“War is a dangerous business, even in camp.” Alden looked away into the darkness. “Soldiers have to be prepared for death. You, on the other hand, should not be expected to face those risks. Let me send you away. You’ve been an escort, and it would be natural for me to choose you to escort some of the wounded back to Washington.”
“No.” Knowing that the darkness cloaked her movements, Flanna reached out and slipped her hand over his. “We must all be ready for death, Alden. Once, in Charleston, a young lady was climbing into a carriage when her crinoline caught on the carriage step. The groom made a great noisy to-do as he attempted to free her, and the girl screamed in frustration. At that noise the horse bolted, dragging the poor girl for blocks before the carriage could be stopped. They called my father, but nothing could be done. That girl died on her way to a barbecue on a peaceful summer morning.”
Flanna’s heart squeezed in pain at the memory. “So you see, Alden, death can come anywhere, at any time, in God’s sovereign will. God holds my life, and he has seen fit to make me a part of this company, at home with these men. I will not leave them unless I have a clear indication that God wants me to depart. I will not go simply because I fear death. I don’t.”
He looked at her, his eyes compelling and magnetic in the gloom, then his free hand swept behind her neck. Her heart pounded as he held her at arm’s length for a moment, then the silence shattered with an angry howl. “Look out! Here comes another cook stove!” The shell screamed overhead and Alden drew Flanna’s head to his chest, shielding her until the canister landed somewhere near the center of the camp.
Within Alden’s arms, Flanna felt an unwelcome surge of excitement that had nothing whatever to do with the shell rocketing overhead. Her heart jolted, her pulse pounded, and she heard an answering uneven rhythm within Alden’s own chest.
Could he possibly feel what she felt?
He released her after the explosion, and she looked at him, her eyes searching his, but she saw nothing there but an aloof and protective pride. “Good night then,” he said, standing. He brushed the dirt off his uniform, gave her a distracted smile, then turned and walked away.
A blurred, red sun finally rose above the clouded eastern horizon. Tension hung in the air like dense smoke, waiting to descend and smother any man foolish enough to acknowledge his fear. As the rain began to fall again, Flanna and her company quietly loaded their cartridge boxes, formed lines, and advanced through the mud. Flanna gripped her rifle and moved out to the drummers steady beat, marveling at the eerie silence of the landscape ahead.
When the foremost company breasted the earthworks, the sergeant lifted his hand. “The Rebs are gone!” he yelled, his voice echoing over the flat land between camps. “Every last one of’em!”
Flanna and the others quickened their pace. Within moments they stood in a deserted Confederate camp, staring at refuse that pointed to a hasty departure. The ground around the campfires was strewn with heaps of oyster shells, empty bottles, cans of preserved fruit and vegetables. Flanna found a loaf of unbaked bread nestled in a kneading trough, and a slab of pork dripping over a still-warm fire.
“They’re all gone,” Sergeant Marvin said, coming to stand beside Flanna. The corner of his drooping moustache lifted in a wry smile. “Imagine that.”
Flanna closed her eyes. Thank God, they’d gotten away. General Magruder, whoever he was, God bless his cleverness.
The Army of the Potomac halted while General McClellan conferred with his officers. Flanna knew he’d pronounce the effort a great success, though the Rebel army had escaped and the war would continue.
Exhausted by the thought, she sank to the ground by some Rebel’s discarded campfire. A pan of beaten biscuits lay upon the coals, and she picked one up and stared at it. Had Wesley or one of her cousins taken that half-moon bite?
“Miss Flanna,” Charity whispered, crouching as she came near, “I wants to talk to you.”
“Talk.” Flanna leaned upon her rifle, watching the others forage for useful items. After the tension of the morning, she felt strangely relieved…even elated. No Rebels would die today, and none of her messmates would be torn apart.
“Miss Flanna, I was thinking about going home.”
“I know, Charity.” Flanna sighed. “I’d have slipped away long before this, but we couldn’t—not with the Rebels camped right here in our path. But now we may find a way. We’ll be moving further into Virginia, maybe even into Richmond.”
“I know.” Something in the girl’s voice struck Flanna as odd, and she turned to look at her maid. Despite Charity’s cropped hair and dirty clothes, a sort of passionate beauty shone from her face, an elegance Flanna had never seen about Charity before.
“Charity,” Flanna began, puzzled and more than a little nervous, “what’s happened to you?”
The maid lifted her head. “I met a man,” she said simply, featherlike laugh lines crinkling around her dark eyes. “He’s a body servant to one of the Yankee officers, and he wants to marry me.”
Ripples of shock erupted from the midst of Flanna’s chest. “He knows you’re a woman?” She grabbed Charity’s arm in a furious grip. “You told him?”
Radiating offended dignity, Charity shook her head. “Miss Flanna, I didn’t tell anyone about your secret. Beau says he knew I was a woman the first time he looked at me. And he never asked me about your reasons—I don’t think he cares much. But he wants to marry me, and I’m going to let him. We’ve been waiting a long while, and now’s the time.”
Flanna released Charity’s arm and stared at the fire in stunned silence. She tried not to cry, but her chin wobbled and her eyes filled in spite of herself.
Charity bent low to look in Flanna’s eyes. “Are you cryin’ ’cause you’re happy for me?”
“No!” Flanna gasped in disbelief. “I’m crying because you’re leaving me! I’ll be alone! Charity, how could you? I thought—I thought we were friends.”
Charity’s left brow shot up in surprise. “Friends? Miss Flanna, I was your maid, nothing more. I ain’t even been that since we left Boston ’cause you ain’t had any money to pay me. Truth is, you’ve always treated me more like a slave than a friend. And it’s time I moved on.”
“Like a slave?” Flanna’s shock yielded quickly to hurt. “How can you say that? I am personally opposed to slavery; I’ve said so a thousand times. You were always paid good wages.”
“Miss Flanna, what’s the difference in paying wages over the long haul and paying them up front when you buys a slave? Truth is, the difference between a slave and a free colored is that freedom means I can go when I wants to. And I wants to go now.” Visibly trembling with intensity, Charity swallowed hard and squared her shoulders. “If I is free like you say, you won’t stop me from going. And if I is your friend, you’ll want me to be happy more than you want a maid.”
Flanna felt the bitter gall of guilt burn the back of her throat, then she gave herself a stern mental shake and fumbled for another argument. “What about your mother and father in Charleston?” she asked, dismayed to hear a faint thread of hysteria in her voice. “Have you forgotten about them?”
“No ma’am, I ain’t forgotten.” Charity looked away, her eyes soft with pain. “I love my parents, but I can’t know if they’ll still be there when this war is over. I can’t know that I’ll even make it home. You’re shooting for an awful faraway star, Miss Flanna, and I don’t know if you’re gonna make it. So I figures I needs to be happy now, and Beau makes me happy.” She blinked, then focused her gaze on Flanna again. “I wish you the best, but I can’t go with you no more. Not one more step. Beau and I, we’re thinking of going back to Washington with the next load of sick soldiers. We’ll live someplace up there, at least until the war’s over.”
Still reeling with disbelief, Flanna lowered her head to her hands. She had thought she could endure the worst the war had to offer, but she’d never imagined she’d have to endure it alone.
“Miss Flanna.” Ch
arity straightened and lifted her chin. “Miss Flanna, don’t you be going on about this. You have always treated me good, but you have always treated me like a child. Well, folks like you tend to forget—children grow up. Truth is, I don’t need you, Miss Flanna. And it’s about time you learn that you don’t need me neither.”
The truth crashed into Flanna’s consciousness like surf hurling against a rocky shore. Blank and amazed, she sat very still, her hands clasped around her head, her eyes wide. Charity didn’t need her—what an unexpected, inconceivable thought! Flanna had grown up feeling responsible for Charity’s clothing, education, and wages, and yet she had ceased to provide those things months ago. And though it might be possible that she didn’t need Charity, that truth would be harder to accept.
But Charity was right—what was freedom if not the right to chart the course of one’s own life? Right now Charity had more freedom than Flanna did, for not only was Flanna caught in an enemy army, she was trapped in a false identity.
“I’m sorry, Charity.” Flanna’s voice cracked with sardonic weariness. “I’m sorry for…everything. Go, be married. I’m happy for you.”
Charity just sat there in the hush, her arms folded loosely across her knees, then she reached out and patted Flanna’s arm. “Miss Flanna, don’t feel sad!” she said, her face alight with eagerness. “You ought to get married too. Forget about going home till after the war, and get yourself out of this mess before you get killed.”
Flanna’s eyes screwed tight to trap the sudden rush of tears. “Roger won’t marry me,” she said in a choked voice. “Not now, not like this. Not until after the war.”
“I wasn’t talking about Roger.” Charity squeezed Flanna’s arm. “There’s another man that loves you, only you is too stubborn to See it.”
Flanna’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t mean Paddy O’Neil!”
“No.” Charity looked at Flanna in amused wonder. “I’m talking about Major Haynes. The man is crazy in love with you, and if you can’t see it, well, you’re blinder than most of the men around this place.”
“Alden?” Flanna muttered, half-laughing, half-crying. “Why, he feels nothing for me but responsibility. I’m nothing but a burden to him, a trial he’d rather send to Charleston than be mindful of.”
“Land’s sakes, Miss Flanna.” Charity shook her head in wonder. “You’re smart, but you can be awful thick sometimes. I know how you feel about Mister Alden. I’ve been with you eight years, and I know you. I saw you looking at him that morning before you went up that mountain at Ball’s Bluff. And I know you decided you’d rather take your chances against the Rebels than slip through the woods and leave Major Haynes.”
“You can’t believe that!” Flanna burst out, wholly taken aback. “Why—that’s not true at all! I had very good reasons for not leaving then, and I have good reasons for not leaving now—including the fact that I’d be wandering in the woods alone, since you’re abandoning me!”
“I am sorry about that.” Charity patted Flanna’s arm. “But you have a good head on your shoulders. If you just keep your eyes open and your head down, you’re gonna be all right.”
“Sure.” Flanna squeezed her maid’s hand with a warmth she didn’t quite feel. “I’d stand up and hug you, but the fellows would think that very strange.”
“Don’t mind me.” Charity released Flanna’s hand and stood up, then stepped away…toward the new life she’d begun to establish weeks ago.
Flanna had been blind to that too. “God go with you,” she called, a heaviness centering in her chest as Charity moved away. At least he is still with me.
Flanna sat silently for a long time, only half-aware of the men moving around her. From somewhere off to her right, a soldier snorted and wheezed into the depths of his handkerchief, and Flanna unconsciously noted that he could use a draught of syrup to clear his sinuses.
She pressed her hand over her mouth, smothering a wave of hysterical laughter. Oh, how Aunt Marsali would laugh if she could see Flanna now! The belle of Charleston, the girl who’d refused seven different marriage proposals by the age of eighteen because she wanted to be a doctor! Her cousins, who had teased her unmercifully about being too prim and highfalutin, would sell their prize jumpers for a chance to see Flanna O’Connor sitting in the mud beside a tray of cold biscuits, her hair hacked off and her maid sashaying away.
She was alone. Completely and totally alone. If she wandered off into the woods right now, no one would come looking for her. Oh, a few of the fellows from her company might notice her absence, and perhaps the sergeant and O’Neil would scout around in the bushes. When they told Major Haynes that Franklin O’Connor was AWOL, Alden would feel so responsible to Roger that he’d send out a detail to look for her. But if she disappeared in the late afternoon, he’d have to wait until morning, and Flanna could be miles away by sunrise.
But she couldn’t leave alone! Shaking her head, Flanna tucked away her thoughts of escape. Charity’s departure would leave an extraordinary void in her life, for properly bred young women did not go out in public without a maid or an escort of some sort, and they certainly didn’t traipse around in the woods like some kind of backwoods hermit.
“But you’re no longer a properly bred young woman,” Flanna whispered, reminding herself of the inescapable truth. She was a Yankee soldier, and she could go anywhere she darned well pleased. She’d found the courage to stand up to Dr. Gulick, and she could stand up to anyone who stood in her path—as long as he wasn’t too much bigger and didn’t carry a gun.
Who was she kidding? A skeptical inner voice cut through her thoughts. She was afraid to step out on her own, absolutely terrified of what might happen out there in the woods. She had told Alden Haynes that she wasn’t afraid to die, and that was true, but the thought of being alone paralyzed her with fear. At least here, in the army, she still had Roger nearby and Alden and the men of Company M to keep her company. And she had the memory of men like Andrew Green, who had assured her that the bravest birds sang in the dark because they knew God would bring sunrise soon enough.
She was not completely alone, then…but she would never find her way back to her loved ones unless she learned how to let go.
“‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart,’” she said softly, pressing her hands to her cheeks as tears slid hot and wet between her fingers, “and he shall direct thy paths.’” She wept silently, not daring to draw attention to herself, and hastily wiped her eyes when a long shadow fell over hers.
“O’Connor?” The voice was Paddy O’Neil’s. “You all right, lad?”
“Fine, O’Neil, just a wee bit weary.” She wiped her hands on her coat, then looked up and gave him a wavering smile. “What are they saying now? Did we run the Rebs all the way to Richmond?”
“Ah, no, we didn’t, though I wish we had.” He crouched in the dirt next to her, then picked up a stone and casually tossed it into the charred remains of the Confederate fire pit. “Truth to tell, they’re sayin’ that we’re goin’ to advance as soon as we can. Little Mac is intent upon takin’ Richmond. If he can do it, Major Haynes says the war will be over and done.”
Flanna smiled, finding great satisfaction in the possibility. She squinted up at O’Neil. “I’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
His ruddy face split into a wide grin. “Sure, and haven’t I said so? I’d like nothing better than to board a train back to Boston, there to hug my sweet wife and baby. I’ve yet to learn if it was a boy or a girl.”
“Well, it’s one or the other, I promise you that.” Flanna sighed as her gaze fell upon O’Neil’s rifle. Except for target practice, she had not fired her weapon once. Suddenly she desperately wanted to quit the war without ever having to squeeze that trigger in battle.
She lifted her eyes toward the western horizon. Somewhere in those outstretched miles ahead the Confederate army marched in retreat, and just beyond them lay Richmond, capital of the Confederacy and a central transportation hub for the South. Despite he
r fears, the knowledge tempted her. If she could gather her courage and slip away at an opportune moment, she could make her way to Richmond, wire her father, and take the train home to Charleston. She had an advantage now, for Alden carried a dress she could wear during her escape, and not even a nearsighted Rebel would confuse a woman in wide skirts with a Union soldier.
For her, at least, the war would be over the moment she crossed the threshold of her father’s house.
Twenty-Four
Tuesday, May 6, 1862
They rains have ended, it is beautiful day. Birds sing in the thickets that shadow our dead.
The first real fighting I have seen commenced from Williamsburg, where the Confederates tried to impede our forward movement. My company was Spared from fighting, as the Twenty-fifth Massachusetts marched at the back of the lines. We were not Spared, however, the work of caring for the wounded.
Afterward, the field of battle presented a ghastly appearance. In one small hollow I counted sixty dead, Confederates and Federals mingled together.
We found one of the dead Rebels sittings upright, his rifle aimed over the top of a fallen tree, his finger still curled upon the trigger. A Union soldier lay beside him, shot through the belly. Beside the Federal lay a Testament, and on his breast lay two ambrotype pictures—one of a group of children, another of a young woman. At least he had the images of his loved ones to prevent him from dying alone.
Does Wesley carry my picture? Does he have sweetheart? My heart breaks when I think of him and of how we were separated. When this war is over, if we both survive it, I do not want to be separated from my loved ones again.
I pray we may soon end this horrible war.
The wounded Union soldiery are taken to Dr. Gulick’s tent; by some unspoken understanding my messmates quietly bring the injured Rebels to me. I asked O’Neil why they assumed I would look with compassion upon Rebels, and he grinned at me. “Well, naturally, they know you’re the Velvet Shadow. Anyone who would risk sneaking out after taps to tend another has the sort o’ compassion these fellows need.”
The Velvet Shadow Page 29
