The Forgotten Debutante (Cotillion Ball)

by Becky Lower

  Saffron ran her finger over her upper lip. She’d volunteered her services to the Sanitary Commission for the past three years and worked closely with Pepper and her husband, Elijah, to set up a hospital directory to catalog the wounded and dead for the benefit of the affected families. After the hospital directory was established, she’d begun to gather letters and scraps of paper from soldiers and loved ones about the burial locations of the fallen at Chancellorsville. There were other battles, bigger battles, that had happened, but Chancellorsville was the one she had been most intrigued by.

  Her interest had been sparked by her chance meeting with a young man called Ezekiel Boone, when he shared how he was responsible for burying his four brothers. The image of Zeke popped into her head for the first time in quite a while. But he had filled her head for months following their impromptu meeting when she was fifteen and helped him escape. One never forgot one’s first kiss. And only kiss, to date. It was past time to put away for good her memory of him. It was past time to add to her life experiences. Perhaps have some more kisses with different men. Then, she’d stop reliving Zeke’s kiss and their stolen moment in time. Maybe the Reburial Program could provide the way.

  Her father continued. “Andersonville was the first place to have a cemetery, with the help of Clara Barton. Seems only fitting, since so many of our men died in prison there. The papers say more men died from disease and illness than died on the battlefield. But there’s so much more to do.”

  Saffron listened to her father with half an ear, but her mind was far away. She was reliving a wild wagon ride three years earlier, with a wild boy who never should have been in any battles and seen what he’d had to witness, done what he’d had to do. She wondered where he was now and if he would still be able to make her stomach churn in delight. She ran her finger over her upper lip again and sighed. They were two ships that had passed each other during the stormy seas of war. She’d best set her sights on a new beginning, now that the war was over, rather than be pondering over what could have been with a boy she never should have met.

  Her mother was correct. It was past time for her to find a husband. She recalled the men who she’d seen on the streets coming home from the war, some of them still wearing their filthy, ragged uniforms. Haunted eyes stared at her when they chanced to notice her. Either that, or they were missing an arm or leg. How could a man wrap his arms around her when he had none? She sighed, heavily. She took pity on these men, admired their bravery, but wouldn’t choose to spend her life with them. At least not until she had an adventure or two to make up for lost time.

  Maybe she could work with Clara Barton in Washington, DC. A new city would give her a new attitude, a new appreciation for life. It could be the first of her many new adventures. She tamped down the excitement building within her. A plan was what she needed—a sound, bulletproof plan so no one could possibly object. She’d wait until the subject came up again, maybe prompt Halwyn to discuss it the next time he and his wife came for dinner. Then she’d propose her idea. She’d be contributing to the war effort, ensuring that the war dead were returned home. Such a noble effort would not go unrewarded. How could her parents possibly say no?

  • • •

  A few evenings later, Halwyn and his wife, Grace, joined the family for dinner. Halwyn was handsome as always in his dress uniform, and Grace, with her porcelain skin, was a fitting counterpart to him. Normally, Saffron enjoyed having a crowd at dinner, and having her older brother at the table was supposed to help her ease into a conversation with her parents about moving to DC. But Halwyn had stolen her moment by saying he had a major announcement to make. Saffron ground her teeth together. Things were already not going according to plan.

  Unless she could reveal her idea to move away from New York and work alongside Clara Barton, she’d be stuck in the same rut forever. She had carefully crafted her speech and gone over it in her room many times this afternoon, and now Halwyn was upstaging her. It was so unfair. She suppressed the urge to sigh heavily and instead stomped her slippered foot under the table. No one noticed.

  She was still relegated to the family brownstone, wearing clothes that were years old and out of date. Even with a seamstress in the family, not purchasing new clothing had been part of the family’s sacrifice to the war. And since volunteering with the Sanitary Commission was her only way to have some kind of life outside the home, new clothing wasn’t needed. There had not been a cause for celebration in years.

  What she desperately longed to do was dance. What she needed was a new wardrobe filled with colorful gowns that would sway around her as she waltzed in the arms of a fine gentleman. What she hoped was for her interrupted life to finally begin again. She ran her hand down the front of her best blue dress, the color of which used to match her eyes but was now hopelessly faded.

  The rolls, with their yeasty scent, were making their way around the table when George cleared his throat, signaling it was time they got down to business. Saffron noticed her father’s dark hair now had highlights of silver in it. The blasted war has aged all of us.

  “Don’t keep us in suspense any longer, Halwyn. What is your big announcement? Is Grace going to present us with another grandchild soon? Or are you planning to trade in your officer’s uniform and rejoin me at the bank?”

  Halwyn reached over and grasped Grace’s hand. He had a smile on his face, and the two of them expressing their affection for each other here at the table made Saffron misty-eyed. And melancholy. When would it be her turn to be happy?

  Halwyn addressed his father. “We can’t even drag the big announcement out until dessert, Father? Build some suspense?”

  Charlotte Fitzpatrick, sitting beside her husband, fluttered her small hands through the air. “Of course not, Halwyn. Not if you have any hopes of seeing dessert, anyway. And it’s your favorite. Apple pie with drizzled caramel on top. So, am I to become a grandmother again?”

  Halwyn picked up Grace’s hand and kissed it before he turned back to his parents. He straightened, and the fabric of his uniform stretched over his toned body. Grace responded to his kiss by running her hand lightly down his arm. Grace’s fluid movement brought a lump to Saffron’s throat. She surveyed the endearment from across the table, surprised at the sudden tears that formed in her eyes. She blinked them away, hoping no one noticed. Of all her siblings who had met their soul mates, she’d been most glad when Halwyn had found his true love. Even though she adored all of her brothers and sisters, Halwyn had always been her favorite. He was the one who made certain to include her in every outing, to take care of her when they were outside the home, to share a laugh at her clumsiness. She straightened in her chair and listened to her brother’s response.

  “All right, then. If there will be no main course until I tell you my news, I’ll get on with it. No, Father, I won’t be donning my banker’s clothes any time soon. And no, Mother, Grace will not be providing you with another grandchild at this time. I’ve been asked to help Edmund Whitman with the Reburial Program in Washington, DC. We’ll work in conjunction with Clara Barton, who has already amassed a huge amount of information.”

  Saffron’s breath left her body. Her plan might not be so far-fetched now. Her heart rate sped up as she waited for Halwyn to continue, and her mind whirled as he explained.

  “Mr. Whitman just sent out a circular asking for any information from any witnesses to the various battles. It’s going to be a monumental effort, and I’m really excited about the opportunity.”

  Charlotte, who had been hanging onto Halwyn’s every word, gasped and her eyes filled with tears. “You’ll be moving, then? That’s your big news?”

  “It’s a temporary assignment, Mother.”

  “But cataloging and then digging up the bodies will take years, Halwyn.”

  He nodded in agreement. “It is a massive undertaking, for certain. But we must bring our boys home and assure them a proper burial. Mr. Whitman is gaining momentum from the government, and I’m excited to have
been asked to be part of it.”

  Grace chimed in on the heels of Halwyn’s announcement. “And you’ll have a new city to visit, Charlotte. Won’t it be fun?”

  Charlotte’s misty eyes now sparkled. “I’ve always had a longing to spend some time in Washington, DC. Our nation’s capital. How exciting.”

  George requested the wine glasses to be filled, and then raised his in a toast. Saffron raised hers as well, saluting the couple and sighing deeply as she did so. Halwyn and Grace were moving on after the war to a new and exciting life in a new and exciting city. And if she framed her idea for her future correctly, her parents couldn’t possibly deny her. She wanted a new and exciting existence for herself, too.

  She gulped another sip of wine for fortitude. Her hand shook so hard she needed to set her wine glass on the table before she spilled it. She no longer was willing to wait for her life to begin. She needed to create an opportunity. And the time was upon her. “How exciting for you, Halwyn and Grace. I’m certain Washington is lovely, and lively, now that the war is at an end. When do you leave?”

  “I’m leaving next week. Grace, of course, will have the unpleasant task of closing up the house here and transporting herself and our children to DC as soon as I find us adequate quarters.”

  Saffron tapped her glass with a fingernail in an attempt at nonchalance. “And this Reburial Program of Mr. Whitman’s. Will they be hiring any civilian help?”

  Halwyn rocked back in his seat. “I’m sure they will. After all, it’s a huge project, and time is of the essence. We can’t leave those Union soldiers on southern soil any longer than we have to. The South is still reeling from the war, but soon, their anger will once again refocus. And I suspect any Union body they come across will not be dealt with kindly. We must act swiftly.”

  Halwyn’s eyes locked with Saffron’s and he ran a hand down his chest. “Uh, oh. I can tell the signs. When you take this much interest in an idea, you’re plotting something I’m not going to be fond of, and it won’t work this time, Saffy.”

  Saffron couldn’t blink back the tears any longer. She was so tired of being thought of as a silly child. “It would work if you’d give it even a moment’s consideration. I need a life, Halwyn, and so far, it’s been put on hold because of the dreadful war. The least the war can do for me now is to give me a fresh start at my interrupted life, in a new city. I could move there with you and Grace, help take care of your children, work for the Reburial Program, and have some fun, for a change.”

  Halwyn fiddled with his glasses for a moment. “Why don’t you commission Jasmine to make you some new gowns instead? You don’t need to work, Saffron, especially at the Reburial Initiative. We’ll be digging up bodies and bringing them home. You don’t need to be involved in such grisly work. It’s time for you to move on from the war, not get mired in it again.”

  Saffron’s hands formed tight fists. This was a battle. Her own war. And she wasn’t about to lose. “I’ve been gathering information on those men who died on the various battlefields for years now. I’m familiar with how to establish files, and I assume the same type of filing system will be put into play in DC. It’s high time I get paid for my efforts after all these years. A new dress isn’t going to appease me this time. I’m no longer a child.”

  Halwyn glanced down the table, to his parents. Saffron could read the plea in his eyes for help. This was her one chance, and she had to take it. Her gaze skittered to the end of the table as well, with her eyes filled with a plea of her own.

  Charlotte glanced at her husband, who nodded. Then she gazed at her youngest daughter. “You’re right, Saffron. Your tireless work with the Sanitary Commission should be rewarded, and you would be a great help to Grace with the children. The country has changed with the war, and no longer can we expect young ladies of virtue to wait for a debutante ball to make their entrance into society. And we Fitzpatrick women have always been ahead of the latest trend.”

  Charlotte turned to Halwyn. “There’s nothing wrong with Saffron wishing to continue her work. She’s been a huge help at the Commission, and her knowledge will come in handy at the Reburial Program. We were aware the day would come when our youngest would be leaving home.” She turned back to her daughter. “We would not be opposed to your move, Saffron, if Halwyn and Grace agree to it.”

  Saffron’s focus darted to Halwyn, whose face had turned as green as the pea soup. Grace placed her hand on his arm before she spoke.

  “I’d love help with the little ones, Saffron. Halwyn will be off in DC long before I get there, so he’ll avoid the problems associated with packing and moving a house and children. And once we’re in DC, you can work for the program and live with us. It’s a wonderful solution.”

  Saffron’s smile wobbled on her face. There was hope, after all. Now all she and Grace had to do was to convince Halwyn. No easy task, to be sure. But if Grace approved, Halwyn would cave quickly, since he couldn’t deny his wife anything. Saffron could wait a day or two for Grace to work her magic on her sometimes very stubborn brother. And she’d keep her fingers crossed. Her future happiness was in DC; she was certain of it.

  • • •

  Upstate New York

  September 1866

  “Come sit here, boy, and talk to me.” Ezekiel’s father, Jed, patted a hay bale in the barn where they’d been working. Zeke noticed his father was already taking a break from his chores and using the hay as a seat. It was only mid-morning. Since his pneumonia over three years ago, his father’s stamina had suffered, and the once-powerful man Zeke had admired his entire life was no longer in evidence. Zeke wiped the sweat from his brow, slid in beside his father, and put his arm around his father’s bony shoulders. They spent a few quiet minutes listening to the sounds of the farm—the cows mooing to each other in the field, the chickens clucking in the clearing between the house and the barn, the pigs squealing as they rolled in the mud.

  Zeke finally broke the silence. “We still need to cut down the cornstalks and turn over the soil one more time, but the farm is in pretty good shape for winter.”

  “I agree. You’ve done a great job since you’ve come back home. But now, there’s one more job I need you to do. And it means leaving home again. Something you were once so eager to do.”

  Zeke rolled his shoulders, which had filled out from his lanky youth and formed into hard muscle from his long days working on the farm. “I was young and stupid, and I witnessed things that still haunt me. I’m happy to be back at home. I never want to leave again.”

  “Glad as I am to hear that, there is one thing you must do.” Jed reached into his pocket and pulled out the circular. “Have you seen this yet? The government wants to collect the bodies of the war dead and bring them home. They’re going to establish cemeteries and bury our boys on northern soil with all the pomp and dignity they deserve. But it will be difficult to locate all the bodies, and they’ll need your help. My boys need to be brought home and buried properly.”

  Zeke grabbed hold of the flyer, his stomach churning as he relived how his brothers died, one after the other, during the long, confusing days of the Battle of Chancellorsville. They’d been in some battles before, but never of that magnitude, and never so ill-managed. In a flash, he remembered how he had to bury his brothers, side by side, under the cover of darkness, when the fighting slowed down for the day. He had still dodged bullets as he dug the shallow graves for each one, placing them beside each other, so they could be together in death, as they had been in life.

  He recalled how he decided to come back home, obeying his father’s request for one of them to return, and how he’d been helped by a girl in New York City. A girl who had occupied his mind often in those early days back on the farm, when the amount of work had overwhelmed him and he’d crashed into bed each night. Those eyes the color of his mamma’s hyacinths had been the last thing that raced through his mind before falling asleep. He read the circular and gazed at his father.

  “You want me to go bac
k to Chancellorsville and dig up the bodies of my brothers?”

  “Not necessarily. What I need is for you to go to the headquarters of this Reburial Program and tell them where my sons are buried. They belong here, at the farm, or in a military cemetery. You can help them uncover the bodies and transport them north. You probably can tell them where the bodies of others who fell in the Chancellorsville battle are buried as well. You’d be a great help to them.”

  Zeke ran his hands through his thick hair, weaving his fingers in it as he pondered the sacrifice his father was again willing to make.

  “Isaiah is only fourteen, Daddy. He can’t shoulder the burden of the farm by himself.”

  “I’m better now than I’ve been in years, thanks to you lightening my load since you’ve been home. But it’s time we bring the boys back here, and only you can do it.”

  “But seeing as how it’s a government program, I’m sure it’ll take years. I can’t be away for that long.”

  His father ran a hand down Zeke’s arm. “You don’t need to be gone long. All you need to do is go to Washington, tell the good folks at the Reburial Program where the bodies are located, and help speed things up a bit. You can return here once your brothers are laid to rest. The very idea of my boys’ bones lying in Confederate soil turns my stomach. Once those Johnny Rebs lick their wounds, I wouldn’t put it past them to take out their anger on the bodies that have been left behind.”

  Zeke inhaled a deep breath. “All right, then, Daddy. I’ll go report in to this Whitman fellow and tell him all I can about Chancellorsville, although it may be tricky, since I was never supposed to be there in the first place. If the army has any indication that I was in the battle and then left, they’ll come after me with a court-martial.”

  “You don’t need to tell them you were in the battle. Just that you’ve been given the information by others who served in their battalion. Maybe go with them back to the battlefield just so you can be certain the bodies they’re saying are my sons actually are them. And then bring them home to the north for a proper burial. After you do that, you’ll be back here for good. The farm is where you belong.”