Love and War: The Coltrane Saga, Book 1

by Patricia Hagan

  It was then that General Lee split his army up into three groups and gave the cocky Joe Hooker a lesson in tactics. Everyone was singing Lee’s praises. He had left part of his men at Fredericksburg, Virginia, to make sure that the Union army left there could not do anything damaging. Then, it was said, he took about forty-five thousand men into Chancellorsville to face Hooker. And, sizing up the situation, he gave Stonewall Jackson over twenty-five thousand men, sending him on a long swing around Hooker’s exposed right. And two hours before dark on the second of May, 1863, Stonewall Jackson hit that right flank with the force of a million sledgehammers, shattering it to pieces and driving a whole Yankee army corps into wild rout—knocking Hooker’s army apart from its readied position.

  Several more days of confused and desperate fighting went on all around Chancellorsville clearing and back to Fredericksburg, The Federals forced a crossing but found they could not accomplish anything, and Hooker quickly retreated, pulling his troops north of the Rappahannock.

  “Bet he lost over fifteen thousand men and more,” someone cried out. “He let an army half his size cut him all to pieces. How about the old fool? And he thought he could take Richmond!”

  Cheers went up. Chancellorsville was easily General Lee’s most brilliant victory, they were all saying, but then another voice cut into the joyous description of the battle and a quiet sadness spread like a giant shroud over everyone present.

  “Stonewall Jackson is dead,” came the word. The irony was, Kitty realized painfully, that the great General had been accidentally shot down by his own troops in the confused fighting of the thickets.

  A great, great man had died.

  They moved on toward Richmond, and when they arrived, Kitty was greeted by an officer who welcomed her and stated how sorely she was needed in the hospital compounds.

  “And I’d like nothing better than to get right to work,” Kitty told him honestly, “but I’m so tired I would do no one any good, sir. I can’t even remember the last time I slept.” Even as she spoke, she was swaying where she stood.

  “That’s right, sir,” the driver of the hospital wagon she’d occupied was saying quickly. “She’s been with our men day and night for days. I can’t remember how long exactly. We picked her up along the way.”

  The officer was instantly apologetic. “Forgive me. I had no idea. We’ve been in such turmoil here the past few days.” He turned to the driver. “Take her to my tent. See that she’s given food and water. Place a guard outside to see that she isn’t disturbed for as long as necessary.”

  Kitty leaned against the soldier, closing her eyes wearily. Had she ever been so tired? But at least she could be thankful that at last she was among her own people. Hooker’s plan had not worked. Richmond still belonged to the Confederates, and perhaps somewhere she could find Nathan, even though the city, a bustling hub of activity, was big and filled with civilians and soldiers.

  She was not aware of how long she had slept, but suddenly she awoke, her stomach rumbling from hunger. A delicious odor reached her nostrils, when suddenly a soldier entered with a bowl of hot chicken stew and a cup of steaming tea. She devoured the food greedily, and was almost finished when the officer who had greeted her appeared.

  “Miss Wright, how do you feel?”

  “Much better, now that I’ve rested.”

  He nodded. “I’ve been asking some questions and I hear you’ve really done a fine job for the Confederacy. I want you to know that we appreciate all you did for those soldiers.”

  He was a stout, balding man, with a dark beard and deep, piercing eyes that boasted of his command and authority. “I understand you’re looking for an officer, a Major, named Nathan Collins from North Carolina. Is this true?”

  “He may be dead now,” she said dully, hopelessly. “I don’t know what to do. I’m just thankful I’m here, back with my own people, away from the Yankees. If you’ll let me, I’d like to work at a hospital here.”

  “I’m quite sure that can be arranged. What I would like to do now is have you taken into town and given a room at a hotel there. Rest is what you need, and comfort, and you’ll find neither here in this camp at the moment. I’ve arranged for one of my men to take you, if you feel like traveling a few more miles.”

  Rest? Comfort? It seemed like a dream, but nothing had seemed real for the past few years.

  Once she was in her room, Kitty walked about and touched each piece of furniture lovingly. There was a marble-topped washstand on which sat a delicately hand-painted porcelain pitcher and bowl, and a high, four-postered bed with a dainty blue spread and a lacy canopy to match. The chairs were carved in ornate designs, the seats were covered in fancy tapestry, and upon the floor there were imported velvet rugs. It was so beautiful, all of it.

  She thought of the months spent sleeping on beds of prickly pine needles, with a saddle for a pillow and only a thin blanket for cover.

  She fought to hold back the tears. Lately, she was given more and more to crying, a weakness she detested. But what difference did it make? If Travis had lived, he was nothing to her, and he would also hate her for tricking him as she had.

  Think of something else, she commanded herself. Walking quickly to the little wooden writing desk standing against a far wall, she remembered that she could write to her mother and let her know that she was alive and well and would come home when she could. Right now, she had to remain in Richmond and wait, and pray, that Nathan would come and find her.

  There was an open Bible on the desk, and a small newspaper clipping lying in the center fold. The clipping had been torn from the pages of the Richmond Daily Dispatch on May 12, 1862, almost a year ago. Her eyes read the printed lines:

  Then call us Rebels, if you will,

  We glory in the name,

  For bending under unjust laws,

  And swearing faith to an unjust cause,

  We count as greater shame.

  Eyes misting, Kitty no longer tried to hold back the tears. She sank down onto the bench and cried, letting all the pent-up frustrations and grief pour out. She was crying so hard that she did not hear the knock on the door nor the sound of it opening behind her.

  “Oh, dear, are you ill?”

  She whirled about. A small, thin woman, perhaps in her late thirties, stood there with several garments across her arms. Her hair was drawn back in a tight bun, and she wore a plain gray muslin dress. The eyes were kind, concerned, and Kitty could already feel the warm friendliness emanating from the woman’s presence.

  “I guess I’ve been holding it back. I’m sorry.” Kitty dabbed at her eyes with her bloodstained hem.

  The woman walked on into the room, spread the dresses upon the bed, then stepped back. “I’m Mary Culpepper. My husband is Captain Dawson Culpepper, a member of General Lee’s staff. He brought you here, I believe.”

  “Oh, yes. He’s very kind.”

  Mary Culpepper smiled. “Now don’t you go praising others, Kitty Wright. We’ve all heard about you and what you’ve been through. We also know you’ve worked day and night helping the sick and wounded, and we’re all so very grateful.”

  “Thank you,” Kitty murmured, instantly liking the woman. “Where I come from, back in North Carolina, people thought I was crazy because I wanted to be a doctor.”

  Mary laughed. “Wait till you meet Sally Tompkins. She’s taken over an old mansion here in Richmond and made it into a hospital. She’s been running it since right after the First Battle of Manassas, in July, back in sixty-one. It’s called the Chimborazo Hospital. President Davis is so impressed with her work that he made her a cavalry Captain to regularize her status so she could continue working under government auspices.

  “So far, she’s the only woman who holds an official military commission.”

  “That’s wonderful! I can’t wait to meet her. I’ve never had the pleasure of being in the company of another woman who was interested in medicine also.” Kitty was almost exuberant. “Perhaps she’ll let me work
there, too.”

  “Just you try to get out of working there,” Mary laughed. “There are nuns who help out, the Sisters of Charity. Oh, the hospital has grown so much since it was first founded. Some say the count of those treated so far is over forty thousand, maybe even fifty thousand. Can you imagine? I read in a newspaper that it’s believed to be the largest hospital in the whole world. I’ll see that you get to visit out there as soon as you’ve had some proper rest. My, you look pale, child.”

  There was another knock on the door, and Mary hastened to answer. Then a parade of servants began. First came the large tub, then buckets of hot water to be poured into it.

  “I’ll leave you now,” Mary said, pouring a bottle of perfume into the bath water. “You choose whichever dress you’d like to wear tonight. My husband is coming for you, and you’re to dine with us.”

  Slipping into the water, Kitty sighed deliciously. Soaking till the water turned too cold, she toweled herself dry, rubbed her hair until it was only slightly damp and able to be twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck.

  She tried on a yellow silk dress with lace trim, and the fit was not too bad. Surveying herself in a full-length mirror, she found it difficult to recognize the woman who had dressed as a Yankee soldier, ridden a horse like a man, worked endless hours trying to piece bodies back together—and lain naked in the pine straw bed in the mountains of Tennessee in the arms of a Federal cavalryman.

  But she was here now, she reminded herself, here with her own kind, where she belonged. And the little flicker of hope was starting to come alive, the hope that maybe, just maybe, Nathan might be alive—somewhere close by!

  What would she tell him about her past? He would know that Luke Tate had raped her—that she was no longer pure and innocent. But Travis was another story. That was a memory that had to remain locked in her heart forever She was afraid that if she tried to explain how it was, then something might come out that would show her own confusion as to her real feelings for the man. Nathan might wonder and, dear God, he already would have enough to absorb if ever they should meet again.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Kitty found herself in the midst of another world. Richmond, Virginia, while very aware of the hellish war going on all around it, still continued to flourish with social activities. When units departed for camp, there was a whirl of parties, balls, and religious services. Once the volunteers were in camp, the ladies busied themselves with suppers, bazaars, dances, and other projects to raise funds for their brave defenders. And when soldiers returned home on furlough, they were always treated to a round of social events. They were invited into private homes to talk, sing, and play parlor games.

  Kitty heard, also, that the glamorous and gregarious Generals like Stuart, Beauregard, and Morgan—always honored guests at parties and dinners—were showered with attention by females wherever they went. She wondered, a bit jealously, if Nathan were also treated in such a manner. He was handsome and dashing. Women always glanced at him a second time; some flirted openly.

  There was a side to life in Richmond, despite the war, that Kitty had never participated in—dances, charades, tableaux, theatricals, musical concerts, receptions, fancy dinners. But as Mary explained about these, Kitty was unimpressed and not interested. How could she make merry and seek entertainment when her heart was breaking? Andy was somewhere out there fighting with the Yankees; David Stoner, whose mental state was questionable, had stayed behind; she worried about her mother and feared for her father; and beneath it all lay the smoldering love for Nathan, mingled with the twisting guilt she felt over Travis’s death. And if he were alive, by some miracle, he must surely hate her, and she had to keep telling herself it did not matter. She could not let anything in the past matter. Work was important, helping the sick and wounded. Think about the war, the future. She could not dwell on the past and keep her sanity.

  It was almost a week before Captain Culpepper arrived with the news that General Lee had requested that she visit with him.

  “You look frightened,” the Captain said, laughing as she stood there wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

  She blinked. “I guess I’m stunned that he really wants to help me. After all, I’m just another civilian, and General Robert E. Lee has the weight of the whole South on his shoulders right now.”

  “You don’t know much about him if you think you’re just another civilian to him.” The Captain spoke with a touch of reverence. “He’s one of the most thoughtful men I’ve ever known. He has great compassion for his fellow man. When I told him how you’ve been helping with the wounded, and what little I know of the suffering you’ve endured at the hands of the Yankees, well, General Lee felt that the least he could do was talk with you about your Major, whom you’re trying to locate.”

  The next afternoon Kitty found herself in a carriage being taken to the site where Lee’s army was encamped. She was surprised to learn that he lived in a tent. Captain Culpepper explained that the General insisted upon a tent, due to his fear that the enemy might take reprisals on any family whose hospitality he might accept.

  “I think,” he added, “that he might just want to be easily accessible to his staff and his men. There’s never a sentry or an orderly needed to protect the cluster of our headquarters’ tents from any intruders. The men have such a reverent respect for Lee that it forms an invisible wall around him.”

  Richmond was the heart of the Confederacy, and however inadequately the supply system operated, Richmond was the supply center for all of Lee’s army, with roads and railroads leading to all points of the compass and with a canal to the west. It was the medical center which had grown to accommodate about twenty thousand sick and wounded, and it was also the center of the interlocking system of private and government manufacture of arms, ammunition, and war materiel.

  As the carriage moved through the city, Kitty viewed the houses, some lovely, some giving way to decay due to the men of the house being away at war. There were many warehouses and office buildings being used by the government, and the streets were filled with horses, buggies, men and women bustling about. It was a busy place, and Kitty felt dizzy just being there, much less on her way to meet with General Robert E. Lee.

  The army tents seemed to sprawl for miles in all directions. The soldiers hardly glanced at the woman passing by in a carriage. Many wives visited their husbands in camp, coming from faraway places by railroad when possible. Some of the young ladies in town, even, boldly visited their sweethearts unchaperoned.

  The soldiers, she noted, were dressed quite differently: in the early months of the war, their visored caps, gilt-buttoned frock coats, and stripe-legged pants made privates look like European courtiers. Now most of them were wearing a weather-stained slouch hat, with dented crown and brim turned up in front and back. Their hair was longer, and they mostly had on gray or butternut-colored single-breasted jackets. She had noticed that the buttons on the jacket of the soldier driving the carriage bore the seal of his state. He was from Georgia, he said. The letters “CSA” were embossed on his belt buckle.

  Most of the men wore cotton shirts, of which some had collars and some had none. They wore no cravats. Their pants were patched in the seat, frazzled at the cuffless bottoms, and often of a color that did not match their jackets.

  But it was their shoes that broke Kitty’s heart and made her realize just how greatly the Southern army lacked funds and supplies: the soldiers wore pitifully worn-out shoes, and several, whose feet were propped on barrels as she passed, hardly had any soles left at all. A few even had shoes that actually looked as though they had been carved out of wood!

  The soldier driving the wagon reined up the horse in front of a large tent over which the Confederate flag was flying in the gentle June breeze. He stepped down first, then moved to the side of the carriage and held out his hands to encircle Kitty’s tiny waist and set her on her feet. Mary had insisted on buying her a new dress to wear to meet the General; it was pale blue organdy and had a
modest, high neckline trimmed in lace. She carried a parasol and felt ridiculously uncomfortable with the high neckline scratching under her chin. Every time she turned her head, it rubbed against her flesh.

  She was still glancing about the camp, looking at the other tents and the men sitting about playing cards or strumming at banjos, when suddenly the flap of the tent swung back and out stepped a gray-bearded, stockily built man with thinning white hair. But the one feature that impressed her most was his eyes—they were so warm, so compassionate.

  “Miss Wright,” he said, bowing slightly to kiss the tips of her gloved hand which she held out nervously. She didn’t like the custom of men kissing women’s hands and never had, and she felt positively awed in front of this man anyway. Why, she felt with a flutter, she should be kissing his hand, kneeling before him!

  “I’m honored,” she murmured, as he stepped back for her to enter the tent.

  She was impressed with its neatness and surprised by the starkness of the furnishings. There was a plain, uncomfortable-looking cot, a few chairs, and a large table on which dozens of maps and papers were strewn about. A washbasin and pitcher sat on a smaller table near the cot, and other than a little wood stove, there was nothing to give the room a really lived-in look. But, she reminded herself, this was not an ordinary room—it was a military tent, meant not for comfort but merely for convenience and operations of military forces.

  Lee gestured to a chair, and after she was seated, he placed himself on a bench nearby. He coughed, apologized, and said, “I’m afraid I’m still recuperating from a throat infection I suffered in March, a rheumatic attack, I’m told.