High Hearts

by Rita Mae Brown

  “Shouldn’t we notify the rear guard?” Nash was a stickler for rules.

  “Take us fifteen minutes to reach them unless we go flat out,” said Banjo. “Let’s be hospitable. After all, these wretches might be from some outlandish unit like the Sixth Virginia Cavalry.” Banjo trotted toward the direction of the sound.

  “You’re right. Let’s greet them and show them how to behave.” Geneva enjoyed the sun on her face.

  Nash, less than enthused, trotted after them.

  The sounds of soldiers drew closer. The three turned off of Yorktown Road onto a dirt road. About twenty Federals on a scouting mission bore down on them. They were surprised, too.

  Just as Banjo pulled both his Colts, his horse shot toward the Yankees.

  “There they are, boys!” Geneva shouted. She looked over her shoulder as though more Confederate troops were behind her.

  Nash spurred his horse to join their wild attack. The Federals turned with difficulty on the narrow road, fired a few desultory shots, and beat a hasty retreat. Geneva, Nash, and Banjo chased them for a few hundred yards, then turned and bolted down the dirt road and onto Yorktown Road. They galloped back to the rear guard.

  The major in charge of the rear guard posted fifteen additional mounted men in case the Yankees should return.

  Riding with the rear, catching his breath, Nash sputtered, “Damned bravest thing I ever saw, Banjo!”

  “Brave, hell. My horse ran away with me.”

  That night as she made camp, Geneva watched each man perform his pre-battle ritual. Benserade polished and sharpened his sword repeatedly. Sam Wells became unusually hearty. Nash withdrew. Banjo whistled “The Bonnie Blue Flag.” Whether he knew it or not, the only time he whistled that tune was before a fight was coming. Mars studied maps and questioned anyone his men brought in who lived in the area. He wanted to know about every cow path. Geneva read and reread the Lesson of the Day. It was the 34th day of Lent, and Judges 2: 11–11 filled her eye but not her mind. She did note that Joshua lived to be one hundred and ten. She didn’t know if she’d live to be twenty. Her nineteenth birthday, December 21, had been lost in Sumner’s death. Twenty was a number not a reality.

  It wasn’t until she curled up in her bedroll that she remembered it was her first wedding anniversary.

  APRIL 13, 1862

  “She’s still a relentless gossip, but other than that, I’d say she has enacted a remarkable transformation.” Lu tie was writing to Poofy about Jennifer Fitzgerald among other subjects. The sun peeped over the horizon.

  “Miz Lutie!” Sin-Sin barged into the room. “Boyd’s run off!” Sin-Sin reported this with equal measures of delicious malice and worry.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Picked her room cleaner than a chicken! She’s packed up and gone!”

  Lutie capped the inkwell, threw back her shoulders, and headed for the kitchen. The door hung open like a broken jaw. Ernie was kneading, her tears falling into the dough.

  “Ernie, is it true?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  Sin-Sin, arms crossed over her bosom, leaned against the table like a grim, obsidian caryatid. “As is the way of Barabbas!”

  Ernie picked up the dough and slapped it on Sin-Sin’s face. Sin-Sin, helpless while removing the stuff, was then knocked onto the floor by Ernie, who held her rolling pin over Sin-Sin’s head for the crowning blow.

  Lutie grabbed Ernie’s huge arm and hung on with every ounce in her. “Don’t you dare, Ernie! You harm one hair on her head, and I’ll whip you before God and Chatfield.”

  “I doan care!” Ernie screamed.

  Sin-Sin rolled over, still frantically peeling the dough off her face. “You outta yo’ head!”

  “Ernie, give me that pin,” said Lutie firmly.

  Ernie pulled her arm away. “How do I know that nigger witch ain’t comin’ fo’ me?”

  “Because she is leaving the kitchen this instant.”

  Sin-Sin did not budge. “I can’t leave you ’lone with a crazy woman.”

  “She’s not crazy. She’s suffered a terrible shock. Go on now. Please!”

  Sin-Sin made a great show of storming out the door. She planted herself firmly on the other side, ear to the crack.

  “Tell me what happened,” said Lutie in a calm voice.

  “I gets up like always. I comes up and starts the bread. Calls my girl and she gone.”

  “You must have had a warning.”

  “My tongue too short to tell you all that I knows.”

  “Would you like me to stretch it for you?” Lutie’s voice stiffened.

  “Things go wrong since Sumner gone. Boyd, she got herself mixed up with that no-good buck Grizz over at the Fitzgerald place. Every time Miz Jennifer come to call upon you, he finagle a way to come along. He stuffs her head with crazy ideas. She like a rag doll, and he jes jammin’ in straw. That boy was carryin’ her fast.”

  “What made her think she wouldn’t get caught?”

  “When she talk crazy to me, I tell her ’member Peter and Tincia and she laugh and say they dumb. Her Grizz got everythin’ figgered out. He gonna get to the Yankee lines and offer hisself to do whatever they needs. He say if Bumba can do it, he can do it.” Ernie took a deeply ashamed breath. “And my girl done took that pass.”

  Sin-Sin’s eyebrows flew up to her turban. She whispered to herself, “All this time she had it.” Boyd would never again be underrated by Sin-Sin.

  “You know if she gets caught, I’ll have to make an example of her.”

  “Doan beat her! I wants to do that myself!”

  “I’m not going to beat her. She’ll be severely restricted. Naturally, I think Big Fitz, when he catches Grizz, will have that boy stretched on four stakes and whipped raw.”

  “I hope he kills him.” Ernie snarled. “Foolin’ with my girl.”

  “Where’s Braxton?”

  “He got sense. He down at the stable.” She wiped her eyes. “I knows Boyd was up to no good. She sweep out the house after sundown. She know that mean bad luck. She invitin’ bad luck.”

  Lutie said in a resigned voice, “I suppose I had better check my jewelry and see what she stole.”

  “She din’ steal nothin’ from you.” Ernie’s voice was raw.

  “How do you know that?”

  “ ’Cause she took every penny I save instead.” Ernie, devastated, began to cry again. “She took one thousand and two hundred dollars. Been savin’ for twenty-three years. Every time I gets a dime or a thank you, I puts it away, ’cept for the five dollars from Miz Vickers which I give to Boyd outright so as to encourage her.”

  Stunned, Lutie’s voice cracked. “Twelve hundred dollars?”

  “And some odd cents.”

  “What were you going to do with that money?”

  “I was gonna talk to Mr. Henley when the time be right. I was gonna buy Braxton free. Then he can work for Mr. Henley, save like I saves, and buy land. Back up where that trash Reddy planted corn. I was hopin’ Mr. Henley see things my way.”

  Until now, Lutie had never appreciated the full extent of Ernie June’s ambition. “I believe that Mr. Chatfield would have agreed to your plan. He admires foresight and hard work.” Her throat was cottony. “Tell me, Ernie, did you hope to be free, too?”

  “No, Miz Lutie. I’s too old.”

  “Did you ever confide your plan to Boyd? Perhaps she was angry that Braxton would come first.”

  “I never tell her sech a thing. Braxton the first born. Thass the way it is. She born to be the cook in a great house, the greatest house in the South.”

  “Did you ever mention your plan to Braxton?”

  “Yes, but only oncet.”

  Lutie figured that he had told his sister in a weak moment or during a sibling fight. “I see. Ernie, would you like to rest today? We can manage.”

  “No, if I sits home alone, I feels worse.”

  Lutie handled the rolling pin.
“Does this have anything to do with Reddy Neutral Taylor?” It was a hunch.

  “No. My girl not mixed up in his scheme! Peter pay for messin’ with that man with his life.”

  “Maybe Braxton was dealing with him.”

  “Oh, Lawd, Miz Lutie, don’t say that!” Ernie trembled.

  After further consoling of Ernie, Lutie withdrew to the library. She set aside her letter to Poofy and wrote one to Henley. Alafin, Peter, and Tincia were murdered, perhaps by the same hand and perhaps not. Now Boyd and her lover escaped. Furious though she was with Boyd, she didn’t want her to wind up dead. The next thing she did was to write a letter notifying the authorities that a servant from Chatfield had been abducted. Why condemn Boyd out of hand? Love, sometimes, is an abduction.

  APRIL 20, 1862

  Dearest Mother:

  I write to you on Easter Sunday. We are only out of the saddle to sleep, but I went to a sunrise service given by a Lutheran minister for our troops today.

  We fought at Yorktown. Perhaps the papers mentioned us because on April 14, Colonel Vickers, together with General Stuart, covered the rear for our commander, General Johnston. We were in constant contact with the enemy.

  Around three o’clock we were surprised by a superior force of cavalry. I heard their officer yell “Draw sabers and charge!” Our colonel kept us in tight formation, and we trotted toward the enemy who was galloping at us in full force. I thought Colonel Vickers had lost his mind. Just as we were about to receive the shock of their troops, the colonel ordered us to separate. We peeled away like a banana skin, and we fired a terrific, galling fire into them. It was like shooting fish in a barrel.

  To the Yankees’ credit, they did not panic, despite their disadvantage. They blew the retreat, and the men tried to extricate themselves from our withering cross fire. I became overzealous in my duty and chased after a laggard lieutenant. I received a slight wound as a result of this foolishness. My face was cut from my right eye down to my mouth by his saber. Guess I deserved it. I succeeded in shooting him out of the saddle. Other than that I am well, but I thought I should warn you that I will bear a nasty scar as a result of this action.

  Our colonel said afterward that putting factory boys on horses was a crime. Banjo, my best friend out here, told the colonel to give the Yankees time. I myself do not believe the Union boys will ever be a match for Virginians on horseback. We outshine and outperform every other state in the Confederacy, so you know the Federals have no hope. They do good on foot though, and their artillery is fearsome.

  We survey our enemy daily. I expect there will be another fight, but I don’t know when and where. I don’t much care because we’ll beat them wherever we find them.

  I have read every one of Sumner’s engineering books. Will you send more? Sooner or later someone from our company will get to Richmond. I will return the ones that I have to Father.

  I saw Di-Peachy’s sweetheart. He was riding next to General Stuart, being one of the general’s favorites because of his special courage. He’s a handsome man, Mercer Hackett. Stuart is not, but he’s as flashy as a peacock and possesses the heart of a lion. He surrounds himself with singers, a banjo player, and even a man who makes music with bones. It’s hard to believe that such a well-born man would carry on like that, but he doesn’t drink or swear, which is more than you can say for the rest of us.

  Colonel Vickers refers to battles as “engagements on our cotillion card.” He says General McClellan can’t work up the nerve to ask anyone for a rousing dance. He also said that Yankee generals get promoted after every failure so he wonders who will get what after Yorktown.

  I miss you, Mother. Give my regards to Sin-Sin, Ernie June, and Di-Peachy.

  Love,

  Geneva

  P.S. Nash fought bravely and received a special commendation by Captain Sam Wells for it. He won’t tell you himself.

  Lutie put down the letter. Geneva’s letters were more precious to Lutie than her jewelry collection.

  She opened another letter. This one was from Colonel Jeffrey Windsor. He apologized for bothering her, and he knew that the loss of her son must still sadden her daily. However, he needed her if she could be spared. A great battle would be fought to defend Richmond sometime this summer. McClellan had to move up the Peninsula. Would she come to Richmond? He would send a telegram when he thought the contest was near at hand. Would she also ask her invaluable lady friends, too?

  Scribbled on the bottom of Jeffrey’s letter was a postscript from Maud Windsor: P.S. Sir Walter Scott has a great deal to answer for!

  Lutie agreed with her. Romances glorifying personal combat infected males of all ages, to say nothing of the ladies who thought themselves damsels of purity inspiring their heroes.

  Folded in Jeffrey’s letter with apologies for not being sent under separate cover was a brief note from Kate Vickers. Lutie didn’t mind. Getting mail anywhere was hit or miss. Mrs. Vickers offered Lutie hospitality, and the other Charlottesville ladies were equally welcome. Her husband estimated that there would be a few thousand wounded from the projected battle. Experienced nurses would be a godsend.

  “Sin-Sin,” Lutie called.

  “What?”

  “How would you like to go with me to Richmond? It will be more of the Delevan Hotel when we get there. Won’t be a pleasure visit.”

  “When does we leave?”

  “Whenever Jeffrey Windsor sends a telegram telling us the battle is nigh.”

  “Why doan I pack today ’cept for the best dresses? Iffin’ we has to go in a hurry, we be ready.” Sin-Sin, thrilled to go on a trip no matter how hard the work might be, thought a second and then carefully asked, “Does you think you wants to see more torn-up young mens?”

  Lutie placed the letters on her desk, one on top of the other, and walked over to Sin-Sin. She put her arm around the older woman’s waist. “Nurse our sick, not our sorrows.”

  MAY 1, 1862

  Outside of Williamsburg, where King’s Mill Wharf Road intersects with the road leading into the College of William and Mary, were a handful of good clapboard houses and a small school. Mars halted his men near these dwellings where the tree line met the meadow. They could melt into the woods if necessary, but since McClellan moved at the rate of two miles per day, no one was immediately worried.

  At the foot of the meadow, the children erected a maypole, gaily skipping around it, colorful streamers in hand. When they saw the cavalry, they jumped up and down, waving and shouting.

  “I believe we are being summoned by the next generation.” Mars’s teeth glistened underneath his auburn moustache.

  “Ain’t gentlemanly to refuse a lady’s invite.” Banjo waited for Mars to order him forward or to dismount.

  “Why don’t we go down and water the horses?” Geneva suggested, riding forward. “Besides which, children know secret paths and swamps that adults never think about.”

  “That’s right,” Banjo agreed. “The cavalry is the eyes and ears of the army.”

  “Those are little eyes and little ears. Come on.” Mars briskly walked forward.

  The regiment followed, and the tiny village was swallowed up in soldiers to the children’s delight.

  “Horse soldiers! Horse soldiers!” shouted the children at the maypole. They couldn’t decide whether to drop their streamers and run to the soldiers or to keep singing.

  Banjo was drawn to children like a fly to molasses. “How would you like to help the Confederate army?”

  “Yay, yay!” they hollered in unison.

  “You all finish runnin’ around the maypole and sing. You’ll make us right happy to see your celebration this day.”

  Enthusiastically the children danced, their bright ribbons behind them. One by one, the men drifted over after seeing to their horses. Soon the children were surrounded and watched by several companies of silent men. A few swallowed hard. Most of them had not seen their own children for months. The poorer men had not seen their children for over a year.
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  When the children finished wrapping the maypole, they crowned their queen, a blonde girl of perhaps nine. The men applauded. An awkward moment of silence occurred when the planned festivities were over. The men stared at the children, and the children stared right back at them.

  Benserade spoke up. “Thank you.”

  “When I grow up, I’m gonna be a horse soldier just like you! I’m gonna kill hundreds of Yankees,” a husky boy called out.

  “I hope you never have to kill anyone,” Nash replied. “That’s why we’re fighting this war.”

  The husky boy, however, nurtured fevered dreams of glory. “Oh, please don’t end it yet!”

  The men laughed.

  Mars, having questioned a man at the dry goods store, rode into the group. The little May queen bounded toward him. “You are the first best!” Her crown wobbled on her curls.

  “Why, thank you, queen.”

  Her adoring eyes grew larger. “You are the handsomest man in the world!”

  The men howled with laughter and catcalled. Mars held up his hand. “The lady exhibits peerless judgment.”

  They laughed even longer.

  “May I get on your horse?” she inquired.

  “If you tell me your name.”

  “Elizabeth Pember.” She curtseyed. “And what is yours, sir?”

  “Mine,” Mars said, grandly sweeping his cap off his head, “is Mars Elige Vickers. Now if you hold my hand, Lieutenant Cracker will lift you up.”

  Banjo picked her up as if she were a treasured heirloom. Mars put her in front of him in the saddle.

  “Can we charge now?”

  The other children crowded around. “Let’s play cavalry! Oh, please, Mr. Vickers.”

  “I am hopelessly outnumbered. I surrender,” Mars gaily called out. “Banjo, Nash, Jimmy, hey, Sam, come on! Grab a little Confederate, and we’ll show them maneuvers.” He called to a few others until each of the seventeen children was sitting with a cavalryman.

  They walked, trotted, and cantered. The children squealed with delight. The men showed them how to ride in a line, in twos, in fours, and what a regimental alignment was. They drew sabers and mock charged one another. Mars told Elizabeth that when in danger if you could wheel right, and he executed the maneuver, you had a chance because you could fire with your right hand. After a half hour of this, he trotted to the schoolhouse door.