Three Books in One: A Covenant of Love, Gate of His Enemies, and Where Honor Dwells

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Thank you.” Deborah flicked the reins, and when she reached the house the youngster had indicated, she got down and hitched the horse to a sapling that had somehow survived. As she approached the door, her courage almost failed her. But she lifted her chin and made herself knock on the door. There was no response at first. Then she heard a faint rustling. The door opened slowly, and the interior was so dark that Deborah could see nothing. Uncertainly she said, “Hello? Is anybody here?”

  A voice came from somewhere. “Yes. I’m here.” She looked down and saw a small boy staring up at her. He was wearing only a tattered shirt, and his eyes were frightened.

  “Is your mother here?” Deborah asked.

  “She’s sick.”

  “Oh. Well, are any of your brothers and sisters here?”

  The boy nodded. “They’re all sick.”

  Deborah stood there nonplussed, for the situation was beyond her. But the boy didn’t move, and she had to do something. “Can you ask your mother to come to the door?”

  The child disappeared, and Deborah stood there wishing she’d never come. He was gone so long that she was ready to leave, but then he was back. “Mama says you come to her.”

  Deborah said, “Well, all right.” She stepped inside and was almost knocked down by the incredible, fetid odor of unwashed bodies and worse.

  I can’t do it! she thought desperately, gasping and standing stock still in the dark room. The only illumination came in from two small windows. Deborah struggled with the overpowering stench, longing for a breath of fresh air, but the boy said, “Back this way.”

  A door led into another room. When Deborah stepped inside, she was able to see, by the light of one small window, a woman lying in the bed that took up most of the space. She was sick, more so than anyone Deborah had ever seen. Her face was shrunken to a skull, and her eyes were dull and lifeless. The hands were little more than bones, and Deborah could see that the woman was in danger of dying.

  “Mrs. Kojak …,” she said tentatively. The head on the soiled pillow turned, and a faint light came into the woman’s eyes. “I’m Deborah Steele, Mrs. Kojak. I think Noel’s told you about me.”

  The shrunken lips moved, but no sound came. Deborah saw a pitcher on the table and filled a chipped cup with tepid water. “Let me help you,” she said and reached down to help the woman raise her head. The terrible smell of human waste smote her, and she closed her eyes, trying not to faint. Then with all the resolution she could muster, she opened them and concentrated on the task of holding the glass steady. When Mrs. Kojak had drunk a few swallows, Deborah lowered the woman’s head, saying, “Noel sent word that you were sick, but I didn’t know how bad.” She put the glass down, then asked, “Are all the children sick?”

  “Yes.” The single word seemed to take all the strength the sick woman had. After a moment she nodded and whispered, “Thank you for coming.”

  Deborah had never been at such a loss. What little nursing she had done had been with doctors on hand, not to mention clean linen, medicine, and food. She tried to organize her thoughts, but her brain seemed to be paralyzed. She glanced about her, searching for any available supplies.

  There’s nothing here to do anything with, she thought, almost in a panic. But there was a stubborn streak in Deborah Steele that came down the generations from her grandfather Stephen—or perhaps from his father, Noah Rocklin, who was, according to every report, a tartar. Now in the gloomy room, with every instinct telling her to get out, she felt that inbred stubbornness begin to rise. It swelled until she said suddenly, “Mrs. Kojak, you’ve got to have help. Do you have any family coming, or are there any neighbors who could help?”

  “No.”

  Deborah was launched into action by that hopeless monosyllable. “Well, I’ll do what I can now; then we’ll see. First I’m going to get you all cleaned up.”

  The simple act of bathing Mrs. Kojak was a monumental task, but Deborah did it. There was no hot water, but she found a small basin and filled it with water from the well in back of the house. For soap there was only the coarse, powerful lye soap used for washing clothing in the big black pot outside the back door. Even so, she managed. She found one gown that was not soiled, and when she had put it on the woman, she looked down, saying, “Now I’m going to fix you something to eat.”

  The cupboard was bare, she discovered when she moved to the kitchen. She was grateful that she had brought some things from the small store. The two girls in the larger room were in need of bathing, but Deborah thought that food was the number one priority. Finding some small sticks, she managed to get a fire going in the ancient stove and put together a meal of sorts. It was difficult, for there were few cooking vessels. Those that she did find were caked with old food, so that she had to scrub them at the pump. She managed, though, to brew a pot of tea and make a broth out of the stores of rice and tinned chicken.

  When it was ready, she said to the two girls who were watching, “I’ll feed your mother; then you girls can eat.”

  She got Mrs. Kojak into a sitting position, and the sick woman ate half a bowl of the broth and two cups of sugared tea. When she was finished and Deborah laid her down, she lifted a hand and caught at Deborah. “God bless you! I’ve been praying that He’d send someone. Praise His name!”

  Suddenly tears rose in Deborah’s eyes, and she said, “Try to sleep, Mrs. Kojak. I’ll take care of the children.”

  She left the bedroom and, for the rest of the day, threw herself into a frenzy of work. Mr. Kojak, she discovered by talking with the two girls, had been taken sick first, and he had nearly died. Then as soon as he had recovered and gone back to work, the rest of the family had gone down within three days. “All but Bing,” the older girl, Sarah, said. “He left soon as we got sick.” Then she cursed her brother with a terrible oath and lay back, bitterness on her face.

  Somehow Deborah got them all cleaned and fed, even the two boys. She gathered all the soiled clothing into a pile, the stench of which gagged her when she hauled it out to the backyard. Finding some small sticks, she started a fire under the blackened wash pot, built it up, then filled the pot with water and added lye soap. It took three pots to do enough clothing for the whole family, and she dried them on the single clothesline that ran between a tree and the house. After the clothes were done, she washed the ragged sheets. By that time it was growing dark.

  Sarah, the oldest of the girls, seemed to be the fittest of the family. She had come outside to sit on the step and watch while Deborah labored over the washing. When Deborah came inside and was putting the clean bedding down, she followed, watching with wary eyes. As Deborah cooked supper, she asked suddenly, “Who are you?”

  “Why, I’m Deborah. A friend of Noel’s.”

  The answer only puzzled the girl, who sat watching silently for a time, then asked, “Why are you doing all this stuff for us?”

  Deborah looked up from where she was mixing biscuits. The girl was pale, but she had dark hair and a pair of beautiful dark eyes that made her very attractive. “Because you need help, Sarah.” That was no better, Deborah saw, for the girl was still suspicious.

  When supper was ready, consisting mostly of biscuits and battered eggs, Deborah sent Sarah to get the two boys to the table. While the four children ate, Deborah took some food to the sick mother. “How do you feel, Mrs. Kojak?” she asked, sitting down and picking up the bowl of broth.

  “Better, much better. It feels so good to be clean.” She ate the broth—some of it, at least—then sighed. “My stomach’s shrunk. But it’s so good! How are the children?”

  “Sarah seems almost well, and the rest of them feel better.”

  Anna Kojak watched the young woman with faded eyes as she sipped the tea. She had been almost delirious when the girl had come earlier, but now she felt able to think more clearly. “You don’t know what all this means to me, Miss Steele,” she said suddenly. “We’ve been so grateful for the money, but this is different.” She hesitated, then sai
d, “You must be a Christian.”

  “Well, my father’s a minister,” Deborah said, nodding. “And I promised Noel I’d look after you while he’s gone to the army.”

  “He’s such a fine boy!” Anna’s eyes filled with pride as she spoke of Noel. “Never a minute’s trouble all his life. And such a dedicated Christian boy, too.”

  “I like him very much. And my brother Pat says Noel’s the best soldier in the company.”

  “You don’t tell me! But I’m not surprised. Noel always was one to work at whatever he put his hand to. His writing, for example.”

  “You taught him to read and write, he said.”

  “Oh, I taught him his letters, but I mean his story writing. He done all that himself. Never had a soul to teach him.”

  “Noel writes stories?” Deborah was surprised. “What kind of stories?”

  “Stories about people. He didn’t tell you? Well, no, he wouldn’t, I suppose.” She was growing tired and said, “Look over in that drawer. There’s a tablet there with some of them. Take them with you.”

  “All right.” Seeing that the woman was growing sleepy, Deborah found the tablet, looked inside to see it filled with the most beautiful handwriting she’d ever seen, then left the room.

  As she gathered her things together, the door opened and Will Kojak walked into the room. He had seen the buggy outside and could not guess whose it was. Even he, Deborah saw, was not over his sickness. His eyes were still hollow, and he had lost so much weight that his clothing hung on him. Quickly she said, “Hello, Mr. Kojak. Do you remember me? I’m Stephen Rocklin’s granddaughter.”

  He blinked at her, then looked around the room, startled by the changes he saw. “What you doing here?” he demanded.

  “I heard that your family was sick, so I came to help out a little.” Deborah knew the man had a frightful temper and said nervously, “I’ve cooked some supper. Why don’t you have some eggs while they’re hot? I really have to run.”

  “It’s good, Pa,” Grace Kojak spoke up. “It’s real good!”

  Kojak stared at the food on the table, then back at Deborah. “I don’t understand this,” he said.

  “Sit down and eat,” Deborah said, then turned to go. But she paused long enough to say, “I thought I’d come back in the morning and help a little more. Would that be all right with you, Mr. Kojak?”

  The face of Will Kojak was a study in bewilderment. He had nearly died with the flu and had gone back to work too soon. When he had left that morning, he had half expected to find some of his family dead when he got home. The sight of the clean sheets, the food on the table, and the improved condition of his family seemed to stun him. Biting his lip, he looked around the room, then back at Deborah. For a long moment he studied her; then finally he spoke.

  “I guess … I guess it’ll be all right.”

  CHAPTER 6

  NOEL

  Major Gideon Rocklin was confronted with two requests the moment he walked into his office on the morning of May 25. The first was actually a command rather than a request, but it was the easiest of the two to handle. Sergeant Benny Thomas rose as the Major entered and said at once, “General Scott wants you in his office for a meeting right away, Major.”

  “Very well.” But just as Rocklin turned to leave the room, he almost ran into his niece, who practically ran through the door. “Oh, Uncle Gideon!” she cried breathlessly. “I have to talk to you.”

  Gid Rocklin looked down at her, admiring her clear eyes and clean-cut features. “Of course, Deborah,” he said, “but you’ll have to wait. General Scott wants to see me right away.”

  “Oh, he can wait for a minute,” Deborah said, and her remark brought a burst of laughter from Benny Thomas.

  Rocklin gave him a withering glance that wiped the smile from his face; then he himself had to smile. “Well, he is the ranking general in the United States Army, but I guess I can keep him waiting for a little while.” Not having any daughters of his own, Gid had been partial to Deborah all her life. He delighted in buying her the girlish things she liked and was well pleased with the way she had grown up. “What’s the matter?”

  Deborah said, “It’s Noel’s family, Uncle Gid. They’re all down with the flu. I did what I could for them yesterday, but they need more help. I want you to give him a pass so we can get them through this illness.”

  “Noel? Who’s Noel?” Rocklin could not place the name, but when Deborah mentioned the young man she’d recruited at the rally, he said, “Oh yes, I remember. But I can’t give one of the men a pass because his family is sick, Deborah.”

  It was true—he couldn’t. He knew that.

  But somehow he did.

  Deborah stood there looking up at him, her lips parted with concern, her voice pleading and insistent, and in the end he walked to his desk, scribbled out a note, then shoved it at her, growling, “There it is; now go on, woman! I’ve got a war to fight.”

  “Oh, thank you, Uncle Gid!” she cried ecstatically, throwing her arms around him and kissing him soundly.

  She ran out of the office, and Rocklin turned to see Sergeant Thomas grinning broadly. “Not one word out of you, Benny!”

  “No, sir, only—”

  “Only what?”

  “Well, sir, I don’t blame you a bit! I guess that young woman could get just about anything from any man when she wants to.” He sighed, adding, “I just wished she wanted me to do something, Major!”

  “Get on with your work, Sergeant!” Rocklin snapped, but he had to smile as he left the room to meet with the general.

  He’s right about that, Benny is! Gideon thought. But he was somewhat worried about Deborah—had been since she had fallen in love with Denton Rocklin, his cousin Clay’s son. He hoped that was over but wondered what she was doing chasing around after a private in his regiment.

  He had to shelve that problem, however, as soon as he stepped into the general’s office and saw that the president was there with several members of his cabinet. Gid knew something was terribly wrong.

  “Come in, Major Rocklin,” General Scott said. “Have you heard the news?”

  “News? No, sir. I’ve just come in.”

  Lincoln looked haggard, and his dark eyes were hooded with grief. “It’s a tragedy for all of us, Major. Colonel Ellsworth is dead!”

  Rocklin stared at him. “My son is with his command, sir. Was there an engagement with the Rebels?”

  “No, nothing like that,” Scott grunted. “He was murdered by a secessionist.” Scott quickly gave the details—Ellsworth had led his troops into Alexandria and had seen a Confederate flag flying on a flagpole above the Marshall House. It was obviously a challenge, and Ellsworth, followed by some of his men, went inside the hotel, up to the roof, and cut down the flag. Going back down the stairs in a shadowy hallway, the colonel met the proprietor of the inn, a Virginian named James T. Jackson. Jackson had lifted a shotgun and killed Ellsworth, then was himself killed by one of Ellsworth’s Zouaves, who first shot the man, then ran a bayonet through him.

  Lincoln, Rocklin saw, was hit hard by the news. Ellsworth had been only twenty-four and had won the affection of the president. Now he was dead—the Union’s first casualty. Lincoln moved to the window, staring down silently, and there was a moment’s silence in the room.

  It was broken by William Seward, the secretary of state—he was a tall man with a wild crop of white hair and a terrible temper. “Now we see what sort of men we are fighting!” he said angrily. “Butchers and murderers! Mr. President, surely now it’s clear that we must strike the Rebels!” Lincoln didn’t move, and Seward continued to argue for a quick blow that would destroy the fledgling Confederate forces. “One quick blow, drive them back to Richmond; then we can put an end to this thing!”

  General Scott stared at Seward—Scott was an old man now, sick and obese. He could no longer mount a horse, and just moving from one place to another tired him … but he was still an astute soldier and perhaps the best military mind in
the world. Now he grunted angrily and stated flatly, “It cannot be done, sir! Our men are untrained, and you cannot move a military force of untrained men.”

  Seward argued angrily that the Confederates were also untrained, and the air grew thick as the argument raged. Finally Lincoln turned from his place at the window, saying, “We must see to the burial of our brave young Ellsworth.” When Seward tried to press him, a flash of irritation showed in the president’s eyes. “I know you think you should be the president instead of me, Mr. Seward, but you are not! Now we will bury our dead; then we will proceed with the war.”

  Lincoln walked out of the room, followed by the cabinet members. As soon as they were gone, Scott slapped his hand on his huge thigh, growling, “Pack of fools! Especially Seward!”

  “He’s wrong, sir,” Rocklin agreed. “We have good men, but they’ve never been put under fire. Of course, the Rebs haven’t either, so it would be a toss-up as to which bunch would run.”

  “I won’t have the future of this country settled by a toss-up, Major! I’ve put too much into it to allow such a thing.” The two men spoke of what must be done, but as they worked, Gid felt depressed and thought to himself, We can do all the planning we want, but it’ll be Horace Greeley and his newspaper that decide when we’ll fight. Him and the politicians like Seward!

  Noel had slipped out of his blankets early, earning a muffled curse from Manny Zale as he stumbled around getting dressed. The round Sibley tent was packed with men. Supported by an upright center pole, its fifteen occupants slept with their feet toward the center and their heads near the edge, like the spokes of a wagon wheel. The sky was still black, and Noel had to walk carefully to avoid falling over tent stakes as he made his way to the parade ground. It was a vast ghostly plain at this hour, but one of the few places where a man could be sure of solitude. After spending so many miserable hours drilling there, the men hated the sight of it.

  It was here that Noel came every morning to think and pray. He had found it almost impossible to find any quiet place other than this, for the army was a noisy organization. Now the best times of his day were these cobwebby times of the early morning, and he walked slowly around the field, enjoying the silence. He prayed and thought, remembering his family and his new friends in the company. There were only two other Christians in his platoon, and they were not too strong. The rest of the group were not bad fellows, Noel believed, just careless and open to temptation. He prayed for the men he knew, and then he gave a special prayer for his mother, who must bear the whole load of the family. He also prayed for his father, who did not know God.