Jewel of Promise

by Marian Wells

  “It’s bringing war close to us. It’s scary.”

  She turned her face. Mike hesitated, then finally asked, “Is Fairmont still around?”

  She looked up. “Why do you ask?”

  “Looking for information—troop movement, and so forth.”

  She laughed. “And I thought you were going to lay siege—whatever that means.”

  With a grin he came toward her. “That word is best illustrated.” He backed her up against the apple tree, caught her shoulders, and kissed her. “That’s siege.”

  “Oh,” she smiled up at him. “I thought siege had something to do with follow-up fighting.”

  “It does,” he murmured, kissing her again. “There. Did you miss me a little?”

  Beth backed away and touched her red cheeks. Wide-eyed, she looked at him. “A little,” she admitted. Then she turned away. Mike had time for only one swift mental kick before she turned again. In a rush of words she said, “As long as you’ll be here, you might as well come to the frolic next week: a hayride and watermelon feast.”

  “Sounds wonderful. I’d stop the war for that.” He hesitated. “Are they still training soldiers down in the pasture?”

  “Yes. Roald is in Washington again, but he expects to be back before the end of September.” A question leaped into her eyes.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Just wondering if you intend to go to war, too.”

  “Right now, no.” He hesitated. “I prefer shipping. But before this is over, we may all be in battle.”

  Beth sighed and turned toward the house. “I must go help.”

  “How’s the job going?”

  “I suppose it’s all I can expect around here.” She tossed her hair back and looked up at him. “It keeps me busy when there’s nothing else to do.”

  “Sadie tells me the women are working on packages for the soldiers, getting together socks and sending home-baked cookies.”

  She nodded. “We all get in on it when there’s a rush to pack them up.” She slanted a glance at him. “Mike, are there lots of soldiers being killed?”

  “And wounded, and taken prisoner. It’s not a lark,” he said slowly. “And I pray to God that it’ll soon be over, even when I’m doubting it will.”

  “Do you think God favors the North?”

  He looked at her. “No, of course not. He loves all people.”

  “Then there isn’t a right side or a wrong side?”

  “I’m not certain,” he said slowly. “We feel slavery is wrong, and that it’s wrong to split the Union. But in the end, it’s God’s judgment. Only He knows the real right and wrong of the situation. It seems to me the worst wrong is fighting, regardless of the reason behind it. If we’re Christians, then we ought not to be fighting.”

  “Does that make a difference?” She tossed her hair away from her face. Her eyes clouded, “Seems you’re lifting up Christianity like a high and holy untouchable. Doesn’t sound very attractive. Guess I’d rather just admit I’m not all that good, but I’m happy with what I am.” She opened the door and slipped into the kitchen.

  ****

  The following week when Mike and Beth returned from the hayride, Sadie cornered Mike in the kitchen. Picking straw from his hair, she said, “Mike, if thee touches a hot stove, thou wilt be burnt.”

  He searched for a light touch. “Aw, Sadie, a fellow doesn’t get anything without trying.”

  “Nonetheless, thou art too good for the likes of that lass.” Her eyes were heavy with conviction, and he nearly asked the reason for her concern.

  Finally, managing a grin, he said, “Seems Fairmont and meself are coming in and out of here like puppets on a string. May the best man win!”

  “I fear he will,” she said darkly as she passed him on the way to her bedroom.

  ****

  Mike was still thinking of Sadie’s brooding statement and her frown the next week when he took the little tug and one barge down the Ohio.

  When he docked at Cairo, a man in uniform came aboard. Looking curiously around, he entered the pilot house. Nodding to Mike he said, “Captain Ammit, Skipper.”

  Mike introduced himself. “I’ve expected this. My boss in Pennsylvania informed me the tug would probably be commandeered.”

  “We can use it,” Ammit said. “But right now we’re in need of men as well. You’ve been down the Ohio a half dozen times with a full complement of barges since we’ve been stationed here. That tells us something. Have any thoughts about joining the navy?”

  Mike sighed gently. “Haven’t given it much thought; this kind of shipping is about all I know. Don’t consider myself an expert.”

  “Would you be interested in a couple of trips downriver? We can use your experience, and you can size us up.”

  “Sounds like it might work,” he admitted slowly.

  “I’ll make arrangements for you to meet with Flag-Officer Foote and General Grant.” The fellow grinned at Mike’s expression. “We don’t usually try this hard to make a good impression on our recruits. I’ve mentioned you to the two of them, and they’re interested in talking to you.” He backed out of the pilot house. “I’ll be in contact; meanwhile stay with your vessel.”

  Late the following afternoon, Ammit made another appearance. “Clancy, if you are available now, I’ll take you up to see Commander Foote and General Grant.”

  “Guess I’d better change my shirt.”

  Ammit laughed. “Go ahead; I hope you find the interview worth a clean shirt.”

  When Captain Ammit opened the door to the narrow, box-like room, Mike looked around. He was struck by the room’s resemblance to a packing crate. He eyed the rough, unpainted walls, the equally crude table, and the man hunched down in his chair with his feet on the table. “Good luck, Clancy,” Ammit muttered, backing out of the room.

  The man in the crate hunched himself higher in the chair. “Yes?”

  Mike cleared his throat and said, “I have an appointment to see Flag-Officer Foote and General Grant.”

  “Foote will be along shortly. Please state your name and business.”

  Uneasily Mike moved his shoulders. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing secret about it. Captain Ammit contacted me, and said Commander Foote and General Grant wanted to see me.”

  “And?”

  Mike hesitated. “Oh, I’m Mike Clancy, I’ve been piloting a tug on the river for the past year.”

  The man’s feet came down; he stood and leaned across the table with his hand outstretched. “Glad to meet you, Mike. I’m Grant. Sit down.” Slowly Mike sat. He observed the rumpled uniform and the sad eyes. Grant said, “Ever hear of a gunboat? Well, we’re having some put together for us, and we’re desperately in need of pilots.”

  The door opened. “General Grant—” The man in naval uniform nodded, came into the room, and sat down at the table.

  “Michael Clancy, sir.” Mike sat down and waited.

  Grant muttered, “This is Flag-Officer Foote. Andrew, want to tell Mike what a gunboat is?”

  Foote studied Mike. “You look young for a pilot, but we’ll know soon enough when we get you in an ironclad.” He pulled out pencil and paper. “This is what it looks like. Designed by a man named Samuel Pook, they’ve been dubbed Pook’s turtles.”

  He leaned back and looked at Mike. “The gunboats are paddle wheelers, with a flat bottom. All of the strategic parts are shielded by iron plates. The boat carries thirteen guns, and manpower to handle them. They’re shallow-draft, designed with waterways like the Tennessee River in mind.” Foote began to grin. “I can see the idea is intriguing.”

  “Sir, when are you going to build these—turtles?”

  “They’re in the process of being built right now. So far we have two completed. We’ll have all of them in the water before the end of the year. Meanwhile, we have a lot of work to do in order to be ready to use them. Ever train a pilot?”

  Grant spoke up. “How about taking us on a little fishing trip on that tug?
” A half-grin pulled at his serious face. “I’ll provide the fishing poles, and you think of some good fishing hole, like the Tennessee or Cumberland Rivers.”

  Foote chuckled. “I hope you’re kidding. Think we can get past those forts?”

  “Not in uniform, and I’m not certain you can act stupid enough to get yourself into such a situation,” Grant said with a chuckle.

  Mike scratched his ear. “I’m not certain stupid men would be out in a boat like the tug in the first place.” He looked at Grant. “Must it be a tug? If you’re wanting a sounding, I’d take it with a pole. From looking at the terrain and the nature of the water, I can pretty much tell what we’ll get into. Seems best to just go in there in a skiff.” Mike paused, eyed Foote’s expression, and murmured, “Oh, I get you. You wanna know how I handle a clumsy boat in such water, and you’re not serious about going in. I’ve never taken a boat into the Tennessee.”

  Commander Foote stood up. “Well, Mike, if you’re interested in giving this a try, we might as well go look at those boats.” He grinned at him and added, “Guess I’m not too worried about how you handle a boat—or won’t be after today. Come along.”

  Chapter 14

  It rained the day Bertha Duncan died. It was a cold December drizzle that reduced everyone to shivering misery. In the hours preceding her death, Olivia huddled in the library, close to the smoky fire, thinking of the family upstairs: Alex, his father, and that brittle sister of his.

  Near dusk, Alex came into the room. His face was drawn and his lips taut and white. “You needn’t have left the room,” he said sitting down beside her.

  “I thought it was time for you, Father, and your sister to be together with her.”

  “She’s gone now. It was the last time we were a complete family,” Alex mused. He looked at Olivia. “To her, you were a very dear part of the family.”

  “Alex, I’m glad it’s over. These past weeks have been difficult for all of you. She was terribly weak and tired of life. I’m glad she was ready to meet God.”

  “Yet it’s difficult to surrender her.” He turned to face her. “Olivia, last night you heard Mother beg us to leave as soon as the funeral is over, and you know why. She had anticipated problems with Father over the property she sold to Mallory; naturally the whole situation will come out when her will is read.” For a time he stared into the fire. “This weather seems dismal enough; now I must tell Father we’ll leave soon. Will you come with me?”

  She got up and went to his side. For a moment before he stood, she pressed his head against her bosom and the brooch tangled in his hair. “You need a haircut,” she murmured, pulling his curls away from the gold blossoms.

  Catching his face in her hands, she lifted it, kissed him, and then whispered, “I remember one day at Sadie’s when we were at complete odds with each other. While I poured your coffee, I saw your hair curling against your neck in this way. I wanted so badly to touch you. But then I had no right.”

  “Olivia, my dear,” he murmured, burying his face in her neck. “You are my comfort, my anchor, and my love. How I thank God for you.”

  “And I for you,” she whispered, pressing her lips against his hair. “Oh, Alex, last night, watching your father’s face, I was so miserable. It seems life can be utterly perfect, and then this. I wish I dared to beg you to never leave me alone, but—”

  He pressed his fingers against her lips and pulled her onto his lap. His voice thick with emotion, he whispered, “Please, dear, say no more. We both know how uncertain life is now. Let’s just try to hang on to the precious moments.”

  He reached for her lips and Olivia snuggled against him. The smoldering fire burst into flame, and the smoke disappeared. To Olivia it became a cheery crackling shield between them and all that lay beyond.

  Finally Olivia sat up with a sigh. “I’ve also been thinking of how painful life has been for you these past months. Wanting to be with your mother when instead you were tramping around Charleston and every little village a day’s ride from here. Alex I know how disappointing it’s been for you to go seeking people to listen, and how doubly painful it was to have them sneer at your burdens and ideas.” She cupped his face in her hands and forced his eyes to meet hers.

  “You’ve said little to me, and I can guess why. I’ve felt so powerless to force myself past that wall of hurt. I’ve wanted to carry the burdens you are desperately hiding. The cause has torn at me, too.” She paused. “I’ll be glad to head north.”

  “Olivia, you’ve opened the door for me to disappoint you,” he murmured. “There’s been just enough good talk with people to encourage me to keep trying. I’ve been praying the Lord will direct me to those who must be warned, admonished, encouraged. Can you possibly put up with some more of this?”

  She stroked his beard and touched the gold ring in his ear. “Alex, certainly—just as long as you keep me with you.”

  ****

  A week later, Olivia and Alex stood with Clayton Duncan at the railway station in Charleston. It was still raining.

  Olivia huddled in her cloak while Alex and his father engaged in low-pitched, polite conversation. Olivia listened idly, but her heart was responding to the pain on those two faces.

  They all turned when they heard the train whistle. Olivia went to slip her hand through Clayton’s arm. Carefully she suppressed the words she wanted to say and formed a smile. “Dear Father Duncan,” she murmured, “it’s difficult to leave you here in this miserable rain. After being away from the South for so long, I do believe Pennsylvania’s snow makes a more pleasant winter. I’d love to see you enjoy it.” It was the wrong thing to say, and she felt him stiffen.

  Quickly she pressed her lips to his cheek. “Don’t come out to the train. Soot and rain will make a terrible mess of your coat. Are you planning to go to your club? You should, since you’ve promised us you’ll see your doctor tomorrow. Have a nice dinner, and get a good rest.”

  The two silent men shook hands and Olivia continued to chatter over their silence as they walked to the door of the station.

  The train had left Charleston behind before Olivia dared face her husband.

  “I was just wondering—” Alex began.

  “If we’ll ever see him again,” Olivia finished. “I was thinking the same.” She huddled in a miserable lump against the slippery horsehair upholstery and braced her cold feet against the foot support in front of her.

  “Father gave me a stack of newspapers and a small hamper of sandwiches. Would you like this robe over your feet?”

  Olivia nodded and sighed deeply. “I was wondering if the worst part is behind us. Alex, do you suppose he guessed our secret when he discovered the tickets were for Richmond?”

  “It’s too bad we couldn’t discuss the problem,” Alex muttered. “But no. He mentioned the Inn we had planned to visit last summer and said that we shouldn’t try to go home through Washington. His expression was strange. I wonder if there’s something being planned?”

  The head in front of Alex swiveled around. “No doubt it’s troop movements. Seems they’re constantly shuffling them from east to west and west to east. But there’s nothing going on now. I’m Harold Thorpe. I was in Washington last month and they’re still reeling from the whipping we gave them at Manassas last July. Don’t think they’ll do much for a time. This weather puts fighting out of the question. Would you care for some newspapers?”

  “No thank you, sir.” Alex hesitated and asked, “What is your destination?”

  “Washington.”

  “I understand there’s a need for passes if one moves between the North and South.”

  “That’s correct. It isn’t difficult if you know the proper person to ask. An army officer will usually hand them over promptly enough.”

  “Do you mind if I ask your business in Washington?”

  The man looked at Alex with a sparkle in his eyes. “Do I look like the world’s most unlikely spy?”

  “I beg your pardon; I shouldn’t pry
.”

  “I don’t consider it out of line from a brother Southerner.” Mr. Thorpe picked up his newspaper and turned to read.

  It was ten days before they reached Richmond, Virginia. As the train protested its way to a creaking halt, Olivia took Alex’s hand and carefully stepped down from the quivering machine. Turning to look at it distastefully, Olivia said, “I can’t believe this trip has taken so long. Alex, this frightful monster is the laziest train in existence.”

  “Now, Olivia—” He grinned down at her. “You’re being unfair. We’ve changed trains at least every day, we’ve spent hours on spurs waiting for the track to be cleared, and in addition, we’ve driven miles to reach trains.”

  “It will be a happy day when they decide to make all the trains the same gauge and to have them meet at one central station.”

  “Don’t blame it all on the iron monster. And now, my dear, with your sooty nose and frock, I think you rate a long rest before we go farther.”

  Mr. Thorpe stopped beside them. “So, we meet again! I didn’t know we were on the same train. Will you join me later for dinner?”

  For a moment Alex’s eyes brightened, then he glanced at Olivia. “It would be delightful, sir, but I’m afraid my wife needs a very steady, flat bed under her right now. Perhaps some other time.”

  The man touched his hat. “Unfortunately I’ll be leaving for Washington in the morning. Here’s my card. When you are in Washington, look me up. By then perhaps we’ll all be celebrating in the streets and it will be good to renew our friendship.”

  They were settled in their hotel room before Olivia asked her question. “Alex, what did Mr. Thorpe mean when he referred to celebrating in the streets of Washington?”

  “The South’s plan to take over Washington, of course,” he murmured as he studied the street below their window. “Last summer’s battle was the Union’s attempt to foil the Confederate plans on that score.”

  “And they are still planning on taking Washington?”

  “I expect to see the battle resumed right where it left off; perhaps very soon.”