The Last, Long Night

by Ginny Dye

  Matthew stared at him. “You know Rose?”

  “Miss Rose? Rose Samuels? Why, most of us be knowing Miss Rose.”

  “Miss Rose be Moses’ wife,” another offered.

  Matthew gasped. “This is Moses’ unit?” he asked incredulously, whipping his head to look around.

  Moses had been listening for a while, but now he stepped forward with a loud laugh, “Matthew Justin! I didn’t figure there were many lanky redhead journalists around here, so I figured it had to be you even before I heard what you said. I don’t know how you managed to find me in all this chaos, but I sure am glad you did!”

  Matthew sprang to his feet and reached out to clasp the hand Moses held out to him. “I can’t believe it’s you, Moses!” Then he fell silent as the two men stared at each other.

  Moses was the first to speak after he cleared his throat. “I reckon I owe you more than I can ever repay you,” he said gruffly. “Rose told me how you saved her from Ike Adams, and what a good friend you were to her when she was with Aunt Abby.”

  “This be dat journalist fella Rose done told us about?” one of his men demanded.

  “He is, indeed, men!” Moses said, sweeping his gaze over the 150 men in his regiment. “I imagine he wants to tell some of your stories. Let him. Every chance we get to show white people we are no different from them, we should take it.”

  Moses turned to see Matthew still staring at him.

  “I saw Rose just a few days ago,” Matthew said. “I’m so glad to finally meet you. I had almost decided you were a figment of everyone’s imagination, but someone as big as you can hardly be a figment.”

  Moses joined in the laughter while he tried to swallow back the longing for his wife and son that threatened to choke him. When everyone had quieted, he turned back to Matthew. “Go ahead and talk to my men. When you’re done, we’ll take some time for ourselves.”

  Matthew shook his head decisively. “It’s a miracle I found you in all these men. We both know an order could come through any minute, and then the chance of my finding you again in this war would be about impossible.” He swept his gaze over the men staring at him. “I would, indeed, like to talk to many of you, but if you don’t mind, I’m going to talk to Moses first.”

  “You two go right ahead,” Pompey said. “Me and the boys gonna hab us some grub. We be right here when you wants to talk to us.”

  Moses smiled and motioned Matthew over to his spot. They were still surrounded by tens of thousands of men and animals, but for just that moment they felt as if they were alone.

  “Carrie sends her love,” Matthew said.

  “You’ve seen Carrie?” Moses demanded. “When?”

  “About a month ago. She helped me escape from Libby Prison.”

  Moses settled back on his heels. “Sounds like you got a story to tell.”

  Matthew grinned. “You can read it in the paper - all but the part about the wife of a Confederate captain, and the Confederate captain himself, who helped me escape. I thought it best if I left that part out.”

  Moses whistled. “Carrie Cromwell… I mean Borden… is a special woman.”

  “That she is,” Matthew agreed. “She’s doing well, at least as well as can be expected in a city that is under constant attack and where almost everyone is going hungry.”

  “Carrie is starving?” Moses asked sharply.

  “No,” Matthew said quickly. “I’d say all of them are tired of the simple diet they have, but they’re not going hungry. Thomas still has enough money to pay the ridiculous prices.” He took a sip of the hot coffee Moses held out to him. “I saw her only for the one night, but she’s happy. Do you know she and Robert are married?”

  Moses nodded. “I stopped by Cromwell when I was doing a raid through the countryside with my men last fall. Carrie had been there so Sam was able to fill me in on everything.”

  “I was on the plantation for a couple weeks during the escape,” Matthew said. “Sam and Opal were wonderful, filling me with enough food to almost make up for months of starvation.” He smiled. “I still miss Opal’s apple pie.” He took another sip of coffee. “Sam didn’t say anything about your being there.”

  “Raiding the countryside with a regiment of black soldiers is not exactly something to be broadcast. I asked Sam not to tell anyone we were there.”

  “Makes sense,” Matthew agreed. “Robert is a different man,” he said quietly. “He was wounded badly during a battle. Almost died. An unknown man took him to a black family who saved his life.”

  Moses saw no reason not to reveal the truth. “That was me.”

  Matthew stared at him in astonishment. “What?”

  Moses told him the story quickly. “I couldn’t let him just die without trying to help. Robert or Granite. I did it for Carrie.” He stared out over the smoke from campfires in every direction. “I’m glad he made it, and I truly hope he’s good enough for Carrie now.”

  “He knows owning slaves is wrong,” Matthew said quietly.

  Moses whistled. “That’s a big thing! Of course, his slaves have probably all run away by now, but I’m real glad he knows a man shouldn’t own people.”

  Matthew, knowing they didn’t have a lot of time, changed the subject. “Your wife is quite an amazing woman.”

  “That she is,” Moses said gruffly.

  “And your boy will be as big as you.”

  “Looks like it,” Moses said simply, trying once again to swallow the heaviness in his heart.

  “You miss them terribly.”

  “More than I ever thought possible,” Moses agreed, clearing his throat. “I chose to join the army, and I know Rose is as safe as she can be at Fort Monroe, but every second I’m away from her hurts.” He shook his head. “I know I’m surrounded by men who feel the same way I do.”

  “You’re lucky to have someone you love that much.”

  Moses pulled his thoughts away from Rose. “You’re not married.” It wasn’t a question. “Does Carrie know how you feel about her?”

  Matthew flushed bright red and stared at him. “It’s that obvious?”

  Moses shrugged. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Robert knows,” Matthew admitted. “He also knows I’ll never do anything with my feelings. He knows he can trust me.”

  “Hard not to love Carrie,” Moses said simply. “Only time will reveal what will come of your feelings.”

  Matthew searched for a way to change the subject. “I was with Aunt Abby just a couple days ago.”

  Moses grinned. “How is she? Some of the best memories I have are the months Rose and I lived with her in Philadelphia. It was like some kind of fantasy to live in her fancy house. Add to that fact, she is one of the most remarkable women I know and…,” his voice trailed off.

  “That she is,” Matthew agreed easily. “She took me in and finished fattening me up when I got back from Libby Prison.”

  Moses eyed him keenly. “And helped heal you from the memories,” he added.

  “You always know what other people have in their hearts?” Matthew demanded.

  “I know what it’s like to carry a load of hurt and anger. Rose’s mama, Sarah, was the one who helped me work through mine. I about let bitterness and hatred eat me up. She taught me how to let it go, but I know how to see it in other people.”

  Matthew gazed at him for a long moment. “I’m still working on it,” he admitted. “I’m mostly angry for the men who escaped and then got caught again. I can imagine the hell they are living in right now.” He took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t have gone back,” he said simply. “They would have had to kill me. I wouldn’t have gone back,” he whispered.

  Moses said nothing, waiting for Matthew to get control back. He knew time was the only thing that could heal his pain and anger.

  Matthew took another deep breath. “Aunt Abby is moving to Washington, D.C. for a while, though she’ll always have her own in Philadelphia.”

  “What?” Moses asked in surprise
. “What’s she going to do in Washington?”

  “Business demands are calling her there, but she also wants to be closer to the action - both with the war and with her fight for abolition and women’s rights. She could have sent someone else, but she decided to go herself.”

  “Will she be safe there?” Moses asked. “Rose told me she’s been making some enemies in Philadelphia. She told me about the dead chicken on her doorstep.”

  Matthew nodded grimly. “There are men who will be threatened by women having equal rights. There are some that also resent all she is doing for the abolition movement. I worry about her, but I also know nothing will stop her from doing what she believes is right.” He paused for a long moment. “I just won’t be around to help her this time. Not that I’m in Philadelphia much anymore, but at least I was able to drop in when I could.”

  Just then, a courier appeared at the fire. “Captain Jones is asking for you, Moses.”

  Moses nodded and stood. He grasped Matthew’s hand and stared deep into his eyes. “You’re a good man, Matthew Justin. Thank you for everything. I look forward to spending more time with you when this war is over. My men will talk to you as long as they are able to.”

  Matthew gripped his hand just as strongly. “I’m grateful for the chance to meet you, Moses. I, too, look forward to the time when the war ends and we can all be together in a country at peace. Perhaps we’ll all meet in Richmond,” he said with a smile.

  Both their smiles disappeared when they considered what the fall of Richmond would mean to Carrie. Would she and Thomas survive it? They stared at each other for a long moment, and then Moses turned and strode toward Captain Jones’ tent.

  Aunt Abby was exhausted when she finally opened the door to her home and stepped inside. She was glad to take off the light jacket protecting her against the early spring chill and headed for the kitchen.

  She had time to warm up a container of soup before she heard a knock at her door. Stifling a sigh, she went to the door and hoped whoever it was would need only a minute of her time. All she wanted to do was eat, do some reading, and then go to bed.

  “Abigail Livingston?”

  Aunt Abby smiled at the young woman standing on her step. “That’s right. How can I help you?”

  The young woman, who upon closer examination was clearly distraught, turned and called to a group of women standing under a gas lamp. “It’s her, girls. We found her.”

  Aunt Abby thought longingly of the bowl of soup waiting for her in the kitchen and then watched the group cross the street. It must be important, or they wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to find her. She held the door open. “Please come in.”

  The leader of the group, the same woman who had knocked on the door, stepped forward. “My name is Amanda.” Blue eyes shone dully under a thatch of dark brown hair. Her clothes were rough but clean. “We were told you could help us.”

  “I’ll try,” Aunt Abby promised, warm gray eyes smiling out from under soft brown hair. “Why don’t you tell me what the problem is?”

  “The problem,” one of the women said in a shrill voice, “is that we’re not being paid what we should be. We’re doing the same work as the men we replaced who are fighting in the war, but they don’t pay us the same.”

  “And sometimes we don’t get paid at all,” another added bitterly. “I’ve got babies to feed now that my husband, Clive, is off fighting the war, but I don’t bring in enough money.” She scowled from under long red hair. “I make enough money; I just don’t bring enough money home.”

  “My husband came home,” another stated flatly, “but he lost both an arm and a leg. He’ll never work again. I’m the only one bringing money into our home. We’re not being paid enough to make it. My kids were cold and hungry all winter!”

  “It’s not right,” Amanda cried. “We heard you are different, Mrs. Livingston.”

  Aunt Abby nodded her head heavily. “I’ve hired a lot of women since the beginning of the war. I pay them a fair wage, the same as what the men made, sometimes more.” She was more than aware that wasn’t usually the case.

  The war had changed things drastically. Industrial development, already growing before the war, had tremendously accelerated. Equipping and maintaining large armies had brought about huge growth. Thousands of Northern women were forced to go to work when their husbands went to war, came home crippled, or didn’t come home at all.

  “What do you girls do?” she asked.

  “We sew,” Amanda responded. “All of us work in the factories that make uniforms for the soldiers. Why can’t they pay us more?”

  Aunt Abby sighed and tightened her lips. She had been talking about this same problem with a group of her friends that day. President Lincoln had decided to subcontract army uniforms. The contractors were well paid for the uniform orders but then paid the women who actually did the work very poorly. They were getting rich while the women and their children were going hungry.

  One of the divisions of Aunt Abby’s business made uniforms, but she kept just enough earnings to create a reasonable profit, enabling her to pay a fair wage to the women who sewed the uniforms. She and her friends had been protesting the practice of employers’ withholding fair pay, but so far there had been no change.

  She gazed at the women. She knew an explanation wouldn’t matter to them; they were simply concerned about feeding their families.

  Amanda leaned forward and grabbed one of her hands. “Can you help us, Mrs. Livingston? We’re desperate or we wouldn’t have hunted you down like this.”

  Aunt Abby kept hold of her hand and looked at the twelve women in her parlor. Twelve sets of determined and defiant eyes stared at her. She chose honesty. “There are women working hard to change things for you, but it’s not easy, and we haven’t been able to accomplish much. Until women have the vote, we are at the mercy of a system that is terribly unfair.”

  “The vote!” one woman snorted. “I don’t care about the vote; I just want to feed my family.”

  “You should care about the vote,” Aunt Abby said sharply but then softened her voice with a gentle smile. “Until you are as passionate about having a say in what decisions are made about your life as you are about feeding your children, nothing will really change.” She knew though, looking at their pinched faces that their immediate need was greater than their ability to care about the future.

  She reached for a sheet of paper on the table and wrote for a few minutes. Then she handed the paper to Amanda. “Go to this place tomorrow. The address is for one of my factories. All of you will be hired to work. You will be paid fairly, and my manager has been directed to pay you a week in advance so you can feed your families.”

  The women in the room gave an excited cheer. Desperate looks transformed into smiles. “How can we possibly thank you?” Amanda cried, wiping at the tears running down her face.

  Aunt Abby smiled. “Just do a good job. Our boys on the front are counting on you.” Then she fixed them all with a steely gaze and said, “And when you have the chance to fight for the freedom to vote, do it. I can help the twelve of you sitting in this room, but there are thousands more women that need help just as desperately. The best way to show gratitude for kindness and opportunity is to offer it to someone else.”

  The room fell into silence as they pondered her words.

  “I’ll do it, Mrs. Livingston,” Amanda promised.

  “Me, too,” added the one who had snorted that she didn’t care about the vote. “I’m deeply grateful.”

  Solemn promises came from all the women in the room, and then they stood to leave. Aunt Abby waved goodbye to all of them and then finally went to eat what was now a cold bowl of soup. She was simply too tired to warm it again, and she still had packing to do before she left the next morning.

  Matthew was still talking to the men when Moses strode up purposefully. One look at his face, however, had everyone snapping to attention.

  “I reckon you gots news for us,” Pompe
y said easily.

  Moses nodded. “All of you are to cook rations for three days.”

  The men who had been with him through campaigns nodded; knowing instantly what his order meant. The new ones gazed at him with confusion. Moses didn’t bother to go into details; he knew the experienced soldiers would prepare the rookies.

  “I reckon we gonna get dat chance to pay back for Fort Pillow,” Pompey observed.

  Angry murmurs sounded all around the campfires.

  “We gonna fight real hard,” one man promised. “Dem boys at Fort Pillow ain’t gonna be forgot.”

  “Got that right!” another added, his voice hard with anger. “They ain’t seen fightin’ until they see us fight now.”

  Matthew gazed at Moses. Moses just nodded. “They know.”

  Matthew nodded back and raised his voice so it would carry to all the men. “There is nothing that can make what happened at Fort Pillow right,” he called. “You just need to know that Lincoln cares. Just a few days after the massacre, there was a demand made that in the exchange and treatment of prisoners, black prisoners had to be treated identically to white.”

  “I bet them white boys didn’t go too good for that,” a soldier observed bitterly.

  “No,” Matthew agreed, “they didn’t. But it doesn’t end there. Lincoln already put an order into place last year that for every soldier in the United States army killed in violation of the laws of war, that a Rebel soldier shall be executed.”

  “You reckon that gonna happen?” Pompey asked keenly. “Just cause a order be give, it don’t mean nothin’ gonna happen.”

  Matthew gazed at him and then swept his eyes over the men. “What I know for certain is that all of you are soldiers in the United States Army. You’re here because we need you. You already know that not everyone wants you, but that doesn’t mean they don’t need you.”

  He watched as shoulders straightened and eyes, sparking with anger just moments before, now flashed with pride. “When we win this war, it will be because close to one hundred thousand of you stepped up to fight for freedom and the country that now belongs to you!” Matthew knew anger could be a valid tool, but pride and self-respect would carry them much further.