And One Wore Gray

by Heather Graham

  She did tell them about the battle that had been fought in her front yard, and she carefully minimized any danger to herself. She was determined to be cheerful, and she told whatever stories about the antics of their neighbors that she could embroider upon.

  The letters she received in turn were too much like those of the young man who had died in their barn. They all knew that they might meet death any day and they stressed emotions and feelings. Mainly, they stressed love, and the appreciation for the quality of the lives they had already lived.

  On Thanksgiving, Rudy Weiss appeared very early at her door with his wife at his side. Surprised to see them, Callie stared at the pair for a moment, then quickly invited them inside.

  Helga, Rudy’s wife, a tall woman with a broad, ample bosom and truly apple-red cheeks, brought in a big basket and offered it to Callie with a shy smile. “Thanksgiving. And you are alone. You should not be alone. We have brought you a goose and corn and mein own apple sauce. It is good.”

  “Well of course, it’s good! I’m sure it’s wonderful. I thank you very much.”

  They stayed with her, and they shared the goose, and before he would leave, Rudy wanted to know if she needed anything done that she could not handle herself. She told him that no, she was fine. She’d had the windows repaned soon after the battle by glassworkers from town, and she felt that she was really in very good shape.

  All of the Sharpsburg area was slowly healing. What remained of the corn was all in. Winter was coming to cleanse the rest of the landscape.

  “Thank you for coming,” Callie told them at the door when they were leaving. “I know that you—I know that it is important for you to remain with your own people, and so it is doubly good of you to come to me.”

  Helga clicked her teeth. “We are a plain people, not a mean one!” she assured Callie. She kissed her cheek, just like a surrogate mother, and she and Rudy quietly walked down the steps.

  Callie wondered whether she might spend Christmas with Rudy and Helga, but just a few days before the holiday, she saw a soldier walking down the path toward the house, leading a handsome bay horse. Something about the way that he moved drew her attention, even while he was at a distance.

  She dropped the feed bucket that she had been carrying for the chickens and started to run. She ran as fast as her feet would carry her, and then she threw herself into the soldier’s arms.

  “Jeremy!” she cried, delighted. The youngest of her brothers had come home.

  “Callie, Callie!” He held her face between his palms, staring into her eyes, then he crushed her to his chest once again. “God, it’s so good to see you! I’ve missed you so much! And home. Callie, I can’t tell you what it’s like to be away from home like this!”

  “But you look wonderful, Jeremy, wonderful! What a mustache! That’s one of the finest mustaches I’ve ever seen!”

  And it was. Rich, dark red, full, well-manicured, and twirling nicely.

  His eyes were silver-gray. Quick to burn, quicker still to sparkle, as they did now. “You like it, huh?”

  “Well, it makes you look old. Very old.”

  “Old enough to be a lieutenant?”

  “You’ve been promoted! Oh, how wonderful!”

  He shrugged. “Callie, we have an atrocious death rate. It’s horrible to say, but sometimes the Rebs are better fighters. Not many Yanks can deny that Bull Run was a ‘skedaddle.’ There have been lots of battles like that. We fare better in the West than they do in the East, but not much. Callie, those Rebs are fighting for their homeland. We’re marching all over it, stripping everything from it. And they’re killing us right and left. Promotions come quickly in wartime.”

  “Jeremy, I’m proud. And I know that Pa would be proud, and glad that he made you all go to military school, even if we are farmers. But I don’t care about that right now, I’m just so glad that you’re home. And on leave. You are on leave, aren’t you? Jeremy! You didn’t desert, did you? I heard in town the other day that desertions were pouring in from both sides, that men were trying to go home for winter. You didn’t just pick up and walk off, did you?”

  “No, no, I’m on leave. I have until the day after Christmas, and then I’ll have to start back. But Josiah couldn’t come now, and neither could Joshua. They’re outside Vicksburg, Mississippi, and there aren’t many leaves being given there. I reckon I’ll have to report there, too, once I get back. Lucky for me, this promotion gave me Christmas.”

  “I’m so grateful!” Callie exclaimed.

  The days that passed were wonderful for her. She loved all of her brothers, but Jeremy was her favorite. They had been closest in age. They had fought in the haystacks, they had tried to tear out each other’s hair.

  They had banded together against their older brothers, against their parents, against anyone who would dare say something ill of the other.

  It was so good to have him home. Somehow the nights were a little easier. Her sleep was still plagued with dreams, but during the day she was no longer alone.

  She wanted to tell him about Daniel, but she knew that she couldn’t. She wanted to tell him that he was going to be an uncle, but she couldn’t do that, either. She couldn’t send him back to war upset or angry or worried about her.

  On Christmas morning Callie presented him with a beautiful navy blue scarf that would help keep him warm in the brutal winter weather. It was a fine, handsome piece of clothing, and his gratitude for it showed in his eyes.

  “I didn’t have time to be anywhere near so creative, Callie,” he told her.

  “Your being home is gift enough, Jeremy.”

  He smiled. “I said that I wasn’t creative. I didn’t say that I didn’t have anything at all.”

  He presented her with a box wrapped in silver paper. She opened it to discover a beautiful cameo. She stared at her brother.

  “I bought it. Legitimately.”

  “From?”

  “A lady in Tennessee,” he said softly. “She had four children and a husband dead at Shiloh. She wasn’t doing well feeding the children with her Confederate paper money. She wanted Union dollars. I gave her plenty of them, I promise you.”

  “But you took this brooch from her—”

  “Callie, she didn’t want charity. I told her about you. She said that she’d be happy if you wore it.”

  He took the pin, and carefully set it on her bodice. He stepped back, smiling. “Callie, I promise you, I paid her much more for it than it was worth.”

  Callie smiled. “I’m glad.”

  She hugged him, then pushed him away. “We have to get into town for church, and then I’ve got one of the biggest chickens for the fire that you’ve ever seen.”

  “And apple pie?”

  “Of course.”

  They sat through the Anglican service in town. Callie kept her head bowed all through the service, certain that she should be praying and begging pardon for her sins.

  Up by the altar was an old crèche. The Christ child lay in a cradle of straw, tiny arms outstretched. As she watched the crèche, she felt a warmth almost overwhelming her. She closed her eyes tightly. She could almost envision the baby, feel the softness of its flesh, see the tiny fingers, hear the squalling cries. Perhaps she had been wrong, perhaps she had sinned. A war was going on. The “war of the rebellion” as Jeremy was calling it—or the “civil war” as Daniel had referred to it. No matter what was going on, there could be no evil in a precious babe, and she was convinced of it. She felt like crying, and she felt incredibly happy.

  She must have been crying, because Jeremy pressed a handkerchief into her hands.

  When they left the church, Callie stepped back as Jeremy was greeted by the townspeople. The men shook his hand. Women kissed his cheeks. A few of the more brazen—or lonelier—of the ladies left behind were so bold as to kiss his lips. Callie just leaned back against the church building, watching and enjoying.

  They headed back home at last.

  Callie thought that she had be
en well over the sickness. She had felt wonderful for days before Jeremy had arrived home. But right in the middle of setting the table for their meal, she suddenly felt a violent upheaval.

  Jeremy, putting out the forks, looked up at her strangely. “What’s the matter?”

  She wanted to answer him; she couldn’t. She tore out the back door and leaned over the railing, then choked and spilled out the apple and the porridge she had eaten that morning.

  “My, Lord, Callie!” Jeremy cried, concerned, his hands on her shoulders. He pulled her around. He touched her forehead. “No, no, you’re not feverish. Come in and lie down. I’ll hitch the wagon back up and head to town for the doctor—”

  “No! I don’t need a doctor.”

  “Callie, I won’t leave with you being sick like this!”

  “I’m not sick, Jeremy.”

  “I just saw you—”

  “Jeremy, it was nothing. Trust me. I’m not sick.”

  She didn’t know when something he had learned about women suddenly dawned in his mind.

  “My Lord, Callie, you’re—why, you’re in a family way. Oh, poor Callie, with Gregory dead these many, many months—” He broke off, staring at her, his mouth gaping for a moment. “Callie, Gregory’s been dead way too long.”

  She stared straight at him. She tried to feel the coolness of the breeze.

  “The baby isn’t Gregory’s.”

  “Then whose baby is it? I’ll find the man, Callie. He’ll do right by you, I swear it.”

  She shook her head. “Jeremy, I don’t want you finding anybody.”

  “It was a soldier?”

  She hesitated.

  “Why, those bloody bastards! Callie, you were”—he couldn’t quite seem to spit out the word, and then he did—“raped?”

  She shook her head again. “No.”

  He lifted his hands, at a loss. She’d never seen him more hurt.

  “Callie, I can’t help you if you won’t let me.”

  “I don’t want to be helped.”

  “Callie, any Union soldier would be proud to come back here—” He broke off, his eyes widening, then narrowing sharply. “My God, it wasn’t a Union soldier. It was a goddamned Reb!”

  “Jeremy—” She reached out a hand to him.

  He backed away. “A goddamned Reb. Pa’s dead, and Gregory’s dead, and hell, you’ll just never know how many others. You don’t get to see your friends and neighbors explode daily! My God. My sister’s having a Reb bastard. My own sister! Goddamned, Callie, I don’t even want you in my house anymore!”

  “Jeremy—”

  “Don’t touch me, Callie!” he snapped. He spun around and went stomping off the porch.

  “Jeremy!” She tried to call him back, but he was gone. She leaned against the wall, and then she pushed away from it and made her way back into the house.

  The chicken was ready. She had cranberry sauce on the table. And thick gravy, the kind Jeremy loved the most. The table was beautiful, and she’d been so very happy.

  She leaned her face down upon the table, right against the linen. She was too weary and heartsick to cry.

  It didn’t matter. She’d fight for the baby. She’d fight Jeremy and Joshua and Josiah and the whole town.

  She’d fight Daniel too.

  But she’d lost her brother. There were more ways than death to lose someone, she realized. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. She couldn’t cry, she couldn’t. Not anymore.

  Her eyes opened, for she felt soft fingers against her cheek. She opened her eyes again and her brother was there, kneeling down by her side. “I’m sorry, Callie, God forgive me, and I pray that you forgive me. I love you, Callie. I don’t understand what you did, but I love you. And I’ll love my nephew—or niece-I swear it. I’ll be here for you.”

  She started crying, despite all her determination that she wouldn’t do so anymore. She threw her arms around his neck, and he held her.

  “Callie, I can help you still, if you let me. I can maybe find this Reb—”

  “No,” Callie said firmly.

  “Oh Lord, he hasn’t been killed already, has he?”

  She shook her head. “He is, er, out of action for the moment. Jeremy, please, just leave me be. Maybe, when the war is over, if he survives it and I can find him, I’ll let him know.”

  “Callie, damn it, he has a responsibility—”

  “Please, Jeremy, please!”

  He sighed. “Callie, I’m going to get the truth out of you if it takes me an eternity.” She smiled at last. “Well, I can’t stop you from trying. But I want this baby. And the baby is mine. Anything else is for a far distant future. All right?”

  Jeremy still wouldn’t agree. He stood up, and he started to prepare their plates. He sighed. “Well, I’ve made supper a bit cold here.”

  “I can stoke up the fire again—”

  “No, the gravy’s still warm. That’s what’s important.”

  She smiled at him.

  “Callie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Merry Christmas, sister. Merry Christmas.”

  She jumped up, because she just had to hug him one more time.

  ———— Fifteen ————

  The end of 1862 proved to be an especially brutal period for Daniel.

  While he had been held in Old Capitol, Jeb Stuart had been managing another of his sweeping raids around the Yanks, going so far as to encircle the enemy in Pennsylvania. But by the time Daniel returned to active duty, it was necessary for the Rebs to begin a tight watch around the area of Fredericksburg, Virginia.

  In the North, President Lincoln had given up trying to believe in his very popular general, George McClellan. Rumor had it that Lincoln felt sending reinforcements to McClellan was like “shoveling flies across a barn.” McClellan was removed and General Burnside was sent in to take his place.

  Daniel wasn’t so sure about the wisdom of such a choice. They were calling a bridge over Antietam Creek “Burnside’s Bridge” these days because the general had tried so long—and at such a great cost of human life—to cross that bridge.

  Burnside was a good man, though. Daniel knew him by reputation, and knew that he was loyal to his cause. He knew that Lincoln was totally disgusted with the way that “Little Mac,” as McClellan was known, had hesitated time and time again when he could have moved against the Rebels.

  It would remain to be seen just what Burnside would do. Because there was one certainty about the South. The Rebs might be low in manpower, and they might not have industrial strength, and Lord knew they hadn’t the sheer numbers of the North, but the South could boast some of the finest generals to come along in centuries. Lee would be careful, watching Burnside. Daniel still doubted there was any way Burnside could “out-general” Lee.

  Still, it seemed apparent that the new Union commander was going to be making a strike toward Richmond. The North was growing more and more desperate to take the Confederate capital.

  On the fifteenth of November, they skirmished with Federal troops at Warrenton, Virginia. By the eighteenth, General Burnside and his Army of the Potomac had arrived in Falmouth, on the banks of the Rappahannock River, across from Fredericksburg. Jeb’s cavalry was positioned at Warrenton Station.

  It was good for Daniel to be back with his troops. He was still with Billy Boudain, having managed to get the boy transferred into his cavalry regiment. Billy had been given a promotion to sergeant and was serving as Daniel’s staff assistant. Although the cavalry prepared for heavy battle, they remained the “eyes and ears” of the Confederacy, and it didn’t seem to Daniel that a single night passed in which he wasn’t sent out to scout Union positions.

  He didn’t mind. He liked falling into his cot dead exhausted every night. Sometimes the exhaustion kept him from dreaming.

  But sometimes he dreamed anyway. The dreams were sweet, and the dreams were cruel. Sometimes he’d be back on the river. He’d see the rolling landscape, feel the breeze. The river air would rust
le the leaves in the trees and all around him the world would be rich with the sweet scent of the earth.

  And she would be there. Her eyes so wide and gray, touched with shimmers of silver. She’d be whispering and in his arms. The feel of her flesh would be warm and velvet, the sweep of her hair like a caress of silk. She’d come closer, closer, whispering …

  Then, from somewhere, would come an explosion of heavy artillery, and she would be gone.

  It was war, Daniel told himself wearily. And there was nothing to be done but fight it.

  And live. Yes, live. Because he had to go back. No matter how long it took him, he had to return to that small farm near Sharpsburg.

  Sometimes when he lay awake at night, he wondered what he would do once he got there. It wasn’t to be soon. On the thirteenth of December, the situation around Fredericksburg came to a head. Burnside’s force of one hundred and six thousand men attacked the Confederates under Stonewall, a force of seventy-two thousand.

  During the battle, the Yanks were forced to attack Marye’s Heights. The slaughter was horrible.

  By nightfall, it was clear the Confederates had taken the day. For Daniel, there was little other than a hollow feeling in his heart. He’d heard that one Union soldier had commented, “They might as well have asked us to take Hell!”

  When the fighting had ended and the generals had conferred, a very weary “Master” Lee had said, “I wish these people would go away and let us alone!”

  Dear God, yes, Daniel thought. By midnight he’d made his reports, he’d been to the field hospital, and he’d braced himself against the horror to be found there. Now his men were preparing to sleep, and he was free from responsibility until morning. He walked down to the river and looked out over the water.

  Jesse would be busy tonight trying to put back the pieces of human beings.

  Just leave us alone, he thought, remembering Lee’s words. Lee had looked so weary of the war when Daniel had seen him last, delivering Aunt Priscilla’s package to him. Daniel was sick to death of the killing, and there was so much more to follow. Why couldn’t Lincoln just let them go? He didn’t understand it.