Each Other

by Pamela Erickson

Next morning, I went out to the garden as soon as I was dressed. It was a clear morning with a soft breeze from the west. Grabbing carrot tops I pulled clumps of bright orange roots out of the brown earth. Having harvested all the spring vegetables that I could, leaving other plants to mature with time, I worked the earth with a pitchfork. After laying hay mulch I cleaned the carrots at the pump and checked their condition for sale. After cleaning myself up a bit I brought my bounty into the kitchen to the table where I sat down and wrote a note. Looking up from the paper, I instinctively drew the curtains over the window beside the table. When I did so, I noticed the woman in the adjacent yard; a slave woman was hanging out the landowner’s laundry. I could swear that she always hung the same brown blankets and white sheets the same way on the line, almost in a pattern on the clothesline. Then, I went on with my deed, hoping that my note could reach the next depot north where there was a direct link to the federal army. We’d been asked, through the network to assess the position of the army and send word as soon as possible.

  The note read:

  Rebel troops are arriving by train from the west

  McC has enough men to move now

  Richmond in the next week would be best

  Delays hurt the effort –anyhow.

  Cotton reduced to entice the Continent

  Feds must act soon or lose the upper hand

  Aid to prisoners inland

  Much sentiment.

  —Gardener

  I had to find a way to move the note northward, and quickly. There was only one choice at the time. Folding the message over itself, I placed it at the bottom of a basket and covered it with vegetables. Then, I changed out of my garden clothes, left the house and carried my wares into town.

  A wooden planked sidewalk met my heeled shoes with a resonant and hollow sound. I shifted the weight of the basket on my hip trying not to attract attention to myself. Two blocks up I could see the new arrival of Confederate troops and the train behind them. An acrid scent of the coal engine was carried down on a light wind. It bit my nostrils and burned my eyes, but it passed quickly and I continued walking, shifting my basket as I needed to be careful not to spill the vegetables and expose the note. Around me, activity was building like bees in sunlight. The troops poured off the train, some dazed, new to war, others looking around, taking in the layout of the little town checking out their prospects. I had hoped to get to the grocer’s before the crowd from the train station managed to get there first. Women were rushing up the street to meet the arriving soldiers, many with freshly picked flowers in hand, while horses and carriages dodged those men who stood in the street as if asleep and unaware of their approach.

  The rail line had been the main reason that I had chosen the little town of Marsh Station to be my home during the war. I had been given other choices of small towns along the train route, but Marsh Station stood at a crossroads between the cities, the towns, and the watersheds of northern Virginia. Its access to the north made it a vital link to Washington and it was also, we hoped, an unsuspected courier route for spying activities. With Richmond to the south, we could get information easily, but keep a distance just the same.

  In the early months of the war with spying as a new strategy, the Union had found sympathizers, who were also accessible business people in the towns, to serve as the eyes and ears of the Federal government within the Confederacy. Henry Beard, the grocer and owner of the mercantile store with whom I sought to trade, was one such man. He had worked with me since my winter garden had begun to produce and we used it as a cover for notes that would be passed north. Another agent, K.O.Quimby, was a local telegraph operator who was able to send messages through the South and sometimes, divert them to the Federals. I’d never met him; I’d only heard about him.

  Two newsboys stood out front of the store waiting for their prospective clients to gather up their gear and approach the mercantile store for candy or writing materials so those who could write, could send letters back home. The two boys looked to be about nine and eleven years old and by their features, they had to be brothers. Their hair was clipped short, their cheeks rosy, and both wore short pants and tattered hats. I looked up to see three Confederate soldiers approaching me and I soon found out that they expected me to greet them with a heroes’ welcome believing that the basket I carried was a gift intended just for them.

  “Hey darlin’, that must be for us,” said one.

  “Oh, fresh carrots and what else are in here,” said another soldier, putting his gritty hand on the side of the basket. He smelled like sour compost and soot. Undoubtedly his skin crawled beneath the thin fabric of his worn uniform.

  “Probably picked by her boys this morning,” stated a third.

  “Hey sugar, how about a kiss along with these goodies? After all the ladies up there hung all over us before we could get our hides away from ‘em.”

  Anticipating their effrontery I tried to sidestep the three stinking soldiers but they made a line blocking my way. I began to itch just looking at them. As they reached out to grab the basket I pulled it away from them and retreated a few paces nearly going backwards down a couple of stairs, but I held on tight to my wares. Nothing was lost. The vegetables and the note were intact. Catching myself, I walked down off the sidewalk and onto the street avoiding contact with the men completely while the newsboys stepped out in front of the soldiers, thankfully distracting them.

  “Read all about the war, mister. One penny,” said the youngest of the two.

  “Hey why ain’t you fightin”? asked the soldier in the middle. “I seen kids your age out there with us.”

  The older newsboy stepped up to the soldiers and replied, “When we run outta news, we’ll join, okay? Now, how about that paper sir?”

  “Give the boy a penny Johnny and we’ll see what it says about the North so we can go back mad as hell. We always fight better that way.”

  “Okay, but you gotta read it to us, hear?

  With that said, the soldier dug a coin from his pocket while another spit in the street. Soon they were on their way to get a drink at the tavern.

  Inside the mercantile store it was quiet for the moment. Items lined the walls as thick as bats in a cave. Shoes and boots, lamp oil and spades, crates of apples, bolts of fabric and ribbon, pots, pickles, wax, jars, crocks and, in front by the cash register, a display case of colorful candies and other sweets.

  A young clerk assisted a woman measuring fabric. I set my brimming basket next to the doorway marked ‘H. Beard, Grocer’ and knocked loudly. The door opened a few inches responding to the weight of the knock. Poking my head around the door I knocked lightly again.

  “Mr. Beard?”

  “Yes?” said a man’s voice from behind the door.

  He opened it after a pause, “Why, Miss Cunningham!” “How nice to see you. You are doing well, I presume. Have you come to shop or sell this morning?”

  His voice had a smooth drawl like sweet warm whiskey

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine. Thank you. And, I’ve come to do both today, Mr. Beard…shop and sell. I’ve brought a basket of carrots, a few cabbages, radishes, and some potatoes. They’re fresh from the garden just this morning, the end of my winter garden. I imagine you’ll want to look through them while I shop around a bit. I just need a few things.”

  “Of course, let’s see what you have,” Beard said. “I’ve needed some more fresh vegetables. These will do just fine I’m sure. I’ll bring them in and have a look for pricing while you gather up whatever it is that you need.”

  “Certainly. I did see a train just in so I’d better get to it. I’m sure it’ll be busy in here this morning.”

  With that the young female clerk at the front counter looked up seeming to notice me for the first time and smiled, probably thinking about the young soldiers who would be paying her a visit in the next few hours. Then she resumed with a customer, cutting fabric from a thick bolt.

  Beard disappeared into his office with the basket of vegetables
. In my mind’s eye, I imagined his ritual. Closing the door, he’d put the basket on his desk and with his back to it, lest an uninvited visitor came in. I bet he reached down into the basket, extracted the note from the bottom and read it over briefly, instinctively looking over his shoulder again as he did so.

  Putting the note in his pocket, he left his office, and approached the register. There he took out several bills and came over to pay me for the goods. I had stopped in front of the fresh chickens that hung in the meat section.

  “Thank you, Mr. Beard.” He smiled and returned to his office. Then, turning to the clerk, “I’d like that large chicken and two pounds of rice please. Oh, and do you have any bread in?”

  “Just came in twenty minutes ago, and we haven’t even had time to put it out yet,” came the reply.

  “I’ll take a loaf, please. Oh, make that two. I didn’t get any made this morning,” I requested.

  Packing up my groceries in the basket that I had brought with me, I bid my goodbyes and left in the direction of home. Just as I was passing the Three Lanterns, Kate, or Katherine as many called her, was leaving and we laughed as we had nearly collided right at the doorway. Kate was a tall woman with a hat cocked on her head making her seem even taller. She was dressed for spring with a pink spray of flowers crossing the front of her chapeau and then carried down into the fabric of her well-fitting dress. Her high button white shoes and white gloves made her look very festive though rather impractical on such an ordinary morning as that one. We paused to talk with one another.

  “Well good morning, my dear,” I said in greeting. “How are you? I hardly ever see you anymore. I haven’t even invited you to dinner yet and I’ve meant to do that.”

  “Good morning to you, Annie Cunningham,” she said, pecking me on the cheek.

  “Won’t you join me this evening? Bring your special man with you and we’ll have a meal together?” I asked.

  “Oh, Annie I’d love to, really darling, but it is difficult to leave this place with all the business we’ve had…”

  “You haven’t even seen what I’ve done to the house. I don’t think you’d mind missing a few choruses of war songs, Kate, do you? Good company and a spring feast? Look, I’ve just purchased my groceries. Besides, you may be in for a surprise when you see who else is coming.”

  “Well Annie, you know how to spark my curiosity. All right then, I’ll come, but I must bring my gentleman friend and we won’t stay late. Besides, maybe the neighbors need to see me around there once in a while.”

  “Fine then, I’ll see you about seven?”

  CHAPTER NINE