by Janet Dailey
A silence lengthened and stretched into an eeriness after the thunder of so many guns. Lije rolled to his feet in a crouch and peered over the top of the trench. Men moved into position on the opposite bank.
"They'll be coming now," he told his lieutenant. "Have your men ready."
Across the creek, a cavalry company approached the north bank on foot. A major on horseback stood in his stirrups and raised his saber, the sunlight glinting on its steel blade. Lije saw at once it wasn't Jed Parmelee. Parmelee was too experienced; he would never have presented such a blatant target of himself.
"Charge!" The order rang through the new stillness.
As one unit, the company rushed forward, scrambled down the steep bank, and waded into the chest-high water, the men's weapons and ammunition held above their heads. The major rode into the creek with them, waving his saber and urging them forward.
Lije moved along the trench, cautioning, "Steady now. Hold your fire. Hold. Hold." He watched and waited until the blue-coated soldiers passed the halfway point and neared their positions on the south bank, then barked the order, "Now!"
All up and down the south bank, rebel guns opened fire, unleashing a murderous enfilade. The major's horse screamed while two bullets struck its rider, and the Yankee officer reeled from the saddle, pitching into the water.
"Fire at will!" Lije shouted.
Lije regrouped his company at the rear entrenchment, the prairie at their backs. He looked at the advancing blue wall of infantry and the cavalry units galloping up to charge his position. Even as he gave the order to fire, Lije knew they wouldn't be able to fight off the Union attack, not without reinforcements, not without Cabell's artillery.
As the blue wave rolled forward, Lije lifted his revolver and fired. Amidst the smoke haze he had a glimpse of an officer with a gold-and-silver beard. Jed Parmelee, there, among the colored infantry. In the next second, he spun out of view, whipped backward by the force of a bullet. From his gun? Someone else's? Did it matter?
"They're running!" someone whooped down the line.
Wiping the sweat from his eyes, Ike saw the rebel forces falling back from the heavy charge, their resistance disintegrating into a disorderly retreat.
"We did it!" Ike thrust a victorious fist in the air. "Man, oh, man, we showed 'em all!"
"Ike, over here. Quick!" Shadrach called to him. "It's Major Parmelee. He's been hit."
Off to his right, Major Parmelee sagged against the slender support of Shadrach's arms, his knees buckling even as he struggled to keep them under him. His left arm hung limp at his side, the sleeve and shoulder of his uniform dark with blood.
Ike rushed over, saw the grayness in his face and the glaze of shock in his eyes. "Major, you got to sit down, sir. You're bleeding bad."
Jed tried to push aside their assistance, but the loss of blood had weakened him, stealing his strength. "Be fine in a minute." The words were slurred. "Go. Get back with your company. Break that rebel line."
"It broke, sir," Shadrach told him. "The rebs are running south as fast as they can, and the cavalry's making sure they don't change directions."
Jed turned his head and tried to focus his eyes on Shadrach. "Running?"
"Running like all the furies were after them, sir."
Farther out on the prairie, a bugler blew Recall, summoning back the troops giving chase to the fleeing rebels. Hearing it, Jed lifted his head, his eyes brightening for a moment. Then he sagged against Shadrach.
"I will rest a minute," he said.
Carefully, they lowered him to the ground. Over his shoulder, Ike shouted, "Hey, Cuffy, go get the surgeon for the major."
A white captain from one of the companies in the regiment arrived and took charge, ordering the pair back to their unit. Ike stole a glance over his shoulder as they moved away.
"How bad do you think it is, Uncle Shad?"
"I'm not sure," he answered with a shake of his head. "The major lost a lot of blood."
"Will he lose his arm?"
"I don't know."
17
Grand View Plantation
Cherokee Nation
July 4, 1863
"Look at how dry this soil is." Eliza shook her head in dismay at the dust and clods of dry dirt that fell from the carrots she pulled. "If it doesn't rain in the next day or two, we'll have to haul water from the river."
"It's going to rain, Granny El," Sorrel assured her, making slow work of thinning the beet row. "You can hear it thundering in the distance."
"Thunder?" Susannah lowered her hoe and threw a skeptical look at the blue sky overhead. "There isn't a single cloud to be seen. You're imagining things, Sorrel."
"No, I'm not. Listen. You can hear it thundering far off."
Smiling, Susannah lifted the hoe to chop at another weed growing near the potato plant. "I'm afraid you're indulging in a bit of wishful thinking. You don't like the prospect of hauling—" She stopped and cocked her head to the side, catching a long, low rumbling sound. "Mother, Temple, do you hear that? What is it?"
"I told you—it's thunder." Sorrel stood up and shook the dust from her skirt.
"It can't be." Temple listened closely to the low, steady rumble. "It doesn't stop or change."
"Could it be cannon?" Susannah wondered. "There were rumors of fighting north of here two days ago. They thought the supply train from Kansas had been attacked."
"That's it." Eliza pushed to her feet.
"What?"
"Praise the Lord, it's the supply train," Eliza declared. "And it's coming down the Texas Road. That's what we're hearing—the rumble of hooves and wagon wheels."
In that flash of an instant, Susannah knew her mother was right. "It got through!" She dropped the hoe and grabbed Temple's hands, laughing and crying at the same time. Soon all three women were laughing and hugging and crying, rejoicing at the news.
A puzzled Sorrel looked on. "Why are you all so happy about the supply train?"
Temple clasped a hand over her mouth, too overwhelmed with relief to answer. In the last few months they had carefully refrained from sending Sorrel to the food cellar. They hadn't wanted her to see how empty it was, how close they were to having no food for the table. Without the fresh vegetables from the garden, the milk from the cow, and the eggs from the few hens they had left, their situation would have been dire indeed. As it was, they were luckier than most, especially the hundreds of starving families gathered around the fort for refuge.
Grand View had been spared the ransacking and looting that had devastated most of the homes in the Nation, thanks in part to a tacit agreement by both sides that Grand View should be regarded as neutral ground. To the rebel forces, it was the home of their Major Stuart. To the North, it was the residence of the widow and daughter of Union loyalist Will Gordon. Marauders remained their only worry thus far.
Susannah went over to her niece and slid an arm around her shoulders. "The Union wagons will be carrying food and supplies."
"We'll have sugar again," Temple said, smiling through her tears. "Maybe cornmeal. And coffee. Real coffee."
"And thread," Eliza added. "Maybe some cloth to make you a new dress, Sorrel. You've outgrown all your old ones, the way you've been shooting up like a weed." She glanced at the girl, noting that she was not only growing up but filling out as well. Sometimes Eliza had the feeling that Sorrel was turning from child to woman right before her eyes.
"And bacon," Susannah inserted on a wistful note. "We haven't had any bacon since last winter. Can't you just smell it sizzling in the skillet?"
"Listen." Temple looked in the direction of the Texas Road, which passed within a half mile of their property. "It's getting louder now. The wagons must be closer."
"This is a cause for celebration," Eliza declared.
"Let's go see it," Sorrel said, catching their excitement.
Susannah laughed. "You just want an excuse to stop working in the garden."
Sorrel grinned, an impish light in her eye
s. "Don't you?"
Susannah laughed again and directed a glance at Temple and Eliza.
"It would be a sight to see, wouldn't it?"
"Indeed, it would," Eliza agreed with a decisive nod. "Phoebe is at the wash shed. Sorrel, you go fetch her. If we are to put work aside, then it's only fair that we all do."
The supply train was an awesome sight. Traveling in a dust cloud created by more than three hundred wagons drawn by mules and oxen, with their military escort of cavalry, infantry, and artillery, it extended several miles in length. The steady din of rumbling wheels, clattering hooves, and marching feet seemed unceasing.
As the first of the cavalry rode past, Sorrel grabbed Temple's arm and pointed. "Look, Mama. There's Alex!"
"Where—" Temple started to ask, but Sorrel rushed to the road's edge, waving and shouting to attract her cousin's attention. A second later Temple spotted Alex amidst a group of riders, then saw Kipp on the outside flank of the same group. She hurried forward to greet him, catching at his horse's rein when he pulled up. "Kipp, it's been so long since I've seen you. How are you? I—" she began.
"Fine—no thanks to your husband and the traitors he rides with," Kipp snarled.
Her smile of welcome faded. Temple wanted to shudder at the hatred she saw in his eyes. A man rode past, a bloodied bandage wrapped around his head. She felt sick.
"What happened?" Susannah came up beside her.
"They were lying in wait for us at Cabin Creek, but their little ambuscade failed." He dug blunted spurs into his horse and sent it lunging forward, forcing Temple to step back.
"What about The Blade . . . and my son?" Her voice trailed off as she acknowledged that her question would go unanswered. Temple pressed a fist to her stomach and struggled to control the rush of fear.
"They're all right, Temple." Susannah glared at Kipp's back. "Both of them. I know our brother. If they weren't, he would be gloating now."
"Yes . . . yes, he would." But that knowledge couldn't alleviate all of Temple's anxiety. It was something she lived with. Always.
A wagon drawn by a team of mules clattered past them. More followed, the train of wagons stretching back to merge with the dust haze. A straggly line of infantry trudged alongside the wagons, flanking the train. Fatigue showed in their dusty, sweat-streaked faces. Some stiffened, squaring their shoulders to march a little smarter as they passed Temple and Susannah, but most were too weary to give them more than a passing glance.
A cavalry captain galloped forward from the rear of the train and swerved his horse around the pair, acknowledging them with a nod and a bowing sweep of his hand. The touch of gallantry in the gesture reminded Susannah of Rans Lassiter. She wondered where he was, what he was doing—if he was safe. And then she felt foolish. He probably hadn't spared a thought for her.
A ruddy-faced infantry sergeant paused long enough to warn them, "Beggin' your pardon, ladies, but ya best be step-pin' back a bit before one of these cavalry boyos runs ya down."
"Of course." Temple looked around for Sorrel and finally spotted her standing back with Eliza and Phoebe along the edge of the wide Texas Road. They were all smiles. Temple tried to summon a smile of her own when they rejoined them, but it was a miserable attempt. It suddenly seemed very long ago that she was as happy as they were that the supply train had nearly reached the fort. The news that Lije and The Blade had possibly been involved in an attack against it had changed everything. "Now that we've seen the train, it's time we went back and finished our tasks."
"Wait." Phoebe strained forward, hope blooming in her expression. "Do you see those soldiers coming? They are coloreds. Miss Eliza, do you suppose my Ike is with them?"
"And Shadrach," Eliza added quickly.
"They told you they were running off to join the Union army. Maybe . . ." Phoebe left the sentence unfinished and ran to meet the approaching Negro troops. The others followed, Temple drawn by the thought that Ike or Shadrach might be able to tell her something about Lije or The Blade. Phoebe wasted no time, asking each man as he passed, "My son Ike, do you know him? Ike Jones. He left to join the army."
Man after man shook his head. A few offered the hope, "Maybe he's with one o' the other companies back aways."
And Phoebe would move on to the next man, repeating her question, sometimes adding, "My brother Shadrach joined up, too. Do you know him?"
Finally one soldier perked up at the name, "Shadrach. You mean—Uncle Shad. He be teachin' me t' read an' write."
"That would be Shadrach," Eliza insisted. "It has to be."
"Last I saw, he was a couple wagons back." The man gestured over his shoulder.
"Shadrach will know about Ike," Phoebe murmured on a sob and ran down the line to find him. Three wagons back, she saw Ike and forgot all about her brother as she flung herself at her son with an exultant cry.
Sorrel pointed. "Mama, it's Ike. Phoebe found him."
"I see." But it was a second face beyond Ike that Temple fastened her attention on.
"Miss Eliza, Miss Temple," Shadrach called to them, a smile wreathing his face.
Temple was a step slow to follow when Eliza and Susannah hurried to meet him. "Shadrach, it's so good to see you again," Eliza declared, smiling through her tears. "My, don't you look fine in your uniform. How are you?"
"I am fine, Miss Eliza. Just fine."
"Will would be so proud if he could see you."
His bright smile faded, his eyes darkening in sympathy. "Major Parmelee told me about Master Will. I am sorry, Miss Eliza. I wish—"
"I know." She briskly wiped the tears from her cheeks and pushed her chin out, refusing to dwell on her grief.
Taking the cue, Shadrach turned to Temple as she joined them. "How have you been, Miss Temple? Your brother Kipp is with the train, somewhere up ahead, I think."
"I saw him. He said the train was attacked at Cabin Creek. He said it was General Watie's regiment."
"That's true. But I checked, Miss Temple. Your boy Lije and The Blade weren't among the rebel dead and wounded we found after the fighting stopped. If they were with General Watie, they got away clean."
"Thank God," Temple murmured in relief.
"Is Major Parmelee still attached to your regiment?" Susannah scanned the trio of mounted officers as they rode past.
"Yes, but . . . the major was wounded during the fight at the creek. Hit in the arm."
There was a look of worry in Shadrach's eyes. Susannah saw it. "How serious is it?" she asked, her mind flashing back to accounts she'd read in eastern newspapers that told of hospital tents set up near battle sites, blood-splattered surgeons with their bone-cutting saws, the screams of half-drugged patients.
"The surgeon thinks he was able to save it . . . unless gangrene sets in."
Eyes closed, Susannah offered a fervent, "Dear God, no."
"Where is he now, Shadrach?" Temple asked.
"He's bedded down in the back of one of the wagons, along with some of the other wounded. They're giving him something to keep him asleep so he doesn't feel all the jostling of the wagon."
"Thank God," Eliza murmured.
Shadrach glanced after the other Negro soldiers, nearly out of view. "I have to catch up with my unit now." He took a step in that direction. "We should reach Fort Gibson tomorrow."
"We'll see you there when we come for supplies," Eliza promised and waved as he jogged after his company.
There was no more reason to linger by the roadside. As one, they turned and started back to the house, sobered by the things they had learned.
"I can't stop thinking about Jed." Eliza shook her head in dismay. "I pray he doesn't lose his arm."
"Diane will be sick with worry when she learns of this," Temple declared with a sigh. "The poor girl."
"Susannah? Susannah, do you hear me?" Eliza's sharpening voice finally broke through her abstraction.
"Sorry, Mother. I wasn't listening. What did you say?"
"Tonight we must make a list of supplies we need,
" Eliza stated. "And I promised Nathan the next time we came to the fort, we would bring any old clothes we have, blankets, household items, anything that might be of use that he could distribute among the destitute families who have sought refuge there. We need to gather those things together as well."
"I have lots of dresses that are too small for me. We can take those," Sorrel declared.
"And your shoes," Temple added. "Don't forget your old shoes."
Sorrel nodded absently, her thoughts already running off in another direction. "I hope I can see Alex when we go to Fort Gibson."
"Alex," Temple murmured in irritation. "I swear he is all you ever talk about."
"But I never had a chance to talk to him at all today," Sorrel said in her own defense. Then her face brightened with a sudden thought. "I think I'll wear my green dress with the little sprigs of violets on the trim. I look quite grown up in that. I wonder if he'll recognize me. Do you think he will, Mother?"
"I expect he will." It was Temple's turn to reply absently.
"You look sad, Mother. What's wrong?"
"I was thinking about Major Parmelee—thinking it could have been your father, that he could be the one in the wagon, his arm . . ." She swallowed back the rest of the words.
"Jed's arm will be fine," Eliza assured her.
The hospital, like the rest of Fort Gibson, overflowed with soldier and civilian alike. Every inch of space was occupied by the ill and the injured, leaving little room to walk among them. Susannah stepped through the open doorway and paused, assaulted by fevered moans, labored wheezings, and faint whimperings that filled the air. She made the mistake of taking a quick, deep breath and inhaled fetid odors intensified by the sweltering July heat. She coughed and quickly raised a hand to block the rank smells.
Beside her, Temple murmured, "I knew conditions had deteriorated here at the fort, but I never realized . . ." Her voice trailed off as she stared at the crowded row of cots draped with mosquito netting.
An orderly emerged from behind one of the tented cots, a battered basin in his hands. His face was unshaven and gaunt with fatigue. His glance swept over them in quick assessment.