A Place of Peace

by Iris Penn

  “No!” Colby’s head spun. “Don’t hold her! Please! Captain! Let her go! She won’t take it well!” The story of the soldier who cut her throat came back to Colby. He could see Lilly’s wild panic as he knew she was having the same flashes of memory.

  Dupree, however, did not appreciate Colby’s warning. After wiping his face, he stepped up to Lilly and neatly backhanded her with a slap. Her head flopped to the side, blood trickling from her lip.

  “So much for southern hospitality,” said Dupree. He motioned at the soldier holding her. “Hang her.”

  “Wait! What? No!” shouted Colby, hobbling towards them. “You can’t do that!”

  “Boy,” said Dupree, turning to him. “You’ve been out of the war too long. You and your damn Reb friends aren’t in charge here anymore. You are a conquered people.”

  Colby saw the flash of metal before he realized what was going to happen. The blade Lilly had concealed in her skirt was now in her hand, and the soldier behind her suddenly gasped as the bright red patch started spreading across the stomach of his uniform.

  Now she was free and holding the knife in front of her, daring anyone to approach. The soldier she had stabbed sat back on the grass, clutching his stomach. The other soldiers stepped up, rifled leveled and cocked, ready to fire.

  Lilly, oh, Lilly, what have you done ...?

  Dupree seemed shocked as he stared at the poor boy bleeding on the grass near the other boy who was still rubbing his head. He looked up at Lilly who resembled a caged animal, almost snarling at them.

  “Girl,” he said. “Put down that knife. I don’t want to shoot you.”

  “Lilly, please,” said Colby. “Stop. They won’t hurt you, I think,” he nodded towards the Captain, “that this man’s word is good. He’ll let us go.”

  “Captain,” said Colby. “She had a traumatic experience a few months back. She’s not right in the head. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

  “Captain,” said the bleeding kid on the ground. “Captain, this really hurts.”

  “Shut up, boy,” said Dupree. Colby could tell he was torn. Would he hang her? Spitting was one thing, stabbing a soldier was another.

  “Please, sir,” said Colby. “Some compassion.”

  By now a few of the other soldiers had dismounted and were tending to the stabbed boy’s wound.

  “He’s bleeding pretty good, Captain,” one of them reported. “Don’t know if we can stop it.”

  Lilly smiled and lowered the knife. “I can fix him,” she said. “I will save his life if you let us go.”

  Dupree laughed. “Let you go for saving a man who you tried to kill? No thank you. You will save him, and we might hang you anyway.”

  Lilly spat on the ground. “Then let him die. I know how deep the wound is, and I know how to stop the bleeding. So you go ahead and hang me and let him die. Let him die for your stupid stubborn pride at getting bested by a woman. Tell his family he served his country well.”

  “Captain?” the bleeding kid peered around the soldiers tending him. “Captain, you’re not gonna let me die, are you? Ouch, it really hurts.”

  The soldier’s shirt was off, and Dupree could see the blood burbling out like a fountain. The other soldiers’ hands were coated red, and they looked up at the Captain, waiting for instructions.

  A slight movement caught Colby’s attention. He glanced off into the distance and thought he saw John Holcomb, up in a tree, waving at him. Colby followed his frantic points and saw, in the distance, another column of horses. He thought he saw the flash of red, white, and blue at the head of the column, but it was not the Union flag.

  “Captain,” said Colby. “We’re going to be leaving you now.” He hobbled up and grasped Lilly by the hand. “You’re about to be real busy.”

  Before Lilly could protest, Colby had her back near the wagon. “Get in,” he hissed. “And stay down.”

  The first few gunshots cracked in the distance. Lilly climbed into the wagon as Colby hobbled up in the front.

  “Mount up!” yelled Dupree. “We’ve got company!”

  Colby gave the Yanks one last look before he snapped the reins and the wagon lurched down the hill. Dupree was shouting as the horses wheeled to get into line. Colby, Lilly, and the wagon were all but forgotten as the rebel cavalry smashed into their lines.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  WHEN SHE AWOKE, THE sticky wetness of grass was clinging to her and the strong smell of smoke coated her. Melinda sat up, blinking, not comprehending the events of the night before. She looked at the smoldering remains of the ruined farmhouse and realized she had simply fallen asleep despite the fear and panic that had overwhelmed her. Her skin was red and hot from lying so close to the fire, and she crawled away along the grass, using her rifle for support. The coolness of the morning dew felt good against her skin.

  She thought of poor Joan buried somewhere in the blackened pile of wood. She thought of poor Frank buried under that tulip poplar. She crawled to her feet, feeling the grime and soot covering her. The house was gone, and the sun was already burning brightly overhead. Melinda shook her head. Her home gone. Frank and Joan gone. Her father gone. The great, overwhelming feeling of loneliness and despair began to nudge at her. Union troops could still be in the area, and they would be looking for the people who killed their men.

  She looked over at the Johnsons’ barn. They always had taken good care of it. She could load up their wagon, head out for the road. Maybe head to Gallatin. As she looked at the house, she realized she wasn’t going to have a choice. She couldn’t stay here. She was essentially homeless.

  Melinda felt like crying, but then admonished herself. Shape it up, girl. Think of those boys out in the field. They need you to toughen up. Your father needs you to toughen up, too.

  The thought of her father made her felt even more overwhelmed. Was he okay? Maybe better off than she was. She looked up the road at the empty stretch of dirt that led to anywhere but here.

  “Goodbye, Joan,” she said to the smoking pile near her. “You were like a mother to me, and I’ll always be grateful to you and Frank. I think that maybe you two would have wanted me to use your things. You would want me to be taken care of.” She looked at the barn again. “I think I’m understanding now.”

  She limped away from the house, her eyes blurry with tears she angrily wiped away as she walked. No tears now. She would strike out for Gallatin and from there go south towards Nashville. She thought she had an aunt down there somewhere: her father’s sister whom she hadn’t seen in almost ten years.

  It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was better than what she had now. She looked at her rifle. It was still loaded. She looked at the burning blue sky overhead. Time to get going.

  ***

  THE TOWN OF GALLATIN, Tennessee, was not much more than a courthouse and a town square. There was a bustling of activity as Melinda’s wagon rolled near the outskirts of the town. Townspeople were scurrying around and near the courthouse like ants pouring around their anthills. Melinda saw the familiar Stars and Bars flag of the Confederacy flapping in the warm, summer wind. She frowned. She thought for sure the Union troops were still here, but yet, the Confederate flag fluttering proudly in defiance, said otherwise.

  No one paid her much attention as her wagon creaked along the road. She was dressed much like she was the day she had rolled into town with Frank on a day that seemed forever ago. Her wide-brimmed hat was pulled low over her eyes, throwing a shadow down the length of her face. Off to her right, she could see puffs of smoke from the nearby campfires. A rebel encampment looked to be spreading itself out in the farmers’ fields.

  If the Confederacy has troops here, thought Melinda, that means they’ve taken the town back. Maybe things will work out after all. She felt a little better. At least she wouldn’t have to worry too much about being accosted by Union troops again for the time being.

  “Can I help you with your wagon, miss?” a friendly voice startled her out of her thoughts.
She pulled on the reins and stopped her wagon. A young man, a soldier wearing a faded gray jacket and pants, was standing near her, his hand on the flank of her horse. He wore a slouch hat that looked to have several bullet holes punched through it and smudges of campfire soot lined his cheeks.

  “Well,” she said. “I am going to the general store, so I don’t think I need any help, thank you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the soldier said. “You need to be careful around here. A young woman traveling by herself. Still lots of Yanks around here.”

  The image of the young Union soldier pleading for his life as she aimed her rifle at him flashed in her mind. She could still see him running away.

  “I’ll be okay,” she managed a small smile. “I’ve dealt with Yanks before.” She nodded towards the shotgun propped up on the bench beside her.

  The soldier’s eyes followed her motion. He smiled. “I can see that.”

  Melinda squinted from beneath her hat. The soldier looked around her age, maybe a year older. It was hard to tell with the smudges on his cheeks and his eyes shaded by his hat. He had a kind face, though.

  “What’s your name, soldier?” she asked.

  “Corporal Alisander Fairfax,” said the soldier. “At your service. 2nd Kentucky Cavalry under the command of Colonel John Hunt Morgan.” He managed a small bow.

  “Corporal,” asked Melinda. “What happened here? A few days ago, this area was thick as flies with Union troops. Now you are camped here?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Alisander. “We arrived about a week ago. Down from Kentucky. We were on these guys before they knew it. They hightailed it south. Headed out for Nashville, from what our scouts can tell.”

  “Thank you, Corporal Fairfax,” said Melinda. “I think I shall be taking my leave now.”

  “Glad to be of service,” said Alisander. “If you need an escort, please do not hesitate to ask.”

  “I’ll keep it mind,” said Melinda, as she snapped her reins.

  ***

  WHEN SHE WALKED INTO the dim and dusty general store, the first thing she noticed was the emptiness of it. A few months and the occupation of two armies had taken a huge toil on the supply of goods. Empty racks and shelves were all that were left.

  “Help you?”

  Melinda walked up to the counter where Jim, the owner of the store, failed to recognize her once again.

  “Hello, Mr. Jim,” said Melinda. “Do you remember me?”

  Jim squinted and then laughed. “Last time I saw you was with Frank Johnson.” He looked around a moment. “By yourself today?”

  “I guess you haven’t heard, then,” said Melinda, her voice choking a little. “Frank and Joan Johnson were killed. Yanks came through the farms. Some of our local boys ran some of them off, but Frank was shot.” A tear splashed on the dust collected on the counter.

  “I’m sorry,” said Jim, handing her a cloth to wipe her eyes. “Frank was a good man. These Yanks don’t know what kind of damage they’re doing down here. Hell, they’re treating us like we’re some kind of foreigners they’ve invaded.” He watched Melinda fight back her tears before clearing his throat. “Pardon my language.”

  “It’s okay,” she smiled. “It’s war, and no matter what we think about it, we’re just going to have to wait it out.” She dabbed at her eyes and offered the cloth back to Jim, but he simply let her keep it.

  “What brings you by today?” Jim asked. “Have you heard word from your father? Morgan’s men out there were at Shiloh. A couple of them tell me it was worse than we could have even imagined.”

  “I haven’t heard from my father,” said Melinda. “My house is gone. Burned. I was thinking of going south, to Nashville. My aunt is down there somewhere, I think.”

  “Nashville’s dangerous,” said Jim. “Yanks have been occupying it since February, you know.”

  Melinda sighed. “I don’t know what else to do.”

  Jim nodded. “I don’t really have anything to help you, girl. As you can see, most of my stock is gone. Morgan’s men cleaned out whatever the Yanks didn’t take.”

  Melinda nodded. “I don’t know why I would have thought any differently. It just seemed like I should check before I start on the road, you know. I got what I could from the Johnson farm, but I don’t know if it will be enough.”

  Jim scribbled a few words on a scrap of paper. “Give this to the boy in the back. He’ll give you what he can.”

  “Thank you, Jim.”

  In the end, Melinda left with a ten-pound bag of flour and five pounds of corn meal. As she placed it in her wagon and climbed up, she noticed a lot of movement outside of town. The rebel camp, it seemed, was on the verge of breaking up and moving on.

  She spotted Corporal Fairfax leading some horses away from the rest of the camp. She left her wagon parked near the store, hoping that no one would help himself to her flour or corn meal, and hurried over to the young Corporal, who seemed pleased to see her.

  “Yes, ma’am?” he asked. He was rubbing down one of the horses, who didn’t seem to like Melinda’s interruption.

  “The camp,” she said. “You look like you’re moving out.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Corporal Fairfax. “Colonel’s moving north again, into Kentucky. May even go as far north as Ohio.”

  “Ohio?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Melinda bit her lip, hesitating. “If you were to go south, what kind of resistance would you meet?”

  Corporal Alisander Fairfax stopped and rubbed his hand across his face. Melinda noticed the smudges were gone, and he had quite a handsome face underneath a scruff of beard.

  “Union’s been south of here since February,” he said. “They’re bringing supplies and troops down the river every day, reinforcing Nashville. Best we can do now is just hit their supplies as they come down and hope to disrupt their lines.” He hesitated. “You aren’t thinking of going south by yourself are you?”

  Melinda looked away, not liking the way Alisander Fairfax was looking at her. It was making her self-conscious of her appearance, which had frankly seen better days.

  “I…” she stopped. She didn’t know this kid, and she realized she shouldn’t be telling him anything, but her words just flooded out. It made Melinda realize how long it had been since she had spoken to someone close her own age, or anyone else for that matter.

  “My home is gone,” she said, and the words rushed out. “It was burned by Yankee troops. And my neighbors… their home was destroyed too. Both of them were killed by the same troops. One was shot and the other…” she thought of poor Joan lying in her bed. “Anyway, I had nowhere to go, and I came here hoping to find enough to get me south to Nashville. I have an aunt there… or I used to…” her words trailed off, and she found herself out of breath.

  Corporal Alisander Fairfax listened to her story and simply nodded. He looked over at the camp where wagons were being loaded and tents were being struck.

  Melinda scuffed one of her shoes in the dirt. A horrible silence had fallen between them. Corporal Fairfax whistled at a nearby private, who hurried over.

  “Sir?”

  “Private, take these horses. They are ready to be saddled.” He handed the private the leads of the two horses, who took them without delay.

  “That kid,” said Alisander. “Is only fourteen. He lied about his age to enlist.”

  “What? That’s terrible!”

  Alisander pushed up his hat, and Melinda could see his eyes more clearly. “A sad statement on the war, perhaps,” he said.

  “I won’t take up any more of your time, Corporal Fairfax,” Melinda said. “I can see you’re getting set to ride. Thank you for listening to my story.”

  She turned to go back to her wagon, where her own horse was staring at her with dull eyes. She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “Ma’am,” said the corporal. “I could never live with myself if I knew you were heading south unescorted and something bad happened to you.”

>   “I can take care of myself,” said Melinda, instantly regretting the words. She had been too long on the farm by herself, now a potential offer of help was being made, and she was automatically dismissing it. She turned back to look at the young corporal.

  “I will escort you if you will have me. The colonel himself can vouch for my honorable character, and I have a furlough that I can use. I would be more than happy to see you to your aunt’s home.”

  Melinda smiled. “You don’t even know me, and I sure don’t know you. What makes you want you to help me?”

  Corporal Alisander Fairfax smiled back. “It’s the honorable thing to do.”

  “Honorable or not,” said Melinda. “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “On my word as a southern gentleman,” said Alisander, “I will protect you.”

  Melinda thought for a moment. It would be safer than traveling alone, but he was a stranger, and the road was long.

  “I will let you escort me,” said Melinda. “But if you lay a hand on me, I will not hesitate to shoot you.”

  Corporal Fairfax saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Melinda nodded. “We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready. It’s about thirty miles. We can be there by the morning.”

  ***

  AFTER A BRIEF WORD with his commander, he had come back to Melinda beaming like she had just accepted his invitation to the local barn dance. It was decided that Corporal Fairfax would take his own horse and follow Melinda’s wagon down the road.

  “It’s set,” said Alisander. “With the Colonel’s blessing, I am to escort you to Nashville and see you safely to your destination. Then I am authorized to return to the regiment.” He consulted a scrap of paper in his gloved hand. “I have two days leave.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you, Corporal,” said Melinda. “I am much obliged.”

  Alisander scanned the back of her small wagon and noted the supplies there. “It will take almost half a day to get to Nashville,” he said. “Thirty miles if all goes well.” He looked up at the sky. “We might be there by night if we leave now.”