Corn Silk Days: Iowa, 1862

by Linda Pendleton

  A few minutes later, a military messenger arrived at the Taylor plantation with news that Confederate General Stonewall Jackson had been seriously wounded on the previous night at Chancellorsville to the north. The General and his staff were returning from a scouting mission long after dark when fired on by mistake by men of a North Carolina Confederate Regiment. General Jackson had been hit by three Confederate bullets and the battle had gone on for three hours.

  The young military scout further reported, “They don’t think the General will live. He’s in bad shape.”

  One of the Captains spoke up. “Well, it is a sad turn of events, but as we know, we will have victory at Chancellorsville. General Sedgwick will take the Yankees out. He has left Fredericksburg and will leave his mark at Chancellorsville.”

  Lieutenant Edson said, “Sir, a smashing victory will take the heart out of the North. That could bring an end to the war. We have to keep one step ahead of them.”

  Taylor rose again and pushed his chair back. All attention turned to him. “Gentlemen, it is time for us to retire to the library for a spot of brandy and some strategy. Madeline, please excuse us gentlemen now.”

  She smiled and said, “Of course.” She felt a moment of reluctance to leave the presence of the Lieutenant. She rose from her chair and announced, “Gentlemen, goodnight.” They all stood and politely acknowledged her and she left the dining room.

  She went into the kitchen and found Sadie busy washing dishes. About the same age as Madeline, Sadie was bright eyed and intelligent. She was also literate, something that was seldom so with slaves but Madeline had, over the past years, secretly taught Sadie to read and write. Sadie had become much more than a housemaid to Madeline. She had become her confidant and the two of them shared a great deal.

  Madeline went up to her and whispered, “You know what to do.”

  Sadie smiled. “Yes, Ma’am.” She dried her hands on a towel and cast it aside as she went to the table and picked up a box of fine cigars and a box of chocolates. She started for the hall door. She paused and turned to look at Madeline, “I will take good care of them,” she promised. She moved through the door and headed in the direction of the library.

  Madeline knew when Sadie entered the library she would go largely unnoticed as she moved about the room, arranging cigars on the coffee table and placing chocolates around. The men would be in deep conversation about war strategies and would pay little attention to the Negro maid. Obviously, in their minds, Sadie would not even be in the room. She would be “invisible” to them, as servants always were. But unbeknown to the men, Sadie was there to soak up all the military information she could, and would do so while going about her maidly duties, checking to make sure the coffee was hot in the carafe, the cream cold. She’d place additional ashtrays around the room and empty them almost as soon as a cigar ash hit the bottom of the lead crystal ashtrays.

  Madeline went upstairs to her own bedroom. She locked the door as she usually did. She lighted the lamp near her desk and sat down. She pulled out a sheet of stationary from the drawer, picked up her fountain pen, dipped it into the ink and began to write the events of the evening. She listed the names of all in attendance and listed chronologically as best she could recall all the conversation related in any way to the war.

  When Madeline finished, she waited patiently for Sadie to return. She hummed softly as she began to undress. She removed her gown, the petticoats, and pulled on a dressing gown over her corset. She would wait for Sadie to finish undressing. It was not long before she heard a soft rap on her door. She moved to the door.

  “Ma’am,” Sadie said softly. Madeline opened the door, let her in, and locked the door. Sadie beamed broadly. “It was good, Ma’am.”

  Madeline smiled at her co-conspirator. She said softly, “It’s too bad it wasn’t General Grant who shot old Stonewall.” They both giggled.

  Sadie moved to Madeline’s desk, sat down, picked up a fresh piece of stationary and began to write. Madeline stood at her side and read along as she wrote. Not only had Sadie’s ears been wide open in the library, so had the mouths of the military officers.

  Madeline and Sadie, comrades despite their social and racial differences, were on their own campaign. Madeline believed the supreme art of war was to subdue the enemy without fighting. Even though she was putting her own life on the line, it mattered not. Her cause was the Union cause, and not even living under the roof of a powerful Confederate sympathizer, who just happened to be her husband, made any difference to her. At heart she was an abolitionist and had covertly worked closely with a few others to do all they could to bring slavery to an end. From a distance, and in small ways, she had been assisting in the Underground Railroad, giving the Negro an opportunity to escape to the North and into Canada to live a free life.

  When Sadie completed her written report, Madeline folded the papers and skillfully hid them among her clothes on a shelf in her closet.

  She gave Sadie a look of satisfaction. “In the morning you will give this information to Mrs. Montgomery. Bake up a basket of cakes early to take to her. She will be expecting this before noon. We have to get it to General Meade’s courier as soon as possible.”

  Sadie smiled. “With pleasure, ma’am.”

  Madeline hugged her. “Good work, Sadie.”

  Chapter Ten: Denny

  It was days like this one that gave Alexander pause and time for reflection—the days of May before the heat of summer bore down on the prairie land. The sky had begun to gather and build cumulus clouds shortly after breakfast and Alexander had sat on the porch watching the anvil shapes grow larger and more pronounced. It was the kind of day he often welcomed for a diversion from the farm work that at times seemed never ending. The thunderstorm had arrived in full force. Alexander knew it was coming before the clouds began to gather and he had not opened the Old Farmer’s Almanac to have a clue as to the weather. He felt it in his bones. They ached as they always did when a storm was approaching. Only nowadays, it seemed the ache would always be more painful than it used to be. He was old and he didn’t much like it. His body was slowing down. He was thankful his mind was still as sharp as ever. However long the good Lord would let him stay here, he hoped it would always be with a sharp and clear mind.

  The heavy rain, now wind-driven from the west, pounded on the porch roof. Alexander felt the splash of the rain on his pant legs and boots. He stood up and moved the chair back from the edge of the porch to the wall of the house. As he sat down, he wondered how many thunderstorms he had encountered in his lifetime. As a farmer, he had always welcomed them. A thorough ground soaking was always appreciated whether the crop was nearly knee-high as it was now or near harvest. The thunderstorms were most appreciated in the blistering July and August days of summer when the hot sun would burn the corn silk. The sweetest and most tender cobs of Iowa corn were produced when the golden corn silk was not burnt by the sun’s unrelenting rays.

  Thinking of golden corn silk took him back many, many years ago to memories of his little girl. He seldom ever thought about her. She had been so very young when she died and it was now difficult to conjure up a clear picture of her in his mind. All he could recall was shining blue eyes and corn silk hair, a little girl so fair who loved to play with her doll.

  As the thunder rolled across the sky, Alexander remembered his little girl’s words: Shh, Daddy. It’s time for baby doll to sleep. He rubbed his long bony fingers across his chin and sighed deeply. Again her tiny voice: It’s raining hard, Daddy. Baby doll can’t go outside.

  The house door slammed as Denny came running out onto the porch. He had a frown on his face. Alexander welcomed the distraction from his bittersweet memories.

  Alexander asked, “What’s wrong, Denny?”

  He shrugged. “Oh, nothing I guess. Mama sent me out here so the baby would go to sleep. She said I was making too much noise.” He leaned over the porch railing and allowed the rain to hit him in the face.

  Alexander asked
, “Were you?”

  “Ah, I think I was. Katrina likes it quiet. If I yell it scares her.”

  “Well, you have a big voice.”

  “I know. Just like Daddy’s,” Denny commented. “Pap, do you think I will be able to sing like Daddy some day?”

  “Oh, I think so.”

  Denny turned to his great-grandfather and asked, “Pap, when will my Daddy be home?”

  “We hope one of these days soon.”

  “Next week?”

  “No, Denny, it won’t be that soon.”

  “Next month?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh,” he said quietly, obviously disappointed at the answer. He turned back to the rain and let the rain bounce off his outstretched hands as it fell from the roof.

  Alexander wished he could offer his great-grandson more than that but he knew he could not. It looked like the war was not about to end any time soon. All he could hope for Denny was that Silas would come home all safe and sound.

  Lightning flashed, and seconds later, thunder cracked directly overhead. The downpour was so heavy that Denny did not hear the warning yelled out by his great-grandfather as he jumped from the porch and ran out into the yard toward the barn. Alexander had just risen from his chair as a sizzling bolt of lightning hit a large tree near the barn, instantly followed by a tremendous crack of thunder. In the brightness of the lightning flash, Alexander momentarily could not see Denny. When his eyes adjusted, he caught the prone figure of his great-grandson on the ground. He bolted from the porch toward Denny, praying with every stride he took.

  He scooped Denny into his arms and ran toward the house. Both of them were drenched as he rushed into the house.

  Elizabeth Jane screamed, “Denny! Oh, God, what happened!” Her mother, Catherine came running from the kitchen.

  “Lightning came close,” Alexander said with calm in his voice as he moved to the bedroom. The boy was stirring and moaning as Alexander placed him onto the bed. “Get some towels!” he urged. He began to pull the clothing off Denny. Elizabeth Jane stood motionless with fear as she watched Alexander discard Denny’s wet clothing onto the floor. Catherine moved fast and grabbed towels and returned to the bed to help Alexander. They carefully and systematically dried Denny, all the while checking for burns. They then wrapped him snugly in a blanket. Denny’s moaning soon stopped and he was alert and breathing normally.

  Alexander said, “He’s going to be all right, Janie. I promise you. Bring us some cool water.” Elizabeth Jane did not move. Alexander glanced over at her. “Janie, snap out of it. Get some water!”

  She turned away and hurriedly left the room. Moments later, she returned with a glass of water. Alexander took the glass from her hand and lifted Denny’s head. As he put the glass to his lips, he instructed, “Sip this, Denny.” The boy complied and took several sips. “Thatta boy,” he said to his great-grandson. “You’re gonna be okay.” Alexander set the glass on the side table and sat on the edge of the bed alongside Denny.

  Denny glanced at his mother whose face still reflected worry. He said, “It’s okay, Mama. I just got knocked down.”

  Elizabeth Jane moved to the bed and leaned down and kissed Denny’s forehead. “You gave us a scare, honey. You feel okay?” she asked.

  Denny looked to Alexander for reassurance. Alexander patted his leg through the blanket. Denny’s eyes returned to his mother. He replied, “Yes, I’m okay.”

  Alexander took a deep breath and let it out slowly, relaxing with it. He couldn’t help but wonder about the remembered words uttered by his three-year-old daughter, so very long ago. It’s raining hard, Daddy...can’t go outside. Had that been a warning?—a warning from a little angel with golden corn silk hair? He smiled at his great-grandson and said, “I think someone was watching over you, Denny.”

  “Watching me?”

  “Yes, a special little angel.”

  Alexander rose to his feet and hugged Elizabeth Jane. “All is fine, Janie.”

  She smiled, the strain now gone from her face and replaced by a look of relief. She said, “Thank God.”

  Alexander replied, “Amen.” He winked at Catherine over Elizabeth Jane’s shoulder.

  Catherine said, “Alex, let’s see if we can find some dry clothes for you.”

  Alexander looked down at his shirt and pants. His hands went to the damp fabric of his shirt. He commented, “Guess I am wet.”

  Catherine laughed. “That’s what you get for playing in the rain,” she teased. “You need dry clothes and a cup of hot tea.”

  Alexander chuckled. He replied, “Maybe something a little stronger than tea, my dear.”

  “Anything your heart desires, Alex.” Catherine added.

  There was no warning as Lucinda suddenly felt the arm roughly come around her neck and shoulders from behind. With force, she was pushed down to the floor.

  She screamed out as she fell and the side of her face took the full impact of the hardwood floor of the schoolhouse. He fell onto her and straddled her body as she fought desperately to get free of his hold. With one hand he pushed her chest tight against the floor and she was terrified as she felt his other hand pulling at her skirt. She heard the rip of the muslin as she tried to fight him off. Her heart was pounding fast and hard as adrenalin pumped through her veins.

  She screamed out as his bare hand found her flesh under the skirt. He clawed and ripped at her bloomers then roughly rolled her onto her back covering her head with the skirt fabric in the same movement. She fought hard, pulling at the cloth while screaming. She did not see the blow coming. His fist hit her in the face and then his hand clamped tight over her mouth, cutting her lip in the action. She fought hard. She managed to bite his hand through the cloth and he pulled his hand away. He was breathing heavily as he continued the brute force to hold her down. He pressed his left knee into her hip making it impossible for her to throw his weight off of her.

  He hit her again and she felt unconsciousness looming close but through the haze coming over her she continued to swing and pound on his head, his shoulders, and anything else she could make contact with. He ripped her bloomers away from her flesh and his hand moved roughly between her thighs, prying them apart. At that moment she would have welcomed unconsciousness. Her stomach was con-vulsing with fear and she was about to vomit.

  She then felt the full force of his body pinning her to the floor. Just as he entered her, a moan left her lips. As he pumped rapidly against her pelvic bone she managed to pull one arm free. She seized the skirt and pulled it from her face. To her horror she saw she was being raped by Thomas Karns.

  She screamed out, “Thomas!” The next blow to her face, which came immediately, was apparently harder than the others had been because this time she lost consciousness.

  She had no idea how long she may have laid battered and crumpled on the floor. When she opened her eyes she knew she was alone. The late afternoon sun was filtering in through the window, the rays falling on her face. She turned her face from the sunlight and lifted her head from the floor. Her face ached. She reached out and touched it gently and felt swelling under her fingertips.

  It had not been some bizarre nightmare.

  It had happened. She had been raped and beaten by one of her students.

  She dropped her head to the floor and lie staring up at the ceiling for several minutes. She tried to clear her mind of the horror she had just suffered but she was unable to do so.

  She pulled herself up into a sitting position. Her head pounded as she sat upright and every muscle in her body ached as she moved. She straightened the material of her clothing and pulled her legs up to her chest. She rested her head on her knees, and cried. At first, only tears, but soon her body was racked with deep sobs.

  She had no idea how long she cried. It may have been only minutes or an hour. Lost in the emotional trauma and shock of what she had gone through, it was only the footsteps on the porch stairs outside that brought her to the reality of the mom
ent.

  The sound of approaching footsteps threw her into a panic. She knew she must run but she could not move. She watched the door, frightened nearly out of her mind as to who was about to open it. Her heart seemed to stop and she held her breath as she heard the door handle turn.

  The rap on the door came at the same time that the familiar voice of Benjamin called out, “Lucinda?” The door swung open and Benjamin stepped inside the schoolhouse.

  He halted in mid-stride as he saw her. “Oh, my God!”

  Swiftly he was at her side on his knees. He gently took her into his arms. “Who did this to you! Who!”

  She was sobbing so hard that she could not speak.

  Benjamin had left Lucinda in the care of Doctor Northland and his wife with a promise that he would return after his visit with Sheriff Franklin. It had been his intention to go straight to the sheriff to report the rape. But instead, Benjamin went on a manhunt.

  His first stop was the home of the Karns in town. He’d had little trouble getting directions to the house. Apparently the Karns were well-known. They owned a tailor shop and their living quarters were above the shop. John Karns, a middle-aged man with a friendly face, greeted him warmly as he entered the tailor shop. He informed Benjamin that he did not know his son’s whereabouts. Thomas had been expected home some time ago but had not returned from school. Julie Karns, a nervous and fidgety woman, backed up her husband’s statement. She was obviously concerned over the fact that her son had not come home when expected.

  Benjamin said to the couple, “I’m afraid your son is in serious trouble. You tell him he needs to see the sheriff right away.”

  Mr. Karns, alarmed, asked, “What do you mean? What kind of trouble?”