by William Gear
Hindman ran the toe of his polished shoe across the thick carpet, adding, “Without Southern cotton, European mills fall idle. Workers raise their voices in protest. The French have barely avoided revolution, and their workers are simmering. The English have their own multitudes in ferment. Southern raw materials provide gainful employment for their masses.”
Hindman paused. “We have gambled that their need for our resources outweighs the quibbles of conscience.”
“If we’ve wagered wrong, Colonel, we shall be in for a most interesting future, shan’t we?”
“And what is your motivation, Mr. Hancock? Your father was a Union man opposed to slavery, though I am delighted to hear that he has become a patriot when it comes to the defense of his hearth, home, and the Constitution.”
Butler raised his hands. “Colonel, in all honesty, like my father, I fear the rise of a tyrannical federal government. Nowhere in the Constitution does it say that once a state joins the Union, it cannot leave if that’s the will of its people. Your fight is to keep your slaves, mine is to keep my freedom of association. Sharing that last makes us allies.”
“Why come to me?”
“I am a classical scholar. My father said that if I wanted to understand Cicero, I should make your acquaintance. But now, I wonder if perhaps he was wrong.”
“How’s that?”
“I wonder if you aren’t more a Caesar incarnate than Cicero.”
Hindman fingered his beard, expression amused. “Mr. Hancock, if you are not indisposed this afternoon, perhaps I really could use your help with my correspondence.”
8
December 2, 1861
When Doc arrived at the Morton house a little after six on the night of December 2, a black wreath had already been placed on the door. Puffing in the chill air, Doc climbed the steps and hesitated. He glanced up at the overcast sky with its low scudding clouds: a gray and depressing day.
That morning, Doc had opened the surgery, only mildly surprised that Benjamin hadn’t beaten him there. An hour later, having finished with his first patient, and with another of Benjamin’s waiting in the foyer, Doc had felt the first flickers of worry.
The runner had arrived moments later with the news: Dr. Morton was dead—passed away in his sleep the night before.
Doc had responded by messenger that he would see to the surgery and await Mrs. Morton’s instructions. All through the day, he’d tended to his and Benjamin’s patients. Everyone had been stunned.
Late that afternoon he’d received a note asking him to call at the Morton house after closing the surgery.
Reluctantly, he knocked.
Moments later, Abel, the houseboy, answered, opening the door with the admonition, “Ev’nin, master. Mistress done tol’ me to let you in and no other, suh.”
“Thank you, Abel.” Butler slipped his coat and hat off as Andrew, the household servant, arrived in the foyer. Taking the garments, he ushered Doc into the parlor.
Doc sighed, both expectant at, and dreading, the prospect of facing Ann Marie. But he hated the idea of imposing on the stricken Felicia. He walked to the hearth, extending his hands to where an oak and hickory fire burned low in the grate.
Moments later he heard the rustle of skirts and turned to find Felicia Morton and Ann Marie, both in black satin, their hair done demurely. The women had the puffy and red-eyed look of grief.
“Dr. Hancock,” Felicia greeted him. “We hoped that you would come.”
“I was as shocked as anyone,” Doc told her as she extended a hand gloved in black lace. “You have my deepest sympathies. I will continue to fill in for Benjamin for as long as is necessary. If I can be of any additional service, I am at your disposal.”
He struggled to focus on Felicia. While he grieved for both of them, his eyes and aching heart kept straying to Ann Marie’s wounded expression. The past months had been filled with walks, conversation, and rising obsession. She filled his dreams, and every moment he could steal with her had been like a living miracle. Had he been asked before, Doc Hancock would have told the questioner that while a man might love a woman, he didn’t, couldn’t, worship her like a cherished idol. Fool that he’d been.
Benjamin and Felicia had both smiled knowingly, and each had given their approval to the courtship. But what now? Suddenly the plans, the notion of Benjamin walking his daughter down the aisle, seemed to have been from another world.
“She could do so much worse, Philip,” Benjamin had let slip over cigars in the surgery one day after a particularly brutal procedure on a septic leg.
“I’ve never met a woman like her,” Doc had confided with a smile. “Ann Marie has become my entire life. Somehow, Fayetteville doesn’t seem to be the lure it once was.”
“We haven’t discussed it, but I know that you’ve considered buying into the surgery. If you and Ann Marie just happened to—”
“Whoa. You’re a dear and valued friend, Benjamin. I know what you’re about to say, and I appreciate it. I will not, however, take charity or a loan from my future father-in-law. Were I to make an offer on partial interest in the surgery, it will be after we’ve discussed what a reasonable down payment would be, and concluded fair market value.”
“You dazzle her, you know. And Mrs. Morton dotes on you as well. But take your time, Philip. When you’re ready, we’ll talk.”
That had been more than a month ago. And for all Philip had known, Benjamin Morton had been a model of health.
“What happened?” he asked as he looked into Felicia’s shattered eyes.
In a brittle voice, she said, “I awakened this morning and thought everything was fine. He usually gets up when I do. Only later, when he hadn’t come down, did I go back and check.” Her gaze went vacant. “Philip, I would have called you, but he was already cold and stiff. It had to be early in the night when he…”
Ann Marie had stood stoically, her pleading eyes on Doc’s. “I just can’t believe it.”
Then she stepped over, wrapping her arms around him, head against his shoulder as she wept.
“What do you need me to do?”
Felicia seemed to gird herself, as if for combat. “Philip, there are some things you should know. We consider you as family, as well as a gentleman. Therefore, I am taking you into my confidence. You know that Benjamin is … was a good friend to Colonel Rufus Neely.”
Doc patted Ann Marie’s firm shoulders, struggling between giving comfort to the woman he held while paying attention to Felicia. “Yes. He even supported the raising and outfitting of Neely’s infantry regiment.”
“It’s now called the Fourth Tennessee Infantry,” she said in agreement. “What you don’t know is that Benjamin took out a loan to cover his share of the costs. Through Isaac Kirtland’s bank.”
Doc gave Felicia a reassuring smile. “Please do not worry yourself on that account. We’ve been doing well. It will mean additional hours, but I’m sure I can meet Benjamin’s obligations as well as my own. It’s not like Memphis is lacking surgery cases these days.”
Ann Marie stepped back and seemed to have composed herself, her green eyes desperate as they met Doc’s.
“I was aware that you would say that.” Felicia took a deep breath and stared up at him through serious hazel eyes. “You, however, need to know that Isaac has been after my husband for years. He and Sam Tate own the rest of the block where the surgery is located, and they want desperately to construct a hotel on the property.”
“But if we meet the terms on the note…”
“Philip, you are a jewel among men. I will not place Benjamin’s obligations upon your shoulders. Unless, of course, you can pay off the note when Isaac comes knocking at the beginning of next week.”
She read his consternation, adding, “No, of course you can’t. But there are other surgeries, other buildings that you can rent.”
“And what of you, ma’am?”
“Issac will make me an offer rather than take the chance that a certain young surgeon in my
husband’s employ might insist on finding a way to keep the property.”
It made perfect sense. Suddenly a widow, Felicia had to be worried sick at the same time she was burdened with the loss of her beloved husband. Isaac Kirtland promised a semblance of financial security. At least until Ann Marie married or young James established himself professionally.
“Would you like for me to review Mr. Kirtland’s offer? I would hope the man wouldn’t take advantage.”
Felicia almost managed a smile, her usual self trying to slip out past the grief. “Isaac may have his faults, Philip, but taking advantage of a friend’s widow isn’t one of them. Actually, it will be more than fair lest I be tempted to sell to another. Which means I shall be mercenary and hold your interest over his head should the terms not meet my expectations.”
“You have my full support. Take the offer with my blessing, Mrs. Morton. I shall, indeed, find an alternate location to establish a surgery.”
Ann Marie then asked, “Are you sure you will be all right?”
Doc gave her a reassuring wink. “I am in much better circumstances now than when I stepped off the boat onto the Memphis wharves.”
“Philip, there is another option,” Ann Marie said shyly.
No doubt aware of what was coming, Felicia said, “Philip, if you would excuse me, I’ll take my leave now.”
Philip inclined his head as Felicia stepped out in a rustle of black silk.
“Dear God, your poor mother.”
“She’s a formidable woman,” Ann Marie said, eyes following as Felicia climbed the stairs. “I wonder if I’m really her daughter. I feel so lost.”
Doc took her cold hands. “Will Isaac’s offer be fair? Really?”
“I think so. He wants that building. And Father had so many friends in the city.” She seemed to gird herself. “You know that James has enlisted in the Fourth Tennessee? Neely’s regiment? They are in need of a regimental surgeon and are paying two hundred and fifty dollars a month. I know that Reverend Nelson and others are adding to that sum as an inducement. It’s only a year, and you would come back with a substantial sum that would allow you to firmly establish yourself.”
“We shouldn’t be talking business,” he told her. “Not today.”
She smiled her gratitude, only to have it fade. “I just can’t believe he’s gone. It can’t be happening.”
But it is, he thought to himself as Ann Marie’s eyes turned glassy with grief. The feeling was as if some great opportunity were slipping away, as if the tragedy were greater than he could know.
The way she melted into his arms, her body conforming to his, sent a thrill through him.
“What if I lose my brother, too? That’s why I was thinking of you being the regimental surgeon. You could be sure you’d bring him back to me.”
9
December 10, 1861
At Fly’s characteristic warning bark, Sarah lifted her head. Then ignored it. Instead of dominating some parlor in Little Rock where admirers could comment on her latest dress, she sat in the tobacco barn’s cold and dim shelter and twisted leaves of tobacco into loops.
“Oh sure, Paw. Gone off to war, are you? And I’m stuck here making tobacco twists.” She knew it was petty, but by Hob, a girl had the right to feel petty on occasion. She’d had to put her whole life on hold.
Not only had Paw failed to materialize with a new dress, but the war just kept dragging on. What had been keen heartbreak when she’d finally realized she was stuck at the farm for another year had dulled into a frustrated ache. It would be a whole year before Paw could take her to Little Rock. She’d be eighteen! Almost too old!
She plucked down another leaf, angrily twisting it into a string before bending it around in a loop. The seemingly endless task, however, provided its own rewards since a good twist of tobacco could be traded for a jar of honey, a sack of ground corn, a crock of molasses, salt, sugar, or any of the other sundries that were now in such short supply.
Come war, Yankees, hell or high water, the good news was that for the most part, northwestern Arkansas could pretty much supply its own needs. Even with as many men as had gone to war, and despite the shortages, corn, wheat, cotton, tobacco, barley, beef, and poultry were plentiful. The local mills were adept at turning raw materials into finished goods. But for luxuries like coffee and pepper—for which passable local substitutes could be had—or the occasional manufactured part for an engine or piece of machinery, Benton and Washington Counties could muddle on without the rest of the country.
Fly half howled his warning bark again, this time with more authority.
Sarah stepped out from the barn and shivered in the biting breeze as she stared down at the Huntsville Road where it ran along the river.
Seeing a wagon emerge from the riverside trees on that chilly and gray December day wasn’t an unusual occurrence. Benton County’s denizens had developed an interesting and constantly evolving economy based on the swapping of local resources and food stocks.
Sarah worked her tobacco-stained hands to ease the cramps in her fingers as the first wagon was followed by four more and a party of riders. Worse, the first of the wagons was making the turn onto the Hancock farm lane. Even more concerning, each was topped by two soldiers.
Wiping her hands on her wool skirt, she hurried across the yard to the house, stepped into the delightful warmth, and called, “Maw! Soldiers coming with wagons!”
Shoes thumping on the risers, her mother descended the stairs, a look of concern on her face. She wore a gingham housedress with a white apron tied to her hips. “Coming here?”
“Riders and four wagons,” Sarah told her, catching her mother’s sudden worry. “What would they want here? We’re a long way from Fayetteville.”
Word was that Louis Hébert’s brigade down around Fayetteville in Washington County had been provisioning itself from the surrounding countryside.
“Let’s go see. Maybe they’re lost.” Then Maw hesitated. “Where’s your brother?”
“Where do you think?” Sarah slapped an irritated hand to her side. “Said he was after a coon that got into the corn crib last night.”
Some of the tension in Maw’s face relaxed, and she whipped a shawl around her shoulders before stepping out onto the porch. Her breath swirled whitely around her head as the cool breeze ruffled her age-silvered hair.
Sarah followed her mother down into the yard, stopping as an officer—a sergeant she realized from the chevrons on his uniform coat—pulled up before the house. The wagons slowed, swinging out in the cramped yard, a couple of the teamsters cursing as the animals balked and got in each other’s way.
“Good day, ma’am,” the sergeant greeted, leaning forward on his saddle, reins in his hands. “Is this the Hancock farm?”
To Sarah’s surprise, he was a handsome man, young, with a well-formed face, the most enchanting blue eyes, and curly chestnut hair. She wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through it. His wide lips looked practiced at smiling.
And then he glanced at her, his eyes widening slightly, the smile she expected finding its home.
“It is,” Maw replied, pulling her shawl tight against the chill. “How can I help you, Officer?”
“Supplies, ma’am.” He tore his glance from Sarah’s. Turned. “Dewey, you, Haskell, and Branton may begin your inventory.”
The men behind him dismounted, one heading for the corn crib, one to the barn, the other for the smokehouse.
“I don’t understand,” Maw cried, stepping forward. “You’re here to take our food?”
The sergeant dismounted and unhooked a leather sack from his saddle. “It’s a requisition, ma’am, for which you will be reimbursed fairly by the government.”
“What if I say no?”
His eyes, friendly up to that moment, hardened slightly. “Your country requests your aid, ma’am.” He glanced suggestively at Sarah, as if imploring her support. “My orders are to obtain whatever supplies are available. You may, of
course, take any complaints to the commanding officer of the Army of the West should you find our reimbursement insufficient in return for goods surrendered.”
He glanced again at Sarah, as if torn.
Maw, sharp as the hawk she was, caught it. The look she flashed at Sarah was filled with irritation. “Sergeant, how are we to be reimbursed?”
From his leather pack he removed a bundle of bills, and lifted them. “My clerks will provide you with an inventory of the grain and livestock requisitioned, each having a set value, for which I am authorized to reimburse you.”
“Arkansas scrip?” Maw asked distastefully.
The sergeant’s smile was back. “No, ma’am. Good Confederate dollars, backed by the government.”
“What if I want coins?” she asked, crossing her arms.
“You’ll get bills, ma’am.”
“And if I really do put my foot down and say no?”
Sarah felt her heart begin to beat as she read Maw’s brewing anger.
The sergeant took a deep breath. “One way or another, ma’am, I will follow my orders.” He paused. “Where are the men, ma’am?”
Maw drew herself to her full five feet and four inches. “My husband is a major in a Mississippi regiment. My son is a lieutenant with Hardee’s division in Tennessee.”
The growing glacial blue in the sergeant’s eyes softened again, relieving Sarah’s worry.
“That being the case, ma’am,” he told her cheerfully, “we shall take only what we need. I was starting to worry that you might have been black Republicans, Union by predisposition, in which case, we’d have stripped the place bare.”
To Sarah’s horror, as she stood shivering and watching the sergeant’s skilled foragers go about their work, it seemed as if her loyalty to the Confederacy might have been suspect.
After the heavily laden wagons finally pulled out, she and Maw walked in devastation past the corn crib, cleaned out down to the board floor, through the chicken coop where but three hens of the twenty-two remained, and then into the barn.
