“Please also find enclosed a book Thomas specifically asked that I send for your daughter. He asked that she forgive him some rudeness he wouldn’t describe to me—and I hope you believe, Madam, that my boy usually has the best of manners. Thomas wrote that your daughter had been interested in this verse. I must tell you that it is one of my favorite volumes, one Thomas has oft read aloud to me at eventide. I hope your daughter enjoys it as much as I have.
“Yours with the most heartfelt gratitude,
“Katherine Walker.”
Miriam handed Annie a thick book of marbleized paper and a stained leather cover. She opened the front to a portrait of an intensely Romantic-looking young man, Lord Byron, the very poet Thomas Walker had quoted to her on that awful night of destruction and death. It was a beautiful book, published in 1836, including all Byron’s poems and a sketch of his life.
Annie was speechless.
Finally, Laurence spoke. “This is why this war is so hard. There are many gentlemen and mothers on the other side I’m sure I’d like a great deal if things were different.” He shook his head solemnly. Then abruptly he laughed. “We better find Annie a Confederate beau quick, Mother. Whatever you do, don’t tell our firebrand, Jamie, about this. He might come after Annie with that revolver!”
CHAPTER NINE
March 14, 1862
Hickory Heights
“Steady, Angel, steady.”
Annie leaned back slightly and straightened her spine to slow down her horse. It was a cold March day. The ground was muddy from thawing and unusually late snows melting. Angel was spooking at most everything, lurching suddenly to the side and prancing. She’d even throw in a few good back-legged bucks to protest getting her hooves so wet and sloppy.
Annie couldn’t help laughing at Angel’s antics. The bucks weren’t serious, just the flourish as of a high-strung horse, excited to be out no matter how much she thought she didn’t like the mud. No jumping Angel over logs or fences today, though. The footing was too slick and the mare’s attitude too feisty. Annie had that much sense.
Still, she was up for a good canter to let the cold air whip some life into her. It’d been such a long, boring, anxious winter, shut inside the house, playing old maid with Jamie, or worse yet trying to help him with his studies. His school was closed, the headmaster and teacher off with General Johnston, and Miriam had insisted that Annie be his tutor. The only thing he would pay attention to were stories of wars, so Annie set him onto Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey and Vergil’s Aeneid. But the epic poems only spurred his restlessness. This morning he’d thrown the whole table over and stalked out to Lord knows where. In truth, Annie was delighted with his tantrum and disappearance. They meant she could slip out for a ride.
“Come on, girl, cannnn-ter,” Annie sang, pulling out the first syllable of the word canter and lifting it on its last. Angel instantly and lightly responded to her voice command, waltzing through the open, greening fields in a graceful one-two-three rhythm, as smooth and steady as a rocking horse. Oh, it was glorious. Annie scared off some deer and a pair of pheasants. She even saw a hint of red tail disappear over a fence. “Don’t worry, old fox,” Annie called out with a laugh, “you’re safe today.” Annie had never enjoyed the catch of foxhunting, just the sport of riding through the countryside amid a crowd of horsemen. It was the closest she could come to the sensation of being part of a wild herd of horses, free and spirited, racing as one being.
Reluctantly, Annie slowed Angel down to a trot and then a walk. She’d come down a hill to bottom-land, and Angel could slip on the mudflats and pull a muscle. Carefully, Annie guided Angel over the tentaclelike roots of a walnut tree to the steep banks of Panther Skin Creek. They scampered down the slope, and Angel gratefully stuck her muzzle into the rushing water. This was one of Jamie’s favorite places to fish, sitting on the rocks, hidden from view by the high embankments. Fishing, of course, was better in still water. But Annie knew that Jamie didn’t really come to catch dinner but to skip rocks and splash about. She’d even caught him swimming naked down here with Gabriel. Now that had certainly brought a stern lecture from Aunt May!
Annie’s thoughts wandered to less amusing thoughts. There’d been all sorts of terrifying rumors and news the past few days. Now that spring was coming and traveling was easier, Federal General McClellan had his Union soldiers on the move. It looked as if he was trying to head toward Richmond, by taking troops down the Potomac River, east, out into Chesapeake Bay, and around Virginia’s northern neck peninsula. In response, to shadow McClellan, General Johnston had evacuated the Confederate stronghold at Centreville. He ordered Stuart to burn what could not be carried before he followed the infantry south. Because of the hurry and lack of wagons, the cavalry had had to torch railroad cars full of clothes and ammunition and mounds of bacon as high as barns stockpiled at Thoroughfare Gap. Smoke and the scent of cooking meat drifted several miles to Haymarket.
It was a horrible waste, a horrible situation. The northwest corner of Virginia—where she sat—lay completely open to Yankees now. Infantry from Pennsylvania had already come from Harper’s Ferry and taken Leesburg, only eighteen miles away. There was word of all sorts of Federals along the Blue Ridge from Snicker’s Gap south to Manassas Gap. How could General Stuart abandon them like that?
Annie thought of those blue eyes, that bold walk. She remembered the beautiful, patriotic words he’d written to her. He couldn’t have liked those orders at all, she told herself. Laurence wouldn’t either. She knew Richmond was the capital of the Confederacy and had to be protected at all costs; but to withdraw—without even a murmur of a fight or a warning to the inhabitants, leaving them undefended—well, it just was frightening, confusing, unchivalrous, that’s all.
Annie urged Angel up the banks, noticing that spring beauties were trying to push their way up through the frosty mud. Normally, Annie would have been gladdened by the sight of their tiny purplish buds, but a melancholy line of Keats came to her instead: Where are the songs of Spring? and then another: Woman! when I behold thee flippant, vain / Inconstant….
Was she inconstant, vain? Annie had been so pleased with Stuart’s poem, him calling her Lady Liberty. But she’d also been flattered by the Massachusetts man. Truth be known, she had passed many a dark and dreary winter day happily by reading his collection of Byron that had arrived at Christmas. She could still see his frightened face relax as Miriam had tended him, could still hear his voice and the words that had so disturbed her. Thomas Walker. “I hope they keep you in prison forever,” muttered Annie. “Meanwhile, I’ll enjoy your book!”
Turning for home, Annie caught a strange sound on the wind. She pulled Angel to a halt. The horse obviously sensed something, too, for she began to tremble and twitch her head about, ears pricked, turning to find the direction of the sound so that she could run in the opposite direction.
There it was again. Now it was gone.
A funny rattle. Very rhythmic.
Not guns. Too constant, not like a conversation of fire and answer. Like a humming almost. Annie closed her eyes to concentrate. But the wind kicked up enough to sweep trees into a swirl, making the world resound only with the swoosh of rushing air. Annie clucked Angel into a trot up the hill, where she could hear for a mile, where sound carried on the vaulting crisp air as easily as a hawk coasts clear heavens.
She came to the crest and reined in. Annie could see a corner of the road through the hills and glades and traced it north, little bits and pieces of it popping into view among the dips and rises of earth. There was nothing along it, and yet that sound somehow told Annie to watch the road.
Da-da, dumm, dumm, dumm, dumm, da-da, dumm, dumm, dumm, dumm.
Good God. It was a drum cadence. Annie couldn’t believe it’d taken her all that time to figure out that obvious fact. But now that she had, it was as if she’d ridden out purposely to scout for troops.
There! There was a glint of something in the faraway distance. Sunshine off metal. She squi
nted her eyes and yes, in that turn of the road, maybe a mile off, she could see a mass of blue, heading for her, slowly, evenly: hundreds, maybe thousands of men.
Annie stood up in her saddle and scanned the earth in all directions. Any gray crowds, any Confederate champions to meet them? Nothing. Angel began to snort and dance, echoing Annie’s instinct to run. But she lingered, trying to assess where they were heading. West toward Paris and Ashby’s Gap? East toward Middleburg? Or south to regain the Manassas Gap Railroad? In any of those scenarios, they’d use Ashby Gap Turnpike. And that would take them near…home.
Oh, my Lord. Annie had learned enough from their experience at Manassas to know that the Federals could pick Hickory Heights clean, like a flock of starlings landing on a cherry tree. They’d need to hide the horses, the hogs, and the chickens—fast!
She turned Angel toward home, but another sound stopped her. It was the sound of a voice, urgent, shouting. Annie looked down the hill, looked left, right, and there was Gabriel, yelling up into an oak tree. What in the world was he doing? She looked up into the branches and saw red, a knot of bright red hair. Jamie! Jamie was lying flat along a high limb. What a time to be playing games, brother!
Annie sent Angel flying down the hill. As she came closer, she realized that Jamie wasn’t playing a game. He had that fool revolver in his hand. He was lying in wait to shoot at the coming Union troops! One shot from Jamie and a thousand rifles could be turned on him, killing him before they even saw he was just a child.
“Jamie!” Annie shouted. “Jamie, come down this instant! They’ll kill you certain. Come down!”
Jamie ignored her.
Angel slid to a prancing stop by Gabriel. The young groom held up his hands in dismay. “I been trying, Miss Annie. I can’t get him down. He say he’s gonna ambush the soldiers. What we going to do, Miss Annie? I can hear them coming.”
The drums were louder, closer. Indeed, the wind now carried snatches of voices, the sounds of wagon wheels creaking and shuddering along the roadway. They would pass the crook in the road within ten or fifteen minutes.
Annie was panting from the pell-mell dash down the hill. “Gabriel, have you tried climbing up after him?” Gabriel was fifteen years old and strong, much bigger than Jamie.
“Yes, Miss Annie. He done push me off the branch. Scraped me up good.” He held up his right arm, and Annie saw his ripped coat sleeve and a long scrape along his face.
“Oh, Gabriel, I’m sorry.” She looked back up at Jamie. He’d always been spoiled with their servants. He deserved a good hiding, really. He needed to learn a lesson about treating them with kindness. But not this way. This lesson could kill him.
“Jamie, get down out of that tree! What possible good do you think you can do? There are a thousand of them, at least, Jamie. I saw them from the hill. They’ll knock you out of that tree with hot lead, Jamie. It’s not a game!”
“I’m the only man left around these parts to defend us,” he shouted down at Annie. “And I aim to do it!”
“Jamie, this isn’t defending anything. It’s suicide. It’s crazy. Think of—”
“Miss Annie,” Gabriel hissed, tugging on Annie’s riding skirt. “Hush up, Miss Annie.”
Startled, Annie looked down at the groom’s face. “What’s the matter with you, Gabriel? I’ve got to get Jamie down before he does something…”
Gabriel shook his head at Annie. Something about his eyes stopped Annie and filled her with dread. Slowly, she turned.
Three Federal riders sat within a hundred feet of her. One was pointing a carbine straight up at Jamie.
CHAPTER TEN
“Interesting fowl they have around here,” said the man pointing the gun. He pulled back the hammer with a loud click. “Should I shoot it down for dinner, sir?” he asked the officer who sat staring at Annie.
“I don’t know. Given what we’ve overheard, you could. But it depends on what this girl has to say.”
The man’s eyes were cold, his voice strangely accented. A Dutchman perhaps. She’d heard tell of them. Jamie’s life hung on her words. What should she say? What were these people like? Did they value family? What would inspire his pity? Seeing how still the horses stood, the Yankees had obviously been sitting there for a few moments. But for how long?
How could she not have seen them coming?
Her questions raced around and around in her head and her throat went completely dry. Annie began to speak, but it was as if her tongue had hardened to the roof of her mouth. No words came out.
The officer glanced up at Jamie—who for once was silent—and then back down to Annie. A nasty smirk crept along his face. “Brother and sister, no doubt. Cat got your tongue, miss?”
“I…I…”
“I’d say he’s a bushwhacker, sir, and we ought to pick him out of that tree. I’ve got a nice clean shot at him.”
Whether the soldier really meant to fire or simply to terrify, Annie would never know. Gabriel stepped forward.
“No call to shoot that boy, master,” he said in a low, quiet voice. “He ain’t right.” He tapped his head. “He’s forever climbing that tree. Today’s no different. He wouldn’t know that you were coming. If you know what I mean.” He tapped his head again.
Annie watched warily. If Jamie could hear what Gabriel was saying, he’d probably shoot all of them. But the real question was: Would pretending Jamie was addled work with the Federals?
The officer shifted in his saddle and eyed Annie carefully. “This true?”
What should she say?
Gabriel nodded at her. “It’s all right, Miss Annie. I know it’s hard on you and Missus Miriam. But it’s for Marse James’ own good that these soldiers know the truth.”
Gabriel had always known how to handle even the wildest, stupidest horses. He, Laurence, and Sam just seemed to have an instinct for it. Gabriel’s father had been able to talk a horse down from a fit just with his voice. She’d seen it as a young child and always remembered. Gabriel had the same gift. He was using it on her now. Annie played along.
“Well, it is embarrassing, Captain,” she began.
“Sergeant,” he corrected her.
“I’m sorry…Sergeant. I’m afraid I just haven’t gotten used to all these ranks and handsome uniforms.” Annie was choking on the syrup in her words, but if it would save her brother, she was willing to play the simpering belle. “Gabriel spoke correctly.” She lowered her voice to a lilting whisper.
“Jamie isn’t quite right, ever since he fell from that horse. He can be quite muddled. Half the time, he’s just playing games that make no sense. My mother and I simply despair sometimes. But we are hoping that he’ll grow out of it.” She smiled. Surely this man couldn’t hold a boy accountable for such tomfoolery.
“Humpf,” the sergeant snorted. He looked up at Jamie. “Get down out of that tree, boy. Or I’ll shoot you, your sister, and your slave. Understand? You have to the count of ten.” He counted off matter-of-factly, “One…two…three…”
Jamie scrambled down. He glared at Annie and his freckles flamed. Luckily, his anger kept him from speaking. He still clutched the revolver.
The third rider jumped from his horse and snatched it from Jamie. “Where did you get that, boy? This belongs to the U.S. army.”
Annie spoke before Jamie could. “It belongs to me. A gift of sorts, Sergeant. I was staying with my aunt in Manassas, and her house became a makeshift hospital for your troops after the battle. There were several cavalry officers there. One gave it to me as he died, in thanks for nursing him.” Good Lord, the lie rolled off her tongue so easily!
“Poor lad,” Annie added. “A cannonball crushed his legs. There was nothing the surgeon could do. He’s buried in my aunt’s apple orchard. He was from Massachusetts, I believe.” She’d have to take extra time over her prayers that night.
Again, the sergeant snorted. “I think we’ll hold him for questioning, just the same.” He motioned to the soldier who’d been keeping Jamie under g
unpoint. The soldier lowered his carbine and roughly pulled Jamie onto the horse behind him. “He might be tricked into divulging the whereabouts of some of Stuart’s cavalry, if he’s truly not right. We hear there’s a small band of them somewhere in these hills. But we can’t get anyone to confirm it. All the residents are secessionists. Take him back to the colonel.”
The soldier wheeled and rode off with Jamie toward the sound of the coming drums.
“Jamie!” Annie cried out. But again, Gabriel silenced her by putting his hand on her stirrup. He clearly sensed something she didn’t. Annie trusted his judgment. He’d always been right about hidden dangers in horses.
The sergeant noticed Gabriel’s nudge. “Why are you loyal to this woman?”
“Sir?” Gabriel asked.
The sergeant shook his head and muttered, “What they say about the stupidity of these people must be right.” He raised his voice and slowed his speech as he spoke to Gabriel—as if Gabriel were a slow-witted child. “We have a number of contraband following the infantry. You may join them.”
“Contrabrand?” Gabriel asked.
“Slaves that ran away and follow the Union army. They cook, clean the officers’ uniforms, and tend our horses in exchange for food and our protection.”
Gabriel was silent.
“Think it over.” The sergeant turned to Annie. “I was scouting ahead, looking for any Rebel cavalry. Colonel Geary’s troops need a place to camp for the night and the colonel requires a house. You must live near here. Take me there.”
That night, the fields of Hickory Heights blazed with campfires. Two thousand Pennsylvania infantry had taken over the Upperville area. Several hundred of them camped at Hickory Heights. The officers’ horses crowded the Sinclairs’ barn and devoured their corn. The sergeant and a dozen other staff officers were bedded down in their hayloft. The colonel and his staff were inside, enjoying an enormous meal they demanded that Miriam serve them.
Annie, Between the States Page 8