Spring Will Come

by Ginny Dye

  Robert sensed Polly watching him closely. “It’s a nice song,” he agreed somewhat lamely. Then he looked at Polly.

  “Yep. Theys runaway slaves,” she said firmly, answering the question in his eyes. “Our home done been part of the Underground Railroad for years. Folks just heading for the North on their own now so it ain’t in operation much, but we still open our home to folks who need a stoppin’ off place.” Polly gathered her rags then picked up the pail of water. “Folks wants to be free, Robert.” She turned to Amber. “Why don’t you run out and get some more water?”

  “Yessum.”

  The door swung open, and Gabe strode in. “Looks like we gonna get some snow tonight,” he announced. “I finished up my job over at the White farm early. Figured Clint and me ought to cut some more wood. We gettin’ snow awful early this year. Looks like it gonna be a cold winter.”

  “That sounds like a mighty fine idea,” Polly said a little too brightly.

  Gabe walked over to warm his hands at the fire and watched her closely. “Everything all right in here?” he growled.

  Robert understood. He knew how much Gabe loved his wife. He also knew the big man would stop at nothing to take care of her.

  Polly nodded. “Me and Robert just talkin’ bout the Underground Railroad.”

  “What?” Gabe exclaimed. Then he swung around to stare at Robert. “We real proud of what we done to help folks. Ain’t plannin’ on stoppin’ either.” There was a hint of a threat in his voice.

  Robert merely nodded. Amber’s song had cut through to his heart. For the first time he was beginning to understand what Carrie had been trying to tell him. Black people were just that - people. His thoughts swung in a different direction. “How can you stand having me here?”

  Gabe scowled then shook his head and turned back to the fire. Polly ceased stirring her batch of cornbread and watched the two men. A long silence stretched through the cabin. Finally Gabe swung around. “I ask myself that question ever’ day,” Gabe said slowly. “I can’t hardly believe I gots me a slave owner laying in my bed. I gets so angry sometimes...” his voice trailed away. Then he straightened, his clear voice booming in the quiet. “I had men treat me like I be nothing. I knows what it’s like to be hurt and have nobody to look after you. I’s twenty-five when I done run away from my owner. It mighty hard then - and it been mighty hard since - but ain’t nobody ever gonna treat me like I’s nothing again.” He paused for a long moment then looked Robert squarely in the eyes. “I hates being treated like that. I wants to be treated like I’s a human being - not a animal. I reckon I should treat you the way I’s wants to be treated.” He shook his head. “Even though I knows you wouldn’t treat me the same way.” His voice was bitter. “Some things you just gots to do for yourself. Even if they don’t make no sense.”

  Robert had never heard Gabe say so much at one time. “Thank you,” he said then stopped. He didn’t know what else to say.

  Gabe nodded abruptly and turned back to the fire, his back stiff.

  Robert’s thoughts were spinning. Slowly they began to settle. “You’re right,” he finally admitted.

  Gabe swung around to stare at him.

  “I wouldn’t have treated you like a human being before.” Robert struggled to sort through his thoughts. “Carrie - the woman I’m engaged to marry - has helped her father’s slaves escape through the Underground Railroad. I thought she was wrong.”

  “Yet you was gonna marry her?” Polly asked in surprise.

  “Yes. Both of us realize love has to give room for differences.” Robert managed a smile. “But I know Carrie. She’s been praying I would see things differently. The thing is,” he said slowly, “I thought what I believed was the right thing. The church told me it was my duty to own slaves.” Gabe snorted, but Polly raised her hand to keep him from speaking. Robert knew she was trying to give him time to figure things out. “Carrie was right. I let hate take over my heart.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell Polly and Gabe about his father, or about the little boy he had killed.

  The only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire. Robert finally looked up. “I’ve been wrong. Being here - watching your family - knowing Amber...,” his voice trailed away. “I’ve been very wrong,” he whispered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Matthew hugged his blanket closer and peered out the door of his tent. His three colleagues were already snoring, but sleep eluded him. Could it really be fewer than two weeks until Christmas? Peace on earth seemed to be nothing but a grim mockery. The sun would rise in just a few hours. When it did, Matthew was sure nothing would keep General Burnside from ordering an all-out assault on Lee’s forces positioned on the heights above Fredericksburg.

  Matthew scowled as he reviewed the last two days. He had already written it down for the paper, but the details continued to swarm through his mind. Federal troops had been amassing outside of Fredericksburg since early December. General Lee had stationed his army there weeks before. Matthew knew the wily general would be well entrenched in the hills above the city. The Army of the Potomac had reeled under the dismissal of General McClellan as their commanding officer and was trying to adjust to their new commander. Matthew knew President Lincoln had made the best decision under the circumstances - it would be ludicrous to have continued with McClellan - but he wondered if the army was ready to give its all for a new general. He liked what he knew of Burnside but wasn’t sure any man could take on Lee’s army in its current position.

  Two days ago, Burnside had sent his engineers out into the frigid predawn to begin building bridges over the Rappahannock in preparation for the assault. Lee’s men had been well positioned in the brick buildings along the river. The Rebels had knocked holes in the walls facing the waterfront in preparation for the Federal action. As soon as daylight appeared, they had begun firing, driving the Union engineers from the bridges time and time again. Burnside had finally ordered demolition of the buildings in the town. Over 140 guns had poured 5,000 rounds of heavy artillery into the city already wisely abandoned by its inhabitants. By late afternoon a bridgehead had been established, and Federal troops had poured over the bridges into the city. Lee had ordered the withdrawal of his men to the protected heights. Now the Confederate general was merely waiting.

  Yesterday a dense fog had blanketed the area, limiting visibility to just a few yards. Burnside had ordered an advance. Artillery had been sited and fields of fire laid for the infantry, but it was too late in the afternoon to order an assault by the time the fog lifted. Matthew knew today would be a different story. Burnside was under pressure to perform. All of Washington was watching to see whether he would continue McClellan’s overly cautious campaign maneuvers. There had already been a long delay while Burnside waited for promised materials to construct the bridges necessary for his battle plan. Matthew was sure he would attack today.

  The sound of a hoot owl floated to him on the breeze. Orange circles dotted the horizon for as far as he could see - glowing fires trying valiantly to push back the gripping cold. He shivered and pulled his blanket even closer. Was Robert stationed with Lee’s men in the hills? The thought of Robert caused his mind to shift to Carrie. He sighed, having long ago accepted the futility of trying to erase her from his mind. How could one erase such beauty and life? He was sure it was some cruel twist of fate that had made him fall in love with the girl who loved one of his closest friends. He had accepted the impossibility of the situation long ago. But he would never stop loving her. That he had also accepted.

  “Think a hundred and twenty thousand men can take Lee’s army?”

  Matthew looked over at one of his colleagues who had inched up to stare out of the tent with him. Roddy was a war correspondent with a New York paper. “I don’t know. I’ve heard Lee’s men call him the king of spades. My guess is that he’s used his men to build some pretty impressive fortifications.”

  Roddy shook his head. “I hope it’s not another Malvern Hill with the Federals catch
ing the bad end of it this time.”

  Matthew was silent. He had been thinking the same thing for the last few days - ever since he had arrived and taken a good look at Lee’s position.

  “Doesn’t feel much like Christmas does it?” Roddy mused.

  “We should just cancel it this year,” Matthew agreed with a faint smile.

  “What was your favorite Christmas?” Roddy asked.

  Matthew frowned. He wasn’t sure reminiscing would be good for him. “I guess my favorite Christmas would be the one two years ago,” he said, surprising even himself. “I spent it with a wonderful family on their plantation outside of Richmond.”

  “Rebels?” Roddy exclaimed. “You mean slave owners? I didn’t think you were keen on slaves.”

  “I’m not,” Matthew said quickly. “The Cromwells are a very unusual family. Thomas Cromwell is a fine man even if he does own slaves. He absolutely believes there is nothing wrong with it. I disagree with him, but I can appreciate his dedication to his beliefs. He treats his people well. He is currently serving in the Virginia legislative body.” He paused. “His daughter hates slavery as much as I do. She has helped many of his people go free.” He smiled, remembering the things Carrie had told him at the prison when she came to visit. “She is quite an independent young lady.”

  “Evidently,” Roddy commented wryly.

  “They invited me to their home for Christmas. I had a wonderful time.” Memories flooded his mind.

  “How do you feel about West Virginia becoming a new state?”

  Matthew pushed aside his thoughts to answer Roddy’s new question. “It’s been coming a long time. Western Virginia has been far apart from the rest of the state on many issues for a long time. I’m sure my parents are happy. They have fought for this for years.”

  “Do you think our country will ever be whole again?” Roddy peered out of the tent again.

  Matthew didn’t answer. He knew Roddy was speaking more to himself than really asking him the question. Moving closer to the door, he stared out again. He could see the glow of campfires in the hills towering over them. Tomorrow morning Americans would once again slaughter other Americans. There seemed to be no end in sight. Could anyone dare sing of peace on earth when thousands of their fellow citizens were being slaughtered every day?

  Carrie arranged a piece of greenery on the mantle and tried to push the plantation from her mind. How she missed it! Especially now that Christmas was here. Visions of their elaborate celebrations rose up to taunt her. She sighed and pushed another sprig of magnolia into the arrangement.

  “That’s an awfully heavy sigh,” Thomas commented, dropping his paper low enough to stare over it. “Very pretty,” he commented, his eyes sweeping the mantle.

  Still holding the rest of the greenery she had gathered from the yard, Carrie dropped into a chair. “Is it bad to wish for Christmases past? I know I have to live in the present but...”

  “Bad to miss happy, peaceful times when our family was all together and our world was not being destroyed? I hardly think that’s bad. I would be more inclined to doubt your sanity if you didn’t long for them.” Thomas put down his paper. “I appreciate all you’re doing to make it special.”

  Tears blurred her eyes. “I have to do something...” She couldn’t say any more. It had been almost three months since the battle of Antietam. There had been no word from Robert. The hospitals that had responded to her letters had stated there was no record of him ever having been there. Hope died in her daily. If he was alive, surely she would have heard by now. Both North and South did a good job of keeping a list of prisoners of war. Robert’s name wasn’t showing up anywhere. It was as if he had simply disappeared. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Thomas stood and walked to the fireplace to embrace her. “You can’t give up hope, Carrie. We still don’t know for sure.”

  Carrie nodded then turned away to stare into the fire as she took deep breaths to regain control. Her father was right. Giving into her fears would do no one any good. She squelched the sudden urge to fling the greenery into the flames. If she were out on the plantation, she could jump on Granite and go tearing off across the fields. That always helped. Granite... another huge lump formed in her throat. She had lost her beloved horse as well. Suddenly the allure of the plantation dimmed. There was too little to go back to - too many memories it would be better not to dredge up.

  “Have you heard any more about President Davis’ trip?” Carrie asked. It would do no good to dwell in the past; she might as well think about the present. President Davis had left Richmond several days earlier bound for Tennessee.

  Thomas frowned. “It was very hard for the president to leave.” He shook his head. “But he knows that no matter what happens here in Virginia, the Confederacy is probably doomed unless the tide in the West can be reversed. I can assure you that is the only reason he would leave during the current situation around Fredericksburg.”

  “Is it really that bad?” Carrie asked, more to keep the conversation flowing so she didn’t have to think than because she was really interested.

  “I’m afraid so. There are thirty thousand Federals marching down through Mississippi, headed for Vicksburg. The Union’s General Grant is leading them. He is known for his aggressiveness. If Vicksburg falls, I’m afraid it’s all over. All our western states will be broken off if the Mississippi Valley is held by the Federals. If that happens, there will be no good way to save what is left of Tennessee or any of the Gulf States, for that matter. If we lose them, the rest of the country can hardly hope to survive.”

  The morose sound in her father’s voice caused Carrie to forget about herself. She looked at him closely while he continued.

  “President Davis has gone out to try to renew the patriotism in those states. I’m afraid that area of the country has come under so much attack the citizens are tiring of the war. There needs to be a huge surge of men into the army, but very few are coming forward.”

  Carrie bit her tongue to keep from saying she could hardly blame them.

  “The Southern generals are squabbling among themselves about how to best take care of the situation. They know more men need to be sent to Mississippi, but none of them want to send theirs. According to each general, if they were to lose any of their men, the positions they presently hold would fall into jeopardy.”

  “Would they?”

  Thomas shrugged and sighed. “It could be Davis’ plan to strengthen Vicksburg, while not losing our grip on the other areas, is simply not possible. I’m afraid there is not enough manpower in the country to pull it off.” His voice sounded even more defeated. “I’m afraid too many people are losing heart.”

  “Do you blame them?” Carrie couldn’t keep from asking.

  Thomas raised his head and looked at her. “They will lose heart even more if they lose all they hold dear. There are simply times when it is necessary to make great sacrifices if you are to achieve something great.” His voice was bitter now. “I’m afraid there are too few people willing to pay the price for what they want.”

  Carrie picked her next words carefully. “Maybe some of them never wanted it in the first place. Could it not be that many men went into battle not fully understanding what it was all about - that the reality of it is more than they can handle?”

  Thomas nodded heavily. “I know what you’re saying, Carrie. I know you disagree with the war. But it’s simply too late to go back and pretend it never happened - to try to work with the North to preserve our way of life. If we lose this war, our way of life is gone forever. Lincoln made that clear when he signed the Emancipation Proclamation.” There was no anger in his voice, just a stark resignation. “We simply can’t lose.”

  Carrie turned back to the fireplace and began to place greenery again. There was simply no good answer. All any of them could do was wait and see what happened.

  Matthew woke with a start. Sometime during the long night, he had drifted off to sleep. A distant call had rouse
d him awake. A quick look told him his colleagues were still asleep. He realized as soon as he stuck his head out of the tent that the fighting would not start early. The area was once more shrouded with thick fog. Within a few minutes, however, the whole camp began to stir. They would be ready as soon as the fog lifted.

  Matthew put on his heavy coat and moved to the fire to make some coffee and cook his ration of bacon. Fog swirled around him, its dampness penetrating his heavy clothing with its chill. He had spent so many days studying the area he knew it like the back of his hand. Behind him the Rappahannock River flowed nearly north to south. West of the town there was a low ridge known as Marye’s Height. Most of Lee’s army was perched there. At the base of the ridge was a sunken road flanked by a stone wall. On the crest was a fine pillared mansion surrounded by lawns and open areas, abandoned by the unlucky family that had found themselves sandwiched between the two armies. The ridge ended in a shallow stream known as Hazel Run. South of the stream was a chain of little wooded hills that stretched about three miles.

  None of the elevated ground was really very high, but Lee’s army occupied all of it. For purely defensive purposes, the position was extremely strong. Matthew was somehow certain Lee was not planning an offensive. He could not possibly have enough men after Antietam. Reinforcements had poured into McClellan’s army after the vicious Maryland battle had decimated his ranks. Lee could not have had the same advantage. Would the Federals just walk into Lee’s snare? A burning in Matthew’s gut told him the day was not going to go well.

  At ten o’clock the thick fog lifted, floating away on the breeze as if it had no appetite for what was to come. Burnside’s artillery began to roar. There was silence from the Confederate heights. They were choosing to wait.

  Burnside ordered his first assault at eleven-thirty. Matthew watched, sick at heart as the first wave of bluecoats surged up the hill. From his vantage point, he could hear the screams of men as they fell, mowed down by strong Confederate fire. The Federals continued to advance, leaping over the fallen men in front of them, their yells filling the air. Finally they were beaten back.