by Ward, Marsha
Ella Ruth nodded as she accepted the parcel, then slipped away and closed the door quietly behind her.
Chapter 14
Julia — August 21, 1861
Clay brought mail from town, and in it was a letter addressed to Julia. She took it, looked at the inscription, and hugged it to her heart. “Your brother Ben always makes his letters with fancy doodiddles,” she said to the girls, and sat down at the kitchen table in the middle of her work day to read the letter from her boy.
Marie and Julianna crowded around, and Clay hovered in the background as she read it aloud.
Julia smiled at Ben’s description of riding atop a railroad car, frowned at the mention of a slight wound, wondering if he was making light of a more serious injury, and wept a bit for the mother of the unfortunate drummer boy. Beside her, the girls sniffed in sympathy.
“Stonewall Jackson,” she murmured, thinking it a fitting name for the dour professor from the Virginia Military Institute. She had heard of his fondness for lemonade, and wondered if she ever would have occasion to serve it to the man. However, he would surely not be in the Valley for any cause except to do battle, so cast aside her notion as a flight of fancy.
As she folded up the letter to put it away, she recalled Mary’s visitor, and the request for Ben’s mailing address. She hesitated. The girls did not need to know of the foibles of romance at their young ages, so she arose and said, “Back to your chores, daughters. We have had a pleasant interval, but there remains work undone.” She also shooed Clay out of the kitchen so she could be alone.
When her children were out of the way, she wrote out the directions on a scrap of paper, and tucked it behind a wooden box sitting on the mantelpiece. When she went into town later in the week, she would give Mary the paper.
~~~
Mary — August 26, 1861
The next Monday, Miss Ella Ruth Allen showed up bright and early at the Hilbrands’ store.
Glimpsing the wan, earnest face as Ella Ruth came through the door, Mary smiled to herself. This time, she had good news to impart. Not only had Mother Owen given her a slip of paper with the particulars of where it was that Brother Ben could receive mail, she had also allowed her to read the letter he had sent to his mother.
Although he mentioned that he had received an injury, he had made light of it. She wasn’t about to mention it to Ella Ruth and get her all a-flutter with worry. If Brother Ben was willing to enter into correspondence with the girl, he could apprise her of the facts himself. Mary put on a bright smile to greet her visitor.
“You must have good news for me,” Ella Ruth said as she approached, her anxiety showing in a pinched look of anticipation.
“I do indeed,” Mary replied.
“Missus Owen has received word?”
“Yes. A letter came to her.” She placed the scrap of paper on the counter. “She wrote out this address for you, and wishes you all success in the delivery of your correspondence.”
“You were right,” Ella Ruth breathed as she picked up the paper. “Missus Owen is a good woman.”
Mary moved her head slightly, as though to say, “I told you she was,” but she had no intention of speaking the rebuke out loud.
Ella Ruth smiled at last and Mary saw the comely face that had attracted the notice of Brother Ben.
“Have you any leather pocket books, the kind with writing paper inside, and perhaps a leaden pencil attached? I would like to purchase such an item.”
Mary raised her eyebrows at the request. Surely she didn’t intend to send a gift like that upon her first contact with Brother Ben.
Ella Ruth must have guessed her concern, for she said quickly, “I wish to write a note as soon as possible. If Benjamin is disposed to renew our... friendship, I shall dispatch the wallet to him on a later occasion.” She ducked her head. “If he is not, I shall use the paper for other letters.”
“I will ask my father,” Mary said, and went in search of Papa. He found a pocket book which, when Ella Ruth saw it, placed a smile of satisfaction upon her lips.
“That will do splendidly,” she said, somewhat more shyly than Mary had supposed her response would be. Mr. Hilbrands supplied the price, which Ella Ruth paid immediately.
When her father had gone about other business, Mary asked if her customer had other wishes, since she had not left once the money had changed hands.
Ella Ruth asked, her voice low, “Might there be a private place where I can write a letter? I do not dare write it at home and post it through my father.”
“Certainly. You may use the desk in the back room. Just pass through here and follow me.”
Mary showed the way, and was about to turn to leave the room when Ella Ruth put out her hand and touched her belly. Shocked, Mary said, “Ah!” and stepped backward. Ella Ruth pulled away her errant hand.
“I do beg your pardon,” said the girl, speaking rapidly. “I have not had any experience of children, or ever been near a woman who is increasing. I so want to bear Benjamin’s child.”
Mary looked at her, stunned. She finally said, “But you hurt him sorely. He may not even—”
“I know my folly,” Ella Ruth cried out. “My pride may have prevented any happiness I could have in this life. I may never have the chance to marry him.” She put forward her hands in a supplicating gesture. “Do forgive me the indelicacy, Mistress Owen. Ah! How I wish to bear that name. You are fortunate.”
“Yes,” Mary agreed, still shaken by the intimacy of the cupping hand upon her skirt. “I married a good man, and I am bearing his child. I wish you every fortune, Miss Allen. Now I must return to my duties.”
“Thank you.” The girl inhaled sharply. “I hope that you and I may become friends. I hope we may share a name someday.”
“Perhaps,” Mary said, and turned away before the prospect that the tears stinging behind her eyelids could slide down her cheeks to reveal the reality of her loneliness. Rulon had not yet had the opportunity to touch her as Ella Ruth had. How long would it be before he could return from war and do so?
~~~
Ella Ruth — August 26, 1861
Once Mary left her to herself in the back room, Ella Ruth crossed her arms on the desk and rested her forehead upon them. At last, after all the waiting, she had received the directions to which she could write to him, and she had no idea what words to put on the paper.
Whatever she wrote, it must appeal to his sense of fairness, and must convince him that she had undergone a true change of heart. She knew she had done wrong by him, but it wasn’t enough to convey only that important message. She had to somehow soften Ben’s heart toward her, for she knew she had caused it such pain that he would guard it most carefully against further hurt from her.
“I was so unbelievably heartless to you, my love,” she whispered. “I refused to acknowledge how the world would change.”
She raised her head and took up the pencil. There was plenty of paper in the pocket folio. She would simply have to try setting down what was in her heart, and if the first try did not suit, she would make another attempt... and another, and another, until she had it right.
She took several deeps breaths, licked the tip of the pencil, and poised it above the top of the sheet of paper.
Her fingers seemed to have no bones, and she dropped the implement. It rested where it had fallen, rebuking her for such absurd folly.
She hung her head. This was a senseless endeavor, foolish and vain. He would never forgive her.
Before despair could overcome her, however, a stubborn voice arose in her head. “You must try,” it said. “You cannot give up before you make an attempt.”
She recognized the inner voice. It was an echo of what she had heard throughout her life: her father’s voice, encouraging her and her brother to take hold of every advantage in life.
The lesson had been taught. It had been received. It had become ingrained. Now it was time to execute the plan she had formulated. The tenacious Miss Ella Ruth Allen, daught
er of a bull-headed and very successful businessman, straightened her shoulders, picked up the pencil, and went to work.
It took her three tries before she was satisfied with her labors. She had either written a letter that would cause Ben’s heart to melt with compassion, or it was the wrong approach entirely, and he would reject her overture and cast her aside as she had done with him. However, she had made the attempt. Now she would have to allow time to show her the results.
~~~
Rulon — August 31, 1861
At long last, Rulon found himself discharged from the physician’s care, and not a moment too soon, as Garth Von strode up to the hospital, evidently bent on taking a rest from picket duty.
“Outta my path, Shenandoah sissy,” growled the man, shoving Rulon as they both tried to use the door.
Rulon backed out of the way, assessing the threat. The man clearly was unhappy, but was he dangerous? Figuring caution was the better part of valor on this occasion, he took his departure and discovered that his company had moved away from the headquarters. Ren Lovell had left word that he had custody of Rulon’s belongings, including his horse, so he was obliged to trudge on foot over a considerable part of the muddy countryside to rejoin his outfit.
When Ren Lovell saw him at evening, he greeted Rulon with a touch of deliberation. “Got rid of your contagion, have you? You still look a little swollen up.”
Rulon shook his head. “That’s your imaginings, Lovell. Mayhap I’ve grown plump on hospital gruel.”
“Did it spread any?” He pointed downward. “A couple of the men made bets on it.”
Rulon was unwilling to discuss his fears or be the butt of jokes, and put Lovell off with a few curt words. “That’s none of your business. I’m sound now.”
“You seem a tad bitter, Owen.” Lovell laughed, showing his dimples. “I didn’t bet on your misfortunate contagion, by the way, and you haven’t missed any fightin’, if that’s what worries you. Not so you’d notice, anyway. We’ve had a minor fracas here or there, but this rain has kept us from doin’ more than simply keeping the Federals out of our land.”
Rulon relaxed his guard and dropped his prickly attitude. He said, “I come across Von down to the hospital. “What’s his story?”
Lovell made a face. “He says he has boils. He won’t ride. I reckon we weren’t getting enough killin’ action for him.”
“Boils? On his butt?”
“That’s what he says. I’m not surprised a bit. You know the man doesn’t keep himself clean.” Lovell rearranged a few papers on his desk. “Captain Yancey was happy to let him go for a while. Von’s an unpleasant man when he’s not busy.”
“He’s unpleasant most any day.”
Rulon took advantage of the evening to borrow pen, ink, and paper to write to Mary. It had been a very long time since he had sent her a letter. She must be frantic with worry.
Septemb’r 2, 1861
He paused to reflect. Did he have the date correct? It didn’t matter, he supposed. He bent over the paper again.
Near Fairfax C-H
My dearest love Mary,
You have been in my thoughts constantly during the Past month as I lay sick in the Hospital. I am recover’d now, and enjoying Good helth, but I fared very poorly for a long while with the Mumps swelling sickness. first in one side of my Jaw and then the other. I will not harow your thots. with a descripshun of my pains. Suffice it to say I had many agonies to get thru before the physician would Release me.
Such a lot of dying, Mary. The Hospital was not only for the Ill but the Wounded and Dyeing from the big Battle. I shudder now to think of it.
I will leave off talking of unpleasantries. Insted I will tell you that My heart was full to Bursting when I read of your good news. Are you well? Do you lack for anything? You must ask my Ma to bring you fresh eggs to eat. She will do that if you Say I asked.
Did Ben marry the Allen girl? He was very set on running away with her to Staunton to elope. Did he get his wish?
Is Peter behaving himself? He gave Ma the flutters with his talk of Enlisting. I hope he waits a while. I think this war will be longer than we at first thot. The Yankess do push back, although I reckon we will win out.
That is enouf news and questions for now. I miss your dear person and think of you every day.
Receiv a kiss from yor husband who adores you and wishes to see you soon
Rulon
Chapter 15
Mary — September 1, 1861
One Sunday after church services, the Hilbrands family was surprised by an afternoon visit from Dr. Meem, a prominent physician in the area. He asked to speak with Mrs. Owen, and Mary agreed to entertain him in the parlor.
“We are most honored by your visit,” Mrs. Hilbrands said, and turned to lead the way into the room.
“Mama,” Mary said so low that the visitor could not hear. “He wishes to speak to me.”
“Nonsense,” retorted her mother in the same fashion. “You cannot be alone with the man.”
And so, Dr. Meem sat down to converse with the two ladies of the house, senior and junior.
As soon as he had taken a bit of refreshment, the doctor put down his cup and cleared his throat. “Mrs. Owen, I have been appointed as director of a new soldier’s hospital that is to be built upon land donated by Colonel Rinker. We will have a need for ladies from Mount Jackson to lend a hand with some of the tasks suited to their station and nature. Your name has been presented as one who might wish to give such service, since you have a husband, I believe, at the front, serving his country?”
Mary bent her head, basking for a moment in the recognition of her married state and of Rulon’s sacrifice. At last she smiled and lifted her eyes to give the doctor her assent, but her mother’s voice cut across her train of thought.
“Certainly not. My daughter is in a delicate condition. It is not fitting for her to be among those of the opposite gender while she is, um, that is, while she remains, um, so indisposed.”
“Mama! I am perfectly able to nurse the poor men who have given so much to our country. When will the buildin’ of the hospital be finished, Doctor?”
“Next spring, madam. It will—”
“I forbid it, daughter. Think of the odors, the contagion. You can scarcely hold food upon your stomach as it is.”
“I am told that the sickness will go away soon, Mama. I will manage.”
“No.” She gave Mary a stern look, then turned to the doctor and said, “My daughter is unwell on many days. I am sure you will understand, Dr. Meem. She cannot help you.” She arose. “Good day to you, sir.”
While Mrs. Hilbrands showed the unhappy doctor to the door, Mary could hardly hold her temper in check. She stood beside her chair in the parlor, quivering with indignation that the decision had been so rudely taken from her power. When it was clear that her mother would not be returning, Mary went after her.
“How dare you speak for me?” she said, almost overcome with rage. “That was unconscionable. Mr. Owen would want me to help in any way possible.”
“You forget yourself, Mary. You live in my house, under my roof and your father’s protection. That husband of yours has no concern in the matters of my household. He was happy enough to leave you in my care, and I shall do as I see fit to keep you safe.” She took a step away, then half turned and threw a cruel thought over her shoulder. “He is young and reckless. You cannot trust him. He is likely going to take up with the sort of women who follow the soldier camps.”
Mary dug her fingernails into her hands and bit the inside of her cheek until it bled. She would not faint or carry on for her mother’s benefit. She watched her go, with a bleak question sitting in the pit of her stomach. What if Mama is right?
~~~
Ben — September 18, 1861
When Ben received more than one letter one drizzly afternoon in camp, he took the mail into the tent and sat on his cot. He looked at the first envelope, addressed to him in his mother’s familiar hand,
then shuffled the paper to inspect the second. The handwriting looped and dipped in a grand fashion, clearly a feminine characteristic, but was unknown to him. Perhaps the ladies of Mount Jackson had got up a campaign to write to lonely soldiers? If that were so, would this missive be from some lonely maiden lady, hoping to receive a note of gratitude from a male person?
As he examined the writing on the sturdy envelope, he spotted a miniscule set of initials in an upper corner, the sight of which sent a jolt of surprise through his soul.
E. R. A.
His head buzzed in shock. E. R. A. He knew a person with those initials. Ella Ruth Allen.
Miss Ella Ruth Allen had cruelly cast him aside like a dried corn husk. She had not wanted him. She had soundly rejected him. Had she now drawn the short straw in the bolster-the-spirits-of-the-lonely-soldier letter-writing assignment? Well, she could go whistle for any reply from him!
He turned the envelope over and over in his hands, thinking of going outside the tent and throwing it—unopened—into the cooking fire, but as he handled it, curiosity grew to overcome his ire. Had she written under the pressure of civic duty? Had she come to miss having him around to abuse? Or might she possibly have had a change of heart?
A seed of hope began to grow in his chest. He told himself not to build happy expectations on an unopened envelope, but his fingers refused to break the seal. He stared at the letter. Perhaps he should save it until he had read the news from home. Yes, he told himself. That was the best course to take. Let his mother’s loving words buffer him from whatever unpleasant surprise Ella Ruth’s note had in store. He put the letter beside him on the cot and opened the one from home.
Ma wrote that all at home were well except Julianna, who had a touch of grippe. She was glad he had found the time to correspond at last, and that he must take all good care with his wound. Then she recounted the outstanding events in the county since he had left home, including a tidbit about Peter stealing his horse—his horse—and enlisting from Edinburg.