Annie, Between the States

by L. M. Elliott

  “Wait until I see that rapscallion and give him a piece of my mind, plaguing Missus Miriam all day long, charging up and down hills playing soldier,” Aunt May muttered as she covered Miriam.

  Miriam smiled. “May,” she said, as she closed her eyes, “you’d be the same if Jacob were fighting.”

  It was the first time anyone had brought up Jacob since he and Gabriel had run off. Annie froze. But the conversation remained one of mother to mother.

  Aunt May straightened up and sighed. “I wonder where that boy be.”

  “I’m sure he is fine, May. I feel it here that he is.” Miriam touched her heart.

  Before Aunt May could answer, there was a loud rapping on the front door.

  Trembling, Annie ran down to open it.

  The first of the wounded had arrived.

  “Saints preserve us,” Aunt Molly whined as she poured water for a young man who was stretched out on the settee.

  This time, though, they had only a handful of wounded men, not badly hurt, whom the Confederate cavalry left as they withdrew a few miles down the road. They needed water, minor bandaging, and a few hours’ peace to recoup.

  Next day there was more hard fighting, this time south and west of them. Stuart was definitely falling back. The wounded at Hickory Heights recovered enough to get up on their horses and make their way to the front line to rejoin their companies. Stragglers kept trotting down the road. There was the occasional pop-pop-pop of a pistol and then nothing.

  Miriam stayed by the window, although now there was nothing to be seen on the back fields or the hills behind them. They waited, waited for the armies of horsemen to disappear, leaving Fauquier, or to suddenly ride through their fields again.

  When news finally came, it careened up the front lane. A wagon rattled up the lane, mules braying at being pushed to work so hard and so fast. Horsemen cantered up behind it, filling the air with gravel dust. Among them was Laurence.

  “Annie!” he bellowed at the house. “Annie! Come here at once!”

  Annie burst through the front door. “Oh, Laurence, is it Jamie?” she gasped.

  “Jamie!” Laurence exploded. “Why would it be Jamie?”

  Annie couldn’t speak.

  He jumped off Angel and grabbed Annie’s arm. “Why might it be Jamie? What has that fool boy done?”

  “He…he…he is with Mosby.”

  “What? I told you, Annie, not to let—”

  “Captain, we’ve got to hurry.” The driver interrupted Laurence. “They’re right behind us.”

  Laurence rubbed his forehead to control himself. “I’ve got to leave Major Heros von Borcke with you. He’s one of General Stuart’s closest aides and friends. He was shot through the throat yesterday. No one expected him to live through the night, but he has. General Stuart wants all attention paid to him. We’re regrouping a mile west. Hickory Heights is the closest house. We’ll carry him up to the attic. If bluebirds search the house, you’ll have to try to trick them into not going there, somehow. Can you manage that, Annie?”

  Stung by the implication that she hadn’t kept Jamie safe, she shot back, “I’ve done it before, brother. It hasn’t exactly been a tea party here at home.”

  For a moment, she thought about suggesting they put him in Jamie’s cellar hideaway, but seeing the size and condition of the man, she knew that wouldn’t work. It took all four men to haul von Borcke up the stairs. He was a huge man, a Prussian, one of the Europeans who had attached themselves to the Confederate army. At the landing, Aunt May met them.

  “Where you going with that man?”

  Laurence told her.

  “You think them Yankees ain’t going to see that pull-down door in the ceiling?”

  Laurence hesitated.

  Aunt May turned to Annie. The two of them thought hard, looking at each other for some guidance.

  “We could push the wardrobe up under it,” Annie finally suggested.

  “They’ll see them marks on the floor,” Aunt May countered, sticking out her lower lip.

  “Not if I sit there knitting, they won’t.”

  Aunt May snorted. “P’shaw, Miss Annie. Since when you knit?”

  “Since now,” laughed Annie.

  Laurence gaped at them. “You sound as if you’ve done this before.”

  Annie humpf-laughed, a most unladylike sound. “Move along, brother Laurence. The Yankees are behind you, aren’t they?”

  Von Borcke was laid carefully on a blanket in the attic, with a pistol and his saber across his chest. The Prussian was wheezing horribly. Annie couldn’t believe he’d live. And after all this trouble, she thought, as she watched the cavalrymen push the attic ladder up and close the door.

  They shoved the wide, heavy wardrobe into place. Its crown molding reached within a hair’s breadth of the ceiling door. Annie quickly moved a chair across the floor to the telltale outline left from the heavy wooden cabinet that had been sitting on the same spot for years. Her skirts would hide it.

  She hugged Laurence. “Go on now. We’ll be all right.”

  Laurence shook his head. “Lady Liberty.” He bowed. There was respect in his teasing. He took several quick steps toward the door and then turned. “You tell James that he and I are due a talk.”

  Then he was gone.

  Within twenty minutes, Yankees arrived. As soon as they rode up the lane, Annie slipped upstairs and took her position in the chair. She’d given up on the idea of knitting. Aunt May was right; she didn’t know how to, and it’d be obvious. She grabbed a book instead. She’d use her new defense of arrogance. She would remain reading in her chair. The Yankees simply didn’t warrant her interrupting herself. She sat, straightened her spine, and tipped up her nose, making herself the picture of feminine disdain.

  This group of Union cavalry at least was polite. They were from Massachusetts. They went about their business quickly and quietly—no stabbing the walls, no running helter-skelter, no prying into drawers. Annie heard the front door open and several more step inside. Someone thumped across the hallway to them. She could imagine a salute from the junior officer. She was beginning to know the drill well.

  She heard: “We’ve searched every house in Upperville. There’s some big Rebel officer wounded. We saw him fall from his horse. He wore a plumed hat and fancy uniform. We think it might be Stuart.”

  “Keep looking” was the reply.

  Annie heard footsteps on the stairs.

  She perfected her aura of haughty disinterest and waited. She forced herself to look down at the text on the page before her, although she read no words.

  A Union officer walked into the room.

  Annie didn’t look up. She turned a page and pretended to keep reading.

  “Well, I’ll be. Is that Lord Byron?”

  Annie hadn’t even noticed what book she held. What is it with these Yankees and Byron? she wondered. She didn’t answer.

  The officer stepped closer. “I believe it is.”

  Annie slowly turned another page. She held herself even more upright. She sniffed slightly and made a face as if something near her smelled horrid. Still, she did not take her eyes off the pages.

  Softly, the officer recited: “She walks in beauty, like the night…”

  She couldn’t help it. Annie looked up with surprise.

  Before her stood Thomas Walker.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  June 20, 1863

  Hickory Heights

  “I hoped that our paths would cross again, Miss Sinclair.” Thomas bowed his head and removed his hat.

  Annie felt a ripple of gladness in seeing this young man who loved poetry. She opened her mouth to say something welcoming, but then her mind played back parts of the Manassas battle during which they’d met—trees exploding, men crumpling up in agony before her, she and her mother surrounded by men running in terror. Sickened, she swayed in her chair.

  Immediately Thomas knelt beside her. “Are you all right?”

  Blinking har
d to push back the nightmare memories, she focused on his face. It was a kind face, still lean and handsome, although now there was a small, trim, moustache on it. He had large dark brown eyes, almost black they were so dark, very intense in their look of concern. For a moment, Annie steadied herself by his sympathy. But then anger took over. Yankees such as this man were to blame for that Battle of First Manassas—they and their self-righteous, meddling politicians! If only they had let the Confederates go in peace, then all this bloodshed, this invasion of her home, this slow starvation of her family never would have happened. And William Farley would be alive.

  Annie leaned away from him. “I can’t say, sir, that I had the same wish.”

  Thomas sat back on his heels. He frowned, then stood. He put his hat back on and became official. “I’m afraid that I must invade your family’s home and ask your help. We are looking for a Confederate officer who was wounded and presumed to be hiding in the vicinity. There is the thought he might be General Stuart. Do you know of his whereabouts?”

  Annie took a deep breath. As of yet, she had not had to lie to a direct question from a Union soldier. If she wanted to be nitpicking, the way he phrased things, it sounded as if he were asking if she knew where General Stuart was. She had no idea where General Stuart was at the moment. “No,” she answered truthfully.

  A colonel and a lieutenant entered the room.

  “Anything, Major?”

  “No, sir,” Thomas answered.

  “Well, keep looking.”

  More soldiers came upstairs. They began tapping the walls, listening for a hollow ring that would betray a hidden compartment. No one had yet looked up at the ceiling.

  “Major Walker.” Annie spoke to distract. Politeness dictated she stand at this point, but Annie remained rooted to her chair, her skirts spread wide over the telltale marks on the floor.

  The colonel raised an eyebrow. “You know the lady?”

  “Yes, sir. She and her mother bandaged me during the First Battle of Bull Run. I think they saved my life.”

  “Ah. They are Unionists, then?”

  With some amusement, Thomas answered. “No, sir, I think not.”

  The colonel turned to assess Annie. His look was not unkind, but confused.

  “My mother believes a hurt boy is a hurt boy,” explained Annie. “In its retreat, your army left many of your soldiers in great need. They were lucky my mother is so skilled as a nurse.” From the corner of her eye, she saw one of the soldiers approaching the wardrobe. She rushed on, “My mother is in the next room, and actually quite ill. If you must disturb her, I prefer Major Walker be the one to question her. For some reason”—she pulled out the words with sarcasm—“Mother liked him.” She added icily, “Surely your men will not do me the insult of fishing through my clothes?”

  Walker grinned at the colonel. “Definitely not a Unionist, sir.” He snapped his finger at the private peering into the wardrobe. “That’s enough. This room is clear.” He stepped out of the room himself, waiting for Annie to follow.

  This was a terrible moment. She would have to move swiftly and keep their attention on her. Annie fairly bolted out of her chair, crossed the room, and closed the door behind her. In her haste, she snagged her skirts in the door.

  As he leaned over to tug the skirt free for her, Thomas spoke. “I am grieved to hear your mother is sick. Is there anything we can do? We have a surgeon at camp. I could—”

  The colonel interrupted. “I can’t be carrying our sawbones all the way here without good cause, Thomas. Why don’t you speak with the woman just to clear her room? I will wait downstairs. Otherwise, I don’t see anything suspicious here. Miss.” He tipped his hat to Annie. “Thank you.”

  Annie opened the door to Miriam’s room. Despite all the noise, Miriam was asleep. She seemed to sleep most of the time now, or drift between wakefulness and what looked like sleep. Aunt May sat in her usual chair, in the corner of the room, keeping watch.

  Seeing the scene, Thomas whispered, “What is wrong with Mrs. Sinclair?”

  “She had diphtheria last summer. Her heart has just gotten weaker and weaker.”

  “I am deeply grieved to hear it,” he murmured.

  “She is a very kind lady.” He thought a moment.

  “Please, would you tell her I asked after her? Perhaps I can procure some meat or medicine for her.”

  Foolishly, Annie let her pride answer. “We don’t need Yankee charity.”

  Thomas’s face tightened. “I see that the war has changed you. I am sorry to see it. I had been much impressed by your prior graciousness in the face of an invading army. I spoke often of it when I was home and people expressed opinions of what renegades Southerners must be.” He bowed to leave.

  Stung, Annie held out her hand. “Here. Take this book. I don’t want it. Byron is a self-infatuated poet. Much like the Northerners I have been forced to meet.”

  Thomas looked down at the book and shook his head. “There are moments of beauty in the verse, though, you must admit, Miss Sinclair.” He smiled at her. “Please keep the volume. Surely poetry can be neutral territory for us.”

  He jogged down the stairs.

  The next day Stuart’s cavalry skirmished repeatedly with Union riders along Goose Creek and Ashby’s Gap Turnpike between Upperville and Middleburg. That evening General Stuart stopped at Hickory Heights to see his friend von Borcke. He could stay only a few moments. His cavalry needed to parallel Robert E. Lee’s infantry as it marched north along the western side of the Blue Ridge, using the mountains as a curtain. To the east, on the other side of the Bull Run Mountains, the Yankee army was lurking, waiting, trying to foresee Lee’s next move. Stuart was between the two. Even though he’d fallen back during the fighting of the previous three days, he’d held the mountain gaps and kept Union cavalry from discovering Lee’s movements. The general’s plan for northward invasion remained hidden.

  It was a momentous plan. Dick Ewell and his troops were already in Maryland close to the Pennsylvania border, waiting for Lee’s command. Longstreet’s army was crossing the Potomac River. The Confederates were massing for a huge strike. If only, only they could continue to move undetected and catch the Union army by surprise. That was Stuart’s responsibility—to shield them from Union scouts, to distract the Yankees with his raids, to keep a sharp eye on the Federal enemy’s movements.

  Stuart and his staff cantered up Hickory Heights’ lane with their usual showmanship. The general jumped off his horse and ran up the porch steps two at a time, excited, off on an adventure. But he slowed and lost his glamour when he saw his friend.

  Isaac, Bob, and Jamie had carried von Borcke out of the attic and brought him onto the front porch for some fresh air. The Prussian had managed to down some soup and sit up. It was a miracle that he had survived at all. A bullet had cut part of his wind-pipe. Annie could see that he’d never ride with Stuart again. He’d be lucky to be able to speak and walk.

  Stuart’s long gait shortened as he crossed the porch. His face changed to a mask of careful cheeriness. “Von, old fellow,” he said heartily, “you are looking marvelously well.” Stuart sat down beside him and took his hand in his.

  Von Borcke tried to answer, but only a whistling sound came out. Stuart patted his arm. “Don’t try to speak, Von. Rest. Mend quickly. Our camp will not be the same until you return. I will miss you.”

  Fighting his emotions, Stuart stood and went to his horse.

  “Miss Annie,” he called to her. He was quiet, serious. “Thank you for taking in Von. Poor fellow. He was sitting right beside me when he was hit. Just before he was struck down, another close bullet had torn off some gold braid from his uniform trousers. Von did love to dress smartly. I think they thought he was me. Von said…he said…” Stuart swallowed hard and continued hoarsely, “He said, ‘Those Yankees are giving it to me rather hotly on your account.’ And then he was hit.”

  Stuart looked down and kicked some dirt. After a moment, he reached into his pock
et. “I had hoped that I might see you. I began another verse in December. I was going to give it to you at the Culpeper ball, but you were occupied with William Farley.” He paused again to control his voice. “Poor William. So many bright stars fallen.” He shook his head slowly and handed Annie a folded paper. “You have become a beautiful woman, Miss Annie. I hope that life gives you great happiness.”

  For a moment their hands touched. But it was a solemn exchange. Stuart was saying good-bye. Annie could feel it. He expected never to see her again.

  Without another word, Stuart heaved himself into his saddle and rode off, silent.

  Later, she read the snippet of poetry:

  When music’s soft enrapt’ring swell

  delights thy list’ning ear,

  When zephyrs whisper all is well

  and all thou lov’st are near,

  When skies are bright and thou art all

  that thou couldst wish to be,

  I dare not ask, for ’twould be vain,

  that thou couldst think of me.

  There were more good-byes in the next days. Laurence rode to the house to see Miriam. As he left, walking down the stairs, weary, saddened with worry for his mother, he ran into Jamie. It was like two stallions meeting each other over a herd of mares.

  Annie was standing by the hall door. She couldn’t believe the violent change in Laurence’s face. He hurled himself at Jamie and grabbed him by the collar. “Where have you been, boy?”

  Jamie’s face turned its rage-purple. But he held his ground and answered stoutly, “I’ve been out with Major Mosby, scouting a ford for you boys to cross the Potomac.” He tried to shove Laurence away from him. Jamie was quite tall and thickset for his age, but the older brother was stronger.

  Laurence held fast to his collar and shook him. “Why aren’t you watching out for Mother? Don’t you realize your shenanigans weaken her further and imperil this family? Why aren’t you here protecting the house?”

  “Because I’m fighting for my country. I’m doing my duty.”