Dark Chaos

by Ginny Dye

  Carrie laughed, leaned forward to kiss the startled woman on her hot cheek, and then slipped out the door before May could recover enough to say something. Robert and her father were deep in discussion when she reentered the parlor.

  Robert glanced up. “You smell good,” he commented.

  Carrie shrugged. “Must be the hay from the barn. I went out to visit Granite.” She was relieved when Robert just nodded and turned back to her father. She really wanted the meal to be a surprise.

  “Bragg never stood a chance against Grant,” Robert said, frowning.

  Thomas nodded heavily. “I knew things were going to end that way. When Bragg beat back the Union army at Chickamauga, he should have finished the job. Not that he probably could have,” he said thoughtfully. “Oh, people screamed and hollered that he just wasn’t the man for the job, and maybe he wasn’t, but the truth of the matter is he didn’t have the resources to finish what he had started.”

  “But to lay siege to Chattanooga when the Union retreated there and then sit and watch them gain strength while he got weaker surely wasn’t the answer,” Robert protested.

  “Of course not,” Thomas agreed. “There have been many people who tried to convince Davis that Bragg wasn’t the man for the job. Our illustrious president did what he wanted.”

  “And now he’s paid the price,” Robert stated, shaking his head. “That Union general, Grant, seems to be rather effective.”

  “Rather,” Thomas agreed dryly. “It was when he took over the Union army in Chattanooga that things started to change. The assault he led on November 24th was impressive.”

  “Rather lucky!” Robert snorted. “I’ve talked to a couple of men who were there. They said the Confederate position on Missionary Hill was so strong defensively it could have been held by a single line of skirmishers. When our men saw 20,000 Union soldiers surging up that hill, they just panicked. The fellow I talked to said they just turned tail and ran.”

  “Luck or skill,” Thomas replied. “It doesn’t really matter. In the end, Grant was in sole charge of Chattanooga. I think it is fair to say Tennessee has probably been lost for good.”

  Carrie stared at him. His voice was amazingly matter-of-fact.

  Robert nodded grimly. “I heard some men talking while I was in town the other day. They were foolish enough to say they thought the Confederacy was as well off now as it was at the beginning of this year.”

  “And what do they base such a ridiculous assumption on?” Thomas barked then shook his head. “Those men must have blinders on.”

  “I agree,” Robert replied. “From what I could tell of their conversation, they were basing their remarks on just the area between Richmond and Washington. They contended that the rival armies had neither advanced nor retreated, in spite of the Union’s greater power. They were boasting that the Union’s cry of ‘On to Richmond’ always meant either a bloody beating or a shameful blunder for the invaders.”

  “Did you remind them there is more to the Confederacy than the relatively small amount of land between Richmond and Washington?”

  “I didn’t figure it would serve any purpose to try to reason with men who were obviously ignorant,” Robert said dismissively.

  Carrie moved forward with hot coffee and refilled both their cups. Her father smiled at her gratefully, took a sip, and then resumed talking.

  “The truth of the matter is that the government is almost bankrupt. We have an overinflated currency and a grossly inadequate tax system.” He took a deep breath. “We have no foreign affairs worth mentioning. Most of the other countries have decided after this summer that we will inevitably be defeated and have pulled back into the Union fold.” He stopped and stared into the fire. “Add to that the fact we have lost cities, rivers, and whole armies this summer. No, I’m afraid that at the end of this year we have nothing but trouble to look at.” He grimaced. “I fear what will happen when winter is over.”

  “Do you think it can possibly continue?” Carrie asked anxiously.

  “Oh, it will continue,” Thomas replied grimly. “I heard President Davis’ speech to the Congress a few weeks ago.” He picked up a paper. “Let me read you what he said.” He cleared his throat.

  “The Northern government refused even to listen to proposals for the only peace possible between us - a peace which, recognizing the impassable gulf which divides us, may leave the two peoples separately to recover from the injuries inflicted on both by the causeless war now being waged against us.”

  Thomas stopped and looked up. “After having said that, he finished with this.”

  “We now know that the only reliable hope for peace is in the vigor of our resistance.”

  Robert looked at Carrie. “Davis believes there is no conceivable way to bridge the gap between the North and the South. Therefore his only hope is to fight as hard as he can. To believe that somehow our armies can be made strong enough to keep the battle line from breaking.”

  “What do you believe?” Carrie asked him quietly.

  Robert shrugged. “I’ve thought a lot about it. I’ve come to agree with your father that the defeat of the South is inevitable. I have to believe that somehow the gulf separating the two halves of our country can be bridged.” He shook his head. “I just don’t know how it’s going to happen.”

  Flushed with the heat pouring from her stove, Abby bustled about the kitchen of her handsome house. She, promising a feast, had invited several friends over for Christmas dinner. The aromas wafting through her house were testimony to the success of her efforts the last two days.

  Abby had welcomed the flurry of activity to take her mind off Matthew. She had heard nothing since a brief notice from his office early in the fall that he had been taken prisoner, was once again in Libby Prison, and that all prisoner exchanges had been halted. She vividly remembered his stories from his first confinement. The last few days she had felt a heavier burden every time she thought of him. Not knowing was driving her mad. What was he being forced to endure? She shuddered, turned to stare out the window, and then whispered a prayer for him. After long minutes, she turned away. She had company coming.

  Abby checked the last of her pies baking in the oven before she hurried into the dining room to put the finishing touches on her table. Greenery was abundant, and candles lent a soft glow throughout the room. Preferring the ambiance of candles, she had turned off the lanterns for this meal. A crackling fire blazed in the fireplace. A small tree in the corner cast a delightful fragrance through the room.

  She had just completed her preparation when the doorbell pealed through the house. Abby whipped off her apron, stuffed a loose hair back into her bun, checked the mirror to make sure there were no smudges on her face, and then walked slowly to the door.

  Soon the house was full of the laughter of ten young women. Abby gazed at them fondly. All of them had been invaluable in her efforts to collect the petitions she had vowed to accumulate in Philadelphia. All of them were also childless, with their young husbands off fighting for the Union somewhere. Abby had been planning this meal for them for over a month. It was her way of saying thank you. It was also her way of helping ease the pain of a day designed for family.

  “I got a letter from Bernie,” Deborah, a stunning young redhead said happily. Then she frowned. “It was wonderful to hear from him, but it must be simply awful to be stuck in tents during this horrid weather. This war simply has to end soon.”

  “President Lincoln is sure it will,” Audrey, a rather plain looking blond, said eagerly. “He’s already talking about reconstruction. It makes the work we’re doing even more important. One of the results of this war must be that all of the slaves are set free.”

  “They need to have the vote,” Corrie Ann said firmly. Her plump face shone with determination. “That’s the only way things will change.”

  “Well, certainly,” LeAnn said impatiently, then glanced at Abby. “But what about us? We need to have the vote.” Her cobalt blue eyes glistened under
her stylish black hair.

  “I don’t know,” Corrie Ann said uncertainly. “I don’t think now is the time to fight over that issue.”

  “Nonsense,” LeAnn snorted. “If we’re going to spend all this time fighting for equality for blacks, surely there is nothing wrong for wanting it to extend to ourselves.” She raised her voice to make sure everyone heard her. “I think we’re passing up the best opportunity we will have for what might be a very long time. Right now the whole country is looking toward change. They are actually considering the vote for black men. Not too many years ago that would have seemed completely impossible.” She took a deep breath and looked around at her audience. “The whole country will be in turmoil when this war finally ends. Everyone’s energy will be spent rebuilding the country. Very few people will want something else major thrown in their faces. Asking them to consider women’s right to vote will guarantee they block their ears.”

  “Surely it won’t be that bad,” Deborah protested even though her voice didn’t sound as if she believed it herself. “Our country can only stand so much right now.”

  LeAnn turned to Abby. “What do you think, Mrs. Stratton?”

  Abby gazed around at the group of women looking at her and nodded her head. “I’m afraid you’re right, LeAnn. But I guess there is also some truth in what the people say who think we should shelve women’s rights during this time.” Then she shook her head. “Having said that, I want to say again that I think women are missing the best chance for equality they will have in a long time.”

  “Then why don’t the leaders of our movement insist on pushing it through?” LeAnn exclaimed. “Surely they aren’t afraid. I’ve never seen such bold women in my life.”

  “They’re not afraid for themselves, certainly,” Abby agreed quickly. She paused, searching for the right words. “It’s rather difficult to explain.” She stopped again, gathered her thoughts, and then continued. “Whenever change is introduced, especially if it is great change, there is always pain associated with it. Human beings seem rather to be creatures of habit. It is difficult for them to break out of old ways of thinking - of doing things. They resist it. The forcing of change is painful. Corrie Ann is right when she says our country will experience great turmoil. This war is hardly the answer to our problems – it’s really just another piece of them. A rather large piece,” she added.

  “But you can’t back away from the pain,” LeAnn protested, her dark eyes snapping with indignation.

  “Certainly not!” Abby’s liking for this independent woman was growing stronger. This was a friendship she would like to cultivate. “Choosing to forge into change - choosing pain over security - takes a great deal of courage. Unfortunately, the number of people willing to do that is much less than those who embrace habit.” She shrugged. “The leaders of our movement had to consider that. They chose to fight for freedom for the black people. Theirs is, by far, the greatest injustice.” She stood. “Our time will come,” she said strongly. “Our time will come.”

  Abby looked at the serious expressions on the faces of her guests and suddenly smiled. “Come on! It’s Christmas time. I won’t allow morbid faces in my house!” She clapped her hands and headed toward her piano. “I think we have just enough time for some songs before the ham is done. Can I interest anyone?”

  Dismal expressions dropped away as smiles of anticipation replaced them. Soon, song echoed through the house. Abby sang for Matthew.

  Matthew woke from a fitful sleep and rolled over to check the marks on the wall. Suddenly he frowned as he stared at the straight little lines. He counted them and then counted them again. “Christmas,” he muttered thickly.

  “Yeah, Christmas,” one of his hole mates said sarcastically. “Merry Christmas, Matthew.”

  Matthew stared at him woodenly. He had fought as hard as he could to keep despair from gripping him, but he could feel it tightening his grasp. The constant aching cold and the gnawing hunger were wearing on him. He blinked his eyes to keep visions of happier Christmases from haunting him. Rat Dungeon was his only reality. Dreaming of the outside world would push him over the edge.

  Suddenly he heard the sound of clumping feet. Pulling himself up into a sitting position, he waited for the guard to open the tiny hatch above them. The bread morsels had become harder and drier, but he knew they were the only thing between him and death. Sometimes the guard just dropped them in, not caring whether they fell on the damp floor and were whisked away by the rats before the prisoners could get them. Matthew had learned to wait and reach for them as soon as the guards dropped them.

  Without one word from the outside world, Matthew knew the war was going badly for the Confederates. The guards’ tempers seemed to worsen on a daily basis. Matthew was crouched just below the door when it swung open.

  “Matthew Justin!” the guard called loudly.

  Matthew jumped and looked up. “Yeah?”

  “Merry Christmas,” the guard said sarcastically. “You’re out of here.”

  Matthew stood in stunned silence, afraid to believe his ears.

  “Hey, man!” one of his fellow prisoners called. “They’re talking to you. You’re out of here. You better move before they change their minds.”

  Matthew glanced back at the man speaking and nodded numbly, sudden tears springing to his eyes. The door behind him swung open, and the guard motioned him forward. Matthew raised his head high, a symbol he hadn’t been defeated, and walked steadily from the hole. The cheers of his fellow prisoners followed him.

  Matthew gulped in the relatively fresh air of the upper prison. Just before he reached the door that would take him to his original floor, the guard stopped him, twisting his arm cruelly. “I wouldn’t entertain any more ideas of escaping,” he said coldly. “Next time they might never let you out.”

  Matthew stared at him evenly then nodded. He wanted to spit in the guard’s face, but it was better to let his captors think he had been cowed into submission. That way they wouldn’t be watching him any more closely than they would be already.

  Captain Anderson was waiting for him just on the other side of the door. “Matthew!” he exclaimed, clasping his hand warmly.

  “Good to see you,” Matthew said casually, trying not to notice the look of horror on Anderson’s face. He could only imagine what he looked like after three months in Rat Dungeon. “Got some scissors?” he asked. “I have a feeling I need a haircut.”

  Anderson laughed then motioned to the other men. “Rat Dungeon didn’t break him,” he called out jubilantly. “I told you he was a bigger man than that.”

  The other men rushed forward to grip his hand or give him a hug. Matthew choked back tears at the warm display of affection. Finally Peter, who had been waiting at the back of the men, stepped forward and embraced him. “You ready for Christmas dinner?” he asked jovially.

  “Christmas dinner?” Matthew echoed. “You mean you have more to eat than bread and water?”

  “It’s nothing exciting, but they did give us portions of meat and beans,” Anderson said. “We all saved you some.”

  Suddenly Matthew found himself staring down at a plate heaping with hot food, his eyes blurred with tears. He paused for a moment to give thanks then began to eat ravenously.

  Dr. Wild and Matron Pember had been there for almost an hour now, laughing and chatting with Thomas and Robert in the parlor.

  “I feel terribly lazy,” Matron Pember called. “Isn’t there something I can do to help?”

  “Not a thing,” Carrie called back gaily. “You just need to enjoy yourself.” It thrilled her to do something for the person who had made her first days at Chimborazo more bearable. To say she had been overwhelmed would be putting it mildly.

  Carrie dashed back in the kitchen and saw May nodding her head. “I can call them to the table now?” she asked excitedly.

  “Yes, ma’am,” May said serenely, reaching for a fresh apron. “Everything be ready.”

  “Not quite,” Carrie said as
she strode across the room.

  “What you be doing, Miss Carrie?” May asked, startled.

  Carrie ignored her and pulled two large plates out of the cupboard. Swiftly she moved from pot to pot until the plates were almost overflowing with food. “These are for you and Miles,” she said, smiling. “That army out there might eat all of it if you put it out there. I intend to make sure you two eat just as well as we do. If I had my way, you would come out there to join us.”

  May stared at her then broke into a cackling laugh. “Won’t that be the day?” she exclaimed. “Marse Cromwell would fall over dead.”

  “Probably,” Carrie agreed. “But the day is coming.” She put her hand on the door then looked back. “Merry Christmas, May.”

  “Merry Christmas, Miss Carrie,” May said timidly, her eyes glowing. “You be a fine woman.”

  Carrie smiled and moved through the dining room and into the parlor where she clapped her hands. “Time for dinner,” she announced merrily.

  Thomas was apologizing before he even stood. “I’m sorry we can’t offer you more of a Christmas feast,” he said to Dr. Wild.

  “Think nothing of it,” Dr. Wild protested. “It’s simply wonderful to have such a hospitable home to spend the day in.”

  Robert sidled up to Carrie. “You look like the cat that just swallowed the canary,” he accused. “What are you up to?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Carrie protested innocently, batting her eyes at him provocatively.

  “Yeah, right.” Robert grinned.

  Carrie indicated where everyone was to sit and then reached for the bell to summon May. It had barely tinkled before the door swung open. May strode in quickly, carrying a tray holding a large, succulent ham. Close behind her was Miles with a plate piled with roasted venison and turkey. Carrie grinned as she watched the mouths of those surrounding the table drop open in amazement.