by Ginny Dye
Carrie reached out for his hand. “I know.” She wanted her father to see so much more. She wanted him to understand slavery was an awful thing. She wanted him to recognize the horrible wrong it had inflicted on millions of people. But she knew she couldn’t force it on him. She had reached her own conclusions after months of struggle and soul-searching. She simply had to trust God to show him the truth. “I love you,” she said tenderly.
Carrie was sitting next to the window and staring out into the warm night when Janie entered the room. She had heard voices downstairs. Her father would have told her about Robert. Janie closed the door behind her softly then walked over and laid her hand on Carrie’s shoulder without saying a word.
Carrie was grateful she didn’t say anything. Carrie felt so lost, so alone. This was the very thing she had feared, and now it seemed even more horrible than her nightmares. Was God playing a cruel trick? Robert held all her heart. She longed to share the rest of her life with him. Where was he? Would she ever see him again? Was he suffering? The not knowing once again rose up and tried to swallow her.
“Carrie?”
Carrie registered Janie’s voice. Only then did she become aware she was trembling all over. She stared up at Janie wordlessly.
Janie knelt and wrapped her warm arms around Carrie’s shaking shoulders. “Let it out,” she whispered. “Let it out.”
Great sobs tore through Carrie’s body. “Robert!” she cried, “Robert...”
Carrie was up before the sun the next morning. Janie was still asleep when she slipped out of the room. The two friends had talked until late into the night. Once Carrie had released her emotions she had been able to communicate what she was feeling. The act of talking had helped deplete the suffocating helplessness.
Carrie strode purposefully up the hill toward the hospital. Janie was right. There was just as much reason to believe Robert was alive as there was to believe he was dead. Hope was all she had to hang on to. She was going to hang on. In the meantime, she was going to give all she had to the people who needed her - who counted on her.
Hobbs was awake when she approached his bed. Most of the other men were still asleep.
“So it was you yesterday. I thought maybe I’d imagined it.” Hobbs’ voice was weak, little more than a whisper.
Carrie reached for his hand. “It was me,” she agreed, smiling. “How are you feeling?” She reached out and touched his forehead. It was still burning hot.
“Not so good,” he admitted. He hesitated for a long moment. “Do I...? Were you...?”
“Able to save your leg? It’s there for now,” Carrie replied. “We did the best we could. Your right leg is now several inches shorter than your left, but we saved it - at least if infection doesn’t destroy it.” She was determined to be honest with him.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “Miss Carrie?” His eyes held hers as if he had something important to say.
Carrie’s heart started pounding. Suddenly she was afraid to hear what he was going to say. “You need to get some rest. We can talk later.”
Hobbs shook his head. “I promised the lieutenant,” he said, his voice stronger now, his eyes desperate. “If I don’t make it...”
Carrie dropped down into a chair beside his bed. “What happened?”
“The lieutenant got shot pretty early in the day. We couldn’t get him off the field. There were too many bullets flying.” His voice was filled with pain.
Carrie reached out and took his hand but didn’t say anything.
“Me and some of the men - we put a barrier of logs around him. We figured it would at least keep him from getting shot up any more.” He stopped. “We didn’t know what else to do. I went back with one of the medics that night to get him, but...”
“But what?” Carrie asked desperately. What had happened to Robert?
“He was gone, Miss Carrie.”
“Gone?” Carrie echoed blankly. “Gone where?”
“I don’t know. I looked for him everywhere. That’s how I got hurt - trying to find him.” Then he told her about being trapped in the town.
Carrie could tell Hobbs was fading quickly. But his story had just confused her more. “But what could have happened to him? Is it possible you missed him in one of the hospital camps?”
“It’s possible,” he said slowly, his expression saying he didn’t believe it.
Carrie knew how much Hobbs loved Robert. She knew how hard he would have looked.
Hobbs continued on, his exhaustion causing him to falter. “I don’t reckon our lieutenant is a prisoner. I don’t think the Union medics would have taken him before we could get to him.”
Carrie tried to make sense out of the information.
“Some of the fellas said maybe he deserted - got out of there while he could.”
“Not Robert! He would never desert!” Carrie was sure of that. She might have wanted him to, but she knew he never would have.
“That’s what I told them,” Hobbs agreed. His eyes pooled with tears. “I reckon our lieutenant is dead, Miss Carrie.”
Carrie stared at him for a minute then shook her head decisively. “I don’t believe it.” When Hobbs stared back she knew what he was thinking – he was pitying her. She shook her head again. “I don’t know where Robert is, but I refuse to believe he’s dead. Carrie knew her belief made absolutely no sense.
But she believed it; she had to.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Aunt Abby was waiting for Matthew at the top of her stairs. “Welcome, Matthew. It’s wonderful to see you. I thought you would never get back to Philadelphia.” She looked into his blue eyes and was relieved to see the haunted look that had lurked there the last time she had seen him was gone.
Matthew hugged her warmly. “I was beginning to wonder if I ever would. I can’t believe I’ve been home for over a week. The paper has kept me working so hard, I hardly have time to breathe.”
“I’m just glad you could come for dinner. I have so wanted to talk to you. I sometimes despair of finding a rational, balanced person in this whole town!”
“I hope I don’t disappoint you,” Matthew laughed.
“Nonsense!” Aunt Abby scoffed. “You haven’t let me down yet. It’s not that I think we should agree on everything. It’s merely that I want the freedom to express my views without fear of condemnation from those who disagree with me - or fanaticism from those who do agree.”
“You have my word I will give you that.” Matthew strode into the hallway eagerly and gazed around. “I’ve missed this place.”
Aunt Abby put an arm around his waist. “It will always be your home,” she said quietly. She knew it must be lonely for Matthew to constantly come home to an empty boarding house room. “Dinner is ready. Are you hungry?”
“Will the sun rise tomorrow?” Matthew teased. “Lead me to it.”
Aunt Abby had taken only a few bites, but she couldn’t refrain from speaking any longer. “There is so much I want to talk to you about.” She put down her fork, the food quickly forgotten.
“Such as?” Matthew mumbled around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.
Aunt Abby knew he was teasing her. “Such as the outrageous amount I had to pay for silk in the store just today. I told the manager he could keep his silk and stalked out.” Matthew put down his fork and stared at her. Aunt Abby laughed. “You want to ask silly questions, young man, that’s fine - you’ll get silly answers back.” She glared at him. “You know very well what I want to talk about.”
Matthew stared longingly at his plate of food, shoveled in a few quick bites then laid his fork aside. “Only for you would I hurry such a wonderful meal.”
“I could have waited to feed you until after we talked,” Aunt Abby threatened.
“Now there’s an idea,” Matthew exclaimed. “I’ll talk, but you have to warm up my meal and feed me again when we’re done.”
“You have a deal!”
Matthew wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned back in his
chair. “Would you like to start with Antietam?”
Aunt Abby paused. She didn’t want to subject Matthew to reliving the horrible memories Antietam must have given him.
“It’s all right. It’s been almost a month. I don’t know if I’ll ever sleep another night without vivid nightmares of the battlefields I’ve been witness to, but during the day I can manage to converse quite objectively about it. Rose was right. If you share it, it’s not so horrible. I’m keeping a daily journal. It helps,” he said simply.
Aunt Abby gave a sigh of relief. “I would very much like to know your perspective on it. President Lincoln is quite angry with General McClellan.”
“With good reason,” Matthew said darkly, a heavy scowl on his brow. “I imagine any other general would have ended the war by now.” He shook his head. “General Lee was up against impossible odds at Antietam. If McClellan had ever once thrown all of his army’s might at him, it would have been over shortly. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing as the day progressed,” he continued. “McClellan continued to send unit after unit in - each one being driven back after thousands were slaughtered. By day’s end, McClellan had committed less than thirty thousand of his troops. He had over eighty thousand men there!”
“But why?”
“I have learned there is no way to understand our fine general,” Matthew said sarcastically. He paused. “Actually that’s not true. Not if what I heard recently is accurate. I have every reason to believe it is; my sources are quite good.”
“What did you hear?” Aunt Abby leaned forward, relieved beyond words to have him there to talk to. She had missed him sorely the last six weeks. Being completely alone again, after Rose left, had taken some adjusting. There were still days she felt she lived in an empty tomb, but it was getting easier.
“President Lincoln called one of McClellan’s officers into his office. A fellow by the name of Major John J. Key. He serves on McClellan’s staff - or at least he did. Lincoln had overheard something Key was purported to have said and wanted to know if it was true.” Matthew paused, a look of disgust on his face.
“What was it?”
“Key was asked by another officer why Lee’s army was not captured at Antietam. His response was, ‘That is not the game; the object is that neither army shall get much advantage of the other; that both shall be kept in the field till they are exhausted; then we will make a compromise and save slavery.’”
Aunt Abby stared at him, unable to believe her ears. “A Union officer made that statement? What did Lincoln do?”
“He promptly dismissed Key from the army,” Matthew said with grim satisfaction. “I hate this war. To think men are trying to draw the suffering and agony out in an insane effort to save slavery makes my blood boil.”
Sounds of traffic filtered into the room - the clip-clop of horses pulling carriages, the distant whistle of a train engine. Laughter and talk floated in on the breeze. Aunt Abby would soon close the house up for the winter, but the cool fall nights invigorated her. Fall was her favorite time of the year, but she could find no joy in this one.
“I’m afraid sentiment is rather strong here in Philadelphia as well. With elections coming up, they seem to be reaching the boiling point.”
Matthew nodded. “I talked to a fellow about that this week. Enthusiasm for the war is fading everywhere, but it seems to be giving way to especially bitter dissension here.”
“The city has long held a tradition of sympathy for the South. Likewise, they have clung to prejudice and antipathy toward the black man. The combination is clouding its dedication to the Union.”
“With a few men helping cloud that dedication,” Matthew observed. “I interviewed Legislator Biddle a few days ago. He is quite opinionated.”
“That’s putting it rather lightly,” Aunt Abby responded wryly. “The Democrats are going to give the Republican Congress a run for their money.”
“The Republicans will be lucky if they can hold onto the majority,” Matthew agreed. “Biddle and the Democratic Party claim to be merely trying to preserve the Constitution and the Union the way the founding fathers conceived them. They are solidly against this war.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” Aunt Abby said sadly. “My daddy would have said that was like beating a dead horse. You can beat it all you want - but it’s not going to get up and walk. No matter how this war ends, our country will never be the same.”
“If only more people saw things the way you do, Mrs. Livingston.”
“If only they had seen it before the war started. There is no way to undo the damage this war has done, and I’m afraid the only way for a raging fire to go away is for it to burn itself out.” She paused. “I remember seeing a burning house one time. I was just a little girl. When the firemen first got there, they tried to put it out, but it was already too hot. They eventually stopped pouring water on it. They said when it got that hot the only thing they could do was let it burn out and hope it didn’t take everything with it.” She shook her head. “How much of what our country holds dear is going to be burned up in this war?” she asked sadly.
Aunt Abby rose to light the firewood waiting in the fireplace then moved to shut the windows for the night. A stiff breeze was making the room chilly. As she gazed out the window, she noticed the trees swaying in the wind, multi-colored leaves dancing then dropping to swirl to the ground. “Many families in Philadelphia did not accept revolution gladly in 1776. Many feel the same way now.”
“Biddle and other Democrats are keeping things stirred up,” Matthew agreed. “He is not quiet about his beliefs. He is asserting the South probably would have returned to the Union if her people had been offered complete security concerning the slavery issue. He blames the continuation of the war on the North. He strongly believes slavery has been rooted in America by the providence of God and that only gradual action can safely uproot it.” Matthew shook his head. “He also told me that repugnance to Negro equality is as strong in the middle states as it is it the South. He fears emancipation will inundate Pennsylvania with black men.”
“Yet emancipation is coming!” Aunt Abby exclaimed. She turned around, excitement shining in her eyes. “That’s what I want to talk to you about more than anything. “What do you think of the Emancipation Proclamation?”
Matthew hesitated. “It’s a step in the right direction,” he said slowly.
“You don’t believe it will accomplish anything,” Aunt Abby stated flatly, disappointment rising to choke her. She had so wanted Matthew to share her excitement.
“I didn’t say that. I’ve been trying to figure out what I think about it ever since I first heard of it. I knew Lincoln had written one long before he made it public. He was waiting for a glorious Northern victory to set it forth.” He laughed abruptly. “I hardly see Antietam as a glorious Northern victory. We suffered over ten thousand casualties in one day, but in the end the South suffered worse than we did. Lincoln took what he could get.”
“Why do you not feel good about it?”
“How do your abolitionist friends feel about it?” Matthew asked instead of answering her question.
Aunt Abby frowned. “They are grateful some kind of stand is being made, but -- they fear it is too little. They fear the compromise within it will render it ineffective.” She paused. “I have to believe any step will eventually take us where we’re going.”
“Do you know that Lincoln met with several black leaders this fall?”
“That’s probably a first!” Aunt Abby exclaimed. “What did they talk about?”
“Colonization. President Lincoln told them this war wouldn’t have started if it wasn’t for their presence in this country. He said that equality between our races just wasn’t possible. Told them he was sorry they had been subjected to slavery but that even once they were free, they would still be far from equal. Basically, he told them it was best for our races to be separated. He offered money to send anyone who would lead the way in colonizing an area o
utside of our country.”
“That’s awful! Of course, they turned him down.”
“No one took him up on his offer,” Matthew agreed blandly.
Aunt Abby could feel anger and frustration rising in her. Was there any way for all this madness to end? “The very idea of telling them that if they weren’t here this war wouldn’t have started. It was hardly their choice to be dragged to this country and thrown into slavery!”
“Have you talked with Rose about this?”
“Certainly. We talked about it while Moses was still here. Both of them hate slavery, but they are Americans,” Aunt Abby said firmly. “They simply want the chance to live in their own country in equality.” She paused then added defiantly, “That’s all most women want, too.” She knew she was jumping to another subject, but she was too angry to think straight. “I tell you, Matthew - women aren’t going to give up fighting until we have the right to vote. I refuse to simply sit back and let men make all my decisions for me. I firmly believe that if women had had a say in this, we might not have a war on our hands right now. We have a voice. We’re not going to give up until it’s heard.”
“I hope you don’t,” Matthew said sincerely. “I agree our country needs women’s perspective. I believe it could have a significant moderating effect.” He paused and looked at her closely. “Speaking of that -- have you found any more dead chickens on your doorstep?”
“Thankfully, no. I think my refusal to be afraid - plus the fact that you showed up on my doorstep minutes after it happened - made whoever did it think twice.” She clenched her fist. “Just let them come back. I refuse to let some cowardly person intimidate me. I’ve come too far - fought too long - for that! I’m no longer a frightened, newly-widowed weakling!” Aunt Abby suddenly laughed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go off on that tirade. Now, weren’t we talking about the Emancipation Proclamation?”
