Now he stared at Josh, who had dropped his head, and felt shame. But he could not apologize, so he said, “Go on, fix the chair. I can sit in it and look out the window.”
Josh left without a word, and Lowell glanced at Rooney, expecting her to berate him for his shameful outburst. But she merely began cleaning up the room, and finally her silence grated on him. “Well, go on and say it!” he growled.
Rooney turned to face him, her voice gentle. “Say what?”
“Tell me I’m an ingrate!” He ground out the words. His lips were contorted in an expression of self-loathing, and his eyes were filled with misery. “Say it! I could have been killed. Or tell me that other men have lost their legs without turning into…sullen beasts!”
Rooney’s eyes filled with compassion, and she sat down on the edge of the bed. “You mustn’t think such things, Lowell,” she said gently. She wanted to put her arms around him and hold him as she’d held Buck when he was small and had come to her with his hurts. But she was wise enough to know that this was not the time—not yet. “You’ve had a bad time—worse than most men. Nobody can blame you for…”
When Rooney halted, Lowell suddenly grinned—the first sign of any humor she’d seen! “Acting like a spoiled brat?” he said. “Oh, don’t be afraid to say it, Rooney. Don’t you think I know how ungrateful I’ve been?”
“You mustn’t—”
He waved his hand impatiently, cutting off her words. “I know what you’ve done, coming here and nursing me and Mark. But Mark’s easy to take care of. I’m the one causing all the trouble.” He had been sitting up, his back braced against the pillows. Now he slumped, and the anger and bitterness seemed to fade—at least for a time. He sat there silently, then looked up at Rooney, saying in a tightly controlled voice, “Other men have handled this, Rooney, but I can’t. I never will.”
“You will, Lowell!” Rooney could no longer refrain from touching him. She took his hand in hers, looking directly into his troubled eyes. Hope glowed in her eyes, and her lips parted softly as she spoke. “I know it’ll be hard. There’ll be some things you won’t be able to do as well, but some things you’ll learn to do better than before!”
Lowell stared at her. “What could a one-legged man do better than one who’s got both legs?” he demanded.
“Why, Lowell Rocklin, I expect you could do just about anything you wanted to do!”
Her statement shocked Lowell, and then he demanded again, “What could I do better with only one leg?”
Rooney was very quick, and she at once replied, “Why, you could invent something.” She read the surprise in his eyes and rushed to say, “I know you don’t like to talk about the balloon, but it was wonderful, Lowell, the way you made it! General Able told Mister Clay that he wished you’d make another one. He said it wasn’t your fault that it got hit by a shell!”
“Not enough silk in Richmond for another one—even if we used ladies’ underwear!”
His faint attempt at humor encouraged Rooney, and she squeezed his hand. “I guess not. But you could make something else for the army. And Josh and I would help!”
Lowell’s eyes grew thoughtful, and he was very much aware of the firmness of her hand, which held his tightly. He could smell the faint lilac perfume that she used, and the sun shone on her hair, catching the gold glints in the auburn tresses.
For a moment she thought he was about to agree, and her spirit soared. But then he sighed and turned his head away from her. He pulled his hand free and muttered, “No, I’m just a cripple.”
His words destroyed the brightness of her smile, and she whispered, “No, Lowell!”
But he turned to face her, and she saw that his eyes had gone dead. He shook his head slowly, saying, “I’ll never be a man again, Rooney—not a whole one, anyway.”
“You can try, Lowell!” she pleaded.
“No! If I can’t be a whole man, I don’t see any use in anything.” He rolled over, turning his back to her. Slowly she rose and without a word left the room.
Lowell lay on his side, sick at heart. Outside his window he could hear a group of blackbirds making their raucous cries. He kept his eyes tightly shut, trying to shut out the world. A vision of Rooney’s face rose before him, and he heard her whisper, “You can try, Lowell!”
But he lay there facing the wall and knew that he would never be what others wanted him to be. I can’t do it! he cried silently. It’ll all be pity, and I can’t take that!
CHAPTER 16
MARK AND ROONEY
Look, Buck, the army’s like a pyramid,” Clay explained to the boy who sat beside him in a weathered cane-bottomed chair. The two of them had come in from a quick tour around the plantation and now were waiting for Josh to bring the buggy up from the barn.
Buck had been asking Clay question after question about the army, and Clay had answered them patiently. He was looking rested now; all the strain of battle that recent skirmishes had etched into his face was gone. A notebook was on the seat of an empty chair beside him, and he tore a page out of it, fished in his pocket for a pencil, then began to draw a diagram of a pyramid.
“Right here at the top is General Lee. He’s the commander of the Army of Northern Virginia. But that army is divided into two parts, what we call corps. General Longstreet commands one and General Jackson the other.”
Buck studied the page, then asked, “Which corps are you in, Captain?”
“Jackson’s corps,” Clay said. “But a corps is divided up into divisions—usually two or three, each one commanded by a general. A division’s usually got somewhere between two to four thousand men.”
“That’s a lot!”
“Yes, it is—too many for one man to keep up with. So each division is divided into brigades. See?” Clay drew on the paper and watched the boy follow it intently. He’s a bright boy—reminds me of David. He drew more lines, saying, “And each brigade is divided up into what we call regiments, usually about five hundred men.”
Buck glanced up at Clay, admiration in his sharp features. “It’s really complicated, ain’t it?”
“Sure is, but it has to be this way. Sometimes the army has to move quick, Buck, and it can only do that if the privates know what to do.” He leaned back and smiled at the bright-faced youngster. “Now General Lee can’t come and say to every private, ‘Soldier, get ready to march!’ No, that wouldn’t do. So he tells his corps commanders, and they tell the division commanders under them; then they pass the word along to brigade commanders, and they yell at the officers of the regiment—that’s the next unit on the pyramid. Every regiment has ten companies. And I think, Buck, the company is the most important unit of all.”
“Why is that, Captain?”
“It’s small enough so the captain over it can know every man. He’s like a father to them, sees after them, you know? And most of us, when we’re asked which unit we’re with, will name our company—like I’ll say, ‘I’m in C Company.’”
“And what does a lieutenant do in the company?”
“Look here, Buck,” Clay said, pointing at the pyramid.
“Here’s C Company, and there are two platoons. My son Lieutenant Denton is over the First Platoon.” He leaned back and watched the boy study the chart, then nodded. “That’s pretty well the way all armies are made up, Buck. Think you understand it?”
“Sure!”
Clay smiled and tore out a fresh sheet of paper. “All right, let’s see you draw that pyramid.” He took the pencil sketch, folded it, and watched as Buck fell to drawing, his whole attention on the paper. Josh pulled up in the buggy, and Clay said, “I’ll go up and say good-bye to Lowell, Josh. Wait for me.”
Josh nodded, then slipped out of the buggy and mounted the porch as Clay stepped into the house. Clay walked quickly down the hall, opened the door, and entered. “Came to say goodbye, son,” he said to Lowell, who was sitting in his wheelchair holding a book. Not wanting to tower over Lowell, he sat down quickly in the straight-backed chair, studyin
g the boy’s face. He’s pale as a ghost, and he’s lost too much weight, was his thought, but he said only, “Hate to leave, but the army’s moving right away.”
Lowell said, “I wish you didn’t have to go.”
“Well, it’ll be over someday, Lowell.” Clay leaned back and sighed deeply. “The world’s upside down, but it’s been that way before and it’ll be that way again. The thing to do when that happens is just to hang on until it comes right again.”
“I guess so.”
Lowell’s reply was without energy, and for the entire ten minutes that Clay sat there, he replied to questions but offered nothing of his own. Finally Clay despaired, hating to leave but knowing that he must. Leaning forward, he said intently, “Son, I know this has hit you hard, but you’ve got a lot of life ahead of you. You can’t hide in this room for the next thirty years.” He spoke passionately and with compassion, but it was useless. Finally he saw that he was speaking to a man who’d given up on life, so he rose and moved to stand over Lowell. He bent down, embraced him, and said huskily, “God keep you, my son!” Then he waited, but Lowell only stared at him, saying nothing except, “I hope you come back safe—and with both legs.”
Clay turned and walked from the room defeated and frustrated. He found Buck on the porch holding out his sheet of paper, asking, “Is this right?”
Clay stared at it blindly, then made himself focus on the drawing. “Yes, Buck. Exactly right. You’ll make a good soldier someday.”
“Maybe I can go with you now,” Buck piped up eagerly. “Some of them drummer boys ain’t no older than me!”
Bitterness came to Clay as he stared at the boy’s youthful countenance, but he mustered a smile. “Stay here and take care of your sister, Buck. You’re only a boy once, and there’s no going back to live it again.” He reached out and shook the boy’s hand, then turned to say, “Let’s go, Josh.”
“Yes, sir!”
The two men got into the buggy, and Josh slapped the reins, startling the team into an abrupt trot. Getting to the main road, he turned their heads toward Richmond. For several miles neither man spoke. Finally Clay pulled himself together and turned to say, “I appreciate your driving me to camp, Josh.” When the boy muttered that it was no trouble, Clay studied him more closely.
All the Yancy boys look like copies, he thought, then said, “I think Lonnie will make sergeant pretty soon. He’s a fine soldier, but so is your other brother.” Lonnie was in Clay’s company, and Bob had just rejoined the company after recuperating from the leg wound he received at Fredericksburg.
“I g–get to thinkin’ I ought to b–be in with them, C–Captain.”
“No, you’re too young! And besides, you’re doing an important job.”
“Raising p–pigs?”
“Doesn’t sound like much, but the army will starve if it doesn’t get food. And some fools are so busy raising cotton they won’t have a thing for the soldiers!” Clay had made a cause of this, trying to get his fellow planters to see that the docks were full of cotton that could not be sold. Why grow more? he’d asked but had been ignored. All most Southern planters could think of was cotton, and they’d plant it until the bales reached the heavens.
Shrugging off his anger, Clay leaned back and thought about his family. Finally he said, “You’ve been good for Rena, Josh.” He noted the boy’s nervous glance and chuckled, slapping him on the shoulder. “You afraid I’d be a mad father, jumping all over you for taking my girl hunting?”
Josh colored but turned to face the big man squarely. “Y–yes, sir, that’s about w–what I expected.”
“You should know better,” Clay said. “You’ve known Rena since you were children. And you know that since her mother died, and since I’m gone, she gets lonesome.”
“I seen that.” Josh wanted to say more but felt decidedly awkward. The distance in Southern society between a poor white farmer and a plantation owner was much like the distance between stars.
But Clay said, “You’re an honest young man, Josh. I didn’t hire you just to do the work.” He was amused at Josh’s look of astonishment and added, “I wanted you to be there to help Lowell. And now I see I was wiser than I knew. Because now it’s pretty clear that Rena needs someone, too.”
“I—I think the w–world of both of ’em, Mister Clay!”
“I know that, Josh, and it takes some of the pain out of leaving just to know that you’ll be around.” He hesitated, then said, “Lowell isn’t easy to be with, but I hope you’ll try to spend time with him. Get him interested in something—anything! He’s got to get out of that room!”
Josh nodded sharply. “Miss Rooney and m–me talked about Th–that.”
“That’s a bright young woman, Josh. What’d she say?”
Clay listened carefully as Josh slowly spun out the scheme that he and Rooney had put together. It took some time, for Josh halted often, angered by his impediment. The words were there, but they seemed to get lodged in his tongue. Finally he said, “So we h–hope it’ll help him, C–Captain.”
“You know, it just might!” Clay sat up, his back rigid with excitement. “It just might work!” He slapped his thigh hard and shook his head angrily. “I hate to go! By heaven, I do!” Then he caught himself and took a deep breath. Expelling it slowly, he said evenly, “But nobody wants to go off and fight—unless he’s a fool!”
“Where w–will you be f–fighting, Captain?”
“I don’t know for sure, Josh,” Clay said slowly; then his eyes turned north. “Somewhere north of here. Maybe even Maryland again.”
Josh looked in the direction Clay had indicated, then shook his head. “Tell Lonnie and B–Bob to be c–careful.” He paused and added shyly, “And you, t–too, Mister Clay!”
“It’s in God’s hands, Josh,” Clay said heavily. “All we can do is pray!”
The good days were full of dull, throbbing pain—something a man could bear. One could bear a toothache for a day, and if Mark thought of it like that, it seemed easier: A toothache in the side, that’s all it is.
But the bad days were different. The pain came at unexpected moments, such as when he was lifting a spoon of hot chicken soup to his lips. He’d never been stuck with a bayonet, but the pain was like that—or so he thought—a sliver of hot steel stabbing without warning into his side! There was no controlling it—his whole body would arch in protest, sending the soup spoon flying. If it would only begin easy, I could get ready for it! Mark would think, but it never did. Always it was unexpected, and it never failed to send him into a gasping spasm.
Some days they didn’t come—and the day that Clay came to say good-bye was one of his good days. The pain gnawed dully at his side and stomach, but he could bear that and covered it with a smile on his pale lips. He’d talked with Clay, urging him not to make a fool of himself by rushing into danger, then had halted abruptly. “But it does no good to warn you, Clay. I know you better than to think you’ll take care of yourself.” He’d spoken of Lowell, promising to do what he could, but neither man had much hope.
After Clay had left, Mark had gotten out of bed and moved carefully to the window, where he’d watched the two men leave for Richmond. Carefully he straightened up, and a surprised look crossed his thin face as there was little pain.
“Well, you’re going to behave yourself, are you?” He had gotten into the absurd habit of speaking to his wound, addressing it as if it were a familiar enemy. “Well then, I’ll just take advantage of your good behavior by getting dressed and getting about a bit.”
He walked into the kitchen half an hour later, and Dorrie stared at him with a startled expression. “Whut you doin’ outta dat bed!” She snorted. “Miss Susanna ain’t said nuffin“bout you gettin’ up!”
“Had to have some of your good cooking, Dorrie,” Mark said with a smile. “My sister-in-law won’t bring me anything but soup with weeds in it.”
“Dem ain’t weeds!” Dorrie snapped. “Dat’s parsley, and it’s good fo’ you!”
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Mark had been fond of Dorrie for years and had always loved to tease her. “Now, Dorrie, I know a weed when I see one,” he insisted. “I’m not here for soup with weeds in it, anyway.”
“Well, whut does you wants?” Dorrie demanded.
Mark closed his eyes as if thinking and counted off the items on his fingers: “A chicken-fried steak with lots of mushrooms. Some hush puppies and fried catfish, with lots of hot sauce to go on it. Oh yes, some oysters covered with black pepper—”
“Mister Mark! You done los’ yo’ mind?” Dorrie stood in the center of the floor, staring at the tall man aghast. “Why, dat stuff would kill you daid!” At that moment Susanna and Rooney entered, and Dorrie informed them of the demands the sick man had made. She didn’t see the wink he gave the two women, but was outraged and refused to have anything to do with it!
“I’ll fix something for him, Dorrie,” Susanna said, smiling, and Dorrie huffed off breathing dire prophecies about what would happen if the patient was allowed to eat such things!
“It’s wonderful to see you’re feeling better, Mark,” Susanna said with a bright smile. “Sit down, and I’ll fix you something good. Rooney, you eat with him.” When Rooney started to protest, she said firmly, “Am I the mistress of this house? Do as I tell you!”
Rooney sat down but was not afraid. She had learned that there was nothing to fear from Susanna Rocklin. And she was quick enough to know that Susanna wanted her to spend time with her brother-in-law, so she began speaking at once, and soon Mark was resting in a chair, listening as Rooney related the tale of the coon hunt.
“I’d like to have seen that bobcat and Josh rolling around on the ground,” he said when she had finished. “Did Rena like it?”
The two sat there until Susanna brought a plate of fluffy eggs and dry toast with the crust removed. “You can’t have anything with grease, Mark, but I’ve got some fresh dewberry jam, the kind you like so much.”
Appomattox Saga Omnibus 2: Three Books In One (Appomatox Saga) Page 77