by Julianne Lee
“It won’t be.”
“You can’t know that. And even if we lose, like you say we’re going to, who’s to say we won’t be overrun by the Yankees right away? Then the war will be over before I can get my share of fighting.”
That was too much. She sat up and perched on the edge of the bed, wanting to walk away but having nowhere to go. Male ego. She could scream for frustration. “Glory. You think you’re going to come back a hero.”
“You can’t possibly understand, being a woman and all.”
“I understand more than you think I do.” She turned to look down into his shadowy face. “What I understand is, you’ve been listening to your father and your brothers tell war stories all your life, and now you think you’ve got a chance to get yourself some stories to tell. Never mind that the odds are very good you won’t come back at all. Never mind that you’ve got nothing to prove to anyone.”
“I do. To myself.”
“What, that you suffer from testosterone poisoning and have a hormone-induced psychosis that makes you think it would be cool to stand in front of guns shooting at you?”
He only frowned, and she could see he’d not understood a word of what she’d just said. He replied, “See, you don’t understand.”
“What I don’t get is why you want to die.”
That at least made him turn his face away. But he said, “I’d rather die than live a coward.”
“You think it would be cowardly to not join the Army?”
“Yes.” His tone also said duh.
“You would leave me behind, unprotected?”
Now he looked in her direction. “I would march toward the enemy to keep him away from you.”
“It’s a big country. There are lots of enemies, and not all of them are Yankees.”
“Mary Beth!” Frustration was rising in his voice, and she knew he was about to shut down this discussion. “I must go, and that is all I’ll say on the matter! Now, I want you to lie down, hush up, and let me get some sleep.”
Shelby lay down again, her back to him and her head rested on his upper arm. The image of him in that photograph, all silvery-gray and black, ready to march off to a war from which he would never return, burned in her brain. He was all she cared about any more. When he would die, all would be lost. Tears began to slip down her nose, and a hiccupping sob caught her by surprise.
Lucas grunted and rolled onto his side to gather her into his arms where she lay. With him curled around her, she felt safe. As if nothing could ever harm her just so long as he was lying next to her. But he would soon be gone, and that would be the greatest harm to ever befall her. Sobs continued to shake her, on into the night.
It was time. Lucas was leaving for Gallatin and the train that would carry him away to war, and Shelby knew she hadn’t the strength to live through this. It would be the last she would ever see of him, and the loss was shattering.
“Hon?” He called up from downstairs, his voice strange. Tense.
She stood in the upper hallway. Sunshine flooded through the east windows, casting long, yellow patches on the wood floor. She’d never seen this room so bright. It felt surreal.
Lucas stepped onto the landing below, in full Confederate uniform with hat in hand, sword at his left side and revolver holstered at his right. He hurried up the stairs, boots thudding in hollow echoes on the wood, his hand on his sword to keep it from banging the balustrade. “Mary Beth, are you coming?” He turned at the newel post and stood with one hand on it, poised to go back down the stairs with her.
Her heart clenched in a knot. She bit her lip hard to keep the tears back, and shook her head. “I can't.” Her voice was almost gone. She stared at the floor.
He shifted his weight, and there was disappointment in his voice. “You're not going to see me off?”
She shook her head. A long, heavy silence fell, and Lucas's breathing picked up as anger crept in. He fidgeted, his thumb drumming the newel post.
Finally, he said, “I have to do this, hon. You know I do.”
“I know no such thing.” A sob cut loose.
“You don't want to be married to a coward.”
“I have no wish to be married to a corpse, either.”
His jaw dropped open and he took a step back. “Mary Beth!” He was speechless for a moment, then he said, “Why can’t you be like other women who support their men and who are loyal to their country?”
“I’m not like other women, Lucas. You’ve always known that. You’ve come to know it even more surely in the past six weeks.” She raised her gaze to his chest, unable to look at his face. Tears surged, and she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth as one trickled down her face.
“God knows you’re not the usual.”
Finally she looked up at him, and she saw what she’d feared: the photograph. Ruth had just yesterday trimmed his hair, and he looked exactly as he had in that photo in the book, the day she’d learned his name. He was brave and determined, about to march off to a war he couldn’t win. Or even survive. As much as he loved her, she had not been able to talk him out of going. But she tried once more, the tears running freely now, dripping from her chin. “Lucas, I mean it. I don't want you out in front of anybody's guns. Not for a moment. Even if the Yankees are sent packing in only one day, somebody is going to die! And I couldn't live if that somebody was you!”
“It won't be.”
“Easy enough to say!”
“Lucas Robert! Are you coming?” It was Amos downstairs. “It's getting time to go. Dad says we might oughtta get your picture made while we're in Gallatin.”
Lucas shouted down, “I'll be there directly!” He turned back to Shelby and looked like he had something else to say, but didn't give it voice. The silence between them was heavy and filled with the darkness of all unsaid things.
Finally he said, “I have to go.”
She stared at him and said nothing. Terror clenched her.
He slipped a hand around her neck and bent to kiss her swollen lips. She clutched his tunic and kissed him back like she might never let him go. But she had to, and he whispered to her, “I'll be home before you know it.”
No, he wouldn’t, but she clung to him. “Swear it.”
He pressed his lips to her cheek and said, “I swear I'll come back to you.” And she knew he would, for his spirit would return to this house and inhabit it well into the future.
Then, with one final kiss, he turned to go down the stairs. Shelby reached out to keep her hand, then a finger, on him to the very last second. Then he was headed away, and her hands covered her mouth as she watched him go down. At the landing he turned and glanced up at her, then stepped off the landing and was gone.
She moved to the west casement where she could see the road that would take him away, and sat curled on the sill with her forehead pressed against the glass panes.
Out on the drive, Lucas rode away with the rest of the family, his back straight, shoulders back, and his face turning every so often toward the house. Tears rolled down her cheeks as the form of her husband grew smaller and smaller until he was out of sight beyond the trees.
A wave of nausea overtook her. The weeping was too much for her to stand, and her gut heaved with grief. She slipped from the sill and grabbed her skirts to hurry into the bedroom, where she dropped to her knees to vomit into a chamber pot. For several minutes she retched, until she thought her stomach would appear, turned inside-out. When she regained her feet and went to the wash stand to splash her face and rinse her mouth, she wondered vaguely and stupidly why she still felt sick.
Chapter 14
My Dearest Mary Beth;
Your letter came this morning, and so I take pen in hand, to express my unbound joy over your news. Sitting on a stump near the parade ground, paper and ink balanced on my knees, I’m afraid my hand is a mite unsteady so I hope you’ll pardon it. I expect Dad is beside himself at the prospect of finally seeing a grandchild after so many years of grief and disappointment
for my older brothers. I can hardly sit still myself for my own happiness.
Today when I read your letter, here in camp, I couldn’t help but let out a whoop so loud I caught the attention of everyone in my unit. The men gathered around me to know what had me so excited, and so I read the letter aloud. There was much heckling and carrying on, and my back was slapped near hard enough to knock loose my arm. They’re a good bunch of fellows, and are each of them happy for us. So your letter had an affect on many of us who are on our way to fight. Except for our wedding night, I have never been so happy as I am at this moment. I pray for your health and the safety of yourself and the child. If it is a boy, name him after one of Jesus’ apostles.
I miss you terribly, my sweet wife. When this is over and my duty discharged, I will hurry home to you and by God never leave again. The farther from you I travel, the more dim is the light of my life. Were I to wander far enough, I’m certain I should die.
Drilling and training are finished. Tomorrow we will be loaded onto the trains, though I can’t let on where we’re going. There’s no telling what awaits us there, other than a passel of Yankees. We expect one battle, and it will all be over. Then I will return to you, and our bundle of joy, and all will be well once more.
I long for the time we will be together again. I count each day past as being one day closer to you.
Your loving husband,
Lucas Robert
Shelby closed her eyes and sat back in the rocking chair. Manassas. Lucas didn’t have to tell her where he was headed, for she knew the first battle for him would be in Manassas, Virginia. Bull Run. He wouldn’t die there—he wouldn’t even be wounded yet. But she was afraid for him just the same. There he would witness things no man should have to. He would be asked to kill, and would more than likely carry through. Tears welled behind her eyelids, and one dribbled onto her cheek. She pulled herself together, took a deep breath, then rose to fetch the paper, pen and ink to write another letter to him.
My sweet husband;
All is well here. Dad is still able to walk, though he’s somewhat less alert than he once was. He misses you, and your brothers who have joined a cavalry unit in Kentucky. A number of Sumner boys have joined up with John Morgan, and headed north to harass Yankees. Sometimes I’ll see Dad staring into the fire and I think he’s gone to a different place in his mind, but then he looks at me and starts talking about you, or Amos or Gar. He remembers when you were boys, and I think he relives those times during quiet moments when nobody is around.
Shortly after Amos and Gar went away, I encountered Samuel Clarence Daley one afternoon while I was in town. I won’t record here what he said, but it wasn’t flattering. Thank God there was nobody around when he said it. My response was to wonder aloud why he hadn’t joined the Army like the rest of the able-bodied men in Sumner County. He had no reply for that, and I think he was ashamed.
You shouldn’t worry about me. I feel strong, and Ruth tells me she thinks I’ll survive my confinement easily. The baby is liable to be a boy, he’s kicking so hard and so often.
I miss you, too. That big bed upstairs is awfully empty without you, and awfully cold. I wish to be safe in your arms, and you safe in this house, always.
Take care of yourself for us. Remember we at home are counting on your return, and that we need you. Try to keep in one piece, so that once you’ve done your duty you will be with us and you and I will grow old together. I love you more than anything. Please keep yourself safe for me.
With all my love,
Mary Beth
Fall passed. Winter came, and the pregnancy grew to proportions Shelby hadn’t thought possible. Though she was no longer required to wear a corset, she was at a loss to know whether it was better to be deformed from the outside or from the inside. Most days she felt like a medicine ball on stilts. Then, on January 22, 1862, Shelby was reading a letter from Lucas when she felt the beginnings of labor.
Dearest Mary Beth;
Sitting at the table downstairs in the dining room, there was a tension in her very heavy belly, that raised goose bumps and made her hug the baby. It felt like excitement. Like adrenaline surging through her, and it left her breathless. When the thrill passed and nothing more happened, she continued reading, for the letter had been very long in coming and she yearned horribly for word.
I’m appalled to hear Samuel Clarence has insulted you. Were I there, he surely would be a dead man. I cannot tolerate such treatment of my wife. Never speak to him again, and if he dares to approach you for any reason you should go to your father to have him deal with the situation. This is intolerable.
Shelby sighed. Perhaps she shouldn’t have told Lucas about the encounter with Samuel Clarence at the dry goods store. Daley had made a snarky comment about her pregnancy, casting doubt on the baby’s paternity. It was a lame insult where she came from, and hardly worth more than a disgusted look and a long silence, and she certainly wasn’t going to take the sordid tale to Father. She laid a hand on her tightening belly and continued to read.
I hope you will stay away from that Samuel Clarence in the future. I have never felt right about you being around him, and would rather you and he never spoke for any reason. Let Ruth or Martha deal with him if need be. You stay away.
Huh. It’s okay for Ruth and Martha to speak to the scoundrel, but not herself? What in the world did Lucas think was going on?
This letter is short, for there is little time. Know I love you and miss you. I look forward to the day when I will see you and the little one.
All my love,
Lucas Robert
The fluttering in her belly had ceased once more, so she took the moment to send word to Lucas, aware this might be her final opportunity in life. Quickly, she wrote,
As I write this, the baby is starting to make ready for his/her debut. You will have another letter with this one, either from me that I am well, or else from Ruth who will tell you bad news. Whatever happens, know that I love you with all my heart and soul, and that my greatest wish is to have you here with me.
Us.
Then she set the pen aside, blotted the letter, and folded it into a packet. In the flame of the candle at hand, she melted the end of a stick of sealing wax before daubing the glob on the paper and pressing it flat with the bowl of a wooden spoon. After addressing the letter, another contraction began to sneak in on her. “Oh...man...” She held her belly with both arms this time, for this was catching her attention more seriously than the others.
The baby’s grandfather leaned forward from his chair by the fire. “Mary Beth? Are you feeling puny?” His voice was papery with age and the words a mite garbled by his many missing teeth. Shelby was biting her lip and concentrating on continuing to breathe, and couldn’t answer. The old man called to Ruth, who was in the sitting room with her sewing.
“Ruth! Mary Beth needs you. I believe it’s her time.”
This contraction seemed more like it meant business. The cramp-like pain was sharp. When she could breathe, Shelby said, “Help me, please, Ruth. I need to get up the stairs and to bed.” The pain continued, lasting far longer than the previous ones.
There was a murmur of alarm from the next room, and Ruth hurried in. There was nobody in the house to carry her upstairs, for Amos and Gar hadn’t been to Sumner County in months. God knew where Martha was at that moment. Gar’s absence had not worn well on that one, and she’d taken to disappearing for extended periods. It was just herself, Ruth, Dad Brosnahan, and Clyde on the farm at the moment, and Clyde was busy with the horses. Too many horses for only the four of them to handle along with the rest of the chores, so most of them would be sold off soon. The Yankees would relieve them of the rest quick enough, Shelby figured, but for now Clyde was hardly ever to be seen near the house as he struggled to keep up with caring for the animals.
This contraction worked up a good steam, and halfway up the stairs Shelby had to make Ruth stop so she could kneel on the risers and hope for it to pass. Not too ba
d. If this was what labor was like, Shelby couldn’t see what the fuss was all about. When that one was done, she put her arm around Ruth’s shoulders and they continued on up the stairs.
“Get me an oil cloth, please.”
“You won’t be comfortable lying on that.”
“More than if I ruin the mattress. I’d rather clean a quilt than a feather bed any old day. We’ll put a quilt over it, and a sheet over that. I’ll be fine.”
“All right. There’s one in my closet.” Ruth complied quickly.
Shelby changed into a flannel nightgown that buttoned down the front. When Ruth returned with the oil cloth and a quilt, she helped lay the covers on top of the bed she had shared with Lucas and now slept in alone. Holding her belly as if it would topple her, she went to one of the closets for a bed sheet.
“You should be in the bed instead of on it.”
“I’ll be fine. There’s a nice fire and plenty of wood. I’ll be warm enough, and we’ll get another sheet to put over me. How’s that?”
“All right.” Ruth, who was usually so sanguine, was more nervous than Shelby had ever seen her. It gave a measure of alarm to realize Ruth must know more about the dangers at hand, and had reason to be nervous. Ruth went to get another sheet while Shelby spread this one and hauled herself onto the bed to lie on it. As the next contraction crept in, she again concentrated on breathing. Ruth returned with the sheet and a stack of cotton towels.
Just as Shelby was about to ask what those were for, a gush of fluid came. “Oh. I think my water just broke.”
Without a word, Ruth lifted the nightgown and stuffed one of the towels between Shelby’s thighs. Good thing, for there would have been several hours of lying on a wet spot otherwise. She took another towel and slipped it beneath her, then shook out the second bed sheet and laid it over Shelby. Ruth’s were sure, capable hands, and Shelby was glad she was there.
The pain increased. The contractions came often, they were long, and soon it seemed like she was being turned inside-out. Ruth gave her a cloth to clench between her teeth, and that helped to muffle Shelby’s cries so she didn’t have to restrain herself for the sake of Dad Brosnahan downstairs. Though she tried to concentrate on breathing, each time the pain came it banished all thoughts from her mind other than agony. If she thought of Lucas, it was to wish he were there so she could kill him. But first she would teach him about pain. He would never know what he’d done to her unless she reciprocated by yanking his balls up around his neck and tying them there.