by Ann Rinaldi
Or was it so that people couldn't see that one arm was amputated up to the elbow?
"Hello, Claire Louise," she said.
Our eyes met. She held my look. I wet my lips, which had gone dry. She gave a little grin and gestured with her head to my bandaged hand.
"You join up, too?"
"No, I cut it trying to get a revolver out of Pa's gun case. It's a long story. What about you?"
"I got hit with shell fragments. Skirmish near McConnellsburg, Pennsylvania. Isn't that a kick in the head? I wanted to make it to Gettysburg. They're still fighting over there, I hear." She sighed. "Well, they fixed me up in the tent hospital, then shipped me here on the train. I didn't want to come. But I had no say in the matter. They found out I was a woman and I was cashiered out. Look here, Claire Louise, you can't tell anyone I'm back. Nobody. My family's not around, so I don't worry about them. But don't tell yours. And especially not Landon. I'd rather they cut off my other arm before he knew."
I drew in my breath and let it out slowly. "More secrets," I said.
"What?"
"Landon and I are, well, to be polite call it estranged. We scarce talk. And all because of secrets. I can't do that anymore, Sarah. No, I'm not going to go home, to your house or mine, and tell everybody you're here. But if it comes to dueling at twenty paces to protect your secret, I won't play that game, that's what I'm saying."
"What happened between you and Landon? Was it on account of me?"
"No."
"Where is he?"
"Doctoring at Milliken's Bend hospital."
"Thank God. They almost sent me there. Look, I understand your plight. I don't want to drag you into my affairs. Just give me a couple of days. I have a slight fever, which can follow an amputation. It was only done four days ago. I'm going to ask the nurse for some medicine and make sure I eat good and skedaddle out of here first chance I get."
"You mean you're running away?"
"That's what I mean. I don't ever want Landon to see me like this. I'm going to the depot and catching the train. I'll be gone in two days."
"Can I get anything for you?"
"No. Just stay out of it, sweetie. When all of this is over, maybe we'll see each other again. Don't worry about me. The war has toughened me up. Go now, before you get in trouble. Oh, and the story I'm giving old Balfour there is that I don't want my family to know, either, yet. I'm going to an aunt's house in Raymond. All right?"
Raymond. It was below Jackson. "Yes," I said. But it was not okay. There was something wrong here. Something all wrong. And I had to think about it in the open air, and not be muddleheaded this time.
Chapter Seventeen
I left the hospital at noon, just as the shelling stopped, and walked to our house, determined to get that piece of wallpaper, determined to put my mind to what I was going to do now about Sarah, determined to test my mettle and not tell anyone I happened to meet about her being home.
I let myself in the house and went straight to the kitchen to get a pair of scissors and a knife.
Neither Clothilda nor Andy was home. It was strange to have the house so silent. It was filled with spirits. I felt it right off. The grandfather clock stood guard in the hall, chiming away the hours as if there were somebody who cared. I went upstairs to my bedroom.
The glass on a back window was shattered because of heavy shelling, but otherwise there was no real damage. Some items had fallen off my dressing table. I looked around and decided to take the paper from the wall by the shattered window.
It was not a difficult job, except for my injured hand. I had to move slowly and carefully, but soon I had a whole sheet of wallpaper, from ceiling to floor. I rolled it up, pleased with myself, then went downstairs, put away the knife and the scissors, and went on my way to the newspaper office.
It was on Crawford Street, two blocks west of Dr. Bal-four's home. As I approached I could see that the building itself had been hit several times with shells. The large front window was boarded up. I tried the front door. It was open. I went in.
"Be careful of the floor," called a voice from the back. "Don't fall through."
I looked down and sure enough in several places the floor wasn't there and the boards around it were blackened as if burned.
Mr. Swords came forward, grave, middle-aged, and wearing a cap with a visor. "We been hit several times. My type has twice been scattered all over the floor. You're the little Corbet girl, aren't you? Your pa's away. How's the rest of your family?"
When I saw the condition of his newspaper office, I had to say "fine, thank you." After all, here was a man who was fighting his own war against the Yankees, a man they couldn't burn out, smash out, or drive out. He went right on publishing his words. Don't have any more newsprint? Well, I'll just ask the folks for wallpaper.
"I brought you some wallpaper, Mr. Swords."
He exclaimed over it. He said it would comprise the first page of tomorrow's edition. "July third, tomorrow," he said, lowering his voice. "My scouts tell me that the white flags are going up. There's going to be a truce while Grant and Pemberton talk.
"It isn't surrender, Claire Louise. It's just common sense. We're out of everything. Our soldiers are weak and starving. So are our citizens. We have nothing left to hope for or fight with. What we do is an honorable thing." He took the wallpaper from me and smiled. "I'll save a copy for you," he said. "I've already got people asking me for copies to save for future generations. You come by when it's all over. Yours will be in this bottom drawer of my desk." He pulled out the drawer so I could see. "Your name will be on it."
"Thank you, Mr. Swords."
"Thank you, child. You'd best get home now. Give my best to your family."
I went right home, and when I got to the door of our cave, I was surprised and frightened to see Mercer, Pa's horse, tethered outside.
Pa was home!
All thoughts of surrender of Vicksburg and my wallpaper, my injured hand, and the possibility of resumed shelling, fled. Pa was home. All would be right with the world.
I went inside.
He was there, seated at the dining table, having a cup of real coffee with real sugar in it. Ma was there, too. James was on his lap. He had his coat off and it was thrown aside with his sword and sidearm and hat.
He looked up as I came in. "Ah, here she is. Our wandering letter writer," he said. His voice was just a little weak. His face just a little pale.
I stared at him for a minute, imprinting him on my mind. "Hello, Pa," I said.
It had been a long time since that night in the church basement when he'd said good-bye to me. A lot had happened. I felt as if I'd traveled a great distance through a tunnel and was only now starting to see the light at the other end.
He set James off his lap and I went to him. "No kisses," he said. "I don't know yet what kind of foul fever I've got."
"I see you still do as you're told," he murmured in my ear when I didn't kiss him. "How are you, Claire Louise?"
"I'm fine, Pa."
"Where have you been? Your mother's been worried about you. She says you often wander about town without telling her where you're going."
I stood straight in front of him. "I was at the hospital, writing letters. Then I went home to cut a piece of wallpaper to give to Mr. Swords because he needs some to print his paper on, and Mama said I could do it. And then I took it to his office, which has been hit so many times by shells. Oh, it's just terrible, Pa! And then I came home."
He was eyeing me, the way he did when he listened to you and read between the lines. He could tell if you were lying if you swore on a stack of bibles in front of you.
I purposely did not mention Sarah Clarke. It wasn't lying if I just didn't talk about her, was it?
I didn't mention her because it was such a big thing that she was back and she was lying in that hospital bed with one arm destroyed and talking about taking the train and running away that my mind had not yet accepted it.
What to do? Get wor
d to her family and my brother and make a riot?
Say nothing and let her go so she's never found again? Like I did with Robert?
Or seek out Landon and tell him? Use her for my own ends, to make things up with Landon?
Suppose Landon didn't care anymore. Suppose he said, "Let her go, I don't care."
Suppose he was repelled by her cut-off arm.
Landon wouldn't be like that, I told myself. He's a doctor. It won't bother him. He loves her.
But what will he think of me? Using Sarah to get back in his good graces. He'll think I'm a humbug, I told myself. Won't he?
Well, he thinks I'm worse now. So I might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb, or however the saying goes.
All this while, which to me seemed an eternity but was only a minute, Pa held my hurt hand in his big, soft gentle one. "Your mother told me what happened to your hand," he said quietly, "and how Landon fixed it for you. So now I'm to go into my study and find the glass in my gun case all smashed up, is that it?"
I lowered my eyes. "Yessir. But Andy said he'd fix it."
"We can't always fix what we ruin, Claire Louise," he said softly.
"I know."
"It seems to me that you've done some things around here that can't be fixed. Is that true? I've heard you've behaved right badly."
I shifted my weight. "Pa, can't you scold later? I'm powerful hungry and I have things to tell you and Mama."
For a moment I saw a glint of amusement in his blue eyes. But only for a moment. He said all right. He said he was about starved, too. And we all ought to have some good vittles and more coffee.
He said he could scold even better on a full stomach.
So we ate fresh-baked bread and ham and cheese and tomatoes and pickles and coffee. And I told them what Mr. Swords had said about how the white flags were going up tomorrow and there was going to be a truce. I told them how glad he was to get my wallpaper, and how he said I could have my own edition of tomorrow's paper, that he was saving it for me.
Chip came then, to bring Mercer home to the stables, and Pa settled in. Mama took him into their room and made him take off his uniform and washed him and got him into his nightshirt and robe and slippers and then got some quinine for the fever. Then she settled him in a comfortable chair in the "parlor" with a blanket around him.
Then came the shelling again, all around us. Mama put James, with Sammy, down for a nap and the cave became quiet. I picked up one of Landon's Dickens books when Pa called me softly to him.
I went and he sat there looking sad and gestured that I should sit on a footstool next to him.
He rested his left arm across his middle, set his right elbow on it, and ran the fingers of his right hand across his forehead. "We have to talk about this, Claire Louise. What happened between you and Landon?"
There it was, what I was afraid of. I shrugged my shoulders and said lightly, "Just a stupid argument, Pa."
He shook his head, no. "If you lie, I have to punish you. I have to take you home and make you stay in the cellar alone for a week. Don't think I won't do it. If you tell me the truth, we'll work it out."
Of a sudden I got scared. Alone in the cellar for a week? I couldn't stand that. Pa knew I couldn't. I'd die! What was he about here?
What could I do?
I studied on it for a moment. Pa was a Confederate and a major. It was his army Robert had harmed. If I told him, he might feel honor bound to report to his superiors who had lost Lee's order. The Confederates would give chase to Robert. But then, Landon had said Robert wouldn't go to Jackson, but onward, west. And the war wasn't over yet. There was no time to look for Robert. He had plenty of time to disappear.
"I'm waiting, Claire Louise."
I breathed in deeply. "It's on account of Robert," I told him.
He knew nothing of Robert, except what Mama had likely told him of his staying here. I had to start at the beginning and tell him. He listened, never taking his eyes from my face. And when I got to the part where I gave Robert Jewel and saw him off, he closed his eyes for a second, as if it was all too much to absorb.
"And you never told Landon that it was you who let him go?"
"Nosir."
"Don't you think Landon knows?"
"Yessir. But he just wanted me to say it. To tell him. I don't know why."
"He wanted the truth from you, Claire Louise. His life is based on honor, and he expects it from everybody else. He's caught in the trap of his own honor. It's a terrible thing, honor. It's a lonely thing."
"I want to go and see Landon, Pa. Please, can I?"
"No. He set the rules. Let him run the show. Let him find the way out."
"He doesn't want a way out. He says we'll never be friends again."
"He's too stern with you. I'll have to speak with him."
"No, Pa, please."
He raised his eyebrows. "I know you love your brother, but it'll wait. It's waited this long."
"It can't wait, Pa. I have to go. Either today or tomorrow."
He scowled. "Do you have another fish to fry that I don't know about, young lady?"
"I can't tell you," I said.
"Well then, it's the cellar again."
"No, Pa, please. I can't. I'd die down there. You know I would."
"Yes, I think I do. And this time no Landon to rescue you. Oh, I know how he used to rescue you. Used to come to me and plead that I let you out. It's my only negotiating tool, Claire Louise. So what's it to be?"
"I think you're mean," I said.
"Not as mean as I could be, and you know it. Now I'm getting a headache, so tell me about this other fish you're about to fry."
So I told him then about Sarah. And how she lay in that hospital bed and nobody but me knew she was there. And I told him about the amputated arm and the argument she'd had with Landon and how she was planning on taking the train and running away within the next two days. "Oh, please, Pa, I've got to tell Landon. Don't you see?"
He saw. He went silent. And solemn. He bit his bottom lip. He looked at me quizzically. He thought. He looked at me some more.
"I have to give you this one, Claire Louise," he said. "This time you're right on track, child."
"You mean, you'll let me go?"
He shook his head, no. "Not alone, no. Never alone. Do you know what it's like out there? All those soldiers hearing about a possible truce? Some about to cheer, some about to cry? All about to be out of their heads? And here comes a pretty young girl on horseback? Hey, what say we have some fun? No, sweetie, I go with you."
"But you're sick!"
"Not as sick as I'd be if something happened to you."
"Oh, Pa." I reached up and hugged him. "Pa," I said, "you do love me."
He hugged me back. His face, against mine, was warm, but not hot. "What kind of a thing is that to say? You ever have reason to doubt it?"
"Sometimes I thought you didn't," I admitted. Tears came out of my eyes. I wiped them away.
"You need to grow up," he said, "that's your trouble. Now do we have any powders for headaches in this place?"
"Landon left some. He brought them in from your surgery. Do you know I helped there sometimes, Pa?"
"That's the kind of thing I want to hear."
"Then you go for a nap and by tomorrow morning you'll be lots better."
"Thank you, Dr. Claire Louise," he said.
Chapter Eighteen
There was no shelling the next morning.
"They must have run out of ammunition," Pa said at breakfast. "The cannonading was hot and heavy until the wee hours this morning. As if the enemy was trying to get in their last shot."
Chip came into the hall. "Suh?"
"Yes, Chip."
"When I was acomin' here wif your horses, some man come runnin' over to me and axe me to give this to you all." He handed Pa a copy of the Citizen.
"Oh!" I jumped up from my chair. "That's the issue from my wallpaper! Mr. Swords promised it to me!"
Pa wa
s reading the page. It proposed a cease-fire, from Grant to Pemberton. An armistice for several hours. "A flag of truce will be sent out."
"I done seen the white flag on our fortifications," Chip said.
"Then there will be no shelling to worry about," Pa said. "C'mon, Claire Louise. Finish your breakfast and let's get started."
***
Out in the streets our "brave boys" came out from their holes, emerging from their hiding places, from their lines, standing tentatively, like gray owls come out in the day, blinking at the azure sky and the sun, surprised that it all was still there.
Were these conjectures about a truce true? Dared they come out in full and show themselves without getting blown into next week?
Several of them saluted Pa as we rode by. Several of them asked, "Sir, is it true? Is it a truce? Sir, tell us what's going on."
Pa's smile was indulgent, as if they were all Landons. "Wait just a bit," he said, "and we'll all see. But I don't think there will be any firing today."
They'd cheer and mount the Confederate fortifications. Opposite them, only a few yards away, the line of men in blue would emerge from their hiding places from which they had been firing, look across at the men they had been trying to kill, and pick up the cheer.
Pa and I rode on. I had Robert's horse, who was still limping somewhat, so we took our time traveling the fifteen miles to Milliken's Bend hospital. By the time we got to the sprawling affair of brick and tents, I was starting to get a little queasy. And Pa was not looking so good either.
"We should have stopped to rest," I told him. "You don't look so good, Pa."
"I'll ask Landon for a place to lie down," he said.
We reached a side entrance of the tented part of the hospital. Pa dismounted and leaned against Mercer. "Go and find Landon," he instructed me.
I hadn't envisioned it like this. I had assumed Pa would seek out his son and have pleasant words with him and then slip in the conversation that, oh yes, by the way, Claire Louise is here to see you.
The first person I met was a nurse, a woman nurse, middle-aged with a pleasant smile, carrying some clean linens. "Miss," I said, "can you tell me where to find Dr. Corbet?"