Scarlet Leaves

by Sonya Birmingham

  Harrison chuckled. "Yes, my dear," he replied, placing his hand over hers. "Monday through Friday I'm privileged to pass my time with the President of the Confederate States of America, and I often socialize with him on the weekend."

  There were a few moments of tension; then as the train chugged away from the station, a more relaxed atmosphere filled the car. In the background, she heard the soldiers talking and laughing, and caught the scent of their tobacco. "We're going to see my brother in Chimborazo Hospital," she volunteered quietly, first surveying Taggart, then returning her attention to Harrison. "He's been wounded, but I don't know how badly."

  A frown flickered over the young man's face. "I'm sorry to hear that," he replied, his brown eyes reflecting heartfelt sympathy. "I hope the wound isn't serious." He observed Taggart with concern. "I'm glad you're escorting the young lady. Richmond is in a deplorable state at this time."

  Taggart studied the man, recalling from an intelligence briefing that he'd graduated from Yale and was a junior professor at Oxford, Mississippi, at the outbreak of the war. Intelligent and verbally gifted, he'd wanted to enlist as a common private, but Davis, who thought of him as a son, prevented it and made him his secretary. The thought that Harrison and Davis worked with each other daily fired Taggart's imagination with exciting possibilities. Only a few feet from him was the man who knew Davis's heart, as well as his military secrets.

  Her face shining with interest, Silky caught Harrison's attention again. "Is President Davis really as grand as his pictures show him to be?"

  The young man considered her for a moment, then seemingly passing her off as the innocent gift she was, began speaking in a tired voice, undoubtedly answering the question he'd been asked a hundred times. He first told her things that Taggart already knew: Davis had attended West Point, built a fine plantation in Mississippi, been elected to the House of Representatives, and finally secured a position as secretary of war.

  Taggart studied Silky's face, wondering what was going on in her head as Harrison described Davis's kindness toward his slaves. Yes, sometimes men of integrity and commitment held differing views, but to him there was no way on earth that slavery could be made attractive.

  Harrison patted Silky's hand. "Now, my dear, I must ask you to forgive me. If nature will allow, I shall take a short nap. My conversations with the officers ran most of the night and I find myself incredibly spent."

  He laid his head back and closed his eyes, a wave of brown hair falling over his forehead. Silky winked at Taggart, and he had to grin, sharing her amusement that they were guarding Jefferson Davis's private secretary as he slept.

  After a few moments Silky looked from the window, while Taggart's attention drifted to Harrison, who held both gloved hands over the portfolio in his lap. So near, yet so far, he thought. Perhaps there was nothing in the portfolio but scribbled papersthen again, maybe it contained the information he was seeking. Harrison's grasp, the car full of Confederates, and the speeding train made it irrelevant now.

  A few moments later, Silky, who seemed exhausted herself, smiled at him, then also laid her head back to sleep. Deep in his heart Taggart acknowledged the commitment he'd made to get her safely to Richmond without incident, and with a surge of surprise, realized how terribly important she'd become to him. The sound of the clicking wheels engulfing him, he stared straight ahead, his mind full of deep, troubled thoughts.

  Silky noticed a flurry of activity as the train crossed over the James River and, its whistle shrieking, pulled into Richmond only an hour before sunset. Burton Harrison had been moved to another car during their last stop, but the conductor's arrangements had only packed their own car more tightly. Light-headed with fatigue, she stood and waited as Taggart slid their carpetbags from the rack above the seats, then held back the flow of passengers until she could step into the aisle.

  When they reached the platform, a porter took their baggage and she stared about in amazement, listening to the sound of the jolting boxcars and the chugging hiss of the departing trains. Smoke produced by the pine-burning engines and the depot's sickly gaslights made her cough. Glancing over her shoulder, she noted that some of the disembarking soldiers were happily reunited with their wives and sweethearts, while others had to be assisted to waiting ambulances, merely rough wagons with crude canvas covers.

  Taggart put a hand on her back. ''Let's see if we can find a hackney and get to a better part of town," he suggested, guiding her through the crowded depot. Placing a handkerchief to her nose to ward off the stifling smoke, she walked by his side until they emerged into a street filled with old victorias and other shabby carriages.

  Once they were away from the depot, cool, fresh air flowed over her, clearing the cobwebs from her brain. An evening chill settled in, but the noon's warmth had melted most of the snow, except for scruffy spots in the shadows. The sinking sun now silhouetted bare-limbed trees along the street and touched fiery light atop the tall gray buildings whose mellow facades made them look as if they had been there forever.

  Taggart paid the porter for carrying their bags, then hailed an open-sided victoria, driven by an old man who looked over sixty-five and therefore too old for military duty. She felt the steel in Taggart's arms as he lifted her up onto the torn leather seat, then placed the baggage at her feet and claimed a place beside her.

  The driver raised his shabby top hat and regarded Taggart with dim eyes. "Where to, sir?"

  "The Spotswood," he answered, settling back and putting his arm about Silky's shoulders.

  Within seconds they were off, wheels rattling against the rough paving stones. The old man sat on an open box before them, and often called back over his shoulder, informing them where they were. "That's the Tredegar Iron Works," he wheezed, pointing at a sooty building that belched black smoke. "They manufacture right smart for the war, and remake rifles."

  Since their heads were covered only by a leather hood that curved halfway over the carriage, Silky could see all that was going on in the street as they rumbled along. At one intersection, she noticed young recruits carrying remade flintlocks, which looked terribly crude compared to the repeating rifle she loved so well. How could the soldiers fight Yankees with old guns that might blow up in their faces? she wondered, shocked the men didn't have better weapons.

  The clomp-clomp of the horse's hooves in her ears, she snuggled against Taggart, amazed at what she saw. "Look at all those people," she remarked in an awed tone. "Why, there's jillions of them. Where did they all come from?"

  Taggart laughed. "Most of them were born here, and the war drew the rest."

  To Silky, Richmond was a sea of color and movement. A hundred sights and sounds and pungent aromas enveloped her, vying for her attention. There were fancy shops and open markets with potatoes and turnips and deep red apples glistening in the sun's last rays. She saw elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen, their servants trailing behind, the black women with kerchiefs wound about their heads. There were soldiers and officers everywhere, it seemed, and to the side of the street, brigades of slaves with shovels over their shoulders trudged toward the Petersburg trenches.

  Taggart took her hand. "Well, what do you think?" he asked with twinkling eyes.

  Silky heaved a perplexed sigh. Everyone was hurrying and rushing so, she thought, remembering the relaxed pace of the mountains. "Why, Richmond is nothing but a big anthill," she answered with amusement, wishing her friends in Sweet Gum Hollow could see it for themselves.

  At first only the city's brilliance and intensity caught her eye; then she noticed its underlying air of desperation.

  They passed towering St. Paul's Church and the elegant Davis mansion at Capitol Square; then the driver was forced to wait for a teamster to navigate his burden across the intersection. Like a swift blow, the sight of a wagon full of crude pine coffins met Silky's gaze. An old white man drove the wagon while a small black boy, garbed in scruffy clothes, sat atop the coffins, playing a harmonica.

  "Them coffins
are headed for Chimborazo," the driver called over his shoulder. "A heap die there every day." Silky clutched Taggart's hand more tightly and shivered at the words. This was the Paris of the South she had heard so much aboutthis dark, churning mass of humanity with its ever-present reminders of war and death?

  At last the carriage stopped in front of the Spotswood, a great stone structure of five stories that displayed a Confederate flag fluttering against the ruddy sunset. A surge of weariness passed through Silky as Taggart lifted her from the victoria, then paid the driver. Moments later two porters in the fanciest suits Silky had ever seen emerged from the hotel to carry their luggage in. From Taggart's manner, she could tell he was giving her time to collect her emotions, and she sighed, trying to take it all in. At last, his hand at her back, she slowly walked to the hotel entrance, bolstering her courage before she entered the imposing building.

  Once in the beautiful lobby, she noticed it had a fresh, clean smell, so different from the stuffy train that had transported them from Charlottesville. While Taggart registered, she glanced about in awe. The lobby itself was gorgeous: richly colored draperies covered the tall windows, flames glowed in a huge marble fireplace, and a chandelier sparkled from overhead, the first Silky had ever seen. Staring upward, she thought it was spectacular, like an explosion of stars, dripping shiny icicles.

  Yes, this was a fine place, a fine place indeed. She swept her gaze over the beautifully gowned ladies who meandered about the lobby with their military escorts. Why, it was all like something out of a fairy-tale book, she finally decided, scarcely believing a place like this even existed.

  Taggart returned from the registration desk to escort her up the curving staircase. They had adjoining rooms, both filled with gleaming dark furniture: wardrobes, dressers, velvet-upholstered sitting chairs, huge canopied beds, and goldleafed mirrors. They inspected her room first, and she realized servants had preceded them as they were checking in, for her luggage was already there. Lights glowed in the delicate china lamps and logs crackled in the fireplace, sending forth a warm, welcoming aroma.

  Silky traced her fingers over the dark, polished furniture and caressed the cool satin draperies. Walking from her room into Taggart's, she found it contained a brass-trimmed writing desk that supported a softly glowing reading lamp. How different all this was from her humble cabin, she thought, feeling as if she were moving in a dream. If she'd thought the room in Charlottesville was pretty, these rooms were marvelous, and she told herself the Spotswood must be the best hotel in Richmond.

  Heating footsteps behind her, she turned about, realizing Taggart had been watching her since they entered the suite of rooms. "Will it do?" he asked, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

  "Will it do?" she echoed, letting her gaze travel over the gorgeous chamber, then back to him. "I-It looks like a place God might live if he had the money."

  Laughing, Taggart crossed the room and took her in his arms.

  Yes, it was all more than she could have dreamed, but why was she so tired? she wondered, remembering days she'd tramped over the Blue Ridge for hours without feeling as if she'd done a thing. Then she recalled the frightened, confused expressions on the young soldiers' faces as they were loaded into ambulances, and she understood. Why had

  Daniel made the war a glorious fairy tale in his letters when it was nothing of the kind? Then, with a rush of understanding, she realized he wanted to keep her happy, protect her, preserve her innocence, for it was the Southern thing to do.

  Seemingly reading her mind, Taggart brushed back her hair. "Don't let the things you've seen today make you sad," he advised, his eyes softening with sympathy. As he spoke she thought of the hungry-eyed children, the charred chimneys, and the wagon filled with coffins. "In their own way the mountains have shielded you from the war," he added, ''and it will take a while for your mind to accept it all."

  She gazed at him through her lashes, knowing he was far ahead of her in this respect. "It didn't bother methe things I saw today," she lied, mouthing the words to make him feel better and ease her own shock.

  "I hope they didn't," he replied, obviously not believing her, but accepting her attempt at bravery nonetheless.

  He lowered his head and brushed his mouth against hers. As always, his lips stirred a passion within her, and she trembled, but she wasn't sure if it was from the thrill of being in his arms or the excitement of leaving the Blue Ridge for the first time. His lips were gentle and, as he caressed her back, she gave way to the peace unfolding within her. Tonight she would lie in the solace of his arms; then tomorrow she would see Daniel. She would see her brother, whom she hadn't laid eyes on since the beginning of the war.

  Lord in heaven, she thought with a sudden shiver, nestling close to Taggart's comforting warmth. In what condition would she find him?

  Chapter Ten

  After Taggart and Silky arrived at the sprawling, whitewashed complex that was Chimborazo Military Hospital, a woman looked up Daniel's location and jotted it down on a card. As the pair neared his ward, Silky clutched the card in her hand like a talisman, praying he wouldn't be as gravely injured as the majority of the men she'd already passed.

  When they turned into Daniel's ward, she let her eyes stray over a sea of beds dappled by morning light. With a pounding heart, she walked down a narrow aisle that seemed to stretch to eternity, scanning the wounded soldiers, who met her gaze with hopeful eyes. Then she peered across the ward and saw light striking fire atop her brother's red hair as he sat on the side on his bed reading a newspaper. "Daniel ... that's Daniel," she whispered, tightly clutching Taggart's arm. "I'd know that auburn hair anyplace."

  He looked down, his eyes filled with understanding. "Go to him," he urged. "I'll catch up in a bit."

  Brimming with happiness, she hurried toward the familiar figure, calling his name. Her brother dropped the newspaper and his gaze held her captive, a look of surprised delight

  flashing over his face. "Silky, honey," he said softly, tears welling in his wide green eyes as he struggled to stand, clutching to his headboard. "I can't believe what I'm seein'!"

  It was then, as he crumpled upon the mattress, she realized his leg had been injured, making it impossible for him to rise completely. A heaviness in her bosom, she ran the distance between them and sank onto his bed, hungrily drinking in the sight of him as he held out his arms. Yes, his eyes snapped like always, and there was the same teasing grin on his lips, but he looked so much older and thinner it tore at her heart. Feeling as if she might burst into tears, she pressed her arms about him, and laid her head on his shoulder, remembering the boy he used to be, but was no more.

  He clenched her in a great bear hug, and the warmth and power she detected in his big form cheered her a bit and told her he still had the strength to recover. Leaning back, he swept his astonished eyes over her. "Lord, when I heard you calling my name, I couldn't believe my ears," he muttered, still dumbstruck. He shook her gently, running his big hands over her arms. "You near scared me to death, girl! How in the world did you know I was here?"

  She blinked, holding back tears. "I saw your name on a list of wounded, and it's a good thing I did, because you wouldn't have written me with the news, would you?"

  He raked back his hair. "Well," he mumbled in an embarrassed tone, "I wouldn't want to worry you none." His gaze flowed from her head to her feet in disbelief. ''How in thunderation did a little ol' gal like you make it all the way to Richmond?"

  "It wasn't easy," she answered with a chuckle, "but I had help." She glanced at Taggart, who was now walking to the bed, viewing the proceedings with a smile. For a moment the two men silently measured one another; then, from the expression in their eyes, Silky was relieved to see they were going to be friends. "This is Lieutenant Taggart," she announced, proud to be introducing the man she loved to her brother. "He's from Norfolk, but we met back in the Blue Ridge and he escorted me here."

  Daniel raised his brows, obviously impressed with Taggart's rank and fi
ne civilian clothing. "I'm much obliged to you, sir, for seeing Silky here," he offered, leaning forward to shake hands. Half turning, he observed his sister approvingly. "She looks wonderful. You must have treated her real fine during the trip."

  Taggart chuckled. "I'd be afraid to treat her any other way. You've done a fine job with that little sister of yours. She can outtalk and outshoot any man I ever met."

  Daniel's eyes glinted with amusement. "You left one out, sir. She can outstubborn any human alive."

  Silky let the men have their laugh, relieved that Daniel still had enough spirit to crack a joke. Then she slowly moved her eyes from their smiling faces and unwillingly focused them on Daniel's injured leg, searching for a way to open the delicate subject of his wound. "How long have you been here," she softly began, now braving a look at his face. "T-Tell me what happened."

  He ran a hand over his leg. "My company took a lot of fire about three weeks ago, tryin' to hold off Sheridan. Some Yankee buzzard blasted me with a load of grapeshot and it cut up a lot of muscles. Dr. Cooke sewed them back, but they'll be a long time healin', maybe three or four months." He surveyed her with a thoughtful expression. "He told me I'd walk with a bad limp, but that don't bother me none." Resolve lit his clear green eyes. "Don't worryI'll walk, all fight. I've already laid it out in my mind."

  Touched by his courage, Silky dropped her lashes so he wouldn't see her moist eyes. She understood what he meant, for she'd often used the phrase herself. When a mountain person laid something out in their mind, it meant they'd set their heart, will, and spirit on accomplishing a task and would not be defeated. For a moment Silky struggled to get control of her emotions, and glanced at Taggart.