Field of Redemption

by Lori Bates Wright

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll see to this myself.” Abby brushed past him. “We’ve traveled too far to be put off.”

  Lifting her green skirt, Abby hurried up the steps with Dottie right beside her. Two guards, one on either side of the wooden portal, stepped in front of the door. “You can’t go in there.”

  “We’ve come to see General Sherman.” Abby took another step forward.

  “He’s busy.” One of the soldiers smirked.

  “I can see that.” Dottie looked over the debris filled street before turning her attention back to the guards. “You may announce us if you’d like. Otherwise, we will announce ourselves.”

  The younger soldier swallowed hard, not exactly sure what to do with two belligerent females. The older, more seasoned officer, called down to the Alabama captain. “What’s this about?”

  “They have an appointment with the general,” came the answer. Though it wasn’t entirely the truth, neither of them felt inclined to correct him. Maybe later, after they’d had their meeting.”

  “You got some kind of letter to prove it?”

  Before either of them could answer, the door was hauled open and a hard scowl of the Union commander met them in the doorway. “What’s the commotion, O’Riley?”

  “A couple of belles say they have an appointment to see you, Sir.”

  With a cigar between his teeth, General William T. Sherman, squinted against the morning sun looking at Dottie for a good long while without speaking.

  To her credit she held his gaze, never wavering once.

  “Do I know you, Ma’am?” He removed the cigar, flicking a roll of ash from its tip.

  “We’ve met.” Dottie took a step toward him. “May we come in?”

  The guard went to stop her but the commanding general waved him off.

  Both ladies stepped inside the governor’s mansion.

  Abby was immediately struck by the sparse furnishings in the empty foyer.

  “Please, refresh my memory.” William Sherman could be gracious when he chose to be.

  “You attended West Point with my late husband. We met at a cotillion his senior year.” Dottie had given her cape and muff to the soldiers at McIntyre. But her suit of burgundy was still crisp and fit her lovely figure to perfection.

  “Dottie Maxwell.” His voice was raspy.

  Abby wondered if it was the cigars or if he was ill.

  “Dottie Saberton,” she amended.

  “I’d offer you a chair, but it seems your governor didn’t leave us any.” He held out an arm to invite them into the expansive parlor where an inviting fire blazed in the hearth.

  “Thank heavens for that.” Dottie entered the room and looked over the barren walls. “From all I’ve seen, his cherished possessions would end up in a pile of cinders if he had.” Her lilting drawl echoed in the empty room.

  Abby kept her head lowered under her hood as she passed the general.

  He stopped her just before she got through the doorway.

  “And who have we here?”

  On a long breath, she lifted her chin and peered into his jet-black eyes.

  “Hello, Uncle Cump.”

  “Let us, then, be what we are, and speak what we think,

  and in all things keep ourselves loyal to truth.”

  ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Thirty

  Ian bolted down the bluff’s steep curve, skidding over rock and brush to where the horses were tied in a grove of cypress.

  He’d spotted Abby and his mother as soon as they had entered the square. Under guard, they’d been taken to Sherman.

  What were they doing in Milledgeville?

  They’d never have left Brechenridge unless the plantation had come under siege. To think his mother and Abby, in her delicate condition, had been taken prisoner was unconscionable.

  “Hold up there, Rev!” Out of breath, Fitz caught just as Ian wheeled his horse toward the center of town. “What’s your all-fired hurry?”

  “They have Abby.” Ian shouted, stark dread gripped his throat. Kicking his mount into a full run, he raced down the river road, his heart thundering in his ears.

  Channeling his fear into rage, Ian laid low over his horse’s back and spurred the animal beyond its limits. God help the Yankee who tried to stop him.

  Entering the city through a back alley, Ian tore off his hat, frock coat, and jacket, stuffing them into saddle bags. His brown riding pants and tall boots were less conspicuous topped with just his plain white shirt. Holster and sword in place, Ian led his horse from the alley out onto the street.

  Stepping over drunken soldiers, he kept his attention ahead, making no attempt to engage anyone in his path. On several occasions, he had been a guest of the governor prior to succession, he knew his way to the mansion, but could only guess at the side street which would service a domestic entry.

  Hordes of soldiers reclined in the roads and in private yards. Open fires dotted the streets, where meat roasted on crude spits while half used carcasses were tossed aside to rot in manicured rose bushes.

  The governor’s mansion wasn’t hard to locate. Easily the grandest estate set in the center of the city. Ian left his horse tied to a tall lamp post and slipped through the fence. An entrance facing a turnaround drive looked to be where delivery wagons would likely be directed.

  The door was bolted.

  Standing back, he surveyed the back of the house. A window off of the second floor balcony was cracked. Ian could see it was enough that the cold wind ruffled the draperies. Climbing the white trellis, he scaled the balcony. With the wooden butt of his pistol, he gave the fractured glass a hard tap. A large piece broke off into his hand. Reaching in, he unlatched the window and climbed inside.

  The room was a library. Books were scattered from empty shelves, and family keepsakes were strewn across the floor.

  Ian cautiously opened the door, to peer down the hall. All lamps were dark and cold. No movement brought him to venture deeper into the house.

  Ian kept to the shadows, listening for activity at every doorway. He followed the hallway to a round balcony overlooking the marble foyer. A gold-leaf dome loomed overhead.

  Still no sight of the Federals.

  With back to the wall, Ian took the stairs slowly down to the main level. Voices drifted up to meet him. He recognized his mother’s muffled tone. The closer he got, the less she sounded afraid but more like she was agitated.

  Ian watched shadows pass in front of the sidelight windows on either side of the front door. With his revolver drawn, he scanned the area past the foyer for any more soldiers milling around inside. The corridors were still. No light burned in any room that he could see.

  Even if Sherman was holed up in the enormous mansion alone, surely he would have aides and messengers coming in and out.

  A man spoke close to the door, and Ian pressed against the wainscoted wall.

  “Abby, you look so much like your mother, Julianne. It’s as if my sister has returned to me.” The Yankee moved away from the doorway. “She got the greater portion of our father’s red hair.”

  Stunned, Ian wasn’t sure he’d heard right.

  “I miss her, too. Very much.” The quiet answer was unmistakably Abby’s voice.

  Ian couldn’t take in a decent breath. His gut wrenched like he’d just taken a hard blow.

  In all the times they’d talked, she hadn’t thought this was important enough to mention?

  Abby occupied one of the two unmatched chairs positioned in front of a black marble fireplace. Dottie sat across from her in the other. The general pulled a highbacked dining chair from the corner. Otherwise, there was no other furniture in the room.

  After a few minutes, warmth from the fire finally began to chase the chill from her bones. Abby could feel him watching them both and deliberately avoided his steely gaze.

  She’d only met her uncle once that she could remember. He’d come to visit not long after her parents died. She’d received intermi
ttent letters from him over the years and imagined he probably corresponded with many other members of his family as he was always a wealth of news.

  The man in the letters was attentive enough, but always seemed to be a lost soul looking for connection.

  It was no secret that William Tecumseh Sherman had struggled with great sadness in his life. The newspapers had written for weeks about his reported breakdown after one of the earlier battles up north. But just as characteristically, he picked himself back up and was celebrated for returning to the battle lines.

  He had written to her about how he’d been sent to live with neighbors as a child after the death of his father. And how Abby’s mother, older by two years, had been farmed out to live at the preacher’s house. The two of them had managed to stay close in spite of the separation.

  When Julianne Sherman married Silas McFadden and left for the west to brave the vast Indian mission field, her brother had pleaded with her not to go. When her death was reported, he took the news exceptionally hard.

  On several occasions before the war between the states broke out, he’d invited Abby to his home in Louisiana but her obligations as governess kept her in Mansfield.

  A part of her always regretted she’d never taken the time to know her mother’s younger brother. He was no better than a stranger to her. The stories she’d read in the Southern newspapers lately, made him out to be the worst sort of monster.

  As with everything else, Abby supposed the truth lay somewhere in between.

  “I had quite a fascination at that cotillion as I remember.” General Sherman addressed Dottie and didn’t mince words. He never had. Rolling a cigar between his lips, he took a long puff.

  “You were a young cadet. Fanciful and a bit full of yourself.” Dottie removed her gloves and placed them in her lap. “Much too intense for one so young.”

  Abby smiled. Dottie didn’t hold back either.

  “Your wit charmed every military man in attendance.” Again, a certain despondency flooded his craggy features. “All sugar and champagne, you were. With just enough salt to keep things interesting.”

  “That was a very long time ago.” Dottie gave him a half smile.

  “Samuel was the envy of all that year.” The general’s callous demeanor was back in place. “A shame he was killed. He would have made a formidable opponent, no doubt.”

  “He has three sons who are just that.” Her eyebrow rose a tad. “All officers for the Confederacy.”

  The air was thick with a sudden hush that fell between them.

  Abby decided to intervene. The reason for their visit was too important to let their hostilities get out of hand.

  “Samuel Saberton’s middle son and I are to be married.” Abby turned in her chair to better see him. “As soon as this conflict is resolved.”

  His reaction was less than she’d hoped for. The look he shot her could frost the windows.

  A surge of irritation rose in her chest. She was cold and tired and desperate to help save Ian’s home. Frivolous chit chat was getting them nowhere.

  “Uncle Cump, we’ve come to negotiate a deal.” Abby stood and walked to where he sat. Without thinking she laid a gloved hand on his shoulder. “The Macon and St. Louis newspapers agree that you and your gorilla forces intend to annihilate everything between here and Savannah.”

  Removing the cigar from his mouth, his scowl turned to a serious frown. “Is that what they said?”

  “I believe she means your guerilla forces. Although …” Dottie cocked her head and left it at that.

  “The news agencies overstep their principles.” Sherman came to his feet and his chair hit the floor with a clatter. “The movement of my army has one purpose—to see this blasted rebellion ended. I do not intend to justify my actions to the newspapers, nor do I intend to discuss it any further with you ladies.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, General, this war does not just affect the men out on your battlefields.” Dottie stood and slowly placed herself in front of him. “Countless women and children are caught in the crosshairs.”

  Abby admired her calm.

  “A war instigated by your rebels I might point out.” His gritty voice raised as he looked down at her.

  Dottie nodded, then pinned him with a direct look. “That is highly debatable. But, since we haven’t the time to hash it over, let me just say this.” Moving closer to Abby, they presented a united front. “If you continue this path you’ve chosen, allowing for no concessions, history will only remember that it was the Federals who did the robbing and pillaging, ravishing and whoremongering—overstepping their principles as you say.”

  Abby rushed ahead to take up the gauntlet. “And it will forever be remembered that in the name of freedom, private citizens, the women and children, were the ones who suffered the most in your march for freedom.”

  Examining the cigar he held between his fingers, he finally glanced over to acknowledge their argument. “My perspective remains as it has since the first shots were fired countryman against countryman. If a necessary evil hastens an end to an even greater evil, then let history be hanged.”

  “Don’t you see?” Abby hitched her skirt and followed him as he moved to the window. “You have an opportunity to show that good can overcome all evils.”

  “Good must have teeth to win wars.”

  His countenance was weary, and her heart went out to him.

  “Uncle Cump, for the past three years I have nursed men on both sides who have been shattered in battle.” He continued to observe the melee going on in the street. “One night, not long ago, a Union sergeant captured at Donaldsonville came in. He had the most incredible story to tell.”

  Sherman kept his attention fixed outside.

  “He said Atlanta had fallen. But that the great general, William T. Sherman, had been moved with compassion for her frightened and disillusioned citizens.”

  His gaze cut down to her.

  “That you provided clothing, food, and blankets to those displaced from their homes. The soldier even described you as a Merciful Conqueror.”

  General Sherman lifted a hand to touch his niece’s cheek, but refrained. “A conqueror just the same.”

  Dottie approached him from the other side. “So it would seem.” She gave a pointed look out the window to the destruction of Georgia’s capital. “However, we have come to ask that you conquer elsewhere and leave our home in Savannah intact.”

  Turning from his niece, Sherman narrowed his eye at Dottie.

  “In the event our opposing forces are not able to put a stop to this defilement, we’ve come to ask that you spare Savannah as graciously as you did Atlanta.” She shrugged and folded her arms.

  For the first time he gave a genuine smile. “The true motive of this visit is revealed.”

  Dottie remained unruffled. “I’m prepared to offer you a fine mansion on St. James square to use as your headquarters and that beautiful black thoroughbred you see out there on the street to keep as my gift. In addition to your army rations, we will see that you and your men have ample provisions for your stay. You may enter the city unopposed as long as you and your men respect the dignity of our citizen’s homes. Cause no personal harm to any individual or their livestock.”

  “So far, I’ve not had much opposition to speak of. Why should I agree to your terms if we can take the city without incident?” He strolled over to the mantle and tossed his cigar into the fire.

  “Because if you don’t agree to our terms, you will not take Savannah without incident.” Abby had to make him see the wisdom in the offer. “Fort McAllister is on high alert. The ports are heavily guarded by Confederate Navy, and they have troops in position to give a fight to the end. More bloodshed and more innocent lives lost.”

  He stared down at waning embers.

  Abby bit the inside of her bottom lip.

  Her mother had always said a prayer for her brother, who she called Tecumseh. Just like the Shawnee chief he was named for, he was
both savage and gentle. Abby prayed his thirst for victory would not overrule his compassion for those who were left defeated.

  Finally, he turned and straightened. “I’m afraid I underestimated you ladies. You are better negotiators than either Secretary of War.”

  Dottie gave him a most gracious smile. “So you’ll agree?”

  “On the condition that you are able to deliver all that you’ve promised.”

  “I suppose you will have to trust me just as I’m forced to trust you.” Dottie went to him and held out her hand.

  When he didn’t readily accept her gesture of goodwill, Abby stepped in. “President Lincoln has said Savannah is one of his favorite coastal towns. Won’t he be pleased when you spare it from ruin?”

  A course grin lifted his mouth. “Touché, little one.”

  He shook Dottie’s hand. “Your wit is even sharper with age.”

  “Thank you, general.” She retrieved her gloves. “Now if you would be so kind as to allow the captain out there to escort us back to the train station, we will not presume to waste any more of your time.”

  He gave a formal nod and held out his hand to allow their departure.

  “In the time I’ve spent in Georgia, Uncle Cump, I’ve discovered a thing or two about these people of the South.” Abby allowed him to help her on with her borrowed velvet cape. “With the exception of one evil man, they’ve accepted me into their homes and treated me with utmost kindness.”

  The crooked tilt of Dottie’s smile made Abby miss Ian all the more.

  “I’ve found that both good and evil exists on every side.”

  He chose not to answer her.

  Though she’d never agree with the atrocities that brought rebel forces to arms, Abby hoped her uncle would at least consider the motives and actions of his own army in this fray.

  “Before I forget, I promised to relay a message to you from a copper-headed nine year-old.” Abby held tight to her reticule where Hickory’s slingshot lay. “He wants you to know you are sorely mistaken.”