This Time Forever

by Linda Swift

  "Here's a letter for you, Miss Angeline," Polly said as she came up the walk with the mail which a Union courier had left at the gate. "And there's one for Major Burke."

  Angeline took the envelope and with a quick glance, her face fell.

  "From Nathan?" Clarissa asked.

  "Aye, and here are the two most beautiful ladies in the South," Devon came out onto the veranda as he spoke and smiled at the two sisters.

  Angeline nodded in answer to Clarissa's question and quickly tucked the letter in her skirt pocket. "The music was lovely, Devon." She returned his smile. "It would be a dull day for the men without your singing and the Major's playing."

  "And for us, too," Clarissa added as she stood. "Well, I must find Harriet and see what she's preparing for supper. You'll stay, won't you?" She looked at Devon for confirmation.

  "I think not tonight." He didn't meet her eyes. "I've chores back at camp, but I thank you just the same."

  "We'll have enough," she assured him.

  "Aye, and I can't be taking what you have. Hunger is no stranger to a poor man from the Tennessee mountains like m'self." He gave Angeline another worshipful smile. "And I'll see you in the morning, luv."

  Clarissa stood for a moment watching them as Angeline walked to the gate with Devon. She felt a wistful tug at her heart when Devon reached out to touch Angeline's cheek as he bade her goodbye. It must be wonderful to have a man love you that way. If only she—no, there was no use thinking about what might have been. It was too late for her. But Angeline was still innocent and unencumbered, except for the matter of her engagement to Nathan Forsythe, and that could be ironed out, in time.

  She turned and went inside and found Philip Burke and Polly in the hallway. He was holding a letter in his hand and the expression on his face made her pause and ask, "Is something wrong, Major Burke?"

  At first, he seemed not to have heard her question. Then he looked at her and said flatly. "My brother's wife has died."

  Polly gasped. "Not the lady Napoleon work for?"

  "No, my oldest brother's wife," Philip told her, while neither of them noticed the surprised look on Clarissa's face. "She died of childbed fever."

  "I'm so sorry," Clarissa said quietly as she watched Polly slip away. "A motherless child is a tragedy. I speak from my own family's experience." She longed to touch the grieving man who stood before her, his shoulders sagging dejectedly, but she resisted the impulse.

  Later, when Clarissa had more time to think of what had happened there in the hallway, unanswered questions filled her mind. How would Polly know who Napoleon worked for? And why would he be working for either of Philip's brothers? She knew this was not the time to ask him to tell her, but she would certainly find out the answers from her servant the moment they were alone. With a determined frown, she walked away from Philip Burke toward the kitchen.

  • ♥ •

  The sporadic sound of cannon broke the stillness of the early evening as Philip stood looking toward the mountains. In one hand, he held his pipe, in the other Virginia's letter. He had lost count of the times he had read it; yet he looked at the words again.

  Oswego, New York

  October 14, 1863

  My dearest Philip,

  You cannot know how it grieves me to be the bearer of such sad news. And there is no way to soften the blow, so I must say it quickly and have it done. As you are aware, Dorothea was expecting a child. The child was born last week, a precious little girl, and Dorothea became ill shortly after with childbed fever, that malady dreaded by all women who bear children. And yesterday, our darling Dorothea passed away, dying as quietly as she had lived. Need I tell you how distraught we are? Be assured that she had the best of care. Thomas had even insisted that she go to the hospital and be attended by Oswego's new physician, but all his efforts could not save her.

  Our little niece is named Dorothea Elizabeth after her poor mother, and will be called Elizabeth. Dear Katherine has resigned her position and has taken the baby to the Kingsley home where she and Mrs. Kingsley will look after her. Would that I might help, but the present situation demands all of my attention.

  The draft riots continue among the immigrants who are not able to pay the price of a substitute and their violence is mainly directed at the poor Negroes, even young orphans. I travel about frequently gathering material for the paper and feel quite safe with the protection of my trusty carriage driver, for whom I am greatly indebted to you.

  We trust that things are better for you now that the Union army has occupied Chattanooga. However, we have reliable reports of our soldiers dying of scurvy within fifty miles of Washington where warehouses of fresh food are stored—all due to the army's disorganization.

  And we congratulate you on your new rank of major. We do miss you and pray for your safety and good health. I know I am speaking out of turn to say this, dear Philip, but I have never been known to be shy with words! If you should change your mind about your decision to return home, I'm sure that you would be welcomed, and everything could go on as you once planned. But of course, we all want for you whatever makes you happy.

  Affectionately, your sister-in-law,

  Virginia Varick Burke

  Philip tried to imagine the quiet unassuming Dorothea dead. He tried to imagine his newborn niece named Elizabeth. But his only clear image was of Katherine Kingsley doing what needed to be done in spite of the pain she'd suffered from the Burke family. No, to be accurate, he admitted, from him.

  Dorothea was dead. And she had received the best of care. Philip thought of Clarissa and how she had done the work of a man these last two months. He thought of her thin frame and how little nourishing food she'd had, and he feared for her life. And with an encamped army near starvation, and hundreds of mules and horses dead in the streets of the city, an epidemic of major proportions was a distinct threat to all their lives. He prayed help would come in time.

  • ♥ •

  "Now, Polly, I want to know just what is going on here," Clarissa said sternly as she faced her servant in the sitting room upstairs after Angeline had gone to bed.

  "What you mean, Missa?" Polly looked uneasy.

  "I mean, how did you come to know that Napoleon is working for Major Burke’s brother? And how long have you known?"

  "He send me a lettah?"

  "Napoleon can’t write."

  "Well, he have somebody else write it." Polly shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

  "And sent it to Major Burke? He helped Napoleon run away, didn’t he?"

  "No, Missa, he didn’t do nothin’ but write a lettah."

  "And why did he do that, Polly?" Clarissa demanded.

  "Cause I ast him to, Missa," Polly said in a contrite voice.

  "I should tell his master what you did, Polly. Napoleon was a valuable slave."

  "Ain’t no use in takin’ on so, doan do no good. Napoleon be free now, anyways."

  Clarissa nodded slowly. "And so are you, Polly. And since you know where Napoleon is, are you planning to leave, too?"

  "No, Missa." Polly shook her head. "You gonna need me here."

  Clarissa looked thoughtful. "Perhaps Napoleon will come back when the war is over."

  "I doan think so, Missa. That man done gone for good. He got a fine job for pay, driving a carriage for a newspaper lady."

  "Polly," Clarissa hesitated as her servant looked at her expectantly, "do you love Napoleon?"

  "More’n anything in the world, Missa," Polly said softly, "but I knows my duty. I belong here with you."

  "Then I thank you, Polly." Clarissa crossed the distance between them and the two women embraced. "Good night."

  After Polly had gone, Clarissa stood for a moment deep in thought. Maybe she and Polly shared more than she could have imagined. She knew what it was like to love someone without hope, too. She should confront Philip Burke with what Polly had told her, but she knew it was useless. He didn’t believe in slavery, and of course, he’d taken the opportunity to h
elp a slave escape when he had the chance. Maybe he was right in his belief that one man shouldn’t be allowed to own another. Matilda was opposed to slavery, too. Her unborn child kicked faintly, and Clarissa unconsciously placed a hand across her abdomen. It was all so confusing, and she didn’t know what was right or wrong anymore. She only knew that she was tired of all the killing, but there was sure to be more to come.

  • ♥ •

  Chattanooga, November 1863

  "There is surely nothing so bleak as a cold, rainy November day." Clarissa, standing at the long window, shivered and pulled her shawl closer about her shoulders.

  "At least we are dry and warm, not like those poor soldiers in their makeshift huts out there." Angeline poked at the fire, settling the glowing coals, and added another log. "I fear we'll have more cases of pneumonia if this rain keeps up much longer."

  Clarissa glanced around the quiet library and the adjoining music room, now empty of cots. "At least with so many of our patients gone back to their companies we have plenty of beds to spare."

  "Major Burke gets the credit for that. Devon says the major is known among all the regiments for his surgical skill, and that's why General Thomas gave him the promotion." Angeline frowned. "Devon hasn't been here for two days. I wonder if he could be ill himself?"

  "I'm sure he's all right," Clarissa reassured her.

  "Just the same, I think I'll go up to my room and write him a note and send it to the camp by Luke."

  Clarissa remained at the window, lost in thought. It had been two months since Mary Jane had taken her son to Fleur-de-Lis, and she hadn't heard from him in more than a week. What if he were ill? The rumors of a smallpox epidemic had proven to be true, and she knew no one was safe from the dread disease.

  "Why so pensive?" Philip asked quietly as he paused in the doorway.

  Clarissa turned at the sound of his voice, and said with a deprecating shrug, "I was wool gathering. It seems a good day for it, don't you agree?"

  "We could use the warmth of wool, I think." He walked to the fire and put out his hands to warm them from the flames. "The streets are like a river of mud."

  "I feel sympathy for the armies camped out there."

  "At least they're on full rations now."

  "And ready to fight?" Clarissa asked lightly.

  "More than ready, since Sherman's troops got here."

  "So we are in the lull before the battle again?"

  Philip nodded solemnly. "I have it on good authority that General Grant has already called for an attack. Only the rains have prevented it from taking place."

  "Thank goodness our supplies have been replenished since the siege was broken." Clarissa drew her brows together in a worried frown. "Do you think we'll have enough to see us through?"

  "Who can say?" Philip looked at her with concern. "The battle could last for days, or weeks even. I have been to talk with General Thomas about an escort to see you safely to Fleur-de-Lis. I want you and Polly to go before the fighting begins."

  "No," Clarissa faced him with defiance. "My time is at least a month away. I'll consider the trip after the battle, if you insist, but I won't go now."

  "Mrs. Wakefield," Philip said with a resigned sigh, "you are the most strong-willed woman I have ever known."

  "Why, thank you, Major Burke." She gave him a satisfied smile and he returned it. "Coming from you, that is a compliment worthy of note." Something is his warm gaze made her breath catch in her throat. Surely, no man could find her attractive in her awkward condition, but his look held such tender regard that she felt as if he had caressed her. The silence between them lengthened. He took a step toward her, reached out to touch her cheek with the back of his hand. When skin met skin, he seemed as startled as if his hand had touched a live coal. Then mumbling a soft apology, he turned and left the room.

  • ♥ •

  Clarissa awoke the following morning to the sound of Union batteries firing cannon toward Missionary Ridge and the Confederates returning it. Certain the battle had begun, she dressed quickly and went to wake Angeline and Polly, then rushed downstairs to have a hasty breakfast before beginning what she expected to be a long and grueling day.

  Philip was already at the table, his empty plate before him, drinking a second cup of coffee. "It seems the battle has started," he said as she sat down, and Harriet brought her a plate of grits and biscuits.

  "I’ve roused the others," she said, and began to eat. "They should be down soon."

  "Sister! Sister!" Angeline called from upstairs. "Come look. The Union soldiers are on parade."

  Both Clarissa and Philip rose and went to the second floor where Angeline and Polly stood looking out the double-doors that opened onto a small balcony overlooking the street.

  "See, there’s hundreds and hundreds," Angeline pointed excitedly at the rows of marching blue coats below them with bayonets gleaming in the sunrise, keeping step to the lively music of their military bands.

  "More like thousands," Philip corrected in a puzzled voice. "But why General Grant would have ordered a parade is more than I can—what the devil?"

  Clarissa gasped. "Why, they’ve turned and now they’re charging—"

  "Look, they’re swarming up the slope and—" Angeline covered her eyes as the flash of musketry signaled the Rebels defense of their position and the Bluecoats began to fall. "Oh, I can’t bear to look."

  "Lord a’ mercy," Polly groaned as she tried to comfort Angeline.

  "What a clever maneuver," Philip said with admiration. "Who would have thought—"

  "Sneaky, you mean," Clarissa scoffed. "Brave men don’t hide behind the pretense of parades!"

  Philip looked at her in surprise, then said mildly, "All’s fair in love and war, Mrs. Wakefield. These men have been under siege and starving for two months. Desperate times call for desperate measures."

  They watched the battle in fascinated silence for some time, except for Angeline, who was near tears and refused to look. Guns blazed and thundered, the earth trembled, and the air became thick with sulfurous vapor and smoke.

  Then, as the Union soldiers began to dig entrenchments between the knob they’d scaled and the Rebels’ stronghold on Missionary Ridge, they went downstairs and awaited the first of the wounded, who soon arrived.

  The four worked into the night, and finally were able to rest. The absence of the slaves who had helped during the battle at Chickamauga Creek made it necessary for each of them to assume more of the menial chores of washing and carrying buckets of waste and disposing of limbs. Clarissa tried to shield Angeline from as much of the grisly aspects as possible, taking the worst upon herself.

  A soldier, wounded in Sherman’s night crossing of the Tennessee River, was brought to them in the early hours of dawn.

  "It was a sight to see, Major," he said between gritted teeth as Clarissa held him steady while Philip set his broken leg. "We’d been marching twenty miles a day, our rations almost gone, horses already starved to death and a-layin’ everywhere. Then last night, we bivouacked in the woods close by the river. And in the night, we heard some splashing and the pontoon boats a-comin’ for us." He stopped as Philip raised his head and gave him another swig from the bottle he held, then went on. "And then, here we was on the shore, a-creepin’ through a thicket with our spades in one hand and rifles in the other. Come daybreak, it was a sight to see. Rifle pits a-stretchin’ a mile or more and men two thousand strong, they say."

  The soldier reached for the bottle and took another long drink. "And that’s how I got my leg broke. Fell into some other feller’s trench in the dark. Just my damned luck, come all this way, and then hafta miss the fun of routin’ Johnny Reb."

  Clarissa shuddered as she thought of the silent swarm of soldiers who’s crossed the river in darkness, bent on the destruction of the Confederate forces which surrounded the city. The battle resumed with a fury in spite of the dismal day, flashes of musketry and cannon lighting up the leaden skies like Fourth of July firecrackers. And
the wounded kept coming, wave after wave, their groans and agonized cries no less painful to Clarissa’s ears than when she’d tended her first patient so long ago. They were already running low on chloroform and morphine, conserving it by using liquor instead on less severe cases. Even their supply of bandages would be exhausted before the day was out, at the rate they were going.

  All day, reports of the battle were brought to them by the wounded and dying men they tended. Thomas’s Army of the Cumberland was attacking the Rebel rifle pits below Missionary Ridge and Sherman’s forces were marching toward it, with Hooker’s concentrating on the Rebels holding Lookout Mountain. Bragg’s armies continued to defend the high points around the city.

  "How long can this go on?" Clarissa asked despairingly, as her eyes met Philip’s over the lifeless body of another casualty as the afternoon dragged by. "It has already lasted as long as the fighting at Chickamauga Creek, and there’s no end in sight."

  "They’ll fight until they make a way out of here," Philip said with certainty, "if it takes forever."

  "Or they all die trying," Clarissa added, as she motioned for Luke to bring a stretcher to take the dead soldier away.

  The day darkened, and the wind grew colder. Clouds hung low over the mountains. Clarissa felt a pain low in her abdomen and straightened to rub her aching back. She was tired, more tired than she could ever remember. Philip gave her an intent look and she forced herself to concentrate on the task of cutting another soldier’s blood-soaked shirt from his mangled body.

  Excited soldiers began bringing tales of Hooker’s men pushing toward the summit of Lookout Mountain, straight up its sheer sides, hidden by clouds as they climbed. And finally, when the sun broke through in the late afternoon, one soldier called from the veranda for the others to come and look. Clarissa, standing behind Philip, gasped with disbelief at the sight of the stars and stripes flying from the summit. It was one more unreal event in the nightmare in which she felt suspended.

  The casualties continued to pour in, and Philip and the three women toiled on. Angeline was distraught with worry for Devon, from whom she’d heard nothing for four days now. Clarissa willed herself to ignore the twinges that were coming with regular frequency as the night passed. It was much too early for her labor to begin, and could only be from the exertion and stress of the past two days, she told herself. She couldn’t remember when she’d last felt movement in her abdomen, and a sense of uneasiness swept over her. Tomorrow, she promised herself, she would rest, even if the battle went on.