Freedom (Gone For Soldiers)

by Jeffry S. Hepple

  “He’s a child,” Anna said.

  “I’m old enough to shoot you dead,” the boy countered.

  “Zerelda must be proud,” Anna scoffed. “Two teenage killers.”

  “If we didn’t have orders from Captain Quantrill not to kill women, you’d be number one on my list,” Frank growled.

  “You boys should go back to your momma,” Anna said with a sneer. “At least she’s no coward.”

  Frank cocked his pistol.

  “We’re coming out,” a man called from a second floor window. “We’re coming out. Please don’t provoke them, Mrs. Lagrange. We’re coming out with our hands raised.”

  “Well, come on ahead,” Frank shouted. He kept the pistol aimed at Anna for several seconds, then he lowered the hammer. “The next time I see you is gonna be the last time anybody sees you alive, bitch.”

  “Tell Zerelda that I’ll be writing a story about her brave sons,” Anna said. “I might even include some of what I wrote about her so many years ago. Just in case people have forgotten.”

  “Them was all just a pack of lies,” Jesse shouted.

  Frank waved his hand at Jesse and turned his gun from Anna to the door where Trask, Thorp and Griswold were coming out. “Keep your hands up where I can see ‘em.”

  The three men raised their hands higher and filed down the steps to the street where they were quickly encircled.

  “Where’s Baker?” Frank demanded.

  No one answered.

  “Baker?”

  “I’m coming,” the merchant called from the doorway.

  “Get in line with the others,” James ordered.

  “Where are you taking them?” Anna demanded.

  Frank ignored her. “You men move out.”

  The four civilians began walking toward town while mounted raiders took up positions behind and on both sides.

  “Ya’ll hurry up,” someone shouted.

  Baker began to pick up the pace, but a moment later a gunshot rang out and Baker fell, bleeding from a neck wound. The other three tried to run back to the house, but Thorp was hit and fell almost immediately. Trask made it about half way and Griswold was hit three times before he reached his porch.

  The wives of the four men, who had seen everything from the second floor windows, now rushed downstairs. Anna caught Mrs. Thorp by the arm. “Tell them to play dead.”

  Mrs. Thorp pulled free without replying and ran to her husband. “You cowards,” she screamed.

  Jesse James aimed his pistol at Mrs. Thorp. Anna snatched a small flowerpot from the porch rail and threw it at him. The flowerpot missed, but Jesse saw it sail by and turned in his saddle and fired his pistol at Anna. She squealed and ducked through the front door.

  “What the hell are you shootin’ at?” Frank James demanded.

  “That Van Buskirk bitch tried to brain me with a flowerpot.” Jesse pointed to the broken pot with his pistol.

  “Did you hit her?”

  “No. My horse shied and I missed.”

  “Well what are you waitin’ for?” Frank shouted. “Go get the nigger-thievin’, abolitionist whore.”

  Anna heard him and instead of going upstairs, she ran out the back door.

  ~

  “His hands and feet were tied with ropes,” Urilla sobbed, “and they threw him into his burning house. But then the fire burned through the rope around his ankles and he ran out with his clothes and his hair on fire. They caught him and threw him back, but he ran out again. That’s when they shot him.”

  “Calm down,” Anna said. “You’re upsetting Jefferson.”

  “I can’t help it. I’m not as strong as you are. I’ve never been on my own before.”

  “A mother has to be strong for the sake of her child. Do you hear me? You have to set an example. The secret to mastering fear is pretending you’re not afraid. Can you pretend that you’re brave?”

  Urilla took a ragged breath and nodded.

  “Good.” Anna patted Urilla’s arm. “Now, please tell me again where Chrissy is.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “You said it was a church.”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it the church where Quincy and Chrissy were married?”

  “No.”

  “Where?”

  “Close to that house where we stayed last night, I think. I was frightened and confused.”

  “What denomination?”

  “Methodist, I think.”

  “Did she go there voluntarily or did bushwhackers catch her and take her there?”

  “She went on her own. Some women stopped us and said that their husbands had been shot and needed medical attention. Chrissy said she was a nurse and that she’d come with them. She asked me to go too, but I was afraid. I’m sorry.”

  “Did you see the church?”

  “Yes. They pointed it out.”

  “Did they point left or right?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Try, Urilla. Chrissy’s life might depend on it.”

  “I can’t. There were fires, women screaming and men shooting other men.”

  “Okay.” Anna stood on her tiptoes to look across the cornstalks. “See that tree?”

  “Yes.”

  “Follow the cornrows to that tree and wait for us there. I’ll go look for Chrissy.”

  Urilla looked nervously toward the tree, then nodded.

  “If I don’t come back, stay there until you see Federal troops.”

  “How long will that be?”

  Anna shrugged. “Soon. Surely by noon.”

  “Be careful.”

  “I will.” Anna set off back the way she had come. She had run from the Griswold’s wearing only a bathrobe over her nightgown and carpet slippers. Now her feet were sore from stone bruises.

  Because there was no wind to spread the flames, only the houses that had been set on fire by the guerrillas were burning. The businesses on Massachusetts Street, however, all seemed to be ablaze.

  After asking several people, Anna was given directions to the Methodist church. The driveway, churchyard and cemetery were crowded with people. Anna walked through a row of wounded and dead toward a man who was providing medical attention to a patient who had a bullet wound in his face. “Excuse me. Are you a doctor?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m looking for my daughter-in-law. Her name is Christine Van Buskirk. She’s a nurse and I thought that perhaps you’d…” The expression on the doctor’s face stopped her. “What?”

  He stood up. “I’m very sorry.”

  “Sorry about what?”

  “She’s dead. She tried to stop the bushwhackers from killing an injured man and…”

  “They shot her?”

  “No. One of the men clubbed her with a pistol. When she fell, she hit her head on a tombstone. Her skull was fractured. There was nothing I could do.”

  Anna took a deep breath. “I see. Can you tell me where her body is?”

  “I left her where she fell in case there was a criminal investigation.” He pointed toward the little cemetery.

  “I need to verify that it’s her, then I’ll come back to help you.”

  “Don’t worry about me. We got word that the army’s arriving and the raiders are running away. I’ll have all the help I need very soon.”

  “Do you know if they’re Federal troops?”

  The doctor shook his head. “Kansas Fourteenth Regiment.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. They were supposed to be here today, but they were ordered to Fort Leavenworth the day before yesterday. Why do you ask?”

  “My son, Christine’s husband, is in the U.S. Army. If he was coming I wouldn’t want him to see her where she fell.”

  “Oh. I understand. Do whatever’s necessary.”

  Anna walked to the cemetery and soon found Chrissy’s body among several wounded men. “Did anyone see this happen?”

  “I did,” a woman replied. “She was killed trying to prote
ct my husband.” She pointed at the corpse at her feet. “They knocked her down, then shot him three more times.”

  “What did the man look like?” Anna asked. “The one that did it.”

  “He wasn’t a man, he was a boy. Wide face. High cheekbones. Cat’s eyes. Kinda girlishly pretty.”

  “Was he riding a big dray horse?” Anna asked.

  “Yes. Do you know him?”

  “No.”

  “You’re lying. What’s his name?” The woman stepped closer to Anna.

  “Get away from me.” Anna pushed the woman. “Grieve for your husband. I’m not going to help you get your revenge.”

  “Then promise me that you’ll get it for me.”

  Anna looked at the woman for several seconds, then nodded. “I promise.”

  ~

  Urilla was sitting with her back against a tree. She stood up as Anna emerged from the cornfield. “Couldn’t you find Chrissy?”

  “Where’s Jefferson?” Anna asked.

  “Here I am.” The child appeared from behind the tree.

  Anna looked at him for several seconds, then at Urilla. “Chrissy’s dead.”

  The color drained from Urilla’s face. “Dead? What happened?”

  “I’m not sure.” Anna sat down next to Urilla.

  “Can we have breakfast now?” Jefferson asked.

  “When the soldiers get here.” Anna pulled him onto her lap. “It should be soon.”

  “As soon as the soldiers get here, I’m going home,” Urilla said.

  Anna looked at her. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m taking my son and going back to Richmond. I don’t care what you say or what Johnny says. It’s more dangerous being with you than it is being with my family.”

  “Urilla…”

  “Don’t.” Urilla raised her hand. “Just don’t. I want to be with my family. You’re not my family.”

  Anna rubbed her eyes. “Very well. As soon as I’ve made arrangements to have Chrissy’s body…”

  “You’re not listening to me,” Urilla shouted. “I said that I’m going home as soon as the ferry’s running again.”

  “You’re not making sense, Urilla. This is Lawrence, Kansas. You’re over a thousand miles from Richmond. You can’t make that trip alone.”

  “Of course I can. The ferry will take me to Kansas City. I’ll take the train from there to Washington and…”

  “Listen to me. Lee’s army is retreating from Pennsylvania toward Richmond with Meade right on his heels. You’re the wife of a Confederate general in enemy territory. If…”

  “There’s a steamer connection from St. Louis to Chattanooga,” Urilla interrupted.

  “Chattanooga?”

  “Yes. I’ll take the train from Chattanooga to Richmond. That way I’ll stay within Southern controlled…”

  “Are you mad?” Anna said shrilly. “The Virginia and Tennessee Railroad’s the main means of transportation for Confederate troops and supplies. It’s bound to be a prime target.”

  “The Yankees aren’t there yet.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Urilla seemed to waver for a moment. “Well, I don’t. But they’re not going to harm a woman with a little boy.”

  “It’s not the Union soldiers I’m worried about. There’s always a great deal of civilian lawlessness surrounding military action. Do you have any family in Chattanooga?”

  “No.”

  “Friends?”

  “I don’t know a soul in Chattanooga and I don’t need to.”

  “At least let me see if I can use my influence to get a message to Johnny before you...”

  “No,” Urilla shouted. “He’ll just try to talk me out of going home.”

  Anna took a deep breath. “Urilla, listen to me. The journey you’re proposing makes no sense. It’ll take you days – I don’t know – maybe weeks to get home. You’ll be all alone on boats and trains with soldiers and…”

  “Confederate soldiers are gentlemen.”

  “Gentlemen?” Anna bellowed. “These brigands that you’ve seen today are Confederate soldiers.”

  “My mind’s made up. There’s nothing you can say to change my mind.”

  An hour later, when the Kansas Militia arrived, with Quincy on a remount, Quantrill’s raiders were gone.

  August 23, 1863

  Lawrence, Kansas

  The cemetery was crowded with mourners attending multiple burials for the victims of Quantrill’s raid. As the service for Chrissy Van Buskirk concluded, Quincy turned away and walked toward the tree line, leaving only his mother and a young lieutenant in Union blues standing at the open grave.

  The lieutenant took a step toward Anna. “I’m sorry to intrude, Mrs. Lagrange, but I have a message for General Van Buskirk.”

  “Is the message in writing?” she asked.

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Give it to me. I’ll make sure he gets it.”

  He handed her an envelope. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” She waited until the officer was out of sight, then ripped open the envelope and read the contents.

  Quincy had seen the delivery and walked back to the grave. “What is it?” His eyes were bleary and ringed with dark circles.

  “It’s for you.” Anna gave him the telegram. “From General Halleck. You’ve been reassigned to General Rosecrans’s command.”

  Quincy glanced at the message and then stuffed it into his pocket. “I’m not going to obey it.”

  Anna didn’t reply.

  “I intend to resign my commission and go after Quantrill.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why don’t you just climb into that grave and save yourself some time?”

  “Quantrill’s headed for Texas. I’ll follow and recruit Union sympathizers along the way.”

  “Think about what you’re saying, Quincy.”

  “I don’t want to think, I just want vengeance.”

  “I’m not arguing with your need for vengeance, only with your method of obtaining it.”

  He shrugged. “Do you have a better idea?”

  Anna thought a moment. “If you know for certain that Quantrill’s going to Texas it would be wiser to get there ahead of him. Following him is too risky. The next time he might shoot something other than your horse.”

  “How could I get there ahead of him when I don’t know exactly where he’s going? Texas is a very big state.”

  “He’s probably headed for San Antonio or Austin – maybe Houston. The best known trail to any of those places crosses the Brazos River at Waco. My brother Tom practically owns Waco. Your Aunt Jane will help you find men you can trust.”

  “What if Quantrill’s going somewhere else?”

  “Jane will be able to find out where Quantrill’s headed.”

  “You do know that Texas is Confederate, don’t you, Mother?”

  “Yes, and I also know that you’re the stepson of the famous Texas Ranger Captain Charlie Lagrange and the grandson of Yank Van Buskirk. That’ll trump any outside loyalties.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, Mother.”

  “I am. In spite of any external allegiances, Texas will always be a country unto itself. You’re a Texan; Quantrill’s an outsider.”

  “Are you sure that Aunt Jane’s still in Waco?”

  “Not a hundred percent, but I’m absolutely sure that Margaret Houston’s in Huntsville. I read it in the newspaper last week. If you can’t find Jane, go to Huntsville and talk to Margaret.”

  “Can I trust Margaret Houston?”

  “Of course. Sam Houston resigned when Texas seceded from the Union and Margaret’s always been fiercely loyal to Sam. My father was Sam’s best friend. She’ll do anything in her power to help you. I’m certain of that.”

  Quincy nodded. “You surprised me, Mother. I thought you’d try to talk me out of going after Quantrill.”

  “After what I’ve seen I’d happily k
ill Quantrill with my own hands. But…”

  “But what?”

  “But I fully expect him to be brought to justice with or without your help. What he did here just can’t stand. When word of this reaches Jefferson Davis the Confederacy will cut him loose.”

  He sighed. “So you are trying to talk me out of it. Obliquely.”

  Anna shook her head. “If you’re convinced that immediate revenge is more important to you than the outcome of the war, how could I possibly talk you out of it?”

  He looked into her eyes. “Your ability to manipulate is remarkable, Mother, but I know you too well.”

  “I’m not trying to manipulate you, Quincy. If I was, I’d be maneuvering you to resign your commission and come back to Washington with me. I just lost two brothers, my best friend and a daughter-in-law to this damn war. I don’t want to lose my only child as well.”

  He gave her a dubious look.

  “Do whatever you think best, Quincy. I’ve said all I have to say.” With one more look into the open grave, she turned and walked toward the cemetery gates.

  “I only wish that was true,” Quincy called after her. “I know perfectly well that you’ll be working on me during the entire trip back to Milliken’s Bend.”

  Anna raised her hand over her head and wiggled her fingers at him, but didn’t look back.

  August 23, 1863

  Milliken’s Bend, Louisiana

  Robert Van Buskirk looked up from a stack of messages. “Sam?”

  “Huh?” Ulysses Grant was writing furiously in his Order Book.

  “Rosecrans asked Halleck to transfer Quincy to his command. Halleck’s agreed.”

  Grant stopped writing. “Quincy only? Not the African Brigade?”

  “There’s no mention of the African Brigade. Rosecrans must have known that we recalled them.”

  Grant put down his pen. “What’s your take on it?”

  “Halleck’s been frustrated by Rosecrans’s failure to join Burnside’s attack on Braxton Bragg’s army and he’s ordered Rosecrans to move forward immediately.”

  “Yeah. I saw that.” Grant chuckled. “Rosecrans is ordered to report his troop movements to Washington on a daily basis until he crosses the Tennessee River. He’s not going to like that.”

  “No, apparently he doesn’t. I heard through the grapevine that Rosecrans wrote to the President saying that Halleck’s order is reckless and born of conceit and malice.”