Day Nine

by Clayton Spann

Saturday, June 27

  Through the parlor window she saw the carriage approach. On the parade ground the swarm of North Carolina soldiers continued to pitch their tents.

  She called to Sandie Pendleton, who had come directly to the post commandant’s quarters.

  “He’s here, Major. We had better step outside.”

  The young man, though brave and battle tested, paled. She didn’t blame him. Her own heart pounded.

  Pendleton held the front door open for her. They stepped onto the veranda just as General Ewell pulled up in the big black carriage. Mounted beside him were Campbell Brown, the Second Corps adjutant, Hunter McGuire, corps medical director, and Reverend Lacy, chief chaplain.

  McGuire smiled at her.

  “What’s this, Sandie?” asked Ewell. His voice whistled as he spoke, and eyes fairly popped from their sockets as he scanned her. “I thought everyone had cleared out.”

  McGuire was quickly off his horse to help Ewell out of the carriage. The doctor handed him a crutch.

  “They have, sir,” said Pendleton. “I mean all the Yankees. This lady is a Southerner.”

  Naylor summoned her voice. She put plenty of Kentucky into it.

  “Welcome back to Carlisle Barracks, General. I have been waiting for you.”

  Ewell snorted. “Waiting? You can’t possibly have been waiting. I—” He looked sternly at Pendleton. “Do you know this woman?”

  “Very well, sir.”

  “I too, General,” said McGuire.

  Ewell turned his head back and forth between the two men. He scowled with irritation.

  “Well, who is she?”

  “Amanda Wallis, sir.”

  Naylor awarded Ewell her winningest smile. “Please come inside, General. We will explain everything.”

  “Ma’am, I don’t need your leave to enter where I will make my headquarters.”

  “I certainly was not suggesting that. Please come in.”

  “What you can be certain is that you will not remain here. Sandie, escort her into town.”

  This wasn’t going well. Perhaps she should have waited until they had Ewell inside. Old Baldy was as prickly as advertised.

  Doctor McGuire smiled at the general as broadly as had Naylor.

  “Sir, I promise you will be pleased. Mrs. Wallis has prepared something very special for you.”

  Ewell’s irritation changed to puzzlement. Then he snorted again.

  “Very well.”

  McGuire helped Ewell up the steps to the veranda. Pendleton held the door open for Naylor, then the General. Brown and Lacy filed behind. Shortly everyone was in the empty parlor.

  “Well?” barked Ewell. He pulled off his slouch hat to reveal his ample and barren pate.

  Naylor pointed toward closed double doors across the hall. “Gentlemen, Sandie and Hunter already know what is in the library. But first, I must prepare you. You will shortly face the greatest shock of your lives.”

  Ewell thumped his crutch on the carpeted floor. “Enough of this nonsense. Sandie, you best tell me quick what is going on.”

  Pendleton had grown paler. “You won’t believe your eyes, sir. But it is true.”

  “What is true?”

  “General, you are about to see a miracle,” said McGuire. “I was there in May when it occurred.”

  Naylor moved to the double doors. “What you are about to witness, gentlemen, must not be revealed. Until the first of July.”

  “Goddammit,” cried Ewell, “open those doors. Get this tomfoolery over with.” His piping voice hit a very high note.

  Naylor took a deep breath, then parted the doors. Inside stood two men in civilian clothes. One was Aaron. The other was Thomas, his empty left coat sleeve quite visible. Both men smiled tightly.

  Ewell, Lacy and Brown first looked at the men without recognition.

  “This is your pleasantry?” thundered Ewell. “Who are these men?”

  Then Campbell Brown gasped. McGuire gripped him as the adjutant general staggered back.

  The reverend was next. He dropped to his knees, praising God.

  Ewell, however, did not have a clue. He regarded his two stricken staff officers with exasperation. He again demanded the identity of the two men.

  Thomas at last spoke. “It is I, General Ewell. Returning to duty after a two month absence.”

  Still Ewell did not understand. Or maybe did not want to understand.

  “Who in the devil are you?”

  Pendleton stepped close to Ewell, probably to make sure the general did not collapse when realization at last struck.

  “It’s General Jackson, sir. He never died.”

  Ewell laughed. “The hell you say.”

  “It’s him, sir.”

  “It is not!”

  Pendleton pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Sir, this is an order from General Lee. Putting General Jackson back in command of Second Corps. You are appointed his deputy. From this moment forward you are to follow his orders without question.”

  Ewell refused to take the offered paper.

  Thomas moved toward Ewell. “General, you will read General Lee’s order and acknowledge it. And, let me say, I am glad to see you have recovered from the terrible blow you suffered at Groveton. Your courage that day was commendable.”

  Ewell stared open mouthed as Thomas approached. Naylor thought his bulging eyes actually would fly out. Then his good leg buckled as his brain accepted. Pendleton kept Ewell upright.

  Thomas now stood before and over the shorter Ewell. Thomas extended his right hand.

  “It cannot be,” whispered Ewell as he feebly shook the hand.

  “I live, General. You may thank this lady and gentleman. I was a day from death, and they saved me.”

  “I was there,” said McGuire. “I saw it all.”

  “I need to sit,” said Ewell.

  “Of course,” said Thomas. “General Ewell, Colonel Brown, let us go into the library. We have much to discuss. Sandie, make sure no one else enters these quarters.”

  “Yes, sir.” Pendleton’s face was aglow with joy.

  Thomas closed the library doors behind them. An equally delighted Doctor McGuire shook Aaron’s hand, then took both of Naylor’s in his own.

  “It is all as you said, Amanda. Praise God.”

  “‘From whom all blessings flow’,” croaked Reverend Lacy. Lacy had been personal chaplain for Thomas. Naylor had considered letting this devoted and thoroughly reliable man in on the great ruse, but she had stuck with need to know.

  The reverend’s eyes brimmed with happy tears.

  “This truly is a miracle,” said Lacy.

  “I would have to agree. Though I saw Amanda treat him with my own eyes.”

  “Victory is surely ours now,” said Lacy.

  Naylor fervently hoped so. This was the last big hurdle, getting Thomas reunited with his command. Thousands of Confederate troops would guard Thomas’ well being from here. And the Yankees—she smiled at her now habitual use of the term—appeared to have no clue of his existence.

  Ewell and his staff would still have to keep the presence of Thomas secret until around four p.m. on the first. She had disguise ready, a paste on walrus mustache, a wooden arm in a cast and sling, a sergeant’s uniform, and a bandage around a fake throat wound to excuse him from speaking. Thomas would ride to Gettysburg in one of the staff supply wagons.

  “Let’s get some fresh air,” said McGuire.

  The group went onto the veranda. The brigades from Rodes’ division continued to settle on the broad parade ground. Naylor could also see soldiers on the verandas and balconies of the barracks that flanked the parade ground.

  A major general and two brigadiers walked toward the commandant’s quarters. The major general was probably Rodes. He looked like someone not to fool with—as did most everyone associated with the Army of Northern Virginia.

  Pendleton intercepted them.
He spoke lowly. Naylor could catch enough to hear that General Ewell was momentarily indisposed. His indigestion. The generals nodded knowingly. Nobody wanted to consult with the corps commander when he was in a foul mood. Pendleton said Ewell would see them later.

  The tension at last seeped out of Naylor. She had accomplished her mission. At least as much that she could control. The rest was up to the two greatest military minds of the age. She had set the table for them, now they must clear it.

  She and Aaron would leave for Transit One on Monday. Thomas would provide a cavalry escort all the way up the Cumberland Valley to the drop point at Hagerstown. The distance was fifty-three miles, or two day’s travel. Before the sun set on Wednesday—the First of July—they should stand atop Catoctin Mountain.

  Naylor knew her heart would be in her throat as they stepped into the transit. For what lay in 1882 would quickly tell whether they won or lost.