“Do I?” Will shot back, drumming his fingers with impatience.
“I’d say you aren’t stupid, but going against us is not the action of a smart man; at least a man who doesn’t like to fail. But you’re getting used to failure, huh?”
“I tole yer old man I had no guarantees of finding his lost nigger.”
“You don’t want another failure, do you?” Kearns leaned in upon the bar and folded his hands together, regarding Will with a smirk.
“That depends; mine or yours? Your failure might be my win!” Will said and leaned in to watch the slow progress of the man tending the bar.
“See, that’s what I came to talk to you about. See, you don’t stand a chance, and I think you know that. You’re taking votes away from me that could be used to beat Clanton. You withdraw and convince your fellows to vote for me, and I’ll see to it you get lieutenant. You win, I win, as you aren’t going to win running for captain. You withdraw and I win, you get your lieutenancy.” Kearns laid a heavy had on Will’s shoulder, friendly-like.
It wasn’t that the idea hadn’t occurred to Will, but to give Kearns the satisfaction of having broached the subject was more than Will could stomach. There was a malevolence in those eyes that now seemed to dance in their own self-glory. The same malevolence he’d seen that day by the river when they were only boys.
Will turned and faced Kearns, regarding the man’s insufferable attitude for a moment, searching his eyes for a glimmer of honesty. “I withdraw. You get my votes, an’ you endorse me fer lieutenant, and you give me your support. And if you don’t win?”
“What do you take me for? You have my word, Hunter.” And with a final toothy grin, Kearns walked away. There was just enough time for Will to announce his withdrawal and to circulate around the tables again.
Back at his table, Will laid out his new reasoning.
“You want what?” Mitchell exclaimed. “If I’m going to vote for someone, it’ll be Clanton, not that horse’s ass Kearns.”
“The deal’ll only work unless you vote for Kearns,” Peters replied. “I don’t like Kearns any more than the next man, but I’m willing to go with Will here on it.”
“Kearns is mad if he thinks he’s going to beat Clanton even with our votes,” grumbled Mitchell.
The vote for captain went as expected. Clanton received the most votes, with some of Will’s support going to Clanton anyway. When it came time for nominations for lieutenant, Will’s name was offered as well as Allen’s and a few others—but Kearns’s offered endorsement was nonexistent, and the votes went to the others without even a vote for Will coming from Kearns himself. Noncommissioned officers were then appointed, and Will was appointed a corporal when his friends were all appointed to sergeant spots. Kearns, refusing to even look at Will, left the gathering with an air of disgust.
The walk home was lonely and depressing for Will as most returned to their unofficial HQ for another round of drinking and ballyhooing. He was not in the mood.
The house in Montgomery was modest compared to the surroundings that some in the troop owned or could boast of growing up in, but it was not mean in size or comfort, and Will was greeted by their “man,” a free black named Chester, who took Will’s hat and helped him out of his riding boots. He might not have the birth or the respect others enjoyed, but he didn’t have to live like he didn’t want both. His wife, Sarah Ann, was sitting in their modest receiving room reading when he came through the door. Anxious to hear the news, she hurried into the foyer but stopped short when she saw the look of defeat in her husband’s eyes.
Will waved Sarah off and went into his study. The bookshelves were empty save for some cheaply bound books whose topics were best understood as penny novels, lacking the epicurean tastes that such august shelves should boast. His desk was clean and almost unused. No crystal decanter stood ready to dispense sherry or cognac. His wife and children, though dressed in typical upper-class clothing, could not belie their rough tastes in entertainment no matter how many refinements they attempted to acquire. Sarah too was lowborn, and though she boasted a pedigree better than his, she did not know a life of leisure. Though he had moved his family to Montgomery and hired a nanny like all people of wealth, true leisure was the one thing they could not buy. Will still hunted slaves, and that was not entry into polite society.
Sarah stood framed by the oak doorway, looking beautiful. Her dress was not what Will would call ornate, but it was not of homespun roughness. Her auburn hair was woven tightly about her temples with a few choice curls flowing gracefully down her cheeks and collar. Hunting slaves had bought them a house in the center of power in the state and nice clothing for her, but at this moment it all looked false. Clasping the door frame with delicate fingers, she fixed him with a look of concern. He knew she chafed at having nothing to do and understood that it would all have to change soon.
“No captaincy for me, not even a lieutenancy. Those plums went to men of real means they could promise for votes.”
“I’m sorry, dear. I know you put a lot of stock in this. But it’s just the militia—if there’s a war, perhaps it will change.” She saw that she wasn’t helping and looked on with a sympathetic smile.
Will brooded in silence.
Chapter 3
Germantown, Ohio, May 21, 1861
Philip Pearson was feeling positive for once. The Sunday sermon had gone better than he’d expected, and the crowd in attendance received it with more than the usual blank stares or measured tolerance. There was nothing in particular this Sunday morning to recommend the teaching or his own oratory, dry and halting as it was, but perhaps a chord had been struck in the minds of the listeners for once. Or perhaps it was Sunday lunch at the Harpers and a quiet visit with Elizabeth that was to blame for his exuberance. Either way, the day was off to a good start.
Philip walked the few hundred feet from the church building to the house he shared with his father and brother. His father, Charles, was the former caretaker of the Germantown Methodist Episcopal flock, but even his presence in the congregation had not made Philip too overly nervous today. The church building was of typical Methodist understatement, a white-boarded, single-story frame with steeple and bell, a wood, varnished interior, and wooden chairs leading up to a modest podium and lectern with the empty cross of Christ behind the speaker. It was just another Sunday after a week’s worth of traveling to the societies in the surrounding countryside and townships. Their house, one his father had maintained for over twenty years, was still home. Though Philip and his brother Paul were each over twenty-five, there was little reason to live alone.
“Harpers invited me to supper,” Philip announced as he entered the house. “I’ll take my leave of you, sir, if you do not mind?”
“Free food, that’s the real reason,” Paul said from the kitchen.
“Have you decided yet, son?” Charles asked.
“Sir? No, no I’ve not. I realize there are things one must do to keep governance of a church, but to allow someone on the board for pure gain and influence just because his father is on the board concerns me.” Philip sat down, facing his father.
“Who wants on the board?” Paul called from the kitchen.
“Lee Harper,” Philip replied. To his father he said, “How are you going to vote?”
“I cannot tell you, son. That would be against the spirit of the process. I share your concern, but I also have to go with what is best for the assembly.”
“Next they’ll petition for Robert to be on the board!” Philip said.
“They want him too?” Paul called.
“Son, come in here if you want to talk,” Charles replied.
“No, but I would not put it past the elder Harper to form some voting block,” Philip replied. “What if … what if I withhold my support? What will that do?”
“Do you have a reason to do so? Besides your general concern for the principle of the thing?” Charles asked.
“No, I do not have a specific reason to o
bject. Lee Harper is not the brigand that young Robert Harper is. But he’s no less ambitious than his father and of dubious scruples.”
Paul came in with a plate and bread formed into a crude sandwich. Paul was seven years Philip’s junior and of a less ambitious nature. He was in his undershirt and trousers, having stripped off his coat to prepare a repast. Paul sat cross-legged on their old settee and took a big bite of his food. Their sitting room, the room most used for receiving guests, was their father’s study now that they rarely entertained or had visitors and the furniture was getting aged. A woman’s touch would have been required to maintain that certain level of tidiness and decorum. Their mother was gone and Charles a widower for the last fifteen years, the boys growing up without motherly influence. Dispensing with the formalities of the room, the men used it now for a common room.
Charles regarded Paul for a long moment. “Is there anything left?”
Paul, his mouth full, nodded as he chewed vigorously.
“If you do not have a fault to bring up or something to bring against Lee, you will need to give your consent, son. The other members of the board will listen to you, but they will not if you do not have something specific to bring in opposition.”
Philip nodded. He didn’t have anything against Lee and the rumors about Robert were just that, though as most people seemed to take them for truth there must be some truth to them. He could not hold Lee accountable for the reprehensible behavior of the youngest Harper son, but it was in the blood.
“And what of the actions of Robert Harper? How much should the sins of the son taint the brother and the father?” Philip asked.
“We cannot judge on rumor, son. If he is fornicating and drinking and gambling it will be evident in his spirit, but I’ve spoken to no one who can state that they have seen him doing any of these things. Judge him on what you know, not what you hear from someone else.”
Philip had taken over his father’s circuit of Methodist churches three years before, allowing Charles to pursue study as he was increasingly unable to travel the long distances to minister. Philip had agreed to study and take up the cloth. But it had been nothing like he’d expected or wanted. If he was honest with himself, it was the little things like this question of membership on the board that he would like to leave for someone else.
Board politics in the church consumed him while for most the Lincoln administration’s call for ninety-day volunteers was the talk of the town, along with a state of war existing between the states in rebellion and the Federal government. Some citizens had already volunteered their services for the government and had mustered into the 1st Ohio Infantry, but the war and the rebellion were somewhere else. Life was going on as normal for Germantown citizens, and that normal life had overtaken Philip’s.
Germantown was typical of the farming towns and villages that spread out along the roadways connecting Cincinnati with Dayton and Columbus. There was a brisk trade in commerce traffic heading to and from Dayton, and surrounding farms found easy access to sell crops in the town’s center. The Germantown Methodist Episcopal Church had its share of yeoman farmers and town dwellers, merchants, and local politicians. There were at times competing interests among the parishioners, and Philip had kept out of local politics from the pulpit save for an occasional antislavery sermon in the days when loyalties were divided. The rebellion would be ended swiftly, and few people were that interested in how that was to be done.
After a walk to the town’s stables and renting a horse, Philip was soon climbing the steps to the Harpers’ farmhouse, a two-story affair with a spacious porch and comfortable seating when enjoying the sunset and the end to the day’s labors. Elizabeth was waiting on the porch for him.
Still in her Sunday dress, she made a chair available and had a glass of water waiting. The two were on unofficial terms of endearment.
“Mother have supper ready?” Philip asked as he sat.
“She’s been cooking since we arrived back from services; she didn’t need my help.”
“That was thoughtful of her.” Philip smiled. Beatrice Harper was probably the only Harper, aside from Elizabeth, who took any interest at all in their daughter’s lack of betrothal status, and even more so to a preacher.
“How are your parents faring?” Philip asked. It was an awkward question. Though Philip only saw the elder Harpers on Sundays, if anyone was ill or injured there would not be a person in Germantown who would not know about in intimate detail before the sun set.
“Mother is doing fine; Father is favoring his leg again. The gout has been flaring up, and the chemist has nothing for him that works. He insists on doing a full day’s work, which does not help the leg,” Elizabeth answered. “Beware of Lee; he’s on a terror waiting for you to arrive so he can talk to you.”
“I see,” Philip murmured. “Have any of your relatives volunteered?”
“We’ve a cousin who has, but talk is they won’t even be needed, so he sits around the camp pretending to be doing something. He writes that they do not expect to be in service long, and many are waiting for their ninety days to be up so they can come back home.”
“It will be well for all of us if that remains true. The papers are full of calls to march on Richmond and root out the Rebels with the bayonet. Father says it was much the same twenty years ago with the war in Mexico, and that one was over quickly,” Philip said.
“Our cousin is playing soldier and has grown bored with it. Many of the state regiments were moved to Washington; he’s praying that the 1st Ohio does so as well so he can say he’s seen the capitol.”
“Paul wants to volunteer, but Father is against it. I have my pulpit,” Philip said apologetically.
“We need you here,” Elizabeth said, lightly touching his arm.
Philip smiled. “My presence here, present company notwithstanding, is merely to take up space upfront. The board runs things with the church, and as long as I do not interfere, they let me draw a salary from the tithe. Otherwise they would bid me a fond farewell.”
Elizabeth smirked. “Father isn’t interested in control; he just wants to see Lee be something in the community since Robert is … “
Philip waved the comment off. “Pardon the comment, Elizabeth, I was not referring to your father or Lee. Just of the politics of the board itself from everyone.”
“And what are you going to do about Lee?” Elizabeth asked sweetly.
“I’m going to talk to him and decide if I support your father’s request. Or I’ll just say yes so I can keep coming back for Sunday supper.” Philip winked.
“You need to stand on your conviction, Philip; I’m neither for nor against it, and I know you will always have a seat at our table as far as Mother’s concerned.” Elizabeth straightened in her chair as the door opened.
“Reverend Pearson, I hope you are having a blessed Sabbath,” Beatrice Harper said as she ruffled her apron and stood by her daughter’s chair. She was plump with a kindly face and cheeks that were rosy from exertion over a cooking fire. Sweat stood on her brow and a wet patch along her forehead where her cap sat. Philip had always liked Beatrice, and the invitations to supper were just another reason to do so.
“That I did, Mother Harper. We’ve been having a nice little talk of war and the church board, not necessarily two different things,” Philip said with a wan smile. He had always called her mother, a habit she did not seem to mind.
“Well, we won’t let church politics ruin an otherwise comfortable Sabbath meal. Come, the table is all set,” Mrs. Harper said and motioned for Philip to follow.
“Come, Lady Harper, let us retreat indoors,” Philip said and offered Elizabeth his hand.
Any meal at the Harpers was a study in chaos, with simultaneous conversations and clanking dishes making understanding anyone a challenge of concentration. Talk, as far as Philip could catch, was farming, politics and gossip with barely disguised attempts to pry privileged information about other parishioners from him. If he were honest with hims
elf, he only went for the food and Elizabeth. If he went further, he had to admit the well-prepared meal was most of the reason he went anywhere to visit a parishioner.
The visits with Elizabeth were brief and of necessity chaperoned. Her brothers and mother saw to it that proper vigilance be undertaken. He was under no illusions about propriety—he would have insisted on it himself—but it did mean the lack of a certain intimacy in conversation. Today would be no exception. With supper ended the men retired to the sitting room, and Robert Harper excused himself with a curt nod in Philip’s direction before leaving the house. With that, Philip knew he would be beset by the elder Harper and Lee about the board.
“Well, Parson, now that you’ve enjoyed the bounty of me table, you can answer me plain-like: will you support me son on the board?” Mr. Harper asked, fixing Philip with a hard stare. Andrew Harper had not lost his Irish brogue though he was first generation born in the United States—he seemed to think it made him stand out among the largely German immigrants throughout the Ohio Valley. He was greying in the temples, and his mutton chops were salt-and-pepper tinted. His hands were those of a farmer: rough, calloused, and large. It was one of these beefy hands that absently tapped impatiently upon the arm of the chair. He was never one for the formalities of entertaining and seemed to regard Philip as an intrusion upon his abode whenever the preacher was over. Philip’s interest in Elizabeth was not lost upon him.
Philip shifted slightly and straightened his coat. “I will need time to speak with your son before I can make a judgment.”
“If you wish, but what can you have ag’in me boy?”
“Nothing, but I cannot in good faith assent to what I do not know—and I do not know why Lee would wish to be on the board, nor what he, or you for that matter, seek to gain by it.”
“Gain? You think this is for gain?” Lee asked. He was twenty-five, like Philip, and as the firstborn had the desire to become something of his own merit. He was taller than Philip, but a little more refined than his father in appearance and manner. A trimmed goatee hung down his chin, and he absently played with the whiskers. His eyes were intelligent with a spark that Philip recognized in Elizabeth, she being a year Lee’s younger.
The Shiloh Series: Books 1-3 Page 34