Yankee in Atlanta

by Jocelyn Green

  “What’s that you say?”

  Vivian’s throat tightened. “We did not—part well.” It was only a hint at the yawning chasm between them, and yet even now, she felt exposed.

  “How did you part?” For the first time in years, George’s eyes harbored a spark of the big brother Vivian had adored.

  “I can make it right if I can find her.” She had driven her daughter away. Somehow, she would find a way to bring her home.

  Atlanta, Georgia

  Friday, January 22, 1864

  No place for a lady, indeed.

  Minnie’s hollow warning echoed in Susan’s mind as she and Zeke Murphy approached the Athenaeum theater on Decatur Street. Yes, its reputation was raucous and rowdy, full of drunken soldiers and the less savory elements of Atlanta society. She didn’t care. It was a gay diversion from the humdrum refugee life, and it swarmed with people. It was exactly where she wanted to be.

  The pungent odor of hay and corn pinched Susan’s nose as they entered the brick building. The first floor was used as grain storage and sometime slave auction floor, but it was a small price to pay to be among people who noticed her. Her most charming smile on her face, and her arm looped through Zeke’s, she swept up the stairs with the current of the crowd to the second-floor theater already teeming with hundreds of people.

  Dazzling with jewels and dressed in luxurious yards of scarlet Saxony Flannel cut in the latest Parisian fashion, Susan turned more heads here than she had in the last three years put together. Her butter-blonde locks were swept into an elaborately braided chignon, with just a few ringlets coiling next to her delicate face. Jeweled hair combs flashed gas light into the beholder’s eye.

  And all she had had to do to rise up out of impoverishment was give Zeke Murphy a few kisses, and more than a few breathless promises of more to come. She gave him the appearance of class, he had said, and he gave her the appearance of wealth. It was a fair trade for both of them. What did it matter that not all the stares they drew were approving? At least she was someone worth noticing—for whatever reason.

  Before taking her seat, Susan’s gaze circled the theater. Galleries on three sides squirmed with patrons edging into their seats, or greeting one another across the aisles. They laughed and smiled, as if they were not plunged into winter, or soaked with war. Playbill for the farce Slasher and Crasher in hand, she eased into her seat and faced the velvet drapes curtaining the stage.

  “Say.” A thin soldier sat next to Susan and spoke across her to Zeke. “You look to be in fine feather. Why ain’t you in uniform?”

  Susan kept her gaze straight ahead as Zeke volleyed back, wondering if he would dare admit he’d bribed the conscript officer to keep out of the ranks. “I’m just here to enjoy the play, same as you, soldier. Let’s leave the war talk outside, shall we?”

  “I don’t think so. With the money you spent on those rags you’re wearing, you could have purchased supplies for our army in camp or the hospitals here and greatly relieved their suffering.”

  “Now look here. I don’t want any trouble, I’m just here for the show, same as you. Let’s leave it at that.”

  “Your kind is worse than the Yankees, you know that? What do you do? Buy up from the blockade runners and sell the goods at cutthroat prices to your own people, for personal profit?”

  His guess was accurate, but incomplete. A large part of Zeke’s wealth, he’d confided in Susan, came from buying Yankee greenbacks from Union prisoners with the quickly devaluing Confederate currency. With U.S. dollars, he could afford to purchase scarce items, and then resell them for almost any price he set.

  “You selfish son of a—”

  “Watch your language, son. There’s a lady present here.”

  “A curse on both of you,” he growled, and spit.

  It landed on Susan’s face.

  Atlanta, Georgia

  Thursday, February 11, 1864

  “Hello, Caitlin.”

  Caitlin’s heart wedged itself in her throat. Prudence stood before her in the doorway, her eyes telling more than her words.

  Caitlin stood back, motioned her to come inside, and shut the door behind her. She licked her dry lips. “Did you find him?”

  “Yes.” Prudy followed Caitlin to the parlor and sat at the tea table with her. “I found quite more than I bargained for, in fact.”

  “Did I hear Prudence?” Naomi hustled into the parlor, eyes wide. “You’ve made it home! How did it go?”

  Prudy clasped Naomi’s hands and brushed a kiss on her cheek. “I would never care to repeat the journey. But once in Gettysburg, I found a Southern-born physician named Dr. John O’Neal, who had just finished compiling a list of Confederate dead and their resting places. He led me right to Stuart’s burial place on a little farm that was turned into an inn for survivors of the dead. Liberty Inn, it’s called. Stuart was there, buried beneath some apple trees.”

  “And he’s home now?”

  “Yes. It cost one hundred thirty-three dollars in greenbacks just to get him exhumed, placed in a coffin, and sent to Richmond, and from there it was trains and wagons the rest of the way home.” She shuddered. “But, Naomi, Stuart wasn’t all I found at Liberty Inn.”

  Color leeched from Naomi’s complexion. “Was Dr. Schmucker there for some reason?”

  “Yes—because he escorted me there himself after I inquired about your son Silas. Silas was at Liberty Inn.”

  Naomi’s hands fluttered to her mouth as she dropped onto the sofa. “Beneath the apple trees?”

  “No, you goose!” Prudy laughed. “He’s alive, and he lives in Gettysburg now! He wrote you this letter.” She dipped into her pocket and handed Naomi an envelope.

  Caitlin looked on in wonder as Naomi clawed it open and devoured the words with her eyes. As she read, tears traced her cheeks to the corners of her fading smile. At length, she hugged the missive to her chest and bowed her head.

  “Well?” Caitlin prodded. “What does it say?”

  Naomi wiped her cheeks. “A great many things, things too complicated to make sense to you. But the most important thing is that he is alive, and we are reconciled—or at least as much as we can be from this distance—over what transpired between us years ago. He lost his leg in the battle at Gettysburg last summer, and fell in love with a young woman there named Liberty Holloway. She is—” Naomi swallowed, breathed deeply. “She is the daughter of a mulatto, former slave. I see his tastes follow his father’s, God rest his soul.”

  Caitlin and Prudence exchanged a glance when Naomi buried her face in her hand.

  “Forgive me. He’s going to marry this Liberty girl, and complete the training he started at the Lutheran Theological Seminary. They mean to live there in Gettysburg. He took the oath to the United States.” She cringed as she said it. “And he invites me to come north and live there, too. He says if I can get to Nashville, he will meet me there and bring me ‘home,’ and take care of me.”

  Caitlin waited. Then, “Will you?”

  Naomi shook her head. “Home, he says. What home? The South is my home. Excuse me, please. Prudence, I’ll forever be indebted to you for this.” She rose and left the room, still pressing the letter to her heart.

  Once alone again, Prudy pierced Caitlin with her gaze. “Home is where the heart is, isn’t it Caitlin? And where is your heart? After all this time, was I wrong about you? Is your heart truly in the North after all?”

  “I—I—Jack is my—”

  Prudence held up her hand. “Stop. The less said the better.”

  “But did you—”

  A nod, and the matter vanished. “My errand here today has another motive.”

  “Oh?”

  She pursed her thin lips. “Lil Bit tells me that smallpox cases are on the rise again. We want you to be safe. I know you’ll stay close to home, since your pass has been confiscated, but the members of your household would do well to exercise extreme caution, as well. Some of the soldiers at the hospitals leave before their la
st scab has fallen off, and they are still contagious. Civilians are catching it, and the medical supplies are all marked for the army. You haven’t had it yourself, have you?”

  “No.” The whisper was dry, brittle.

  “Has the child?”

  “No, her skin is flawless. But Minnie has had it.”

  “Then she, at least, will be safe from the scourge. What about Naomi?”

  “We can ask her, but I’ve seen no scars on her.”

  “And Susan?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “We must know for sure. Where is she?”

  “In bed. She’s been complaining of a headache and sore throat for the last few days.”

  Prudy’s eyelids flared. “Did she go to the train station last week to meet Captain Morgan?” Thousands had gathered there to see the Confederate hero after his escape from the Ohio penitentiary, and followed him all the way to the Trout House hotel. “I’m sure hundreds of convalescents stole away from the hospitals to see him!”

  “No, no, it was too early in the morning. She never leaves the house before noon.”

  “I must see her.” With sudden vigor, the elderly woman swept past Caitlin and started for the stairs. “Stay here.”

  Caitlin stood alone in the central hall, her gaze following Prudy’s rustling skirt. Suspense buzzed in her veins until Prudy returned, eyes dark. “The rash has begun.”

  Caitlin gasped, fear whisking the breath from her lungs. “You don’t mean—”

  “Let no one in that room but Minnie. Hang a red flag on your house, allow no one in who has not had the pox or been vaccinated against it.”

  Terror curled coldly around Caitlin. “But what about you?”

  “Vaccinated. I’ll be fine. It’s you I worry about, and that child in your care. The disease has no mercy, and it is the worst on the young. Lil Bit has nothing to help Susan now. But if I know my own brother, he’ll come as soon as her sores are filled with enough pus to be of some good to the rest of you. In the meantime, pray as if your lives depend upon it. They do.”

  New York City

  Sunday, February 14, 1864

  Edward’s grip tightened around the bouquet he clutched behind his back for Ruby. Something was wrong.

  “I’d rather not dine out tonight, if you don’t mind.” She cast her gaze downward before peering up at him again, but did not move from the doorway of her room. After spending the week with wounded soldiers still elated about the Yankee prisoners of war who had escaped their Richmond cells five days ago, the contrast of Ruby’s sagging countenance alarmed him.

  “Are you unwell?”

  “I’m tired. Aiden required all my energy today, and now that he’s down for the night, I have no desire to go out. I’m sorry, but I’m just not up to pretending to be someone I’m not right now.”

  Edward blanched. “Is that what you call it?”

  “I don’t fit into your world, Edward, not like you do. I appreciate your kindness, but really—”

  “So help me, if you accuse me of just being a good neighbor to you I’ll—I’ll—” Grow a garden of rashes on my neck bright enough to read by. Awkwardly, he offered his bouquet to her. “These are not the flowers of one friend to another.”

  A smile flickered on her weary face as she accepted them. “No one’s ever given me flowers before,” she whispered.

  “Not even—” Heaven help him, would he always feel compelled to mention her late husband?

  “No one. I thank you.”

  A stiff smile tipped his lips as he wondered if an Irish immigrant would know the language of the flowers. The red carnations in her hand were for admiration. The pink roses for thankfulness. Red roses, of course, for love. “Happy St. Valentine’s Day. Or rather, what would make it happy for you?”

  “A cup of tea in front of the fire and the freedom to turn in early. Not very sophisticated, am I?”

  Edward drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Actually, that sounds wonderful. Is there room in front of that fire for me?”

  She nodded demurely, and his heart relaxed.

  By the time Mr. Schaefer came bearing a tray with a vase of water for the flowers, along with tea and biscuits, Ruby was visibly more at ease. Vivian sat in a corner of the room, quietly knitting for the soldiers.

  “You’ve been working so hard lately. How are things with Emma?”

  Ruby’s eyebrows arched as she sipped her tea. “She is such a big help to me in my sewing business! I don’t know what I’d do without her. And now that she’s making her money honestly, she has less reason to seek other—means of employment.” She hid a blush behind her teacup.

  “Emma is so fortunate to have a friend like you.”

  “But not as fortunate as I wish.” Ruby’s green eyes shimmered. “She is learning to be industrious, and still her life is not comfortable. Not like this.” Her gaze skimmed the wallpapered sitting room. “I fear she is jealous of me, and I can’t say that I blame her. Our life stories used to match. And now …” Her voice trailed away and she shook her head. Firelight gleamed on her red hair as she sipped her tea.

  Confusion rippled his brow. “Are you unhappy here?”

  Faint snoring coming from Aunt Vivian’s corner punctuated Ruby’s hesitation. “Not unhappy. Just wondering when the spell will be broken.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I tell you, I only fit here as a domestic. You and I were not cut of the same cloth.”

  Though softly spoken, the words bruised him, a boomerang of his own former argument. We are very different … “What are you saying?”

  Her cup clinked back onto its saucer on the table. She twisted her hands in the folds of her skirt. “Aside from Aiden, you are the single most important person in my life.” Her voice trembled, and his heart ached. “A life spent with you would be more than I could hope for, but you would be lowering yourself to take on the likes of me.”

  Edward balked. “I’m not ‘taking on the likes of you.’ I want to be with you, Ruby. I want you and Aiden to have my last name, to be part of my family. Not as a ministry, but because I—care for you more than you realize.” She made him want to be a better man.

  “I don’t play the piano or sing, and I have no idea how to make small talk with the ladies at church. The last thing I want is to be an albatross around your neck. I’ll tell you the truth, I want nothing more in this world than for Aiden to be able to call you his father. But you must know your pursuit of me will surely stir up scandal! Far better for your career if you make a match with Amy Lanser instead.” Stunned, Edward raked his hand through his hair and leaned his elbows on his knees. If he’d had any idea that his brief encounters with Miss Lanser—at the church and with the reverend present—would cause such insecurity in Ruby, he never would have mentioned them! Clearly, he had failed to make Ruby understand the depth of his feeling for her. But had she only been interested in him as a father to her son? “Miss Lanser is a fine young woman, but she has absolutely no claim on my heart. Have you no feeling for me, then, as a man?” he dared to ask, silently praying his eyes did not reveal the hurt she had inflicted.

  Ruby’s nose pinched. “My feelings have nothing to do with it.” When it came to men, they never did.

  “Yes they do!” Edward jerked his head toward Vivian, but she didn’t stir. “How you feel has everything to do with it. Who taught you otherwise, Ruby? What happened to you that you should believe this brazen lie?”

  His velvety brown eyes were so intent, she almost believed he really wanted to know. She almost wanted to tell him.

  “You matter. Your feelings matter, what you want and who you want matters.” He rubbed a hand over his clean-shaven jaw, and balsam shaving soap scented the air. “Speak plainly now. If you want me to let you be, I will, but we cannot go back to the way it once was. Now that Aunt Vivian is here, and my father has recovered the use of his limbs, I can request a transfer back down to Washington or Fort Monroe. You could stay here until Mrs. Waverly comes home, with no fear
of my presence. Just say the word and it shall be done.”

  “Fear of your presence?” she gasped, and the floodgates opened. She had feared her late husband Matthew at times, and Emma’s brother Sean, and Phineas Hastings, the man who had stripped her to a life of prostitution the first year of the war. Men took what they wanted from her whenever it suited them. Not once had anyone cared enough to leave her alone, until Edward. Would she now turn this man away?

  Tears spilled down her cheeks, tasted salty on her lips. “I don’t fear you.”

  “But do you want me?” he whispered. “Or shall I go?”

  Ruby bit her lip. “Don’t go.”

  “Why not? For Aiden’s sake?”

  Held captive in Edward’s eyes, Ruby scrubbed her heart for the truth. “And mine,” she said at length. “Please stay. I suppose it’s very selfish of me, Edward, but I do want you in my life.”

  Edward bowed his head for a moment, his breath released in a sigh. Then he reached for her hand—and she flinched, erecting a new wall between them.

  “Does my touch repulse you? Is that it?” He edged away from her on the sofa and looked straight ahead into the fire, where flames leapt and danced with reckless abandon.

  Heart hammering against its cage, Ruby forced herself to reach out and place her hand upon his shoulder. “No, of course not.” His body warmed her clammy hand, and he turned to face her once more. Deliberately, she slid her hand down his arm until she tucked it into his hand. Her spine tingled as he enveloped her hand in his. “The problem I have is not with you.”

  “Then what is it?” He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it, sending shivers through Ruby’s body. “Please don’t shut me out. No secrets, all right? I’ve had enough deception from my father.” His lips quirked, but he held her hand steady.

  Ruby had once believed that truth had set her free. Now, however, she felt trapped by it. Still, she could not lie to Edward. He already knew something was wrong.

  Her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth, refusing to form any words. Chin trembling, she swallowed the pain growing sharp within her throat.