“I know that. You don’t have to tell me that. I ain’t no fool. Hey, I have just what we need.” Maloney hurried over to his pack, unlatched it, and dug around inside. “Tell Mr. Hot Air to hang in there for me. Just a minute.”
“You’ve got your own balloon in there?” asked Davin.
Maloney’s eyes widened and he held up a telescope, which was tarnished and had some dents but was of officer-grade quality. “Picked her up on patrol a few weeks back. Probably belonged to a rebel general.”
“Let me see that.” Barry put his rifle down.
“Mind your patience.” Maloney unfolded it and then put it to his eye.
“What do you see?” Davin squinted at the balloon. It must have been five miles or so away.
“Well. It appears like they are hanging down something.” Maloney pulled the telescope all of the way out and turned it slightly. “Some kind of flags with markings.”
Barry went to grab it from him. “Are you even using the proper end? You’re probably seeing the inside of your head.” He glanced back toward the farmhouse. “What’s that? Davin. It looks like your little wifey is coming.”
Davin spun around, and there was Muriel walking toward them at a good pace. She was wearing her Sanitary Commission-issued black dress, with a white apron and hat. What was she doing out here? The hospital tents were set up not too far behind the farmhouse, but still it was a stretch for her to explain to Nurse Meldrickson why she was out here.
“Yes indeed.” Maloney whistled as now he had the telescope pointing in Muriel’s direction. “Red hair. Blue eyes. Is that a small mole on the side of her cheek?”
“Give that to me.” Davin snatched the scope out of his hands.
As she came up upon them, Muriel looked skyward in the direction of the balloon and slowed down for a moment and then with her head down marched directly to Davin. “I need to speak with you.”
“Can’t you share a few words with all of us?” Maloney asked. “We’re all a bit scared and could use a lady’s soft voice for our nerves.”
Muriel didn’t take her eyes off of Davin. “Alone. Now.”
“All right then.” He couldn’t help but be agitated. She had been avoiding him for days and now she was going to issue demands? He held an arm out and they headed to a clearing about thirty yards away from everyone. This would be all the privacy they would be able to muster.
“What do you have there?” A small shock of her hair flapped from under Muriel’s cotton hat.
“This?” Davin held the scope out and balanced it in his hands. It was of a good weight and well constructed.
“May I?” She held out a soft white palm.
Davin shrugged and gave it to her.
She examined it. “This is an officer’s scope. A Confederate’s.” She lifted it to her eye and pointed it toward the balloon.
“That’s Maloney’s. The squat fellow.” Davin’s gaze traced to the balloon. “What do you see? Maloney said there were some type of—”
“Those are signal flags.”
What didn’t this woman know? “Can you read what they are signaling?”
Muriel lowered it and folded it up. She handed it to him. “That’s a rebel balloon. Their signals are different. Besides, I am a woman. I was only seeing if his scarf matched his coat.”
“I thought you told me you weren’t going to talk to me anymore.” Davin tried to be nonchalant.
“I wasn’t. But . . . for the sake of your sister . . . I thought I would warn you.”
“Warn me of what?”
“Davin, do you know how few soldiers survive their first battle?”
He was surprised and pleased by her concern. “That will do well for my confidence.”
“It is not your confidence I am concerned with. Soldiers don’t die because they lack confidence. They perish because they lack common sense.”
“What would you know about any of this? Are you a war general now?”
“Who would know more about the dangers of battle, the general who sends the soldier out to the battlefield or the doctor who needs to mend them when they return?”
Her pondered her point, which he had to admit had merit.
“I know everything about this war. About these soldiers.” She spoke with a tinge of anger. “When boys are dying, they tell me everything. I am their doctor. Their mother. And if they are fortunate, their savior.”
At first he was taken aback. Was she boasting? He never thought Muriel would be one to suffer from arrogance. No. It was something else. A different emotion.
“You care about me, don’t you?”
“What?”
He smiled. “Why can’t you just say it? What if you were right? What if I was to die in my first battle? And you had a chance to tell me you cared about me, but instead you stood out here on this field and refused to acknowledge your feelings? No. Instead you’ve only told me I am no different than forty thousand other soldiers. How long would it take you to forgive yourself? When you realize maybe I was more important than . . . whatever it is that is so important to you now?”
“Are you two doing all right there? Should we call in some artillery support?” Barry was beaming a smile, and Davin realized they were providing entertainment for many of the soldiers.
Muriel’s cheeks flushed and she covered her eyes with her hand. “This was a dreadful mistake. Please forgive me, Davin. Truly. But I can’t do this anymore. Someday you’ll understand.”
She turned and pounded her legs away, raising the hem of her dress to clear the tall grass.
Davin stared as she walked away with his mouth agape. He lowered his head and returned to the others, preparing himself for the snickers and berating. What a fool he had made of himself.
When he looked up again, it was much worse than he imagined. His friends were staring at him with pity.
Why would he ever fall for such a strange woman? He had entertained so many ladies in his lifetime, most who never caused him any grief. None of them behaved in this manner. None of them made him feel so incomplete.
And none of them were Muriel.
Only a few hours had passed, and from their vantage point it was difficult to tell which side had an advantage in the battle. Davin mostly sat with his gaze on the horizon while Barry and Maloney passed the time with a game of cards.
But Davin felt uneasy. The words Muriel had shared resonated. Was he prepared? He looked at his uniform and his weapon lying beside him, and they all looked like toys in some schoolboy’s game. What was he doing here? What did he know about war? Had it been a mistake for him to come here?
A shout of surprise sounded from his right, and several soldiers pointed in the direction of the forest. Davin strained his eyes and could see nothing unordinary, but then there was a rustling of the branches and bushes and he stood and grabbed his rifle. His two friends tossed their cards and stood as well.
Suddenly a large buck burst out of the tree and ran across the field.
“Ah, she’s a beauty.” Maloney aimed his rifle. “A ten-pointer.”
“Get him, Maloney. We’ll be eating well tonight.” Barry patted his stomach.
Another doe followed and then several others, as well as a couple of foxes, and it was as if the forest emptied of its animals, all surging forward in panic.
Barry raised his rifle as well. “What . . . ?”
Which was right about the time the rebel yell was heard in unison, and what must have been a major division of the Confederate army burst through the woods in a maddened frenzy.
Chapter 33
Times Such As These
“Did you want milk for your tea?” Clare just finished pouring hot water into the china teacup and placed it back on the round table between them.
Cassie let out one of her big laughs. “All these years and you still askin�
� me how I like my tea? Black like me, with a sugar like you.”
“How terrible of me to forget. Of course, my dear, if you remember well, for most of those years you were serving the tea to me.”
Cassie shook her head. “Well, it’s a good thing we got that ship landed in the right harbor.”
Clare poured some milk in her own teacup and Cassie stirred hers with a silver spoon while looking outside through the porch window. Despite Cassie’s carefree laugh, the bags under her eyes told a different tale.
“My friend.” Clare reached over and held Cassie’s hand. “How are you? Really? I’ve . . . we . . . Andrew and I have been concerned about you.”
The woman reached her time-etched fingers around the cup and drew it to her lips. Then she peered outside again, where a hummingbird hovered around a primrose bush. “It’s this whole tired city.” She sighed and then shook her head. “Just when we think things might be changing for what’s right, all of the wrong comes back again, worse than before. Makes you wonder whether any of it’s worth trying for.”
She squeezed Clare’s hand. “Oh dear, I truly worry about my husband. It’s this draft. Mr. Lincoln’s draft. Why I’s afraid there’s much too much hate around it. People blames us for everything. Ain’t just words no more neither. People’s gonna get hurt. And still my fool husband pratting about like a rooster, thinking he too loved by God to be hit by a bullet.”
“Have you been threatened?” Clare sometimes struggled with the line between being a newspaper reporter and a good listener for her friends. Was this her journalistic curiosity, or was she just trying to be helpful? She supposed it was just a casualty of the profession.
“When have there not been?” Cassie rested her cup in the saucer. “Except, these ones now. Filled with such anger. You can see it in their eyes. My people have all but done cleared out of the Five Points. Ain’t safe to be there with dark skin. But even when we leave, the trouble follows us.”
“What about the church? What does Zachary plan to do?”
“Ol’ Reverend Bridger? He’s just thick as thick can be. His people have moved from the neighborhood, but they still come on Sundays. Many miles. Whole families. He says, ‘We ain’t going nowhere.’ And all the whiles, we’s thinking Mr. Lincoln gonna change things.”
Ella skipped into the room with her blue dress. “Cassie!” She hugged the woman around her wide waist. “Should I get my doll?”
Clare loved how the children adored the woman. It made it easier for Clare to be away from home when she needed to. “Cassie is not here to tend to you. It’s just a visit.”
Cassie squeezed the girl’s cheeks. “But I am gonna be here soon enough. And more times too.”
“Oh Cassie, we certainly couldn’t impose on you any further. Andrew and I have been ever so grateful for what you are already doing to help us.”
“That’s all nonsense.” Cassie retied the bow on Ella’s dress, which barely fit her anymore. “Zachary tells me he wants you out of the house. He wants you writing them stories. You and Andrew doing the good work, you is. It ain’t easy writing against your kind.”
“I am not writing against my own people. Not all of the Irish have such poor manners.” Clare lifted the teapot and poured more into Cassie’s cup. “I hope you don’t judge us all by the few.”
“Just as long as you ain’t judging us none by our rotten types.”
They both watched as Ella made her way back out of the room and they heard her heavy steps on the stairs.
“How’s Miss Caitlin faring?”
Clare was grateful to change the subject to her sister. “It has been so wonderful having her back. And do you know, she can write stories and we can’t keep her away from the newspaper.”
Cassie stared at her for a few moments. “You acting like you don’t know why.”
“What?” Clare knew Cassie and Caitlin had developed a strong friendship from their time working together at the Underground Railroad. In many ways, Cassie had become their third sister. “Tell me.”
“You really don’t know about this?” She held up her hands and shook them. “All right then. You ain’t hearing this from me none, but she’s takin’ to dote on a young man who is making her heart fly like that there hummingbird.”
“At the Daily?” Clare tried to think of who it might be. But at the newspaper there were only boys and old men. The rest had left to fight in the war. The only available one she could think of was . . . “Owen?”
Cassie’s brown eyes widened. “That sounds ’bout right.”
“Owen?” He spent every minute of his life obsessing about the newspaper. It was as if he loved the Daily more than anyone. “That’s impossible. My sister only falls for corrupt officials, drunken rebels, or unfaithful barristers. Owen is much too sensible.”
“Maybe the little girl, she be growing up some.”
“Owen, he is a fine man.” Clare continued to imagine what kind of husband he would be to her sister. “I don’t know where Andrew would be without his help. Oh, my poor dear man.”
“And what is all of this about poor Andrew?”
Clare jumped and turned to see him standing in the doorway with his mischievous grin. “What a horrible person you are to sneak up on two ladies while they are trying to gossip.”
Andrew came over and kissed Clare on the top of her head. “It’s not called sneaking if I’m entering my own home. Although I suppose it’s mostly the bank’s home now.”
Heat rose in her face. “Andrew, please don’t burden Cassie here with our financial concerns.”
Cassie raised her hand. “I alreadys know you be on hard times. That’s another reason Zachary wants me to help with your children.”
Andrew took off his jacket and rested it on the arm of the chair, and he also put a brown paper-wrapped package there as well. “The better question would be, who doesn’t know we’re bankrupt? We might as well print it on the front page of the paper for the two or three people in Manhattan who still don’t know.” He motioned his hands. “Here’s our headline: Hapless Son Single-handedly Sinks Royce Empire.”
“No, there ain’t no truth in that, Mr. Royce.” Cassie’s tone always changed around Andrew, as she chided him with the authority of a woman who once changed his diapers as his nanny. “Your pappy be proud about his boy, what you does with his newspaper. I tell you this. The Daily does its speaking for God. And He ain’t worrying none about whethers you have money or you don’t. Why if Mr. Moses still be around, he come to my boy Andrew and he say, ‘I got ten things I want you to print and I ain’t gonna print it nowheres else. Because you’s the only one darin’ to speak the truth.’”
Andrew cocked his head. “Now, Cassie. I may have to have you preach that at my office for all to hear. Maybe we would stop losing good people to those other newspapers.”
“Oh no, we didn’t lose anyone else, did we?” Clare hated the thought of her husband facing yet another obstacle.
“No.” He pointed two fingers at them. “Quite the contrary. As it turns out, we just earned ourselves the largest advertising customer we’ve had in five years. Just today, they committed to ads in our paper for a full year.”
Both Clare and Cassie clapped. It was refreshing to hear good news.
“Who is it, Andrew?” Clare loved seeing her husband shine with hope.
“It’s a firm named . . . Angus . . . umm . . . Angell Finch, that’s right. A boot company of all things.”
“Maybe our prayers are being answered after all,” Clare said. “Is that why you came home early? To share this news?”
“Oh!” He went over to his jacket and pulled out an envelope and held it up.
Clare stood and clasped her hands. “Is it?”
“It is.”
“From which one of my never-writes-to-me brothers?”
“Private Davin Hanley.”
He waved her off with a smile.
Her hands started to shake as she looked on the table for a knife. Not finding one she lifted her spoon and dragged the handle end under the envelope flap. After slicing it open, she pulled out the letter slowly. Then she fanned her face with her hand.
“If he’s writing, that means he is alive, Clare.” Andrew’s words were calming, but she couldn’t push away the thought it might be Davin’s last letter to her or written from some battlefield hospital bed.
“Oh thank You, Jesus, he is alive.” Cassie held her hands up.
Clare remembered how little Cassie followed the war. “Do you know about Chancellorsville?” The blank look she received answered her question. “It was Davin’s first battle, and it so happened to be the most humiliating defeat of all for the Union. And again, it was our Irish boys, the 69th and the 88th regiments, wouldn’t you know, that held the lines while the rest of the army retreated.”
“It was a defeat, yes, but there at least was the news about General Stonewall Jackson.” Andrew leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.
“Oh Andrew,” Clare said, “I don’t cheer any man’s death.”
Andrew addressed Cassie. “He was shot in the arm by his own men. Died a few days later as a result of the wound.”
“That’s horrible.” Cassie always got emotional when they spoke about such things. “Just terrible. People goin’ about shooting one another. And this Stonewall man. You say he’s a friend of Davin’s?”
He cleared his throat and pointed to the letter. “Maybe you should read that.”
Clare waved it in her hand and shuddered. Then she handed it to Andrew and he unfolded it as he walked back over to where he had been standing.
She watched his every facial expression looking for the smallest of clues that would reveal what was written. Even as a journalist it was difficult to get information about deaths and casualties. Especially with the toll being so high at Chancellorsville, they were still sorting through the bodies and injuries.
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