by Connie Mason
“Can we say good-bye to him, Mama?” Brand asked. “I think he would like that.”
“I think not, darling. It’s best we go on. I want to reach Tall Oaks before dark.”
In his enthusiasm Brand paid no heed to Aimee’s answer as he leaped from the barely moving wagon and ran toward the train, shouting Nick’s name at the top of his voice. Miraculously Nick heard him above the confusion of boarding passengers. A brilliant smile lit his face as he knelt on one knee and held his arms out to the small boy. Aimee watched in mute fury as Brand leaped into Nick’s arms. She had no recourse but to rein in the nag and look on as her son and Nick spoke earnestly together.
“What are you doing in Atlanta?” Nick asked, hoping they had come to see him.
“We came to buy food and get medicine for Savannah’s rheumatism. Are you leaving, Nick?”
His woebegone little face tore at Nick’s heart. He glanced over at Aimee, recognizing her unrelenting anger, her absolute belief that he had used her ruthlessly. Obviously she had no idea how much she meant to him.
“We mustn’t tarry, Nick,” Regina urged, annoyed by the unwelcome appearance of Widow Trevor and her son. “The train is due to leave momentarily.”
Nick hugged Brand tightly and whispered in his ear, “Take care of your mother for me, son. Tell her—tell her I’ll be back.” Then he rose and quickly boarded the train.
“Ain’t that the same captain who kept us from burning that plantation a while back, Sergeant Purdy?”
Purdy and his mounted patrol were riding past the train station when they happened to see Nick boarding the train for Washington. “Sure is, Corporal,” Purdy said thoughtfully. “Since the captain is leaving, I don’t suppose it matters now if we go back and burn the place. Our instructions were to fire everything left standing in and around Atlanta.”
“What about the widow who owns the place?” the corporal asked, licking his lips in avid anticipation. “She sure is a fine-looking woman.” They had spied Nick boarding the train shortly after Brand had climbed back into the wagon with his mother, so they did not see Aimee in the crush of people.
“She’s a feisty little witch, all right,” Purdy mused. “Mayhap we’ll find out just how feisty.” His lascivious grin needed no interpretation.
Purdy’s statement reflected Sherman’s belief that his troops weren’t only fighting hostile armies but hostile people as well, and that the Union armies must destroy the capacity of the southern people to sustain the war. Their factories, railroads, farms—indeed, their will to resist—must be torn apart. So Sherman’s soldiers put the torch to everything of military value—and much having nothing to do with the military—in and around Atlanta that Hood had left standing.
It didn’t take Aimee long to discover that food was scarce in the city. Men had left their farms to take up arms, depriving the population of the products they grew. Few truck gardens still produced crops this late in the year, and Sherman had burned fields of cotton and grain in his march to the sea. A few intrepid sea captains had run the blockade successfully, and it was the result of their bravery that stocked the shelves in the stores still operating in the city. Northern goods had just begun to trickle into the impoverished city, going primarily to feed the troops Sherman had left behind to defend Atlanta.
After spending more time than she would have liked trying to purchase staples and medicine for Savannah, Aimee didn’t start back to Tall Oaks until much later than planned. She had been obliged to spend nearly all the money Nick had given her to buy provisions at outrageous prices. But at least she had cornmeal, flour, a bit of sugar, salt, fatback, and some canned staples. She had even found shells for the shotgun. At least now they could continue to hunt for fresh meat. She was a tolerable shot, and so was Savannah.
A crash of thunder rattled the wagon, and Aimee hoped she’d reach Tall Oaks before rain pelted them. At this time of year the rain would be bone-chilling. Thank God she had thought to bring a blanket or two to cover herself and Brand should the need arise.
She saw the eerie glow illuminating the overcast sky a good two miles before they reached Tall Oaks. Her cry of dismay awoke Brand, who was sleeping in the back of the wagon.
“What is it, Mama?” he asked groggily.
“N-nothing, son; go back to sleep.” Though Aimee knew immediately what the glow meant, she didn’t want to alarm Brand. But she had seen fire light up the sky too many times in the past not to recognize its terrible portent.
The last time she had seen the sky a fiery red, the Yanks were burning the Pinder plantation house. Before that, it had been the Belfour place. She uttered one prayer after another on Savannah’s behalf. Had the old woman escaped from the inferno engulfing Tall Oaks? she wondered desperately. Or had she perished in the flame? If she and Brand hadn’t been in Atlanta, Savannah’s fate might have been theirs.
It began to rain almost immediately. Not a misty sprinkle, but hard and pelting. Aimee could only hope the rain would douse the fire consuming Tall Oaks. The pop and crackle of dying flames filled the damp air as Aimee stopped the wagon a short distance from the burning house. The fire was almost out, but most of the house had already been destroyed before the rains came. Two front pillars stood in eerie welcome, looking curiously unscathed against a backdrop of charred wood. Though the walls still remained upright, the roof had fallen in several places and the insides were gutted.
There was no sign of Savannah, and Aimee feared the worst. She stumbled from the wagon, peering through the misty twilight at the ruins that had been her home since the day Beauregard Trevor had made her his wife. She was in shock, recalling the countless times she and Savannah had defended Tall Oaks against Confederate deserters, scavengers, and Union soldiers called “bummers.” These were the scourge of the South—men who destroyed anything they could not eat, burned homes, cotton, and gins, plundered railroads, and generally raised hell, all under the guise of warfare.
“What are we going to do, Mama?” Brand’s question released Aimee from her dazed state. For her son’s sake she would do whatever was necessary to survive.
“We have food in the wagon, darling; somehow we’ll survive.”
Suddenly Aimee saw a lone figure emerge from the back of the house. She pulled Brand behind her and reached into the wagon for the shotgun she had taken to Atlanta for protection. Savannah had kept the ancient pistol.
“Aimee, is dat you, chile?”
“Savannah! Thank God you’re alive!”
Her steps were slow and measured, as if walking was pure agony. When she reached Aimee, she had to be supported to remain upright. “De Yanks done burned de house, honey. I couldn’t stop dem nohow. It was dat ornery sergeant Captain Drummond sent packin’ not too long ago.”
“He must have realized Nick was no longer here and came back to finish the job. Did they hurt you?”
“No, honey, dey just burst up de stairs and gave me five minutes to get out. I was barely able to gather up our clothes before de flames shot up de stairs and I had to leave. I’m sorry, chile, dat I couldn’t save Tall Oaks for you.”
“It’s all right, Savannah; it was only a house. We still have our lives.”
“Dey was disappointed you weren’t here, honey. Lord only knows what dey would have done to you had you been here when dey came.”
“I—I don’t want to think about it.” Aimee shuddered, aware of the fate that would have been hers had the soldiers found her at Tall Oaks.
“I’m tired, Mama, and hungry,” Brand whined. He clung to Aimee’s skirt, confused and troubled by the abrupt change in their lives. “If Captain Drummond hadn’t left us, this wouldn’t have happened.”
Aimee had no answer for the child.
“I took our belongin’s to one of de slave cabins still standin’ out back,” Savannah said. “I know it ain’t much, but at least it’s a roof over our heads. And it’s snug and dry. I even scrounged a couple of cots and some furniture dat ain’t too badly damaged.”
“It will do just fine, Savannah,” Aimee said. For Brand’s sake she attempted a brave smile. It did little to soothe him.
“What’s going to happen to us, Mama?”
“We’ll manage, darling. You’ll see; we’ll be fine in the cabin.”
“Winter’s comin’ on,” Savannah said with ominous portent.
“I said we’d manage,” Aimee repeated crossly. “Neither you nor Brand will suffer, no matter what I have to do to provide for you.”
When winter winds howled through the rafters and snow filtered down upon them through holes in the roof, when their food was gone and Brand cried himself to sleep at night from hunger, Aimee found the courage to take the necessary steps.
Chapter 15
Snow drifted lazily down on the city, covering Washington in a new coat of pristine white. Outside his frosted window, Nick saw a few brave souls braced against the storm as they trudged along icy streets to reach their various destinations. It was the first day of December, and he had been in the convalescent hospital nearly six weeks. A congestion in his lungs had slowed his recovery when he first reached Washington, but his will to recover had never deserted him. He fought the setback with the same grit and determination that made him the kind of man who rarely accepted defeat.
Now, when his health had improved to the point that he no longer needed hospitalization or convalescent care, the weather had turned nasty. Nick had left the hospital three days ago and checked into bachelor officer quarters while awaiting reassignment. It came through just hours ago. He had been assigned to a prestigious job in Washington as adjutant to General Blakewell. He should have known Regina would have her fine hand in here somewhere.
Regina. Lord, just thinking about her hit a raw nerve with him. The woman refused to accept the fact that their marriage was never going to happen. She lived in a world all her own, marching to her own drummer. If plans did not go her way, she tended to ignore them. At the time, proposing to Regina had seemed necessary to his career. She had all the right connections, and if he had balked, her father could have ruined his chances for advancement. But that didn’t seem to matter any longer.
Then Aimee Trevor had come back into his life and made him realize that marriage to Regina was impossible. As usual when Nick had extra time on his hands, his thoughts turned to Aimee and Brand. He worried that they weren’t getting enough to eat and fretted because he had no way of knowing if they were still at Tall Oaks trying to eke out a meager existence.
The moment he had received his new assignment, which allowed him two weeks leave before requiring him to report for duty, Nick made immediate plans to travel to Atlanta, find Aimee and Brand, and bring them back to Washington with him. But the weather turned blustery, and the train between Washington and Atlanta, which had been running sporadically since the Rebs began blowing up railroads, wasn’t due to leave for another two days.
A knock on the door interrupted Nick’s reverie. He was pleasantly surprised when he opened the door and found Captain Birch standing before him covered with fluffy flakes of snow and shivering from cold.
“Bruce! Don’t stand there, man, come in out of the cold. What the devil are you doing in Washington?”
“I was slightly wounded and given a leave to recuperate. Since I had business in Washington anyway, I thought I’d look you up.” He ran a critical eye over Nick’s imposing form. “Except for being unnaturally pale, you look hale and hearty for someone who was just recently knocking at death’s door. I can only assume your recovery is due to the care you received at Tall Oaks by that lovely blonde you’re so fond of.”
“I not only owe my recovery to Aimee, but my life,” Nick said. His lips slanted upward in a wistful smile. “I’d be dead if Aimee hadn’t taken matters in her own hands at the field hospital.”
“Seems to me I heard something about that. I also heard that Regina Blakewell brought you back to Atlanta and then accompanied you to Washington. Does that men your engagement to General Blakewell’s daughter is still on?”
“That depends on whom you speak with. If you asked Regina, she’d tell you our marriage is still set for sometime after the war. But if you asked me, I’d tell you there will be no marriage between me and Regina. I think you know how I feel about Aimee Trevor.”
Birch nodded sagely. “Quite a fix you’ve gotten yourself into. What do you intend to do?”
“I’m taking the first train I can to Atlanta. I must find Aimee and her son. They must be desperate for food by now, and Lord only knows in what condition I’ll find them.”
“Have you been reassigned yet?”
“It just came through today. I’m to act as aide to General Blakewell. Regina’s doings, I suppose. But I intend to make good use of the two weeks allotted me before I report for duty, if the weather cooperates.”
“Fortunately I arrived in Washington before the weather turned bad. I assume you’ve heard that Atlanta is a ghost town. Sherman returned to Atlanta, and before he marched out on November fifteenth, he ordered all civilians out of the city and burned everything of military value. The only public buildings left standing are those being used by Union forces left behind to occupy the city. Of course, you’ll find the usual number of whorehouses deemed necessary to uphold morale, a few homes, and some shops.”
“I’d heard it’s bad,” Nick said grimly. “Is it true that Yank soldiers are starving in the fields and trenches?”
“That’s a pretty good assessment of the situation. Sherman is marching toward Savannah while Hood and his army are moving toward Tennessee. Rebel cavalry and Georgia militia attacked Union infantry and suffered enormous casualties on November twenty-second.”
“It’s all pretty grim,” Nick said, “but what you’ve told me only makes me more determined than ever to go to Atlanta.”
“What about Regina? Perhaps I ought to console the lady in your absence.”
“She’s all yours, Bruce. Take her with my blessings. When I find Aimee, I fully intend to bring her to Washington with me as my wife.”
Brand had been coughing for several days. Now it had become worse, and Aimee pulled the blanket from her own shoulders to add to the one covering Brand. Snow filtered into the dilapidated cabin through the cracks in the walls, making dappled wet spots on the dirt floor. Wind howled down the chimney and drove additional snow through holes in the roof. The occupants of the tiny one-room cabin were silent and subdued, except for the sound of Brand’s hacking cough and occasional sneezes.
Aimee moved listlessly toward the small fire in the hearth, seeking its meager warmth. Savannah dozed in the charred rocking chair that had been salvaged from the big house after the fire. Aimee poked into the flames with a stick, realizing that their firewood was nearly gone and she’d have to leave soon to find more. Fortunately there was sufficient wood from the partially destroyed slave cabins and the big house to keep them from freezing to death. But food was another matter entirely, and their shotgun shells were nearly gone, making their situation even more desperate. They had existed almost entirely these past weeks on what small game could be shot or snared.
“Mama?” Brand’s voice was hoarse from coughing, his eyes overbright from fever.
“I’m here, darling.”
“I’m still cold.”
“I’ll lie down with you and keep you warm.” She moved to the narrow cot, slid in beside him, and gathered him in her arms. “Is that better?”
“Much better.”
“Are you hungry? There’s still a piece of rabbit left from yesterday. And perhaps a bit of cornbread.”
Brand shook his head. “You eat it. I know you and Savannah have been going without so I could eat.”
How perceptive he is for one so young, Aimee thought, hugging Brand fiercely. He was indeed a special child. Nick Drummond might be a bastard, but his son was everything a mother could ask for.
Nick Drummond.
The name dredged up evocative memories. She hoped Nick was happy with Regina Blakewell, for s
he knew that a woman as beautiful and determined as Regina would have no trouble convincing Nick that marriage to her was what he wanted. And to think that she, Aimee, had very nearly fallen victim to Nick’s lies. Not that she regretted saving Nick on the battlefield. He was her son’s father, after all. But she tried to convince herself that was the only reason that she’d risked her life to save him.
While Aimee lay beside Brand, listening to his harsh breathing and thinking about the man who had fathered him, Savannah stirred in the rocking chair and rose painfully to her feet. The cold dampness played havoc with her rheumatism, and her medicine had run out days ago. Her stomach rumbled, but she ignored it, accustomed now to the empty feeling deep in the pit of her stomach. But Aimee heard it and could no longer ignore the fact that they were slowly starving to death.
“I fear there’s not much left in the larder,” Aimee said softly so as not to awaken Brand. He had finally fallen into a restless sleep.
“I ain’t hungry, honey,” Savannah lied. “I think dere’s enough left for Brand when he wakes up.”
Aimee scooted out of bed and joined Savannah as she rummaged around in the basket that held their supplies. “Something has to be done soon, Savannah; we can’t go on like this. Both you and Brand need medicine, and if we don’t find food soon, we’ll all starve. We’re worse off now than before Nick—” Her words skidded to a halt. Why must Nick be constantly in her thoughts? Why couldn’t she accept the fact that Nick Drummond had walked out of their lives for good?
“Dere’s still a few shells left; I’ll go huntin’ soon as de snow stops. Maybe I’ll be lucky and bring back a plump rabbit. A rich broth will make Brand feel better.”
