Divided Nation, United Hearts

by Yolanda Wallace

  “Yes, sir.”

  Wilhelmina automatically snapped off a salute, forgetting until the smell hit her even harder that her clothes and hands were dotted with excrement. Her boots were more brown than black. If the water weren’t so cold and she didn’t risk exposure in more ways than one, she would strip naked and immerse herself in the river to scrub herself clean. She settled for washing her face and hands, then scraping the soles of her boots against the bark of a tree.

  When she and Erwin got back to their tent, Billy was practicing his cadences as usual. Drummers were responsible for communicating officers’ commands both on the battlefield and in camp. Attack, retreat, eat, sleep. Every possible action was dictated by the tap, tap, tap of a drummer’s sticks against the instrument strapped to his shoulders.

  “This came for you while you were gone.” Billy continued to practice one-handed as he picked up a wrinkled envelope and handed it to Wilhelmina. “It smells pretty. Is it from your mama or your girl?”

  Wilhelmina held the envelope under her nose and inhaled deeply. The faint smell of Libby’s favorite perfume soaking the paper made her forget the malodorous latrine. Seeing her new name written in Libby’s handwriting made her forget everything else.

  Erwin’s eyes twinkled as he lit his pipe.

  “The smile on his face is all the answer you need, Billy.”

  Wilhelmina ducked out of the tent, intending to find a place she could read Libby’s letter in private. A tough task considering there were men everywhere she looked. The population of the camp currently exceeded that of some of the towns they had passed through.

  To her left, a group of soldiers were playing poker with a set of cards featuring images of naked women. To her right, another group was singing a lovelorn ballad about a maid with golden hair. The longing in the men’s voices and the plaintive sound of the harmonica music accompanying them plucked at Wilhelmina’s heartstrings.

  Deciding she was better off where she was, she sat on her bedroll with her back to Erwin and Billy. Spreading her shoulders to hide the words, she opened the envelope with shaking hands and began to read.

  Dearest Wil,

  I pray this letter finds you well. Thank you for keeping me informed of your whereabouts and the state of your health, though I must admit some passages of your letters are difficult to read.

  I sorrow for the trying times you are enduring—until I remind myself no one forced you to enter the life you are currently living. Despite the danger, deprivations, and hardships, you chose this path of your own free will. I feel compelled to ask yet again. Is it worth it?

  Is your sense of duty so great you are willing to risk life and limb for the “privilege” of marching for hours on end, sleeping under a thin blanket on the frozen ground, surrounding yourself with thousands of strange men, and putting yourself in the line of enemy fire? Is your belief in your cause so complete you are willing to die in order to see it achieved? For the life of me, I cannot understand it.

  I did not attempt to dissuade you from your stated course the night you told me of your plans because I doubted the veracity of your words. It is now painfully clear how utterly I misjudged everything that took place that night, including your declarations of love. There are certain subjects I cannot and will not broach, especially on paper, but I am begging you to throw down your weapons and return home. It is not too late for you to find salvation.

  Your family misses you terribly. Your mother has been sick with worry since the discovery of your letter and its vagaries about your intentions to join the war effort. Your father has exhausted all efforts to find you. He has sent letters to dozens of officials inquiring if you are currently in their employ. After receiving nothing but negative responses, he now fears you might be dead. I want to assuage his concerns, but how can I do so without betraying your trust?

  Stephen and I will be married in three weeks’ time. Although it is my deepest desire that you will be here to witness the occasion, I am asking you not to attend the ceremony if this letter finds its way into your hands prior to the appointed date. If I looked upon your form on that happiest of days, I fear I would not see the face of the woman I know and love but the visage of a soldier I do not.

  You have changed, Wil, and not for the better. There is a hardness about you now that did not exist when you were home where you belong. I know I often teased that you would make a better husband than you would a wife, but now the image is nearly complete.

  With each line of your letters I read, I recognize less and less of the Wil I once knew. Even though your words affirm you are still alive, I have already begun to mourn the passing of my boon companion.

  I am mightily sorry for my delayed response to your letters, but it has taken me this long to find the courage to say what I feel I must. You have placed me in an untenable position, Wil, and I can no longer be party to your lie. I can also no longer be part of your life.

  Though I give my word I will not reveal your secret, I beseech you not to write me again unless it is to say you have regained your senses and are returning to the life you once led. That you are ready to resume being the woman you are instead of the man you are pretending to be.

  I cannot say it any plainer. Stop this nonsense, reveal yourself, and come home!

  Yours truly,

  Libby

  Libby’s words left Wilhelmina feeling devastated, but she blinked away her tears because men weren’t supposed to cry.

  Libby, the woman she had longed for for years, was now lost to her in every way. She pressed her hand against her stomach to keep from sobbing. The dreams she’d had about making a future with Libby—of having Libby see her and accept her for who she really was—were just that. Dreams.

  She bolted to the fire, intending to drop the letter into the flames, but her fingers wouldn’t loosen their grip. Her charade would come to an abrupt end if the letter fell into the wrong hands. In a way, her life would end as well. How could she go back to what she was when she had seen what she could be?

  She always kept Libby’s picture next to her heart. She put the letter in the same hiding place.

  “Bad news, son?” Erwin asked after she returned to the tent.

  “In a way.”

  Erwin nodded soberly.

  “A letter of dismissal then.”

  “How can it be a dismissal letter, Mr. Weekley?” Billy asked innocently. “I thought you said the letter was from Wil’s girl, not his employer.”

  Erwin patted Billy’s knee.

  “Hush now, son. I’ll explain it to you later.”

  Erwin draped his arm across Wilhelmina’s shoulders like a father consoling his child. Wilhelmina’s own father had never shown her this kind of tenderness, yet Erwin had not hesitated to attempt to offer her comfort. He had been more of a father to her over the past few months than her actual father had in nineteen years.

  “Romantic entanglements are difficult in the best of times, but never more so than in times of war,” Erwin said. “Though it might not seem like it at the moment, rest assured another young lady will come along one day. One always does. By the time you reach my age, you’re likely to have had several affairs of the heart. If you’re lucky, they will each have more pleasant outcomes than this one.”

  Wilhelmina wished she could tell him she was forbidden to have the kind of love she sought, but how could she without giving herself away?

  A sharp whistle alerted Billy it was time for him to gather the troops. Soldiers across the campsite gathered their rifles as he performed the cadence for the call to dress parade.

  “Thank you for the advice, sir,” Wilhelmina said as she fell in line with the rest of the men from her regiment. “I’ll do my best to take it to heart, but right now I’ve got a war to fight.”

  *

  The farm’s output allowed Clara and her family to be relatively self-sufficient. The crops they planted provided food for them as well as their livestock. Ground corn from the corn crop fed the chickens, and th
e horse and mules munched on oats and hay from the pasture. The only time they needed to go to town was to mail a letter at the post office or visit the general store to stock up on staples like flour and sugar. Or, like today, to purchase a new rifle and a box of ammunition.

  Abram was so excited about the upcoming purchase—and the chance to catch a glimpse of the Yankee troops camped upriver—he couldn’t sit still as he rode in the back of the wagon.

  “Give those mules the whip, Percy. You drive slower than Mrs. Bragg, and everybody knows her mule team’s as slow as molasses.”

  Clara had allowed Percy to take the reins today to give him something to be proud about instead of pouting over the fact that Abram was getting something new and he wasn’t.

  “Don’t pay Abram no mind,” she said. “You’re doing just fine. You don’t have to hold the reins so tight, though. Pharaoh and Nicodemus have made this trip often enough to know the way.”

  Percy loosened his grip, but not by much.

  “I’m afraid they might get spooked. I heard noises in the woods last night, and I thought it might be Yankees.”

  Clara glanced toward the thick woods, searching for signs of movement. She had heard strange sounds last night, too, but she had hoped it was just her imagination playing tricks on her, not Yankee infantrymen on a reconnaissance mission. She jumped every time she heard a twig break nowadays, but she tried not to let her nervousness show. She didn’t want to put the boys any more on edge than they already were.

  “It was probably a bear waking up from hibernation and looking for something to eat.”

  “Sounded more like a man than a bear.” Percy’s face brightened. “Maybe it was Solomon. He said he would look after us, didn’t he? Maybe it was him sneaking out of his hiding place to show a few of those Yankees what for.”

  Clara squeezed his arm to make sure he was paying attention to what she was about to say.

  “If anyone mentions Solomon, you haven’t seen him since he and Papa left for the war, you hear? His being home is supposed to be our secret, so you can’t make comments like that where someone outside the family can hear you. You can keep a secret, can’t you?”

  Abram snickered.

  “About as well as he can walk on water.”

  “I can, too, keep a secret, and I’m a heap better swimmer than you are, Abram.” Percy stuck his tongue out at Abram, then turned back to Clara. “I won’t say a word to nobody about Solomon. I promise.”

  “Good. The same goes for you, too, Abram. Enid Bragg is the only one aside from the three of us who knows Papa’s dead and Solomon’s hiding out in the woods. Let’s make sure we keep it that way. If we don’t, it could mean serious trouble for all of us, Solomon especially.”

  “I won’t say nothing,” Abram said, “but if we can’t tell nobody that Solomon took the rifle to shoot Yankees with, what are you gonna say to Mr. Stallings to explain why we need another one? You know he loves poking his nose in other folks’ business.”

  Clara leaned back in her seat, trying to gather her thoughts.

  “I haven’t planned that far ahead yet, but I’m sure I’ll come up with something when the time comes.”

  “Just make sure you think of something good,” Abram said. “Mr. Stallings is worse than a hog when it comes to rooting up dirt.”

  Clara clutched her empty satchel to her chest, hoping she hadn’t set out on a fool’s errand. Would Mr. Stallings let her buy what she needed when Papa already owed him money?

  Papa didn’t like buying things on credit because he didn’t like being beholden to anyone. Whenever he owed someone, he always fretted about it until the debt was repaid. He had left owing Mr. Stallings for the new boots he and Solomon wore when they set out on foot to join the Rebel army, but he had vowed to pay for the purchases as soon as he returned. Mr. Stallings had agreed to the transaction, probably thinking as Papa did that the war wouldn’t last more than a few months. Now Papa was buried in the cold ground somewhere far from home and Solomon’s ethereal presence was haunting the family like a ghost.

  Clara wished she was allowed to grieve Papa’s memory, but she couldn’t wear the customary black mourning clothes or show a sad face to the world because no one could know Papa was dead. She was supposed to act like everything was fine when the world felt like it was falling apart all around her.

  Percy pulled on the reins to signal the mules to stop. Abram jumped down and tied the wagon to the hitching post in front of the general store, then ran up the steps as fast as his legs would carry him.

  “Where are you going in such a hurry, Abram Summers?” Mrs. Stallings asked after Abram almost plowed into her as she tried to make her way into the store. “If you’ve got money burning a hole in your pocket, make sure you spend some of it on me. I haven’t had a new hat in Lord knows when.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, ma’am.” Abram slipped past her and darted into the store, Percy hot on his heels.

  “They’re certainly energetic, I’ll give them that,” Mrs. Stallings said. “Abram reminds me of Solomon when he was that age. Percy, too. I can see the Summers blood in both of them. But you, my dear, are the spitting image of your mama. God rest her soul.”

  Clara felt a twinge of renewed sadness at the reminder that she had lost both her parents in a matter of only a few years.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Stallings. I’d better get inside before the boys stuff their pockets full of candy we can’t afford.”

  “A little treat won’t hurt them every now and then.” Mrs. Stallings followed her inside. “Mr. Stallings and I haven’t seen you in town for months.”

  “Has it been that long?” Clara counted backward in her head. She had bought ten pounds of flour and ten pounds of sugar last August but hadn’t been back since. “Yes, I guess it has.”

  “I hear the Yanks are set up pretty close to your place. About five miles or so? They haven’t been worrying you none, have they?”

  “They’ve been worrying me plenty, but I haven’t seen any of them wandering onto our land. Not yet anyway. That’s kind of what brings me here today.”

  “In that case, don’t be shy. Come on up here and tell Mr. Stallings what you want.”

  Mrs. Stallings grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the front of the store. Mr. Stallings was standing behind the counter with his glasses perched on the end of his nose like a schoolmarm.

  “What can I do for you today, Clara?” he asked.

  “It’s time for Abram to own his first rifle, and I brought him in so he could pick one out.”

  Mr. Stallings fished a key out of his pocket and unlocked the gun case behind the register.

  “Do you have your eye on one in particular, Abram?”

  Abram pointed to one of the rifles.

  “That one there. The forty-caliber Graham. It looks just like Old Betsy, the rifle Davy Crockett used to kill a hundred twenty-five bears and become King of the Wild Frontier.”

  Mr. Stallings looked at Clara over the tops of his half-moon glasses.

  “I assume you have money to pay for it.”

  Clara twisted her worn satchel, wishing it was filled with money instead of air.

  “No, sir, I don’t. I was hoping to buy the rifle and ammunition on credit. Along with ten pounds of flour, ten pounds of sugar, and maybe a trinket or two for Percy so he won’t have to go home empty-handed.”

  Percy’s eyes lit up. Then he ran to the toys piled on a display table and began sorting through them to see which one he wanted most.

  His expression as sour as the lemons he favored in his tea, Mr. Stallings locked the gun case and slipped the key back into his pocket.

  “Cash only, Clara. Your credit’s no good here.”

  “But—”

  Clara shushed Abram before he could begin to whine.

  “Since when, Mr. Stallings? Papa’s always been square with you, hasn’t he?”

  When Mr. Stallings spoke again, he had managed to whittle the edges off his sharp tone.
>
  “It ain’t your papa I’m worried about.”

  “Who, then?”

  Mr. Stallings ran a feather duster over some of the items on display as if he would rather do anything else than meet Clara’s eye.

  “Mr. Stallings?” she said.

  Mr. Stallings sighed and dropped his hands to his sides.

  “Jedediah Ogletree came in here last week and said I wasn’t to sell you nothing on credit. He didn’t give me a chance to ask why.”

  Mrs. Stallings furrowed her brow, none too pleased at having been kept in the dark.

  “Buck Stallings, you didn’t mention a word of that conversation to me. If you had, I—”

  Mr. Stallings’s face reddened from anger, embarrassment, or both as he went back to whisking away dust that wasn’t there.

  “It ain’t your place to know everything, Maudie. Jedediah came to me and asked if we could talk man-to-man.”

  “From the sound of it, you were a couple men short.”

  Percy stared disconsolately at the toy in his hand.

  “What’s Jedediah trying to do, starve us out because you won’t marry him? You didn’t cut him too bad. Unless you look real hard, you can barely—”

  “Hush up about that, Percy,” Clara said. “Isn’t there anything you can do, Mr. Stallings? Until the spring crops come in during harvest time, the boys and I won’t have two plug nickels to rub together.”

  Mr. Stallings eyed the other customers milling around the store as if he was afraid they might be more interested in his conversation than the items they were pretending to be browsing.

  “I’m sorry, Clara, but cash only. That’s the way it has to be.”

  Abram turned to look at her, his eyes filled with defeat.

  “Jedediah’s beaten us once and for all, hasn’t he?”

  It broke Clara’s heart to see him like that.

  “Not yet, Abram. Not yet.”

  She had to do something to take that pitiful look off his face. She decided to make the ultimate sacrifice so he could feel proud instead of beaten down. She reached inside the collar of her dress and revealed her most prized possession.