“Me!”
“Yes. I think God has put me in your way, to be a father to you for a time, to watch over you.”
Frankie felt a warm glow as she heard this, and she whispered, “You…you’ve been the only real father I’ve ever known!”
“Ah…” Sol was pleased, and his eyes glowed as he regarded Frankie. “That makes things much easier! Now here is what I must do. I must become a sutler.”
“A sutler?” Frankie asked. “What’s that?”
“A person who sells supplies to the soldiers: tobacco and paper and even whiskey. But in this case, I will take many books—not to sell, but to give to the soldiers.” Sol grew excited as he spoke, making gestures with his fat hands. “Books and tracts for the soldiers—all Christian books, telling about the Savior, Jesus Christ! I am not a preacher, Frankie, but I can pass along the Good News about my Lord in this way. Men who face death,” he said more soberly, “they will be hungry for the gospel, and I will see that they have it!”
“But what does that have to do with me?” Frankie asked.
“Why, you will help me, child!” Sol said, his eyebrows going up. “It is why God sent you to me, I think. We will take the books and the tracts to the camps and to the hospitals.”
“But, Mr. Levy…I’m not a Christian!”
The old man looked at her, wisdom in his warm brown eyes. “Ah, that doesn’t matter—as far as the men are concerned. It’s the message, not the messenger, that saves people. And I believe that your time is coming, child.”
“My time?”
“Yes. Every man and every woman—every person on this planet, in fact—has a time. A time to choose for God, for His Son, Jesus. Jesus said one time, ‘No man can come to me, except the Father which hath sent me draw him.’ Oi! God knows how to draw a man!” Levy smiled. “If He can draw an old Jew like me, He can do the same thing for a young girl like Frankie Aimes!”
Frankie sat very still, and the old man put his hand on hers. “Will you do it, child?”
Frankie felt again the same inexplicable sense of assurance that had come to her months ago, a peace that she had never been able to explain. It washed over her now, and she smiled at the man who was watching her so anxiously.
“Yes, Mr. Levy, I’ll help you.”
“Good—I am so happy!” Sol beamed and patted her hand; then a thought came to him. “I have been doing a little study on this, and I find out that I will be a sutler, but you will be called something else. There is a French word used for women who sell supplies to the soldiers. I think it sounds nice.”
Frankie asked curiously, “What will I be, Mr. Levy?”
“You will be a vivandier!”
Frankie pronounced it carefully, imitating Levy as closely as possible: “Vee-vahn-dee-ay? Like that?” She repeated it again, then laughed, her eyes bright and her lips curving in a delighted way. “I’m a vivandier! Oh, Sol!” she cried, using his first name for the first time. “I’m so glad we’re not going to be separated!”
The old Jew nodded and whispered, “I, too, am most glad, child!”
“Well, Frankie, so what do you think of Washington?”
Frankie and Sol had entered the city and driven along the main thoroughfare, which was four miles long and 160 feet wide. To get there, however, Sol had driven through Center Market—where brothels and gambling houses operated openly—and through Swampoodle, Negro Hill, and other alley domains. They had traveled along the Old City Canal, a fetid bayou filled with floating dead cats—and all kinds of putridity—and reeking with pestilential odors. Cattle, sheep, swine, and geese ran everywhere.
Now as they were leaving the city, Frankie made a face at her companion. “It stinks!”
“Yes, it does,” Sol agreed. “I hope the camp will smell better.” He looked back under the canvas at the heavily loaded wagon and remarked, “We’ll have to get permission to set up our shop. I hope the bribe I’ll have to pay won’t be too steep.”
“Bribe? What’s that?” Frankie asked.
“All business in government has to be paid for.” Sol shrugged. “Every sutler will have to buy a license, but that’s only the beginning. There’ll be other palms to grease before we can do business.”
“Why, that’s terrible!”
“It’s the way of the world, Frankie. If we want to help the soldiers, we’ll just have to pay for the privilege.”
By the time they reached the camp, a large area filled with parade grounds and acres of tents, the sun was high in the sky. The corporal who stopped them and asked for a pass listened as Sol explained their mission, then said, “You’ll have to go to regimental headquarters.” He gave them instructions, adding, “Ask for either Colonel Bradford or Major Rocklin.”
As they drove along, they were overwhelmed at the tremendous activity in the camp. Sergeants were yelling at their squads; horses raced by with couriers; and caissons rumbled along, forcing Sol off the narrow road. Somehow they found their way to a large tent with a narrow pennant waving over it. “I guess that’s it,” Sol said. “Come along and we’ll see about a permit.”
Frankie scrambled down, and the two of them approached the large round tent. “We’d like to see the commanding officer, Corporal,” Sol said to the soldier standing there.
The man peered at the two suspiciously, then shrugged. “I’ll have to ask.” He disappeared into the tent but came back almost at once. “Major Rocklin says you can come in.”
“Thank you.” Sol fished in his pocket and came out with a slender pamphlet and handed it to the soldier. “For you.”
“Why—thanks!”
The pair entered the tent and were met by a tall officer with dark hair and eyes. “I’m Major Gideon Rocklin,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“We need a sutler’s permit, Major,” Sol said.
“I can arrange that.” He moved to sit down at a portable desk, selected a single sheet of paper, and dipped a pen into an inkwell. “Your name?”
“I’m Solomon Levy, and this is Miss Frankie Aimes.”
Rocklin paused and looked up with interest. His eyes rested on Frankie, and he hesitated before saying, “Miss Aimes is your…?”
“She’s my employee, Major.” Levy added quickly that he was actually a bookseller and wanted to use his office as a sutler to distribute Christian books. He saw at once that this pleased the tall soldier. Levy continued, “I am a Jew, as you see, but a Christian, as well. And Miss Aimes has been my best agent for some time.”
“I’m glad to have you in the regiment, sir. And you, too, Miss Aimes,” Rocklin said. He filled out the form, then stood, handed it to Levy, and remarked, “The sutler situation is terrible. Some of them sell shoddy goods at outrageous prices to the men. I’m happy to finally meet one who’ll be different.”
“You are a Christian, Major?”
“Yes, indeed!” Gideon smiled. “And you’ll find others.” He turned his gaze on Frankie and asked, “You do know that soldiers are a rough lot, Miss Aimes?”
Frankie understood at once what the major implied. “Yes, sir. But Mr. Levy will watch out for me.”
“Fine! Fine!” Then Rocklin frowned, saying, “You can set up your shop. I’ll have someone take you to a proper place, but I’m afraid you won’t have much time.”
Sol gave the officer a keen stare. “I take it the army is moving out soon.”
The major nodded soberly. “Very soon, Mr. Levy. I can’t say when, of course, but don’t count on more than a few days.”
“We’ll do what we can until then. And thank you, Major.”
He walked outside with them and spoke to the soldier standing guard. “Corporal, take these two over to the west side of the camp, close to the big trees.” He turned to say, “There’s an evangelistic meeting tonight. You might like to attend it. A fine preacher, Rev. Steele, will be doing the preaching.”
“Thank you. We’ll be there, sir.”
“He’s my brother-in-law, so I can recommend him. Glad to h
ave you in the regiment—both of you.”
“A fine man!” Sol exclaimed as the two climbed into the wagon. “And a Christian! We’ll have no problems now, will we, Frankie?”
“What about when the army leaves?” Frankie asked.
“Why, the sutlers will go along, of course. We’ll stay well behind the troops, but every night we’ll be able to provide supplies and tracts to the soldiers.”
They set up shop under a large pin oak and at once began doing a tremendous business. Most of the soldiers wanted whiskey, which Levy had refused to stock, but there was a brisk sale of everything in the wagon, especially tobacco and paper for writing letters. Their “store” was composed of boards placed over barrels, and both of them were busy until a bugle drew the men back to their tents.
Frankie cooked a supper of ham and beans over a small fire, and the two friends ate hungrily. As they talked over the meal, Sol said, “I hope there are no Confederate spies around here.” He took a swallow of the scalding coffee, adding, “Every private I talked to knows where the army’s heading.”
“I know.” Frankie nodded. “Some place called Centerville. They all say the Confederates are waiting there. Where is that place, Sol?”
“Close to a little town…what was the name of it?” He tried to remember but couldn’t, so he got up and came back to the fire with a map. Spreading it out, he squinted. “I can’t see with these old eyes, Frankie. You look; it’s close to a little river or creek…but I forget the name of that, too.”
“Here it is—Centerville,” Frankie announced, putting her finger on the map.
“So? And what about that little town and the river?”
Frankie peered closer, then looked up at Sol.
“Manassas. The town is Manassas. And the creek is called Bull Run.”
CHAPTER 9
A SPECIAL PATIENT
The blue-clad Union soldiers who went out to fight at Bull Run with flowers stuck in the barrels of their muskets returned to Washington bleeding and in total disarray. The city was in a panic, expecting to be invaded by the victorious Confederate Army at any moment, and President Lincoln and his cabinet made plans to evacuate and find shelter in another site.
But the Confederates were almost as stunned by their victory as the Federals were by their defeat, and they were unable to take advantage of the Union rout. Stonewall Jackson begged to be allowed to press on to Washington but was ordered not to move. The victors returned to Richmond to receive a triumphant reception, while the shattered Union forces brought their dead and wounded by the thousands to the hospitals hastily set up in the capital.
Solomon Levy and Frankie Aimes narrowly escaped being trampled by the mob that stampeded back to Washington. They had been moving along in a leisurely fashion a few miles behind the last of the Union troops, and when the rush for safety began—led by the congressmen and their families who’d gone out in a picnic mood to view the battle—Levy had taken one look at the wild-eyed drivers beating their horses on to greater speed and said abruptly, “Something’s wrong, Frankie!”
His fears were confirmed when a stream of soldiers came stumbling along, some of them shouting, “Black Horse Cavalry!”
Levy turned the horses around at once and drove back to the capital. He hurried to the camp, and all day and all night, soldiers with dazed eyes came stumbling in. Some of them had minor wounds, and Solomon and Frankie put a bandage on the hand of a young private from Illinois. He could barely speak at first, but as they bandaged his wound and gave him plenty of cool water, he calmed down enough to tell what had happened.
“We come at them fellers with all we had,” he mumbled. “But they kept on comin’ at us. Just kept right on comin’.” A shiver passed through him, and he whispered, “My best friend, Scotty…he got shot right off. Got hit in the stomach, and he was on the ground screamin’ and beggin’ me to help him, but the sergeant drove us on into the charge.”
When he stopped, Frankie said, “Maybe he’ll be brought back to the hospital.”
“No, I went back…and he was dead. His…eyes were open…but he was dead!” Tears began to roll down his cheeks. “I didn’t think it would be like that!”
The young private spoke what the entire nation thought, for neither side had been prepared for the violence that had wiped out so many young lives. The South began to celebrate, but the North gave up overnight on the idea that the war would last only six months. General McDowell was blamed—somewhat unfairly—for the defeat, and Lincoln called on General George McClellan to pull the army together. McClellan began at once, and he had the flair and the drive to do the job. His first job was to give the army confidence, and he did exactly that. He was everywhere, riding on his big black charger, going from unit to unit, giving stirring speeches, telling the men that they were the Army of the Potomac and that they were victors and not losers. He gave them leaves and better food and marched them in stirring parades. He put order into an army that had had little, and he created hope where there had been none.
Sol Levy and Frankie would be there through all those months that the Army of the Potomac rose like a phoenix from its own ashes. And as the first of the battered, bleeding troops poured into Washington during those terrible, dark days after Bull Run, Sol said, “Frankie, this is very bad, but we’ve come with hope, you and I. Let’s put ourselves into a different sort of battle—a battle for God!”
They did so, moving among the men, giving out books and tracts, selling their goods at prices that made no money for Levy, and giving much of them to those who had no money at all.
At first Frankie was shy and did not get more than a few feet from Sol’s side. She slept in the wagon while Sol slept in a tent, and the two of them went almost every night to one of the religious services that were held at the camp. In the beginning, the soldiers merely stared at Frankie—most of them, at least. Some bolder spirits attempted to get closer only to discover that the young woman was simply not available. But what puzzled them even more than Frankie’s aloofness was that she never got angry with those who tested her.
In the minds of most soldiers, even of most men, there were two kinds of women: good and bad. The good women stayed at home, kept house, and reared children. The bad women could be found in the numerous brothels and dance halls that were scattered all over Washington. The entire regiment speculated as to which exactly Frankie was—good or bad. They discussed her often—how she lived with an old man, wore men’s clothing, and talked with men freely—but they could not figure her out. Finally, as the days and weeks passed, the men came to accept her for what she was: sincere, honest, good-humored, and decent.
Three weeks after Bull Run, Major Rocklin came by to speak to Sol and Frankie, and he mentioned the men’s reaction to Sol’s assistant. He’d been telling Levy how grateful he was for the good work the pair of them were doing, and he turned to smile at Frankie. “The men had quite a time trying to put a label on you, Miss Aimes,” he said. “But I think you’ve shown them what you really are. Have any of them been ungentlemanly?”
“Quite a few, Major,” Frankie said with a shy smile. “But they come around. I think they miss their wives and sisters.”
“Of course, some of them are away from home for the first time.” Gideon nodded. “I’ve seen you at our services, too.”
“It’s wonderful to be able to serve the Lord,” Sol said happily. “Your brother-in-law is a fine preacher!”
“I’ll tell him you said so.” Rocklin gave the two of them a speculative look, then said, “I know you two work hard, but if you have a chance, I wish you’d go by and pass out some tracts, and maybe even some tobacco, to our boys in the hospital. They get pretty lonesome. I’ll be happy to pay for the items—”
“No! No!” Sol protested. “It will be our privilege, Frankie’s and mine. Will they let us in?”
“Let you in!” Rocklin grinned. “The question is, will they let you out! I visit as often as I can, and they practically hang on to me just to have so
meone to talk to!”
That afternoon Sol and Frankie loaded themselves down with tracts, tobacco, and sweets, then went into the city. They found the regimental hospital of the Washington Blues easily, for it was a huge old mansion that had been converted to house the wounded men. They also discovered that Major Rocklin had been exactly right: The men were so happy to see them that they stayed until very late.
Frankie moved from bed to bed, shyly approaching the men. She was horrified by some of the terrible wounds but managed not to show it. It was not difficult to talk to the men, for most of them were starved for someone to listen. And they were frightened. For the most part, they were very young, not much older than Frankie herself. Even if they’d ever had any inclinations about romance, they had little now. Most of them had more important things to worry about, such as gangrene, which killed as many men in the long run as were slain instantly on the battlefield.
The third young soldier she talked to revealed this almost universal fear. His name was Jimmy Seeger. He was nineteen years old—and had a stump instead of a right arm. When Frankie sat down and asked him if he needed tobacco or paper, he shook his head. “Don’t smoke and can’t write,” he said with a faint smile. Then he looked down at his ruined arm and said bitterly, “Even if I’d ever learned how…I couldn’t write now.”
Frankie said quickly, “I’ll write a letter for you, Private.”
“Would you, miss?” Seeger was delighted and dictated a short, highly stilted letter to his mother. When it was written, he asked to see it. “My, look at all them words!” he breathed. Then he lay back and grew still. Frankie was not sure how to talk to him, but she did the best she could. Finally it came out. The boy was convinced that he was going to die. “Every day they come and get one of our fellers, take him out, and bury him,” he said, biting his lip. “It’s that there gangrene that kills ’em.” He blinked his eyes and said, “It’s going to finish me off, too, I reckon.”
Appomattox Saga Omnibus 2: Three Books In One (Appomatox Saga) Page 10