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

by Gilbert, Morris

  Miss Dix stood rigidly before the young woman. “You’re in no condition to work,” she announced. “Look at you, trembling like a reed!”

  “I’ll be better soon!”

  “Yes, in about a month.” Miss Dix nodded. “You’re on a thirty-day leave as of this day. Go home and do nothing but eat and sleep. You were falling down with overwork, and this sickness has hit you hard.” And then her voice softened, and she smiled. “I must be hard with you now, my dear, for your own good.”

  Grace pleaded, but Miss Dix was adamant. At the end of fifteen minutes, the superintendent said, “I’ll call a cab for you.”

  “No, I have one waiting. But please, I must visit a little.”

  “Well, make it a very little. Then go home to bed!”

  Grace agreed and left Miss Dix’s office. She was very tired but went at once to Ward K. She had thought about all the patients, but it was John Smith who’d been foremost in her prayers. As she entered, she saw him standing with his shoulder against the wall. He looked tired, and there was defeat in the sagging shoulders.

  She greeted all the men, then came to him. She was exhausted by now and spoke with an effort. “Hello, John.”

  “Hello.” He stared at her, then shook his head, “You look weak. Why are you out in weather like this?”

  “I—wanted to see thee, John.”

  He stared at her, then said somewhat bitterly, “Well, it’s a good thing you came this morning.”

  She knew then that something was wrong. “What’s the matter?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No. What is it?”

  “I’m leaving here today.”

  “Leaving?” Grace tried to think but was so weary she could make nothing out of it. “Where is thee going?”

  “To the devil, I suppose!” The answer came sharply from tense lips, but Smith saw how it hurt her and shook his head, saying in a gentler tone, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to speak that way.”

  “Why is thee leaving?” Grace asked quietly.

  “I’ve been asked to leave.” He shrugged. “They say they need the space, and I’m able enough physically.”

  “But—where will thee go? I’ll speak to Miss Dix—”

  “No need of that. She was the one who told me I’d have to leave. It’s not her choice,” Smith said. “She told me she fought for me, but she has her superiors, and the order is for all able-bodied men to be discharged at once.”

  Grace stood there, filled with confusion. She was very tired, and her head ached, but even at that moment, she was aware that all this was not unknown to God. She whispered, “John, help me sit down…just for a little while.”

  He blinked with surprise, then shrugged. “Not much privacy around here.”

  “Take me to the porch, the one in front.”

  “All right.”

  He took her arm and was shocked at how weak she was. He walked slowly, and finally they reached the small enclosed porch. “Nobody here,” he announced, “but it’s cold as the North Pole.”

  “Just let me sit down.…”

  John helped her into one of the rockers, then stood to one side where he could watch her. She was very pale and thin, and when she closed her eyes, he saw that her eyes had grown sunken, giving her a distinctly unhealthy appearance. She put her head back, and he saw that her skin was very pale; she had lost the bloom of health that had always seemed so much a part of her.

  As he watched her, he thought of how he missed her. The other men had missed her, too, but only as a source of physical care. He had not needed that, but he’d desperately needed that other thing she’d brought: the lively presence that had meant hope to him…the only hope he’d had.

  Now he watched her. Though her eyes were closed, he was aware she was not asleep. Her lips were moving slightly, and he knew that she was in a realm of which he was totally ignorant. Despite the strength of her face, there was a gentleness and a fragility such as he had not encountered in his new world.

  Finally her eyelids fluttered, and then she was looking at him. Something about her expression was so changed that he stared at her, wondering what was in her mind.

  “John, has thee been signed out?”

  “Oh yes. They just wanted to keep me here to feed me at noon.”

  Grace nodded slowly. “Get thy kit together.” When he stared at her uncomprehendingly, she smiled. “Thee is going with me. God has told me so.”

  John Smith was rocked by this as he had been by nothing since coming out of the coma. “God told you to do this?”

  “Yes,” Grace said firmly. “Now pack thy things.”

  Smith stared at her, wanting to argue, but the strength of her gaze was such that he could not. “I’m already packed up,” he said with a shrug. “They gave me ten dollars and told me to pack this morning after breakfast.”

  “Go now and get thy things.”

  He left at once, and Grace sat in the rocker, staring out the window. The snow had turned to ice, and it reflected glints of light as the sun struck it. When John returned, Grace rose, and he took her arm. They left the balcony, and he led her through the corridor to the front door. When they stepped outside, Ryan Callihan spotted them at once. He spoke to the horses, and when he pulled the cab up, he said, “Put her inside, soldier. I’ll see her safe home.”

  “He’s going with us, Ryan,” Grace said. She looked up at the long step and tried to get in, but could not. Suddenly strong arms lifted her and she was lightly placed inside as easily as if she’d been a baby. She gasped and had one fleeting thought: Clyde Dortch never would have been able to do such a thing!

  Then John was inside the coach, and she heard Ryan say, “Hup, Babe—Butch!” and the cab jerked forward.

  John Smith looked out the window, watching as the low buildings of Armory Square Hospital were left behind.

  Turning to her, he asked, “Where are we going?”

  Grace took a deep breath and moved to meet his gaze. A smile touched her lips then, and she said, “Pennsylvania, John—to my home.”

  The steel-clad hooves of the team clicked against the icy streets, making a sharp sound in the stillness of the early morning air. The forms of ice-capped buildings flashed by, but though Grace was looking out the window, she saw none of them. She was thinking of Pennsylvania. And of the man beside her.

  A smile curved her lips, and she thought, Well, Grace Swenson, thee has a man of thy own. Now see what thee will do with him!

  CHAPTER 13

  A SLEIGH RIDE

  Clyde Dortch was not in a happy mood. He snapped at Prudence as she set his breakfast out, and she blinked with resentment. “What’s the matter with you, honey?” she asked petulantly. “Thee has been as touchy as a hornet lately.”

  Dortch scowled at her as he cut his fried eggs with the edge of his fork. He speared a large segment of one, stuffed it into his mouth, and chewed it. “I don’t like it, Prue,” he said after swallowing. “Why’d she have to bring that fellow home?”

  “Why, he’s been sick, Clyde,” Prudence answered. “He didn’t have anyplace to go when the hospital turned him out—not with him not knowing who his family is or anything.”

  Dortch glared at her as if she had lost her mind. “Does thee believe that fairy tale?” he demanded. “I don’t. He’s a bummer looking for a place where he won’t have to work.”

  Prudence had just started to sip her coffee, but his statement caused her to pause with the cup half lifted. “Thee doesn’t really think that!”

  “I’m not a fool—and that’s what I’d be if I swallowed his cock-and-bull story. There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s strong as a workhorse.” He chewed viciously on a piece of bacon, swallowed, then pointed at Prudence with his fork, punctuating each word with a jab. “Mark my words, he’ll wind up marrying her, and we’ll be out on our ear, Prudence!”

  This had never occurred to Prudence, and the shock such a thought caused her ran over her face. She was not a thoughtful young woman. Since
coming back home, she had been happy with her new husband and her new life. Now she grew frightened, for Clyde’s face was dark with anger, and what he had said shook her.

  “Grace would never do that to us,” she whispered.

  “No? Maybe she wouldn’t,” Dortch retorted, “but Smith would, in a second!”

  Silence fell on the room as the two of them thought of what might lie ahead. Dortch was shaken, for he had fallen into the easy life of the farm at once. With two hired hands to do the work, he was freed from most of it. There was enough money for his needs, he had a handsome wife, and the future looked rosy.

  Now all that was being threatened, and he had become an angry man since the arrival of his sister-in-law and her tall, silent guest. He had kept a smiling face when the pair were around, going to great trouble to welcome Grace back home, but his first glimpse of John Smith had set off a warning inside him. Being the kind of man he was—one who knew how to manipulate women—he suspected all other men of the same sort of behavior. As soon as Grace had introduced Smith, Dortch had thought, He’s after the farm! He’ll marry Grace, and even if he lets us stay, I’ll wind up doing all the work while he sits around and eats the cream!

  Dortch had not changed his mind since that first moment. Rather, he had fallen into a moody state, though he’d been careful not to show it to Grace. He’d had two weeks to think about it and had watched the pair carefully. Now he shook his head, an angry light in his brown eyes as he said, “We’ve got to do something about it, Prue.”

  “Do something? What can we do?” Prudence was upset, for she felt that her husband was a shrewd man, and if he was concerned, then something surely was afoot. “It’s Grace’s farm.… Oh, I don’t see how Pa could give it to her and leave me out in the cold!”

  Dortch didn’t point out that their own reckless behavior might have had something to do with that. Instead he said, “We’ve got to get her to see the truth about that fellow Smith.”

  “She won’t listen to us.”

  “Maybe not, but she listens to other people—like Jacob Wirt, for example.” Wirt was an elderly man, a Quaker minister who had been Amos Swenson’s best friend. He was in his eighties now, but Grace loved and revered him as she did no other man, now that her father was gone. “We’ll have to let Wirt know that Grace is about to be foolish.”

  Prudence nodded slowly. “If anyone could do it, he’d be the one. Grace dotes on the old man.” She thought of it and asked finally, “But he’s a sharp one, no matter if he is old. How will we get him on our side?”

  “I’m going to see him today,” Dortch said at once. “I’ve been thinking about it, how to get the old man to talk to Grace.” Dortch was a scheming man and had indeed been carefully plotting his move. “What I’ll do is go see him, and I’ll tell him we’re worried about Grace. I’ll say, ‘She’s been very sick, and this man has taken up with her. You know Grace, how kind she is, and he’s taking advantage of her, so Prudence and I think you should have a talk with her.’ That’s what I’ll say, and I’ll bet he’ll do it. He’s always been jealous of Grace, like she was his only chick!”

  Prudence nodded thoughtfully. “It ought to work, but I don’t know.” Her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head. “That man is so handsome! Grace is still mad, if you ask me, because you took me instead of her. Now she’s got a chance at a big, fine-looking man like that—”

  Always sensitive to any reference to his lack of height, Dortch snapped angrily, “We’ll see about that! I’ll just cut that fellow down to size!” He rose and yanked his coat and hat from the rack, starting for the door.

  “Clyde, you haven’t finished your breakfast!”

  “Save it for that ‘big handsome man’ upstairs!” Dortch left the room, slamming the door so hard the glass rattled. He saddled his horse quickly, then left the farm, spurring the stallion into a dead run.

  “John, let’s have that sleigh ride thee never had. It’s going to be a fine evening for it.”

  John paused in the act of hefting an ax and looked at Grace. She was sitting on a sawbuck watching him split wood, and he thought how much change two weeks of rest and good food had made in her appearance. When they’d arrived at the farm, he’d had to carry her into the house, she’d been so exhausted by the long train ride. He’d been afraid she might have a relapse, but getting home had seemed to infuse new life into her. She had gotten up the next day, eaten the food that Prudence cooked, and talked animatedly. The following day she had sat on the porch, watching the hands put up a new fence. From that time on she had improved rapidly, so that now as he glanced at her, he was amazed at how well she looked.

  She was wearing a dark blue wool dress, with a pair of sturdy black boots peeping out from underneath the skirt. A wine-colored scarf was knotted around her throat, and a blue-and-white wool knitted cap perched on her head. Her fine blond hair escaped, blowing with the slight breeze, and he was glad to see the rich color in her face and the liveliness in her sparkling blue eyes.

  Suddenly he was aware that he was staring at her, and he quickly turned his attention to the wood. “I’d like a sleigh ride,” he said, then set a round section of the beech upright. Lifting the ax, he brought it down with a sharp, hard blow that divided the wood neatly in two. He split the two halves into quarters and then tossed the sections on the top of a pile almost as high as his belt.

  “Thee splits wood better than any man I ever saw,” Grace remarked. “It looks so easy when you do it!”

  “I must have had a lot of practice,” he remarked. He smiled at her, his teeth very white against his dark skin. “Maybe I worked in a wood yard.”

  Grace smiled, glad that he had reached the point where he could talk about his cloudy past without becoming depressed and moody. “I don’t think so. Thee doesn’t look like a woodcutter.”

  “Oh?” he asked, lifting one eyebrow quizzically. “What do I look like? A lawyer?”

  “No, not a lawyer.” Grace’s tone was light, and she shook her head, adding, “Thee looks too honest for that.”

  “You don’t like lawyers? First time I ever heard you speak against anyone.”

  “They’re caught in a devious trade,” Grace said quickly. “Besides, thee is too—” She broke off, suddenly embarrassed.

  “I’m too what?” he demanded.

  Grace had been about to say, “Thee is too fine-looking to be a lawyer,” but changed it to “Thee is too much an outdoorsman to be a lawyer.” Color tinged her cheeks at the statement she’d almost made, but as she watched him place another section of beech upright, she thought, He is fine-looking. More than any man I’ve ever seen.

  He was wearing the same light blue trousers he’d worn in the hospital, and the exercise had caused him to take off the heavy woolen coat, which had belonged to her father. John’s coal black hair glistened as the red rays of the afternoon sun touched it, and the powerful muscles of his back, arms, and chest were clearly defined through the thin cotton shirt he wore. He split the log, tossed the sections on the pile, then grinned at her.

  “I’m tired of this. Let’s go look at the new colt.”

  “All right.”

  “Not too tired?”

  “Oh no!” Grace rose quickly, and the two of them left the backyard, following a path that led down to the barn. As they walked along, he remarked, “You’re much better. I was worried about you.”

  Grace was pleased with his remark. “Good. I’ve worried about thee enough, John. It’s only fair thee should worry a little about me.”

  He glanced at her, liking it that she was able to tease him. Still he said, “I really was worried. You were pretty weak.”

  She thought of how he’d had to carry her off the train like a child and put her into the buggy he’d rented for the trip to the farm. He had taken care of her all the way on that trip. It had been the first time she’d been so zealously cared for, and the memory of it had stayed with her. “I’d never have made that trip without thy care, John.”

&
nbsp; Her remark brought color to his cheeks. “Well, maybe I was just looking out for myself,” he muttered. “I didn’t have any other place to go.”

  “No, that wasn’t it.” Grace spoke firmly, shaking her head slightly. She dropped her hand to pet the massive head of Rip, the shaggy sheepdog, who nuzzled her. “Get away, Rip,” she protested. She walked along silently, then said, “Thee is a very kind man.”

  Her praise disturbed him. He shook his head, saying, “Don’t know about that, Grace. I am a very grateful one, though.”

  She glanced at him quickly and felt sure he’d been waiting for this chance to speak with her. “I’m grateful that God has let me help thee, John.”

  “You have helped me, Grace,” he said slowly. He had thought about this for days, and now in the quietness of the afternoon, he spoke out what had been building in his mind. “I’ve never told you, but the first time I began to wake up was when you prayed for Aaron Bent.”

  “I never knew that!”

  “It was like a faint echo, I guess you might say.” Smith tried to find words, then shook his head. “It’s hard to say how it was, Grace. The best I can put it is that it was like I was locked in a black box with no light and no sound. And then I heard this voice. Your voice, and you were praying for Aaron.”

  “Thee didn’t show it.”

  “No, but it was the beginning. After that, I began to be aware of things. Mostly of you.”

  As they reached the corral, the leggy colt lifted his head from underneath his mother to stare at them. Smith called out, “Come here, little fellow.” As the colt staggered across the rough ground, he added, “It was you praying for me and reading the Bible for me that brought me out of that darkness.”

  Grace watched as the colt reached a spot five feet away and stared at them, wild-eyed and ready to bolt. “I didn’t think thee heard me.”

  Smith reached into his pocket and came out with a lump of brown sugar. He held it out, and the colt advanced nervously. He licked the sugar, tentatively at first, then with greater pleasure. When it was gone, John reached out to touch his head. The colt snorted, leaped back, and bolted in a wild stagger back to his mother.