“Not hungry.”
“Why, ’Course you air hungry! Now you jist set thar, and ol’ Jemmy will cut this heah fish up.” She put the tray down on the table and thrust the mug toward him. “You kin sip on that whilst I fix the fish.”
Dent took the cup, sipped at it cautiously, then considered the woman. “You new? Never saw you before.”
“Fust time in heah.” Jemmy nodded as she broke the large chunk of fish apart with a fork. “I been takin’ care of them Yankee fellers upstairs.” The brim of a large sunbonnet shaded her upper face, and several strands of iron gray hair slipped out from the edges. Finally she got the fish cut to her satisfaction and nodded firmly. “Now you git on the outside of this, young feller. Whut’s yore name?”
“Rocklin. I don’t want any fish. Just the coffee.”
“Why, thet won’t do! How you gonna git well if you don’t eat? Now looky here, you jist hang on to that mug, and I’ll shovel some o’ this fish down yore gullet—there!”
Dent opened his mouth to object, but the woman pushed a morsel of the white flaky fish into it deftly, and he could only chew it. “Now thet’s a good feller!” Jemmy nodded. “I fed my younguns like this, don’t you see? Now you wash thet down with some cawfee, Mis’ Rocker.”
Dent sat there chewing slowly, finding his hunger rising, and finally he smiled at the old woman. “All right, you win. Just leave the plate. I’ll promise to eat it.”
“See you do!” The old woman nodded, then moved away to feed others. When she came back thirty minutes later, she looked at his plate and gave a high-pitched cackle of a laugh. “See, Colonel Rocker, you wuz plum hongry. Now you jist set ….” She moved away with a curious sideways gait and soon was back with a small bowl and a fresh cup of coffee. “Got some nice cherry cobbler,” she announced and then hesitated. “I better hep you with this,” she announced and, holding the cobbler in one hand, took a dollop on the spoon and pushed it toward him. “Now don’t argify with me! Open yer mouth!”
Dent had eaten little up until now, but his fever seemed to be down, and the sharp smell of the cherries made his mouth water. He got back onto the cot, his back against the wall, and sat there munching the succulent berries. The old woman chattered on, ladling the dessert into his mouth from time to time, and he listened as she told about the parade she’d seen the previous afternoon.
Finally she put the spoon and saucer down and stared at him. “Lemme git a rag and wipe yore face, Major Rocker.” She was gone, then was back with a damp cloth. Carefully she wiped his mouth, then his unbandaged cheek. “That’s a pretty bad wound, ain’t it? But I reckon the good Lord will git you all healed up.”
“Don’t talk to me about God!” Dent’s mouth drew into a sharp line, and he would say no more. When Jemmy moved away, he was aware of Simon Alcott’s eyes fixed on him with displeasure.
“Wouldn’t kill you to say thank you to the old woman, Rocklin,” he said evenly. “You think you’re some kind of special case?”
“Shut up, Alcott!”
“Yeah, I’ll shut up,” Alcott snapped. “You just lie there feeling sorry for yourself, Lieutenant. Never mind that some fellows have lost both arms and some both eyes. You just lie there like a big baby cryin’ because you lost your dolly in the dirt.” He rolled over, careful not to damage the bandage on the stump of his right leg, and began speaking to the man next to him.
Jemmy returned to the second floor, meeting Matron Huger, who was just leaving after an inspection. “Matron, thet young feller named Rocklin, he pretty bad, is he?”
Matron Huger was not surprised at the question, for Jemmy seemed to be curious about all the men. Shaking her head, she answered, “His face isn’t dangerous, but if he doesn’t let them take his arm off, he’ll die, Jemmy. Don’t say anything to him, though.”
“No, ma’am.” Jemmy went about her work, saying little. She stopped once to speak to Pat Steele, who was trying to shave with one hand. “You’re about to cut your nose off,” she observed.
“Set down and let me do that.”
Steele laughed at her but surrendered the razor. “Don’t cut my throat, Jemmy,” he said. But she finished the job with a deft touch. “Where’d you learn to give a shave, Jemmy?”
“Used to shave my ol’ man,” she cackled, then whispered, “I got you and Mr. Noel a surprise. Some fresh cherry cobbler. Some lady brought a batch of it fer the fellers downstairs, but I saved enough of it fer you two. Wisht I had enough fer the hull bunch, but I couldn’t make off with thet much. I’ll sneak it to you at supper.”
“Why, bless your heart, Jemmy!” He smiled and patted her shoulder. “Why are you so partial to Noel and me?”
“Shucks, you two air jist like my own younguns!” Jemmy looked down at Noel, who was asleep. “You take keer of the boy,” she said.
Pat’s face clouded. “We’ll be leaving here soon. Hate to think of going to a prison camp. It’ll be pretty bad.”
“Better put yore trust in Jesus,” Jemmy said and then left him to go down the line of cots.
“Funny old woman,” Pat murmured. “Won’t be any like her in the camp.”
After Deborah left the hospital, she walked the streets of Richmond, thinking of Dent. She came to a park and sat down under a magnolia tree. The rich, heavy perfume of the blossoms filled the air, and pigeons came up to feed, cooing their liquid warble. Those who passed paid little heed to the old woman who seemed to be a little drunk or senile, for she was talking to herself.
There was a girl Dent was seeing—what was her name? Deborah thought, and then it came to her. Raimey Reed, that’s it! And she’s a Christian girl, Aunt Susanna said. A thought took root, growing in her, and she got up and moved down the street so quickly that it caused one man to say in surprise, “She moves fast for an old woman, don’t she, now?”
“There’s a woman to see you, Miss Raimey. Says her name is Deborah Steele.”
Raimey looked up in surprise. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “I don’t know anyone by that name, Dulcie. What does she want?”
“Don’t know.” Dulcie shrugged. She and Raimey had been out in the garden, where Dulcie had been reading a crazy novel called Tristram Shandy to her mistress. The slave was glad enough to be interrupted by the sound of the brass knocker on the front door. “She’s a mighty nice-looking woman. You want to see her?”
“Why, yes,” Raimey said with a nod. “Bring her out here.” She listened as Dulcie’s footsteps tapped across the walk, then as she spoke to someone. Raimey got to her feet as the guest was brought outside. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Miss Reed. My name is Deborah Steele. Could I speak with you a few moments—alone?”
“Get us some tea, Dulcie,” Raimey said. “Won’t you sit down, Miss Steele?” She heard the sound of the woman sitting down, then asked, “Have we met before?”
“No, but we have a mutual friend—Dent Rocklin.” Deborah was watching the young woman closely and didn’t miss a movement of the girl’s lips. “I think he’s in a bad way, Miss Reed.”
“He’s in the hospital, isn’t he?”
“Yes, with a bad wound. Very bad.” She began to speak, watching the girl’s face. When she had finished, she said, “I think you should go to him, Miss Reed.”
“Me? Why—I couldn’t do anything!” Raimey was troubled, for she had thought of little but Dent Rocklin since the news came that he’d been wounded. Once she had mentioned going to visit him, but her mother had said, “It’s not a nice place, Raimey. Wait until he’s released to his parents’ home; then we’ll go.” It had not satisfied her, and she knew that her parents were over-protective where she was concerned. Now she thought of Dent, of how they had danced, and of his kiss. Then it came to her. “I remember where I’ve heard of you. Dent’s in love with you.”
Deborah said quickly, “We were interested in each other once, but I’ve told him it can never go any further. And it was never as deep an attraction as Dent thought.” She paused,
then asked, “I know it’s rude of me to ask, but—do you care for Dent?”
Raimey flinched slightly, her face coloring. “Why, he was very nice to me. But as you can see, Miss Steele, I’m blind.”
Deborah said quietly, “I see that you’re a very lovely girl. Being blind doesn’t mean you can’t love a man, does it?”
“No! It doesn’t!” Raimey’s voice rose with a trace of anger, and then she stopped. “But nothing can come of it. I could never ask a man to bear my affliction.”
Deborah sat there, thoughts rising within, and asked for guidance from God. It was very plain that Raimey Reed was in love with Dent Rocklin, but how could she speak of it without offending the girl? Finally she decided to voice the simple truth. “May I call you Raimey? And you can call me Deborah. I’ve heard that you’re a Christian, Raimey. Do you believe that God speaks to His people?”
“Why—certainly!” Raimey hardly knew what to make of this, but she sat there listening as Deborah told her how God had directed her to come see her.
Deborah carefully concealed any mention of Noel or Pat but said finally, “I think Dent’s going to die if he doesn’t get help, Raimey. There’s a shadow on him. He’s given up. I think he wants to die, and somehow I think that you’re the one who can save him.”
Raimey put her hands to her breast, shaken by what she had heard. But she felt a stirring of anger, too, which caused her to say, “It’s very well for you to talk, Deborah Steele! You’re beautiful, I’ve heard, and can have any man you want. And you can see! But it’s unkind of you to come to me telling me that God wants me to do something about Dent. Why don’t you save him? You’re the one he loves, no matter what you say!”
Deborah sat still and, when the storm was past, said gently, “Raimey, all of us are in God’s hands. I can’t tell you what to do.” She hesitated, then rose from her chair, noting that Raimey, catching the sound, rose at the same time. Deborah went to the girl, so innocent in the sunshine, and said, “I don’t want to be unkind, but I know you love Dent, and he desperately needs someone who loves him. He won’t listen to anyone in his family. But I think he may listen to you. Won’t you try?”
Tears rose in Raimey’s eyes, and she struggled vainly to speak. Finally she cried out, “I can’t! I want to, but I don’t know how to help!”
Deborah put her arm around Raimey’s shoulders, saying, “I can’t tell you how it will be, but I know the first thing you must do. Go to him! Go to Dent, Raimey! And then let God use you. Will you pray with me about that?”
Raimey nodded, and as Deborah prayed, she began to weep. Dulcie returned and stopped dead in her tracks with the tea tray in her hands. She had never heard anyone pray like this lady! There was something odd about it, and Dulcie was glad when she heard the visitor say, “God is with you, Raimey. Trust Him!”
“Yes, Deborah. I will!”
Dulcie stepped forward, saying, “Can I show you to the door, miss?” and Deborah left at once, aware that the maid was glaring at her with disapproval in her eyes.
“Now don’t you cry, Miss Raimey!” Dulcie said protectively when she came back. “She’s gone now. What was she saying to make you feel so bad? I won’t let her in this house again, you can bet!”
“Dulcie,” Raimey said in a tone that Dulcie had never heard. “Go get Leroy to bring the carriage around. And get ready yourself.”
“Where do you think we’re going?” Dulcie asked in alarm. Raimey’s parents were both gone for the day, and something in the expression of her mistress frightened her.
“We’re going to the hospital.” When Dulcie began to protest, Raimey said, “Be quiet, Dulcie. Go to the kitchen and have Evangeline make up a big basket of sweets—everything she can find.”
Dulcie blinked, but she turned and left at once. As soon as she was out of hearing distance, she muttered in disgusted tones, “‘Be quiet, Dulcie!’ I wish I’d never let that woman in this house!” But complaining was no good, and one hour later she was sitting beside Raimey, headed for the hospital.
CHAPTER 20
ANGEL IN THE WARD
Sometime during the night Dent flung his arm upward, striking the wall. The pain that exploded made him cry out, and he slept no more until about an hour before dawn. When he began again to stir and opened his eyes, he saw that someone was sitting in the chair beside him. He blinked and wiped his eyes with his good hand, then, seeing more clearly, said, “Hello, Mother.”
Ellen Rocklin, looking totally out of place in a bright green dress and too much makeup, started guiltily, then exclaimed, “Why, you’re awake! I thought I’d better let you sleep, Denton.” The light of early morning fell across Dent’s face, and with his ragged beard and stained bandage, he was not a pretty sight. Ellen, however, was determined to cheer him up. She said brightly, “Well, look at you! I could just kill your father! Here he’s been telling me how awful you look! Why, you look just fine, Denton!”
“Sure. How’ve you been, Mother?”
“Oh, just terrible! I’ve been so worried about you! I wanted to come and see you, but your father wouldn’t let me. Well, I just decided to come anyway, Denton!” The truth was that Clay had asked her to visit Dent many times, but she had resisted. Now she felt virtuous, going into her act of the Faithful Mother Visiting Her Wounded Son. Ellen always played a role; she had done so for so long that she no longer had any idea who she really was.
She babbled on, speaking of how wonderful Dent looked and how she was absolutely certain that he’d soon be home where she could take care of him properly. She stayed until breakfast was brought, insisting on waiting on him, putting sugar in his coffee (which he never took), and urging him to eat more.
After breakfast, she settled down, talking about how awful things were in Richmond—“Prices have literally gone out of sight, Denton!”; Gracefield—“Your grandfather, poor thing! I doubt if he’ll live a month!”; her husband—“Clay absolutely refuses to give me what I need, Denton. You’ll have to speak to him, I’m afraid. I’ve worn this old rag of a dress for a year or longer, and now with so many social events coming up, I simply must have some new things!”
Dent lay quietly, listening to her talk. She was a silly woman, and nothing would ever change for her. She was, he knew, an immoral woman, as well, though none of the family ever spoke of it. For years Dent had excused all of her flaws by blaming them on his father’s act of desertion. Now, lying in the ward with dying men and with his arm throbbing, he suddenly understood that Ellen Rocklin had not been formed by his father’s behavior. She was what she was, and the knowledge sank into him that nothing he could do—or that anyone could do—would bring sense and decency to his mother.
Ellen was talking about the party she had attended at the home of the Chesnuts when she was interrupted. “‘Scuse me, missus. I need to change this feller’s bandages.”
Ellen turned sharply to see an old woman in a shapeless dress standing at the foot of the bed, holding a tray with bandages and medicine. “Why—of course!”
She rose and made room for the old woman, wondering why they didn’t get more attractive people to take care of the men. She had a sudden vision of herself, dressed in a beautiful white uniform, moving through the hospital, bringing cheer to the boys. She saw herself saying to President Davis, “Why, it’s very hard, Mr. President, but we must all do our best for our glorious cause!” The thought pleased her, but she did not watch as the woman carefully removed the bandage that covered the side of Dent’s face.
When the bandage was gone, Ellen did look. The sight of her son’s ravaged face shocked her so badly that she cried out, “Oh no!” and put her hands over her face. Then she turned away, putting her back to the two. She didn’t see the looks of disgust on the faces of the men close by … nor did she see the look on her son’s face.
Jemmy saw it though—and wanted to cry. Dent sat there staring at his mother; then he suddenly turned to Simon Alcott. “Give me your shaving mirror, Alcott.”
Alcott
said quickly, “I think I let Sim borrow it.”
“It’s there on the table,” Dent growled. “Let me have it, blast you!”
Reluctantly Alcott picked up the small mirror and handed it to Jemmy, who just as unwillingly put it into Dent’s hand. He lifted the mirror and stared into it. It was the first time he’d seen the wound—and he sat there staring at his ruined face without a word.
The saber had raked down the side of his face, narrowly missing the eye, then had sliced through the flesh down to the cheekbone. The solid bone had turned the blade, forcing it forward so that it had narrowly missed cutting into the side of his mouth. Dr. Carter had done his best. He had pulled the flesh together as tightly as he could and put the stitches as close together as he could, but the damage was too great for his surgery to be more than a rough patch-up job.
Staring into the mirror, Dent saw a stranger, a gargoyle of a man. The eye was pulled downward at the outside edge, giving the face a sinister appearance, while the side of the mouth was pulled to the left, making it appear that a leer was fixed in place. The lips of the terrible wound were pulled together in some fashion, but the cheek was so distorted that the face staring back at him seemed to be the face of a monster.
He slowly handed the mirror back to Jemmy, saying, “Thanks for the mirror, Alcott.”
A thick silence had fallen on them all, and it was Alcott who said, “Aw, it looks a little rough now, but when it heals, it’ll be okay, Dent.”
“It’ll be worse,” Dent said quietly. His voice was dead, and so were his eyes. He lay there staring at the ceiling as Jemmy finished putting on a fresh bandage, then moved away.
Ellen was trembling and tried to speak, but she could only say in a muffled tone, “I–I’ll have to go now, Denton.”
“Thanks for coming by, Mother.”
She moved toward him as though to kiss him, then whirled and walked out of the room. Dent waited until she was gone, then looked at Alcott, saying evenly, “A mother’s love is a wonderful thing, isn’t it, Simon?”
Three Books in One: A Covenant of Love, Gate of His Enemies, and Where Honor Dwells Page 60
