Not that Melora had lacked for suitors. She was a beautiful woman, and several men had sought her company. Her most persistent suitor had been Jeremiah Irons, the fine young pastor who had joined the Confederate Army. Jeremiah had finally won Melora’s consent to marry a year and a half ago—shortly before he was killed in battle. Now, at the age of twenty-seven, she was still single.
As Melora turned away, making her way to the wagon where her father, Buford, waited for her, she saw the concern in his greenish eyes. “Are you ready to go home, Melora?” he asked.
“Ready, Pa.”
Melora mounted the seat beside him as her brothers and sisters scrambled into the back of the wagon. For them, Melora was more of a mother, for after the death of their real mother, she had practically raised them.
As the wagon pulled away, Burke stood off to one side, watching the drama. He had been aware for years of the hopeless love between his brother and Melora Yancy. He had beaten one man into insensibility for speaking of the pair in public, and his skill with a dueling pistol had shut the mouths of others.
Now he saw that Clay was holding his daughter, Rena, closely—but his eyes followed Melora as the wagon moved out of the churchyard.
“Too bad for Clay,” Burke muttered. He respected few women. In his opinion, most were deceiving creatures without much honor who wanted husbands and would play any game to get one. But two women he did respect were his mother—and Melora Yancy.
Burke knew there were other women like his mother and Melora and some of his aunts, but they were few and far between—a thought that made his self-assigned duty of finding a wealthy wife less than enjoyable. He knew he would have to make concessions to assure his future, but the thought of living with a devious woman for the rest of his life—no matter how attractive her money might be—left a sour taste in his mouth. He moved to help his father into the buggy, but his thoughts were on what lay ahead for him.
Not the war; Burke was no patriot. He was not incensed by slavery as was Clay, yet he did believe the leadership of the South had led them into a deadly war that they would lose.
As he rode back to Gracefield, he thought of the plan he’d explained to Clay and mused, It’s got to be that way, I guess. What else am I fit to do but be some kind of kept husband? A thin feeling of self-disgust ran through him, but he clamped his lips tightly together and settled down in the carriage, thinking of what would come in the next few weeks.
CHAPTER 6
A RAPID PROMOTION
The smoke of the fighting, which would be called the Seven Days’ Battles, still hung over Richmond. The campaign was made up of a series of battles fought outside the capital, and it was Robert E. Lee’s genius that staved off defeat for the newborn Confederacy.
General Joseph Johnston had been in command of the Confederate forces as the Federals’ Peninsular Campaign started, but had been wounded at Seven Pines, and President Jefferson Davis had appointed General Lee as commander. That would prove to be the best decision Davis ever made as president. Lee had attacked the Federals so audaciously that McClellan had been driven off and forced to retire back to the safety of Washington.
The Seven Days’ Battles rocked both North and South, for neither side had been prepared for the enormous losses they would sustain. The Union forces suffered almost sixteen thousand killed, wounded, captured, or missing. The Confederates lost approximately twenty thousand men.
The Richmond Grays, in which three of the Rocklins served, were devastated by the Seven Days’ Battles. When Lieutenant Dent Rocklin, along with his father and brother, went back to camp immediately following his mother’s funeral, he found that half of the officers had already been killed or wounded so badly that they would be out of action for months. His own platoon had lost over 40 percent—and the fighting was still going on! This meant he would have to train privates to become corporals and corporals to become sergeants, as well as commandeer whatever recruits he could manage to get his hands on. Unlike the Northern adversary, the South had scant few replacements for those who fell. All Lincoln had to do was issue a call, and he would have fifty thousand new recruits to fill the Federal ranks. But when a Southern soldier died, he left a gap that, often, no one could be found to fill. So the ranks grew thin, and those who were left had to fight harder on less supplies and energy than ever before.
After the Seven Days’Battles, Richmond was like a swimmer who had exhausted himself. The city had not been invaded as McClellan (and the North) had promised, but the herculean effort expended by Lee and the army in repelling the Army of the Potomac had drained the people terribly.
The small towns just to the northeast of Richmond marked the bloody battles. Mechanicsville, Gaines’ Mill, Savage’s Station, Malvern Hill…these tiny hamlets that most people had never heard of soon became household words all over the country. Many a parent or a wife wept over one of these names as the news came that their sons and husbands slept forever in one of the obscure towns beside the Chickahominy River.
The Peace Party in the North began sounding its cry: “Stop the War,” and Abraham Lincoln padded for long hours in the White House each night, his homely face furrowed with care. When his secretary of war asked him if he could keep the North to the task of defending the Union, he said, “I knew an old fellow back home in Illinois. He kept dogs, bought and sold them. But there was one old dog he never would sell. Wasn’t much of a dog to look at, and I asked him once why he wouldn’t sell him. ‘Abe,’ he said to me, ‘that ol’ dog ain’t much to look at, and I got dogs that’s faster—but that ol’ dog—you can’t beat him on a cold scent!’ I guess I’m like that old dog; I’m not much to look at, but I know how to hold on, and that’s what I’m going to do until the Union is secure!”
McClellan’s army went slinking away, whipped again, as they had been at Bull Run—but it had not been their fault that they had lost. They had fought as bravely and with as much determination as the Confederates. What had whipped them was their commander’s lack of will. George McClellan was a fine commander, right up until a battle came. He could train troops and whip an army into shape and give it heart better than any man in the North. And he proved that he was an expert soldier by the manner in which he conducted his retreat from Richmond: orderly and with almost no losses.
But the man lacked nerve. When it came time to send men in large numbers to their deaths, he simply could not do it. He would prove this again and again. Lincoln could have done it, but he was not a general. It wasn’t until the North found a man who could do this—a small, nondescript man named U. S. Grant—that the North would overcome the smaller armies of the Confederacy. When Lincoln finally found Grant and put him in charge, he received complaints about the man’s drinking. In response, the president said adamantly, “I can’t spare this man; he fights!”
So the Army of the Potomac—those who didn’t remain forever in Southern soil, at any rate—went home. When they arrived, there were no parades with flags flying and people cheering. All the North, it seemed, wore black arm bands in memory of high-spirited young soldiers who had marched away a few weeks earlier, shouting “On to Richmond!”—but who now would march no more.
As soon as the fighting was over, Dent sought out his father. “How are you?” he asked Clay at once.
“Fine, Lieutenant,” Clay said, using the formal term as he always did when they were in uniform. When Clay had joined the army to be near Lowell, he’d told his son Denton, “You’ll have to be harder on Lowell and me than on any of the others. If you don’t, you’ll be accused of favoritism.” And Dent had acted on this, giving all the hard jobs to his father and brother.
“How’s Raimey?” Clay asked, aware that she hadn’t been at the funeral.
A smile crossed Dent’s face. He’d married Raimey Reed, a lovely girl from a wealthy family, nearly a year ago. It had been a stormy and bizarre romance, complicated by the fact that Raimey was blind. Dent had been terribly wounded in battle, his handsome face scarred by a saber,
and it had been the determination of the blind girl that had led him out of self-pity into trust in God. The journey from there to love had been short, and Dent thanked God again, as he often did, for his wife and the joy they shared. He grinned at his father. “Well, Sergeant, she’s doing quite well. In fact, I have news for you. You’re going to be a grandfather.”
“Dent!” Clay forgot the differences in rank at once. He beamed at his son, saying, “That’s wonderful! I always wanted to be a fussy old grandpa!”
Dent kept smiling. “You look like a mighty spry grandpa to me, but Raimey and I are happy.” He shook his head, saying, “As much as I’d like to talk about it more, the colonel wants to see you.”
“Me? What does Colonel Benton want with me?”
“You’ll have to ask him, Sergeant. Come along.”
Clay turned and followed his son toward the large Sibley tent used by the colonel. The two entered, and Dent said to the officer, who had his back to the entrance, “Here’s Sergeant Rocklin, sir.”
Colonel Benton turned, and there was a smile on his face. “Sergeant, you did a fine job in the battles!” he said with excitement. “The men looked to you for leadership, and you provided it.”
Clay thought sorrowfully of the men of his company who would fight no more. After the campaign, he’d helped clear the battlefields of the dead and wounded, and it sickened him to think of it.
He shrugged. “It was all pretty hot and heavy, Colonel. I guess none of us had a lot of time to meditate on what to do.” The weariness on his face was plain. The battles, right on the heels of his wife’s funeral, had taken their toll.
“That’s as may be,” Benton said quickly. “But we’re just getting started. The Yankees will be back, and we’ve got to get ready for them.”
“Yes, sir, they’ll be back,” Clay agreed. “And we lost a lot of good men.”
“We did indeed.” The colonel nodded sadly. “And their places have to be filled.” He tugged at his mustache, winked at Dent, then said, “So from now on, you’ll be Lieutenant Rocklin, in charge of your platoon.” Colonel Benton watched the stunned expression on Clay’s face and let out a long laugh. “Well, I’ve surprised you this time, haven’t I?”
Clay glanced at Dent, who was grinning broadly. “Yes, sir, you have. I never thought I’d be an officer.”
Benton laughed, exposing white teeth. “When we lost Lieutenant Simms, I knew you’d be the man to take his place. Clay, you’re a natural leader, and I need you badly. Tell you what, why don’t you go into town, get a uniform, then take a few days off.” He hesitated, then nodded. “You’ve had a hard time the last few days, and the new recruits won’t be in until later in the week. Lieutenant, go get yourself a flashy uniform. Go home and show off; then come back.” He hesitated, then said quietly, “I want your father to see you. He’ll be very proud.”
“Yes, I think he will, sir.” Clay nodded, saluted, and left the tent.
As soon as he was gone, Dent said, “That’s a relief, Colonel. The rest of us are doing the best we can, but my father—he’s one of those natural soldiers. Don’t know what it is, but some men can get others to follow them, and some can’t.”
Colonel Benton nodded absently. “Yes, I think you’re right. We’d better look out, Lieutenant, or he’ll be commanding both of us!”
Burke had breakfast with his parents out on the veranda. He’d gotten up late, having noticed that his father seldom rose early. His mother had come to wake him. When he’d answered her knock with a muffled “Come in,” she’d entered and crossed the room to open the shade.
Burke had sat up, blinded by the bright yellow beams. He peered at her, then grinned sleepily. “Mother, you didn’t bring my breakfast.”
“I’ll bring a stick, just like I used to, if you aren’t out of that bed and down to breakfast in fifteen minutes!” she responded tartly.
Susanna Lee Rocklin tried to look fierce, but it was a failure. Her blue-green eyes glowed as she smiled at Burke. I can no more be angry with him now than I could when he was a little boy, she thought. And Lord help me, he’s finer looking than ever! All his hard living hasn’t coarsened him, thank God! But she said only, “You’ve loafed long enough, Burke. Come to breakfast, and after I’ve fed you, I’ll put you to work.”
“All right, Mother.”
His answer was so meek and so unlike him that Susanna peered at him intently. “Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, now, would it, Burke Rocklin! What scheme are you hatching up?”
“Me? Why, nothing!”
“Humph!” Susanna snorted. “I know you! Now get dressed and come to breakfast.” She hurried out of the room, going at once to the kitchen, where she found Dorrie cooking biscuits. “Make some extra, Dorrie,” she said. “You know how Burke loves your biscuits.”
Dorrie considered herself the mistress of Gracefield, for she had been in charge of the house for years. Tall, heavy, and of a rich chocolate complexion, she was bossy—and loyal to the Rocklins above all things except God. “Yas, I knows about dat,” she grunted. She was most partial to Burke, a weakness she tried hard—but unsuccessfully—to hide. “But I got more to do den fix biscuits for dat worthless man!”
Susanna knew Dorrie well. “He’s shamelessly handsome, Dorrie. No wonder women fall into his arms.” She laughed, saying, “But he still loves you the best! He told me so last night.”
“I guess he do!” Dorrie snorted indignantly. “Doan see none of them fixin’ him pies and biscuits!” She slapped a pan of biscuits into the oven and wiped her hands on her apron. “Whut he gonna do now, Miss Susanna?”
Susanna shook her head. “I really don’t know, Dorrie. He’s not a boy any longer. He’s got to find his way.”
“You don’t reckon he’ll join the army with Marse Clay and Marse Lowell?”
“He hasn’t said what he’s going to do. But he doesn’t have any money, so he’ll have to either go to work or go into the army.”
“Plenty of work round heah,” Dorrie commented flatly, but both women knew it was unlikely that Burke would throw himself into the grueling work of running a plantation. Dorrie’s face assumed a heavy look, and she shook her head dolefully, “Dat boy, he need a good dose of religion—dat’s whut’ll fix him up! He gots to find the Lord.”
“I think that’s right, Dorrie,” Susanna said with a nod. The two women worked on the breakfast, and thirty minutes later, Susanna and Thomas were sitting at the table on the veranda waiting for Burke.
Thomas was pale, and Susanna knew he was in pain. “Have some milk, dear,” she urged.
“Where’s Burke?” Thomas demanded. “Thought he was supposed to be here and eat with us.” He looked up even as he spoke, for Burke entered and sat down. “Good afternoon, Mr. Rocklin,” Thomas said sarcastically. “I hope we haven’t gotten you up too early?”
“Why, this is the most civilized time to have breakfast,” Burke said with a cocky grin. But his eyes were serious as he asked, “How are you, sir?”
“I feel about as bad as I look! Which is saying a lot.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Burke had been shocked at how much his father had aged in the year he’d been gone. The illness had eaten away at him, and he’d had to work at concealing how concerned he was. He’d learned quickly that his father didn’t like conversations or comments about his health, so he said, “You’re looking fine, Mother—,” but he broke off as Dorrie came in with a silver tray piled high with food. “Now here’s the real woman in my life!” He got to his feet, took the tray from Dorrie and set it down, then turned to give her a huge hug. “I thought about you every day I was gone, Dorrie,” he said fervently.
Dorrie fought to keep the grin from her face as she struggled to get out of his grasp. “You thought about yo’ stomach, dat’s whut you thought ’bout!” she muttered. “Lemme go, you hear me?”
But Burke held her tightly and, reaching into his pocket, pulled out a silver coin. Taking her hand, he pressed it into her palm. “That’s f
or you to buy yourself a pretty with. Come and show it to me when you get it.”
Dorrie grasped the coin and did her best to look harsh. She went away mumbling something about “A fool and his money is soon parted—”
“Didn’t know you came home a wealthy man, Burke,” Thomas said with his eyebrows lifted. “I may have to ask you for a loan.”
“Certainly, sir.” Burke nodded. “Just give me a few days to get my affairs in order, and I think I can accommodate you. Now let’s eat this fine breakfast.…”
It was a pleasant meal, for Thomas and Susanna always enjoyed Burke’s company. Though Thomas often spoke to his younger son in a seemingly harsh manner, Burke and his mother both knew it was not because the father disliked the son. Rather, it seemed to be Thomas’s only way of showing concern. All the years that Clay had been gone, it had been Burke, the younger son, who’d sat in his place. And he had become a support to his parents during that time. Oh, he’d been a wild young man, but he was never vicious or careless with his family. When Clay had come back, he’d left abruptly, saying only that he needed to see the world. He’d done this before, but for shorter trips. This was the longest time he’d been gone, and his parents had missed him.
Burke noted that his father picked at his food, and he saw how concerned his mother was. He was not unaware that in the early days of their marriage, Thomas Rocklin had given his wife some difficulty. He’d had a wild streak in him—a fact that made Burke smile when his father now reprimanded him for being “wild.” In fact, when their sons began to behave badly, Susanna had feared for them, worried that they would find little guidance or correction in her husband. But time had cured Thomas of his vices, and he’d become more of a husband to Susanna and a father to his sons.
Appomattox Saga Omnibus 2: Three Books In One (Appomatox Saga) Page 39