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

by Gilbert, Morris

  “It’s Jesus, Burke. Grace has Jesus,” Clay said with warmth. “And that’s what you want. I believe you don’t just want to live. I think you really want to live the kind of life that you’ve seen in Grace Swenson.”

  Burke sat silently, then said, “I—I guess you’re right. And I think I see what you mean, about asking God to forgive me.”

  “Then you must ask Him!”

  Burke’s eyes and voice filled with anguish. “I don’t know how.”

  “Just talk to Him, as you’re talking to me. You don’t have to be afraid to ask God for forgiveness,” Clay said gently. “He wants to give it to you even more than you want to receive it. He’s been after all of us all our lives. And if you ask God what He wants in return, why, He’d say, ‘I don’t want anything you have, My son; I just want you!”

  Tears came to Burke’s eyes as Clay spoke. He made no attempt to wipe them away as they ran down his cheeks. He leaned forward and whispered, “I can’t imagine why anyone would want me, much less, God!”

  Clay knew his brother was being convicted by the Holy Spirit. He spoke gently about God’s mercy and finally said, “There’s no secret formula to asking God to save you, Burke. People ask in different ways—the way doesn’t matter to God. It’s what’s in the heart of the one who asks. Your heart is hungry for God, isn’t it?”

  “Yes!”

  “Then we will pray. As I pray for you, you tell God you’re tired of your old life. Tell Him how bad you feel about what you’ve done. Tell Him anything that’s in your heart. He’ll listen. And when you’ve told Him that, just ask Him to pardon you, to forgive all your sins. Claim the protection and redemption of the blood of Jesus, Burke! Claim the blood! God always hears when we claim the blood of His Son!”

  Clay dropped his head and began praying. He prayed fervently, his own tears falling down his face, and finally he heard a sound. Opening his eyes, he saw that Burke had fallen to his knees and was pressing his face against the floor, his shoulders shaking with sobs.

  At once Clay knelt beside his brother, and the small room was filled with angels—or so it seemed to both men. After a time, Burke lifted his head, and Clay saw that his brother’s eyes were free of the fear and anguish that had filled them. Instead they were filled with peace.

  “You’re really part of the family now, Burke!” Clay cried, throwing his arms around his brother, and he held him as the two rejoiced.

  Finally they sat down, and Burke let his hands fall on the table. “You’ll tell Mother?” He laughed, feeling like a child, so full of happiness. “Of course you will!” Then he smiled at Clay, wonder in his eyes. “It’s so different, Clay!”

  “Are you afraid, Burke?”

  Burke Rocklin thought hard; then a smile came to his lips. “I’ve been burdened down so long…and now it’s all fallen away! I guess I might have a little fear about the thing itself—the hanging—but the awful fear is gone! It’s gone, and I feel like I’m free for the first time in my life.”

  “That’s what Jesus does for us all, Burke; He sets us free!”

  They sat there talking softly for a long time, and then Burke asked abruptly, “You’re in love with Melora, aren’t you, Clay?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  Burke leaned forward, his eyes intent. “And you were faithful to Ellen all those hard years?”

  “By the grace of God, I was, Burke.”

  Burke struggled with his thoughts, his brow knitted in a frown. Finally he asked, “Why don’t you marry her, Clay?”

  Clay had not been expecting such a question. “Why, Ellen’s been dead less than a year! People would never understand. Besides, I may not live through this war. Melora would be left alone.”

  “Who cares what people say?” Burke demanded. “It’s your life, and Melora’s! You know Mother and Father love her dearly!”

  “But if I die—!”

  “If you die before you marry her, she has nothing. But if you marry now, she’ll have something! And she deserves it, doesn’t she? She’s waited for you for a lot of years, years when she could have married a dozen times. It’s not fair to her!”

  “Burke, I can’t—”

  “Listen, brother.” Burke spoke earnestly. “It makes a man see some things pretty clearly, being in a spot like I’m in. And what I see is that every one of us ought to give love a chance. My only regret now is that I’ll never be able to show Grace how much I love her! But if I could get out of here, I’d marry her in a second, even if I knew it was going to last only a month!”

  Clay sat like a man who had been struck in the stomach. Burke’s words seemed to beat against him, and he could not move or think clearly.

  Burke watched as Clay struggled with himself, and finally there came the moment when his brother seemed to collapse. His face broke and his hands trembled so much that he held them together tightly.

  “Maybe it’s so, Burke,” he whispered. “Maybe it’s so!” He gave Burke a look of wonder. “I’ve been so blind—so very blind!”

  CHAPTER 23

  WITNESS FOR THE DEFENSE

  Wha—!” Colonel Ransom Hill struck at the hand that was pulling at him. He’d slept poorly and thought he was having a nightmare.

  “Sir, a message from the secretary of war!”

  The words drove sleep away from Hill. He sat upright and peered at the lieutenant who had come into his tent. “What’s that? The secretary of war?”

  “Yes, sir! I thought you’d want to see it at once.”

  “Light that lamp!” Colonel Hill threw the covers back and fumbled on the table for his reading glasses. Settling them on his nose, he took the envelope the lieutenant handed him and slit it with a knife he kept for that purpose. Drawing out a single sheet of paper, he read it carefully. His eyes widened, and he turned to the soldier standing nearby.

  “Lieutenant, go find the other members who served on the court-martial for Burke Rocklin. Tell them the court will reconvene at eight o’clock.”

  “Yes, sir. You mean—this morning, sir?”

  “Yes, blast your eyes! Get moving!”

  When the lieutenant scurried out the door, Hill read the message again carefully, aloud: “‘You are hereby ordered to reconvene the court and reconsider your verdict concerning Burke Rocklin. There is new evidence, and President Davis wants you to be certain that it is properly considered.’” It was signed “James A. Seddon, Secretary of War.”

  Although it was only five o’clock, Hill knew that he would sleep no more. He dressed and sat in his tent waiting for reveille. When it came, he got on his horse and rode slowly to the courthouse. He was two hours early, and there was nothing to do but wait.

  Finally the doors opened, and he went at once to the courtroom. He took his seat at the table, and the other members of the court came in, sleepy-eyed and puzzled. He waited until the last of them appeared, then said, “We have been ordered to reopen the case of Burke Rocklin.”

  “By whose authority, sir?” Major Patterson asked.

  Colonel Hill gave him a frosty stare. “President Jefferson Davis.”

  Patterson’s mouth dropped open; then he shut it and swallowed hard. Hill could see the man’s mind working. If Patterson thinks the president wants the man declared innocent, he’ll do it like a shot! He had nothing but contempt for Patterson and was himself determined not to give an inch. Let the secretary of war and the president step inside his courtroom in person—he would not budge!

  Burke and Clay were waiting for the sun to come up, but at six they heard steps, running footsteps. The door opened and a lieutenant came in, his eyes open wide. “Burke! It’s not what you think—I mean, something’s happening!”

  “What is it, Fred?” Clay demanded.

  “Well, I can’t say, Captain,” the lieutenant said. “But I got orders to have the prisoner in the courtroom at eight o’clock.”

  Clay cried out, “Praise God!” He grabbed Burke and nearly lifted him off his feet. “It’s got to be good news, Burke!”
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  “Better get shaved, Burke,” the lieutenant said. “I’ll be back to get you in half an hour.” He grinned nervously. “Wouldn’t want to be late for this, would you?”

  Burke stared after him, then looked at Clay. “Maybe Father’s come back with the papers from the hospital.” He began to shave using cold water and then shrugged into his coat. It seemed a matter of minutes until the lieutenant came and led him away. When Burke entered the courtroom, he saw the court assembled. DeQuincy and Willing were standing up, and DeQuincy came to him at once. “Good news, Burke—”

  “The court will begin proceedings!” Colonel Hill stared at DeQuincy and said, “Major, I understand there is new evidence to be offered?”

  “Yes, if it please the court.”

  “It does not please the court, Major,” Hill said coldly. “But it seems we have no choice. Present your evidence.”

  DeQuincy moved to stand before the officers at the table and saw that for once in his life, he was speaking to a live court! All five of the officers were staring at him avidly. “Gentlemen, I regret the inconvenience you’ve been put to, but the new evidence came at midnight. It took a visit to the president to get the court reconvened, but I think you’ll not be hard on us after you hear what we have.”

  “Bring on the evidence, then, Major,” Hill snapped. “It’s too early for speeches.”

  “Of course, Colonel.” DeQuincy nodded. “This case rests on one question: Did the defendant actually suffer a loss of memory? Once that is proven, the verdict can be nothing other than for acquittal. And I will admit that the defense was unable to prove this beyond a reasonable doubt before now.” DeQuincy was a shrewd man. He knew enough to take the guilt from the shoulders of the court, to allow them to have some room to maneuver.

  “Naturally you gentlemen brought in the only possible verdict you could, but let me now present you with some facts.” He walked to the table, picked up a sheaf of papers, and brought them back to the court. “If you gentlemen will examine these papers, you’ll find clear evidence that the defendant was indeed suffering from a complete loss of memory when he was taken off the battlefield. These are statements from the personnel of Armory Square Hospital—surgeons, nurses, orderlies—all swearing that from the moment the man we know to be Burke Rocklin became conscious, he had no memory at all of his past!”

  DeQuincy watched the officers reading the papers with great interest and took the opportunity to turn and wink broadly at Burke.

  “How are we to know these are reputable people?” Hill demanded. “We know none of them.”

  “You’ll find a covering letter verifying all these statements. It’s signed by one Dr. William Alexander Hammond, who is the surgeon general of the Union Army. He is a personal friend of the surgeon general of the Confederate Army, who will be happy to testify to this court both as to the validity of the signature and as to the character of Dr. Hammond.”

  “I see,” Hill said, nodding slightly. He read on, then exclaimed, “This letter is from Miss Dorothea Dix!”

  “Yes, sir. All the world knows that Miss Dix is a woman of unquestionable character. She is willing to come to this court and swear that this man, known to her as John Smith, was in her hospital because he had absolutely no memory of his past.”

  “Why, this puts quite a different light on things!” Major Lentz spoke up. He stared at the documents, then asked, “How were these obtained, may I ask?”

  “They were brought by one of the staff who arrived in Richmond last night. Would the court care to hear a personal testimony by this staff member of Armory Square Hospital?”

  Colonel Hill knew he was whipped. “Why, yes, of course!”

  “Thank you, Colonel Hill.” DeQuincy walked to the door, opened it, and said, “Will you come in, please?”

  Every eye was on the door as a young woman in a gray dress stepped in. DeQuincy spoke to the officers, hard put to keep the triumph out of his tone. “This is Miss Grace Swenson, the nurse who treated Burke Rocklin when he was taken to the hospital in Washington. And, I believe, the person responsible for bringing him back to health.”

  Burke was on his feet, staring at Grace—and when she turned to meet his eyes, every man on the court saw his lips form her name. DeQuincy let the moment run on, for he was a man who loved drama, and a quick glance at the court told him that at least part of the officers of the court were the same!

  Colonel Hill cleared his throat, saying in a gruff tone, “Mr. DeQuincy, please escort your witness to the stand. And, Mr. Rocklin,” he added in a reproving tone, “you will take your seat, sir!”

  Burke didn’t mind the order, for he wasn’t sure his legs would hold him up much longer anyway. He sat with a thud, amazement and longing warring in his expression.

  Grace followed DeQuincy to the stand, then turned and took the oath. When she was seated, DeQuincy said, “Miss Swenson, what are your credentials as a nurse? Tell us about yourself.”

  “I was trained by Miss Dorothea Dix as a nurse, Major DeQuincy. Here are her recommendations. Would thee care to read them?”

  At the use of thee, the officers on the court sharpened their attention. As Grace continued to speak, they grew fascinated by her demeanor and mannerisms. Finally she paused, and Captain Wells asked, “You are of the Friends, I take it?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Would you tell us how the man you called John Smith behaved when he first came to you?”

  “Of course. He knew nothing, not even his name—”

  The officers listened as Grace spoke, and DeQuincy knew they were captivated. And why not? He was fascinated himself!

  That woman is something! What a witness! he thought with admiration.

  Finally Grace finished, and DeQuincy gave the prosecuting attorney a slight bow. “Do you have questions, Captain Willing?”

  Willing was stubborn, determined, and a poor loser. But what he was not was stupid. He saw at once that his goose was cooked and decided to make the best of it.

  “Why, no, Major DeQuincy,” he said blandly. “If this evidence had been in the hands of the court earlier, I feel certain that there would have been no trial.” He turned boldly to Colonel Hill and took his political and military future in his hands. “Colonel, the prosecution recommends that the case be dropped.”

  “Second the motion! Second the motion!” young Lieutenant Powell Carleton yelped, jumping to his feet, and from Captain Wells came a rousing “Hear! Hear!”

  Colonel Hill was not a fool, either. He glanced at Burke, then smiled and said, “Do you gentlemen concur with me that the recommendation of the prosecuting attorney be followed and the case against Burke Rocklin be dropped?” He took only one look at the expressions of consent, then turned to face Burke.

  “Mr. Rocklin, you are hereby released from this court. The case against you will be dropped from the records.”

  Burke heard the words Colonel Hill spoke but could make no response. His eyes were fixed on Grace, and everything in him screamed at him to go to her—but he could not seem to move.

  It was Gaines Franklin DeQuincy, the incurable romantic, who nudged him roughly in the side and whispered, “Go to her, you young idiot!”

  And then he was moving, bolting from his chair, not even noticing pieces of furniture that he pushed aside…and she was in his arms. The court pretended to be busy with their papers, but when Burke lowered his head to tenderly kiss the tall young woman, a cheer went up from the irrepressible Lieutenant Powell Carleton.

  DeQuincy stood there, a silly grin on his face, watching as the couple recovered their senses enough to walk through the door—though neither one released his or her hold on the other. Willing came over to his opponent and said, “Let’s go get drunk again, Gaines! And after the war, I may want you to come to work for my law firm!”

  DeQuincy slanted a look at him. “Willing, I may permit you to come to work for my firm after the war, but if I condescend to do so, you will have to watch your drinking habits!” />
  Thomas Rocklin died four days after his son was set free. The trip to Pennsylvania and back had been too much for him, but he was totally content. Burke seldom left his father’s side, and during the times his father was completely conscious, they talked together, sharing their hearts. It was those times that Burke was to remember all his life. And he knew he would never forget the tears of joy his father shed when he told him of his finding the Lord.

  On the final day, Burke awoke from a nap in his chair to find his father’s mind clear. He moved his chair until he was next to the bed and gravely met Thomas’s gaze. “Father, you saved my life. How can I ever thank you?”

  Thomas was very tired, but the words seemed to bring new life into his eyes. He looked over at his son and whispered, “You will have a son. Name him Thomas. Pour yourself into him!”

  It was almost dawn when the family was called to Thomas’s bedside. Susanna was holding her husband’s hand as Thomas said his farewell to his daughter, Amy, then to her children, Grant, Rachel, and Les. He did the same for Clay’s children; then he whispered, “Clay—?”

  “Here!” Clay stooped beside the frail form and took his father’s hand. “You’ve been a good father, sir!” he whispered. “These last years—you’ve held me up when I couldn’t find myself!”

  Thomas smiled. “I-I’m glad, son. You’ve been—a proper son. Look after your mother—” Then he said, “Burke?” When his youngest boy came to him, the dying man asked, “Where is Grace?”

  “Here, Father.” Grace dropped to her knees and took the thin hand in hers.

  “We did well…didn’t we, daughter?”