The stony glances from his listeners were unnerving.
“I confessed to Lee my sins in action and thought and sought his forgiveness. That was when he told me Beatrice had forgiven me long ago but he could not. I accepted that. Lee would not repent of his sins nor forgive me mine. I accepted that I’d done wrong. Then he died. I must confess that I was a poor model of forgiveness. We were all with him when he died. He is buried in the cemetery with those who died during the battle and after. I visited his grave before we marched away. Lastly, I’m here to offer my condolences for the loss of Lee.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said softly, still avoiding eye contact.
“Is that all ye have?” Andrew Harper said at length.
“Yes, sir, that is what I came to say.”
“I find nothing in me to forgive ye. Ye cost me my Bea, an early death out o’ shame and guilt, and me son Lee, who swore to follow ye to the end o’ his days to make ye life the hell ye made ours. I will never forgive ye. Ye may call on Elizabeth if ye like, she can decide for herself, but ye and I will never speak agin.” Turning on his heel, Harper limped off and out of sight.
Philip regarded his hands and breathed in, finally letting it out with relief. Elizabeth stared over Philip’s shoulder, lost in thought. The reunion was further strained by the silence that accompanied the labored shuffling of her father in another room.
“When the bishop of Dayton told me to step down or face censure, I was at my lowest ebb. My father was already humiliated and would have been more so had I fought it. The bishop never said who, but I suspected it was Lee or your father who went to him. I forgave Lee of that as he lay dying. It was a bitter root I’d carried long enough.”
“It wasn’t Lee or Poppa. I went to the bishop. I was the one.”
Her words nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. “You did? You’re the one?” All those hateful words and thoughts directed at Lee or Andrew Harper for the state of affairs, and it hadn’t been either of them. His thoughts refused to come together. “I … I always assumed … “
“I was angry at you for what you did and at the church for what it did in your name. I wanted you to feel some of the pain we were feeling. We knew Robert was a worthless man, but he was our brother. Refusing him Christian burial was an insult to us. So I sent the bishop a letter and then visited him in Dayton.” Elizabeth was flushed, the red in her cheeks bringing color to her otherwise drab smock and blouse.
“It was what it was. I can’t say but that you may have done me a favor. God’s will in the end.” Philip regarded his hands at length, feeling the awkwardness of the pause. “I leave soon for Cincinnati and then to Nashville to join my new regiment.”
Elizabeth looked up and nodded.
“Thank you for receiving me. I will take my leave of you and your father.” Philip stood and waited. Elizabeth didn’t move. Philip held out his hand to give her aid, more of a gesture than actual help. She stared at his hand as if not seeing it for some moments.
“Did Lee really not confess?” Elizabeth asked.
“No. He wouldn’t seek any form of forgiveness and indeed died telling me he would never forgive me.”
“Lee was Mother’s favorite, so her death he took hard. I never thought anyone would be so driven to do anything to get revenge like Lee was. He was determined to drag you into hell.”
“We had a pact, he and I. We would both see the other in hell before the war was over. Now I’m afraid that is more reality than seems fitting to admit. Your father is looking ill and worn. Do you have help enough?”
“Yes, we have plenty to work the land for Poppa, and we get a decent wage in leasing the fields. Father always hoped Lee would take it over.”
“Do you mind, terribly, if I write? Paul is probably going to volunteer now—he has it in his head he needs to prove something.” Philip smiled briefly as he thought of a time when he wouldn’’t have volunteered for love. He would have stayed a civilian and married Elizabeth had fate not intervened. “Prove something for Louise Henderson’s father.”
Elizabeth stared blankly in return. “I won’t tell you no, but I can’t tell you I’ll read your letters or reciprocate. I … I still want to hate you for what you did. Father will always hate you.”
Nodding, Philip said, “I will be teaching this Sunday, so be forewarned if you wish to stay at home.”
Philip took his hat from the pegs lining the wall next to the door and stepped outside. It had been a childish thought for a childhood hope. That she hated him was not a surprise.
“Thank you for your consent to allow me to call on you and your father. May God keep you both.” Philip turned and donned his hat as he took the steps down from the porch. He felt taller as he took the stride up into the saddle. But the smile and sparkle were gone from her eyes, and had perhaps been absent for some time. Philip touched the tip of his hat and turned the horse about. Relief mixed with remorse clouded his mind. The errand, at least, was done.
Chapter 18
Woods Near Germantown, Ohio, August 18, 1862
Will Hunter knew he had been taking a very long chance at stealing a horse from the front door of a house in daylight along a thoroughfare well traveled. Worse, it was a US government horse, and it was in the possession of someone he recognized as one of the Federal officers he’d inadvertently had breakfast with a few days before. He knew he was close to getting out of Ohio, but he was also getting hungry and impatient. A full week of moving stealthily at night with little to eat was tempting his caution.
The man had saved him the choice when he returned and rode off. Bad enough that his situation was unchanged. Worse, he was in trouble with his traveling companions for what he’d done—or what he’d allowed.
Will had known he’d have to do something about Peter Pritchert from the moment the boy started carrying on about being tired and hungry and wanting to go back. He told himself it was for the good of all of them.
When they stopped to rest after Pritchert refused to go on yet again, Will was sitting alone and brooding, having already nearly throttled the boy for his incessant fits of childishness. Stephen and Fredrick were beside themselves as well, tired of the trek and of Peter but not on the brink of doing anything about it. Peter was a pard. But Peter was now refusing to go another step and begging to be left behind.
Will sat, his eyes set hard and his lips drawn into a tight line. They were prisoners of war trying to get away, and it should be every man for himself. Yet, there were decency and the common good to be considered. What was the cost of the latter when freedom was at stake? He was under no obligation to these men.
Will knew what he needed to do, but even if it were for the good of the others also, he also knew they would not accept it. Stephen and Fredrick were looking worried, and he sensed they too were close to just giving up and surrendering to the nearest farm. If he was to keep them going, they would have to leave now—and he’d have to act fast.
Stephen was sitting next to him, studying his hands. The night was pitch-black in the forest, and it only took a few paces before anything a few feet away disappeared in the inky blackness.
That’s when they had heard the rustling in the leaves and the footsteps.
“Thank God, oh thank God; didn’t think I’d find you!”
“Captain?” Stephen said.
Will beheld Jackson Kearns leaning clumsily against a tree. “What are you doing here? Where’s Lewis?”
“Don’t know. Woke up and he was gone. He’s out here somewhere. So I just kept going.”
“You in a bad way, Captain?” Fredrick asked.
“You have any food? I’m starving.” Jackson asked.
“I want to go an’ get some food. Let’s just give up,” Peter said.
“Shut up, Pritchert!” Will barked.
“Hunter, c’mere,” Jackson said and staggered forward a few steps away from the group. Will joined him. “What’s going on?” Jackson asked.
“Pritchert won’t budge;
he’s been playing this game fer a few days. He’s given up, but we can’t trust him to stay put an’ not go find a meal an’ alert the whole area to us,” Will whispered.
“I’m spent, Hunter. I can’t go on either.” Jackson said in a low tone. He hung his head in exhaustion, laying his arms loosely in his lap. “And there’s something else.”
“What?”
“Something’s not right with Lewis. I don’t know, there’s something not right about the man.”
“What’re ya gonna do? Turn yerself in too? You get us all captured!” Will said.
“My shoulder is bad, no thanks to you, and I’ve not the strength to keep moving.”
“If that’s to make me feel sorry for ya, jus’ remember whose responsible fer both of us being captured!”
“Be that as it may, I ain’t goin’ further.” Jackson said.
“You stay put—with Peter—fer another twenty-four hours an’ let the rest of us get ahead? Otherwise it be like leavin’ Pritchert ta wander about an’ get hisself picked up. You don’t give us a head start, might as well turn us all in.”
“I think I can manage that, but just watch for Hopewell; he might be of a mind to turn us all in if it suits him,” Jackson said and looked at his hands. They were dry, dirty, and feeling the night’s chill.
It didn’t sound like Hopewell; he was desperate to escape Johnson’s Island. And would Jackson really just sit around and wait? But what other choice did they have? It was either trust him to keep Pritchert from calling attention to himself or do something more permanent to the boy, ensuring no one would know he was in the neighborhood. Will considered it a moment. Jackson was not the one to offer anything without something else in return, and he usually ignored the benefit to anyone but himself.
“What’s yer game? You din’t blame old Baxter because you had it in yer heart to help out a poor white trash boy, an’ I don’t think you really want to give yerself up jus’ ‘cause you tired.”
Jackson took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Baxter? That old free nigger? As far as I remember it, I did you a favor. You was going to blame the old guy anyway, I just helped you along.”
“I weren’t gonna do it, at least not go through with it. You the one what made it happen … the lynching.”
“But you did murder your sister; her body didn’t get there by Baxter’s doing. You the one who must have done it,” Jackson said with a wearied chuckle.
“No matter, it were a foolish thing to do, an’ the drowning was an accident. You blamed Baxter fer your own reasons.”
“Didn’t like free niggers. Neither did you, apparently.”
“You still the one what brought on the lynching. I did my part, but you strung the rope. Now, you wantin’ to give yerself up? You willin’ to stay behind so the rest of us can get away?” Will asked incredulously.
“I told you, I’m finished. You want to get away? If this Peter don’t stay put, someone’ll have to do something about him. I stay here an’ make sure he don’t go nowhere.”
“And Lewis? Where was you when he left? You say he ain’t right?” Will asked. It wasn’t adding up for Will—Kearns didn’t do anything but for himself. If he wanted to turn himself in, why hadn’t he done it? Why come here and warn the others and offer to help?
“He, um, we were a few hours behind you. I, um, I don’t know what is going on with him. I don’t know if he’d turn us all in. You probably should get going, though.” Jackson said.
“We better get moving again.” Will stood and stole up to Fredrick, who had been dozing against a tree trunk. “Wake up, Fred, we’re moving.”
Will took another step or two and crouched near Peter. The boy, watching him approach, instinctively tried to back away. “If gonna stay, you promise on pain of death you’ll stay put, rooted to this here spot, till light, and then you ain’t to do nuthin’ until sunset. You got that? You to stay right here, this spot, till after daybreak. If you gonna turn yourself in, you can’t do it till sunset. Captain Kearns is going to stay here an’ make sure you don’t move.”
“But I’m hungry and tired and want to go back,” Peter whined.
Ignoring Pritchert, Will pointed a dirty finger at Jackson, “That goes fer you too. You do somethin’ to get us all caught, I’ll do somethin’ on purpose next time,” Will whispered sharply.
Will crawled over to the other two and quietly motioned for them to follow. Without a further word, he led Stephen and Fredrick away from the spot.
Jackson Kearns waited until the sounds of the others faded into the darkness and all was silent once more.
“You wait here, boy. I’m going to check on traffic along the road,” Jackson said as he stood.
“W-w-what?” Peter asked, his voice quivering.
“I said stay put,” Jackson said and walked away leaving Peter sitting against the tree.
Jackson looked about him nervously. If what Hopewell meant to do was going to happen, he didn’t want to be present. The road was empty and quiet, and Jackson moved from tree to tree softly, then quickly moved across to the other side. There might be a useable trail that paralleled the road like the ones they’d been following on the other side. He’d just get some distance and then cross the road again to catch back up with Hunter’s party. He’d work on his excuse along the way.
Hunter, Murdoch, and Lester continued on in silence for thirty minutes when Will gave a halt, and cursing to himself, asked them where his haversack was. Stephen and Fredrick hadn’t seen it. Ordering them to stay put, he said he was going to backtrack to where they’d left Peter, as it should be there still. The haversack was the least thing on his mind, however. He had something else troubling him and hoped at least that his suspicions would be unfounded.
They had left a visible trail through the woods that was easily picked up, though several times Will had to circle around to reacquire their path, and he soon came upon his haversack, exactly where he’d left it and undisturbed.
“Pssst, Peter,” Will whispered. “Jackson?” That lump on the ground could be the boy; could be the gnarls of the tree’s roots. Crouching closer, he whispered the boy’s name once more. Silence was his answer. Pritchert was nowhere to be seen. Cursing softly, Will headed in the direction of the road. He was seeing red; anger animating his steps. There, through the gloom and moving along the road, was Pritchert. Jackson was nowhere to be seen. What was Kearns doing? He had been faking the whole thing! Will hastened to catch up, then halted as he heard movement ahead of him. Ducking down low, he crawled up to a tree to see a figure approaching Pritchert stealthily. Will watched for a few moments more, then slowly crawled back into the trees.
When Will returned to Stephen and Fredrick, both were asleep. His little excursion had stolen another hour and a half. Waking them, he motioned for them to follow, and the three of them continued on in silence. He told them nothing of what he had seen. He would just keep them moving quickly, that was all.
At daybreak, the tenth day of their journey, the three fugitives collapsed in a small patch of woods, barely the width of a house, and covered themselves for a fitful sleep without food. They were near the outskirts of a village, its church steeples visible over the tops of the trees.
“You think Peter’s gonna be a problem? You think he stayed put? Did you see him?” Fredrick asked.
“Yeah, I seen him. He ain’t gonna be a problem,” Will replied.
“He should have kept going; mebbe if we’d waited the night and day he’d have kept going,” Stephen said.
“He were a problem; Lewis seen that almost immediately. He were done,” Will replied. “I’ll see if I can find us some food in a bit.”
“Lewis weren’t very patient with him, but Peter din’t deserve some of the abuse he took neither,” Stephen said.
Will lay motionless for a time, though he was still shaking inside with nervous energy. When Stephen and Fredrick seemed to have drifted off to sleep, Will quietly crawled out from his cover and surreptitiously made
his way out of the trees in search of easy food. In the early morning hours all was still quiet, and few people were about, but Will kept to the shadows as much as he could. The houses were clustered along the main roadway leading into Germantown but were not so tightly packed that he could not easily slip around between them. There was little food to be had save some green apples that looked bitter and unripe. A few backyard gardens were growing vegetables for the harvesting, but the tomatoes were still green, those that had corn were still growing long ears, and the potato plants looked unready, it still being early in the season. The cellars would be where the food was, but that was going to be difficult to manage. Will didn’t mind taking some food here or there if it were easily plucked, but a cellar was part of a man’s house, and he could expect to be treated as a thief if caught. Yet, he’d had plenty of practice snooping around Ohio’s cellars, for that was where runaways were often spirited away.
The trick was to find the right sort of cellar. Will commenced to poking around along side houses and outbuildings, looking for the trusting souls who neglected to lock their outer doors, but he only came up with some moldy potatoes with abundant sprouts growing out of numerous eyes, looking like unearthly progeny of the heavens. He’d had worse compliments of the Confederate commissary department.
Picking the best of the rotten bunch and filling his pockets, he also came upon a sack of rice, but with nothing to cook with, he left it undisturbed. Raw potatoes would have to be the fare for the day.
The next discovery lifted his spirits somewhat: the outbuilding was a treasure trove of dried food. Barrels of foul-smelling salt beef, obviously kept far too long in storage, sacks of dried corn, and hominy. Will stuffed his pockets and examined a few decrepit gardening tools that had not seen use in years. The shed itself was dusty and dirty, with an opaque, filth-encrusted window allowing a tepid shaft of light to illuminate the sorry collection of past prosperity. The house adjoining the shed was in a state of disrepair, its garden overgrown with weeds and wild-looking plants from past years’ cultivation. Surveying the property, he could picture the inhabitants of the house: a lonely old matron with no children about and a husband gone off to war. He might have felt a pang of guilt had he been taking her best food. As it was, he and his companions were going to have mean fare.
The Shiloh Series: Books 1-3 Page 56