An Uncivilized Yankee

by V. V. Wedding

  Lewis shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea … at the time.”

  Logan grabbed his saddle, foot in stirrup. “I’ll get a surgeon—”

  “Sorry, Logan. Not this time.”

  The captain looked over at Travis for confirmation. Travis’ shoulders slumped. He shook his head. It’s no good, sir, he thought, refusing to say it aloud.

  They’d reached the farmhouse. As Travis carefully put the major down by the front door, Logan reached out, took one of Lewis’ hands and held it tight, eyes closed. Was his captain crying?

  A shadow fell across them. Travis looked up to see General Averell, astride a lathered bay, staring down at them in shock. He saluted with his free hand. The general returned the salute in a dazed manner.

  “Will Lewis?”

  Lewis squinted up at the dark figure. “Hello, Averell. So, you’re finally returning the visit.”

  “Are you badly wounded?”

  “It’s mortal.”

  General Averell passed a hand across his face wearily. “Damn. I am sorry—”

  Lewis interrupted him. “Have a message for Fitz?”

  A nod. “Yes. Can you deliver it?”

  “I reckon I’ll last that long.”

  Averell pulled a letter and a parcel from his saddlebag, handing them to Logan. Travis caught the rich aroma of coffee as his captain placed them on the doorstep.

  “Thank you, major,” the general said, the pained expression still on his face. He shook it off and turned to Logan. “Captain, round up your men. We’re leaving.” In a whirl of mud and leather he was gone.

  Travis stared after him. “What was that all about?”

  Lewis and Logan shared a thin smile.

  “Fitz Lee and Averell were friends at the academy,” Logan explained, his voice very tired. “Remember that mess over at Hartwood a few weeks back? Well, Fitz left our general a little letter, telling him to either go away, or return a visit and bring some coffee. And now the visit’s over. We’ve got to go.” He gripped his friend’s hand tighter still, saying some kind of private farewell with that final handshake, then mounted without a word and rode off.

  Travis hesitated; Major Lewis frowned at him. “Follow orders, mister,” he rasped.

  Instead he made one more useless effort to ease the Confederate’s pain. Lewis pushed at his hands ineffectually. “Go on. I’ll live ... a while longer....” Suddenly he grinned, an impish grin. “Anything you’d like to … say to my niece?”

  Travis felt his face reddening. How could he know? I didn’t even know! “Tell her … tell her if she ever needs anything, I’m still her friend.” How I wish I could be more, especially now. This is going to devastate her.

  “Friend?” An eyebrow arched inquisitively. He did know! And he seemed not to disapprove. “I’ll tell her.”

  “Thank you. Goodbye, sir. It’s … it’s been an honor to know you.”

  Lewis leaned back against the doorframe and saluted. “See ya in hell, Yank.”

  Travis managed a wobbly smile and returned the soldiers’ farewell, “See ya in hell, major,” before grabbing Ginny and heading back towards the woods. But his thoughts were not with the dying man. They were with a slender girl on a gray horse. He could almost see her, making her way across the muddy ground, stopping here and there with healing hands or heavy heart.

  Oh Lord, please comfort her and guard her, as I can do neither.

  “Miss Anderson? You had better get over here and quick!” General Stuart’s voice roared over the field.

  “Coming, sir,” she yelled back, signaling for the stretcher bearers to pick up the man she’d been working on, then paused for an instant to get her bearings. Why, that’s the Wheatleys’ house! How could she not have realized how close she was to home? She pushed down the constant longing to see her sister, and headed across the hoof torn field. The general was over by the old brick farmhouse, where the main Federal position had been. Federal? Oh no, please, not Travis! She clutched her cloak tighter about her and broke into a run.

  The general—no, both generals: Fitz Lee was there too—were kneeling on the muddy ground by the front door. Lee was staring at a piece of paper, a tight, angry smile on his face. Beside him, Stuart supported…. Her whole body went numb.

  “Will,” she breathed, falling to her knees at his side, mindless of the cold and wet. Must see the wound, stop the bleeding. She dug into an apron pocket, pulled out a wad of cloth, pressed it against his stomach, pushed at the blood. But there were too many signs of futility—beneath her hands the muscles were rigid, the abdomen swollen, and he seemed to be struggling to breathe normally. She focused on his aura for a moment. A flame red haze streaked with black. Pain, excruciating pain, and death. Gut shot. Far beyond her strength or ability to Heal, but she could at least take some of the pain….

  He pushed away her hands. “Don’t.”

  Every ounce of her body screamed denial. “Let me do something. I’ve got to try!” Her voice rose frantically. Oh, Will, don’t you leave me too!

  Will slowly shook his head, one arm crooking across his belly protectively. “Save your strength.” Then he paused, as if reconsidering. “Cariad, there is something you could do….” His voice faded, but she had caught his thought.

  “No. Oh no. Please, don’t ask that of me,” she said in a broken voice, tears trickling down her cheeks. Travis, crumpling into the dirt beneath her hands….

  “Then I won’t ask.” He gripped her hand hard. “Have a message.”

  She swallowed her tears, listening, eyes shut tight against the reality before her. All she could think of was what she’d told Travis, another lifetime ago. “Every man who has ever promised to look after me is dead. Every one of them. Except Uncle Will, and now you.”

  “From your Yankee.”

  Her eyes flew open in disbelief. Travis had been here?

  Her uncle managed a wink. “A good man. Tried to help me. Said if you … if you ever need him … still your friend….”

  He broke off, took a deep shuddering breath, stroked her face briefly. A tracing of blood remained where his fingertips touched. She could feel it, a line of ice across her cheek. She took the hand in both of hers, clutched it tight. Suddenly she felt a jolt of energy, a too thin cloud of blue pushing into her. She froze, horrified, as she realized what her uncle had just done.

  “Will! No!”

  The smallest of smiles. “Love you, cariad.”

  One by one the tiny sparks flared and vanished; his fingers fell limp from her hands. Her eyes followed the movement down and remained there, focused on the rust stained hand. When she could tear her gaze away, back to his face, General Stuart was closing Will’s eyes, tears streaming unabashedly down his face to disappear into his beard.

  “Farewell, old friend,” he said quietly.

  It hit her all at once. Oh God no nonononono not Will! A hand at her elbow—Fitz Lee. Helping her to her feet. She heard a sound from far away, the heart rending cry of a banshee. That’s me, she realized dully, unable to control the sound. The scream stopped; she couldn’t breathe through the lump of tears in her throat. She just stood there, swaying against the general’s sturdy form. Voices, talking to her. Talking gibberish. I can’t understand you! she shouted, but they didn’t hear her, kept rumbling at her.

  She felt herself being picked up, carried away, away from Will, away from safety. No! It’s all a mistake. He’s not really dead. She tried to move, to go back, but her body wouldn’t listen to her either. She clamped her eyes shut. Fire danced around the edges of her vision. Will and Mother, lying silently side by side, burning black in the flames. NO!

  She cried out once more, then the merciful darkness came.

  It was the flickering glow of a lamp that she first saw when she risked reopening her eyes. She was laid out on a bed, a thoughtful blanket draped over her. Across the room sat General Stuart, bowed over a small table, writing.

  Probably to Pelham’s family, she thought sadly, the voice from
that afternoon echoing in her head. Then the worst of the day’s losses collapsed on her, bringing a very physical pain with it. She let out a whimper.

  The general heard her and came over to stand by her bed. She stared up at him. How do you find the strength to keep going, when all around you are falling?

  “Miss Anderson, can you hear me now?” His voice seemed to come from very far away.

  She nodded, a barely perceptible motion.

  “That’s good. You had us worried for a while.”

  On top of all your other problems, sir? I’m so dreadfully sorry. I never meant to become such a burden to you.

  He was still talking. “…what to do with you now. You are certainly in no condition to continue here….”

  Oh, sir, please no. Don’t send me back! He will destroy me!

  “…thought it would be best to bring your uncle to Woodhaven. Your aunt was overjoyed to know you were still alive, and your sister said ‘please come home’. Seems your cousin was finally drafted, under Ewell now.”

  If he was no longer there….

  “Miss Anderson.” The general brought her back to the present. “I’m dreadfully sorry, my dear, but I can’t let you stay here, not without Lewis. Now that the Bancroft boy is gone, you should be safe at home, correct?”

  Another nod.

  “Then tonight we’ll take you there.”

  The moon was just over the trees when their tiny band started down the sloping road that led over Mountain Run to Woodhaven. The general had “borrowed” a buggy from somewhere, insisting that Miss Anderson was not capable of riding, not even for such a short distance. Starla hadn’t argued; he was right. Instead she sat like a statue, deaf and dumb, while the young trooper beside her handled the reins. Iris was tied to the back of the buggy, head drooping, a mirror of her mistress’ grief.

  The trees dropped away, the road twisted sharply, and Woodhaven stood before them. The first glimpse of it used to fill her with pride. The mellow red brick, stately white columns, the gentle curve of the wings that linked the outbuildings to the main house—this was her inheritance, her home. But tonight there was no thrill, except a frisson of fear. In the moonlight, Woodhaven seemed haunted. The tall pillars that flanked the front door were sentinel ghosts; the pale marble steps led only to a grave. For the first time in her life, she actually entertained the thought of taking Danica and fleeing into the world, leaving this cursed place to the Bancrofts.

  Stuart dismounted and helped her down from her seat. The driver stacked her meager pile of belongings on the doorstep while another trooper untied Iris and led her away to the stable.

  “We’ll care for your horse, but then we’ve got to be off,” the general explained as he knocked on the big carved doors. A light flickered upstairs and he turned as if to leave. Putting out a hesitant hand, Star touched his sleeve. Wait, please. She tried to speak, but it was as if all her unshed tears had rusted her throat shut. She tried again.

  “General Stuart? Thank you, sir. For everything.”

  He smiled gently. “My friends call me Jeb, Miss Anderson, and I do count you as such.” Then he cupped her chin in his gloved hand, forcing her to look up at him. “You are a remarkable young woman, Starla Anderson. You have a quick mind and a brave heart, and I know your Gift will be sorely missed. I greatly regret not being able to allow you to stay. But I will say this much: if the need, Heaven forbid, ever arises again, you may always come to us for help.” He spoke quietly, then disappeared into the night, leaving her alone in the darkness.

  The front door swung open with a groan, and she walked inside.

  10. Homefront

  March 17 – June 8, 1863

  Woodhaven (outside of Brandy Station, VA)

  Dani had just drifted to sleep when a loud thumping and the sound of someone running downstairs awakened her. Must be Bessie, she thought groggily. Is it time to start the kitchen fires already? Then she heard the big front door creak open. Who could be calling at this hour? She sat up and pulled herself from the bed, fumbling for her crutch as she did. Another set of footsteps padding down the stairs, and voices, sounding very excited. Danica silently cursed her twisted legs as she had every day for almost seven years.

  She hobbled to the landing and leaned over the railing, looking down into the front hall. Bessie was there, and Aunt Eliza, and another, a dark haired girl dressed in gray.

  “Starla!” she cried out joyfully.

  Her sister stared up at her, then rushed for the stairs, taking them two at a time. Dani found herself held in a tight embrace. Star was crying, great dry sobs, stroking her long red hair.

  “Oh, Dani. Thank God you’re all right.”

  Danica drew away, arms still wrapped around Star’s waist. “Shouldn’t I be the one saying that? Where have you been? Everyone was frantic, trying to find you.”

  A hardness entered Star’s eyes. “Aye. I’m sure everyone was.”

  Dani tried to ignore the bitterness in her voice. “This afternoon, when they brought … when the soldiers came, that was the first news we’d had of you in months. Jake said he knew….” Her voice trailed off as Star froze, a wild, hunted look about her. Merciful heavens, what did Jacob do to her this time?

  “I was safe,” Starla finally said, heading for the bedroom, arm still wrapped around Danica’s waist to support her. “With Uncle Will.”

  “But Uncle Will’s dead.”

  “That’s why I’ve returned.” With that she fell silent. Danica found she was supporting her sister as much as the other way around. Star managed to make it to her own bed, collapsed on it, and was asleep within seconds. Dani pulled a blanket over the still form, pausing to touch her face tenderly.

  “Welcome home, Starla. I have missed you so.”

  In the morning Starla was up with the dawn. Since the accident, constant pain had made Danica a light sleeper, and the furtive movements her sister made as she dressed and tiptoed from the room were more than enough to wake her. She said nothing though. Old habits must die hard, she thought with a tiny smile. How many mornings had Star been up like this, ready to ride all day? What an adventure that must have been, riding with the cavalry. Still smiling, she buried her head under the pillow and went back to sleep.

  It felt like mere minutes before the door squeaked softly. Where Star had been was no secret; Dani could smell horse from where she lay. She risked opening her eyes.

  Star sat in the window seat, knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around and dark head resting on them. She didn’t seem to be looking out over Woodhaven’s rolling pastures, not yet green with spring, but rather at the dogwood that grew almost through the window. The Dogwood. Somehow Dani always thought of the ancient tree that way. It had been there since long before Woodhaven was built—the original house plans had been altered to avoid cutting it down. The story of how Great-grandmother Jessamine met its dryad was a family favorite. Starla had always had a fascination for the tree, had been friends with the wood maid. Papa had said it was difficult to tell who the real dryad was, as Star could usually be found perched among the gnarled and spreading branches, laughing.

  Danica found the memory bittersweet in more ways than one. She could no longer see her father’s face, even his voice had faded. The dryad had not been seen in years, not since Uncle Isaac had threatened to chop the tree down the next time anyone mentioned her existence. And now the Star who’d returned last night seemed so different from the happy, carefree big sister of her memories.

  Starla lay silent in bed, staring at the moon shadowed leaves dancing on the ceiling and listening to the slow, steady breathing of Dani asleep across the room. There was a faint cough. Well, I thought Dani was asleep anyway....

  “Are you awake, Star?”

  “Yes, dear.” How can I sleep, when I feel so empty inside?

  “I was just wondering…?” Her light voice trailed off uncertainly.

  Starla laced her fingers behind her head, propping it up. Here we go again, she thought.
Danica certainly had the Anderson stubbornness when it came to her curiosity. And she seemed to have the Lewis ability to smell a half truth, which was rather inconvenient.

  “Why won’t you talk about where you were?”

  “I did. I was with Uncle Will, and I worked as a nurse for General Stuart. What more is there to tell?”

  “Much more than you are sharing,” her sister snapped back, sounding more than slightly annoyed. “It’s not like you to keep things from me, Star. I don’t like it at all.”

  Starla sighed. They’d been over this ground before.

  “It wasn’t a pretty place, Dani,” she finally said. “I saw sights that would horrify you. That would still horrify me if I allowed myself to dwell on them. I don’t particularly want to talk about them.”

  “And yet you stayed,” Danica replied. “That doesn’t make much sense.”

  Star smiled thinly, thinking of the choices Will had presented to her, sitting there on the porch that night. “Yes, I stayed.”

  “Why?”

  Because I had no choice in the matter. “Because I was safe there.”

  “Safe? From what?”

  She could almost feel the confusion emanating from her sister. Dani still didn’t know why she had fled. She didn’t know of those terrible minutes in the stable … the hot, foul breath—he’d been drinking again—the pinching and squeezing of the soft flesh of her arms, the catch of splinters as he bore her down the wall, dragged her into the dirt of the stable floor … breathe, couldn’t breathe with his weight grinding against her, the smell of smoldering fabric….

  “Starla?”

  Star gasped involuntarily, and took a deep breath. “Sorry, Dani. I must have dozed off. Why don’t we talk about this later, hmm?” She rolled over, back to her sister, before another word could be said.