by Ward, Marsha
When she felt steady, she approached the basin for the purpose of emptying it into the slop bucket, but the smell made her gag. Oh-h-h. She retreated toward the bed. Who could she get to take this vile, odorous mess away? Ida wouldn’t do it. Of that she was sure. Perhaps she could bribe India with a sweet from the store? For now, she would have to leave it in place. The smell was insufferable. She could not bear to approach the basin to deal with it herself.
Brushing her hair away from her face, she made an attempt to make herself presentable for the day, but she hardly felt presentable. Instead, she felt queasy, and several times had to restrain herself from renewing the debacle at the basin.
She couldn’t work at the store in this condition. What if she had an accident at the counter, or on the merchandise, or, worse yet, on a customer?
At last she gave up the attempt to dress, and crawled back into bed.
It must not have been much past eight o’clock when a quick rap on the door woke her up. Who was disturbing her hard-won sleep? She took a tentative breath and said “Come in,” hoping the effort to use her voice wouldn’t roil up her stomach.
Her mother entered, moving so rapidly that the scarf she wore in a vain attempt to cloak her condition fluttered aside, revealing a thickness in her waist and a roundness at the front of her skirt.
“What is this nonsense?” she asked. “Why were you not in the kitchen preparing breakfast? We had poor fare for your father’s meal this morning. He works so very hard to meet our needs.”
“Mama,” Mary wailed. “I’m sick.”
Mrs. Hilbrands laid the back of her hand on Mary’s forehead. “There is no fever. What ails you?” She turned her head back and forth, sniffing. “What is that horrid stench?”
“I vomited,” Mary confessed. “Please, get someone to take it away. I cannot bear the odor.”
“You are— He—” Gasping, Mrs. Hilbrands put her hand to her mouth, then removed it so she could speak. “I told you not to marry. He has made you, gotten you, left you with child. How could you, daughter?”
“Beg pardon? How could I do what?” Questions. Why is she asking so many questions when my stomach is reeling?
“Engage in carnal intercourse with that boy.” Mrs. Hilbrands looked as though she thought she herself had broken all the Ten Commandments by speaking of it.
“We are wed.” Mary wanted to vomit again, and threw off the covers so she could swing her limbs out of the bed. “It’s the way of married folk.”
“And in this house!” She pointed at the bed, accusation written on her face.
“You wouldn’t let me leave. Mother Owen had a place for me, but you—” Mary couldn’t finish her thought, and she scurried to the basin to vomit again.
When she had finished, Mary begged, “Go away. Please, go away, and take this basin with you.”
~~~
Rulon — June 15, 1861
Rulon had spent the last three nights on picket near the Potomac River and had just come back to the camp. As he rubbed down his horse, thinking of nothing but getting into his blankets and catching a few hours of rest, Ren Lovell approached and gave him an envelope.
“I thought you might like to have this, Owen. It got here with a packet of dispatches after you left.”
Rulon took the letter and stuffed it into his pocket. “I’m obliged, Lovell.”
“Go get breakfast before you sleep. We might all be hauling our tails out of here later today.”
“Where are we bound?”
“The general is moving his headquarters. I’m not certain if we’re going along or staying put. The colonel likes being in the thick of the fray.”
“I wish we were better armed.”
“We’re supposed to get sabres soon. Not that I’m convinced they’re good for anything. Not when some Yank troop is shootin’ lead balls at us.” Lovell grinned wryly.
“How soon can we expect carbines from Richmond?”
Lovell snorted. “Maybe in a month. Maybe longer. There is a good deal of confusion in the armaments department. I swear old Beauregard gets all the arms shipments before any thought is given to us here behind the Blue Ridge.”
Rulon made polite conversation as long as he could stand to do so, itching to get away so he could pull out the paper burning a hole in his pocket. He was almost certain the letter was from Mary. He’d caught merely a glimpse of the script on the face of the envelope before he’d put it away, but those rounded letters could only have been written by a young female, and he doubted his sisters would think about writing to him.
When he finally found a moment to himself, he snatched the letter from its hiding place and tore it open. He forbade himself the assurance of looking at the signature, and instead started at the top.
Mount Jackson, Chenandoah County, Va.
Tenth of June, year of Our Lord one thousand Eight hundred sixty-One
Dear husband,
I cried from relief to receev your lettr Thank you for writin altho it must needs be in hast. All are well here.
I have discover’d the cause of my Mother’s late ill humor toward you. She is breeding with child increasing. How much fun we shall have raising our children togethr.!! That is, if I am to have a child. I do not kno at this time if my suspicions are true. I only kno the joy that corses through my bosom when I think of the possibility. That thot warms my being.
Yor Mother was in the store three days back and sends you her greetings. I was able to converse with her for a few moments. She seems assured that the signs I told her that I have been having are good ones concurning carrying a child. She is hoping along with me that I will soon kno for certun ab’t the matter.
I pray you will take caution in all your manuvrs manoeavrs whenever you move about in sight of the Yankees. Hold the memry I left you close to your heart always.
The wife you love,
Mary Margaret Hilbrands Owen
(That is the first time I have writ my name down to you in its entirety)
Rulon stood very still. Merely reading Mary’s words about the memory she had branded upon his soul aroused him, and he fought to curb the need it brought before it engulfed his body. A handful of tents had been pitched behind the hill on the Winchester road. He knew who inhabited them, but with Mary dancing around the notion that they really would have a child, he felt a strong compulsion to renew the pledge he’d made to himself, and he supposed, to God, not to take himself off to seek relief there.
Von and a few others of his acquaintance in the company were not so circumspect. Their boastful talk would drive him mad today if they had been with the harlots last night.
Clamping his teeth on his lip to divert his pain elsewhere, Rulon put the letter away and went to eat whatever the cook had prepared.
Chapter 8
Ben — June 15, 1861
Ben signed his name, then took the uniform that had been made by the ladies of the town especially for the men of the Mount Jackson Rifles, which they also named “Allen’s Infantry,” in honor of he who was their captain. Ella Ruth’s own cousin. He swallowed the bile that arose upon thinking of her name and their last encounter.
He went behind the church and found that he was not the only man in the company with the same idea for privacy. He chuckled wryly, then shucked his ordinary clothing and dressed himself in the finery befitting an infantryman. He stowed his regular clothes in a haversack that had been provided to him for the purpose of trucking some of his accoutrements about. After that, he went to find his mother.
“Don’t worry for my sake,” he told her, holding her hand and stroking it. “This won’t last long. The shine won’t be off our tent pegs before you’ll see us come marchin’ down that road and home.”
Ma seemed a bit assured by his joke and made a little noise he took for a laugh, but the sound was very faint among all the conversations going on in the square. She looked around.
“Did your girl come?”
Ben scowled. Up to just a few minutes ago,
he had attempted not to think about Ella Ruth’s absence. Now Ma’s innocent question brought a flood of pain. “She won’t be comin’. She rejected my offer of marriage.” The words cut deep.
Ma squeezed his hand and said in a low voice, “I’m sorry, son.” Her face showed her deep concern as she tried to comfort him.
He tried to grin to reassure her that he didn’t care anymore. The grimace he produced hurt his lips. “Never mind, Ma.” He patted her hand. He’d tried so hard not to remember the gash in his soul as he had prepared for this day.
He inhaled and mentally shook himself. Never mind, indeed. He had much better things to occupy his thoughts from now on.
“You behave, now,” Ma said. “Go to church services as often as you can. I hear Mr. Jackson is a godly man. You hold him for your example.”
“Old Jack?” Ben saw the question on his mother’s face. “I hear tell that’s what the men call the general, Ma. ‘Jack,’ from his surname, Jackson.”
“That’s a mite disrespectful, don’t you reckon?”
“If that’s the worst he’s called, he’ll be mighty lucky, Ma.” He turned as he heard a bugle call. “Hear that sound? I have to go now. Give my regards to Pa and the young’uns. Tell Peter his time will come, and not to hurry into anything.” He let go of her hand, gave her shoulders a quick squeeze, and moved away, forming up with his squad in a line.
Then they marched away, followed by a baggage wagon full of tents and the accoutrements they could not carry on their persons.
~~~
Julia — June 15, 1861
“Mama, where is Peter?”
Upon hearing Julianna’s question, Julia looked down the table. She had only just become accustomed to seeing a gap where Rulon had sat for so many years. Now Ben’s place beside it would also be empty, for only a short time, she hoped. But Peter? Where was he, indeed?
“Rod, did you send Peter on an errand?”
He looked up from his plate of stew, frowning. “I did not, Julie. I figured he went into town with you and Benjamin. He wasn’t in the buggy with you?”
“No. It was only Ben and me. Belle is a well-mannered animal, so I figured I would have no difficulty driving her home myself.” She took a moment to think when she had last seen the missing boy. Trepidation sent a chill racing along the nerves of her arms. This morning... this morning after breakfast Peter had given her a fierce hug before he returned to his chores. She had thought it had something to do with comforting her in the face of Ben’s imminent departure.
Her nails dug into her apron as her hands formed claws around the fabric. “No,” she said, deep in her throat. “No, he wouldn’t.” She felt the weakness brought on by blood leaving her head and raised her hands to support herself against the possibility of falling, bringing the apron clenched within them.
“Julie!”
She heard her husband rise, utensils clattering to the table, striking his plate, and the legs of his chair scraping the floor. Hurried footfalls. Then his hand was firm upon her shoulder.
“Julie.” He breathed heavily. “One of the horses didn’t come up to water this afternoon, the one we call Brownie. I thought perhaps it got loose from the pasture.” He stood beside her, his breathing easing toward normal. “I was going to send one of the boys to look for it. No need for that now. He took the horse.”
“Where would he go?” she asked, her voice muffled in the apron. She wanted to enfold her runaway son in her arms, redo the embrace she had shrugged off with such haste this morning.
“Ma.” It was Carl. “Pete’s been studyin’ the newspapers. I reckon he—” His voice faltered and she heard him take several gulps of air before he continued his story. “I saw him cut something out, then tuck it in his shirt. I made him show it to me. It was a mention of the Shenandoah Rangers forming up. I thought he was going to pull a prank on somebody.” He sniffed. “It’s a cavalry company. That’s why he needed a horse.”
Her head drooped farther toward the table. The Shenandoah Rangers? She knew nothing about that outfit. Who would know? Who could she ask?
She got a hand loose from her apron, reached out, and clutched her husband’s vest instead. “Rod,” she whispered. “Will General Meem know anything?”
“I’ll make inquiries, wife. There’s aught we can do tonight. Eat. You’ll want the strength.” He patted her shoulder and shifted his weight. “Eat!” His command was directed to the children. Then he said in a weary voice, “I’ll speak to you after supper, Carl.”
~~~
Rod — June 17, 1861
Rod cut short his day’s work to ride into Mount Jackson to see what he could learn about his missing son. On the way, he encountered Chester Bates, who was headed into town on a different errand.
“Rod,” said his neighbor. “Fine day. Have you given thought to my idea?”
“I have.” Feeling grumpy, Rod didn’t expand on his answer.
“It’s been two months. Have you made any progress?”
Rod sighed. “I have. Several men have volunteered.” He thumped his thigh. “I told Julie first thing.”
“Well, at least you gave her warning. When does the company enlist?”
“Any day now. First I have to find my boy Peter.”
“Find him? That sounds like he’s run away.”
“He has. We think he’s joined up.” Rod pursed his lips in anger. “Julie’s fit to be tied.”
“I can imagine. Do you have any notion where he’s gone?”
“None, except that Carl thinks Peter may have taken a shine to joining the Shenandoah Rangers. Have you heard anything about them?”
“Shenandoah Rangers?” Chester scratched his head. “The name sounds familiar. I’ll think on it.”
“Let me know right quick if you remember,” Rod said, his tone a bit brusque. “If Julie takes it into her mind to prevent me from going to the war over this affair, I’ll be in the brine with the pickles.”
After bidding Chester goodbye at the edge of the town, Rod made the rounds of places that would have information: the store, the drinking establishments, and the telegraph office. Monday was a work day, so there were few people hanging around, and none of them was interested in a military company formed anywhere else than in Mount Jackson. Rod decided that Monday probably wasn’t the best time to expect a full crowd.
As he left the telegraph office, he spied Chester coming up the street toward him. He seemed anxious to waylay him, and spoke as soon as he arrived.
“Rod,” he said, puffing from the exertion of his hurry, “I recalled where I heard the name of that company. Sam Myers, the man who used to run the Columbia Furnace. He raised the Shenandoah Rangers over to Edinburg. If they haven’t rode away yet, Peter may be down there.”
Rod felt his breath leaving his body in a sigh. Peter was as nearby as that? He looked at the sun. His search had eaten up the afternoon, but if he left now, he could get there by dark.
“Chester, can you get word to Julie that I’ve gone to Edinburg?”
“I’ll tell her myself.”
“Much obliged, friend.” Rod clapped Chester on the arm in farewell. He made haste to where he had tied his horse, mounted, and rode off toward the north.
He arrived in Edinburg as night fell. Since it was too late in the day for him to go about searching for Peter, he was obliged instead to seek a meal and a place to sleep. He found a small tavern that served food, and dug into his pocket for the price of the victuals. The talk in the tavern of the brave Rangers having left the town disheartened him.
When he finished eating, he asked the proprietor about lodgings, and was directed to ask at the livery barn. He spent an uneasy night on a pile of hay, wondering what Julia would say about his failure to bring back their son.
The next day, his fears solidified into reality. The Company had indeed gone to war, and Peter with them.
~~~
Rod — June 18, 1861
When Rod rode down the lane late that night, a lamp bu
rned in the kitchen window, casting a checkerboard patch of light across the dooryard outside the house. Julia’s disappointment lay ahead of him at the moment when he would give her the bad news. Wrapped in an unfamiliar sense of failure, he dismounted in front of the barn, struck a match and lit the lantern hanging inside the door, then cared for the horse.
He paused before he closed the barn door. The scores of feet between the barn and the house stretched through the darkness like a gulf of bitterness. Julie waited up for him in the house. He was sure of that. She wanted to know if he had brought back her boy. Surely she had looked out when she heard the approach of his horse. Surely she already knew that only one horse had come down the lane and passed through the stream of light. Surely she already knew he had failed her.
Rod’s heart sank to his toes as he stepped away from the barn. It seemed that his boots tripped him time and again. Was he so old that he could no longer walk that distance without faltering? He stopped, struggling to purge feebleness and pain from his body, regret and despair from his soul by an act of will. Julie would need strength from him, comfort from him, solace and peace. He shook his head. He couldn’t give her the latter two gifts. She would have to get them from God.
After a long time, he moved forward again. Julie waited. He couldn’t put off speaking to her any longer.
Upon reaching the house, he opened the door, noticing a squeak in a hinge. He would have to oil that tomorrow.
Julia was not in the kitchen. Rod took the lamp from the window and carried it into the parlor. She sat in his chair in front of a fire that had sunk to embers. When he approached, he realized that her head lay against the wing of the chair. She had fallen asleep while she waited for him to come home.
His first reaction was relief that he wouldn’t have to dash her hopes tonight. He set the lamp on the hearth and adjusted the guttering wick. Then he knelt before her, wondering if he should scoop her up and take her to bed or leave her in the chair for the night. She looked comfortable enough, but he needed her beside him to comfort his own soul.