It came one evening when another guest had taken John upstairs to show him some samples of fine early furniture. Wirt leaned back and put his wise old eyes on Grace. “Well, thee isn’t asking me what I think of the young man?”
“Oh, thee knows I want so much for thee to like him!”
“Why?”
“Because…the Lord is doing a work in him—and He is using me as part of it.”
“Ah? Thee sees him as a convert? Thee is a holy young woman!” Grace knew Wirt was laughing at her, and she blushed visibly—which only drew a broad smile from Wirt. “Has thee noticed he is a handsome fellow?” he inquired.
“Why, I believe most would say so.”
“Most? What does thee say, Grace? And let thy answer be yea or nay.”
Grace met Wirt’s eyes and nodded. “Yes, he is handsome.”
“He seems very strong.”
“He—is very strong.” The flush on her cheeks and neck grew richer, for she thought, What if he asks me how I know John is strong?
“Ah. And he is intelligent, very much so.” Wirt studied the girl, thinking back over the years he had known her—all her life, actually. He had grieved over her aborted marriage, for he had told an intimate friend that of all the young women in their community, Grace Swenson was likely to make the best wife. But he knew he had to make himself plain to Grace, so he said, “What is his view of God? He listens much but says little.”
“I think he is a seeker, Jacob.”
“I sense that in him.” Wirt grew silent, his sharp chin settling on his thin chest.
Finally Grace grew impatient. “What does thee think of him?”
Wirt lifted his eyes. “He is outside of my experience, Grace—as he is outside of thine. We have no way of knowing what sort of man he really is. He’s like a babe, with no past—and yet he does have a past, one that I cannot help but believe will one day catch up with him.” He paused, then added gently, “Thee knows all these things. Be careful, my daughter. I think thee could be in grave danger.”
Grace understood the old man’s gentle warning perfectly and was aware that she would get no approval from him. But she was shocked at his next statement. “Thy brother-in-law thinks John Smith is a deceiver. He asked me to warn you to have nothing to do with him.”
Grace was indignant. “He had no right to come to thee!”
Wirt smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “He is afraid for himself and his wife.”
Grace fell silent. She was painfully aware of the resentment in Clyde and Prudence, but she refused to speak of it, even to Wirt. Still, she knew the old man wanted some reassurance from her, and she gave it. Reaching out, she took his hand in hers, smiled, and nodded. “I will be as wise as possible. Thee must pray much for me. I am a trouble to thee, Jacob.”
“Never! Thee is the apple of my eye!”
On the way back to the farm, Grace noticed that John was unusually quiet. When they entered the house, he said, “Before you go to bed, I want to show you something, Grace.” Reaching into his inner coat pocket, he drew out an envelope and handed it to her. “This came yesterday,” he said evenly.
Grace took the envelope with a puzzled look, took out the single sheet of paper, and scanned it. It was written in a woman’s hand and was very brief:
My dear Mr. Smith:
I have just returned from a visit with Miss Dorothea Dix, superintendent of nurses at the Armory Square Hospital. My purpose was to try and find my husband, Matthew. He has been missing since the second battle of Bull Run. I have made every inquiry, including many with the Confederate war prisons, all to no avail.
Miss Dix related your history, and I write this letter to inquire if your memory has returned. If it has, you will of course be restored to your people. If you are still suffering from a loss of memory, I will simply give you a description of my husband. He is tall, several inches over six feet, and on the lean side. He has black hair and dark eyes. He is thirty-five years of age.
My two sons and my daughter I have not told of this possibility. I write with little hope, but if this fits your description and you would like to meet me, I can be reached at the address at the bottom of this letter.
Mrs. Leota Richards
Something caused a constriction to grip Grace’s throat, and she swallowed hard before she looked up to say, “Does thee think she may be right?”
“No way to tell.” John’s face was tense, and he shook his head with a negative expression. “I fit the description pretty well, but so must a thousand other men.”
“What will thee do?”
“Already done it,” John answered. “I wrote back, saying I’d meet her.”
“Oh.” Grace felt a pang of disappointment, for she had assumed that he’d talk it over with her before acting on it. Then she said quickly, “Yes, thee must see her.”
“I knew you’d think so.” His brow suddenly wrinkled, and a strange look came into his eyes. “What if I am her husband? With three children I can’t even remember? And there must be other family—parents, brothers—”
“Thee must not worry,” Grace said at once. “God will give you the truth of it.”
“I guess Mrs. Richards will do that,” John said tightly. He suddenly took her hands, saying, “I’m always trouble for you, aren’t I, Grace?”
“How could you be trouble?” she protested. The warmth and strength of his hands made her nervous. Withdrawing her own hands, she said, “Go to bed. Read the Gospel of John. It’s God’s best prescription for a troubled heart.”
But the gospel, for once, failed to calm her own spirits. She read for a long time, but when she put the Bible down and blew out the lamp, sleep would not come. The letter had shaken her world, and she tossed for what seemed like a long time. Finally she drifted off, but slept only fitfully.
Three days later an answer came. Grace herself picked it up from the post office, and it lay like lead in her purse all the way back to the farm. She found John splitting rails for a fence, and as soon as he saw her face, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Thee has an answer from…the woman who wrote.”
He put the maul down, took the envelope, and stared at it. Then he looked up and said wistfully, “I’d like to burn this without opening it.”
“No, thee must not do that.”
“I suppose not.” He opened the envelope, ran his eyes over the page, then looked up. “She’s coming here, Grace.”
That surprised Grace. “Here? I thought she’d ask thee to come to her.”
He handed her the letter. “Her family lives in Gettysburg. She’ll take the train there, then come here.”
“When—when will she come?” Grace asked.
“Next week.” John folded the paper and put it in his pocket. He stared down at the ground steadily, then expelled his breath. “For some reason this scares me. You’d think I’d be happy as a lark, wouldn’t you?”
“It’s a very difficult thing.” Grace shook her head, adding, “Anyone would be nervous, I think.” She tried to smile, saying, “Just think, thee may be with thy family soon.”
But he was gloomy and only shook his head. “Guess I’d better finish splitting these rails.”
It didn’t take long for Clyde to notice how quiet the tall man had become. He finally asked Grace, “What’s wrong with him? He’s not getting mental, is he? Going crazy?”
“Of course not, Clyde. He just has a heavy load.”
The following day, that load grew much heavier.
John had gone into the woods to chop firewood, and when he returned, he found he had a visitor.
“This is John Smith,” Grace said as he entered the house. “And this is Colonel Harold Drecker, John.”
“Glad to see you, Mr. Smith,” the officer smiled. “Or is it Private Smith?”
John stared at the man. Drecker was wearing a spotless uniform of light blue trousers and a long dark blue coat with two rows of polished brass buttons. Shoulder-strap insignia bore the eagles t
hat marked his rank. A high-crowned hat with the right brim pinned up and sporting a black ostrich feather lay on the floor next to his chair. A gilt-handled saber dangled from his left side.
“What can I do for you, Colonel?” John asked.
Colonel Drecker smiled heartily. “Why, I’ve come to do something for you, Smith!” He spoke quickly, like a salesman, and had a habit of stabbing the air with his forefinger for emphasis. He did so now as he continued. “I’m planning to field the most distinguished regiment in the Army of the Potomac! I suppose you’ve heard that General Burnside has been placed in charge?”
“Yes, I’ve read that in the paper.”
“Well, sir, I’ve known the general for a long time, and he’s been most enthusiastic about my efforts. In fact, he’s promised me that the Merton Blue Devils—that’s what my regiment is named—will be at the forefront of the fighting!” Drecker beamed with pleasure, and for the next fifteen minutes he spoke rapidly about what a glorious future lay ahead for the fortunate soldiers who would be under his command. They would, he asserted boldly, whip Bobby Lee and Stonewall Jackson, then march straight into Richmond!
“The only thing I fear is that Burnside will do the job before the Blue Devils can get into action!”
“I doubt you have to worry about that, Colonel,” John said dryly. “But what brings you to see me?”
“Why, I thought I’d made myself plain,” Drecker said with surprise. “I’m filling the places still available in the ranks of the Blue Devils, and you’re being given a chance to join with me in driving the Rebels back to Richmond.”
His proposal caught both his listeners off guard. Grace said, “Mr. Smith was invalided out on a medical discharge, Colonel.”
But Drecker had thought that out. “Not really, Miss Swenson. His record shows that he was wounded and sent to Armory Square Hospital, and the record there clearly indicates that his wounds were healed and that he was discharged with a clean bill of health.”
“But did thee not know of his—mental problems?”
“Oh, there was a note, I believe,” Drecker muttered with a shrug, then said with energy, “but we must not give in to our fears. Many men break under the strain of battle, but they recover.” He put his rather close-set brown eyes on the tall man, examined him critically, then nodded. “You seem very fit, Smith. How do you feel?”
“I’m all right, Colonel.” There was no point, John saw at once, in arguing with this man.
“Of course you are!”
“But I have some—personal problems that I have to take care of, so I’m afraid I won’t be going with your regiment.”
Colonel Drecker lost his smile, and a hard glint appeared in his eyes. He was no longer the amiable recruiter. “You misunderstand me, Smith,” he snapped harshly. “You are going with my regiment.” He pulled a paper from his pocket, extended it, and continued as John read it: “You are not being enlisted, for you are already a soldier of the Union Army. That paper will inform you of your status—that you and the others named there are under my command. And you will notice that it’s signed by Secretary Stanton himself!”
John read the order, then slowly handed it back to the officer. “I have no choice, it seems.”
Drecker, now that he had his man, grew congenial again. “Oh, you’ll have time to get your business done,” he said with a nod, slipping the paper back into his pocket. “The regiment is forming now. I want you to take a week, Smith. Report to my headquarters on the first of December.” He turned, picked up his hat, and placed it firmly on his head. “Good to have you in my regiment, my boy! I’ll see you in a week.”
Drecker left the house, and when the sound of his horse’s rapid hoofbeats faded, Grace stared at John speechlessly. He caught her eyes, then shrugged. “Well, I don’t have to worry about my future, do I? At least not until the war’s over.”
“Oh, John!” Grace whispered. “There must be something we can do.”
“I don’t think there is. If I don’t go, I could be shot for desertion. I know that much about the army.” Seeing the stricken expression on her face, he grew gentler, stepping closer to her and reaching down to take her hand. “Don’t let this give you trouble,” he said. “I’m just one man. All over the country men are being scooped up to fight this war.”
Grace felt the pressure of his hand and could think of no reply. The two of them stood there, touching—and yet so far apart! Finally he said heavily, “You’ve done all you can for me, and I’ll always be grateful.” That sounded heavy and pompous to him, and he found a smile. “Why, I’d never have known what a sleigh ride is like if it hadn’t been for you!”
“I—I was hoping…” Her voice trailed off.
He waited for her to finish, but she turned her head away. “Tell you what, Grace,” he said quickly. “Let’s have a fine week! Go fishing through the ice, go for a sleigh ride every night—oh, do all the things we’ve done together.”
“All right, John,” Grace answered, and she forced herself to smile. “We’ll have the best week we ever had!”
CHAPTER 15
“A WIFE OUGHT TO KNOW”
Fair skies and mild weather blessed the land that week—John’s last week on the farm. The old men and women could not remember a milder winter, and people were beginning to wonder if they would have a white Christmas. Grace and John spent the early part of the week driving the sleigh all over the county. She took him to every spot that had been a pleasure for her, and in the evenings they walked under the bright moon or spent the time in the parlor together.
It was a quiet time, a time when they both stored up memories. They didn’t speak of the future, almost as though they’d made a covenant to ignore it.
On Sunday they went to meeting, and again John was impressed with the Quaker style of worship. “Whatever kind of church I went to,” he told Grace once, “it wasn’t like this one. I know that!”
“I think there are many ways of worshipping God, John,” she’d said quietly. “The name on the sign outside the meeting place isn’t as important as the condition of our hearts.”
On that last Sunday, it had been Grace among the ministers who’d risen after a long time of waiting for a word. Her face was still, though somewhat pale, and as she spoke, a light seemed to flow out of her eyes. She spoke of the love of God, and her simple words moved John tremendously. After the service, while they were on the way back to the farm, he said, “I wish I knew God like you do, Grace.”
“Thee must find thy own way, John,” she answered at once. “But God longs for your heart. He made thee to have fellowship with Him, and thee will never be complete until thee is safe in His arms.”
He sat quietly, holding the reins loosely, a puzzled look on his face. “That’s a strange way to put it,” he said finally. “I thought it was we who were seeking God.”
“No man or woman seeks God by nature. We’re too wicked for that. But God has been seeking His people ever since they fell. In the Garden He called Adam after the Fall, and He’s been calling us all to come home ever since.”
He stole a look at her face, wondering at the glow of joy that suffused it. He shook his head, saying, “I don’t think everyone has your capacity for love, Grace. Nobody that I know has.”
She parted her lips to protest but then saw that he was looking downcast. “Thee must not give up, John. If thy heart is willing, God will find you.”
They spoke no more along those lines, and that night she read from the parts of the Bible that stressed God’s call for man to repent. He listened carefully and asked questions. When it was time to retire, he said, “Whatever happens after this week, Grace, I can’t ever say that I haven’t heard the gospel, can I?” His eyes grew sober, and he spoke of what they had been avoiding all week. “We’ll know something after tomorrow, I guess.”
“Don’t take counsel of your fears, John.” She knew he had been dreading the arrival of the woman who might hold the key to his past. “We will pray, and God will give
us the truth.”
He studied her, then nodded. “Guess I’ll have to go on your faith until I get some of my own.”
Grace lifted her smile to him. “That’s part of what being a Christian really is, John. Learning to take from others that which we lack.”
Grace never knew how much John slept that night, but she didn’t sleep a wink. When they met at the breakfast table, she noted that his eyes were red-rimmed and his features stiff with fatigue. He had shaven closely and put on his best coat, but he only picked at his food.
Clyde and Prudence were already at the table when John sat down. Neither of those two knew about the crisis, for by common consent Grace and John had agreed to keep it from them. Clyde noted John’s nervousness, though, and commented, “What’s wrong, John? Lost your appetite?”
“Oh, not very hungry, I guess.”
Grace ate little, as well, and after the meal she excused herself. John had informed her that he intended to go to town alone and meet the woman. She had agreed, knowing that it would not be wise to let Clyde and Prudence meet her.
But at nine o’clock, a knock at her bedroom door interrupted her as she was reading her Bible. She closed her Bible and went to the door. There stood John, looking rather sheepish.
“Grace, would you go to town with me?” he asked abruptly.
“Why…I suppose so, John. Is thee ready now?”
“Yes, let’s go.”
Grace put on her heavy coat and bonnet, then went down and got into the buggy with him. She drew up a blanket—thinking suddenly of the time she’d shared it with him on their sleigh ride. When he saw she was settled, he said, “Hup!” The matched grays lunged forward, and soon they were on the road leading to town.
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