Minnesota Bride

by Lisa Prysock

  The Confederates held us off for a long time, but eventually Rosecrans overran the Confederate line on the top of Rich Mountain. Such a pity to see bloodshed on our beautiful summer retreat, but in retrospect, it is for the freedom and equality of all men that we fight this war and to hold our nation together.

  Then Pegram, at the bottom, finally withdrew his men as the day went on and Rosecrans began to wage a supremely victorious effort. It became broadcast about after the battle, the rebels had few rations and were wandering aimlessly on an open road to Beverly with no structure of command to be found. Pegram must have decided to surrender the next day.

  They brought the wounded to Blue Meadow to be tended. A steady flow seemed to filter through to us during the second half of the day. There, I did my best to help make them comfortable while they waited to be seen by a physician. I gave them water, cleaned their wounds, and bandaged those I could. We covered them with blankets, administered powders to dull the pain, and fed them broth. I washed their faces and tried to make them as comfortable as possible.

  They wouldn’t let me near the tent for those who’d been badly wounded, and in retrospect, I think that was for the best. I’m a much better teacher than a nurse, but I did my best for them.

  I was so happy when the cannons and muskets stopped firing at dusk and my Charles came walking out of the fray toward me. He put me on a Union Pacific train bound for St. Paul the very next day following the surrender. I haven’t had a letter from him since August, but I have faith the Lord is watching over him. He was at Bull Run in Fairfax County not many days after the Battle of Rich Mountain. He wrote that it was not executed well and a horrific battle. Thousands of men died there and many are still missing. The Lord protected him. However, I anxiously await another letter and cannot help but wonder where he is now. All we can do is pray while we knit socks and scarves for our men. We worry about how they’ll survive the cold weather and if they have enough food.

  I hope you keep your wits about you and stay alert. Get plenty of rest each day and take good care of yourself. Please write to us as much as you can, and again when you are home. I expect perhaps even by the time you receive this letter, you may be settling into your favorite parlor bench at Blue Meadow, telling your brother various war stories. Be safe. Mother is calling us to dinner and I must close. It is Sunday here and we do very little but attend church service, read books, write letters, rest, a little sewing perhaps, and have a meal together.

  Warmest Regards,

  Cousin Melody Trumbull

  Chapter 11

  “One section of our country believes slavery is right, and ought to be extended, while the other believes it is wrong, and ought not to be extended.”—Abraham Lincoln, 16th President of the United States of America from March 1861-April 1865.

  * * *

  The months of August and September seemed to fly by for Melody with all of the preparations for teaching and classes beginning. There were blackboards to wash, floors to scrub, student desks to wash, and her desk to organize. Then there was a frenzy of lesson planning, books to dust, and supplies to purchase before September the fourth, the first day of school. School would begin on a Wednesday. The last two weeks of August and first few days of September kept her particularly busy with all of the preparations. She was thankful for the distraction since she’d only had one brief letter from Charles in all that time.

  She made a small list with items such as chalk, a few extra inkwells, oil for the lamp on her desk, a few extra McGuffey’s readers and other text books, extra slates and slate pencils in case students didn’t have any, and a new ledger to record the names of students with their grades. Then, the week before classes, she went to the General Store on Fourth Street and made her selections, including a few extra items not on her list.

  She also needed some personal items which meant a trip to the local seamstress shop, the shoe store, and a milliner’s shop, all in the same week. She acquired a new pair of heeled ankle boots, three skirts and three blouses, a tweed jacket and another to match her skirts, a petticoat, a hat, a shawl, and a winter coat. There were fittings for some of these items on another day. She finally had everything purchased and left the seamstress shop with armfuls of new clothing wrapped in brown paper or neatly folded inside white cardboard boxes. Placing her packages inside the buggy she’d borrowed from her father’s stable, she finally felt ready for the school term.

  There was one thing remaining on her list of to-do’s. She’d found the door to the cellar at the schoolhouse, but now the cellar needed to be stocked properly in advance for any slaves who might come through from Samuel. He’d written to her and asked her for a phrase they would use in their correspondence to signal the arrival of any slaves seeking freedom. He also asked for directions to the secret location on the Underground Railroad where she would hide or meet them. They’d be coming from an undisclosed location near the northwest corner of Illinois, crossing on foot into Wisconsin on their way toward the Minnesota state line before reaching St. Paul. She’d be providing a refuge and resting point for them.

  Melody decided any slaves should arrive and come to the school early mornings if possible, when it was still somewhat dark outside. She sent detailed directions to the school in a letter to Samuel along with the phrase, Mercy’s Door. She would arrive early each day when Samuel alerted her by letter of any dear souls escaping a life of slavery. If they knew the phrase, she’d give them shelter.

  The special phrase to alert her of their arrival would be, “I’ve sent a donation of slates and chalk to you.” Samuel assured her she would be provided with the number of slates in the statement in equal number to how many slaves were expected. Samuel would send her the coded message by regular postal mail, alerting her with the phrase when he knew they’d be coming her way.

  Melody placed the items for the cellar in a picnic basket borrowed from the mansion kitchen on Exchange Street. Kitty hadn’t minded filling it with a few things, thinking Melody was taking a picnic lunch to the school to share with perhaps some students who might help her prepare for the first semester. She’d allowed Kitty to think this in order to gain more food for the guests she was expecting, although she hadn’t had a letter from Samuel yet. Nonetheless, she wanted to be ready with some items to provide comfort to the slaves.

  She lugged the picnic basket inside the school house after climbing down from the buggy. She set the basket on the floor and pushed her desk over until she could open the cellar door she’d found when scrubbing the floor. Then she lugged the heavy basket down the ladder. It was dark, and without a candle or the oil lamp, she couldn’t see anything. There were no windows. It was the perfect place to hide someone if necessary, so long as they were quiet.

  She left the basket on the floor and climbed the ladder again, spooked by the pitch black of the cellar. Carefully, she lit the oil lamp on her desk and carried it down the steps. Then she remembered she’d left the front doors to the school unlocked. She found a set of shelving against the wall and placed the oil lamp on it, climbed the ladder once again, and crawled out of the cellar when reaching the main floor of the school.

  “Melody?”

  Before she could stand up, her body nearly jumped out of her skin. She scrambled to her feet and took a deep breath. “Uncle Justus! You gave me such a fright!”

  “I’m sorry, Mellie. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Her uncle stood by the front row of school desks with a large crate in his arms.

  “It’s all right. I didn’t hear you come in,” she stammered, recovering. She wiped her hands off on the cleaning apron she usually wore when working around the house at home with Mama. This work as a conductor on the Underground Railroad business was about as nerve racking as spying had been. Already she could feel her adrenalin kicking in, just as it had when she’d been in Richmond, and again when she’d been at the Battle of Rich Mountain.

  “Kitty sent me over with more supplies your Mama thought you might need. She packed them up a little w
hile ago.” He shifted his weight to his other foot while still holding the crate. “Where would you like me to set it down?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Anywhere is fine, Uncle Justus. Thank you so much for bringing it over. I wonder what they sent over.” She chuckled, glad it hadn’t been anyone other than her uncle to find her inspecting the cellar. She needed to remember to keep her wits about her and act like everything was well in hand and going according to what was expected of a teacher.

  Her uncle scratched behind his ear. “Let me see if I remember what she and Kitty said. Anne thought you might want some blankets in case you’re ever stuck in a blizzard with the school children. She sent about a dozen quilts and blankets, some candles, matches, and some extra scarves and mittens. Plus there’s some extra tea. She knows how you like to have tea, maybe when you’re grading all those papers. I think there are some boxes of hard tack and cookie tins, too.”

  “Oh, Uncle Justus, what a marvelous care package. Thank you so much for delivering it.” Melody’s face broke into a wide grin at hearing this news. She knew she’d be spending the next hour organizing it all on the cellar shelving. Perhaps her uncle might carry it down the ladder for her. Then she changed her mind. She’d take the items down a few at a time. In fact, he could hand them to her so she wouldn’t have to climb that ladder too much. Now she had the perfect excuse to store the items in the cellar. It no longer seemed to matter that she’d be storing items there since there truly was no better location for the items.

  Her grin spread into a coy smile and she tilted her head, a few loose blond curls about her face. “Uncle Justus, would you mind handing me those items so I can store them below? I was just trying to organize everything into its proper place...”

  Soon the quilts were stacked on the shelves. Beside this, the extra scarves. Next to those items, she placed the extra tea, the cookie tins, and the hard tack after her uncle handed those down. Next, a sturdy lantern for the candles and matches.

  Then she opened the picnic basket and drew out more items. She placed the tin drinking cups and plates from the kitchen at home which no one would ever miss. Next, she drew two buckets from the basket. They could use one for drinking water, the other for a necessary.

  There was little else Melody could do except to provide distractions. She would have to work at finding some puzzles, drawing paper, pencils, sewing baskets, yarn, and books for those who might know how to read. Perhaps rag dolls or blocks for children. Maybe some spare clothing could be acquired. She imagined they might need a variety of things if they’d made it this far north. She wondered if Samuel in Wisconsin would equip them with coats. She supposed he would if he was able.

  She climbed up the ladder and Uncle Justus lent her a hand out of the cellar. They closed the door and slid the desk back over it.

  “I can’t thank you enough.” She smoothed out her apron again, brushing away a cobweb she must have encountered. Otherwise, the cellar had been quite clean. There were a few boxes of school records in one corner.

  “Glad to be of help. We’re all so proud of you landing this teaching position while your new husband is away.” Her uncle put his hat back on over his salt and pepper gray streaked blond hair. “Ready to go home? I rode over on Sally, and I notice you’ve got Sarah hitched to the buggy. The two mares can pace each other. I’ll ride beside you.”

  “Sounds wonderful. I’m starved.” She smiled. Dinner sounded so good. She realized she’d worked up an unbelievable appetite with all of the shopping and organizing. “What’s for dinner?”

  He followed her out of the school doors as he relayed the day’s menu. Melody knew he’d likely been hanging around the kitchen attempting to taste everything. “Kitty’s sisters, Mary and Beth, have been cooking all day. Mary baked a peach cobbler and an apple pie. Beth made a roast chicken with apple raisin celery stuffing, green beans with ham, and boiled parsley potatoes. Oh, and there are orange cranberry muffins, too. I saw Kitty setting out the orange marmalade and the raspberry preserves.”

  “It sounds delicious.” She climbed into the buggy and he swung into the saddle easily enough. Soon they were on their way back toward their neighborhood, west of downtown. She didn’t have to focus too much on steering since her uncle’s horse set the pace. They chatted about the news of anything happening anywhere about the war, and she couldn’t wait to be seated around the dinner table with her parents. Except for one thing, she’d been experiencing some kind of terrible nausea on and off after dinner some evenings for the last two months. As she considered it, she realized it could only mean one thing. Perhaps some mothers experienced morning sickness in the evening, when all of their responsibilities were done for the day. Then they allowed their bodies to feel the suffering.

  For the remainder of the drive toward the middle of downtown and on toward Exchange Street in the fashionable Irvine neighborhood, she could hardly focus on a word Justus Ramsey said. What she wanted to know is what her Captain would say.

  Chapter 12

  The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly. John 10:10

  * * *

  The first few weeks of school went relatively smooth in Melody’s opinion. She had been assigned fifteen students and had managed to establish an orderly daily routine. They studied literature and grammar, history, and geography in the mornings. Afternoons were filled with mathematics, science, and penmanship. Twice a week in the afternoon they studied art for one hour.

  Lunch was at noon, followed by recess for thirty minutes, during which time she usually wrote a letter to her husband. In her most recent letter, she spent a good deal of time telling her husband why she thought Mary the seamstress slave referred by Mrs. Van Lew to the Davis family might be a spy working for the Union. She’d forgotten to tell him previously, and oddly enough, with so few replies, finally felt she’d run out of things to write to him about. Reports were dismal at best about the war, and everyone was discouraged. However, by the end of the second week, news of the Union’s naval victory at Fort Hatteras spread through the nation’s newspapers, a victory under the command of General Benjamin Butler.

  Two of the older boys were missing from her class the next morning as she took attendance. “Does anyone know why both William and George are absent today?” she asked, her brow furrowing as she held her pen poised over the attendance book on the “reason for absence” line. Most rural families with school age children were done with the majority of the harvest work by then. It made no sense. She hoped they weren’t ill.

  William’s younger sister, Fanny Mae, shyly raised her hand.

  “Yes, Fanny?” Melody’s brow shot up.

  “William and George went off together, to fight in the war, Miss Trumbull.” Fanny’s voice quivered as she spoke.

  “But they’re only sixteen,” Melody replied. She’d heard and read plenty about instances like this, but it somehow felt different when it regarded two of her own students. Her thoughts immediately returned to the runner who’d brought Charles and her news involving them in the Battle of Rich Mountain at the request of General McClellan. They were only boys, just lads, not fully grown.

  The class looked glumly back at her as she sighed. They too seemed dismal and upset. On top of this, Samuel had sent her a brief note in yesterday’s post. He’d written that “a donation of eight slates with chalk” were due to arrive within the week ahead. Her nerves felt more than a little frayed.

  She’d also finally received two more letters from her husband, both arriving on the same day as Samuel’s letter. Charles wrote that he’d been involved in several skirmishes and Bull Run, but he was all right, missed her, and was anxious to come to her side. Thankful to finally have word from her husband, she remained full of anxiety about the problem of the late letters from her handsome officer. Likely, he’d written others and they were lost. Her heart had needed those letters, as had her mind. It pained her so that she’d h
ardly heard from him since July.

  “What’s wrong, class?” she asked, doing her best to hide her own problems and remain cheerful for her students. Better to know what ailed them than mull over her issues and concerns.

  The students were quiet. She wasn’t sure if they even knew. Finally Fanny raised her hand again. “Yes, Fanny?” Melody nodded in her direction.

  William’s sister stood up this time before speaking. “We’d like to help with the war too, but we don’t know what to do.” She sat down.

  For someone of only twelve, she was advanced for her age. Melody drew in a deep breath. She hadn’t intended to involve them, but apparently God had other plans. Hadn’t the very quilts her mother had sent been a sign the good Lord was watching over all she was doing?

  She pushed forward. She may as well risk it all. Maybe it would help the class to feel a part of the rescue. Maybe it would take them all to look after those the Lord would send their way. She looked at their faces, so eager to help, their eyes filled with concern and patriotism for their country. “All right, class. Permit me to ask you a question. How many of you believe Abraham Lincoln is doing what is right for our nation in trying to hold us together and maybe, eventually, bring an end to slavery?”

  The entire class raised their hands, nodding. She smiled approvingly. “Why do you think what he is doing is right?”

  There was a long pause as they pondered how to answer her question. Hannah, a student about the age of nine stood up with her arm raised, anxious to answer. Melody nodded. “Yes, Hannah?”

  “We believe it is the Christian thing to do. My Pa says slavery is immoral and the worst kind of evil. It is unkind. It is not true love to enslave another human being.” Hannah sat down after stating her outstanding and mature response. She’d listened well to her Pa. Melody approved, but she had to be sure of whether or not the whole class agreed with Hannah’s Pa.