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

by Gilbert, Morris

  “She hasn’t spoken at all?” Clay asked.

  “Not a word, son. And she hasn’t moved a muscle. I…think what Dr. Slavins fears is that she’s completely paralyzed.”

  The three tall men stood around the bed, helplessly looking down at the wife and mother who had given none of them happiness—and yet the sight of her still, white face made each man forget the misery she had brought to him. Finally they turned and left the room, going back to the parlor. Rena came to throw herself in Clay’s arms, her eyes swollen with weeping. She clung to him fiercely for a few moments, then moved away, whispering, “I’m glad you’re here, Daddy!”

  And so the long vigil began. Servants crept by, whispering. Meals were set out that no one wanted. Dr. Slavins came and went, unable to give them the reassurance they craved. Short conversations would start, only to quickly break off. And long silences stretched on while the family sat around, silences interrupted only when someone would rise and go outside to walk aimlessly around the grounds.

  The next morning the Bristols and Franklins came, along with other friends and close neighbors. Rachel and Amy Franklin and Marianne and Claude Bristol gave what comfort they could, which was woefully little. Finally Claude said to his brother-in-law, “Thomas, we’ve got to go to Richmond. I hate to leave you alone at a time like this—”

  “Go on, Claude,” Thomas said at once. “Ellen may live for a few days or a month, or she may survive, after all. You can’t wait around here all that time. Now what’s going on in Richmond?”

  Bristol shrugged, a cynical look coming into his face. “A fancy dress ball—if you can believe it. With the world about to fall around our ears, we’re going to a dance!” He shook his head, then spoke in a lower tone. “We’re only going because of Frankie. You know what happened to her at the last ball—coming out in that horrible dress and everyone laughing at her! Well, Marianne’s determined to set that right. We’re going to buy the girl a fine gown and get her hair all fixed, you know.” He shrugged, saying, “Just between you and me, Tom, Marianne is convinced it was Luci DeSpain who engineered the whole mess last time, and she’s going to see to it that Frankie gets another chance if it costs every dime we’ve got. I swear, my wife has latched onto that girl like she’s some long-lost daughter just returned to her.”

  Thomas nodded. “Well, women do get the strangest notions sometimes, and we sure don’t do ourselves a service by fighting them. Now you go on. I’ll let you know if there’s any change.” He said good-bye to Bristol, then went to speak with his wife. When he informed her of the Bristols’ mission, he was surprised at her reaction.

  “Good!” she snapped, her eyes sharp. “Paul Bristol is blind as a bat! That DeSpain girl will make him miserable!”

  “Why, I didn’t know you felt like that, Susanna!” Thomas stared at her, then came up with a smile. “I guess I’m pretty blind about things like that myself.” He suddenly put his arm around her, and a flash of the charm that had been his as a young man appeared. “I still remember when you were eighteen at the ball in Atlanta. You were the prettiest thing I’d ever seen!” He kissed her cheek and smiled. “You still are!”

  “Oh, Tom!” Tears appeared in Susanna’s eyes at the rare gesture, and the two of them clung together for a moment, thinking of the days long gone.

  Early one evening, Paul pulled the wagon up in front of the Spotswood Hotel and for a moment sat there, so weary he dreaded the simple task of getting to the ground. He and Frankie had not stopped working for days except to camp.

  Just before they had left on this assignment, Paul had agreed to meet his parents at the hotel so his mother could help Frankie get ready for the Richmond Ball. “I’m not leaving anything to chance this time,” Marianne had told her son.

  Now, glancing across the seat, he saw that Frankie was sound asleep, utterly exhausted. Reaching out, he gave her shoulder a slight shake. “Wake up. It’s time to go to bed.”

  Frankie jerked as she came out of sleep, then looked around wildly. Then she saw the hotel and gave Paul a tired smile. “I must have dozed off.”

  “For two hours, but I don’t blame you. I’d have gone to sleep myself if I hadn’t had to drive the wagon.” He nodded toward the hotel. “You go on in. My parents ought to be there, but even if they’ve gone out, they’ll have gotten a room. Better take your things.”

  Frankie scrambled into the interior of the wagon, threw some clothes into her old carpetbag, then emerged and climbed to the ground. “What about you?”

  “I’m going to store these plates somewhere.” He scratched his whiskery cheeks. “Then I’ll get a bath and a shave.”

  “Will we be going back to take more pictures tomorrow?”

  “No, not unless the battle starts.” He hesitated. “I’m supposed to take Luci to a couple of things—a dress ball and a party at the Chesnuts to start with.” He kicked the brake off, looking thoughtful for a moment. Then he seemed to shake his thoughts off and smiled down at her. “Go take some rest, Frankie. You deserve it!”

  Frankie watched as he drove down the street; then she turned and entered the hotel. She felt more conspicuous than usual—the Spotswood was the most elegant hotel in Richmond, and her dirty, wrinkled clothing made her a draw for every eye. Trying to ignore the stares of those around her, she walked up to the desk. “Are Mr. and Mrs. Bristol here?”

  The clerk, a short man with slick black hair and a fussy manner, turned to stare at her. “Why…ah, yes, I believe they are. May I…ah, help you?”

  “Which room?” Frankie demanded, too exhausted to get angry at his condescending tone.

  “Ah…I believe the Bristols are in 306.” He looked at a card, then back at her. “Are you…ah, Miss Frankie Aimes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’re in…ah…room 308.”

  Frankie took the key, stared at the clerk, muttered, “Ah…thank you very much,” then turned and marched up the stairs. She went first to the Bristols’ room, but no one answered her knock. So she went to room 308, opened the door, stepped inside—and froze in a stunned silence. She stared at the room with awe, for she’d never seen such ornate furnishings and decor! She closed the door, then moved around, touching the fine cherry furniture carefully. As she fingered the fine sheets on the bed, fatigue hit her heavily. She took off her clothes, washed her face, then put on a nightshirt and fell into the bed, going to sleep at once.

  She awoke when an insistent knock came at her door. Groggy with sleep, she grabbed at the old cotton robe she sometimes wore, then went to open the door. “Oh, Marianne!” she exclaimed. “Come on in. I was asleep.”

  Marianne gave Frankie a hug, then said, “I wanted to let you sleep. That son of mine has worn you out!” She stood there smiling at the young woman. “We saw him a few hours ago, and he told us what a hard time the two of you have had. He was worried about you, Frankie.”

  “Oh, I’m all right. Just a little tired.”

  “Well, if you think you’re tired now, wait until I get through with you! Taking pictures may be tiring, but it’s nothing compared to shopping, I can tell you! Now first we get some hot water up here to give you a bath, and then we’re off.”

  “What are you talking about?” Frankie asked with bewilderment, still fuzzy from lack of sleep. But Marianne just took her in hand to such an extent that she didn’t really have to think a great deal.

  Before long, maids came to the room carrying copper teakettles filled with scalding water. Frankie was ordered into the bathtub; then she was scrubbed and soaped. Next she was fluffed and powdered to within an inch of her life and practically wedged into a dress and a pair of lightweight ladies’ shoes. When she finally stood, her hair brushed and combed, for Marianne’s inspection, she complained, “You’re treating me like a big doll!”

  The older woman came to take the girl’s shoulders in her hands, gripping them gently. “I haven’t had a daughter to dress for a ball since Marie was very young. And I want you to be the most beautiful girl a
t the ball. We are going to do it, aren’t we?”

  Nonplussed, Frankie stared at Marianne. Then a smile lit up her face. “I read a verse in the Bible that said, ‘You are fair.’ It…it made me feel so odd! Like…like a woman, Marianne!”

  “Good!” Marianne nodded. “Now let’s go get the most beautiful girl at the ball ready to turn Richmond upside down!”

  CHAPTER 23

  ACT OF FORGIVENESS

  Clay had been sitting beside Ellen for two hours, staring out the window at the setting sun and at the slow-moving slaves who were cutting the green grass around the huge trees. From time to time the sound of their liquid voices drifted to him. Buck, Rena’s huge dog, broke into a crescendo of barking as he chased a gray squirrel up a tree. That dog has tried to catch a million squirrels—and never caught one. You’d think he’d learn!

  Rocklin closed his eyes, which were reddened from lack of sleep, and at once began to drift off. Soft sounds came to him from the rest of the house, and that, added to the heat of the room, caused him to nod off. He sat there dozing until a slight sound inside the room brought him awake.

  His eyes flew open, and a quick glance outside told him it was late, for stars dotted the dark sky. With a sigh, he looked down: Ellen’s eyelids were fluttering, and her lips were moving slightly.

  Clay came out of the chair, caught her limp hand, and whispered, “Ellen! Ellen! Can you hear me?”

  At first there was no response—in fact, he began to wonder if she had moved at all. Then slowly her eyes came open, and he cried out again. “Ellen! It’s me, Clay.” He leaned closer, noting that her eyes were clear but somewhat confused. “Can you hear me, Ellen?”

  He held his breath, waiting—and then her lips moved! It was only a faint movement, and he put his ear next to her lips and strained to hear. Nothing…and yet, something! Clay said, “Try to say my name if you can hear me, Ellen.”

  Indistinctly he heard her speak, and it seemed to him that she whispered, “Clay!”

  Clay lifted his head and began to speak to her as gently and reassuringly as he could. “Ellen, you had an accident.” As he spoke, he watched her eyes and was certain she was understanding him. Finally he said, “Can you move at all? Can you move these fingers?” He lifted her hand and stared at the fingers, but there was no movement that he could discern. He held on to her hand, nodded, and smiled. “Don’t worry; it’ll come back.” He reached out and touched her face, whispering, “I won’t leave you, Ellen.”

  He sat there for a long time, watching her closely and speaking from time to time. Though he was encouraged by her ability to communicate, her deathly pallor and dull eyes filled him with a sense of foreboding. It would not be long.

  Finally he laid her hand down, saying, “I’ll go get the boys—,” but he paused, for her eyelids were blinking rapidly, as if she wanted to speak. He bent closer, asking, “What is it, Ellen? What can I get you?” He stood there helplessly, then said, “I’m going to name some things. When I name what you want, blink twice. Blink twice now if you understand.”

  Her eyelids blinked twice, and Clay said, “Do you want water? No? Food?” He named the things that came to his mind, none of which she wanted. Finally he asked, “Is it someone you want to see? Yes!” He smiled encouragingly, then began to name the family: “Denton? David? Lowell?” but none of these brought a response. Finally he shook his head, saying, “I’ll go down the alphabet. When I get to the first letter of the person’s name, blink twice. Now, A, B, C…” And so it went with no response until he reached M. She blinked twice.

  “M? Let me see, is it Marianne? No? Well, is it Mattie?” He named everyone he could think of, but the eyes remained still. “I can’t think of anyone else—let me get Mother—”

  But Ellen’s eyes blinked furiously, and so he stopped. “You don’t want me to go? Well, let me—” Clay halted abruptly, then looked at Ellen, surprise on his face. “Is it Melora?” At once Ellen’s eyes blinked, and he could only stare at her. To be sure, he said, “You want to see Melora?” Her eyes closed twice, slowly and deliberately. “All right, I’ll ride and get her. I’ll go tell the boys.” He hesitated, then leaned over and kissed her cheek.

  It was the first caress he’d given her in years, and he felt strange. When he lifted his head, he saw two tears tracing their way down her pale cheeks. Taking out his handkerchief, he wiped them away, whispering, “It’ll be all right, Ellen.” Then he left the room, calling as soon he was outside: “Dent! David! Lowell!” When they came, he told them rapidly what had happened, adding, “She wants to see Melora. I’m going to get her. Go in with your mother, but remember that she can’t do much, just blink once for no and twice for yes. Don’t let her be alone, boys.”

  And then he was gone, running hard down the hall and out the door.

  Clay pulled the buggy up in front of the Yancy cabin, leaped off the seat, and went to bang on the door. It was after midnight, and Yancy’s voice came roughly: “Who’s there? Stand away!”

  “Buford! It’s me, Clay Rocklin. Open the door!”

  Yancy pulled the door open, his face registering his surprise and concern. “What’s wrong, Clay?” Even as he spoke, Melora came into the room tying the belt of a robe. Clay looked at the two.

  “It’s Ellen. I think she’s dying—and she’s calling for you, Melora.”

  “I’ll get dressed,” she said at once and left the room.

  “I’ll need to change horses, Buford,” Clay said, and hurriedly the two men left the cabin. By the time they had switched teams, Melora was ready and got into the buggy.

  “I’ll have her back when I can, Buford,” Clay said, leaping into the seat beside Melora and whipping up the team.

  Yancy waved as they left and yelled, “Hope she’s better, Clay. Don’t spare them horses!”

  As the buggy bounced along at top speed, Clay told Melora of Ellen’s condition. “I don’t think she can live long,” he concluded.

  “We must pray,” Melora said, and they both did so, silently, all the way back to Gracefield. When they arrived, Clay jumped down, ran around, and reached up to pluck Melora up and set her on the ground. He held her arm as they hurried up the steps, where the door was opened by his father. “How is she?” Clay asked.

  “No better, I’m afraid. She keeps dropping off into some sort of coma. You’d better hurry—”

  Clay and Melora went at once to Ellen’s room, where they found Marianne and Clay’s children. As he approached the bed, Clay heard his mother say, “Come, let’s give them some time alone.” He was vaguely aware of their departure as he bent over, saying, “Ellen.” When her eyes opened slowly, he said, “Here’s Melora.”

  Melora came at once to the other side of the bed and took Ellen’s hand. “Mrs. Rocklin, can I do anything for you?” She watched as the sick woman’s eyes seemed to strain and her lips moved slightly. Melora leaned close, her ear almost touching Ellen’s lips. The sick woman was making some sound, trying to talk, but it was vague and indistinct. But Melora finally made out the word.

  “‘Forgive’? Is that it, Mrs. Rocklin?” Ellen blinked twice. “You want me to forgive you?” Melora again received the sign. “Oh yes!” she whispered. “I forgive you with all my heart!” She saw Ellen’s lips try to move again, leaned close to listen, and thought she understood. “I forgive you everything, Mrs. Rocklin, not just for what happened at the mill, but for all the things in the past. I can forgive you because God has given me a special love for you!”

  Ellen was listening, they saw, and at Melora’s words, tears gathered in the woman’s eyes. Clay gently wiped them away, and Ellen fixed her eyes on him.

  “She wants you to forgive her, I think,” Melora whispered.

  Clay had long ago gotten all bitterness against his wife out of the way—or so he had thought. But now as she looked at him, he realized that he had not been complete in his forgiveness. He bent his head, took her hand, and held it firmly. He put his hand on her cheek and said, “I forgive you,
Ellen—for everything. But you must forgive me, too. I treated you and the children terribly. I forgive you. Can you forgive me?”

  As Clay and Melora watched, the eyes that had for so long been filled with hate and bitterness grew soft. She blinked twice, and Clay said thickly, “Thank you, Ellen!”

  He and Melora sat beside the dying woman, both aware that she was passing from the world. After a few moments, Melora said, “Mrs. Rocklin, I’ve forgiven you, and so has your husband, but you need the forgiveness that comes from heaven. May I tell you how to get forgiveness from God?”

  Clay watched as Melora sat there, her face filled with compassion, speaking of the love of God for sinners. She spoke softly yet with certainty of Jesus—how He had come to save sinners, how He loved all who had sinned and had paid on the cross for their sins. Ellen’s eyes were fixed on the young woman, and time and again Clay had to wipe away the tears that ran down his wife’s pale cheeks.

  Finally Melora said, “I know you can’t speak, Mrs. Rocklin, but God knows your heart. I feel He is speaking to your heart now. Jesus wants to come in and make you pure. Would you like for Him to do that?”

  Clay hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until Ellen blinked twice, and then he let out a sigh of great gladness.

  Melora smiled brightly. “Oh, Mrs. Rocklin! I knew you would! Let me pray with you, and as I pray, you pray, too. The words aren’t as important as people might think. Jesus died to save you, and He’s been waiting for years to hear you call on Him! Now let’s ask Him to save you.”

  As Clay bowed his head and prayed for his wife, his cheeks were damp with tears. Neither he nor Melora could pray eloquently, but both pleaded with God to hear Ellen. When Clay finally opened his eyes, he saw a look in his wife’s eyes that he had never seen before. For the first time in her life, Ellen Rocklin’s eyes glowed with peace.