Is he praying? Ben looked around at some of the bowed heads.
“I am loath to close.” Lincoln’s eyes glistened. “We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battle-field, and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearthstone, all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.”
Chapter 23
T he stagnate air of the small Maryville courtroom was laced with the heated tension of angry voices. Maggie’s father had called a special meeting. Maggie wondered if the Secessionists had succeeded in swaying the citizens of Maryville to secede from the Union. Ben had ridden in early this morning with news that President Lincoln had issued a proclamation calling for militia after the attack on Fort Sumter on April 12. Father had countered Ben’s news with his own that the East Tennesseans were to send delegates to Knoxville on May 30 with their vote.
Ben hadn’t glanced her way, his thoughts too absorbed over the impending war. His curly head bent low over the map he and Father were looking at. However, Ben’s cordial greeting earlier had told of his disinterest in her. Well, there was certainly enough to keep her mind occupied here.
Behind her, Matron Burns’ shrill voice rose with excitement, retelling the attack on Fort Sumter.
“ General Beauregard carried the Confederacy’s new flag, a red and blue creation comprised of bars and stripes. It is really quite a striking thing and, well, Beauregard took the Union forces by surprise and bombarded Fort Sumter, nearly washing it into the Charleston Harbor.”
The deep frown that creased her father’s solemn face told her he had heard Matron Burns. Voices rose and fell like high tide, excited and exhilarated about the course of southern events.
“Did you hear?” Miss Peabody’s fingers wrapped around her parasol in a death grip. “Richmond was made the new Capitol of the Confederacy and Robert E. Lee has just accepted command of Virginia’s military and naval forces.” She nodded and her hat, a flat little creation, fell across her forehead. She pushed it up, noticing Maggie.
“Dear, I am so sorry the jury did not convict Mr. Reynolds. I know it was he who flogged and killed your dear mother.”
A cold draft of wind blew in. Miss Peabody glanced toward the gaping door “Oh, speak of the devil… There he is now.”
“The coward.” Matron Burns snorted. “He hid his personage behind a mask, and he dares to strut in here pretending to be a gentleman, rubbing elbows with decent folk.”
Reynolds’ bold steps came closer. Would he have the audacity to park himself next to her? Reverend Brown stepped in front of Reynolds and bowed, his kind eyes consoling; Reynolds turned away. The Reverend smiled at her. “May I sit down?”
“Please.”
The meeting room was packed to capacity, riding boots beating the wood floorboards, resonating excitement. Every chair had been taken and men lined the walls like colored wallpaper, mumbling about the war and what legion they planned to join.
The gavel struck the desk and the murmurs ceased. Her father’s voice bellowed over them. “The Confederacy has asked Jefferson Davis to be their president and hopes that Davis will accept the appointment.”
A cheer followed.
Her father banged his gavel on the desk again. “Ordinance of Secession for the United States of America, a yes vote in favor of seceding from the Union—”
“Yeah, we’ll whip those Yanks in a month!”
“We could lick them with one hand tied behind our backs!”
“Why, look how easy it was at Fort Sumter. It’ll be thatta way throughout this here war. Besides, those Yanks’ hearts ain’t in it like ours. They’ll let us go.”
Her father cleared his throat. “A no vote will be to remain in these United States of America.” Her father laid down his paper. “Now, before you vote, hear me out. I’ve known most of you all my life. Some of you are too young to remember the War of 1812. I was like you young men, and I’ve learned a lot through the years. I’ve been up north. I’ve seen the factories, the immigrants; Mr. McConnell can attest to them. Ben come up here.”
Ben approached the front of the courtroom with confidence. His tall riding boots, tan breeches, and black coat complete with cravat, made him look like the country gentleman he had become. The crowd hushed.
“Don’t let my fine duds fool you. I came off the Dunbrody without a shilling to my name, weighin’ but a hundred pounds and my shoes having holes in the bottom of them big enough for a jack rabbit to burrow in. There’s thousands like me, too, in the north, lookin’ for any money they can get their hands on to feed their families instead of watchin’ them starve. They’ll jump for the chance of fightin’ against ya, though the thought of the slaves being free is not to their fancy.”
He glanced about the packed room, his head held high, his back as straight as the large oak tree standing outside the courthouse. “No, we want you to be keeping your slaves. Irishmen often are hired to do the work your slaves are too good to be doin’. Now you ask me what’s my part in this here war now that I’ve made my fortune and become a proper gentleman.”
A mumble went up like a rumble of thunder.
“It be because of me pride. Pride in my new country, it is. I had to leave my Ireland because you see… freedom is rare in Ireland. Here, you have your land and your freedom, and you have your beautiful homes. You’ll be outnumbered, and your little factories and textiles will be lookin’ poorly alongside the likes of the large factories in the north. Give President Lincoln a chance and you’ll win not only your lives, but your dignity.” Ben stepped down.
“Mayor Gatlan, may I speak?” Reverend Brown said.
“Yes, please do.”
The Reverend motioned for Ben to take his seat.
Maggie closed her eyes feeling a tingle running up and down her spine. Ben kept his hands in his lap and his eyes looking straight ahead. He thinks I don’t care a shilling for him. What should I do? If she didn’t speak to him now, she’d surely loose him.
“Men, what Mayor Gatlan and Ben McConnell have said is true. The fighting will be near your homes, your families. I reiterate what President Lincoln has said repeatedly. It is found in Mark 3:25 and if I may, I would also like to read verses 26 and 27.”
“Go ahead, Reverend,” her father said.
“‘And if a house is divided against itself, that house cannot stand. And if Satan rise up against himself, and be divided, he cannot stand, but hath an end. No one can enter into a strong man’s house, and spoil his goods, except he will first bind the strong man; and then he will spoil his house.’
“The United States is strong when united, but without the South, America will be half a house, and ready for plunder to outside nations. Think about that for the sake of our children and grandchildren.”
“Hand me one of those papers.” Matron Burns stood up and held out her arm.
“You can’t vote; you’re a woman,” someone in the back yelled.
“I’d like to see someone stop me. This war is going to affect all of us. Now hand me that paper.”
Her father stood. The crowd silenced as his voice boomed out. “Matron Burns has put a question before us tonight. Are we to allow the women here a chance to vote on the fate of Tennessee? All in favor say yea.”
“Yea!”
“All opposed say nay.”
For the first time the room was silent.
“The vote carries. Hand out the papers, Clerk Jordon.”
Dr. Jordon smiled as he handed one to Matron Burns and then to Maggie. “It’s about time we asked our ladies’ opinions.”
Nothing had gone well for Ben with Maggie. He’d hoped she would ask him to the house or at least squeeze his hand. He’d given her a chance to.
He led Caedmon out of Spirit Wind’s warm stable, giving him a hasty pat on his glossy white neck. “I
do not understand the lass, nor do I understand her father.” He laid the saddle on his horse’s dappled back, his thoughts on Maggie. She’d plenty of time to tell him her feelings. He strapped his breech-loading gun onto his saddle and mounted, pulling his hat down across his forehead. “Well, there’s plenty of lasses beggin’ for my services.” Caedmon nickered, as if in agreement.
He started down the tree-lined lane, the moon glistening through the budding apple and cherry trees. The birth of spring after a brutal winter always made a farmer’s heart glad, only this spring of 1861 was different. Only twenty-four percent voted in Blount County to secede. But when the carrier brought news of the other votes, Mayor Gatlan said it was no use. Reynolds reiterated this, stating that East Tennessee would soon be surrounded by the Confederacy and forced into submission. “’Tis confusing, this democracy, to be sure.” Ben reined up Caedmon. “But, I’ll not leave with my tail between my legs like a whipped dog. I’ll give Maggie a piece of my mind she’ll not forget.”
He spun Caedmon around and galloped back toward Spirit Wind. The night breezes had a hint of apple blossoms in them, but he could not enjoy their pleasures. The day’s worries brushed his face with death’s fingertips. Men would meet their Maker sooner than needed, and he was powerless to halt that consequence.
He reined up Caedmon under Maggie’s bedroom window. The house was dark, and the hounds had welcomed him, having enjoyed the tidbits of his supper he’d brought. He surveyed his options. The rose lattice might be the tool he needed to climb to her window. He dropped Caedmon’s reins, then stood on his saddle and put his boot into one lattice rectangular, testing the strength of it. It cracked beneath his weight. Instantly, he grabbed the limb of the large elm, swung his leg up, and surveyed the chances of him climbing the tree and jumping into her partially open window. Giving a shove, he was soon climbing into the massive limbs. He pushed open the window pane with his foot and jumped.
The breezes swept the shears in gentle strokes. He crept to a featherbed with a canopy made of lace. Maggie lay there, her long silk-like curls strewn on her pillow in wild abandonment. Ben’s fingers ached to stroke one. She always kept it tamed within her net and hats.
This was his Maggie. Her full red lips slightly parted and her thick sooty lashes lay like hummingbird wings across her ruddy-pink cheeks.
He knelt, aching to crush this beautiful goddess of his dreams into his embrace. Who knew if he’d ever get the chance again? He bent over her and a wisp of roses, honeysuckle, and cinnamon wafted past his nose. His lips hovered over hers, and gently he lowered them to her cheek.
“Ah!” Her torrential punches, boxed his ears like his wee mother. It was all he could do not to fall on the floor and whimper like a pup. He put a restraining hand across her arms, then covered her mouth with his other.
“I did not mean to alarm ya, Maggie, merely to say farewell.”
“You, you, pirate.” she hissed. “What do you mean coming like this to my bedroom at midnight?”
“’Twas just a good-bye kiss I was seekin’.”
Her eyes widened.
“Will be the last I’ll be sharing with ya. I am on my way to New York to join the Irish Brigade.”
Maggie rose to a sitting position. Her beautiful brown hair glimmered with golden highlights in the moonlight and cascaded over her white, lace-edged nightgown.
“But why must you go? The war has just started and you’re not even an—”
“American? I beg your pardon, lass, but I am.” He stood up. She’d gotten his dander up, to be sure, with that remark.
“Oh, you stubborn Irishman, turn around. Wait, hand me my wrapper. …Now turn around.”
Ben did as he was told, careful not to alert Maggie as to the moonlight that made plain her image in the mirror. She possessed a body that could make any man weak with want.
“Alright, I’m decent now.”
Decent? She was covered from head to toe with linen, silk, and lace. But for the light of the moon, he would not have seen the brief image of her he’d carry to the battlefield. He smiled. She hadn’t ordered him out of her bedroom, nor had she yelled for help. She must care a little for him.
“Now what about this Irish Brigade? And for which side are you fighting?” Her sweet mouth was drawn up in a worried frown.
It was hard, he knew, for her to understand, just as it had been for his dad. “The Union side. I cannot fight to divide this country that has become my home.”
Her lips pouted as he took her hands in his, her long silky fingers as graceful as a dove’s wing. He kissed them. Her gleaming teardrops spilling their way down her rosy cheeks surprised him. He coaxed her toward him. She didn’t need a second invitation but folded into his arms as if she had always been a part of them. They stood there gazing out into the moonlight, the soft melody of the wind playing with her hair and the whispering trees swaying their budding leaves to the promptings of the invisible caresses of the wind.
“Where in New York is this Irish Brigade?”
“Staten Island. Would you be knowing the name Thomas Meagher?”
Her eyes appeared larger in the soft light. She’s so beautiful. He bent his head lower, hovering over her mouth. No, steady yourself, man. “He was born in Ireland, and very active in the Young Ireland movement. That’s how many of us got to know him. He says this Irish Brigade will show the Americans we’re not afraid to fight. We even have our regiment’s flag, emerald, sportin’ a gold shamrock.” His mouth came closer to hers. She wasn’t backing away, but tilted her face up.
“And… so,” she whispered, slightly out of breath. “Ah… that is why—”
“Maggie.” His eyes could not get enough of her loveliness. “Whatever I’ve done, consider this my apology.” His lips touched hers, caressing her like the wind on the leaves, then grew in intensity. She wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him to her. He swept her into his arms and glanced at the bed, its sheets inviting. He paused, smiled into her innocence, her head nuzzling his neck, and carried her to the window seat. The breezes stirred her wrapper and gown, lace and satin swirling about his arms and legs, as her hair tickled his nose. Silence cloaked their forms, fused as one, in a cocoon of blissful youth, love’s sweet moments too few.
“’Tis not that I don’t understand your southern cause. It reminds me of our fight to free ourselves from the British. And most of our Irish comrades are not in favor of giving the slaves their freedom. Jobs are hard to come by as it is. But the Union has promised us bonuses, extra rations, and subsidies for our families.”
Maggie laid her hand on his chest. “Father might have accepted you if you fought on the Confederate side.” Her eyes pleaded.
“My dad is fighting with Michael Corcoran. He has started the 69th Regiment Irish Brigade and fighting with the Confederates. Dad says Lincoln plans to free the slaves. Says he needs his slaves and don’t need to be fighting after the war against them for jobs. He’s threatened to disown me if I go Union. But a man has to do what he has to.”
“My Ben, always the rebel.” Maggie traced a finger from his forehead down to his lips. He kissed her finger. “Ah… you’re my wild Irish rose, to be sure, Maggie my darlin’. I’ll be off before I change my mind and sweep you on my horse and take you with me to this bonny war.”
“War!” Maggie got up, laying her hand on her hips. “Why do men find war so exciting? Fighting, fighting, and more fighting. Do you get pleasure in having your face knocked in? Feeling a bullet whizzing past your ears?”
Ben smiled into her stormy face that only a moment ago was as tranquil as any lake in June. She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. “Do you know how many times I’ve tried not to feel anything for you?”
He laughed. She quickly covered his mouth with her hand and listened. “You best be careful before you awaken Father and Will. Neither of whom will mind shooting you now that you have joined the Union.”
Ben picked her up and whirled her about the room. “It’s not
them I care to kiss, my bonny lass.” With that he bent low, lifted her clear off the shiny wood floor and kissed her smartly. He released her and headed for the window, blowing her a kiss before descending into the branches of the elm and then jumping onto his horse.
“Ben!”
He reined up Caedmon sharply and he reared in protest, the horse’s strong legs raking the night with his hooves. Maggie’s hair streamed behind her; her gown and wrapper floated like angel wings in the night breezes.
“When will I see you again?”
“When you least expect me.”
Caedmon’s hooves pounded in his ears as his heart skipped a beat—would he see his love again?
Chapter 24
A Christmas had come and gone as the war grabbed up every man who could walk and straddle a horse. Because of their knowledge of fighting during the Indian uprising, Father and Uncle Blake were immediately commandeered into officer ranks. The war had demanded their fathers, brothers, and sweethearts. Had caused a tightening of waists and pocketbooks and an influx of fundraisers. There was one tonight at the meetinghouse in Maryville.
Standing on a stool while Hattie finished up the hem of her ball gown, Maggie fluffed the puffy sleeves done in red velvet. The gentle folds of ivory satin finished off the rest of the dress. A red satin ribbon at her shoulder angled to her corseted waist and flowed to the lace edging her ball gown. All from remnants of mother’s old dresses.
She glanced out the french windows, hoping to see her father and his dappled gray stallion turning onto the lane to the house. The Battle of Fredericksburg on December 13 had sent Maryville exclaiming praises of their valiant men in gray who had won a stupendous victory over the Union armies.
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