Yankee in Atlanta

by Jocelyn Green

  Caitlin stuck her needle into the carpet and leaned forward on her elbows. “Do not depend on a man for happiness, Susan. Decide to be content in all circumstances even if there’s no man in sight.”

  “I could do that much better in a new dress.”

  A sigh escaped Caitlin. “You’ll have to get one on your own, somehow, then.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  “Merely a fact. Your vanity is not my concern.”

  Atlanta, Georgia

  Tuesday, December 8, 1863

  “Too cold.” Ana crossed her arms.

  “It is not too cold, and we could both use the exercise.” Caitlin pointed to the azure sky beyond the window. “The mercury shows 54 degrees Fahrenheit!” Positively balmy compared to New York this time of year!

  Ana put up her hand and shook her head, eyebrows pinched together. “Do you know where Miss Ke—my mama is?”

  Caitlin’s lips pressed flat. “I believe she’s rearranging her hair in her room.”

  “I’d like to do that, too.”

  “Ana.” Caitlin knelt down to her level. “You don’t have to come with me. But if you stay home, I would like you to either do your reading or knit socks for the soldiers.”

  Ana scowled. “No, thank you. I don’t want to read. I’m tired of those stories. And I don’t want to knit either—my fingers are too cold!”

  A sigh brushed Caitlin’s lips as Naomi emerged from the work room and waited in the hall. “I’ve given you a choice. Read or knit while I’m gone. I’ll play Snakes and Ladders with you when I return.”

  “You’re not my mother!” The girl stomped off—toward Susan, Caitlin had no doubt.

  “Let her go.” Naomi’s voice was thick with tenderness. “It is not naughtiness you see, but hunger.”

  The words cut Caitlin. Exhaustion overwhelmed her—she was tired of calculating and recalculating how far their stores would last, tired of measuring loaves of rice bread and corn bread with a marked string so everyone would get exactly the same allotment. And she was tired of navigating the uncharted terrain of a girl’s heart when a long-lost mother replaced a dearly beloved papa.

  “I need to get out of here.”

  “Would you accept some company? I’d love to join you.”

  Caitlin smiled. “That would be fine. Don’t forget your pass.” She patted her own pocket, and Naomi nodded.

  After telling Minnie and Susan they were going out for a bit, Caitlin and Naomi donned shawls and straw hats and strolled down the lane to the road. A pleasant if strong breeze swirled about them, teasing their hair and twirling the fringe on their shawls. Their plodding footsteps lifted fine red dust from the road.

  Silently, she railed against Susan. She refused to make herself useful, disappeared for hours at a time, sometimes came home so late at night that Caitlin had to get out of bed and unlock the door for her. If she had not promised Noah to keep all refugees, and if Susan had not been Ana’s mother, Caitlin would have thrown the woman out on her ear weeks ago.

  “I don’t trust her.” Naomi cast a sidelong glance at Caitlin.

  “Who?”

  “Susan, of course. Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking about her. Your irritation is written plainly on your face. Right there.” She pointed to the wrinkle between her eyebrows. “And there.” She tapped her clenched jaw. “I worry about her, you know.”

  Caitlin snorted. “I worry about the rest of us.”

  Naomi smiled as they turned right on Fair Street. “It’s a different type of worry. That girl is so cunning. I don’t know what she’s up to, and I bet she doesn’t quite know either. I would easily believe that great pain has caused her to go to great lengths to get what she wants. But just what is it she wants?”

  “Can it be Ana? She does not seem overly fond of the girl.”

  “No, she doesn’t. I pity her. If she is anything like me, she’s headed on a path that will only lead to regret. And she’ll have only more pain to show for it, besides.”

  “Like you?”

  “We all have secrets, dear.” She eyed the scar on Caitlin’s jaw. “Better that they stay that way. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Silence her only response, Caitlin looked down at her own shadow, jutting ahead of her. She felt like a shadow herself—two-dimensional, colorless, transient. A mere silhouette of who she really was.

  “We’re headed to Atlanta Graveyard, by the way. It’s the only peaceful place I’ve found in this crowded, clamoring city. I hope that’s all right.”

  Naomi nodded. “Peaceful is exactly what we need.”

  They lapsed into comfortable quiet as they continued east. Two blocks north, the Georgia Railroad line ran almost parallel to their path out of the city. The chugging train barely filtered into Caitlin’s thoughts. The near-constant noise of the Turntable of the South had simply become part of the atmosphere, along with the dust and soot and flurry of a city running full speed ahead.

  Finally, on the outskirts of the city, they reached the Atlanta Graveyard on a ridge overlooking the city. Even in December, the rural cemetery was an oasis after the dusty ascent from town. Inside the post-and- board fence, oak trees clawed the sky with bare branches, while Eastern red cedars perfumed the air with spicy scent. Sparrows and finches rustled in the stiff, brown pasture grasses as they hunted for seeds, while a squirrel scampered across the chert pathway.

  A shadow circled the ground, fleeting evidence of a hawk gliding overhead. The fresh air scrubbed Caitlin’s lungs as she drank it in. Funny, she mused, that being in a graveyard should breathe life into my spirit.

  “These are the lucky ones, already buried,” Naomi said. “If anyone would have told them what has happened to the South, they would’ve called the prophet a madman.”

  “Indeed,” Caitlin murmured, and they walked further along the path. Until, “Prudy?”

  Prudence Periwinkle knelt on the ground before a pair of tombstones, and Caitlin quickly joined her. After briefly introducing Naomi and Prudy, Caitlin turned her attention to the grave. A tangle of spent periwinkle vine wrapped around the headstone in front of her. Caitlin traced the engraving of a lily above the words, the marble cold beneath her fingertip. “Your niece? The one Dr. Periwinkle said I remind him of?”

  “The same.” She smiled, and wrinkles seamed her face. She had aged so much since taking care of Caitlin eighteen months ago. “Mary Beth was beloved by all, especially her doting father—Lil Bit.”

  “And today was her birthday.”

  “And not just that.” Naomi knelt and placed her hand on a second tombstone bearing a Periwinkle name.

  “Matilda—we called her Tillie—gave her life bringing Mary Beth into this world.” Prudy stared at her hands in her lap. “Lil Bit was so broken up about it. I helped him raise Mary Beth and sure as I’m breathing, she was like a daughter to me.” Her voice thickened as she spoke. “Lil Bit set such a store by Mary Beth. Never could allow her to be courted by any beaus. I do believe he wanted her to be a spinster, like me, rather than risk her getting in the family way and dying in childbirth like her sweet young mama. But—” Prudence sat back and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyelids. “She did neither.”

  Caitlin grasped Prudy’s blue-veined hand and helped her to her feet as Naomi stood beside them. “What happened? If you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Smallpox. And her father the doctor couldn’t save her. He buried his daughter in this lovely place at the top of the hill soon after this cemetery was established, and he brought Tillie up from the crowded church graveyard to join her. He thought they’d both prefer it up here, together. But has he come back since? No. Too painful, I reckon. And now, her brother will add to their company, if God will only bless my journey.”

  Caitlin and Naomi exchanged a glance. “Pardon me?” Caitlin probed.

  “Her brother, Stuart. Never married, lived with Lil Bit until he signed up for the war. He was killed at Gettysburg.”

  “But how can you bring his
body home? He is buried in foreign soil, is he not?” Naomi’s eyes grew large.

  “Didn’t you hear? Abe Lincoln has consented to an exchange, dead for dead. We are now allowed to retrieve the remains of our loved ones without taking the oath of allegiance to the United States. Lil Bit can’t possibly leave the patients here, but I have just secured someone to manage the boardinghouse in my absence. I mean to bring Stuart home, so help me God.”

  “You’re going? To Gettysburg?” Caitlin’s words burst out of her, a dangerous reflection of her galloping heart. Her brother’s face surged in her mind. If she was going to find him, she could only do it north of the Mason-Dixon line. Quickly, she recovered herself. “It’s nearly seven hundred miles!”

  “And I am but an old woman, I know.”

  “Have you traveled much before?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well then, have you an escort?”

  Prudence answered with an amused look. Every able man who was worth his salt was in the army. Every other man was a ruffian, a patient or convalescent, a speculator, or desperately needed on the home front.

  The silver-haired woman sought Caitlin’s eyes. “You wouldn’t—would you have any interest in—escorting me yourself?”

  Caitlin’s breath seized in her chest while Naomi’s hand flew to her heart.

  “I know I’m asking much of you,” Prudy continued. “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t afraid to travel north. You—you don’t sound like a Southerner, dear. Perhaps you could speak for me, if we are ever in an area that seems hateful against Confederates like myself.”

  Caitlin’s mind reeled. Leave the Confederacy? Could she dare believe this was the escape route from the South, before the House of Dixie collapsed? Ana’s face loomed in her mind, pulling her back from the precipice on which she teetered. “I have Analiese to think of.”

  Naomi found her voice. “Go. I will take charge of the girl myself until your return. You are not abandoning your post; you are doing a service for Prudence. And you can do a service for me, as well.” Her eyes shone. “Look for news of my son while you’re there. Start at the Lutheran Seminary, ask for Dr. Samuel Schmucker.”

  “Did he fight there, too?”

  “I’m not sure. We lost track of each other.” She looked away. “But I’m almost sure he was there, and if he was, he would have gone to Dr. Schmucker, his former professor. I wrote him a letter in care of the reverend right after news of the battle reached me in Tennessee, but since I had to leave my home, he could not have known where to reach me, even if he wanted to.”

  “Why not come with us?” Caitlin asked.

  Naomi shook her head. “Even if Silas was there for the battle, he isn’t any longer. Just find Dr. Schmucker. He might know something about him. Even if all he can tell you is that my letter reached the seminary, and Silas was able to read it, I’ll be content. I’ll stay here and manage your household until you return. Will you do this?”

  Two pairs of eyes entreated Caitlin then, eyes that looked haunted and hopeful at the same time. “I’ll go,” she heard herself say. Butterflies fluttered in her middle.

  “Thank you,” Prudence whispered, and kissed her on the cheek.

  The trio stepped back on the main path, rocks crunching beneath their footsteps. Rather than heading back to the main gate, they walked the length of the cemetery before leaving, from grey, weather-worn tombstones to fresh rectangles of red dirt. Many Johnny Rebs who died in Atlanta’s hospitals found their final rest here.

  “You know, dear, we may not find Stuart’s remains right away when we arrive.” Prudy looped her leathery hand through Caitlin’s elbow as they exited through the east gate and headed south. “I hear that Confederate graves were not marked well. Some were not marked at all, but were simply buried en masse.”

  When they neared the southeast corner of the cemetery, Naomi nodded to a long mound of dirt tucked into a wooded area. “Like that?”

  It was the grave of the seven Andrews raiders who had been hanged and buried in the shallow trench beside the hastily erected gallows on June 19, 1862, shortly before Caitlin woke up in Atlanta.

  “Those were Union spies and deserved no better,” Prudence said.

  Caitlin shuddered. How long can I escape a similar fate?

  A whoosh of air turned Caitlin’s head in time to see the hawk swoop down to the earth then soar again, this time with a squealing field mouse in its talons.

  “WE HAVE HUNG Asafetida-bags around the children’s necks as haply it may do some good. My feelings were inexpressibly touched by what our little boy Arthur said to his Mother as she put him to bed tonight: knowing that Johnnie Crankshaw had died and hearing us talk about our children taking it, he asked, ‘Mama, are you going to bury us where you did little Alice?’ Fat, rosy, full of frolic, he seemed to be taking it for granted that he was soon to die and be buried and it didn’t seem to terrify him much. I could not sleep much tonight … We see from the Telegraph that James and Mollie have lost their little daughter Mamie that they thot so much of, as she was their only girl.”

  —SAM RICHARDS, Atlanta bookseller

  Atlanta, Georgia

  Thursday, December 10, 1863

  A train whistled and clattered on the Macon & Western Railroad a few blocks from where Caitlin and Prudence walked, and for the first time, it sounded like hope. Perhaps, if Caitlin dared, freedom. Very soon, she and Prudy would be on a train themselves, hurtling north.

  If I can only secure a passport. Worry etched her brow as their heels clicked down Whitehall’s sidewalks. Besides the storefronts boasting cigars, glassware, and Negro sales, the street was honeycombed with government offices. The Medical Director of Hospitals, Engineers Department, the Georgia Reserves, the Quartermaster Department, the Transportation Department, and the Commissary Department— including the State Salt Agent—as well as Governor Joseph Brown himself all set up shop above drug stores, hardware stores, grocery stores, and hotels.

  When they finally entered the provost marshal’s office on Wadley Street, north of the train tracks, Caitlin’s nose wrinkled. Tobacco juice stained the wall above the spittoon in the corner, and the distinct odor of corn liquor pervaded the small space. Ironic, Caitlin mused, seeing that the sale of alcohol to soldiers is prohibited. But she quickly masked her distaste for the man lest her expression jeopardize their errand.

  “George,” Prudence said without ceremony. “I thought you were transferred to the conscript department.”

  George Washington Lee coughed into his handkerchief. “True enough.”

  “Then where is the provost marshal?”

  “Mr. Oliver Jones will be back shortly. I was just collecting some paperwork I left behind when I moved offices. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “We need two passports.” Caitlin let Prudy carry the conversation. “We’re going to Gettysburg to fetch Stuart. Haven’t got all day for them either, so chop chop, if you please.”

  He wiped his mouth again before tucking the yellowed square back in his pocket. “What’s wrong with Stu?”

  “He’s dead, that’s what.” Prudy’s eyes hardened. “And I aim to bring his remains home before winter settles in any further. Miss McKae is going to help me.”

  Lee turned his beady eyes on Caitlin. “Interesting. And why, pray, would you do that, Miss McKae?”

  “Miss Periwinkle has shown me great hospitality and I count it an honor to escort her north to recover her nephew’s body. She should not have to make the journey herself.”

  A smile tilted his mustache. “I never tire of hearing you speak. Such a distinctive accent, you know.”

  Warmth bloomed in Caitlin’s chest.

  “Really, it’s so very kind of you to want to help. Are you sure there is no other reason you might want to cross the lines?”

  She schooled her features to reveal nothing.

  “Trying to reconnect with family? Friends? Perhaps you’d be content just to get a message to someone up t
here. Someone who happens to favor the color blue? Hmmm?”

  “Oh stop that, George. We’ve been through all of this nonsense before. Write us the passports before I die of natural causes standing here.”

  Lee reached into a brown paper pouch and stuffed a wad of tobacco into his cheek before rifling through the newspapers, forms, and envelopes on his desk. Prudence squeezed Caitlin’s hand in an apparent attempt at reassurance, but Caitlin’s reckless heart would not slow down.

  “Date of departure?” Lee asked Prudence.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Destination?”

  “I told you. Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.”

  While Lee scratched his marks onto the passport, Caitlin’s gaze scrambled over his desk.

  “Length of stay?”

  “Until I find the body and a way to bring it home.”

  Lee looked up. “A little more specific please.”

  The door burst open and a cold wind swirled Caitlin’s skirt around her legs. All heads turned and found a man dragging a young fellow in by the ear. “Lee. Glad you’re still here. This boy has no pass.”

  Lee stood and circled the desk to face the pitiful creature. “How old are you, boy?”

  “N-n-nineteen.”

  “Old enough to know the law, I reckon. Else, why hide from it if not already convicted by your own guilt? You a ly-out? That why you don’t have a pass?”

  Lee’s back was to Caitlin as he interrogated the alleged deserter. Heart pumping madly, she seized an unused envelope from the desk and scribbled the only address she could think to try—their old apartment in Manhattan. Perhaps it would be forwarded to Jack. Perhaps he was there even now. But what to put inside? No time to write a word! Every thud of her heart seemed to cry out, No time! No time!

  “Do you know what the penalty is for desertion, boy?”

  The questioning sounded far away. With trembling fingers, she tore off as much of the corner of the newspaper as she dared and tucked it into the envelope.

  But how to seal it? No time! No time! No time!