Swept into Destiny

by Catherine Ulrich Brakefield

  Ben ignored her cry. His deep baritone voice hurtled orders like a bugler sounding off a charge to his men.

  Maggie blinked back her tears as Matron Burns’ carriage paused to unload Polly and the court records, and then lumbered down the dusty road toward Spirit Wind.

  Once there, Maggie retreated to her bedroom. Outside her window, the musket fire sounded on throughout the night. She had given orders for the rooms to be cleared for the wounded to come, and Dr. Jordon was already asleep in one of the guest rooms. But as she listened to the snores of her family, she remained kneeling beside the open window, praying for Ben’s and Will’s safety.

  The shadowy forms of two men made their way toward the house. Maggie hurried down to the front door. Hattie joined her.

  The Confederate politely removed his hat. “Ma’am, we are commandeering your wagon. An old one will do.”

  “What you want with our wagon?” Hattie said. Her hands on her hips and her bottom lip protruded, making her look as if she had just sprouted another chin.

  The soldier, taken back by her brazen reply, shuddered. “General Wheeler plans to burn the buildings around the courthouse so we can use our cannon and demolish that courthouse down around those Yanks’ heads!”

  Maggie clutched her throat. “Buildings?”

  “Got to make a clear path for the cannons, ma’am.”

  Elizabeth Toole’s and Matron Burns’ homes were just a few that stood to become a pile of ashes. “We’re waitin’ for our cannon, ma’am. Should be here soon. Then we’ll be moving out. Do you have a horse you can spare?”

  “Hattie show this gentleman where that old wagon is behind the barn. It’s not much use to us.”

  Hattie showed him and then returned to the front porch. Maggie had changed into her riding clothes. “Where’s you fixin’ to go, Miss Maggie?”

  “To warn our neighbors and Ben.”

  “Not without me, you’re not!”

  Maggie ran to Father’s study, opened his desk drawer, and pocketed his pistol. She hurried out the front door and to the stable to saddle up two horses. Hattie’s arm cradled a lantern, and in her hand, she held some candles. Maggie scooped them up and pocketed them in her saddle bags, and they took off at a gallop across the hills.

  Once near town, they tied their horses in a clump of woods and lit the lantern, then ran toward town, pounding on doors, warning of the Confederates plans. Hattie went to Polly’s. Bending over, Maggie gulped air into her starving lungs from running up and down the town streets. Then she ran to the storm shelter’s stone tunnel and basement beneath the courthouse. She lit the lantern that hung near the entrance. Cobwebs swept across her hair. She flung her hand over her face and shuddered. Moisture from the rains had left puddles on the dirt foot.

  What if Ben takes her for a Reb coming through the tunnel? He might shoot her. She would have to take that chance. As she stood in the basement, light from the upper boards gleamed down in the darkness. Smoke filtered down through them. Had the Confederates set the courthouse on fire? I’ll be trapped! Burn to death down here and no one, not even Father, knows where I’ve gone. Why hadn’t she thought to write a note? She pounded on the trap door of the courthouse basement. “Help, someone, help.”

  The door creaked open on rusty hinges. Ben’s head popped into sight. “What in blue blazes—”

  “Colonel Wheeler is going to—” She coughed from more smoke billowing through the open windows.

  “You’re about five minutes too late.” He pulled her up, shoving her to his chest in a crushing hug. Maggie circled his neck with her hands and wept. He does love me. He must.

  His lips came down on hers in an all-consuming hunger that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. He looked down at her and scowled. “You shouldn’t have come… you’re in danger here.”

  “I, I had to warn you.”

  “Show me the tunnel.”

  Maggie led the blue clad soldiers the way out. With guns cocked, they pored through the tunnel and out the other side.

  Maggie coughed, aghast, her eyes tearing from the smoke. Burning buildings lined both sides of the street. Her face felt hot with the heat of the orange and red flames licking the velvet of the night. Where’s Ben? Where’s Hattie?

  Maggie ran toward the tunnel. A soldier stopped her as more soldiers came running out. “Major said for me to escort you to safety,” a soldier said.

  The cannon sent out a volley of warnings.

  The soldier smiled, his chest bloated with pride. “The major’s busy right now, said he has a surprise for those Confederate soldiers, but he said to assure you, he shall meet you in the by and by—”

  She heard curses, then cannon fire.

  “Better we skedaddle, ma’am, right quick or else we’ll miss the fireworks the major has planned for your enjoyment!”

  Chapter 30

  B en couldn’t believe it. General Grant had summoned him into to his tent. Whatever for?

  “Sir! Major McConnell reporting.”

  General Grant looked up from his glass. “Everyone please leave. John, get me some black coffee.”

  Ben tilted his head, puzzled. What was Grant up to this time? Grant glanced up and Ben snapped to attention.

  Grant pulled a chair out next to him at the oblong table. “Have a seat. I never talk to a man that looks down at me. I need some advice.”

  “General Grant, from me?” Ben sat down with misgivings.

  “Call me Sam, all my friends do, and I’m talking to and asking your advice as I would a friend.” He twirled his empty glass around in his hand, his black hair falling across his forehead like a schoolboy’s. His bearded face and the deep crevices woven permanently around his deep-set eyes told differently of his forty-some years.

  “Pour me a drink from that bottle, will you, Ben?”

  Ben reached across the table and poured the drink, the liquid making slurping sounds in the quiet tent.

  “This helps ward off a migraine. And I feel one coming on. …You know you missed some of that siege at Petersburg with handling that Confederate cavalry raid at Maryville.”

  “Sorry, sir, I mean Sam. The men and I came as soon as we knew the town was contained. We left behind us an awful mess.”

  “Yeah.” Grant moved his long arms from the table, stretching his shoulders. “But nothing to the conditions in which we left those people in Petersburg after that ten-month siege. I tell you, Ben, because you understand it better than anyone else. You being an Irishman straight off that famine ship and me a son of a leather tanner. I don’t know how I even made it through West Point with my grades. I think I had the worst record for disobedience of orders than any other cadet.”

  Ben chuckled. “General Custer told me he broke your record.”

  “He did, huh? Well, it takes a rebel to know a rebel. You know, I met Robert E. Lee while serving as a regimental quartermaster during the Mexican War. He was Lincoln’s right hand man up until 1861. That’s when he handed in his resignation papers. Lincoln told me Lee hated to do it, but he had to remain loyal to his Virginia. So he up and joined the Confederacy with the new Southern Republic.”

  Grant swallowed down the remaining liquor. “I didn’t mind fighting the Mexicans, but I hate fighting against Americans. I wanted to run in and save them all… even the children show gumption.” Grant looked at him, his eyes bloodshot with pain. “I kept seeing the faces of my own children. But what could I do? …They’ve given me the title of Butcher, you know.

  “Well, it’s war and I can’t stand the thought of these United States being sliced up into little pieces. We’re family and family has got to keep the same name, even if you do quarrel. So I bombarded and bombarded again. I even thought up a new strategy, did you know that? I’ve nicknamed it trench warfare .” He slapped his palms on the table, then swept them back in his lap and sighed. “Lee’s surrendering.” Grant rubbed his hand through his hair. “I’m glad it’s over.”

  Ben couldn’t believe it. Had he
heard correctly? Maybe there was something Grant wasn’t telling him about the surrender. “Where is this surrender taking place?”

  “At Appomattox, Virginia. Ever heard of such a name?”

  “No, but this is cause for jubilation. Mind if I have a glass? We’ll toast together.”

  “Right. But before we have that toast, how do I deal with a southern gentleman? I mean, rumor has it that you fancy a southern gal in Tennessee? I respect Lee and hold too much admiration for the southerner. Why, he could have stayed in the hills and drawn this war out indefinitely. But he cares about his men. He cares about this country.”

  Ben poured himself a drink, remembering Maggie’s father. A gentleman, whether victorious or vanquished, he and his southern cause were still the winners because of their invincible valor. Ben could sympathize with Grant. “They’re like the gallant cavalier of old England and we’re like the swashbucklers of yore.” Yes, Maggie had labeled him correctly on their first meeting.

  “I couldn’t put my finger on it. But you have. We’re a pair of swashbucklers.” Grant laughed and slapped Ben on the shoulder. “Why do you think I fought so hard? Without our southern brothers smoothing our Yankee pine needles, we wouldn’t have a prayer getting anywhere in the world of politics. Northerners are brash. We haven’t got enough manners to impress a southern cracker, let alone a Chinese dignitary.”

  Ben lifted his glass allowing it to catch and reflect the sunlight peeking into their flimsy canvas walls. “With respect, General, give Lee what’s humanly possible for a general like yourself to give, ’cause there’s no use arguing with a gentleman. He’ll find a way to outfox you in the end.”

  Ben allowed the drink to burn his mouth before swallowing. “Ah, ’tis a grand day to be sure, when two generals such as you and Lee meet in harmony. It has a pleasing ring about it, would you not agree, Sam?”

  Ben watched General Lee dismount, his silver hair catching the sunlight. What with his grand coat without a spot on it and his gleaming gold buttons and sash he was a cavalier, indeed.

  “His black boots are so shiny,” Ben whispered to Big Jim. “I believe I can see my face in them if I had the notion to try.”

  “Look at that saber, will ya. My, grand lookin’ indeed, to be losing to the likes of us.”

  Grant waited for Lee to enter the room. He motioned for Ben to enter. Ben could hardly believe his good fortune.

  He noticed General Grant had not done the proper preparation for the event. What had Grant’s aide John Rollins been doin’? Sipping the general’s ale? Ben clicked his tongue against his teeth. Grant’s boots were dusty, his field uniform muddied and sooty from the ride. Ben pushed down on his coat, making it as straight as possible amidst these great generals and stood sharply at attention.

  “Of course, General Lee, please have a seat. Would you care for some refreshments?”

  “Perhaps, after we have reached a reasonable agreement.”

  “How are your men?”

  “Tired and hungry. No telling what they’ll encounter when they get home. There’s spring planting, rebuilding…” Lee hesitated. “Much mending to do.”

  Grant glanced down at his muddy boots and then glanced at Lee’s. “For four years your army… well, gave us… ” Grant slammed his fist down on the table. “Time and again, Lee, your army has beaten the strongest forces the North could send against you! We’ve chewed a lot of dirt together, and for some reason the Lord has managed to make you southerners come out as shiny as those boots of yours. I’ve no doubt the South will flourish again because North and South are united again.” Grant locked his fingers together. “That undying valor and tenacity our gallant soldiers displayed, what a heritage for all generations we have accomplished here. What Satan meant for evil, God has turned to good. …‘to those who love God’… God heard the prayers of both North and South— ”

  “Yes.” Lee chuckled deep in his chest. “I see you haven’t changed through the years. Always the visionary.”

  “I had to be to get through West Point.”

  “True. May I remind you why we are here, Sam. What are your terms?”

  Grant nodded for his aide to get him a pen and paper. Ben prayed for God to give Grant wisdom. Once done writing, Grant looked up, cleared his throat, and read. “This Confederate army is pardoned. Rifles will be turned in; however, officers may keep their sidearms. Personal property shall be respected.”

  “Sounds reasonable.” Lee cleared his throat and accepted the drink of water Rollins offered him, and continued. “Don’t forget about the horses and mules, Sam. The men shall need them for a late spring planting.”

  “Quite so. And I’ll include rations for your men.”

  “Your terms are generous. May God be with you—”

  “And with this United States of America again!”

  Exiting the building, brass instruments and drums split the cheers of the men. Grant raised his arm, halting the music. “No bands.”

  “But General Grant, we’re celebrating the end of the Civil War,” the band master said.

  Grant’s eyes swept the soldiers. He grabbed Lee’s hand and gave it a hearty shake, and in his booming voice retorted, “The war is over. The Rebels are our countrymen again.”

  Ben and Big Jim watched General Lee mount his dapple-grey horse, and they prepared to follow him. Lee’s men stood as he rode by, their hats in their hands, then unable to restrain their voices any longer, they cheered him. General Lee stopped his horse, gaining silence. “I have done all in my power for you men, and I urge you to pick up your rations and go quickly and quietly to your homes.” His sharp eyes swept his soldiers directly. “Most importantly be good citizens as you have been soldiers!”

  “We’ve just witnessed two great generals uniting a torn country,” Ben said. “Now it’s up to President Lincoln to complete their handshake.”

  “There’s sure to be a big celebration in Washington. What say we go up there and see?” Big Jim clearly wanted an Irish frolic of some sort after four years in Hades.

  “Well, I’ll humor you this time, ’cause I’m so glad to be seeing your ugly face that I thought would be feeding the daisies right about now. But after that I’ll be heading to my home and fixin’ it proper for my wife-to-be.”

  “Humpf. You think Maggie’ll talk to you after the way you treated her?”

  They rode hard and in two days joined the throng of people gathered outside the White House calling for President Lincoln. Ben looked around at the torches burning in the night. Faces lit in the blackness looked strangely unreal. Then Lincoln appeared. Tall, gaunt, looking as if a strong breeze could blow him away. He stood before the open window over the building’s main north door, the customary place where presidents gave speeches.

  “Looks like Lincoln been in the war right along with us,” Big Jim muttered, then stepped closer. Ben hadn’t been prepared for that.

  A man held a light over President Lincoln’s papers. His young son, his head barely above the large window frame, looked up at his father. The president smiled at his son and patted his head, then took up his papers.

  “We meet this evening, not in sorrow, but in gladness of heart. The evacuation of Petersburg and Richmond, and the surrender of the principal insurgent army, give hope of a righteous and speedy peace whose joyous expression cannot be restrained. In the midst of this, however, He from whom all blessings flow, must not be forgotten. A call for a national thanksgiving is being prepared, and will be duly promulgated. Nor must those whose harder part gives us the cause of rejoicing, be overlooked. Their honors must not be parceled out with others. I myself was near the front, and had the high pleasure of transmitting much of the good news to you; but no part of the honor, for plan or execution, is mine. To General Grant, his skilful officers, and brave men …”

  Big Jim jabbed Ben in the ribs. “The president is speaking about us, you sorry Irishmen.”

  “Hush, listen, you might be learnin’ a thing or two.”

 
“We all agree that the seceded States, so called, are out of their proper relation with the Union; and that the sole object of the government, civil and military, in regard to those States is to again get them into that proper practical relation.”

  A man moved forward, his tall black hat blocking Ben’s sight of the president. “I’m sorry, sir, can you be removing your hat?”

  The man turned, his bushy eyebrows, thick downturned mustache, and curry hair gave Ben an impression of the villain in Shakespeare’s Macbeth . His walking cane and distinguished dinner jacket completed his appearance.

  “You can’t stand there and believe this president’s lies,” the man hissed.

  Ben ignored him as best he could. He did not wish to start a brawl. He turned his attention back to President Lincoln.

  “Some twelve thousand voters in the heretofore slave-state of Louisiana have sworn allegiance to the Union, assumed to be the rightful political power of the State, held elections, organized a State government, adopted a free-state constitution, giving the benefit of public schools equally to black and white, and empowering the Legislature to confer the elective franchise upon the colored man…”

  “Does that mean that the black will be given the right to vote?” Big Jim whispered.

  The man slapped his hat onto his head and turned. “That will be the last speech he will make.”

  Ben watched the man weave his way through the crowd. “I wonder why he would be saying that?”

  Big Jim scratched his whiskered chin. “Sounds like a threat to me. But with the looks of these policemen, I don’t think President Lincoln has anything to worry about.”

  Chapter 31