Faith

by Lyn Cote

  “I will get us camp stools,” Armstrong said.

  Without thinking, Dev jostled his cup and lay down quickly as though napping. His eyes shut, he heard some movement and then Armstrong’s voice as he returned outside. Dev just didn’t want to face anyone right now, not even his trusted manservant.

  “The colonel is sleeping,” Armstrong said. “He has had a difficult and strenuous day training the recruits.”

  “I was surprised that General Grant allowed the contraband men to enlist,” Honoree replied.

  “He needs all the men he can get.”

  “Faith and I were hoping the colonel would have time to take us to that plantation to see about my sister.”

  “I’m afraid that will be delayed until this duty is done.”

  The girl sighed long and loudly.

  “This war is worse,” Armstrong commented. “Much worse than the Mexican War.”

  “You were there?”

  “Yes, with the colonel. Or I should say the captain. That was his rank at the time. I was … We both were so much younger then. My fortieth birthday is only weeks away.”

  The reminder clutched Dev tightly. Another change. Another loss. Where was Jack? Was he still alive?

  “I will enlist then,” Armstrong said.

  Dev stared at the inside of the tent and let shock roll over him. No.

  “I wish you didn’t need to, but I won’t try to discourage you,” Honoree said. “A freeman makes his own decisions.”

  “Honoree, you are the only good thing to come out of this wretched war,” Armstrong said.

  The girl chuckled, but the sound halted abruptly. “I don’t like to think of you fighting.”

  For once, Dev was in complete agreement with her. Until recently he’d thought that after he freed Armstrong, life as he knew it would go on, except he would simply pay Armstrong wages. Now Dev knew that was not to be. What could he do to keep Armstrong safe? And the idea of losing Armstrong … one more loss. Unbearable.

  AT THE END of another day of ear-numbing shelling, Faith resisted the urge to seek out the colonel as she left the mess tent. She must overcome this attraction to a man who, while worthy according to his principles, did not embrace hers.

  Within moments Honoree had gone off with Armstrong for their daily walk. Faith declined to accompany them in case they ended up at the colonel’s tent. She returned alone to her tent and entered but then stood in the middle, coming to grips with her agitation. Or trying to. If Dr. Dyson had noticed her predilection for Colonel Knight’s company, others must also. She did not think her reputation had suffered or would suffer, but she could not allow herself to become “entangled” in the midst of a war.

  And with a man who owned a slave.

  Whenever she recalled that Armstrong belonged to the colonel, the idea unsettled her afresh. Unable to be still, she began pacing in the confined space. Armstrong didn’t appear to be mistreated, so the colonel probably didn’t realize that holding him in bondage was wrong, abusive in itself. In any case, was Armstrong really whom she was most concerned for? Thoughts, memories of Shiloh, had plagued her all day. I want to be free myself—free to find Shiloh.

  She halted and bowed her head, seeking the Lord’s peace, the peace that humans could not know without him. She asked for Christ’s light, the Inner Light, to glow within her, a light in the darkness, her comfort in the midst of this war.

  As much solace as she derived from her moments in the colonel’s presence, she must steer clear of him. But he was the only one she could count on to help her go to Annerdale Plantation to seek Shiloh. Frustration consumed her. He was her opposite; he was her friend; he was her thorn in the flesh.

  On this, the third day of training, Dev had brought along some other members of his regiment so he could break the African Brigade down into even smaller squads in order to teach them how to load, clean, and fire their Colt sidearms and Springfield rifles.

  He still grappled with arming blacks who, until recently, had been slaves. After being born and raised in a slave state, he could barely reconcile this decision with what he’d been taught all his life. Faith’s image came to mind. She was frowning at him.

  He dismissed this illusion and focused on the job at hand, on the group of African Brigade recruits gathered around one of his sergeants. The unceasing noise of artillery forced the men to huddle close around the sergeant in order to watch and hear his instructions, barely giving him room to maneuver his rifle. Dev watched the intent black faces around him. And when he recalled Armstrong’s intention to enlist, he imagined him here, learning how to fight. Caustic dread filled him.

  “Men, this is a rifle, not a musket,” the sergeant said, holding the weapon loosely in his hands. “Now, muskets have very poor performance. A rifle is so called because of the rifling inside the barrel.”

  He ran his hand along the underside of the barrel. “Rifling causes the ball to spin.” He demonstrated by rotating his index finger. “A spinning ball goes farther and straighter than a musket ball, and with greater destructive accuracy.”

  Dev tried to keep his focus on the earnest face of each new recruit, not letting his imagination bring Armstrong here. Did these men realize that rifles would also be pointed at them? Could rip into their flesh and snuff out their lives?

  “Sir,” a tall, thoughtful-looking recruit named Carson asked, “how does riflin’ make the ball spin?”

  “They etch a spiral inside the barrel and the shot follows it.” Again he demonstrated the motion with his index finger. “See?”

  “And that always makes the gun shoot better?” Carson asked.

  The sergeant nodded. “Yes. In the old muskets the ball shot out and eventually just dropped. The spinning propels it farther. Now we’re going to load our rifles with ball and powder.”

  Dev moved to another group to observe how others were faring. Once again, in his mind he heard Armstrong say he was going to enlist as soon as he was free. Dev felt sicker with each step.

  In front of her tent the next evening, Faith gazed at a soldier whose brother she’d nursed earlier this spring, wondering what had brought him here but glad of the distraction. In spite of her wise intention, she’d almost set out to the colonel’s tent again. Her longing to see him, to hear his voice, had nearly overcome her better sense.

  “You took such good care of Garner.” The corporal offered her a water bucket filled with small reddish-purple plums. “I wanted you to have these. I don’t know how the tree has survived the cannon fire, but I found it on a hill north of here while on reconnaissance, and it was covered with wild plums. At home they wouldn’t have been ripe till fall, but …” He shrugged.

  “Thank thee. Here, let’s empty the plums into my bucket.” They made the transfer. “I will find a good use for them,” she promised. “Did thy brother reach home safely?”

  “Yes, miss. I received that news in my last letter. Our mother is feeding him up and getting him back to normal health. Our family is grateful. They include you in their prayers.”

  “Please thank them for me.”

  He bowed his head and left her.

  The man’s brother had lost a leg. He was one of the few she’d managed to save from infection, and now he was home. Satisfaction swelled within Faith.

  She gazed down at the bucket of wild plums, and an idea of what to do about the food thief began to form in her mind. She felt almost vicious contemplating such a thing, but as the siege continued, food stores were becoming tighter and tighter. She considered how much worse it must be inside Vicksburg itself.

  The dire situation within the besieged city rose in her, an ache, and she pushed it down. The Confederates could surrender anytime they wanted. She recalled the colonel’s cousin, who had broken his word and escaped. The South was fighting to save its way of life, but couldn’t they see that day by day, their land and people were being destroyed?

  She could not deal with that fact; it was too big for her. She concentrated on how to carry
out her plan. She couldn’t stop the fighting, but she could stop or try to stop a mean thief who didn’t care if their patients were stinted in their rations.

  She headed toward the tents of the kitchen staff. Faith trusted the head cook. She was the perfect woman to put this plan into action. In spite of her frustration, Faith admitted she was glad to have something to distract her from thoughts of Colonel Knight, from Annerdale and Shiloh.

  The next day Faith arrived early at the mess tent. The head cook stood in the opening at the rear. She motioned for Faith to come. Faith hurried to her.

  “I did what you tol’ me and I set one of my he’pers, Dan, to watch and see if it works.”

  “Excellent. Thank thee.”

  The cook nodded once and turned back to the cook tent. Soon, inside the mess tent, Faith sat at her usual table and ate breakfast, her stomach knotting. Would her trap work?

  “Today,” Dev informed the sergeants who had been training the African Brigade recruits, “I’m going to let y’all go back to your normal duties.” For some reason he’d let his Maryland drawl become more pronounced today. He commanded himself. This assignment would end today for him as well as them.

  Grant had chosen a seasoned officer to command this new brigade long-term. Dev would introduce this officer to the African troops now.

  The sergeants saluted and left Dev. The nearly six hundred black soldiers remained, awaiting their new commander. “Captains!” Dev called.

  The newly commissioned African officers snapped to attention. He recognized the alteration in these men, now dressed in sharp blue uniforms and standing with ramrod posture. The soldier named Carson who reminded him of Armstrong stood among the brigade captains.

  “Your new commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Hermann Lieb, will now take charge.”

  There was an exchange of military courtesies and Dev fell back, giving the new commanding officer the forefront.

  Lieb addressed the men. “Today, Captains, you will take your companies through the daily military routine: roll call, rifle practice, and—”

  The after-breakfast artillery barrage began, interrupting him. With a wave of his hand, Lieb mouthed, “Proceed!”

  The new African captains saluted and headed off, motioning for their smaller companies to follow. As the members of the regiment went through their duties, Dev headed back to his own command. Lieb would do as good a job as anyone could with these raw recruits.

  Dev had rarely seen such fervor in any troops. Again the thought of Armstrong enlisting curdled in his midsection. And he couldn’t help reflecting that he hadn’t seen Faith for days now. Was she avoiding him? Or was he avoiding her?

  Faith turned from freshly bandaging a soldier who’d lost an eye. One of the black orderlies, a teenage boy who’d practically run up to her, was waiting impatiently. “Miss Faith,” he said with definite excitement, “I think I spotted who it is.”

  A combination of excitement and fear whipped up her spine. “Yes?”

  “He been to the latrine four times already this mornin’. You won’t b’lieve who it is. Come ’n’ see.”

  Faith decided not to press him—to see for herself instead—but she needed one more person to witness this so there would be no doubt about the thief’s identity. “Thank thee. Go watch for the culprit. I’ll come soon.” She swept toward the nearby tent, where Dr. Bryant was painstakingly washing his surgical tools for the day. “Dr. Bryant, I think we’ve discovered our thief.”

  He stopped his task and turned to her, drying his hands on a towel. “How?”

  “Come.” She waved him to follow. “I’ll explain so thee can confront the culprit.”

  Evidently caught by her urgency, he hurried along beside her. “Well?” He spoke next to her ear since the bombardment continued unabated.

  “The head cook has been reporting to thee that our food supplies were being stolen,” she began.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I set a trap for the thief: a strong purgative mixed in with wild-plum pie.”

  “What!” Dr. Bryant halted, gawking at her, then caught up with her. “I take it we’re headed for the latrine?”

  The humor of the situation suddenly burst over her. “Yes. The culprit is now reaping what he has sown.”

  Dr. Bryant merely shook his head at her. “You stay behind. I’ll handle this.”

  She let the doctor go on ahead and hung back, sheltering behind a nearby tree where she could observe unnoticed.

  He quickened his pace and reached the latrine just as the head of the hospital, Captain Slattery, staggered out from behind the stretched canvas barrier.

  “A bit under the weather, are we?” Dr. Bryant roared at the man.

  He flinched and encompassed his abdomen with both hands. “I’m sick.”

  “Yes, from the purgative in the wild-plum pie you stole early this morning!” The doctor bellowed so loudly she could hear it between artillery blasts.

  Slattery bent double and hurried back behind the canvas.

  Dr. Bryant returned to her. “I’ll have the man’s tent searched for more evidence and notify headquarters.”

  She drew out a small bag from one of her apron pockets. “Here’s an herbal remedy. I don’t want him to become really sick.”

  He smiled and accepted the pouch, then offered her his hand. “Thank you, Nurse Cathwell. Your intelligence and abilities always amaze me.”

  Faith felt herself blushing. “I just do what I can, Doctor.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Leave this to me now.”

  She curtsied, something she rarely did here, and went back to the tent and her patients. As she reached the rear entrance, Dr. Dyson pushed past her, clutching his abdomen, heading straight for the latrine.

  Faith halted, startled to her toes. This she had not foreseen. Were the two men in this together? Or had Dr. Dyson been offered a piece of the stolen pie? Or become ill in some more innocent way? She was glad to leave this situation to Dr. Bryant. And she hoped he’d keep her part in it secret.

  After supper and during an early end to the daily barrage, Faith and Honoree walked side by side toward the colonel’s tent. Over one arm, Honoree carried a covered woven oak basket. Concealed inside was a gift from the head cook, a wholesome plum pie draped with a starched dishcloth. After giving two slices to Ella for her and her husband to enjoy, Honoree had decided they should share the rest of this rare treat with the colonel and Armstrong. Faith knew she should not have agreed to come along, but here she was. And perhaps she’d have an opportunity to ask the colonel about going to Annerdale. She felt as trapped by this siege as the residents of Vicksburg.

  Armstrong, who must have been anticipating Honoree’s arrival, came out of the tent. He greeted them, and the colonel stepped outside too.

  Having avoided him for several days, Faith experienced some awkwardness, and she saw it reflected in the colonel’s posture.

  “We have pie,” Honoree announced in a discreet but cheerful tone.

  Armstrong beamed and quickly waved them inside.

  Faith hung back just inside the open flap. It was not quite proper for them to enter a bachelor tent when not engaged in nursing, but she understood the dilemma. They didn’t have enough pie for the surrounding soldiers, so propriety would have to bow to this necessity for the sake of discretion. She entered the tent.

  Quickly Armstrong produced tin plates and forks, and Honoree served the pie, cutting generous pieces for each of them. She also murmured the story of Faith’s plan with the other pie. “And it worked. Slattery will no doubt be court-martialed as soon as he’s strong enough to face it.”

  “In the end I felt sorry for him,” Faith said.

  “You would,” Honoree responded, shaking her head.

  “He’s laid up in the hospital—”

  “And that rude Dr. Dyson is not feeling too good either. We don’t know if he knew the pie had been stolen, but either way he probably saw it and demanded a piece. He deserved what he got too
.” Honoree tried unsuccessfully to hide her smirk. “I’m just being honest, Faith.”

  Someone cleared his throat outside the open tent flap. “Miss Faith Cathwell?”

  Faith turned toward the corporal at the open flap. “I am she.”

  “I was told you might be here. General Grant asks if you would come to his tent with your herbal medicines.”

  “Is the general ill?” Faith asked, handing her plate of half-eaten pie to Honoree.

  “No, miss, and you can finish your dessert. But would you please come to the general’s tent when you’re able? His young son has a problem.”

  Faith wished the man would be more specific, but she’d met with this before. Men weren’t supposed to discuss physical problems or medical needs with a young unmarried woman. The fact that she was a nurse didn’t change this ingrained hesitance.

  “Has Dr. Bryant been consulted?”

  “I’m not sure. I only know that I was ordered to bring you.”

  That sounded odd. “Very well. I will come soon.”

  The corporal bowed, saluted the colonel, and departed.

  “I wonder what that’s all about,” Honoree commented.

  Dev rose somewhat gladly. His man and Honoree were exchanging glances, which made him feel as if he were intruding on them. And which sharpened his feeling of separation from Faith. He’d missed her the past days.

  Why was she avoiding him? He would try to find out tonight, and he had something to give her as well. The paltry offering might heal their rift—if he could persuade her to tell him what had caused her to draw away from him.

  Faith rose from the camp stool. “I must go.”

  Honoree moved as if to rise.

  “No, stay and enjoy thy evening. I must fetch my chest,” Faith said, moving to leave.

  Dev stepped toward the door too. “I will accompany you.”

  “That isn’t necessary.”

  “No, it isn’t, but it is polite and prudent. I’m coming with you.”

  She gazed at him and said with reluctance, “As thee wishes.”