by Ginny Dye
“Meat is not available for anyone,” Whipple protested. “Surely they can’t expect us to manufacture meat from nothing.”
“There is plenty of meat,” Robert snapped.
Carrie watched him compassionately. She had talked with him right after he had returned from a two day trip to visit General Lee’s troops on the Rapidan River. He had been both angry and depressed.
“There is meat.” Robert continued in a more reasonable voice. “Plenty of it in the border counties of our state, but the farmers refuse to take Confederate money for it.”
“Surely there must be a way to obtain it,” one man responded indignantly.
“There is,” Robert agreed. “General Lee has suggested the government obtain it by barter. The farmers will accept cotton.”
“But what if the cotton makes its way to the enemy?” Whipple asked cautiously.
“I’m afraid it won’t matter if our army is incapable of fighting a battle.” Robert snapped, his patience obviously stretched to the limit. “It is simply imperative we do whatever is necessary to make certain they are equipped for battle.” His voice roughened. “In spite of some people’s belief that our army can fight on passion alone, they also require blankets, food, and clothing to keep them from freezing to death.”
Carrie reached out and took his hand to let him know she supported him. He glanced down at her and squeezed it gently.
Whipple looked over at her. “Is your husband always so indelicate about how he states things?” he asked snidely.
“My husband speaks the truth,” Carrie said clearly. “I believe that can be readily understood, no matter how it is said.” She cleared her voice, angry herself now. “How long did you serve in the army, Mr. Whipple?”
Mr. Whipple reddened, his eyes flashing with indignation. “I have been busy here in the Capitol serving my country,” he snapped, his angry look clearly saying he didn’t think she should be speaking.
“Well, then,” Carrie continued, “since you’ve obviously never been hungry,” she stared at his stomach, “and you’ve never been a soldier, you’re hardly in a position to determine what the men in our armies need or don’t need.” She turned to Robert. “May I have the next dance, please?” Nodding her head slightly, she began to move away.
“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,” Robert said, not bothering to hide the laughter in his voice. He was laughing outright when he caught up with her. “You should have seen his face! You definitely put the old windbag in his place.”
“Oh, he’s just bent out of shape because a woman dared challenge him on something,” Carrie scoffed. Then she smiled. “He’d better get used to it. The women of the South are changing. When this war is over, they’re going to know they can do things on their own - because they’ve had to. They aren’t going to be content to play the helpless female any longer. They’ll have to learn to stand up for their rights.”
“And I have no doubts you’ll be right in front volunteering to teach them,” Robert said thoughtfully.
“Does that bother you?” Carrie asked quickly, looking up for his reaction.
“Bother me?” Robert mused. “I’m proud of you. Not only are you smart and talented, you’re also the best dancer in Richmond.” He held out his arms. “May I?”
Carrie blinked away sudden tears and moved into his arms. “You’re wonderful,” she whispered, a catch in her voice.
“And don’t you forget it,” Robert grinned.
They danced for another hour before Robert begged for a reprieve. “This old man can’t keep up with you,” he pleaded.
“You’re not old,” Carrie said, then looked at him appraisingly. “You just act old,” she teased.
Robert scowled playfully. “Would you like to drink the next water I bring, or wear it, Mrs. Borden?”
“You don’t have the nerve,” Carrie said lightly. The glint in Robert’s eye told her she was wrong. “All right. All right. You do.” She laughed. “I guess perhaps you don’t act so old after all.”
Robert leaned close to whisper in her ear. “Let’s see how old you think I act when I get you home tonight.”
Carrie blushed brightly and pulled away. “Didn’t you say something about a glass of water?” she asked unsteadily.
“Coward,” Robert teased, then moved away to blend in with the crowd.
Carrie moved to the back of the room and found a seat, content to sit in silence. The long day at the hospital, combined with the hours of dancing, had worn her out. Ten minutes later Robert found her there. He approached with an apologetic look on his face. “Sorry I took so long. I ran into someone I’ve been trying to schedule a meeting with for a long time.”
Carrie looked at him closely. “And did you schedule one?”
“He’s leaving town tomorrow.”
“But he can talk tonight.” Carrie interpreted the look on her husband’s face.
“Yes,” Robert replied. “I told him I was occupied,” he added quickly.
“No, you’re not,” Carrie said firmly, rising to her feet. “You’re the night person of this family. I’m almost dead on my feet, and you’re still going strong. You stay here and talk to your person. I’ll have Spencer take me home; then he can come back for you.”
Robert opened his mouth to protest but then nodded. “It really is very important. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“I’m positive. All I want is a soft bed right now.”
“You’ll keep it warm for me?” Robert said quietly.
Carrie flushed but met his warm gaze directly. “I’ll be waiting,” she promised, then added. “Not that I won’t probably be sound asleep,” she teased.
Robert laughed then grew serious. “Thank you. I have hopes this man can help with the army’s food shortage. And don’t worry about sending Spencer back,” he added. “It’s far too cold for him to be out so much. There are plenty of people going in our direction. I’m sure someone will have room in their carriage.”
Carrie nodded, kissed him quickly, and then went in search of Spencer.
Carrie was shivering in spite of the warm blanket when Spencer finally pulled up in front of the house. “You’re sure you won’t come in and get warm before you go home?” she asked.
“No, Miss Carrie. I be just fine. My bed be callin’ my name right loud.”
“I hear you. Goodnight,” she called as she walked up the sidewalk. The house was completely dark except for one small lantern glowing in the foyer. Her father, expecting her to come home with Robert, had gone to bed.
Carrie had just reached the bottom step to the porch when she heard a rustling noise in the bushes. She tensed, straining to see whether someone was there.
“Hello, Carrie.”
Carrie gasped as a tall, emaciated figure, clad only in pants and a shirt, stepped out of the bushes toward her. She drew back instinctively. “Who is there?” she asked sharply. The voice had sounded familiar.
The figure moved closer. “I’m sorry I frightened you.”
Carrie stared in disbelief. “Matthew?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Matthew replied. “I’m sorry I frightened you.”
Carrie shook her head, trying to think through the shock. “What in the world are you doing here?”
“I need your help,” he said simply. “I’m afraid I may be putting you in some danger.”
Carrie glanced around and then pulled Matthew farther into the shadows of the porch. Only then did she realize he was shivering violently. “You’re freezing,” she exclaimed. “I’ve got to get you out of the cold,” she said suddenly.
“I have someone with me.” Matthew coughed violently, covering his mouth to stifle the sound.
Carrie knew now was not the time to ask questions. Quickly she stepped to the edge of the porch. “Come out,” she commanded softly. “You’re safe here.”
Another man, not quite as thin as Matthew, stepped out of the bushes. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Carrie stared at him. The New
York accent was unmistakable. Grabbing Matthew’s hand, she pulled him from the porch and started around the back of the house, making sure they stayed in the shadows. “We’ll go in the back,” she whispered, almost inaudibly. She knew the thick door between the kitchen and the dining room would deaden any noise.
Robert stood at the window and watched Carrie leave, then turned back to his companion. “I’m sorry you’re leaving town tomorrow, Mr. Crutchfield.”
Crutchfield shrugged his bony shoulders and ran a finely tapered hand through sandy hair flecked with gray. His dark eyes burned with intensity as he spoke. “Lee’s men are starving. It sickens me that we are surrounded with farmers who are hoarding their feed in hopes they can get even more money for it. My heart goes out to the people in Richmond as well, but I can’t help having more sympathy for the soldiers. They are starving while living in tents under rather brutal conditions.”
“Do you really think you can talk some of the farmers into releasing their food?” Robert envisioned the haunted looks of hunger in the eyes of the soldiers he had visited two weeks earlier.
Crutchfield leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I have chosen not to make this public knowledge, but I have managed to obtain a rather large shipment of cotton.” He paused and answered the question on Robert’s face. “It is stored in a warehouse a few miles from here.”
“How?” Robert sputtered, amazed.
Crutchfield merely smiled. “I find it more beneficial if I don’t reveal my methods.”
Robert grinned. “I understand. I simply hope it goes well.”
“I can feed them,” Crutchfield shrugged, “but it is General Lee who will lead them.” He paused and glanced at the room, then back at Robert. “You have talked to Lee recently. What hope does he feel for the spring?”
Robert frowned, choosing his words carefully. “Lee believes we are not in a condition to invade the North with any prospect of permanent benefit. We simply don’t have the resources.”
Crutchfield nodded. “Never have,” he said brusquely.
Robert gazed at him then decided to speak his mind. Here, obviously, was a man not blinded by romantic fantasy of Southern splendor. “He hopes that by taking the initiative this spring to fall on Meade unexpectedly and force him to retreat to Washington.”
“Can it be done?”
“Lee has done miraculous things before,” Robert said. “He hopes to use the element of surprise in his favor even though he knows he is far outnumbered.” He paused. “His goals for this summer are rather moderate, by his own appraisal. He hopes that by throwing the Federals off balance he can embarrass them and damage their plans enough to keep them flailing all summer. He hopes, in that way, to keep Meade from pursuing anything of great magnitude.”
Crutchfield swung around to the window and stared out into the cold, his breath forming a layer of fog on the glass that eventually made seeing impossible. Still, he stood there, his thin shoulders hunched in deep thought.
Robert waited. In the little time they had had together, he had gained a deep respect for the other man’s ability to see things clearly.
Finally Crutchfield turned back around. “I’m afraid the Confederacy is up against it,” he said. “In the military sense, it is quite impossible to win an unlimited victory. Yet in the political sense, it is impossible to consider anything else.”
“It will be rather hard to fit the two impossibilities together.” Robert was relieved to know other Southerners were beginning to understand the true picture. Not that understanding offered any answers. It merely painted the picture more clearly. But sometimes that was the first step to finding answers.
“Yes…” Crutchfield murmured. “I’m afraid that at the moment perhaps neither our soldiers nor our statesmen fully grasp the implications of the terrible divergence in their appraisals of the situation. Each one seems to only grasp an understanding of his own viewpoint.”
“Which is what got us here in the first place,” Robert said. “It is quite normal for two differing sides to only be able to see their own positions clearly.” Crutchfield looked at him but didn’t respond right away. Robert was glad. He still was trying to digest his conflicting emotions. He wasn’t ready to discuss them yet.
“There may still be hope,” Crutchfield said suddenly. “In November the people of the North will have their next presidential election.”
“So?” Robert was confused at the sudden switch in conversation.
“So, if the Northern people have been made to feel the war is simply too painful and discouraging to carry on any longer, they may simply vote Lincoln out of office.” Crutchfield smiled.
Robert began to understand. “If Lincoln is out of office and the next president has gotten the message that war will no longer be tolerated, they may yet decide to leave us alone.”
“Exactly,” Crutchfield agreed. “It is obvious we don’t have the capacity to achieve stunning victories, but we may indeed have the capacity to just hang on. If we can hang on long enough, the North will get tired of it. Then the voters at the polls will determine what happens. Surely they are tired of losing their men in this uncalled for act of Northern aggression. I believe many of them are willing to let us go if it means their men quit dying.”
“Not to mention our own,” Robert stated then nodded. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but it might just work. A military program based simply on the necessity of staying alive; the fall could gain what more ambitious programs have missed.”
“I’m afraid it is our only chance.”
Carrie opened the back door quietly, made sure the kitchen was empty, and then beckoned Matthew and his friend inside. Matthew sprang forward eagerly. The kitchen wasn’t exactly warm, but it was much better than outside. Wrapping his arms around himself, he tried to control his shivering body and chattering teeth. Peter was doing the same thing.
“Sit here,” Carrie commanded; then she sprang into action. Within minutes she had a fire blazing and a pot of hot water on the stove. She opened the closet and pulled out a loaf of bread, a bowl of beans, and several sweet potatoes left over from supper. Moving swiftly, she soon had hot food and hot coffee set in front of the two men. “Eat,” she said. “We’ll talk when you’re warm again.”
Matthew smiled at her and complied. The hot food eased down his throat, while pouring welcome warmth into his emaciated body. He glanced at the kitchen door and prayed silently that no one would come in to check on the noise they were making. He had taken a great risk to come here. He was confident he could count on Carrie to keep their secret, but he wasn’t so sure about Thomas. He was a friend, but he was also a government official. If Thomas was discovered aiding and abetting escaped fugitives from Libby Prison, he would lose his job – and could be branded a traitor.
Ten minutes later, Matthew shoved his plate back. At least his shivering had stopped. “Thank you,” he said fervently.
Carrie pushed back her chair and rushed over to hug him. Now that his immediate needs were taken care of, she looked full of questions. “It’s wonderful to see you,” she cried, “but what in the world has happened to you?”
Matthew took a deep breath then nodded toward his friend. “This is Peter Jansen. He’s a fellow journalist from New York.” He stopped then looked at Carrie squarely, wanting desperately for her to understand. “We’ve just escaped from Libby Prison.”
Carrie sucked in her breath. “You’ve been there again? I didn’t know.”
“There was no way to notify you.” Matthew leaned forward and took Carrie’s hand. “We need your help.”
“But how?” Carrie asked. “How did you end up back there? You’re a civilian.”
“Being a civilian and a journalist seemed to make us extremely valuable to them,” Peter said. “We’ve been there almost seven months.”
“Seven months!” Carrie gasped and shook her head. She took a deep breath. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”
Matthew gazed at her face, his heart
warmed by the compassion and friendship he saw there. Suddenly a wild hope sprang into his soul. She seemed to genuinely care for him. Could it mean something more?
Carrie reached out to take his hand. “What can we do to help? Robert and I…?”
“Robert?” Matthew gazed around, trying to ignore the burning sensation her hand produced. “He’s here? You came home in the carriage alone.”
“Robert was talking to someone at a party we attended.”
“How is my old friend?”
“He’s wonderful,” Carrie told him. “The two of you would have much to talk about if there was time. I know there isn’t.” She paused. “Robert and I are married,” she said happily.
Matthew blanched, thankful his already pale skin wouldn’t betray him. “I see,” he murmured. Then he leaned forward. “Congratulations. You two were meant for each other.” Over Carrie’s shoulder he could see the look of surprised knowing in Peter’s eyes. Matthew didn’t care. He cursed the wild hope that had once again betrayed him.
Carrie didn’t seem to notice his lack of enthusiasm. “He should be home fairly soon. I can’t imagine our hosts will want the house occupied all night.”
Matthew stood. “I think it best we not be here when he comes.”
“Why ever not?”
Matthew struggled to choose the right words. “I’m already putting you at great risk. It will not go easy for you if you are discovered helping us.”
“I don’t care about that,” Carrie cried.
“No, but I do,” Matthew said. “Robert is a whole different matter. I take it he is still serving in the military. What is his commission now?”
“Captain,” Carrie admitted.
Matthew smiled grimly. “I won’t risk having Robert branded a traitor. The army looks down on that.” His voice made clear what he really meant. “If he would be willing to help me, it would simply be too much of a risk.”
Carrie leapt to her feet. “If he would be willing to help you? How can you possibly say that? Robert is your friend.”
