The Way of All Soldiers (Gone For Soldiers)

by Jeffry S. Hepple

  “No. Well, yes. I suppose. Nancy shares a suite here with Anna and I’m staying in Nancy’s room. I’d be with Grant in Mississippi, but the War Department’s put me on Fitz John Porter’s court-martial board.”

  “Really? I’ve been called as a character witness for Fitz John.”

  “Oh, that’s great news. Maybe I’ll be disqualified and can get the hell out of here before I go mad.”

  “Aren’t you and Nancy getting along?” He chuckled.

  “We get along about the same as we did in Kansas when you were eavesdropping from the next room.”

  “Eavesdropping? I could have heard Nancy in the lobby.”

  Robert smiled. “She’s a wildcat.” He looked away for a moment and his smile faded. “When you first suspected that Clementine was unfaithful did you confront her right away?”

  “Oh, no.” Jack shook his head. “You just asked the wrong question.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I did everything wrong when I found out that Clem was unfaithful. If I’d behaved differently, I’d still have her. Given a choice now I’d take her back on any terms.”

  Robert nodded.

  “Is Nancy unfaithful?”

  “I’ve been told so by several people.”

  “How about you?” Jack asked. “Have you been unfaithful to her?”

  “Me? I’ve been a saint.” He gave Jack an imitation laugh. “When you’ve got an hour to spare, I’ll tell you a lurid tale about the pain I endured for the sake of my marriage vows. Why did you ask?”

  “I was hoping to get away by telling you what’s good for the gander is good for the goose.”

  “I need real advice, Big Brother, but if you’ve got none to offer, I understand.”

  Jack considered before answering. “Okay. My advice is to forget it.”

  “Forget my pain or Nancy’s infidelity?”

  “Forget it all and make the most of every minute of every day.”

  “You sound like Anna,” Robert said. “Live for the moment and damn what anyone thinks of you.”

  “That’s not such a bad philosophy, Little Brother. You’ve obviously been able to ignore Nancy’s well-known escapades before you were married.”

  “That’s a little different.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, exactly, it just is.” Robert looked toward the stairs. “Oh hell. Here comes Anna. Quick. Tell me about Abe and Ginger.”

  “Abe, and about a hundred contraband slaves, are on a ship headed for New Orleans. He’s hired a private steamer from there to Mesilla.”

  “And Ginger?”

  “I checked Ginger into a colored hotel a few blocks from here before I came to meet you. One of us needs to take her to the Navy Department tomorrow. I’d rather it was you because you’re better known here.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “What are you two scheming about?” Anna hurried from the staircase to embrace Jack. “You look wonderful for a dead man.”

  Jack rocked her in his arms for a moment, then pushed her away to look at her face. “You look wonderful to any man, even a brother. I swear you’re younger and more beautiful every time I see you.”

  “It’s all the sinful living that does it,” she said, taking his arm. “I’ll pay for it in Hell. Come upstairs. Nancy’s eager to see you.”

  “Why didn’t she come down?” Robert asked.

  “She’s waiting for room service to deliver the Champagne.” Anna hooked Robert’s arm with her other arm and marched between her brothers toward the stairs. “This is wonderful. If only Thomas could be here, we’d all be together again.”

  “You’re forgetting William,” Jack said.

  “I’m hoping that he’s dead or dying from some horrible flesh-eating disease,” she answered. “But I’ll never forget him – until I know he’s dead.”

  “He’s alive in England,” Robert said. “He bought a castle near Nottingham and lives like the lord of the manor with a harem.”

  “How do you know that?” Anna asked.

  “Nancy told me,” Robert answered.

  Anna looked perplexed. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  Robert shrugged. “She thought it was better for you not to know. I don’t agree. She may kill me when you tell her that I spilled the beans.”

  “You’re safe. I won’t tell her.”

  Jack chuckled. “Everyone knows that you can’t keep a secret, Anna.”

  She smiled. “Everyone’s wrong.”

  November 27, 1862

  Memphis, Tennessee

  Colonel Quincy Van Buskirk looked up from the report he was reading as the duty First Sergeant came in. “What is it, Sergeant?”

  “Sir, the lady that owns this plantation wants to talk to you.”

  “Oh no. Tell her to write to the War Department in Washington with her complaints.”

  “She says that she’s your cousin, sir.”

  Quincy put the report down. “My cousin? Did she tell you her name?”

  “Mrs. Caitlin Howell, sir.”

  “I never heard of her. Get rid of her please, Sergeant.”

  “Yes, sir.” The sergeant went out.

  Quincy picked up the report again, found his place and continued to read.

  “Sir?” The sergeant was back.

  Quincy sighed. “Yes, Sergeant?”

  “She says that her name is Caitlin Livingston Howell from Elizabeth, New Jersey and that she’s sure that you know her.”

  “Caitlin Livingston?” Quincy stood up. “Oh. Yes. She is my cousin.” He buttoned his tunic. “Very well. Show her in please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quincy walked around the desk and waited expectantly.

  She was taller than he remembered and had matured from a pretty girl to a stunningly beautiful woman. “Thank you for seeing me, Pug.” She held out her hand.

  He shook her hand awkwardly. “Uh – Caitlin – uh. I’m very sorry about your plantation but there’s nothing I can do to help you.”

  “Although I’m not at all pleased at being dispossessed, that’s not why I’m here; William has been arrested as a Confederate spy.”

  “I’m sorry, Caitlin. Who’s William?”

  “My husband. William Howell. Surely you remember him. His grandfather was the governor of New Jersey.”

  Quincy looked confused. “Won’t you sit down, please, Caitlin?” He pointed to one of the two chairs in the cluttered room and moved a stack of files from the second chair as Caitlin sat in the first. “I have a vague recollection of the Howell family, but I don’t remember your husband.” He sat down and crossed, then uncrossed his legs.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “What’s important is preventing William from being hanged.”

  Quincy knew that there was nothing he could do to help her, but he didn’t want her to leave just yet. “Why was he arrested?”

  “As far as I can tell it’s because he’s a cousin of Varina Davis.”

  Quincy shook his head. “Should I know her?”

  “She’s the wife of Jefferson Davis. The President of the Confederate States of America?” Caitlin was obviously losing patience with Quincy’s ignorance. “Varina’s maiden name is Howell. She was born in Natchez.”

  “Let me check into it,” he said calmly. “Where are you staying?”

  “Here.” She pointed out the window. “The Yankees have graciously permitted me to stay in my own guesthouse, but they’ve freed all my servants and stolen everything else that I own.”

  “Is the guesthouse inadequate for your needs?”

  “No, but I’m inadequate for the guesthouse. I’m absolutely helpless in a kitchen, I can’t start a fire and I can’t dress myself or do my hair without my maid.”

  He shook his head. “I wish I could help you, but all slaves are now free.”

  “All I need are my cook and my maid. I’m quite sure that I could make do with only the two of them.”

  Quincy stood up to signal the e
nd of the conversation. “Let me see what I can do for you, Caitlin.”

  She looked up at him from the chair for a moment, then stood. “You’ve changed.”

  “In what way?”

  She stepped closer and touched the patch of white hair above his ear then trailed her fingernails slowly down his cheek, resting her palm against his chest and looking up at him with big, searching blue eyes. “What happened to you?”

  He knew that his heart was racing and his face was turning red, but he was powerless to stop it. “I got shot in the head at Bull Run,” he stammered. “The first one. The first Bull Run, I mean. The battle.”

  “My brother-in-law was killed there. But we call it the Battle of Manassas.” She continued to look up into his eyes. “You look so much like your brother.”

  Her spell broken, he stepped back to escape the heat of her hand. “I don’t have a brother.”

  “I meant Johnny.”

  “My cousin.”

  “Is he here too?”

  “No. He’s with Lee in Virginia.”

  “A Confederate Van Buskirk?” She smiled.

  Quincy decided it would be best not to answer.

  “I often regret that I threw Johnny over for William.” Caitlin sighed dramatically.

  Quincy remembered that Johnny had jilted Caitlin for Kate Chase, but he didn’t contradict her.

  “Johnny was the best kisser I ever knew,” Caitlin continued. “And my husband’s the worst.” She turned and started for the door, then stopped and looked coquettishly over her shoulder at him. “It’s very lonely out there in the guesthouse, Quincy. Please come visit me – if you ever find yourself with a spare moment. We can talk about old times.”

  He watched her hips sway all the way down the hall and out the front door. “Oh shit.”

  November 27, 1862

  Memphis, Tennessee

  Caitlin opened the guesthouse door and stepped back. “Oh dear. You’ve caught me half dressed.”

  “I’ll come back later,” Quincy said.

  “No. Come in. I can’t hook my dress, so without some help, I won’t be any better dressed later.” She turned and walked into the room, then lifted her hair to expose the unbuttoned dress and her bare back. “You’ll have to do it for me.”

  “Me?”

  She turned her head to look at him. “You’re letting all the cold air in.”

  Quincy came in, closed the door and walked forward. “I don’t know how this works.”

  “They’re just buttons, silly.”

  “The buttons and buttonholes are quite far apart.”

  “Just pull the two edges together.”

  He tugged on the material. “I think this dress is too small for you.”

  She let her hair drop and turned to face him. “I can’t manage a corset by myself.”

  He nodded stupidly.

  “I usually wear this dress over a full body corset,” she explained.

  “Oh,” he said dully.

  “You have no idea what I’m talking about, have you?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “A full body corset holds one’s breasts in and pushes them up. With my breasts unbound, this dress is very tight. But you could pull the back together if you really tried.”

  He felt his face turning red.

  “You don’t have to touch my breasts, Quincy,” she giggled. “Just pull the material together so the buttons will reach the buttonholes.” She turned her back and lifted her hair again. “Start at the bottom.”

  He bent down and fumbled with the buttons, then knelt on one knee. “I checked on the charges against your husband, Caitlin. There’s quite a bit more to it than you thought. He’s been sending reports of Federal troop strength and positions of our army units and navy ships to Richmond.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “The Pinkerton people have letters written in his handwriting. Under those circumstances, there’s nothing I can do to help him.”

  “Will he be hanged?”

  “I don’t think so. But he’s imprisoned in Washington until his trial and, at best, he’ll remain there after the trial for the duration of the war.” He stood up. “I can’t get these top buttons, Caitlin.”

  She let go of her hair and turned around. “What about my cook and my maid?”

  “They declined.”

  “They did what?”

  “I found them in the Freedmen Center and asked them if they’d work for you. Neither of them would agree.”

  “You Yankees have spoiled them; now they want money,” she huffed.

  “I offered them double what the government’s paying for laborers and they said no.” He made a face. “And what’s this ‘you Yankees’ business? You were born and reared in New Jersey.”

  “But I married a Southern gentleman.” She reached behind her back to feel the buttons on her dress. “Quincy!”

  “What?”

  “You didn’t do half the buttons. I can’t walk around like this all day with my bare back hanging out.”

  “I pulled so hard that I was afraid the button was going to come off. That dress is too small.”

  “I wore it two weeks ago before you Yankees came and took my home from me. It wasn’t too small then.”

  “Well, I’ll try to find some woman to come and do your buttons for you.”

  She put her hand on her hip and tilted her head. “Surely a man of your age has had some experience with women’s buttons.”

  “Not with fastening them,” he said, a bit angrily.

  “Oh, I see. You could manage the buttons if you were undressing me.”

  “Now there’s an interesting idea.”

  Her eyes went wide for a moment, and then she laughed. “Let’s pretend that you’ve undressed me and now you have to help me get dressed before someone comes in and discovers our dalliance.”

  “So I get all the work and none of the fun?”

  “That really isn’t fair, is it?” She crooked her index finger at him. “Come here and let’s see if you can kiss as good as your cousin.”

  He stayed where he was. “What happened to your deep concern for your husband?”

  “You just said he was going to be in prison for the rest of the war. What’s a girl to do?”

  “I don’t know, but I have to get out of here before I do something stupid.” He started for the door.

  “The next time you talk to my former slaves, ask them who the father is of all those half-caste children.”

  “Good day, Caitlin. I’ll try to hire a woman in town to help you.” He walked back to the mansion on rubbery legs. General Sherman was waiting for him in his office. “I’m sorry, sir. Were you looking for me?”

  Sherman shook his head. “No. I was worrying about you.”

  “Why, sir?”

  Sherman pointed out the window toward the guesthouse. “If you sleep with her she’s going to own you.”

  “I think she already does,” Quincy replied.

  “Very well. Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”

  “Was there something else, sir?”

  “Yes. I just came from a meeting with Grant. He wants to start the Vicksburg campaign. We’ll be his right wing, re-designated as Fifteen Corps with four divisions under Andrew J. Smith, Morgan L. Smith, George W. Morgan, and Frederick Steele.”

  “Too many Smiths and Morgans,” Quincy chuckled.

  “What?” Sherman grumped. “Are you a comedian now?”

  “Sorry, sir. When do we move out?”

  “In a couple of weeks. Grant still has to coordinate with the Navy.”

  “Anything that you want me to do immediately, sir?”

  “Yeah. Take a short leave and get yourself out of that man-eater’s range until you cool down.”

  “Is that an order, sir?”

  “If I could make it one it would be. As it is, it’s just advice from somebody that cares about you.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll be careful.”


  “Famous last words.” Sherman walked out and left the door open.

  November 28, 1862

  Memphis, Tennessee

  When Caitlin opened the door, Quincy showed her a long tool with a hook on one end and a silver handle on the other. “In the process of hiring a housekeeper for you, I mentioned being flummoxed by your buttons,” he said. “She told me that no mortal could close a dress like yours without a buttonhook.”

  “Oh my. And I thought it was my silky, white flesh that had you so flummoxed.” She stepped back from the door. “Come in.”

  “It’s freezing in here,” he said as he closed the door behind him.

  “I told you that I didn’t know how to start a fire.”

  “I thought you were being dramatic.” He went to the woodbox and selected some kindling and three small logs.

  “I really am nearly helpless. I spent years and years studying classic Greek literature and Italian art, but they never taught me how to start a fire.”

  “Well, pay attention and I’ll teach you now. It’s the single achievement that sets man apart from the apes.”

  “Teach me without the blasphemy, please.”

  He looked back at her. “If you want to remain ignorant, it’s no skin off my back.”

  “What does that mean? No skin off my back.”

  “It’s from the British army when soldiers were flogged for trivial violations.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “If we were both soldiers and I warned you that smoking your pipe on watch was against the rules and you chose to ignore me, I’d say it’s no skin off my back.” He looked up at her. “You see?”

  “No. How could we both be soldiers? I’m a woman and you’re a man.”

  He lit a match held in under the kindling, blew on the tiny flames, then stood up. “Now you can start a fire.”

  “You didn’t show me.”

  “I just did.”

  “You did not.”

  He pointed to the growing flames. “There’s the proof that I did.”

  “That’s proof that you started a fire, not that you taught me to.”

  “You were supposed to watch.”

  “I did.”

  “You were supposed to watch and remember what I did so you could do it yourself.”