Appomattox Saga Omnibus 2: Three Books In One (Appomatox Saga)

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Don’t you know better than to open the curtain in a darkroom?” he yelled. “Who are you, anyway?”

  “My name is Frankie Aimes. I came to apply for the job as assistant photographer.”

  Paul had opened his mouth to berate the intruder, but changed his mind at once. At last he might get some help!

  “Well…” Bristol squinted hard but could see only a blurred shape. “Let’s go inside where it’s warm and talk about it.” He walked toward the barn, asking, “Do you have any experience?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Paul opened the door and marched into the barn. “Shut the blasted door,” he commanded. “It’s cold out there this—,” and then he halted and his jaw dropped.

  “Why, you’re a…a girl!”

  “Yes. The ad didn’t specify anything about gender.”

  Paul had heard of people being speechless but had always considered it to be a figure of speech. Now he knew it was not. He stood there, his mouth open, and simply could not think of a single thing to say. Anger suddenly built up in him—the result of too much work, too little sleep, and the dashing of his hope that he’d found some help.

  “I can’t use a female,” he said in disgust. “Never thought about one asking for the job. Sorry you made the trip for nothing,” he added grudgingly. “I’ll see you get a ride back to town if you don’t have a way.”

  “I want the job, Mr. Bristol. I can do the work, and it doesn’t seem that the job has been filled yet.”

  Paul glared at the girl, trying to keep a hold on his temper. She was a strange-looking sight. For one thing, she was wearing men’s clothing—which was shocking to him, to say the least. She wore a pair of loose-fitting black trousers, and a pair of boots peeped out from under the cuffs. A thick red-and-black wool coat covered her upper body, and a black felt hat with a broad brim came down over her brow. She might have passed for a young man, but her face—though stronger than most women’s—was clearly feminine. Fair skin with a very faint line of freckles across a short nose complemented her green eyes, which were large and wide set, and her thick eyelashes could only belong to a woman. Her hair, what showed from under the hat, seemed to be auburn and curly.

  She endured his inspection silently, then held out her hands so suddenly that he blinked. “Feel the palms,” she said quietly.

  Paul took one of her hands and was startled when she squeezed his hand so hard that he flinched. “Those are calluses,” she said. “I’m as strong as lots of men, Mr. Bristol.” With that, she pulled her hand back abruptly and waited.

  Paul had to smile at her methods. “I’m not looking for field hands, Miss…What’s your name again? Frankie Aimes? Well, I’m impressed with your strength, but I need a little more than that in an assistant.”

  “I learned photography from Mr. Mathew Brady,” the girl said suddenly, and when she saw the surprise in his face, her lips curved slightly in a smile. “I have a letter of introduction from Mr. Brady,” she said, holding it out. As Paul took the letter and glanced over it, Frankie said, “I’ll be glad to show you what I can do.”

  Paul snapped a question at her. “What is collodion?”

  “Collodion is a mixture of bromide and iodide of potassium, or ammonia, or cadmium.”

  “What’s it used for?”

  “Copper plates are coated with it to make them ready to receive the image.”

  Paul shot out question after question and was highly surprised to discover that the blasted girl knew as much about photography as he did! Finally he shook his head. “Well, you know enough, Miss Aimes. But I still can’t use you.”

  “I have another letter for you, Mr. Bristol.”

  Paul took the second letter, glanced at the signature, and gave the girl a startled glance. “You know my cousin—Gideon Rocklin?”

  “Yes, sir. I worked for him, nursing his son Tyler when he was shot.”

  Paul read the brief letter, which simply stated that Frankie Aimes, who had been very helpful to the Rocklin family, wanted very much to have a career in photography. One sentence said, “Miss Aimes is not involved in politics and takes no sides in this war. I believe you feel the same way, Paul, so if you could help her, I would appreciate it.”

  Still, Bristol was not convinced. “It just wouldn’t work,” he said harshly, shoving the letter back at her. “Sorry you went to all the trouble for nothing.”

  Every young woman he knew would have turned and fled at such abrupt and ill-mannered treatment. It was what he expected, but the girl stood there patiently, saying, “You need an assistant who’s able to help with the picture-taking process. And you’ll be going to the battlefields, so you need someone who’s able to rough it, to camp out and sleep on the ground and do without hot food and sleep.”

  “Well, that’s right, but—”

  “I don’t mean to be proud, Mr. Bristol, but I reckon I can do those things better than…”

  Paul stared at her, then finished her sentence. “Better than I can? Is that what you mean?”

  The girl faltered slightly at his angry tone, then pulled her head up. “I didn’t mean to say that, but I have lived outdoors all my life, and you haven’t, have you, Mr. Bristol?” She glanced at Paul’s hands, and he knew that she was reminding him that his own hands were smooth and uncalloused.

  Once again he felt his anger rising; only this time it was because he suspected the girl was right. “Makes no difference,” he snapped. “An unmarried man and an unmarried woman can’t go all over the country in a wagon alone.” A thought came to him, and he asked, “You’re not married, are you?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  Paul was irritated at the girl and asked angrily, “Don’t you have a family? All I need is for your father to catch up with me and wave a shotgun in my face for ruining his daughter.”

  “You…don’t have to worry about that, Mr. Bristol. Nobody’s going to come looking for me.”

  For the first time, Paul caught a sense of fragility, of femininity, in the girl. She was so abrupt and strongly made that it was only a hint, but he dropped his abusive manner. “Miss Aimes, I just can’t do it. It…it wouldn’t look proper.”

  “You wouldn’t harm me, would you, Mr. Bristol? And you wouldn’t ask me to do anything that’s wrong, would you?”

  Her directness caught him off guard. He flushed but said, “No! Of course not!”

  “Then you’re afraid of what people would say about us?”

  “Well, not exactly afraid.” Paul was growing very uncomfortable, and he turned away abruptly. “Have some coffee,” he said to take the strain from the moment. “I keep it on the stove all the time.” He poured two cups and added, “It’s the last of the real coffee.”

  She took the coffee in both her hands, and his gentler manner caused her to smile at him. His eyebrows rose, for it was a surprisingly attractive smile. She sipped the coffee, and he was pleased that she didn’t rattle on. At least she can endure silence, which is more than I can say about most women. He looked at her again. But what will people say? What will Luci say?

  Then he gave an angry snort. What business is it of theirs? As long as the girl does her work? Standing suddenly, he said, “Miss Aimes, I think this might be a disaster. I can’t be responsible for you. I intend to take this wagon as close to battle lines as I can drive it, and a shell doesn’t know the difference between an enemy soldier and a mere photographer. Either of us could be killed or maimed.”

  “I know that.”

  Paul was suddenly impressed with her coolness. “Well, I might mention that you’ll be right in the middle of thousands of soldiers. Not all of them are gentlemen. They’ll try to force themselves on you.”

  “I know. But they won’t have any luck.”

  Bristol smiled. He admired courage above all things, and the girl seemed to have plenty of that! As for her being a woman, well, Bristol had been subjected to beautiful women for years. And as he looked at Frankie Aimes in her rumpled clothing, he thought, Well,
the one thing I won’t have to worry about is falling in love with her! She’s too peculiar for my tastes.

  “All right, I’ll give you a try,” he said suddenly. “If you can do the work, you get the job.”

  Again the smile crossed her face, and this time it reached her green eyes. “I’ll do my best to please you, Mr. Bristol.”

  And so it was that Frankie Aimes came to be Paul Bristol’s assistant. But only after several minor wars, all over the same thing: “Paul! You can’t do it! Not a woman!”

  Two specific responses surprised him: His mother was dead set against it, while Luci laughed at the thing.

  “Mother, don’t you like the girl?” Paul asked when Marianne begged him to abandon the idea.

  “Yes. I do like her,” she said. Frankie had spent almost a week at Hartsworth, and Marianne had taken pains to get to know her. Now a slight frown crossed Marianne’s face, and she said, “But you’re not as strong as you think you are where women are concerned, my boy. You could fall in love with her—or worse, get involved with her without that. Then you’d either have to cast her off or marry her.”

  “Mother, please! Don’t be…well, ridiculous is the word. She’s how old? Seventeen or eighteen? And I’m thirty-one. Besides, have you taken a look at her? She’s really not my type.”

  “Oh? And men are never attracted to women younger than they are?” Marianne loved this tall son of hers and said earnestly, “It will be a lonely, dangerous job. You two will be cut off from the world, you know. And when you’re tired and weak and lonely, she’ll be right there. Your ‘type’ or not, Paul, she is still a woman. And you are still a man. Don’t do it!”

  His mother’s warning almost changed Paul’s mind, but there was literally no one else to fill the position. Besides, Paul thought ruefully, she’s my mother. It’s her job to worry about me!

  When he told Luci about his new assistant, she had stared at him, her lips growing tight. “A woman? You’re going to take a woman with you?”

  It was rough sledding, but when Paul took Luci to the barn and introduced her to Frankie Aimes, all was well. Frankie had just come out of the What-Is-It wagon and was dripping with sweat and smelling of chemicals. She was wearing the oldest clothing she had, which was tattered and baggy. She had on a pair of steel spectacles, which she wore for close work at times—and she looked terrible.

  Luci greeted her; then when she and Paul were alone, she laughed at her fears. “What a ragamuffin! Paul, I was jealous, but I see how foolish I was. But can you stand her? She’s such…such a mess!”

  “She can develop plates.” Paul smiled, relieved. “That’s all she has to do. Looking good isn’t a job requirement.”

  Luci leaned against him and whispered, “You asked me to marry you last month, Paul. Do you still want me?”

  “Yes!” He kissed her, and when she stepped back, she gave him an arch smile. “There, think of that while you’re out taking your old pictures!”

  When Luci left, Paul went back and helped Frankie clean up.

  “Are you going to marry her, Mr. Bristol?” she asked, watching him carefully.

  “Yes, I am.”

  Frankie lifted her green eyes and gave him a sudden smile. “She’s so beautiful. I hope you’ll be very happy.”

  “Got to take lots of pictures first.” Paul stood quietly, thinking of the days to come. “We’ll leave tomorrow. There’s a battle shaping up west of here. I think I’d like to have a try then to see what we can do.”

  “I’m ready,” Frankie said, then thought again of Luci. “She sure is beautiful.”

  “Yes, she is, Frankie. Well, let’s get loaded. We’ll get away at first light.”

  “All right, Mr. Bristol.”

  PART TWO

  The Vivandier—January 1861

  CHAPTER 6

  A WOMAN GROWN

  The first morning of 1861 came on the heels of a heavy snow that almost buried Flint, Michigan. All night long, flakes as large as quarters swirled out of the sky, covering the towns and the countryside with a thick white blanket of pristine snow.

  Frankie Aimes forced open the front door of her house, shoving back the deep mound of snow piled against its base and stepping outside. She blinked at the brilliance of the landscape before her. Shutting the door quickly, she stood for one moment, taking delight in the smooth, unbroken expanse of white, glittering with diamondlike flashes. The rawness of the brown earth was clothed with a flawless layer of white, which looked like a blanket of cotton. Even the trees with their bare, naked arms had become graceful, sweeping forms under the white mantle.

  “Well…this won’t get the milking done.” The young woman spoke aloud—a habit she had formed while working alone in the fields or hunting in the woods. She stepped into the eighteen-inch blanket of snow, sank at once to her knees in the fluffy drift, then forged her way across the yard to the barn. The air was biting cold, which brought a rosy flush to her cheeks.

  She loved the cold weather! As she opened the barn door, having to clear the snow away in front of one of the doors first, she thought of how she might go fishing later in the day. She had learned long ago how to cut a hole through the ice covering the nearby pond and drop in her line, complete with a bait custom-designed to tantalize the fish below. “Fresh-caught fish for dinner,” she said with a smile. “Now that’s something to look forward to.”

  All five of the cows looked up as she entered the barn, and soon she was engaged in milking. Leaning her cheek against a silky rump, she smiled at Blaze, the black-and-white cat who took station a few feet away. “Want some breakfast?” She sent a stream of the frothy milk at him, and he took it in greedily, not minding the spatters that covered his face and front. Frankie laughed as the cat at once began taking a bath. “If you don’t start cleaning up on the rats out here, I’m going to trade you in for a terrier who’ll do the job,” she threatened. But Blaze, as cats are wont to do, ignored her totally and went on licking his fur.

  When the milking was finished, Frankie fed the horses, pigs, and chickens, then took a pail of the warm milk back to the house.

  “Morning, Tim,” she said, greeting the young man who was standing in front of the cookstove warming his hands. “Want some nice warm milk while I fix breakfast?”

  “I guess so.” Timothy Aimes, the only boy in the family, at the age of twenty was only three years older than Frankie. However, he looked much older. He was below medium height, and something in his face reflected that a childhood sickness had almost killed him. He had fragile features, with soft brown eyes and a vulnerable mouth. “You sit down and let me cook this morning,” he said.

  Frankie poured a glass of milk into a cup, then moved to hand it to her brother with a fond smile. “All right, you can spoil me. I’ll read the paper out loud to you.”

  Tim grinned as he began collecting the eggs and bacon from the larder. “Good. We’ve only read it about ten times up until now.” Still, he listened raptly as she read aloud from the editorial on the front page. His movements were slow, and his hands were thin and frail, not at all like the strong, rounded arms and firm hands of the girl who read the paper.

  When he put the bowl of eggs and the platter of bacon on the table and poured the coffee into two mugs, he said, “Let’s eat, Frankie. Those girls are going to sleep all day.”

  “They always do when Pa’s away.” She bowed her head while Tim asked the blessing, then plunged into her food with gusto, talking about the story in the paper. “Looks like there’s going to be a war, doesn’t it, Tim.”

  “I guess so.” Tim picked at his food, shoving it around with a fork. “Looks as though 1861 is going to be a pretty bad year for this country. President Buchanan’s never been a strong leader, and now he’s a lame duck. He’s so out of touch with things, it’s pitiful, Frankie.”

  “What does that mean, Tim, all that about Fort Sumter?”

  “When South Carolina seceded from the Union, she claimed all the Union forts in her territory. On
e of those was Fort Sumter. Now a Union officer, Major Anderson, has moved his troops into the fort. The hotheads in South Carolina consider that an act of aggression, so if the new president tries to send help or supplies to Anderson, they’ll fire on them. And if that happens, the North will have to shoot back…and we’ll be in the middle of a war.”

  Frankie and Tim sat at the table talking until the younger girls got up. This brother and sister were very close, partly because of their ages. Sarah and Jane, ages ten and twelve, were cut off from Frankie and Tim by a generation gap—but there was more than that to account for the elder siblings’ closeness. There was their father, Silas Aimes. He had wanted a large family and longed for boys to help with the farm. His wife had been a happy woman, attractive with auburn hair and green eyes, and when their first child had been a son, Silas had been happy, assured that Tim would be the first boy of many to come.

  But Silas’s dream had died. The first deathblow came when Tim was stricken with some sort of fever that the doctors could neither name nor cure. Though the boy lived, he would never be strong. Sadly, he was an especially bright lad, which meant it didn’t take long for him to realize he was a disappointment to his father. As a result, though his mother did her best to make up for his father’s disdain, Tim gave up on his own hopes and dreams.

  The final blow to Silas Aimes’s dream came when Leah, his wife, presented him with three more children—all girls. With each new daughter, Silas grew more taciturn and bitter.

  Like Tim, Frankie was quite bright and observant. She had grasped at a very early age the fact that her father was not happy with her. Confused and troubled, she labored to understand why this was. When she finally understood that it was because she was not a boy, it almost broke her heart. She was a loving, affectionate child, and as long as her mother had lived, there was some outlet. But Leah Aimes had died when Sarah was born, thus leaving a terrible void in the lives of both Frankie and Tim—another factor that drew them closer together.