Summer Rose

by Caroline Hartman

  She’d studied the papers Sergeant Landon had saved for her, and she’d listened to talk around campfires. The strategy was complicated and political. The officers in Sheridan’s command talked of little else other than the importance of Lincoln’s reelection. She knew a number of northerners were unhappy with the war. Even some of her neighbors had expressed discontent. Joshua, Ezra’s brother, who lived on the next farm over, complained about the high cost in both men and money. General McClellan, the enlisted man’s hero, never got around to sending them into battle. He was running against President Lincoln on the Democratic ticket. Just last night she’d overheard Sheridan saying how General Grant’s losses at Cold Harbor and in the Wilderness had really hurt President Lincoln.

  “What we need is a big victory. Thank heavens for Sherman,” he said as he stood and threw out his coffee grounds. “At least he’s had some success in Tennessee and Georgia.”

  CHAPTER 43

  ROSES IN THE APPLE ORCHARD

  The cooks set up a simple buffet and hot coffee under the trees, and Daniel helped himself to a plate of beef stew and biscuits, then took more coffee. Last night and this morning, he’d drunk so much coffee his blood felt rusty. He walked off by himself, feeling no desire to talk to anyone. He nodded to the two young captains. He’d spoken to them earlier, and they’d asked about Summer Rose. Artfully, he dodged their questions and disclosed nothing. Christmas was a lifetime ago.

  Right now, he hated himself. The lieutenant, the one with the purple-toed sock, had caught his attention, and he felt oddly angry about the sock. Aware of how unreasonable his thinking was, nonetheless he’d always thought purple-toed socks belonged just to him. It had never occurred to him that someone else beside Summer might knit purple-toed socks. A picture of her materialized in his mind, haunting him. He ached for her. Then he’d yell at himself. His temper was on a very short leash.

  Off to his left, Sheridan and Grant walked by. The rest of the brass milled about: some dozed in the shade, others smoked cigars or talked. At times like these, he and Hal would have stayed together. Now Hal stood with Bill Banion and a group of colonels.

  Daniel’s teeth clenched and he set off, ambling along a wagon track. Neat rows of fruit trees undulated across the hills and the vista, carrying a heavy fragrance of ripe apples, brought to mind Summer Rose’s sweet valley. Nowhere else seemed quite so beautiful, so perfect. It was a little piece of paradise and his mind drifted to her, to sweet memories of her. He ended up at the horses where Chester whinnied for attention.

  He fed Chester an apple and noticed the same young lieutenant brushing the gray horse. He remembered that horse. She’d been tagged for the knackers, and he’d personally countermanded that order. Now the lieutenant fed an apple to the gray. Trimmed and clean, the mare shook her head, proud of herself.

  He complimented the new lieutenant. “I’ve seen that horse before. A good grooming makes a difference. What did you name her?”

  He sniffed and caught a vague scent of roses. The lieutenant stood on the other side of the horse, bent over, fiddling with the stirrup. “Someone already named her Rabbit, Sir. Sergeant Landon said I could rename her, but I like Rabbit. Her coat reminds me of rabbit fur.”

  Lieutenant Timmons walked over. He sniffed. “What did you do? Feed her some roses?”

  “She got into them all by herself.”

  Timmons nodded. “I had that nag for a day. She’ll eat anything. Traded her. Now I got me a pretty little thing. She rides like a well-trained whore.”

  She noticed Daniel cringe. She knew he wouldn’t like a horse to be compared to a whore. Her heart went out to him. He’s exhausted. Da, take care of him. I love him.

  Sheridan sat with Grant on a little bench in one of the apple orchards, where they were discovered by a cloud of gnats. Grant carefully peeled a yellow apple, letting the skin unravel in one long ribbon.

  When Sheridan had finished unrolling the map of Virginia, he said, “I’m ready now.” He pointed to the area in question. “I’ll start moving supplies into the canyon at Berryville tomorrow. We’ll sweep up the valley.”

  Grant speared a slice of apple and held it out to Sheridan. Phil took it. General Grant then pointed at the map with the blade of his pocket knife. “Drive Early south. Take his guns, his wagons, take as many prisoners as possible. Push him south. At the same time, take everything you need from the land, then destroy everything else. Burn the barns, the fields. Destroy any livestock you don’t need. Run the Negroes off. I don’t want them to be able to plant a thing. You’ll probably have to send patrols up into the mountains because they’ll try to hide their livestock. It’s pretty difficult to hide large herds of animals. I know how hard it is for a cavalryman to kill horses, but it needs to be done. Lee’s army must never refurbish itself here again. When do you think your supply lines will be in place?”

  Sheridan studied the map as he fanned the determined gnats away from his face. Both generals swatted, but the insects kept coming back, darting at their eyes. “Monday, before daylight.”

  As they stood to walk back, Grant leaned over and picked up a handful of the soil, then let it sift through his fingers. “This soil will hold up well if we don’t get a two day deluge. Watch for rain. I’ve seen mud destroy the best laid plans.”

  CHAPTER 44

  GENERAL SHERIDAN’S SHOT OF

  WHISKEY

  Summer Rose spotted Daniel’s mother, then his father. She dashed into the warehouse and up the ladder before she remembered she wore a mustache and a soldier’s uniform. She crouched in the loft’s open window, her heart hammering like a hummingbird’s. What the devil are they doing there? Someone must have told them about me. Good Lord. They’ll tell Daniel.

  Just then, Daniel rode in from patrol, covered in soot and looking bone tired. His head jerked up with surprise. He hadn’t expected them, either. He dismounted, and the three of them stood right below her window.

  Flora said, “Daniel, you’re dirty!”

  With a grin, he moved to kiss her cheek. She backed away, looking disgusted.

  “We stopped at your wife’s place,” said Flora. Summer’s eyes widened. “We almost missed it. Charming little cabin, but it’s in the middle of nowhere.”

  Summer didn’t need to see Mrs. Charteris’ nostrils flare, she heard the sneer in her voice. “That German woman who works for Amelia told us your wife had ridden to a neighboring farm. She didn’t remember which one. We saw Amelia later, but she wasn’t any help at all. We did see Hal’s darling baby. That’s all Amelia could talk about. Are we going to get one of those soon?”

  Summer Rose grimaced. Not likely.

  “I wanted to go over a few things with you and Summer,” Daniel’s father said. “Her grandparents passed away within a week of each other. The bank took care of the funerals. We sent telegrams, but received no response. We couldn’t …” He cleared his throat. The dust at the intersection was fierce. “The house, the art, the businesses, the money from their sale, all the investments are to be held in trust for your sons. Girard has been very cooperative. Summer— well, actually, you will have a sizable yearly income from it. Daniel, I hope we can convince you to come back to Philadelphia. Fitzmartin Hall could be magnificent. It would take some money to fix it up, but you have plenty now. How can you stand this backwoods? All of it is so … primitive.”

  Flora waved her hand in front of her face. “The smoke is so thick. And the odor.” She puffed out air. “It smells ghastly. What on earth are they burning?”

  Summer didn’t hear any more. She sank onto the floor, her legs spread out, tears filled her eyes. After a time, she forced happy thoughts of her mother and grandparents into her mind, and more tears came. At least they’re together. At least they have each other. She peeked out the window again. Daniel, leading Chester and walking between his parents, headed toward the hotel. Loneliness swamped her. Keep him safe, Da. He’s my heart.

  She heard Sergeant Landon calling her. She had socks to sort
and stacks of underwear, trousers, and shirts to put away. Sergeant Landon didn’t let her sit on her cot all day eating bonbons, which was too bad. She was losing weight and figured she could use a few bonbons. Army grub was truly disgusting. Almost every meal, when she smelled the food, she had to dash from the mess tent and throw up.

  Sergeant Landon proved to be a great source of gossip. He relayed to her all the trouble her mother-in-law had created at Sheridan’s headquarters. “She told Colonel Banion to clean up his papers, that he was a disgrace. She started to help him. You should have seen Colonel Banion splutter.”

  He laughed. “She advised the general to wear a wider brimmed hat because he was damaging his skin, and did he have to burn so close to camp?” He chuckled again. “She point blank told him Rienzi was too big for him. That he needed a smaller horse, perhaps a pony.” The sergeant slapped his knee. “You should have seen the general’s face.”

  When Daniel’s parents left for Pittsburgh two days later, he told her General Sheridan had a shot of whiskey at seven in the morning to celebrate.

  “Why are they going to Pittsburgh?”

  “Your father-in-law is running for the Senate. Pittsburgh is full of all those iron masters making howitzers and cannons, becoming millionaires. Politicians and money, Sam, are like iron filings to a magnet.”

  Daniel didn’t have time to celebrate his parents’ departure. Every time Summer saw him his face was covered with soot. All the soldiers returned to camp filthy and worn out. The sky above the valley blackened. Oily soot painted every blade of grass, every surface in the valley.

  She didn’t understand Sheridan’s latest ploy, putting her on patrol with Daniel. Every morning she rode out at the end of his column, eating dust, and every evening she returned as dirty as the rest of them. All the burning, the killing of the animals made her sick. Fortunately, the two young captains, Kincaid and Hunt, protected her from the worst.

  She suspected Sergeant Landon’s hand in these orders. He made sure she was assigned to one or the other’s company, and they made sure she held the reins of the other troopers’ horses rather than set fire to the fields or the barns or kill the livestock. The smoke from the fat barns as they burned blackened her face and choked her heart.

  Sledgehammers smashing the great stones of the mills to smithereens rang in her ears long after they’d done their damage. How would the mothers make bread?

  She cringed when the soldiers shot the milk cows and killed hundreds of chickens. How would the mothers feed their children?

  It took all her willpower not to stop and hug the crying children. Her own face smeared and blackened with soot and tears. She knew General Sheridan had rules, and Daniel and his officers for the most part followed them. However, hatred and vengeance ran deep. Custer and Daniel’s troops knew who had raided with Mosby, and no mercy was given to their properties. She cringed, watching her husband’s face harden as his men gave an eye for an eye.

  They knew, too, what farms belonged to particularly vehement Southern politicians or Confederate officers. They leveled those farms. The soldiers knew every trick. If the silos were empty, they checked the walls of the houses for grain. If they found any, they burned the house. They discovered hidden cows and horses in out-of-the-way ravines in the mountains, and family valuables buried in the garden. Some soldiers tricked the farmers out of their savings, promising not to burn their barns, then taking their money and allowing another patrol to do the dirty work. Great clouds of smoke thickened the autumn haze as thousands upon thousands of acres burned, destroying millions of dollars of crops and property.

  Feelings ran hard on both sides. Sergeant Landon told her Custer had executed a weak-minded boy he’d caught with a rifle. “The townspeople,” he said, “begged Custer not to execute him. They said he was only squirrel hunting. You know Custer, hot tempered as usual. He saw a strapping boy with a rifle where prohibition of carrying arms had been posted. The boy was executed.” He paused for a moment. “I can see his side. Early’s troops, partisan bands, and bushwhackers nip at his troopers.”

  Summer cried all night when they found the body of the son of Quartermaster General Montgomery Meigs, head of the entire Union Army’s supply. He’d been shot, his hands tied behind his back. Twenty-one year old Johnny Meigs had been blond, kind, always smiling. He’d graduated first in his class at West Point. Everyone admired and loved him, said he was a brilliant engineer. He’d been one of General Sheridan’s favorite lieutenants. Summer Rose saw Sheridan ride up, dismount and cut loose the hands of the dead boy. The anger in his face rose like a flooding river. With a voice cold and hard as an Old Testament prophet, he ordered the fifteen mile radius from where Johnny’s body was found to be leveled.

  “Every house, every barn, every goddamn blade of grass. I want only bare dirt! I don’t give a damn if they claim to be Yankees. They can claim they’re Albanians for all I care. They didn’t stop this. He was executed.” The words hissed from between his teeth. “I want to lay my cheek on the dirt and not see anything higher than a pebble. Burn it black.”

  CHAPTER 45

  SHERIDAN’S RIDE

  On the evening of October 18th, Captains Jake Hunt and Ed Kincaid, and Daniel bent over a map spread on the tailgate of a supply wagon. Fresh from reconnaissance of the Valley, the captains reported to Colonel Charteris that General Jubal Early was building up his rebel forces. A zephyr ruffled the edge of the map, Daniel smoothed down the paper in an unending battle.

  “He’s planning on attacking, Sir,” said Captain Hunt, smacking down the corner as a breeze picked it up again.

  The three officers turned their heads when Lieutenant Ross walked by and nonchalantly placed two fist-sized rocks on the edges of the map.

  Daniel stared at a rock for a second, then asked, “Lieutenant, is that fresh coffee I smell?”

  “Would you like some, Sir?”

  “Yes, please.”

  The lieutenant nodded and walked to the adjacent wagon. When Lieutenant Ross returned with the coffee, Daniel’s gaze lingered on the hand wrapped around his cup. He frowned. For some strange reason whenever Lieutenant Ross appeared, he thought of purple-toed socks, then of Summer Rose.

  “Phil Sheridan must like you,” he said. “You aren’t much bigger than he is. Lieutenant Ross, my captains tell me you’re a crack shot with that repeating rifle of yours. Tomorrow, I’d like you up front near me. If you’re as good as rumored, I may recommend you as a sharpshooter. In fact, get your gear and put it near my headquarters.” He motioned to one of his sergeants. “Sergeant Bowman, Lieutenant Ross is riding up front with us tomorrow. Find him a spot near headquarters. Tomorrow, watch his accuracy.”

  He turned back to Kincaid and Hunt. “Captains, place your companies near us and bivouac them toward Fisher’s Hill, behind my headquarters. I want to see the two of you first thing. Right now, walk over to General Custer’s headquarters with me and tell him what you saw.” He picked up his coffee cup and nodded to the lieutenant. “Thank you.”

  That same evening, Sheridan returned to Winchester via train from a strategy conference with Grant. From his comfortable bed in Winchester, he awakened at dawn to the din of distant guns. As George shaved him, he dismissed the cannonade as irregular and fitful. Then he frowned. “We shouldn’t be able to hear guns from here, should we, George?”

  At breakfast, the guns continued to mutter, so he ordered his staff to saddle up. When he’d left for City Point on Sunday, his fine army sat encamped fifteen miles away. More than once, Grant had mentioned how important holding the Shenandoah was. Sheridan wasn’t about to let General Grant down. He climbed onto his beloved Rienzi and raced up the valley of the Shenandoah.

  The first soldiers who met Sheridan hollered, “We’ve built breastworks, Sir. We’re prepared for retreat.”

  Sheridan yelled back. “Retreat? Retreat? Hell! No one’s retreating. We’ll drive ‘em back. We’ll lick them right out of their boots.”

  As Sheridan approach
ed the lines, the stragglers recognized Rienzi, if not Sheridan himself, and cheered. He shouted at them, waved his odd flat hat, smacked it against his thigh. He reached down and unsheathed his sword and lifted it high. “Damn you. Don’t cheer me, you sons of bitches. If you love your country, come up to the front! We’ll sleep in our own camps tonight or we’ll sleep in hell!”

  By the dozens, then hundreds, then thousands, then tens of thousands, they followed the little general on the big horse. He waved his saber high or swatted a straggler’s rear end with it.

  “Damn you! We’ll send them back or to hell.”

  Behind the mass of soldiers ran a cheering line of horsemen, several miles wide, propelling any stragglers who hadn’t been embarrassed enough by their general into marching toward the enemy. The sound of cheers, the roar of men, the thunder of tens of thousands of hooves, all mixed with the notes of the bugle, racing to reclaim what Jubal Early’s troops had so recently taken.

  Sheridan pranced Rienzi down the line, inspecting his regiments, making sure they were all in formation and at strength. The men cheered, and he hoped old Jubilee Early heard it. He’d been fighting that son of a bitch for close to a year. When he saw one of Gregg’s captains standing with a company of prisoners, he stopped and questioned them from Rienzi’s back. When he was convinced Lee hadn’t sent General Longstreet to reinforce Early, he continued down the line, checking his troops.

  He lined up all his regiments neatly, like his bowling pins, and waited until he was sure he could whip the enemy. Then, at four o’clock in the afternoon, as the autumn sun inched toward the horizon, he let them loose with a roar that scared the last crows out of the trees. The cavalry, Daniel and Hal’s regiments, and dozens more rallied and slashed into Early’s flanks. The clang of swords, the roar of carbines and artillery, the bitter smoke from the shells, filled the air. The horsemen dismounted and fired their rifles, chewing up Early’s line, routing it. Summer Rose, involved for the first time in the actual fighting, became immersed in the heat of it. She lost her glasses, but not her accuracy.