When they drew apart, still holding hands, and climbed back down to the road, something had been settled. They walked toward her home in silence although their heads were filled with the sound and celebration of love. They kept glancing at each other, unable to keep from smiling when their eyes met.
Halfway up Baltimore Street, Jack finally spoke. “Now that we’ve got all this settled, I think you had better write Wes and tell him of our decision.” The echo of his words, like acrid smoke, trailed after them as they walked. “Maybe when you write the letter, it’ll finally straighten everything out,” he added, unable to disguise the subtle note of triumph in his voice.
She said nothing, bitterly resenting the fact that he had picked this time to say it. As he dropped her in front of her home on Breckenridge Street he said goodnight, then added, “I want to see the letter before you send it.” She looked at him for a long moment, then turned without speaking and walked quickly into the house.
Chapter 13
IN THE ENEMY’S LAND
Winchester, Virginia
March 1862
The sun had melted the last of the snow, leaving the camp a quagmire of mud stirred up by the movements of Jackson’s four thousand men. But the sun had also lifted the heavy spirits of men who had been trapped in inactivity for several months by mother nature. The monotony had been plagued by questions concerning Jackson’s fitness to command, as officers and soldiers alike argued about his New Year’s Day march.
Rather than allowing them to hibernate in their winter quarters, as armies had always done from late November until the spring thaw, Jackson had undertaken a campaign in January to attack the Federals, hoping to catch them unaware in their winter camps. But it had been a failure and was called off after repeated protests from the senior officers. Its only accomplishment was the deterioration of morale among nearly everyone in camp.
The onset of spring, however, was bringing an end to the grumbling, and each day the army, hardened now into seasoned soldiers, expected the fighting to begin again.
Wes carried his tin through the mess line and found a dry branch to sit on, while waiting for Ben and his other tent mates, Old Pete and Charlie Sims, to join him. The faces around him were familiar, the conversation easy, and the spring sun brought a feeling of new hope. He smiled to himself as Ben perched on a rock and began to eat his gruel, dipping the hardtack in hopes of softening it a bit. Wes flicked a weevil out of his stew.
Old Pete, always first to know what the rumor mills were grinding out, shared what he had just heard – the Federal army was marching south toward them, due to arrive at any time. The estimated size was given as something between 25,000 and 100,000 men.
Rather than being frightened by the thought of facing the enemy again, the morale of the regiment was high. Since the victory at Manassas the summer before, Jackson and his army had become legends. The papers had frequently quoted the remark of General Bernard Bee about Jackson and his men. Bee had seen Jackson’s unit standing, unmoving, at the top of Henry House Hill. Thinking they were unwilling to engage, he pointed them out and shouted to his own officers in disgust, “Look! There stands Jackson like a stone wall.” Bee had died soon afterward, but Jackson’s later success had made the words memorable, not as criticism but as apparent praise of his strength and courage. Now it seemed that everyone referred to the general as “Stonewall” Jackson and to his unit as “The Stonewall Brigade.”
The nearness of the Federals brought increased activity in the brigade and, as Ben and Wes ate in silence, they watched the officers ride to and fro, expertly maneuvering their horses through the milling men. Near the captain’s tent Wes could see Kyd, spotless despite the abundant mud, standing proudly in his new lieutenant’s uniform. His promotion had come through, aided, everyone knew, by pressure from friends and family. They had seen little of him since his promotion, and Wes felt a tinge of jealousy as he watched him. Wes saw Ben staring in Kyd’s direction too, his chewing arrested for a moment, and Wes knew he was not alone in his jealousy. Together they slogged on as foot soldiers, hoping to achieve the ignominious rank of corporal before the summer began.
After lunch, Wes followed Ben and the others over to the mail wagon which was crowded with anxiously waiting men. As the sergeant bellowed the names, Wes let his mind drift. Mail call was always slightly depressing since he never got any mail. He knew no one in the South, and northern mail was unable to get through. For that reason, it took him a second to hear his name called.
“Patterson, Nelson, Culp,” the sergeant yelled.
Ben nudged him. “Culp,” he repeated. Wes shook off the surprise and pushed his way through the group.
“Culp!” he said, reaching for the crumpled envelope. His hand closed around it and he moved back through the crowd, unable to do anything but stare at the handwriting. The familiar curve of the letters that spelled his name filled him with a thrill of recognition, but he was unable to believe it was true. It was from Ginnie. Ignoring a flurry of questions from Ben and the others, he ran to his tent, unfolded the letter and read it in the gathering dark, his heart pounding wildly.
Tue evening
Dear Wesley,
I hope this letter finds you well. You have been much on my mind since the awful fight that separated us. When I heard that you had returned south to Shepherdstown I was afraid that I had caused you to leave. I realize now that it was only your true nature, that you were standing up for your beliefs. I’m sorry I can’t agree with your decision. The war has changed everything.
While I know that this letter will come as a surprise to you, we thought it best that you know as soon as possible. Johnston Skelly and I have decided to be married. He has joined up and so the marriage will have to wait until he is home again. He wanted me to send this letter to you, so you would know what we plan. He says he can have it taken through the lines by an exchanged prisoner.
I’m sorry if this news makes you unhappy in any way. But I am sure you have plenty of southern belles to call on and have forgotten all about me. But I will never forget you, Wes. Perhaps if the war had not changed things so much our dreams could have come true. But I must go ahead with my life and make the best of the chances that I have. May God bless you and protect you.
Virginia
Below this was a postscript, scribbled in a different hand. Wes had to squint to make out. It said:
If you come back to G-burg I’ll see you hang from the nearest tree! Stay away, traitor! J. Skelly
There was a roaring in Wes’ ears, a crushing weight shoving him down, down, until he could barely breathe. Coming after almost a year of silence, her news was devastating. Wes sat down on his bedroll, unable to move or think. A ray from the setting sun stole though the flap of his tent. Absently, he let his eyes follow the patch of light which it drew on the ground, not looking away until it faded into darkness.
Eventually he lay on his bedroll, unable to keep from turning the words over and over in his mind. His dreams always had one of two endings. In the first, the South won the war and he returned home as a conquering hero with all sins forgiven. He swept Ginnie off her feet, took her south to live on the plantation as they had planned, and all their dreams came true. In the other scenario, Ginnie forgot him and turned her attention to someone else, someone wealthier and more handsome. Someone taller. Someone from the North.
It seemed that the nightmare was now coming true. But the more he reread the letter, the more he felt that between the lines Ginnie was trying to say that she still cared for him. Looking at the postscript again, Wes felt rage building inside him. It was almost as though Skelly had forced her to write the note so that he could gloat that he had taken Wes’ girl.
What rankled him most about Skelly’s note, however, was not that Skelly had read this supposedly private message between Ginnie and himself; it was not even that he had threatened him with death and called him a traitor. What rankled was that it was true. He probably would be hanged if he ever went home. He
thought again of what had happened to Kyd’s friend in Maryland and was certain that many people in Gettysburg might be tempted to do the same thing to him.
And that fact gave Skelly a free field on which to make his move toward Ginnie. Wes imagined him filling her mind with all manner of foul thoughts – how Wes had been changed by his years in the South, how badly southern men treated their women, how Wes had abandoned Ginnie for some criminal cause. He saw how Ginnie’s feelings toward him might slowly have been manipulated by Skelly’s lies. If he could just get to her, somehow, if he could only talk to her for a few minutes, he could make her see that he still cared for her, that he had not left because of her but because of Skelly and the rest of them.
Up until this minute, he thought that he had gotten her out of his system, that he hated her. But it was a lie, and a few words on a crumbled piece of paper brought back all of his feelings. Suddenly he knew: he had to see her! Others had gotten permission to visit loved ones. Surely he could find some means of getting away.
Ben, Charlie and Old Pete filed in silently a while later. They were quiet and respectful, sensing the cloud that hovered over the tent because of the letter’s arrival. Sleep was long in coming, and Wes stared at the few stars that shone through the flap. Outside a guard paced, the sole of his boot flapping with each step.
It was still dark when reveille blew, greeted with a chorus of moans as Wes and the others fell into line automatically. After roll call came the command to pack up and prepare to move out. This brought an instant change, transforming the group of sleepy individuals into a well-organized fighting force.
Wes could sense the eyes of his tent mates on him as they packed their gear away. Charlie, unable to check his curiosity any longer, blurted out, “Well, ain’t you gonna tell us who it’s from?”
“No,” Wes answered evenly, pausing to look into Charlie’s eyes for emphasis. A chill settled over the tent as they silently hurried about their duties.
When Old Pete and Charlie took the canteens to the stream to fill them, Ben said simply, “It was from her, wasn’t it?”
Wes merely nodded. A wave of sorrow passed over him briefly and Ben sensed his pain. “What did she have to say after all this time? She’s sorry you got beaten.”
“She’s getting married, Ben.” Wes’ voice was fierce. “She’s marrying that bastard who beat me.”
Ben could think of no way to respond except, “Oh, that’s shitty, Wes.”
Wes mumbled, not so much to Ben as to himself, “I’ve got to get away. I’ve got to see her and tell her that she’s making a mistake. If I only had a few minutes with her, that’s all I’d need.”
Ben put his hand on Wes’ shoulder. “You should go to the Captain. Maybe he’ll give you leave.”
Wes looked at him scornfully. “So I can go north? He knows where I’m from. Everybody does. Besides, there’s going to be a battle. If Old Pete’s right, the odds are ten to one against us. Do you think he’ll let anyone go now?”
Ben sighed. “All right. But what are you going to do?”
There was a fire in Wes’ eyes when he looked at Ben. “Whatever I have to, Ben.”
“If you go absent, they’ll shoot you. Hell, even if you get away from us, you’ll have to outmaneuver the whole damn Federal army. They’ll catch you and hang you as a traitor. Or a spy. You’re being stupid, Wes. She’s not worth it.”
Wes pulled away savagely and shouted, “I’ll decide if she’s worth it or not.”
Old Pete and Charlie returned, looking quizzically at Wes and Ben. They could sense the tension and reluctantly held their tongues. The sergeant yelled for the company to fall in, and the men sprinted to gather the last of their belongings and toss their tent bundles into the carts. They marched out of the muddy field that had been their home for two months and started north. Black hatred smoldered inside Wes, making him eager for the next battle. Every face across the lines would be Skelly’s.
They halted at the top of a rise that overlooked a long valley. On the far side Wes could see the smoke from hundreds of campfires. The Federals seemed to reach as far as the horizon. Wes amused himself by imagining those thousands of troops milling around, terrified that they might have to fight the great Stonewall Jackson. The officers conferred, looking through field glasses at the Feds. Orders were sent to each company captain. The 2nd Regiment was marched down the hill a half mile and placed at the far right of the army’s flank. Wes and Ben in B Company were placed at the far right of the regiment.
They dug in and waited, watching across the lines for any movement. There was none. After noon, the company officers suddenly busied themselves. The sergeant ran over to the line shouting for volunteers. Wes stood immediately, anxious to do anything at all. Ben stood too, giving Wes a suspicious look. They were pulled out of line with ten other volunteers and brought as a group to the captain who was busy consulting a map with Kyd. He looked up when the group had quieted. “I’m sending you men down the hill with Lt. Douglas here. There’s a road about a half a mile away that I want to secure. Any questions?” There were none and the captain smiled. “Good. Move out, then.”
As they trotted down the hill, Wes looked at Ben. “You didn’t have to come, you know.”
There was a question in Ben’s eyes and Wes realized that his friend knew what was in his mind. “I couldn’t let you go without at least trying to talk you out of it one more time.”
Wes sighed. They moved through the dense trees quietly, passing a small creek. After a mile, the group paused and Kyd studied the map again. The road had not appeared as anticipated and it was apparent that they had missed their mark.
Finally, Kyd threw the map down in frustration. “All right. We’ll split up in pairs. If you find anything that looks like a road, give a yell.” Ben and Wes set off together toward the left.
Once they were out of sight, Ben stopped Wes with a hand on his arm. “Wes, listen to me. I know what you’re thinking and I’m not going to let you go. I can’t.”
Wes frowned at him in frustration. “Ben, you can’t stop me. If I don’t go now, it’ll be too late. She’ll be married.”
“But she doesn’t love you any more, Wes. Face the facts!” Ben’s voice was loud and angry.
Wes put his hand up to quiet him. Forcing himself to be calm he said, “Ben. I’ll be back. You have my word. I’m not giving up on my duty to the regiment. But I can’t give up on Ginnie either. She means too much to me. I know she still cares for me. She wouldn’t have written if she didn’t. Don’t you see, Ben? I have to go. The letter was begging me to do something.”
Ben was quiet for a long time. Wes took the silence for agreement. “I’ll need your help. If they think I deserted, they’ll look for me. If you tell them I was captured, then I can come back after I get this settled.” Ben shook his head slowly, and Wes could see that his resistance had weakened. “You’re my best friend, Ben. If I can’t count on you, who can I count on?”
“You’ll be captured.”
“Maybe,” Wes nodded. “But maybe I won’t. I have to take the chance.”
“All right. But you have to promise me that you’ll come back.”
“You have my word,” Wes assured him.
Ben stuck out his hand and Wes could see the anguish in his friend’s eyes. He grabbed Ben in a rough bear hug. “I’m sure I’m doing the right thing.”
Ben released his grip and stepped back. “You have to come back.”
Wes laughed. “I will, Ben. You’re my best friend.”
Ben turned back up the hill and began to walk away. Before he reached the top he turned again for a last look. Then he raised his rifle into the trees, fired off a shot and began yelling. With a last wave he ran over the rise and disappeared. Wes quickly turned in the opposite direction and fled.
He ran for what seemed an hour, passing the road that Kyd had been trying in vain to find. He stopped from time to time, listening for any evidence of pursuit. But all was quiet. He decided that it w
ould be best to head due east for the rest of the day and try to circle around the Federals after dark. Pressing on until night began to fall, he was suddenly worried that he had not come far enough to avoid the Federal pickets.
Stumbling though the darkness, he found a road which ran north and followed it for a mile or so before fear of discovery pushed him into the woods. Invisible branches whipped his face and tore at his clothing, and he tripped repeatedly, stumbling over underbrush. At one point, he swore out loud but was immediately terrified by the sound of hooves. A troop of cavalry pounded by without stopping, torches held high. Their boldness was a good sign since it meant that he had cleared the pickets and was firmly in Federal territory.
He moved off again and for the next four hours paused little in his trek. He guessed it was about three in the morning when he thought it safe to try the road again. He made better time this way, and stayed on the road until the black sky began to turn deep blue. Then he returned to the woods and melted into a dense grove where it was nearly impossible to see him. Here he spent the day, quietly listening to the sounds of wagons and men moving further south along the road. Most of the wagons that he could see were filled with supplies, which meant that he had made it to the Federal rear. As the afternoon shadows grew longer, the road quieted completely, until there was nothing at all moving on it. The Federals were following Jackson south, away from Wes.
As evening fell, Wes sorted through his pack, making a pile of the things he would no longer need. Without his ammunition, his pack was several pounds lighter. He looked at his rifle for a long time before deciding that it was useless to him now. Tracing the carved initials in the stock with his finger one last time, he covered it and the ammunition with a pile of branches. For an instant, he had the irrational thought that he would reclaim it on his way home. Slipping out of his hiding place and heading north again, he realized that there were still at least thirty miles to go before he reached the Pennsylvania border. With a sinking heart, he knew that the trip would take much longer than he had anticipated.
The Calm and the Strife Page 17