Songs of the Shenandoah

by Michael K. Reynolds

  “My uncle.”

  “What?” Davin didn’t intend to have so much anger laced in his response.

  “My uncle,” Muriel shouted. “He told me when I was young that I wasn’t going to earn a good husband with my appearance. He said I would have to try harder than other women.”

  What kind of man would say something like that to his niece?

  “He wasn’t being mean,” Muriel added. “He was a practical man and I appreciated his honesty.”

  “What about your parents? Didn’t they treat you with more kindness?”

  “They died.”

  “What?” They were almost shouting at one another now, making it an awkward conversation.

  “When we came to America, I was only a baby. They died of yellow fever aboard the ship.”

  What would he say now? What Davin originally intended as a compliment was now becoming a discussion not designed for hollering. “Well, your uncle was mistaken.”

  Muriel didn’t say anything for a few moments, and he glanced back to see if she was finished speaking. Had he pushed her too far? “Thank you, Davin, but there are traits more significant than a person’s appearance, are there not? That’s all my uncle was trying to teach me.”

  It was clear. She wasn’t going to take praise without a fight. Davin decided to talk about something else. Anything else.

  “How is he doing?”

  “My uncle?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, your brother?” she said with relief in her voice. “He is still coming in and out. Part of that is the morphine we’ve given him. This road isn’t doing him any favors for his pain.”

  “Imagine how much more difficult this would be without Mr. Miller’s generosity.” The carriage builder had given them a strong horse and his finest wagon, which because of the craftsmanship of its springs, absorbed much of the bouncing.

  And Mr. Miller joined them as outlaws. Despite their pleadings, he insisted on helping them flee past the Union army. Under the evening sky and through muddy roads, he drove them down the first mile of their voyage, while they hid in the back just in case they were halted. Peculiarly, they encountered neither Yanks guarding the back roads nor signs of the rebels who had drifted away as elusive apparitions in the night. It was as if the great battle was merely some unruly dream.

  “Your brother should be dead already,” Muriel said flatly. “For us to have the good fortune of encountering Mr. Miller, and even now to have these roads clear for us, maybe God does protect His soldiers.”

  He enjoyed the idea of Seamus being a soldier for God. “You know, I used to revere my brother because he was able to rise against the cruelty of our father, and the difficulties of his life. He was an outcast, one who would shake his fist at the skies. But when he became a . . . man of God . . .”

  “You lost your hero,” Muriel said.

  “I thought he was a coward. A man should find happiness and respect on his own, right?” Davin rued the words, but they were true to how he thought back in California.

  Was this why he had cheated Seamus? Why he misled his brother about the mine of Ashlyn’s late father? Everyone believed the claim was finished and drained of its gold. But years later when Davin returned to the mine, he made a discovery. An untapped vein. The mother lode.

  “I thought I earned it. Why should anybody else know?”

  “What are you talking about, Davin?”

  He didn’t feel comfortable enough to share this inner conflict of his soul. Was what he did truly wrong? Why did Seamus deserve to know? If his brother didn’t care about the gold, and even preached against it, then why include him in the riches of the stake?

  Looking back to that time, Davin could clearly see now this decision was the fork in the road with his relationship with his brother. Somewhere in those mountain trails of the Sierra, Davin chose the gold over everything else.

  “Hello. Are you there?”

  Davin cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I was thinking of somebody I used to know.”

  It wasn’t the wealth. It never was about the money for Davin. It was the independence that had seduced him. The spirit of the West, the chance to be his own man. This was the Golden Calf that had swept him away. And now, the romance had lost its luster. This independence he once cherished only led to loneliness, a place Davin no longer wanted to reside.

  He reached into his pocket and shook the vial of gold, then held it up for Muriel to see. “My last nugget. All of those years under the cracking sun with picks, shovels, and pans, and this is all that remains.”

  “Well I say it’s good to get rid of what’s ill begotten.”

  Her statement gave him pause, but then she didn’t approve of the hydraulic mining. She wasn’t aware of half of it! But she was right. He couldn’t wait to dispose of the last of it. To cleanse it from his blood.

  “You know,” Davin said. “I figured out why I am doing this.”

  “Doing what? Rescuing your brother?”

  “Yes. Except I am not rescuing my brother.” Davin thought of throwing the vial into one of the fields, but he gave it one more shake and returned it to his pocket. “Seamus is rescuing me.”

  His comment was cryptic. Muriel wouldn’t understand how desperate it was for him to return Seamus back to Ashlyn. To give Davin a measure of peace by paying them back in some small way. But it all depended on Seamus making it there alive.

  “How is my brother? Is he speaking at all?”

  “When he wakes. And when I change his bandages. Mostly all I hear is him repeating Ashlyn’s name over and over again. That, and sometimes he speaks of someone named Anders.”

  He listened to the rumbling of the road and the lowing of a few cattle. “Is Seamus going to make it back home?”

  She paused. “How would you like me to respond?”

  “Honestly. Tell me what is true, Doctor.”

  “This wagon will surely become a hearse before we are done.”

  He rounded the bend of the road, prepared to speed up the pace, but suddenly pulled hard on the reins. Up ahead, about a half mile down the straightway, were a group of men. “Muriel,” he said in a hushed voice.

  “That’s a Union roadblock.” Muriel stepped out from the back and leapt on the ground, and then she moved up to the front of the wagon. She grabbed the bridle of the black horse and guided it around in a tight circle as Davin watched closely to see if there was any movement out of the figures in the distance.

  “Have they seen us?”

  “No. I don’t think . . .” Davin turned his gaze from the soldiers in front of them and noticed for the first time a young shirtless boy of about twelve years or so, holding on to the handles of a plow and staring at them with curiosity. All Davin could think to do was to wave. But, it was not responded in kind. Instead the boy turned and ran in the direction of a barn, brightly painted red.

  “Get in, Muriel!”

  She didn’t hesitate, and in a moment and with some dexterity Muriel was in the back of the wagon again as he brought the horse to a full gallop. He glanced back to see if the boy had made it to the barn yet and noticed the large plume of dust rising from his wheels, which surely could be spotted from a distance. They had to get off of this road.

  “What are we going to do?” Davin looked to Muriel who had provided all of the directions up to this point. If they had to circle back there would be no hope of Seamus making it alive to Taylorsville. “Tell me what to do.”

  “Yes. I am thinking.” She climbed her way to the front and sat on the padded leather bench beside him.

  “What about bringing attention with the two of us up here?”

  “Stop.”

  “What?”

  “Stop the wagon.”

  He saw the intensity in her eyes, whistled, and slowed the wagon to a halt. “What are we doing?” Davin l
ooked behind them. They had traveled far out of the view of any soldiers or farmers and were being watched only by a large bull. But there was no time for them to delay.

  “You need to get out.”

  “What?”

  “Listen closely, Davin. We are about to enter Virginia territory. As soon as we do, that uniform you are wearing will either get you shot or put under military arrest.”

  “I can change out of this. Mr. Miller gave me some clothes.”

  “Do you know what happens as soon as you take that uniform off and then cross that border?”

  He shook his head.

  “If you are caught, you will be considered a Northern spy. Do you know what they do to spies? They hang them. That’s after they torture them for information.” She put her hand on his knee. “Davin. I don’t need you anymore. I can do this by myself. I can bring your brother home.”

  “What about you? When they find out you are a nurse for the North?”

  A lock of Muriel’s hair fluttered in the breeze. “They don’t kill nurses. There are too many dying soldiers. Just as they don’t kill preachers. Your brother and I will be safe. You need to let me do this.”

  Davin’s eyes started to water, and he didn’t know if it was from emotion or the dust. “Why? Why would you do this?”

  Muriel started to speak, but then she paused and squinted up at the sun. “It’s not . . . some grand benevolence . . . in me. My motives are my own. And I don’t want to disappoint you. More than I already will.”

  He held his hand to her face, and she flinched. “Why are you so difficult on yourself?”

  “Trust me,” Muriel said. “It is better if we are able to recall each other in this light. In this moment. From this point forward, there can only be regret.”

  Davin let out a deep sigh. This was no time for her spoken puzzles. But she was right about one thing. Once they crossed into enemy territory, a woman driving a wagon with a dying pastor would have a better chance of making it through the South. It was Seamus’s best card to play.

  But this was Davin’s mission. Not hers. “I am not leaving my brother’s side until he is returned to his family. Alive. It’s you, Muriel. You’re the one who must get off and go back to camp.”

  “I can’t . . . go back, Davin.” Her brows lifted and she smiled, now appearing sweet and vulnerable for the first time.

  Of course. She had her fill of the violence, of the horror. And why wouldn’t she? The sights those in the hospital tents were forced to endure were worse than anyone else in the war. Even for the hardened eyes of a trained doctor.

  This was an honorable way for her to escape it all. They were both on the run. Different motives, but a shared purpose. All of this time he thought she was unable to be broken. She was the strong one.

  But now he saw something else in her eyes. Something he knew and understood well. Loneliness. He could see she was beaten down by it as he was. They were fighting the same enemy. And they saw hope in freedom from it in each other.

  Without any other words, they leaned into one another and embraced, Muriel cried, and it was a sweet sound in his ear.

  Then she snapped up and pulled the red strands of her hair behind her ears. “Then Private Hanley, if you are going to come with me, you will follow my orders . . . and closely. Go into the back and get changed. I will be driving now.”

  “Fine. But where are we going? We can’t go back.”

  “There is a side road just up the ways. There is a . . . place I know about. I hadn’t wanted us to go there. But it is now our only choice. Our only way to get your brother home alive.”

  Chapter 42

  The Underground

  “Davin? Is that you?”

  Having been nodding off to sleep, Davin thought he was hearing Seamus’s voice in a dream. But a jolt of the wagon snapped him awake and he found himself sitting beside his brother, his face just a couple of feet away.

  “Davin?”

  “Seamus. Yes. It’s me.” Davin was pleased to be recognized for the first time, but his brother now appeared at the grave’s edge. His face was pale and puffy, and coated with beads of sweat. Davin put his hand to Seamus’s forehead and it was hot to the touch.

  “Where are we?” The wheels bounced again and Seamus clenched his jaw.

  “Muriel, the morphine is wearing off!”

  “Davin?”

  “We’re going home, Seamus. We’re taking you home.”

  “Ashlyn?”

  “Yes.” Davin dipped the towel in the wooden bucket of water and squeezed it until it stopped dripping. Then he wiped down his brother’s face. Would this be the last chance he had to speak to him? Should he take this moment to apologize? For everything?

  Sadness swept across Seamus’s face. “Anders?”

  “Who is Anders?”

  “I tried to . . . tried to help him.” He began to get agitated.

  “It’s all right, big brother. Keep still. We need to get you well.” This was no time for a confession. No time for him to relieve the pressure of his guilt. That was Davin being selfish again. No. He would only think of Seamus’s well-being. Until he was able to return his brother into Ashlyn’s arms, there would be no further focus on his own personal redemption. Perhaps that was the lesson of this all.

  The wagon began to slow. Good. Muriel would be coming to give Seamus more medicine. Davin looked down again just to see the lids closing on his brother’s Hanley blue eyes.

  There were voices outside and Davin strained to listen.

  “What danger we have now because of you.” It was an older man.

  “There was nothing else for us to do,” Muriel said.

  They were far enough away from the wagon for the conversation to be difficult to hear. Davin crawled to the front opening of the wagon, but the evening was upon them, and only after straining could he see they had arrived at a large farm. He could hear sheep bleating and dogs barking.

  Muriel climbed back on the seat and without explanation she drove them toward a large barn. There, a woman holding a lantern opened the door and with a snap of the reins, Muriel directed the horse to pull them slowly inside.

  Once the wagon glided to a stop, Muriel pulled on the brake and climbed down. Should he come out? In a moment, the back hatch of the wagon opened and Davin turned to see Muriel and two elderly faces peering inside.

  “Is that one dead?” The man’s face was elongated and stoic, his lips drooping down in a permanent scowl.

  “He just spoke to me a few moments ago,” Davin said.

  “Who is that?” The woman’s face was round with kindness and wrinkled, like an apple left in the sun.

  “This doesn’t feel proper,” the man said.

  “Oh, Pieter, there’s nothing can be done about it now.” The woman summoned Davin with her slender arms. “Come on out, young man. Let’s get you fed and warmed.”

  For a summer day, it did feel particularly cool and Davin was in no mood to refuse hospitality. With his head crouched, he crawled his way around Seamus and stepped out onto the ground matted with hay. His knees buckled and he hadn’t realized how stiff he had been from the long ride and how refreshing it felt to be able to stretch.

  Pieter extended a reluctant hand of greeting.

  “And I am Anika.” She nodded at Davin and then stuck her lantern inside the back of the wagon. “What about this poor fellow?”

  “Yes,” Muriel said. “We should get him to a fire. Do you have something we could use to carry him?”

  “A wheelbarrow will needs do.” Pieter spat out a black puddle of tobacco and then walked off.

  “All right then.” Anika handed the lantern to Muriel. “I’ll need to add more meat to the kettle. This is most unexpected.”

  “Does he . . . know?” Anika nodded toward Davin who was devouring his meal, disappointed to
have to even look up to acknowledge them.

  “Oh yes, I should have told you this before.” Muriel sat cross-legged on the floor, close to Seamus who she was trying to feed as he lay on blankets by the fireplace. “Davin is Caitlin Hanley’s younger brother. This pastor, Seamus, is her older brother. I don’t know if you know their oldest sister, Clare.”

  Pieter sat in a rocking chair, glaring down at them as it creaked back and forth. Leaning up against the wall next to him was an old musket.

  “Clare? Clare?” Anika scooped out another ladle of the steaming porridge into Davin’s bowl.

  “She writes for the New York Daily.” Muriel wiped the side of Seamus’s mouth with a cloth.

  Anika shook her head. “We certainly know beautiful Caitlin. And, of course, Cassie as well. How is she?”

  Davin deduced the connection. Caitlin and Cassie had been working together for the Underground Railroad for years. And he heard that Muriel had volunteered also while she was in New York. He noticed a strange expression come over Muriel’s face and it appeared to be shame. What happened between Caitlin and her that would draw this response? Or was this about her relationship with Clare?

  “Is this a safe house, then?” His gaze now traced Muriel, seeking out clues in every word they exchanged. If she wouldn’t tell him what lay deep within, he would discover it himself.

  Pieter cleared his throat and stopped rocking. He looked to Anika. “That’s how we want it to remain.”

  “I must apologize for my husband.” Anika walked over and put her hand on his shoulder.

  “I need no apology.”

  “Yes.” Anika looked down. “I am afraid we discussed it and we won’t be of any assistance to you. Besides the meal, of course, and you can stay the night.”