Soldier in Her Lap
Page 10
She inhaled and took a step back, her hand on her chest.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am,” a gray-haired man said. “I saw you coming.” He was wiry built like Lucas with the same piercing eyes.
“Are you Mr. Grady, sir?”
The man nodded. “That I am. And you are?”
“Miss Carpenter. I…uh…I came all the way from Georgia. I have a note from your son.”
“From Lucas?” His voice rose in pitch, eyes brightening.
The lump in her throat doubled in size. He was so happy to hear from his son. There was no way she could tell him Lucas had been executed. “Here. Lucas can explain things a lot better than I can.”
Mr. Grady reached for the note with a wrinkled hand, his aged fingers clutching the piece of paper as if it was precious and as fragile as a butterfly’s wing. He squinted, reading the note through his wire-rimmed spectacles. His lips twitched into a tiny smile and grew with each second. When he finished reading the note, he wore a jaw-stretching grin.
His attention returned to her and she felt the warmth in his gaze. “You’re Lucas’s fiancée?”
“Yes, sir,” Sophia said, her face turning hot. I used to be anyway.
“No need to call me sir. You’re practically family. You may call me Michael.”
She wetted her lips. “Yes, sir. I mean, Michael.” Her stomach churned. This felt all wrong. Mr. Grady was a stranger and he wanted her to call him by his first name. At least he didn’t want her to call him father. “And I’m Sophia.”
“I never expected my boy to fall in love in the middle of a war.” He laughed. “But I’m so glad he did,” he said, motioning her to come in the house. “Fay, we have company,” he called from the entryway.
An older woman bustled toward them in a mourning dress. Noticing Mrs. Grady’s fading blonde hair, Sophia could tell Lucas had inherited her locks. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to call.” She offered Sophia a tight smile as if it hurt.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Sophia said. “Lucas sent me.”
“He sent you?” Tilting her head, she silently waited for her to say more.
“Look, dear.” Mr. Grady handed his wife the note, saving Sophia from the awkward explanation.
“Oh, my!” Fay hurried over to Sophia and grasped both of her hands. “This truly is a blessing.”
Lucas had said his family would welcome her with open arms, but she hadn’t expected such a warm reception. They didn’t second guess the note at all, or question her identity. So trusting. So different from Papa.
Sophia’s discomfort returned with force. She was taking advantage of their kindness. What would they think if they knew she was the one who turned their son in?
“I’ve been so depressed since Thomas died. Having you here is a breath of fresh air into this dark, drafty house.”
“I…thank you,” Sophia said very uncertain. Her stomach grumbled and she blushed.
“You’ve had a long train ride. You must be hungry,” Mrs. Grady said. “Come sit at the table and I’ll get you something to eat.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” Sophia followed Mrs. Grady to the table.
Mr. Grady pulled back a chair for her and Sophia sat. Lucas had learned his manners at home. All she’d learned from Papa was how to deal with a drunk.
“Would you like coffee or milk?” Mrs. Grady asked.
“Milk, ma’am.” Sophia doubted the acidic coffee would settle well. Her nerves still had her on edge.
“I’ll be right back.” Mrs. Grady excused herself and returned from the kitchen a few minutes later with a glass of milk and a venison sandwich. It was the heartiest and most delicious meal she’d eaten in years.
Mrs. Grady sat across from her, nursing a cup of coffee. It smelled different, definitely not made of chicory. Acorns, maybe? Sophia wondered if she’d ever have a real cup of coffee again.
“I do hope you will stay with us, Miss Carpenter. The house has been so lonely since….” Her voice faded, choked with emotion.
“I’ll stay,” Sophia said before she could think. Taking another drink of milk, she hoped it would soothe her stomach. She wanted to take away the woman’s agony.
“Oh, good. I’ve always wanted a daughter. And now I have one.”
Sophia blinked, speechless. Mrs. Grady would be sorely disappointed to know the truth. A sharp pain stabbed her gut. It would be harder to tell them the truth the longer she waited, but she just couldn’t. Not now.
Mrs. Grady needed a daughter. And she needed a mother.
It would only last until news reached them their son had died. Until then, she’d bask in the moment, pretend everything was all right.
It dawned on her Lucas must have faced the same dilemma whether or not to tell her he had deserted. And she’d made the same dishonest choice. The lump in her throat made it difficult to swallow. She forced the last of her sandwich down with the rest of the milk.
“Now that you’re done eating, I’m sure you’d like to rest.”
“Yes, ma’am.” As if on cue, Sophia was unable to suppress a yawn.
Mrs. Grady smiled. “Right this way, dear. I’ll show you to your room. And then, after you’ve rested up, we can start making wedding plans.”
Her lungs seemed to collapse, all the breath leaving her. Wedding? This had gotten way out of hand very quickly. Mrs. Grady’s eyes twinkled, joy washing over her and making her appear twenty years younger.
Would it be cruel to start planning her wedding? When news reached them about their son, she could pretend to be shocked.
Maybe the Gradys would still let her stay with them. She needed a family.
Lucas’s parents were so eager to adopt her. How could she say no?
***
Sophia had long finished breakfast, but Mrs. Grady continued to talk her ear off about the wedding. The wedding that would never happen. She’d really buried herself deep. The older woman’s endless chatter helped ease her discomfort while at the same time increasing her anxiety.
Unable to get a word in, Sophia merely smiled and nodded at the woman’s ideas. Mrs. Grady had already introduced her to most of the town—all the people who would receive invitations to her wedding.
Mr. Grady had escorted her to Lucas’s house and shown her the property and introduced her to the hands. There were only two horses to take care of. The ones they’d manage to protect from the Confederate and Union armies. Retreating to the quiet of Lucas’s home seemed like a good idea. Could she say she wanted to clean the house and move over there? Would the Gradys be offended?
The knock at the door was a welcome distraction.
Who could it be? One of the ladies from church? Or someone bringing word of Lucas’s death. “I’ll get it,” Sophia said. She hurried to the door before Mrs. Grady could protest.
Cole, one of Lucas’s hands, stood at the door, hat in his hands. “I went into town today, ma’am. I have a letter for you.” Cole handed her the envelope.
Sophia’s heart jumped several beats. “Why do you have a letter for me?” No one knew she was here. If Papa or Mr. Rawlins had found out, they’d surely try to drag her back.
“It was addressed to the horse farm, ma’am. I picked it up with my mail. It is from Lucas.”
All the blood rushed to her toes. Suddenly lightheaded, she wobbled and Cole reached over and grabbed her arm to keep her from falling. He was on the wrong side of fifty, but all muscle.
“Are you all right, miss?”
“Yes. I’m fine. Really.” She regained her balance and composure and he let her go.
Sophia stared at the written words. Were these final words of good-bye, or was Lucas still alive?
Once she regained her strength and drew a deep breath, she said, “Thank you for picking up my letter. I didn’t expect to hear from Lucas so soon.”
“I reckon he can’t get you off his mind.” Cole smiled. “You’ll get lots of letters if he has the time to write them. Good day.”
Dear Miss Carpenter,
I hope this letter finds you well. I wished I could have journeyed to Tennessee with you. You are brave. I am so proud of you for starting your new life. I trust you are making yourself at home at the horse farm.
Know that I am well and back with my regiment. Your love has saved me in more ways than you will ever know. I do not know how often I will be able to write. We’re kept on the move. I do not know when the next battle will be, but know I will be fighting for you.
Your fiancé,
Lucas Grady
“Who was it?” Mrs. Grady asked, walking up behind her.
“Cole,” she said, unable to tear her gaze away from Lucas’s words. “He delivered a letter. Lucas wrote me.”
Mrs. Grady inhaled sharply. “Is he well?”
“Yes, ma’am. He’s well. You’re welcome to read it, too,” she said, passing the letter to Mrs. Grady. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go to my room and write him back. I can tell him about our wedding plans.”
Mrs. Grady squealed like a schoolgirl. “I can’t wait for this war to be over.”
“Me, too,” Sophia said. They still had their chance for a happy ending.
Chapter Twelve
January, 4, 1865
Mrs. Grady walked into the room carrying a long, emerald green dress. “This was my marrying dress,” she explained, handing it to Sophia. “I was thinking we could carefully take it apart and make you a dress.”
“Take apart your wedding dress?”
Mrs. Grady nodded. “I don’t need it any more. It will look better on you than it ever did on me. The green color with your dark brown hair will be stunning.”
Sophia’s throat swelled and her eyes burned with tears. Money was tight and fabric expensive. Giving up Mrs. Grady’s wedding dress and allowing her to take it apart was quite the sacrifice.
The woman reached across and brushed Sophia’s cheek. “No need to cry unless out of happiness.”
“Oh, yes,” Sophia said, smiling. “These are happy tears. You’ve wanted a daughter for years and ever since my mama died….”
Mrs. Grady wrapped her arms around her and drew her to her chest for a comforting embrace. “You may call me Mother, Sophia. I will always be here for you, and my husband will be, too. And Lucas.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
The next morning, Mr. Grady drove Sophia into town in the wagon. He and Mrs. Grady went to get a few supplies, and Sophia checked the post office, praying for another letter from Lucas.
She lived and died with each one feeling everything he went through from his chills and hunger to his exhaustion. She rejoiced at every Confederate victory and cried over every defeat. After the last battle, she’d checked the list of dead and wounded, holding her breath. Lucas’s name wasn’t there.
Sophia walked into the post office and the white-haired man behind the counter shook his head. “Sorry, Miss Carpenter. There isn’t any mail for you.”
Sophia frowned, her chest growing heavy. It had been quite a while since the last letter. Was Lucas hurt?
“No need to be worried, ma’am,” the man said. “You know how unreliable the mail is these days. I’m sure he’s written you and it is just lost in the mail somewhere.”
Sophia forced a smile. That could be. Or he could be on the march, heading straight for a big battle with the Yankees and unable to write.
Uneasiness hung in the air. Apprehension was so strong her breathing quickened and her heartbeat echoed in her ears. A dark feeling settled in her bones. Lucas was in danger.
***
Lucas stood in line with his regiment; the cold air numbed his face. A fresh skiff of snow covered the ground and many of his comrades had shoes falling apart at the seams. They were a sorry lot of disheveled men, all thin—some in ragged clothes, some barefoot. Lucas clutched his musket tighter. They might not look like much, but damn they could still fight. He eyed the open field in front of him with focused intensity. The Yankees had gathered on the opposite side. Being part of the first wave to attack, he didn’t have too much time to think. This battle seemed straightforward, but he knew better. On the battlefield, nothing should be taken for granted.
His heartbeat hammering in his ears, Lucas did not hear the order to advance. When the man in front of him started marching, he did the same. Musket already primed and ready for the first shot, he just had to wait until he was within range and pick out a target. Up in front of the column the, color bearer held the Confederate colors steady.
John, barely old enough for whiskers, was perhaps the bravest of them all. He’d earned those sergeant chevrons.
“Lord, keep me safe,” he muttered. I don’t want to make Sophia a widow before she is my bride. His stomach roiled and the fight or flight reaction kicked in. I’m going to fight.
The first line knelt to fire. Lucas raised his musket, preparing to aim over them. A whistling sound drew his attention and then lead rained down on them. Grapeshot from hidden artillery hit their left flank. The first column crumpled like a line of toppled dominoes. Men cried out and moaned.
Lucas froze in place. More blood. More death. More nightmares.
The corpses lay strewn in front of him and Lucas’s eyes glazed over. A musket shot drilling a hole in his forage cap pulled him out of his haze. He couldn’t just stand there. Fight. Fight for Sophia.
The Confederate flag lay on the ground, the color bearer not moving. Someone needed to pick up their colors. Lucas looked all around him expecting someone to take the lead. No one did.
“Retreat!” an officer shouted.
They needed to get the hell out of there before the next round of grapeshot took care of more of their already depleted numbers. The men next to Lucas turned around and ran toward the rear.
Lucas held his still unfired musket. A Yankee raced across the field and grabbed the Confederate colors.
When he turned around, his wide back made the perfect target. Lucas fired and the man fell face first. Something snapped inside him, and he knew he had to take action. Ignoring the screams and musket fire around him, he raced toward the flag. He picked it up, and then hurried back to the color bearer who couldn’t be more than seventeen. Kneeling down, he saw the rise and fall of the boy’s chest. The color bearer’s left leg had been shattered, the bone sticking out. The gruesome sight caused his heart to stutter. At least he was alive.
“We’re getting out of here,” Lucas said.
The boy grimaced, but did not cry out. “I can’t walk,” he rasped, “and you can’t carry me. Go on and save yourself. Protect our flag.”
Lucas didn’t dare look behind him at the Yankees who would soon be surrounding them. Their only chance to escape would be now. “I’m not going without you, Sergeant,” he said, and picked him up, one arm cradling the boy’s legs and the other wrapping around the boy’s shoulders while never letting go of the flag.
Damn it. He made a handsome target for the Yankees to aim at—the Confederate colors in one hand and the other struggling to hold on to the color bearer and the flag. He just couldn’t let their flag fall to the enemy, and he couldn’t let the brave lad who had carried their colors through so many battles end up in a Yankee prison.
As they got closer to the rear, Lucas increased his pace, ignoring John’s protests. “I’m sorry,” he said numerous times. “We’re almost there.”
John cursed and Lucas couldn’t help but smile briefly. His mama would surely wash his mouth out with soap if she had heard him. But he seconded every colorful word.
Adrenaline kept him going, making John and the flag a light burden. The remnants of their regiment had gathered behind a grove of trees—safety now a mere foot away.
A captain met them. “You saved the colors,
Private Grady,” he said, pride in his voice.
“Yes, sir. And John here. He needs a doctor bad.”
The captain frowned at the color bearer. “Hang in there, son. The doctor’s already set up his tent. I’ll make sure you’re one of the first he sees.”
“Thank you, sir,” John said in a weak voice.
The captain waved for a stretcher and Lucas placed the color bearer down gently. “You’ll be just fine,” he said.
“Gonna lose my leg,” John said, and then closed his eyes.
Lucas turned away, unable to respond or watch them tote him to the sawbones. He collapsed to the ground, his back against a tree, the staff of the Confederate flag still in his hands. Slowly his pulse wound down to a normal rhythm and his lungs loosened enough to take full breaths.
He’d survived another battle. And he’d done Sophia proud—fulfilling his commitment to his country and his promise to her. Despite the heaviness of sorrow in the air, his spirit felt light. He’d acted without a second thought. Not only did he save their colors, but he’d also saved John’s life. Once they camped for the night, he’d have to write Sophia and let her know he’d survived another battle, this time uninjured.
Tears blinded him and he brushed them off on the back of his sleeve. He was still sitting there when the captain returned. “We’ll need a new color bearer,” he said, peering down at him. “I think you’ve earned the honor.”
Lucas struggled to his feet, his eyes traveling the length of their battle-worn colors. Deserter to color bearer? That was quite an about face.
“You’ve redeemed yourself, Private Grady,” the captain said. “I’m glad they sent you back to your company. We need men like you fighting with us.”
“Thank you, sir.” Lucas choked on his words. He couldn’t imagine taking John’s place at the front of the column in the next battle. The lad would want him to, though. “I’d be proud to carry the flag.”
Chapter Thirteen