American Rebirth

by Norma Jean Lutz

  The afternoon of the performance, when the Brannons drove up to the hospital in their carriage, Elise saw nurses and volunteers scurrying about like little ants, bringing beds, cots, and wheelchairs out onto the sloping lawn. Elise felt her stomach tighten in a knot.

  Mama reached over and patted Elise’s arm. “You’ll be fine,” she said.

  And she was. Later she could hardly believe it, but as soon as she stepped down from the carriage and saw her troupe, she quickly went into action. She brought everyone together beneath a shade tree in the far corner of the lot and checked to see if they all knew their entrances and exits.

  By the time she was in place to announce the beginning of the play, she hardly noticed the bandages, crutches, canes, and scores of empty sleeves and trouser legs.

  As before, she sat in the front row with the script in her lap and marveled at the performers before her. Even Chancy surprised her as he nearly shouted his lines in order to be heard by all.

  Then Elise heard the laughter. The delicious sound of laughter reverberated all across the shady lawn. For a moment, it made the pain and grief of war seem far away. Far away, indeed.

  CHAPTER 8

  Milton Finney

  As the summer progressed, all the talk around town was of the upcoming presidential election. At the thought of thousands and thousands of men who’d given their lives, some folks were crying out for peace at any price, which was, as Papa put it, “a ploy to get Lincoln out of office.” A ploy that Papa felt would be the downfall of the entire nation.

  In mid–June, another massacre occurred at Cold Harbor, Virginia. Thousands of Union soldiers were mowed down within minutes of when the fighting began. It seemed the dying would never end.

  That summer, Elise spent many hours riding Dusty Smoke, far from the thoughts, sounds, and news of war. Some afternoons, she filled a canteen with water and rode to the wooded hills outside of town. There she soaked up the peace and quiet and prayed.

  She often asked Mama and Papa how God could allow so much pain, suffering, and dying, but no one had any answers for her. When she heard war news, God seemed very far away. But in the quiet, shady woods, He seemed very close.

  She didn’t ride to Mr. Finney’s cabin as much these days. She’d given up hope of ever getting an answer from him. One day while in town, she’d seen people pointing at him and openly calling him a traitor. It was a terrible scene. She didn’t blame him for not trusting anyone.

  One afternoon a couple weeks after the news of Cold Harbor, Elise was looking through the stacks of riddles she’d received on her birthday. She took up a nib pen and copied two riddles onto a sheet of stationery. The first one read: “What is the best thing to make in a hurry?” The answer was: “Haste.”

  The next one was one of her favorites: “What is the difference between a politician running for office and a dog going into a kennel?” This being an election year, she felt it very fitting, for the answer was: “One lies to get in; the other gets in to lie.”

  Below the riddles, she wrote:

  I wish you could have seen the production of the play my friend and I wrote. Everyone loved it. I hope these riddles make you smile.

  Your friend, Elise

  Putting the paper in her apron pocket, Elise set out to saddle Dusty and ride up to the cabin. It was a perfect summer day with just a little breeze and a few wispy clouds scooting across the blue sky. She tied on her straw bonnet as she rode Dusty down the lane to the road and turned north.

  Weeds and grass grew high along both sides of the narrow road. They were coated with layers of gray dust. The orchestra of insect sounds and chorus of bird songs kept her company along the way. Through the trees she heard rustling, and in a clearing she saw a doe with her twin fawns. Elise paused to watch till they bolted and fled. She made several stops in the shade to uncork the canteen and take a drink of cool water; and at the point where a small stream converged with the road, she let Dusty drink, as well.

  Elise reined Dusty in at the hickory tree near the cabin and slipped out of the saddle to the ground. As she reached up to the nail to hang her note on it, she heard a noise. Stopping, she stood very still and listened. Perhaps it was an animal. A hurt animal. She pushed the paper onto the nail then listened again. It was a groan. Looking toward the house, she paused. Should she go closer? Her heart thudded in her chest, making her throat tight and dry.

  Dusty’s ears twitched and flipped back and forth. “You hear it, too, don’t you, girl?” Elise whispered. “What do you think? Should we go have a look?”

  The reins still in her hand, she moved cautiously from the hickory tree to the front stoop. Now it came louder. It was a groan. And it came from inside the house.

  She tied Dusty’s reins and hurried across the bare dooryard and up onto the stoop. “Mr. Finney? Mr. Finney? Are you all right? It’s me, Elise Brannon.”

  There was another low groan. She pressed her ear to the wooden door. She tried the door, but the latch was fastened. Frustrated, she jumped off the stoop and ran to the window. Peering in, she could see Mr. Finney lying on the floor. She couldn’t be sure if he was hurt or ill. Pushing at the window, she found it stuck fast. How could he have windows closed in the heat of the summer?

  She rapped on the window. Then she saw him raise a hand. Cupping her hands over her eyes, she peered in. He was pointing to the back. The back door. It must be open. She raced around to the back, where the door was standing open. The tall man was lying on the floor with his leg all twisted.

  “Oh, Mr. Finney!”

  He gave a forced smile through gritted teeth. “Caught under my horse. He fell. Think it’s broken.” “You need water?” He nodded and grimaced again.

  Elise looked about the cabin. The water bucket sat on a stand by the cupboards with a dipper in it. Taking the granite dipper, she filled a tin cup and brought it to him. Gently, she tried to help him lift his head to drink. It wasn’t easy. She wouldn’t make much of a nurse.

  “I’ll ride into town and get a doctor,” she said.

  With effort, he took another sip. “Won’t do any good,” he said with little emotion. “No one will come.”

  How stupid of her. She’d almost forgotten who this was. “When did it happen?”

  “Shortly before you got here. Out back in the woods.”

  “You came all that way on a broken leg?”

  “Didn’t have much choice.” The tone of his voice and the resolute look in his eye told Elise he’d come to terms with the way things were—that he was powerless to change it.

  “My brother can set your leg,” she said suddenly. “I’ll bring the bucket over here beside you, and then I’ll ride to town to fetch him.”

  At her words, she saw a flicker of light come into Mr. Finney’s hazel eyes. It was gone in a flash. “He may not come when you tell him who it is.”

  “My brother’s not like that.” She stood and lifted the heavy bucket down from its stand and half-carried, half-dragged it over to him. Then she went to the cot at the far side of the room and pulled off the quilt. It was a pretty quilt. Not at all the kind of quilt she thought he would have.

  On the wall by the bed was a large portrait of a beautiful lady. She was standing by an ornate fireplace. The lady was smiling, and there were flowers in her hair, but Elise had no time to look at more.

  As gently as she could, she lay the quilt over Mr. Finney’s bad leg then brought a pillow for his head. At least she knew to do that much.

  Then she went to the cupboard and found a tin of crackers and brought it to him. “I’ll be back before you know it,” she promised. As she stepped toward the back door, he said softly, “Miss Brannon?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I’m much obliged.”

  Elise knew better than to run Dusty in the hot weather, but she alternated cantering and walking as she hurried out of Walnut Hills and all the way into town to Papa’s office. As she rode, she tried to figure out what she would tell Samuel. Or Papa. How would
she get Samuel to come back with her?

  When she reached downtown, Papa was in his office with a client. Samuel was sitting at a desk in the outer office, his head bent over the papers. Peter wasn’t there—probably out running errands, she figured. Frank and Samuel both looked up at her with surprised expressions as she came in. She’d almost forgotten she had her day dress on. Mama would faint if she ever found out that Elise had come into town dressed so shabbily.

  “Elise,” Samuel said, jumping to his feet. “What’re you doing here?”

  “I need you. I mean, we need you. Could you come?” “It isn’t Chancellor, is it?” “No, no. Chancellor’s just fine.”

  “What then?”

  She glanced at Frank. “It’s sort of private.”

  “I’ll tell Papa I’m leaving.”

  “Couldn’t Frank do that? We need to hurry.”

  With that, Samuel laid down his pen and came out from behind his desk. Grabbing his hat, he said to Frank, “Tell Papa I’m needed at home. Be back as soon as I can.”

  Out at the street, Samuel swung up onto Dusty Smoke then gave his sister a hand up behind him. As they rode quickly down Third Street, he said, “All right, out with it. What’s going on?”

  “It’s Mr. Finney. He’s hurt.”

  “Where is he?”

  “In his cabin.”

  “Elise Brannon, what were you doing at the cabin of Milton Finney?”

  “I was just riding by. But that doesn’t matter. His horse fell on him, and his leg is broken. I told him you could set it.”

  “Did you now? What makes you think I could do a thing like that?”

  “I know you can.”

  Pulling Dusty’s reins to turn her about, he said, “We’d do best to fetch a doctor.”

  “No, Samuel. That’ll only waste precious time. He said no one will come, and he must know. You’ve seen how they treat him around town. He can’t help what his son went and did, but he’s still suffering terribly.”

  Pausing for just a moment, Samuel urged Dusty forward. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Elise wasn’t all that sure Samuel could set a man’s leg. After all, Mr. Finney was a big man. But they had to try. When they got there, Mr. Finney had passed out from the pain. He lay so still, Elise at first wondered if he was alive.

  Samuel knelt down beside the man. Pointing to the water and crackers, he asked, “Did you think of that?”

  She nodded.

  “And the blanket and pillow?”

  She nodded again.

  He seemed pleased. From his pocket, he pulled out his knife and slit the leg of the trousers so he could look at the break. As he did, Mr. Finney roused, and his eyes fluttered open.

  “Now I understand why women faint,” he murmured. “Can’t feel much then.”

  Elise was surprised at his ability to joke at a time like this. “Got any boards I can use as splints?” Samuel asked. “Out by the woodshed.”

  Samuel went out the back door, and Elise could hear him rummaging about.

  “Samuel’s good with animals,” she offered. “He just seems to have a touch about him.”

  Mr. Finney managed a smile. “Good with animals? That’s pretty much in keeping with what folks in these parts think of me.”

  “You’re not an animal!” Elise protested.

  Samuel returned with two long, flat boards in his hands. “I’ll need you to hold onto something,” he told Mr. Finney.

  The man nodded. “Help me scoot to the doorway. I can grab hold of the door frame.”

  Together, Samuel and Elise moved Mr. Finney the short distance to the door, but he couldn’t help much. It took all their strength to do it. Then as Mr. Finney held to the door frame, Samuel took hold of the foot of the broken leg and prepared to pull it straight to set it.

  “I’ll do this as quickly as I can,” Samuel told him.

  Mr. Finney’s face was white. Just the movement to the door had drained him. “Do what needs to be done,” he said calmly.

  Elise had full confidence in her brother, but even she was surprised at how he yanked the leg with one quick, precise movement. Mr. Finney promptly passed out again.

  “That’s a blessing,” Samuel told her. “Find a sheet, Elise, and rip it into strips so I can tie these splints in place.”

  In the corner at the foot of the bed was a small chest. She opened it to find sheets and blankets stored there. A set of elegant hand-embroidered pillow sacks lay on top. She touched them gently to move them out of the way. She felt guilty rummaging through Mr. Finney’s things. The sheets on top were nice, but the ones at the bottom appeared to be more worn. She drew one out and tore the strips as Samuel had instructed her.

  The splints were in place and the leg was straight and rigid before Mr. Finney roused again. Looking at the leg, he said, “What a fine doctor you’ll make one day.”

  “I plan to study law.”

  “Like your father,” Mr. Finney said.

  “Yes, but I’ll take it further than a law office. I’ll be in politics.”

  “Rough game, politics,” the man said. To which Elise agreed heartily. She never had thought Samuel would make a good politician.

  “Think you can hoist yourself up on a chair now?” Samuel asked Mr. Finney.

  “Bring one here, and we’ll see.”

  Elise brought a cane-bottom chair over to Mr. Finney, and she held it steady while Samuel helped him pull himself up on it. It was a chore, but they did it.

  “Now,” Samuel instructed, “you can use the chair rather like a crutch, and we’ll help you over to the cot. You’ll need to lie down and rest for a while. The floor’s not the best place.”

  “Didn’t have much choice when I first came in,” he replied.

  His remark made Elise smile.

  By the time Elise and Samuel were ready to leave, Mr. Finney was lying comfortably on his cot with food and water nearby.

  “I’ll bring you some soup tomorrow, Mr. Finney,” Elise told him. “This ‘Mr. Finney’ thing is about to wear on me, girl. Call me

  Milt. I’m much more accustomed to that name.”

  Elise looked at Samuel, and he nodded. “All right, Milt. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Before you go,” he asked, “you got any new riddles?”

  Elise really liked this man. She thought a moment and then said, “What’s the difference between one yard and two yards?”

  “I give up. What is the difference between one yard and two yards?”

  “A fence.”

  At that, the pained man chuckled. “That’s the best one yet,” she heard him say as they went outside and mounted Dusty to ride back home.

  CHAPTER 9

  Suffering the Consequences

  On the way home, Samuel and Elise discussed how they were going to tell their parents about Milt Finney. Samuel seemed to think Mama and Papa would be fair-minded about the matter, but Elise wasn’t so sure. Feelings about Southern sympathizers were so strong in the city, and she didn’t want her parents to stop her from going to see Milt again. He would need food for the next few days until he could hobble about on his own.

  Thankfully, Samuel was right. Papa wasn’t home until late, but they explained to Mama what had happened, and she commended them on their compassion.

  “What do you think Papa will say?” Elise asked her. “I’ll talk to him first,” Mama promised. And she did. Elise was allowed to take food to Milt the next day.

  She stayed only a few minutes because he was still very weak. His eyes lit up as she set her basket on the table and began to bring out the goodies that Berdeen had packed inside.

  Soup, muffins, fruit, boiled eggs, and even butter and marmalade for the muffins appeared. Watching Elise from his cot, Milt said, “Pretty well worth a busted leg to receive a banquet like this.”

  Elise wanted to ask how he could be so cheerful when he’d been treated so cruelly, but she refrained. Broaching the subject might be too painful for him. She s
et a chair near his bed to act as a little table then put his food there. He was able to prop up on one elbow and do a pretty fair job of polishing off most of it, though he spilled a little of the soup.

  “Your ma’s a good cook,” he said as he finished a muffin in two bites.

  “Mama doesn’t cook much. Berdeen O’Banion, our housekeeper, does most of it.”

  “Please pay my kindest respects to Miss O’Banion. And to your parents for allowing you to extend this kind generosity.”

  “I will. I’ll tell them.” The imposing portrait on the wall above the cot kept pulling her attention. She couldn’t stop looking at the painting—and Milt noticed.

  “My wife,” he said. “Beautiful, wasn’t she?”

  “So much more than beautiful. Elegant is closer.”

  “Yes, so she was, bless her soul. An elegant Southern belle. It’s only by God’s mercy that she was able to go to be with Him and not have to see our nation ripped apart.”

  Elise nodded. She rinsed out his soup bowl and straightened things up a bit. Then she put the towels back into the basket. “I must go now, but I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “Have another riddle for me?”

  “Why, of course. What’s the nearest thing to a cat looking out a window?”

  Milt smiled and thought a moment. “A cat looking out a window? I give up. What?”

  “Why, the window, of course.” She gave a little giggle, and Milt laughed outright.

  “That’s a good one. How do you come up with so many riddles?”

  “At the play we put on in May, I asked everyone to bring a riddle. That was the price of admission.”

  “Oh yes. I remember. That was written on my invitation, as well. By the way, thank you very much for inviting me.”

  “I wish you could have come.”

  “Oh, but I did. Sort of.”

  “Sort of?”

  “I came through the woods behind your stables. I came as close as I could and heard most of it. I had a very difficult time not laughing out loud, in which case most of your guests would have chased me halfway back up the hill.”