Elise knew that Milt was right. “I’m sorry you had to hide, but I’m so pleased you came.” She put her basket over her arm and left then. Milt Finney was a very nice man, she concluded on her way home.
Elise never knew for sure how Verly found out about Milt. Eventually, she planned to tell Verly herself. She thought it might take time for Verly to adjust to the idea, but she never expected the reaction that actually came. Verly was nothing short of furious.
Elise had ridden over to the boardinghouse one hot summer afternoon to see if Verly could play. The minute Elise rode up, she knew something was different. Verly was sitting out on the covered porch with a lapful of sewing, but the usually bright greeting Elise had come to expect from her friend was missing.
Though Verly glanced up and saw Elise approaching, she acted as though she hadn’t. Elise dismounted, tied Dusty to the hitching post, and walked slowly up the stairs. “Good afternoon, Verly. Can you play?”
“Even if I could, I wouldn’t play with you.” “Is something wrong?”
Verly looked up, and the hate in her eyes matched what Mr. Finney saw every time he rode into town. “You should know if something is wrong,” she snapped. “You traitor!”
“I’m not a traitor, Verly. You have no right—”
“I have every right in the world. The son of the man you’re helping may be shooting my brother right as we speak.”
“Verly, that’s crazy talk. Milton Finney has no control over his grown son. Many people left Cincinnati to fight for the South, and many Southerners came to live in Cincinnati after the war started to side with the North.”
“For all you know,” Verly continued as though Elise hadn’t said a word, “that man may be secreting information to his son and spying on important troop movements.”
“There haven’t been any important troop movements in our city since the siege in ‘62. All the troops are out on the battlefields.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Verly retorted. “There are still things he could spy about.”
“Verly, I came to see if you can play for a while. I didn’t come to argue.”
“Perhaps if you had a father who was killed by a stinking Reb and a brother who was out fighting them, you might understand. But since you don’t, you can live in some fantasy world, pretending like nothing is happening.” Verly jabbed her needle in and out, in and out as she talked. “But I know there’s a war on. Just living here and having to work hard every day reminds me of the truth. And I wouldn’t be caught dead playing with someone who fraternizes with the enemy!”
It was a good thing Elise was holding the porch railing, or she might have tumbled down. Her knees felt like jelly. “If that’s the way you feel, I guess I’ll leave.”
“Please do, and be quick about it.”
Elise mounted Dusty, giving the horse a gentle pat on the side as she did so. Sadly, she rode home.
As the long summer wore on, Elise spent more and more time at Milt’s cabin. He was hobbling around a bit better each day. He referred to her and Samuel as two “angels of mercy,” saying God sent them to him at exactly the moment he’d prayed.
He showed Elise daguerreotypes of his wife and son when their family was together and happy. “I tried my best to talk Simon out of siding with his ma’s people,” Milt told her one day. “But young men are so bullheaded. He was determined he would defend her honor by fighting with the Rebels. I’m not all that sure he even knew why they were fighting.” He shook his head. “Maybe many of the young boys who die on the battlefields aren’t sure why they’re there.”
“He’s a very handsome boy,” Elise said, studying the picture. The boy’s face had all the gentle features of his mother’s—the long straight nose, the generous smiling mouth. It was no wonder he felt he must go to her birthplace and defend her honor.
“He was a good boy. We had two other children who died in childbirth. Simon was all I had after Beth died. After he left, I didn’t think things could get any worse. Then word got out that he’d joined the Confederacy, and I found out they very well could get worse. Much worse.”
In their visits, Elise learned that Mr. Finney had had a shoemaker’s shop downtown before the war, with many connections to the South. He was soon put out of business by angry people who labeled him a traitor. They boycotted his shop.
“I still have all my tools out there in the shed.” He waved toward the back. “So if you ever need your shoes repaired, just let me know. I’ll be pleased to do it for you for free.”
“I’ll tell Mama and Papa. I’m sure we have a few shoes you could work on. Especially Peter’s. Mama says he wears his shoes out faster than she can purchase new ones.”
Since Milt wasn’t able to get out, Elise began bringing him a newspaper on each visit. He was so grateful. Even though he had no idea where Simon was—or if his son was still alive—he wanted to know all the war news.
When he read the news that George McClellan was the Democratic candidate for the presidency against Lincoln, Milt just shook his head. “He was inept as a general. What makes them think he’d be any better as a president?”
“His wife, Mary, was a friend of my aunt Ella’s. That is, before they moved back east.”
“Oh,” Milt said, “beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to speak poorly of friends of your family.”
“That’s all right,” she assured him. “My papa’s said the same thing about McClellan many times. ‘A good organizer,’ he’d say, ‘but a poor fighter.’”
“That’s about the size of it,” Milt replied.
One day when she brought the paper, they read together about Admiral Farragut winning the Battle of Mobile Bay for the Union.
“That’s just what Lincoln needs right now,” Milt said. “This victory will help him win the candidacy.”
“Do you think Mr. Lincoln will be reelected?” Elise asked. So many people whom she’d heard talking about it were divided in their thinking.
But Milt quickly said, “Yes, I do. Even those who are opposed to him know he’s the only one who can bring us through this mess we’re in!”
As August drew to a close, Elise dreaded the start of school. During the summer, she saw Verly only on Sundays at church. Verly was careful never to look across the aisle at Elise. She kept her eyes straight ahead, her face expressionless. If that was how she acted once a week, Elise couldn’t imagine what she might be like once school started. But she found out soon enough.
When school began in September, Verly quickly told the other children in sixth grade that Elise had befriended a traitor. Some of them had heard of Milton Finney, though Elise was sure they didn’t really know him—not like she knew him. The children avoided her, and at recess, no one would play with her.
As she sat in the classroom, Elise remembered when Verly first came to Walnut Hills—how she’d befriended the new girl and introduced her to the other students. She remembered how they’d sat together the previous spring and worked nearly every day on the play. How quickly everything had changed. The anger she felt made her want to lash out at Verly and hurt her somehow.
When Elise came home from the first day of school, Berdeen took one look at her and demanded to know what was wrong. Peter and Samuel had walked to town to help Papa after school, so she’d walked home all by herself.
“It’s Verly,” Elise said. “She’s told everyone that I’m a Southern sympathizer because Mr. Finney is my friend.” Suddenly, tears spilled down her cheeks. Tears that had been building up all day.
“There, there, wee lassie.” Berdeen came close and wrapped her arms about Elise and held her close. “Your little friend is only speaking out of her own heart full of pain and anger. She canna get at a real Rebel to be angry at for killing her papa, so she’s lashing out at the nearest thing she can find.”
“But I’m her friend,” Elise said between sobs. “I helped her make friends when she first came, and we even wrote the play together.”
Berdeen nodded. “It’s t
rue, and you know it’s true. But she canna see it just now. More’s the pity, too, I say.” Berdeen dried Elise’s tears on her apron. “We’ll set ourselves to praying, that’s what we’ll do. That the good Lord will take the scales off her eyes, and she’ll see truth once again.”
“But what can I do, Berdeen? She’s turned everyone against me. No one wants to play with me.”
“You dinna worry your pretty head about that, lassie. The others won’t follow her lead for long. They know you too well.”
“I hope you’re right,” Elise said, pulling out her hankie and blowing her nose. “I couldn’t stand this for very long.”
“Ah, and think for a moment how it is for Mr. Finney—every day and every night. You’re tasting just a wee bit of his daily fare.”
Elise knew Berdeen was right. “I’ve never suffered as much as he has. And you know something else, Berdeen?”
“What, luv?”
“I’m very sorry Verly’s lost her daddy, but no matter what she says or does, I’ll never be sorry I’m Milt’s friend.”
“That’s my girl,” Berdeen said, giving her a loving pat. “Do what you know is right and accept the consequences.”
But Elise soon learned accepting the consequences was easier to talk about than to live out.
CHAPTER 10
Dr. Harvey Comes Home
Mama, I want to quit school,” Elise announced one evening in October. She’d come home from another terrible day at school and was surprised to find Mama at home. She’d come home early from helping at the hospital, and it provided the perfect moment for Elise to air her griefs.
“Girls don’t need schooling,” she went on. “I want to stay home and help you and Berdeen. I can study at home just as well as at school. And even better.”
Mama’s pretty brows rose, and her dark eyes showed surprise. “Whatever makes you say such a thing? You love school.”
Mama had been helping Berdeen in the kitchen, and Berdeen chose this moment to say, “Nay, madam, our lassie used to love school. Not anymore!”
Mama pulled Elise to a chair and asked her to sit down as she listened to the story of what Verly was doing at school. Mama shook her head. “I’m sorry you’ve had to endure this, my little pet. I’ll talk to Papa. Perhaps we can arrange something.”
Mama glanced over at Berdeen. “The agonies of war,” she said to her sadly. “I see them every day etched on the faces of the wounded men and boys. But the tendrils of it reach even into a schoolroom—miles from a battlefield.”
“Yes’m. It’s the gospel truth, it is!”
Papa was no stranger to persecution. Before the war, he’d been an avid abolitionist, aiding runaway slaves and defending them in court. He knew exactly what it was like to have people say cruel, unjust things. But Papa told Elise the answer wasn’t in running away from the problem.
He told her about his experiences in school when he debated against slavery and how one student in particular constantly attacked him and tried to get the other students to do the same thing. “Continue to attend school,” Papa said. “Continue to maintain your dignity, and the thing will work itself out.”
They were difficult words to swallow. The days stretching out before Elise seemed endless. There was nothing to look forward to. Though the open insults at school gradually stopped, still no one played with her at recess, and no one wanted her for a reading or spelling partner during class. Elise couldn’t remember ever feeling so alone. The only bright spots in her life were the interesting visits she had with Milt Finney.
Good news arrived in October—reports of General Philip Sheridan destroying the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia, which in effect cut off the food supply for the Confederate army.
“An army travels on its stomach,” Milt told Elise. “No matter how experienced your troops, if you don’t have food for them, they’re useless. It looks as though the South will have no food.” He shook his head; his hazel eyes saddened. “How wretched that it should come to this.”
Milt Finney had been right about the Union victories working in President Lincoln’s favor. In November, the president was reelected in spite of all the predictions to the contrary. Bells pealed out the joyous news, and people rejoiced in the streets of Cincinnati. Papa called his family together in his library that evening—Berdeen included—and they read scripture and praised God for the miracle.
“Only Abraham Lincoln can bind up the wounds that have so scarred this nation,” Papa said to them. “We must be diligent to pray for him every day.”
Milt Finney, who was now back on his feet and feeling fit, echoed Papa’s remarks. When Elise next visited him, Milt told her that President Lincoln was “a man of love and compassion but full of godly wisdom.” Elise knew in her heart that was true.
Since Verly and her mother, Gladys, were such good friends with Aunt Ella and her family, Verly was present at any events that included relatives and guests. Elise found herself dreading the upcoming holidays.
Then one evening only two days before Thanksgiving, Alan drove Aunt Ella over in a buggy to read them a letter from Uncle George. As soon as Aunt Ella entered the house, everyone could see that something was dreadfully wrong. “I’ve heard from George,” she said after she’d taken a seat in one of the parlor chairs. “He’s been wounded and is on his way home.”
Stunned silence filled the room. Even though Uncle George was behind the lines working in the medical tents, and even though he had a white cloth tied about his arm, he hadn’t been safe. Elise could tell her aunt wasn’t sure whether to be sad about the injury or glad that her husband was coming home. Aunt Ella read them the letter Uncle George had written, telling how it had happened:
The musket balls were whizzing past us continually, and cannon fire was all about us with deafening explosions. I had to shut my mind to their existence. At last one came that I couldn’t ignore. The one that took me down.
Aunt Ella looked up from reading the letter. “He says so little about how badly he was wounded, I have no idea what to expect.” “Where is he now?” Mama asked gently.
“The letter was posted from Washington, D.C. He’s at a hospital there. He said they will be putting him on a train when he’s able.” She gave a shrug. “But I’ve no idea when that will be.”
The years of being without her husband were beginning to tell on Aunt Ella. Though she was still gracious and lovely, there was a hint of weariness in her eyes and voice.
“I plan to be at the telegraph office each day until we hear details of his arrival,” Alan told them.
Looking at her tall, rugged cousin, Elise wondered if Uncle George would even recognize his son.
“Has Melissa heard from Jeremiah recently?” Mama asked.
Aunt Ella nodded. “The letters are shorter. One can tell from the tone that he has suffered much. I believe all the soldiers are weary to their very souls of so much fighting.”
“It won’t be much longer now,” Papa put in. “There’s no way the South can continue to hold out.”
“I hope you’re right,” Aunt Ella said as she rose to leave. “As soon as we receive word of George’s arrival, I’ll send Alan to let you know.”
A cloud hung over their Thanksgiving celebration. Everyone’s mind was on Uncle George’s return. They even talked of postponing their celebration until he came, but Aunt Ella didn’t think that was best. “He may be spending several days in the hospital when he arrives,” she told them. No one knew what to expect.
Thanksgiving dinner was held at the Brannon home. It was the first gathering that included Charles’s wife, Alison, the newest member of their family. Her cheery presence was a blessing for everyone. Elise asked Mama for permission to sit beside Alison at the dinner table. She wanted to stay as far away from Verly as possible. Alison’s bright laughter made the day more bearable.
Shortly before Christmas, Dr. George Harvey, chief medical officer in the Union army, returned to Cincinnati. He was a changed man. The first time Elise saw him,
she didn’t think she could stand it. He was pale and gaunt. His eyes had a strange, faraway look in them. He’d taken a musket ball in his chest, which narrowly missed his heart. He was fortunate to be alive.
He was so ill that he was taken directly from the train to the hospital. Aunt Ella spent nearly every hour at his side. After spending years nursing the sick and wounded at the hospital, now she was tending her own husband.
Each time Elise went with Mama to visit Uncle George, she took a scrap of paper with her on which she’d penned one of her riddles. When no one was looking, she’d slip it beneath his pillow.
One day as they were leaving, Aunt Ella walked with them down the hall a short way. To Mama, she said, “His body is home, Louisa, but his heart is back with his men. He’s suffering with guilt for having left them behind. Sometimes when I’m talking with him, it’s as though he’s not heard a word I said. In the night hours, he’s still talking to his aides and calling for help for the wounded.”
Mama patted Aunt Ella and said, “It’s only been a few days. These things take time. He’ll soon be his old self again.”
“I pray so, Louisa,” Aunt Ella replied. “I pray so.”
The day before Christmas, Uncle George was allowed to go home. Aunt Ella told the Brannons she felt they would have their own small Christmas celebration alone. Guests and noise might be too much for the sick man.
Mama and Papa understood. Elise was almost relieved. Even though she loved her cousins, spending Christmas at home meant she wouldn’t have to be around Verly and her cold stare.
But things weren’t boding well for Uncle George. Though he was thankful to be home with his family, Aunt Ella said he just sat and stared into space. When his family attempted to engage him in conversation, he’d talk for a short time and then forget what he’d been discussing. The twins and Melissa were heartbroken. Aunt Ella was beside herself.
When Elise told Milt about it, he said, “War does funny things to people, Elise. Sometimes it can affect the mind.”
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