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

by Gilbert, Morris

  “First, Mister Lowell,” Josh said quickly, “we g–got to make a wax model.”

  “A model? Of what?” Lowell asked.

  “Of your…s–stump.” Josh faltered over the use of the word stump, but he and Rooney had already decided that they’d have to use the term. He saw a flicker of embarrassment in Lowell’s eyes, so he hurried with his explanation. “Your whole weight w–will rest on it, see? So the s–socket of the new l–leg’s got to fit just right.”

  “I guess I see that,” Lowell said slowly. “Did you see them do this—at the shop, I mean?”

  “Oh, sure,” Josh said, nodding. “Ain’t nothin’ to it. Just take wax and h–heat it. Then put the stump in so’s it l–leaves an impression.”

  “Well, I guess we’d better do it, Josh.”

  “I’ll heat the wax,” Rooney said instantly and, taking the small case from Josh, left the room.

  “That g–girl’s a caution, M–Mister Lowell!” Josh said, shaking his head with obvious admiration. “Ain’t n–nothing stops her when her m–mind’s made up!”

  “Tell me again about how she wheedled that leg maker into letting you stay,” Lowell begged. He sat there letting Josh retell the story, then urged him to give more details about the leg. They were interrupted when Rooney entered, bearing a basin with a cloth over the top.

  “It’s too hot, Josh,” she said, placing the basin on the washstand. “We’ll have to let it cool a little.”

  As the pair worked on making the cast, Lowell was so absorbed in the process that he realized with a shock that he was not embarrassed by the presence of Rooney. This was partly, he realized, because she had cared for him and was accustomed to his handicap. With any other woman this would be hard, he thought. She makes it so easy!

  Finally the cast was made to Josh’s satisfaction. “I’ll g–get started on this,” he announced and left the room.

  “That’s an amazing young man,” Lowell said thoughtfully. He had settled back in his chair after dressing, and his eyes were thoughtful. He turned them on her, saying, “And you’re an amazing young woman.”

  Rooney was making his bed but looked at him with a startled expression. She was not accustomed to compliments and said only, “Why, it’s good to be able to help.”

  Lowell considered her, then asked, “Do you think you could manage this chair? I’d like to go out for a while.”

  “Oh, that would be nice!” She gave the coverlet a final tug, then came over. “You can see the new colt.”

  Lowell caught her wrist as she moved to step behind him. Rooney broke off her remarks and gave him a startled look. He held her firmly, looked up, and said, “Rooney…”

  And then he could not find the words to express what was inside him. He struggled for a long moment, then, taken by an impulse, lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

  “Oh—Lowell!” Rooney gasped, and her lips trembled. No man had ever kissed her hand, and something about the gesture brought a sudden rush of happiness to her. Finally she took a deep breath, then smiled tremulously, saying, “Let’s go outside, Lowell.”

  She took him outdoors, and the warm May breeze blew against her face—but she knew the weather was not the cause of the flush her cheeks felt as they moved along the walk.

  CHAPTER 20

  MAN IN THE SADDLE

  The Confederate Army had won the battle of Chancellorsville, but at a ruinous cost. The Army of Northern Virginia lost veterans, and there were no replacements. Supplies were exhausted, and the leaders of the Confederacy were aware that the Army of the Potomac would be back—larger and more powerful than ever.

  One hope burned brightly for the South—the hope of recognition from Europe. England made a pretense of neutrality, but the aristocracy and ruling classes sided with the South. Agents of the Confederate government reported that if General Lee could establish his army firmly on Northern soil, England would at once acknowledge the independence of the South. This meant that ample loans could be obtained from that country to shore up the failing resources of the Confederacy.

  At this same time an antiwar movement called the Copperhead movement was gaining strength in the North. President Davis hoped that it would cause the North to falter, perhaps even to declare the war over.

  Lee had informed the president that an offensive against the North was the only hope for the South. “If we wait for them to come to us,” he’d said, “we’ll be surrounded, and we cannot win a long siege.”

  So as spring gave way to summer, men were looking north, and the Army of Northern Virginia felt the stirrings of far-off battles.…

  “Well, h–here it is!” Josh stood before Lowell holding the new leg in his hands. “Sure h–hope it works.”

  Lowell had waited anxiously for Josh to finish the work on the leg, but now that the moment had come, he felt an unexpected rush of fear shoot through him.

  What if it doesn’t work?

  He tried to banish the thought, but there was such uneasiness in his expression that Josh said quickly, “We m–might have to work on it a l–little, but I know it’ll work!”

  Josh’s assurance seemed to brace Lowell somewhat, for some of the tension left his face. “All right, Josh, let’s see how she goes.”

  Lowell stripped off the robe, and Josh came to help him fit the device. He’d been to the hospital with Rooney, and the two of them had studied the way the limbs had been strapped into place. Josh had also taken his workmanship back to the shop in Richmond, where the owner had been highly impressed. “Excellent job! You can come to work for me anytime!” he had said. He’d given Josh a few suggestions but had indicated that there were few improvements to be made.

  Now Josh knelt and fastened the limb into place. He had worked with Lowell, taking measurements and making sure that the straps were exactly right. Finally he looked up and asked, “That too tight?”

  Lowell was staring down at the leg. It was made of cork and was very light, but he was filled with doubt. “Let me put my pants on, Josh,” he said.

  “Sure!”

  Lowell had not worn trousers since arriving at the hospital. Such a garment would have made it difficult to dress his stump and would have been uncomfortable in any case. Now, however, the urge came to him, and he struggled into the trousers with Josh’s help.

  “There you are.” Josh nodded and stood up. “Ready to t–try it?” He was nervous, for he’d thought of little but getting Lowell on his feet ever since he’d started the project. Now that the time had come, he wondered what he’d do if his work didn’t measure up.

  Lowell sat still, looking down at himself. There was no difference in the legs, he saw at once. Josh had used his remaining leg as a model, carving the artificial limb to exactly the same measurements.

  His voice was hoarse as he said, “Feel like I’m about to get on a wild horse, Josh.” But he shook his head, mustered up a grin, then said, “All right. Here we go!”

  Josh put his hands out. Lowell took them, then heaved himself to his feet. For one moment he looked surprised, then gripped the young man’s hands hard. “Room is going around like a top!”

  “J–just hold what you g–got, Mister Lowell,” Josh urged. “You been down f–for a long time.”

  Lowell nodded and stood there until the room settled down. Cautiously he swayed back and forth, then side to side. It was a strange sensation, completely unlike anything he had ever experienced. He seemed to be balanced on his remaining leg, and there was no feeling of having the other foot on the floor. Looking down, he assured himself that both feet were planted, then gave Josh a crooked grin. “Seems to be working…so far,” he muttered.

  “Does it h–hurt?”

  “Well, a little bit,” Lowell agreed. “Not too bad, though.”

  “The man in the shop said you’d toughen up. No w–way to do that except to u–use it a lot.”

  “Like forming a callous on your hands, I guess,” Lowell said. Then, taking a deep breath, he nodded. “Hang on, Josh.
I’m pretty shaky.” Gripping the hands of the boy, he placed his weight on his sound leg, then twisted his body as Josh had tried to instruct him. He leaned forward, and the artificial limb swung into place. Then he tried to put his weight on it while swinging his other leg. But he had no confidence, so he staggered and loosed his grip on Josh’s hand. He waved his arms wildly, then fell into Josh, who caught him about the waist and kept him from falling.

  Josh held him, saying, “Hey—don’t w–worry! I’ve g–got you!”

  “Put me back in the chair!” Lowell gasped.

  “Mister Lowell!”

  “Put me back, blast you, Josh!”

  Josh helped his friend to move backward, and when Lowell was seated, he saw that his face was pale and perspiration covered his brow. He waited, knowing that this was a critical time. The limb maker in Richmond and the nurses at the hospital had warned him that many men simply gave up and refused to use the limbs, choosing a wheelchair instead.

  “I can’t do it!” Lowell whispered. “I can’t do it, Josh!”

  Josh was in a strange position. All his life he’d looked on men like Clay Rocklin and his family with awe. They were rich and influential, far above his station. Josh still felt that way, but he had thrown himself into helping Lowell walk, and despite his shyness, there was a stubborn streak in him. He came from hill people who took the back of no man’s hand, and now as he looked down at Lowell, courage rose in him. He knew that gentleness would not do here—that Lowell Rocklin had to be pushed!

  “Mister Lowell, you g–got to do it,” Josh said. And when the man shook his head stubbornly, the boy said, “You ain’t a coward, are you?”

  Lowell looked up at Josh abruptly, as startled as if the boy had slapped him across the face. He reddened and cried, “Get out! Leave me alone!”

  “No, sir, I c–can’t do that!” Josh’s face was pale, but his jaw was set, and he stared right into Lowell’s face. “I guess if any of the Rocklins are cowards, n–nobody ever found out about it. Are you aimin’ to b–be the first?”

  Lowell stared at the boy, anger rising to choke him. He wanted to throw himself at the boy, to strike him down with his fists! How did he dare!

  And then Lowell thought of the sacrifices the boy had made—all to help him. And now he saw Josh was almost trembling, though he held himself upright and taut. It took a lot for him to speak up to me that way, he thought. He’s got plenty of nerve—more than I have!

  Josh watched as the anger seemed to drain from Lowell’s face, and Josh said in a pleading voice, “I don’t l–like to talk to you bad, but you just g–gotta make it!”

  Lowell let his eyes drop to his hands, then to his legs. He understood clearly at that moment that he had come to a fork in the road, and his choice would follow him the rest of his days. I’ll either get up and try again—even if I fall a thousand times—or I’ll crawl into bed and be helpless for the rest of my life!

  Seldom had any choice been so clear to Lowell. And he thought of Jack Bailey, who had said, “They make good legs fer fellers now, so they say. Wisht they could make a pair of eyes fer me, but thet’s past wishing fer!”

  That thought put a desperate courage into Lowell Rocklin, and he prayed silently, Oh God, don’t let me give up!

  Josh saw Lowell look up, and he was filled with encouragement, for there was a defiant look in Lowell’s hazel eyes. And then he grinned faintly, saying, “Well, you’re a pretty good preacher, Josh. Now let’s try it again!”

  “I knowed you w–wouldn’t give up!” Josh took the hand of Lowell Rocklin, heaved him up, then said, “N–now we’ll take it r–real easy.…”

  While Lincoln fumbled in his attempts to find a commander who would fight, the Confederate Army repaired itself, knowing that the onslaught would soon come.

  Colonel Taylor Dewitt called Clay to his headquarters one sunny morning, giving him an order. “Major Rocklin, I’ve got a hard duty for you.” Taylor’s eyes gleamed with humor, and he laughed aloud. “Doggone it, Clay, I wish you were the colonel and I was the major!”

  “Don’t think I’d like that, Colonel,” Clay said, smiling. “What’s the duty?”

  “Recruiting,” Taylor said. “Our ranks are stretched too thin. Get out there and get some men for us. You’ll be close to your people, so tell them all hello from your colonel!”

  Clay had drawn a horse, and after listening to the moans from Dent—with broad hints about favoritism from his “old buddy Taylor Dewitt”—he rode out of the camp and made his way back to Richmond. He made several stops on the way and was surprised at winning several young fellows over to signing up. He was not a high-pressure salesman, but something in his quiet manner made the young men want to be in his company. Several of them were afraid the war would be over before they could get in it, and Clay didn’t argue, though he knew better.

  When he got to his own county, the recruiting went even better. He was known by most of the planters, and the Yancy boys had spread the word about the Richmond Grays. It had been filled with young aristocrats at first, but now Clay was looking for hard fighters, not dancers!

  Finally he drew up in front of Gracefield just after noon on Tuesday. He’d worked hard and had a good catch, enough to please the colonel, so he had no guilt over taking a couple of days at home. Highboy met him, white teeth gleaming, and when Clay threw him a piece of hard money, his head bobbed up and down violently. “Sho’ is good to see you, Marse Clay!”

  “Grain him good, Highboy. I’ve ridden him hard.” He pulled a large sack from behind his saddle, dismounted, and made his way up the steps.

  He was met on the porch by Rena, who threw herself into his arms, nearly knocking him off balance. “Whoa! Be careful with an old man!” he protested but grasped her around the waist and swung her around so that her feet flew out. She objected, but it was a game he’d played with her for years, and she loved it!

  “Now I’m out of breath,” he said, putting her down but keeping his hands on her waist. “You’re getting fat,” he announced.

  “I am not!”

  “Are, too!” Then he kissed her and whispered, “You’re the best-looking woman I’ve seen in these parts!”

  Clay picked up his sack, and the two went into the house, Rena chattering and hanging onto his free hand. Clay was relieved to see her so happy. He’d been concerned over leaving her, but she’d finally cast off the heavy burden he’d seen on her after Ellen died.

  As they moved inside, the family all came to greet him, and Dorrie said, “Come on and set down. Dinnuh’s ready.”

  Clay went to her, put his arm around her ample waist, and said, “I’ve got a present for you in my bag here.”

  Dorrie gave him a look that was at the same time avaricious and suspicious. “Whut you done got me?”

  “I’ll show you.” He opened the sack, rummaged through it, then pulled out a thin package. “Here you are.”

  Dorrie took it, saying her thanks, but when she started to leave, Clay shook his head. “None of that! Open it and see if it fits.”

  Dorrie looked around, grumbled, then opened the package. She took one look inside, her eyes flew open, and then she hurriedly closed the package before the rest of them could see what was inside.

  “What is it, Dorrie? I couldn’t see,” Rena protested.

  But Dorrie merely shut her lips tightly and shook her head. Then she looked at Clay, who was grinning broadly and who prompted her, “Don’t you like it, Dorrie?”

  The tall black woman drew herself up and clutched the package firmly. Then she stared at the tall man whose eyes were laughing at her, and she said, “Mister Clay—you is bad!” Whirling, she left the room.

  Clay said, “Never saw such ingratitude!”

  Susanna was laughing, for she had caught a glimpse of the present. “That would have made a good piece for your balloon, Rooney.”

  Then they all went in and sat down at the table, and Clay began passing out gifts for everyone. “Just my way of saying how imp
ortant you all are to me,” Clay said in explanation for his generosity.

  Dorrie and Lucy began bringing in the food, and Clay looked around for Rooney, for he didn’t notice her leave the room. Then she entered, smiling at him in a rather mysterious fashion. Clay said, “Come and get your gift, Rooney.”

  But she didn’t come to him as Clay expected. He glanced at his mother and saw that she, too, had a look of excitement on her face. Everyone, in fact, had that same expression.

  “What’s going on?” Clay asked, looking around. “You all look like the cat who swallowed the canary.”

  “We’ve got a gift for you, too, Mister Clay,” Rooney said.

  “A gift for me? Well, let’s have it,” Clay insisted.

  Rooney moved back toward the double door she had passed through and whispered something that Clay couldn’t hear. He couldn’t imagine what was going to happen but knew that for some reason everyone was grinning broadly.

  And then he heard steps—a strange tread that somehow didn’t seem exactly right. Something about the rhythm of it…And then Lowell appeared!

  Clay had never been struck so hard in his life. He’d spent sleepless nights praying for—for exactly what he was seeing now! Lowell was wearing a fine gray suit with a white shirt. He held a cane in his right hand, and there was a proud smile on his lips. “Hello, Father,” he said and then began to walk across the floor.

  Clay had wisdom enough to stand and wait. He wanted to run and grab Lowell but knew instinctively that this would be wrong. Lowell moved across the floor, swinging his right limb and planting it firmly. It was awkward and ungainly, but Clay didn’t care! As Lowell came to stand before him, Clay’s eyes filled with tears. He made no move to hide them, and if he had looked around, he would have seen that he was not the only one so moved.

  “Lowell,” he whispered. “I…I can’t tell you…what this means to me!”

  “You’ll have to thank Josh and Rooney, Father,” Lowell said unsteadily. He cleared his throat and thrust his hand out. “Welcome home, sir!”