“Why would you think that is best?” Jacob asked. “You have made a mistake, you have admitted it and asked forgiveness and received it. Whatever it is, it is over and forgotten. Stay with us, Mr. Tremayne, for I believe the Lord will tell you where you need to go and what you need to do. Don’t you think that’s right, Chantel?” he asked her gently.
“Yes, Mr. Tremayne, if Grandpere feels it is right, it is right,” she said quietly. “It would be fine with me if you will stay.”
He studied her, and she met his inquiring gaze directly. He saw cool courtesy, a distant gaze, with no hint of either welcome or censure. He noted, of course, the formal use of Mr. Tremayne. Resignedly he said, “Thank you, Miss Chantel, Mr. Steiner. That is more than I expected and certainly much better than I deserve. I would be glad to stay with you, at least until I find out what my situation is in Richmond.”
Chantel fixed breakfast while Clay and Jacob sat talking, mostly about the town of Petersburg. It was a central terminus for the railroads, and though it was not a large city, it was always busy. They ate, and Clay felt the awkward silence between him and Chantel so acutely that it was a relief to him when they finally were packed up and pulling back out onto the busy road. Clay rode ahead a bit, attempting to put some space between him and these people he had treated so badly. These people whose treatment of him left him wondering about many, many things.
Jacob and Chantel rode in silence for a while. Chantel was driving, and she stared straight ahead, her eyes searching the far distance. Finally Jacob said, “He’s just human, you know. He’s just like all of us. He needs the Lord in his heart and spirit so that he can learn to be a better man.”
“I didn’t say he was a bad man,” Chantel said tightly. “I’ve known much worse, me. I don’t hate him, but I’m still angry at him. I know, I know, Grandpere. I will try to stop the anger in me. But one thing won’t change. I’ll never trust him.”
“I understand, daughter,” Jacob said sadly. “That is the thing about sin. It is a betrayal of God and a betrayal of others. Sometimes even of those we love most.”
Chantel shot him a strange look but said nothing more. She stayed silent until they reached the city.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
As soon as they started down the main road of Petersburg, they knew something momentous had happened. Men rushed up and down the street, clutching newspapers, calling out to acquaintances. Boys ran, too, from sheer excitement, ducking among the crowds, yelling. Prosperous-looking men smoking fat cigars stood in groups of three or four, talking animatedly. Southern gentlewomen were never known to stand out on the street for any reason, but here and there were groups of them, dressed in their graceful wide skirts, poring over newspapers and talking among themselves with animation. Riders galloped recklessly up and down; the road was choked with wagons and buggies.
“I wanted to go to the newspaper office first thing,” Clay told Jacob and Chantel.
Jacob nodded. “We’ll drive on up to the edge of town and wait. Will you come and let us know what’s going on?”
“Yes, sir, I’ll find you,” Clay replied. Dismounting, he tied Lightning to a hitching post and began to thread his way through the throngs.
He found the newspaper office, but there was such a crowd that he couldn’t even get outside the building.
A tall rawboned man who was dressed in a farmer’s rough clothing was standing beside him.
Clay said, “Good day, sir. Would you mind telling me what’s going on?”
“Waiting for the next edition,” he answered succinctly.
“But—you mean the paper is putting out more editions than just the morning one?”
“Oh yes, as soon as they get more information by the telegraph they print it up,” he answered then looked at Clay curiously. “Haven’t you heard the news?”
“I guess not, sir. I’ve been—er—in the country for three weeks. We didn’t hear much news.”
The man’s pale blue eyes lit up. “U.S. Army tried to resupply Fort Sumter in South Carolina. Confederate forces fired on the supply ship, turned them away. Virginia seceded from the Union, and now the Confederacy is gearing up. There’s going to be a war, all right.”
Clay was shocked. Of course he had been aware of the political tensions ever since Abraham Lincoln had been elected, and seven Southern states had seceded in January and February. But other Southern states were hesitant, distancing themselves somewhat from the most voluble “fire-eating” states like South Carolina and Mississippi.
Though he had not closely followed all of the political maneuverings, Clay had thought, somewhat vaguely, that a compromise would be found. In particular, he had believed that Virginia, with her close ties to Washington just across the Potomac River, would not make such a momentous decision, even though she definitely depended on the cotton economy and had many slaves.
As he stood there brooding, a man came out with his arms stacked with newspapers up to his chin. The crowd started shouting and waving coins in the air. Clay pushed forward, paid his nickel, and grabbed the paper. Two-inch-high headlines read: LOYAL SONS OF VIRGINIA! ANSWER THE CALL! There were two small articles about some appointments to the Confederate States of America War Department, but most of the two pages were covered with advertisements of different units forming as volunteer companies, with prominent Petersburg men organizing them.
After the crowd had dispersed, Clay went into the busy office. A small, bespectacled man looked up from a littered desk and asked, “May I help you, sir?”
“I hope so,” Clay answered. “By any chance do you carry copies of any Richmond newspapers?”
“Oh yes, sir, we do. But they’ve been as hard to keep on hand as our own Petersburg Sentinel has been. Were you looking for any specific date, sir?”
“I’m not exactly sure. Do you have editions for the last two weeks?”
The man shook his head. “Oh no, I’m afraid those would be long gone. Or—perhaps we might have one or two, in the storeroom.”
“Would you mind just checking, sir?” Clay asked courteously. “It would be a very great help to me.”
“I don’t mind,” the man said. “Wait here just a moment and I’ll see what I can find.” He went to the back of the offices and through a door.
In only a few minutes, he returned. “As I said, it’s not as if there are stacks to go through. We’ve had a difficult time keeping any editions on hand. I’m afraid all I could find were two editions of the Richmond Dispatch, from just two and three days ago.”
“Thank you, sir, you’ve been most helpful,” Clay said. After paying him for the newspapers, he left. But he was so anxious to see if he could find some news about Barton Howard that he stopped on the plank sidewalk just outside the newspaper office and started to search through them. A small whisper went through his mind, Not an obituary, please, God, no notice of a funeral …
But on the second page of the newspaper from three days ago, he found what he was looking for. A sizable advertisement read:
MOUNTED RIFLES—The undersigned are engaged in raising a company of Mounted Rifles, the services of which to be offered to the State as soon as the organization is effected. Such persons in the country who are used to the rifle who wish to join will apply to us, at the office of the Virginia Life Insurance Company. Uniforms free.
Barton C. Howard
Charles Howard
Edward Howard
Clay threw his head back and closed his eyes with relief. “He’s alive,” he murmured to himself. “Alive.”
Passersby stared at him curiously, but he stood unmoving, muttering to himself for a few moments. Then he tucked the newspapers under his arm and walked slowly down the street to where he had hitched Lightning. As he walked, he collected himself, and his mind began to churn.
He patted the horse’s silky black nose then opened the newspaper again. Notices such as the one the Howards had placed were numerous. Also, there were a lot of articles about the organizations of the ho
spitals and the ladies of Richmond meeting to assemble small sewing kits for the men, to roll bandages, and to collect funds to buy pencils and paper for each soldier.
But two of the notices in particular caught Clay’s attention.
VOLUNTEER COMPANIES, now in Richmond, or men who intend to volunteer, will proceed at once to the Camp of Instruction, at the Hermitage Fair Grounds. All Captains and volunteers will report in person to Lieut. Cunningham, Acting Assistant Adjutant General.
And:
RESIGNATION OF A U.S. ARMY OFFICER—Capt. J. E. B. Stuart, late of the U.S. Cavalry, has resigned his commission, rather than head the minions of Lincoln in their piratical quest after “booty and beauty” in the South. The officer in question arrived yesterday, and tendered his services to Virginia.
Clay had read of Captain—then Lieutenant—J. E. B. Stuart and Colonel Robert E. Lee in their involvement with John Brown at Harpers Ferry. The newspapers had been fulsome in praise of Lieutenant Stuart and Colonel Lee’s decisive and quick action in apprehending the raiders. For days they had written articles about John Brown, of course, but usually they included more praise of the two officers, and there had been much about Lieutenant Stuart’s exploits in the West, fighting Indians.
Staring at Lightning thoughtfully, he said, “Well, old boy, I think we’re bound for the cavalry. Captain J. E. B. Stuart sounds like the kind of man I’d like to serve with. And I’ll bet you can beat his horse.”
Mounting up, he made his slow way through the crowded streets until he reached the warehouse district north of town, close to the railroad junction.
Jacob and Chantel waited for him there, under some shade trees by a tin dispatcher’s shack.
“I brought some newspapers,” Clay said. “The South is going to war.”
Jacob nodded sadly. “Those dark clouds have been gathering for some time now.”
“And I found out what I needed to know,” Clay said, dismounting and coming to stand by the wagon. They were sitting in the back. He hesitated for long moments, slowly tying Lightning to the wagon, his head down. “I thought I might have killed a man. But I didn’t.”
Jacob and Chantel glanced at each other. “Why did you try to kill this man?” Chantel asked.
Clay stared off into the distance. “It’s a long story, and it’s not a story that I want to tell anyone if I don’t have to. He did take a shot at me first. But in a way he had good reason to.”
Jacob said, “Clay, Chantel and I already know you are a sinner. We know this because all men are sinners. We have no right to judge you and no right to demand that you confess to us. Leave your sin behind, and ask forgiveness from God, and He will save you from all of your sins. Simple.”
Clay smiled, a twisting of his mouth with no humor in it. “It’s not always that simple, Mr. Steiner. Not for a man like me anyway.”
Jacob started to reply, but then he stopped and grew silent. As a wise man, he knew that arguing with men in Clay’s position did little good.
Chantel stared gravely at Clay, her violet eyes wide and dark. Her face was unreadable. All that Clay saw was disgust and dislike when she looked at him, but his perception was colored by guilt.
He dropped his eyes.
Finally she asked quietly, “So, what will you do, Mr. Tremayne?”
Again it pained Clay that all warm familiarity was gone from her voice, and they were back to the formalities of relative strangers. “I’m going to join the army, of course, Miss Chantel.”
“But why?” Chantel asked with a quickness that surprised him.
For the first time that day he was able to look her squarely in the eye and speak pure truth. “Virginia is my home. I may be a wastrel, but I love my home. If Virginia fights, then I fight.”
“One thing I have learned, in all my time in the South,” Jacob said, “is that these people love this country. And, in some ways, they already consider themselves set apart from the North. Many men will fight, Chantel. It will be a terrible war.”
Clay asked curiously, “And what will you do, Mr. Steiner? Where will you go?”
“I’ve been praying for God to give me some direction,” he answered, frowning. “But sometimes He demands that we walk in faith, without clearly seeing the path laid out for us. I do feel, though, that I will stay here, in Virginia. If, of course, my granddaughter will stay with me,” he said, patting her shoulder affectionately.
“I will stay with you always, Grandpere,” Chantel said in a low voice. “You’re my family, you.”
Jacob smiled at her then turned to Clay. “And so, Clay, you are going to join the army. Do you go to Richmond then?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. Would you be so kind to escort two peddlers there?”
Sheriff Asa Butler appeared shocked to see Clay walk into his office. He was leaning back in a wooden chair on wheels but shot bolt upright when he saw him. “Clay Tremayne! I figured you were halfway to Atlanta by now.”
“No, Sheriff. I’ve been—in Petersburg,” Clay said. “I came back to town to join the army. But first I wanted to come here to see if I have any charges against me.”
He leaned back again, the chair creaking noisily with his considerable bulk. “No, as a matter of fact, you don’t. And that would be because of Miss Belle Howard. Those brothers of hers tried to send her back home before I could talk to her, but she just came sashaying in here by herself and told me what happened. Or most of it anyway. Enough for me to know that Barton Howard came busting in on you two, guns blazing. Miss Howard said that you weren’t even really trying to shoot him. You were just returning fire, and then you took off.”
Clay said, “It’s true I didn’t shoot first, Sheriff.”
Butler nodded; then his eyes narrowed as he looked Clay up and down. “So where’d you go, Clay? Ed and Charles disappeared for a couple of days after all the ruckus. Thought maybe they might have gone looking for you.”
“Yes, they did.”
“Did they find you?” Butler asked alertly. “You’re looking kind of whipped, Clay. You’re skinnier and pale.”
Clay shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “They found me, all right. But Sheriff, I want to forget all that now. If I’m not going to jail, I’m going to war. Somehow that makes all this seem kind of … unimportant, if you understand me.”
“No, I don’t think I do,” Butler said grimly. “If there’s a crime committed in my territory, I need to know it, and I need to do something about it.”
“I’ve committed a crime. I shot a man, and even if it was self-defense, in other days you would have arrested me and made me stand trial for it. But those old days are gone now, aren’t they? We’re getting ready to go to war, and the Howard brothers and I are on the same side, fighting for Virginia. I want stupid arguments like the one we had to be forgotten. There are much more important things at stake now.”
Butler continued to stare hard at Clay. “If I know those boys—and I do—I think they might have been so red-eyed mad about Belle that they might’ve chased you down. I think they might’ve chased you down like a stray dog. And when they found you, they might not have worried about who shot first or any niceties like self-defense.”
Clay was surprised at how close Butler had come to the truth. But it was true—the Howard brothers were all notorious for their tempers. Butler had dealt with them before. Clay merely shrugged and said, “Like I said, Sheriff, I want to forget all that now. So, unless you need me for anything more, I’m headed over to the fairgrounds.”
The sheriff finally nodded. “All right, Clay. Maybe you’re right. It’s time to fight some Yankees instead of each other. Me and my boy are joining up, too. I expect you’ll run into the Howards. If you have any more trouble with them, you just let me know. War or no war, I’ll slap them behind bars so fast their eyes will cross.”
“Thank you, Sheriff. But I don’t think I’ll have any more trouble with them.”
“Better not,” he said.
The Her
mitage Fair Grounds, a wide field just northwest of the city, had in October of 1860 been renamed “Camp Lee,” after Colonel Henry Lee, or as he was better known, “Light-Horse Harry Lee,” the best cavalryman in the Revolutionary War and a proud son of Virginia. Even before Lincoln’s election, soldiers—in particular, cavalrymen, for Virginia men loved their horses—had gathered as volunteer companies in Richmond. By November, sixteen companies, about eight hundred men, were camped there and gave weekly parades and reviews. An article in the Richmond Dispatch praising the encampment said, “The land is now overshadowed with ominous clouds, and none of us can tell how soon the services of the troops may be needed.”
Now that the time had come, the fairgrounds—as people continued to call it—was a mass of men, with hundreds of tents large and small.
As Clay rode onto the grounds, he saw that there were probably as many horses as there were men. Even poor men in Virginia usually had at least one fine saddle horse.
There was much shouting:
“Here! Henrico Light Dragoons here!”
“Hey you, Private What’s-your-name! What do you think you’re doing, riding a mule? Get down off that horse!”
“Officers of Company B Chesterfield! Meeting at two o’clock this afternoon!”
Such was the confusion that Clay had no idea where to go to enlist. A big two-story home was on a small rise overlooking the fairgrounds, and he guessed that would be the headquarters, so he carefully moved Lightning along in that general direction.
He paused before a large tent, obviously a field headquarters. Two men on powerful horses were standing at the ready behind a line drawn in the dirt. Ahead of them a path had been cleared to the far side of the grounds. Obviously a race was in the making, and Clay stopped to watch. The signal was given, and the snorting horses thundered off. Men lining the path cheered and whistled and yelled catcalls. When the race ended, the smaller horse, a graceful bay, had won over a much larger and more powerful gray. The two men turned and trotted back, grinning.
The Sword Page 16
