out of the room. “Go on, Abby.”

  “Anyway, I discovered that not only did General Farris frequent the brothel regularly, but he actually owned the establishment and took most of the profits. The women who worked there were indebted to him and had no choice but to continue working to survive.”

  “Farris has a fondness for bourbon.” Abby added quietly. “And often makes a fool of himself by evening time. He started having me followed and spread a ridiculous rumor I am a Yankee spy. His full intent was to see me hanged.”

  “So you think all of this is some sort of ploy for revenge?” Dottie Saberton walked over to have another look at the newspaper.

  “That’s my guess.” Abby shrugged. “I’m relieved the governor’s directive finally came through. I pray they lock him away and this whole mess can be forgotten.”

  “Except that the integrity of your name has just been questioned in every newspaper in the South.” Tori lifted her chin and went to stand beside Dottie. “We shall have a retraction printed and insist they print it in every newspaper that published the original story. That very reporter should be held accountable for neglecting to tell the entire truth.”

  Dottie agreed. “I’ll wire the newspaper in Macon personally. The editor there is a fair man. He wouldn’t want his name associated with a bunch of sensational drivel. Especially if it’s been proven untrue.” She went to Abby and took her hand. “We made a promise to my son to look after the woman he loves. I fully intend to keep it.”

  “We’ll see to it that horrendous man never has cause to come near her in his filthy red drawers ever again.” Mrs. Haverwood rocked back and forth on the divan to come to her feet. Once upright, she straightened the Bonnie Blue flag she had pinned in her hair. “You have that paper print a full apology to our sweet Abby. Tell them she’s no Yankee spy or Yankee anything else. She’s reformed. I suspect we’ll have her singing Dixie by evening.”

  Abby couldn’t help but laugh.

  The support of these women was humbling and empowering all at once.

  She made a vow then and there. No no matter what the next few days held, she’d earn the trust they had shown her in that moment.

  Turning, Dottie’s words still echoed in her mind.

  “Look after the woman he loves.”

  Be strong. Act promptly. Fear not.

  The latest telegram from Richmond was succinct, but between its three short lines lay the precarious fate of every Georgian.

  Since General Joe Wheeler had come down to prepare his celebrated cavalrymen, messages with similar urgency had steadily arrived from higher commands until the Yankees cut the telegraph lines sometime in the night.

  Ian’s commander was determined to burn every bridge and block every road from here to Atlanta in effort to obstruct Sherman’s dogged pursuit.

  With diminishing troops, the Confederate presence in Tennessee, Alabama, and Northern Georgia wasn’t capable of taking much of a stand. The battle lines were pushed farther south by the hour.

  The best they could hope for was to beat the Yankees to the provisions nestled inside individual farmhouses and plantations dotting the rolling countryside.

  Food, valuables, and livestock could provide much needed fortification to Sherman’s men. At the same time, if they were successful in pillaging for vital necessities, it would leave hundreds of citizens with nothing. Depleted government rations because of blocked waterways and destroyed railroads, could possibly deliver the final, crushing blow to the Confederate’s quaking stand.

  Ian swept off his hat and knelt beside a cold stream. After cupping a long drink, he splashed cold water over his face. His division had ridden all day, and scouted most of the night to get a location on the raiding forces.

  Having headed them off at Griffin, burning every bridge, Ian’s men blocked the roads with sandbags—whatever it took to bar easy passage. In spite of it all, he knew their efforts would only stall what was fast becoming an organized assault on the Georgia landscape. Ian’s cavalry could trip them up, but Sherman’s men would merely change course, and find another route into the heart of this fertile land.

  With no opposition to speak of at either side or flanking him, Sherman was cutting a swatch virtually uncontested.

  General Wheeler had gone on to Macon to help fortify the city, but the Union Cavalry was close behind. Allowing for a quick drink, Ian had no choice but push man and beast to keep going.

  Macon’s officers had to be made aware of an impending assault.

  Stepping up into his stirrup, Ian swung a leg over his saddle and motioned for his men to move forward. With a quick nudge, he sent his horse racing down the road toward Macon.

  “War is cruelty. There is no use trying to reform it. The crueler it is, the sooner it will be over.”

  ~ William Tecumseh Sherman

  Twenty-Six

  Macon, Georgia

  22 November, 1864

  A rare dusting of snow covered the streets as a who’s who of the Confederate Army converged on the city of Macon. Ten thousand additional soldiers poured in to bolster the city’s defenses while their Generals met with Governor Brown and the Secretary of State.

  Ian’s horse cantered down the main thoroughfare now void of civilians. Businesses were closed as all men from oldest to youngest had been recruited to take up arms and join the Home Guard.

  After the recent skirmish at Griswoldsville, Ian had seen firsthand the enormity of Sherman’s rogue procession. Split into two wings, they cut a swatch down the middle of the state leaving nothing useful in their wake.

  Compared to the South’s haggard remnant, the Rebels were outnumbered by at least five to one. Now that they’d located Sherman’s army, however, plans could be made to counter him.

  Lieutenant General Richard Taylor waited for him in front of the train depot. “For once, my train was early.” He smiled and retrieved his leather bag. “It’s good to see you, my friend.”

  Ian swung down from his saddle and gladly took the officer’s outstretched hand.

  Son of the Union’s late president, Zachery Taylor, Richard had been a Louisiana senator before the secession and a good friend of Ian’s older brother, Nicholas.

  Ian figured since he was also Jefferson Davis’s brother-in-law, he was here to represent the Confederate President without putting him in the direct line of fire.

  “Colonel?” They walked into town, with Ian’s horse following at a leisurely pace. “Last time I saw you, you were wearing a Chaplain’s pin.”

  Ian lif
ted his face into the cold flakes, welcoming the chance to clear his mind. “Seems like a lifetime ago.”

  Neither of them said anything for a block or two.

  Heaviness weighted them from all they’d seen and experienced. Gone were the days of easy banter over a long game of chess. When they’d each been so certain they had all the answers to life and the golden ring of success was theirs for the taking.

  “I was sorry to hear about John.” Richard finally broke the silence, choosing to look ahead rather than at Ian.

  “He was a good man.”

  “He was indeed.” Richard clasped the collar of his coat closer around his neck. “But then, so are you.”

  There was a time not so long ago that his affirmation would have made Ian’s blood run cold. Before Abby, he would have railed at the thought that he could ever be thought of as a good man again. He’d have argued the point to his death.

  Thanks to Abby, the bitterness was gone.

  “And you as well.” Ian turned to his friend with a friendly grin.

  Passing by Harbor House, Ian explained the generous support Macon’s women provided here. The tantalizing aroma of fresh baked bread and black coffee met them as they passed the doorway. Even in icy temperatures, the place was a constant hub of activity with a steady stream of hungry soldiers and refugees to attend to.

  As they rounded the corner of Mulberry Street, it wasn’t hard to figure which house was their destination. The Dobbs’ home had a solid lineup of tethered horses out front beyond the wrought iron gate.

  Several men in long overcoats and scarfs hung around the porch trying to get a good look inside from one of the two long windows set in front. Ian recognized them as reporters from various agencies. Hawthorne had set guards at each door and window to remind them they were not welcome at this meeting.

  Time and again the army’s tactics had been foiled by the tattle-tale nature of the free press. Without regard to the danger and loss of life their careless reporting caused, these men had one objective. Sniff out a story and sell as many newspapers as possible.

  When one of the men spotted Lieutenant General Richard Taylor coming up the walk, he scrambled to get to him. The others quickly followed suit.

  “Sir, there’s talk that the Yankee Army is twelve miles east of town. Do you see this setting up to be the biggest battle so far?”

  Another man pushed to the front. “General, I hear Sherman has Milledgeville in his sights. Do you have plans to send a battalion over to defend the capital?”

  Richard sent a questioning glance over to Ian with no response. Quickening their pace up the brick steps, both were even more intent on getting inside.

  A tall guard opened the front door and hastily shut it after them.

  Removing their hats, they joined the others in the dining room.

  Richard went directly to the blazing fire burning in the hearth to warm his hands.

  “It couldn’t be helped.” Governor Brown shook his balding head while pulling at his long white beard. “We need the manpower. Convicts are strong and have been kept healthy. Most know how to handle a gun.”

  “Yes, but there are those who would just as soon aim it at a friend as they would a foe.” General Hawthorne countered. “Farris in particular has lost his perspective. He’s become too volatile to trust with this kind of responsibility.”

  Dread knotted Ian’s stomach. Surely, they weren’t considering letting Farris walk free.

  “Colonel Saberton, here, can verify what I’ve said to be true. Farris tried to kill his fiancé on more than one occasion.”

  “And where is your fiancé now, Ian?” The governor wanted to know. “Tucked safely away out of harm, I hope.”

  “What is this about?” Ian didn’t bother to remove his wet overcoat. He walked to the table where generals, their aides, and other dignitaries occupied every available seat. Half empty glasses sat before them while a few puffed on their pipes and cigars.

  Hawthorne, the governor, and General Baker, head of the Georgia Militia, were standing at the head of the table with a large hand-drawn map spread out in front of them.

  “I see no other way, Colonel.” General Baker was the first to speak up as he looked apologetically at Ian. “We need troops to counter this brazen assault on Georgia. Without men to fight ’em off, we’re no better than dabblin’ ducks.”

  “You can bet if we don’t put a stop to them here in Macon, they’ll march straight through to Savannah.” The governor pounded his fist on his other hand for effect.

  “What does this have to do with Farris?” Ian didn’t need scare tactics. He was only interested in seeing that Abby was safe.

  “Our esteemed governor has proposed that we empty the penitentiary in Milledgeville in search for recruits. He is willing to offer full pardon to any willing to join Baker’s militia.”

  Ian turned and swallowed hard at a burst of rage that flamed in his chest. Farris was no good to them on a battlefield but had proven he’d go to any lengths to get to Abby.

  Getting himself court marshalled for insubordination wouldn’t help anyone.

  “I don’t see how we have a choice. Short of signing up our women, we need able bodies to stand between the Yanks and our homes.” Baker responded with a nod to the agreements he received all around the table.

  “Wheeler, have you been able to locate the Federal columns heading for Macon?” Governor Brown was apparently ready to move past the subject of Farris’s release.

  In Ian’s mind, the matter wasn’t settled by a long shot. As long as Farris drew a free breath, he was a threat to Abby. But with so many high ranking officers champing at the bit to send their troops out to block Sherman’s path, he’d leave it alone for now.

  He’d speak to Joe Brown personally as soon as this meeting was over.

  Until then, he needed to get a telegram out to warn Abby. Farris may go looking for her in Savannah, but he’d never get past the river at Brechenridge.

  “Saberton’s band just returned at dawn. They’ve screened the Blue for two days.” Ian’s commander, General Wheeler, stood in the corner with his gloved hand stuffed into the unbuttoned opening of his coat. A maroon plume tacked to the side of his hat had become his signature guise. Fighting Joe Wheeler was short in stature but a giant in the eyes of his men. “Sherman’s taking his own sweet time, letting the threat of his coming stir up panic in folks once they realize he’s not being met with much resistance from their own army. He’s giving his men free rein to ravish and destroy, steal and burn.” Wheeler came to the table and leaned a fist on the corner. “This battle has not been waged against an opposing field army but against our private citizens. Most are widows and women holding down their homes while their men are off fighting for the glorious cause. They’re rendered defenseless and subjected to unspeakable brutalities.”

  Murmurs of outrage filtered throughout the room.

  With arms crossed, Ian rested a shoulder against a heavy cabinet at the back wall.

  Wheeler enjoyed stirring up a hornet’s nest. Before it was over, he’d have them all convinced his unit was the only one capable of putting a stop to Sherman’s march. This was why Wheeler’s Cavalrymen had become legendary within the corps.

  “What’s more, I don’t believe he’s intending on coming to Macon.” Wheeler gave a knock to the table.

  Shouts of disagreement caused General Hawthorne to raise both hands. “Gentlemen, please.”

  Lieutenant General Richard Taylor looked amused as he glanced at Ian and shook his head, walking away from his spot in front of the fire.

  “General Wheeler, I suppose you have a basis for that statement?” General Hawthorne asked.

  “I must agree with General Wheeler.” Richard spoke up, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the silver pot on the table. “If he was coming this way, you’d have seen him last night. He’d have come before Ian and his men could report back on his whereabouts.”

  “You give the man entirely too much credit,
sir.” Although Governor Brown kept his tone light, his gazed darted from one commander to another as if looking for someone to dispute his claims.

  No one did.

  “My gut feeling says he’s taking this fight to the capital at Milledgeville. If he can lay claim to the capital, the people of Georgia will consider themselves all but captured.” Wheeler put a match to his cigar, puffing a couple of times while his prediction sank in. “From there he has enough men with him to split into two or maybe even four separate columns. They could inflict a wide corridor of destruction from which we might never recover.”

  “What good would it do to terrorize innocent women and children rather than have it played out on the battlefield between soldiers?” The Secretary of State wanted to know. “There are rules to warfare to be followed.”

  The others agreed, though not as adamantly as they had before.

  “Our soldiers live for the day they can come home and get back to normal. If he takes that away, ravishing their lands and crushing their families, that could effectively destroy their will to continue fighting.” Wheeler smashed his cigar into a china saucer. “Without the will to fight, we are defeated.”

  His point was well-taken as the commanders sobered noticeably.

  “What do you propose then, Wheeler?” Baker straightened, his dander obviously raised. “We can’t just stand by and let him do his worst. But our forces from the north have been blocked in getting down here to offer aid.”

  Just then an odd whistle wailed above before a deafening explosion shook the house all around them. Glass shattered from the front and every man in the room leapt to his feet.

  Once in the entry, they all stood gaping at a large smoking cannonball imbedded in the hall floor. A hole was torn into the parlor wall and one of the four stately white columns out front had a round bite out of it.

  “Oooh!” Walter Dobbs dabbed at his upper lip with his monogrammed handkerchief. “Cora’s not going to like this one bit.