by Ann Rinaldi
"Me, too?" I begged. "Please, Landon, Ma lets me have it."
He said all right and Andy went back upstairs to fetch it.
That coffee was wonderful, hot and sweet, and I must admit that the fried chicken and biscuits tasted like angel food. We ate in pleasant comradeship. Then I settled myself under my blanket and closed my eyes.
"You still awake?" Landon asked.
"Yes."
"You hear that from Andy? It means Robert is planning on going home."
"Well, what else did you think he was planning on?"
He closed his eyes for a minute, like he was praying. "Claire Louise, sit up. I have to talk to you," he said.
"Landon," I whined, "five minutes ago you told me to go to sleep. And now you tell me—"
"Claire Louise, shut your mouth and listen to me!"
I sat up. "Not if you talk to me like that, I won't."
He sighed heavily. He gathered himself in. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry, but I need somebody to listen. I just got done talking to Dr. Balfour about Robert, and he gave me his professional physician's opinion of what I had to do to save my army career and my reputation as a doctor. As well as my family name. I know he's right, but I still can't bear to think about it. I've become friends with Robert. Did you hear that? I don't even know his last name. He won't tell me, and yet I've become friends with him. And now, if I listen to Balfour, and my own conscience, I have to turn him in."
I listened, respectfully. He was going on like he would never stop. Like somebody had loosened something in him. He was pouring out his heart. To me.
"What did he do?" I whispered.
"Do? Yes, there is that, too, isn't there. As well as the fact that he deserted. All right, I'm going to tell you, Claire Louise. But you must swear to me that you'll never tell another soul."
I swore. He nodded his head, accepting my word. And then he told me.
"Do you remember the battle of Antietam? Last fall?"
"Yes. We lost it."
"Well, Robert is the reason the South lost it."
I looked at him as if he'd taken leave of his senses.
"Did you ever hear of Lee's lost Order Number 191?"
I searched my memory. "I recollect Pa talking about it. Reading about it in the Citizen.'"
"Last September ninth Lee wrote an order," he explained. "In it were the details of the march of his army, which had all but disappeared behind the Blue Ridge Mountains during its invasion of the North. The Yankees never knew where he was. And Bobby Lee wanted the orders to be circulated to his division commanders. They were given out to staff officers to be delivered to those commanders.
"One of those officers was Robert. He told Lee his courier delivered the order to Hill. But to his disgrace, if you will, Hill never signed for it. Robert had no signature.
"Nobody did. The order was lost. Four days later it was in Union hands."
I gasped. "How did it get there?"
"Good question. The Confederate bigwigs are still investigating. All they know is that the order was found by a private named Mitchell of the 27th Indiana in an envelope containing three cigars wrapped in a piece of paper. The piece of paper was the orders. The 27th Indiana was encamped on a former Confederate campground."
I found myself shaking. I drew my blanket closer. "But what of Robert?"
"He told me that piece of paper dropped out of his pocket before he could give it to his courier. This takes his courier off the hook because Hill never signed for the order. It all goes back to Robert, but they can't prove anything. But it's the result of it all that matters.
"Lincoln's General McCellan was able to make an immediate strike at Lee's army because of the intelligence he got from that piece of paper. Four days later we had the battle of Antietam because of it. England pulled back on any promises of aid to the South because of the loss at Antietam. And I have on my hands a severely depressed and confused and guilty Robert because of it. And that's why Dr. Balfour says I should turn him in."
Silence between us then. My head whirred. "And what will you do?"
"I don't know, Claire Louise. I have a week to have a crisis of conscience. I want to aid him in getting home. I know I should walk over to brigade headquarters this day and tell General Pemberton that I have him. Either way I'm in hell."
I crawled out from under my blanket and over to him and gave him a hug. "I'll help you, whatever you do," I said.
He hugged me back. "I can't drag my family into this. When I met him, he was a wounded Confederate soldier who'd fought in a minor skirmish to do something decent. I was honor bound to do something for him. I'm still not sure he won't lose that arm."
He released me. "Hey, the shelling's stopped. It must be noon. Let's get home," he said.
I giggled.
"What's so funny?"
"You said home. And we are home," I told him. "I want to go upstairs and get a pillowcase full of clean clothes for me and Mama. Can I?"
He said yes. He also said he wanted to give me something. So he came upstairs and while I gathered clothes for myself and Mama and James, he stuffed his whole set of Dickens into a pillowcase. As well as some of his childhood books, for James.
"For you to read," he said of the Dickens, "during those terrible times when the shells are falling. These books will get you through. I promise."
Chapter Nine
When we got home that afternoon, things were in chaos. No, the shelling hadn't started again, not yet, but Mama was at the dining table, seated across from James, and both were crying.
Easter stood by, near tears herself, and Robert was in back of Easter, unable to stand on his own two feet but holding onto a kitchen cupboard and trying to soothe the lot of them.
"I can take care of it, ma'am," he was saying to Mama.
"No, no, Robert. Landon said I was not to allow you out of the house."
"But a snake on the roof." Robert was saying.
I followed Landon in. He set down his pillowcase of books. "Who's got a snake on the roof?" he asked. "Ma? What's wrong? Why are you crying? James? Did you get hurt?"
James would not look at him.
"Well, somebody tell me what's going on here," Lan-don said irritably. "It can't be as bad as what's going on out there."
"There's a snake on one of the posts of the roof," Robert told him. "I wanted to go out and kill it, but your mother here won't allow me outside. Says she's going according to your orders."
"She is. You can scarce stand," Landon said. "How can you battle a snake?"
"It isn't only that," Robert reported. "It seems that your little brother here has been playing with your matches and started a small fire."
Sure enough, there on the table were the remnants of a small fire. The day's copy of the Daily Citizen, which was the only newspaper now being printed in Vicksburg, and printed on the back of old wallpaper at that, was singed around the edges. It looked as if it had been on fire and then that fire hastily put out. Around it were several of Landon's large glue and phosphorous matches, which I knew he had cautioned James never to touch.
Landon took it all in. He stepped forward, closer to James, who was still sobbing quietly. "You did this, did you?" His voice was stern, not kind.
"I didn't ... mean ... to." James hiccuped.
"What do you mean you didn't mean to?" Landon asked.
James didn't answer. He kept his eyes downcast. This was not his Landon talking to him now, this was someone else, someone who frightened him.
"Look," Landon said, "I think you better go into your room and sit there and think on what you've done. And I'll be in later and we'll talk about it. You hear? Go on, now."
James didn't move. "But I wanted ... I wanted to see you kill the snake," he all but wailed.
In an instant Landon picked James up off the chair, set him firmly on the ground, and gave him a small spank on the bottom and a shove toward the hall. "Go and do as I say," he ordered.
James ran. Landon then walked Robert
back to his room, and they were in there a few minutes. I heard low talking. I supposed Robert had his fever again. But when Landon came back out into the kitchen he said nothing about Robert. All he said was, "Stop crying, Mama, everything will be all right."
"No, there's more, Landon, there's more."
"All right, have at it. Might as well, Mama."
"Well, you know how I give Easter five dollars and send her to market every morning to see what she can find in the way of meat?"
"If you're going to tell me there isn't any more meat in the marketplace, Mama, I've already been apprised of that fact. Clothilda, at home, wants permission to kill the last turkey. Says it's old and it's tough, but at least it's not mule meat. Can I tell her yes?"
Mama nodded, blowing her nose and wiping her eyes. Landon leaned over her, pushing back the strands of blonde hair that had escaped from her rolled-back hairdo. "C'mon, Ma," he said, "I need some moral support, too."
"Easter saw that they had not only mule meat hanging there, but rats," Mama said. "Oh, Landon, what's my town come to?"
He sighed and said nothing. "Did you get a letter from Pa today?"
"No. The Confederate dispatch rider came through but there was nothing from your pa. Only this, from Dr. Balfour." She gave him one piece of paper on which was scrawled a note. He read it carefully and handed it to me.
"Ma and I will discuss it," he told me, "but you ought to have a say in it, since it concerns you. Think about it and let me know tomorrow."
I took the note and scanned it quickly. Dr. Balfour was asking my mother's and Landon's permission to allow me to come to the hospital twice a week and write letters home for the brave boys who needed them written. I was good at the task, Dr. Balfour wrote, and sympathetic with the young men without being disheartening.
I looked up from my reading. They were both eyeing me.
"Don't do it if you don't want to," Mama advised.
"Being around the sick and dying can steal your soul right from under you," Landon said.
I nodded and said nothing. Landon told Easter there was still some time before the shelling started, and anyway he knew the nigras knew their way around town so's they wouldn't get hit, so could she please go to our home and tell Clothilda to kill that turkey and bring it home so Easter could cook it for supper?
Easter left.
"Now," Landon said, "let's go and kill ourselves a snake."
It was wrapped around the upright roof support post, and by now a small crowd had gathered. Landon urged them back a ways in case it attacked, for it was surely poisonous. Then he unsheathed his sword and with that terrible and beautiful instrument poked at the head of the snake to annoy it. Behind us the crowd oohed and aah.ed
It was very fat must have been very long because it had itself wrapped around that support post at least four or five times.
Now it was watching Landon, fastening its yellow-green eyes upon him, opening its devil's mouth so its tongue could flicker in and out. Landon did more poking with that sword of his and, angry at being disturbed, the snake fought back. It unwrapped itself two or three turns from that support post and slithered down the roof of the cave toward Landon.
Everyone gave a low moan.
Then Landon went at it. The snake responded with back-and-forth thrusts of about two feet of itself, finally got tired, lost balance, and slipped to the earth at Landon's feet.
Quick as a firefly, Landon thrust his sword and cut its head off. I thought I was going to throw up. The snake was still moving. Now I was crying.
A man, a fellow cave dweller, came up to Landon, waited for him to sheath his sword, and shook his hand. "I'm Oldfield from down ways a bit. Glad you're with us. All these people knew what to do, but they wanted to see their own major in action."
"Won't be with you all long," Landon addressed them quietly, "so I'd suggest you all learn to do it yourselves. And I'm not a major. Just a captain. If you see another snake just keep the people away from it and go and fetch one of your soldiers I see wandering about. You'll be all right."
Back in the cave he told Mama how he'd been reassigned to the hospital at Milliken's Bend and how, this afternoon, he wanted to take a ride down there to introduce himself to his commanding officer before he reported for duty. He'd be in late, he told her. We were to keep an eye on Robert. "Give him some more quinine if his fever persists."
First, though, he had to clean himself up, polish his boots, and walk home to get Rosie, his horse. And he had to talk with James.
"Your father would paddle him good," Mama said.
I followed him down the hall. "Landon."
"Yes?"
"Pa wouldn't. He wouldn't paddle James. He never hit us."
His smile now was solemn. "I know, Claire Louise. I was once a little boy in this family, too, remember? Now don't worry yourself. I know what I'm about."
Chapter Ten
I think it is eighteen days now that we have lived in our cave.
I never thought I could learn to do this. I, who come from a bedroom with English wallpaper and Persian rugs.
I never thought I would see my mother do it. But she does. She has accommodated herself, like Lady Jane Grey did when she was sent to the Tower of London. That is how I see her when I come into the kitchen mornings, after we have spent the night with the thundering of the Parrott guns, the unrelenting fire of small arms, the shrill whistling of shells. Early this morning, though, what woke me was the cooing of swallows on our roof.
I found Mama at the table, dressed in her morning gown, sipping her tea, just as she'd be in her sun-filled dining room at home. Never mind that she is worried about the shortage of food, or if the mail will come through.
Does she think, even for a moment, of the pots of flowers she left on the front steps at home? Does she wonder if our house will be hit with cannon fire this day?
I do, though I do not mention such to her. I just sit down at the table with her and pour myself some tea.
But there is one good thing we have working in our favor. Unlike a lot of other caves around us, we have water. Pa made sure of that. Unfortunate others trudge, daily, with pails and buckets to the stream far below us to fetch water of an uncertain color and character, to wash with, cook with, and even drink. As at home, we have a cistern in the cellar of this cave, round and full of God's good rainwater. And we all, in turn, go down with a lantern and becalm ourselves and bathe with some of Mama's lavender soap from home.
This tub of water, which flows in and out, always fresh, is our gift from God.
I took a bath that very afternoon. I put on clean clothes and made my decision like a human being, not like a rat in captivity.
I would go to the hospital twice a week and write letters for the brave boys who needed them written. I felt good, making my decision.
But now there was another one to make. Something else was gnawing at my innards.
What to do about Robert.
For it was as clear to me as water in the cistern that I would have to do something. I could not leave it to Landon. He was too tied up with his honor codes, all twisted between his duty as a doctor and his duty as a soldier, to do anything.
Anybody who had honor like Landon had would always be in trouble.
So if something had to be done, I had to do it. Because he'd told me about it. He'd dragged me into it. And anyway, he was too busy. He had to report to Milliken's Bend hospital soon. And then what? Leave Robert here with us?
Suppose the authorities traced Robert down? And found him hidden away with the mother of a son who was with the Union army?
No. The more I thought about it, the faster my imagination worked. That's what comes from reading too much Edgar Allen Poe.
And whatever I did, I had to do it soon. I was un-emcumbered by honor. My life wouldn't be ruined if I slipped Robert out of the scene.
It was still light when Landon left and about dusk when Mama called me aside. "Nobody knows but me and Easter and now you," she said
.
Oh, good. More conspiracy. Just what I needed.
"The food is almost gone," she told me. "And I don't know what to do. I didn't want to tell Landon. He has enough on his mind. Mostly, it's you children I worry about. And Robert. He needs food if he's to get well. So I was thinking, Claire Louise, since the shelling has stopped for supper, can you take James and go on down by the creek and see if there are any blackberries left? I have enough meal for Easter to make some cornbread."
So James and I went off. It was a night in early June. And there is no finer thing made by God except maybe the look in a horse's eyes when she loves you. Apparently the balmy evening with the mild breeze moved everyone because once again we came across Confederates and Yankees visiting each other's campsites, exchanging coffee and cigars, and telling each other that if it were up to them, the enlisted men, they'd go home tomorrow.
I explained it all to James, who was very taken with the friendliness of the two sides now that the white flags were up once again. And disappointed. "Why don't they just pretend to be friendly and then kill each other?" he asked with all the wisdom of a five-year-old. "At least it'd save everybody a lot of time tomorrow."
I leaned down to hug him. Five-year-olds are so dear. Then James pointed a small finger at something behind me. "I think he's a Yank, Claire Louise," he said, "come to tell you something. Or give you something. He's got it in his hands."
I looked. Sure as God made apricots, it was a Yank. An officer no less, a lieutenant, if I knew my insignias right. And in his cupped hands he was holding something.
"Don't be scared, miss," he told me politely. "I just found this little fellow on the ground by that tree over there. And he looked in big trouble. Being a local girl, I thought you could take him home and nurse him until he gets strong enough to fly away."
He opened his hands just a bit, and inside I saw a bluebird looking up at me with the brightest and most kindly eyes. The lieutenant held his hands lower so James could see, too. "Hey," James said, "look at that. Can we take him home, Claire Louise? Can we?"
Afraid that he might start talking of home and who was in the cave with us and mention Robert, I quickly said yes. And there I went, laying the groundwork for trouble again.