American Struggle

by Veda Boyd Jones

  After the picnic beneath the shade trees, the afternoon was filled with sporting events of all kinds. With Philip’s help, Andrew was able to organize two full teams of players for a great game of baseball. Philip acted as an umpire and gave specific instructions about the rules. Because Andrew knew Philip personally, it made the other boys look up to him.

  During the game, Andrew hit a powerful home run. As he ran to home base, Daria remembered what Roy had said—how he’d like to see Andrew run the bases in a home run. Andrew had told him he’d see it if he stuck around long enough. But Roy had chosen to leave. How Daria wished Roy had stayed home.

  That evening, Uncle Jon invited the family to his home for supper. Mama insisted that their boarders come along, as well. Mr.

  Martin, weary from the day’s activities, declined the invitation, but Mrs. Ryan and Philip accepted.

  The large Burton home was filled with guests. As Aunt Ellie put it, “There didn’t seem to be anything else to celebrate, so we might as well have a party for the end of the school year.”

  At one point, Daria happened to be nearby when Uncle Jon was talking about a recent letter he’d received from Salmon Chase. Several persons stood about as he spoke of how Chase had gone on a journey with President Lincoln to scout out the troops and to try to discover why McClellan was hesitating in his attack.

  “No one can figure out why McClellan chooses to sit on his hands doing nothing,” Uncle Jon said. “Whether it’s a yellow streak or not, we can’t be sure. But I’m sure of one thing—it won’t be long before the president takes McClellan’s command from him entirely.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Daria saw Mama escorting Mary Ellen hurriedly from the room. Daria didn’t think Uncle Jon, surrounded by a group of men—Philip included—even noticed.

  A bit later, Daria saw Philip walk out on the back porch alone. She was bored with grown-up talk, and she went to join him, thinking they might go to the stables together. She watched as Philip pulled a small notepad from his jacket and jotted down a few notes, then returned the pad to his pocket. It seemed a little strange, but then Philip was forever getting little thoughts and writing them down.

  “Philip,” Daria said.

  “Whoa there, Daria. You ought not sneak up on an old soldier, even if he is crippled.” Something in his eyes made Daria feel uneasy, but she pushed the feeling away. This was Philip, after all, their good friend.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said. “I thought we might go look at Uncle Jon’s horses.”

  “Let’s do, Daria.” Now his face looked just the same as always, and Daria was certain she had imagined whatever else she had thought she had seen there.

  But why would she imagine anything in the first place? The thought made a little shiver run down her spine. After all, she trusted Philip.

  Didn’t she?

  “You’ll be pleased to know,” Philip was saying, “that your uncle has offered me the loan of one of his mounts whenever I might need it as long as I’m in the city.”

  “Uncle Jon said that?”

  “He did.” Philip carefully maneuvered the steps down from the porch and onto the stone path that led to the stables. “He’s a generous man, your uncle. Now I know why he’s spoken of so highly.”

  “Uncle Jon sold a number of his horses to the government for use in the war,” Daria said. “He used to keep a large herd pastured at a farm a few miles out of town. He’s kept back only a few for breeding stock and for his family to ride.”

  Philip shook his head. “And yet he’s still willing to loan one. Amazing.” The corporal smoothed his mustache thoughtfully. “Well now, my young friend. When we go riding, I shan’t have to put up with an old nag. What a blessing that will be. Eh?”

  Daria nodded. She smiled at Philip and tried to forget that any suspicion had ever crossed her mind.

  CHAPTER 13

  Daria’s Suspicions

  Fat grasshoppers jumped out of the way in the tall grass ahead of Bordeaux as Daria and Andrew rode him up Price Hill. Behind them, Philip was mounted on Guerin, one of Uncle Jon’s prime Arabians. Up away from the noise of the city, the warm June air was filled with birdcalls and the droning of insects. The three had ridden in silence for quite a ways, enjoying the peace of the summer day.

  Daria and Andrew hadn’t seen Philip as much recently. Their new friend was spending more time at the bookstore. While Daria was pleased that Philip’s leg was healing nicely, she began to dread the day when the war would call him away. She could hardly think about it without having a lump rise up in her throat. One more thing to blame on the war. Each day, bitterness against the Confederates seemed to grow inside her.

  Hearing voices up ahead, Daria knew they were drawing near to the entrenchments that the home guards had erected. No place in the city had been untouched by the war, even way up here. Price Hill gave a perfect view up and down the Ohio River, as well as across the river into Covington. Several large guns had been transported to the top of the hill and placed behind large embankments that had been dug by the men of the home guard. This was only one of a number of similar fortifications throughout the city.

  Daria had often heard peevish old Mr. Martin grumble that such measures were foolish and wasteful. “We have Newport Barracks right across the river. The Rebs would have to come through whole legions of Union forces to make it to Ohio.”

  But the men who guarded the stations had often been fired on. Obviously, someone didn’t like the idea of the city being fortified. Rumors circulated that enemy forces might land downriver and attack the city from the rear. The people of Cincinnati were terrified.

  The home guard regulars had erected a shelter of poles and branches to keep the sun off and camouflage the position of the guns. Andrew called out to the guards so they would know friends were approaching. Then Daria, Andrew, and Philip dismounted and went closer to the guns to rest awhile and visit with the men.

  “General Grant himself would be impressed with these guns,” Philip told the two men on guard as he sat down in the shade.

  “You know old Unconditional Surrender Grant?” asked one who didn’t appear to be much older than Andrew and Daria.

  Philip smiled and nodded. “Fought right beside him at Fort Donelson.”

  The boy whistled. “Sakes alive! You seen Grant?” Philip smiled at the boy’s reaction.

  “That where you got that there game leg?” asked the other.

  Though Philip’s limp wasn’t as pronounced as it once was, he still favored the leg a great deal. “That’s where I got it,” he answered.

  The men talked of the war for a short time, and then the twins and Philip remounted and continued their leisurely Saturday afternoon ride. Each time they were together, Daria wondered if it might be the last time. The thought made her heartsick. And yet at the same time, she couldn’t help but notice the way Philip’s eyes looked sometimes—as though he was calculating something, something that had nothing to do with the merry expression he normally showed them.

  Letters were sparse, and the mail had slowed to a snail’s pace as the fighting heated up. It seemed they lived each day for the few letters that arrived. Late in June a letter from Edward told them of a battle at a place called Fair Oaks—some five miles from the Confederate capital of Richmond, Virginia—in which he had fought. He wrote:

  Our camps stretch out over many acres of ground. Nearby lines of railroad cars loaded with army stores stand ready. I’m quite sure Johnny Reb hasn’t nearly as much as we have in the way of food and supplies, and yet McClellan makes no move to attack Richmond. I understand there are upwards of 150,000 of us here. I may not be much of a military person, but I’m of the opinion we could take it in a day.

  How can one describe battle? There were terrible rains and the Chickahominy River was swollen. Our division and two others crossed the “Grape Vine Bridge,” constructed by our engineers only days before. A few feet below us rushed the flood-swollen river. There at Fair Oaks we en
countered the enemy in a fierce battle. We fought in pouring rain. The musketry is terrible beyond belief, firings and explosions at every hand—like iron hail. And the cries of the wounded are the most pitiful, calling out for water or a doctor—mostly calling out to God—but there is no one to help them. We press on to continue fighting.

  When it was over, the dead covered the battlefields. Long trenches are dug, and the bodies are dragged there and covered with a few inches of dirt—mud is more like it. The names of the dead, if known, are written on pieces of board.

  Jenny, who was reading the letter, stopped every few sentences to press her handkerchief to her mouth to keep herself from sobbing. Then she read on.

  As soon as the sun came out, the smell of death from the swollen bodies filled the air. The dead horses had to be burned. That smell, too, is almost unbearable. I am amazed at how our stomachs have been trained to stand the stench.

  This war is sickening, and I feel those who first started it should deserve to receive great punishment at the hand of God. Such destruction as I have seen, no man can clearly describe in its fullness.

  It was the most powerful letter they had received from the battlefront thus far. Jenny ceased reading for a moment, but none of them could speak. Mama, Daria, and Jenny were all weeping. Andrew was biting his lip and clenching his fists.

  Edward’s letter concluded:

  They have erected a hospital at Fair Oaks due to the many wounded and ill. Malarious fever, scurvy, and diarrhea attack so many of our number. But there is an astounding woman named Clara Barton who works among us in battle to tend to the wounded. She is indeed an “Angel of Mercy.” I have seen her holding lanterns so the surgeons can operate in the dead of night. When the men see her, somehow it sparks new bravery in their hearts.

  Edward signed off by giving his love to each person in the family.

  A note of a more private tone was written separately for Jenny’s eyes only. As Mama did when a letter came from Papa, Jenny went off alone for a time to read it.

  Daria followed her sister out into the hallway. Philip was standing there, and Daria suddenly felt certain he had been listening to Jenny read Edward’s letter. Philip didn’t seem to notice Daria. His eyes were on Jenny as she climbed the stairs, and Daria didn’t like the expression she saw on his face. She shivered and went back in the parlor with Mama and Andrew.

  That summer, much to everyone’s surprise, Andrew had been reading books every evening before going to sleep. After hearing Edward’s sobering letter, Andrew said he wanted to delve into a good book if only to forget the awful tone of the letter. Mama looked pleased, and Daria watched as her brother disappeared into his room with a book tucked under his arm. The title on the book’s spine was The Spy, by Andrew’s favorite author, James Fenimore Cooper. The title of the book made another nasty little chill creep over her skin. Those chilly feelings were becoming all too familiar these days.

  Daria went up to her own room, but Jenny needed to be alone; and Daria slipped out again, leaving her sister to read through Edward’s letter for the tenth time. Jenny needed her privacy, Daria knew. Besides, something was bothering Daria, something she needed to discuss with her twin. With her wrapper over her nightgown and her long hair, free of braids, hanging about her shoulders, she tiptoed downstairs and knocked softly on Andrew’s door.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Andrew joked, “but the doctor’s out just now. Won’t you come back at a more opportune time?”

  But Daria didn’t laugh as she usually did. “Might I talk with you a moment, Andrew?”

  Andrew opened the door wider. “I wasn’t exactly prepared for company. The tea’s not quite steeped, but do come in.”

  Daria managed a weak smile, and watched as Andrew went into Papa’s office and brought out his desk chair. He motioned Daria to it; then he plopped down on his bed.

  “Care for an apple?” He pointed to the bowl.

  Daria shook her head. She was quiet for a moment, searching for the words to say what was on her mind. She knew Andrew wasn’t going to like what she had to say.

  She studied her hands in her lap for a time. Finally, she said, “Andrew, do you believe in intuition?”

  Andrew thought a moment. “Like a sense that you know something?”

  She nodded.

  “Sometimes I feel like I know what you’re thinking before you say it,” Andrew said. “Is that what you mean?”

  “More than that. Like you feel something, but there’s no real facts or proof to back it up.”

  “This isn’t about Papa, is it? You don’t have a feeling about Papa, do you?” Daria could read the fear in Andrew’s face. She knew he sometimes had nightmares about Papa being wounded … or worse.

  “No, no,” she hurried to say. “Not about Papa. Something else.”

  “Well, what then?”

  Daria hesitated again, then said in a rush, “Andrew, you think a lot of Philip Harnden, don’t you? I mean, he’s become a good friend to you.”

  “A very good friend—to all of us. You, too. You don’t think he’s in danger, do you?”

  She studied her hands again, hating to say anything more. Andrew was right, of course. She had come to consider Philip Harnden a good friend. That’s what made her suspicions so terribly painful. “I don’t think he’s in danger,” she said slowly. “Something deep inside tells me he may be causing danger.”

  Andrew felt his throat tighten. “I’m sure he causes a lot of danger for those wicked Rebs out on that battlefield.”

  “That’s not what I mean. I’ve had a feeling about him lately, Andrew. Sometimes he gets this look on his face. And tonight, earlier, I saw him looking at Jenny—”

  “Daria Ann Fisk,” Andrew interrupted, “you stop that talk right now. You’ve got no call to talk about Philip like that. He’s not even here to defend himself. He’d never be anything but a gentleman. Besides, I thought you really liked him. You’ve spent a lot of time together.”

  “I do really like him,” Daria said miserably. “At least most of the time. But have you noticed the way he’s so interested in all the goings-on of the city? Every detail—from the news that Uncle Jon received from Salmon Chase, to the troop movements from Christian. And he has a little notebook that he keeps things jotted down in. I’ve seen him.”

  Andrew looked as though he were struggling to curb an explosion of anger at his sister. “Of course he’s interested. Soon he’ll be returning to his men, and he needs to know what’s going on there. Daria, you’ve been eating too many green apples or something. It’s touched you in the head.”

  Daria stood to go. “I’m sorry I came to you,” she said stiffly. “In the old days, we could tell each other anything. And you always trusted me more than anybody. What’s changed?”

  Andrew didn’t meet her eyes. “I guess we’re just growing up,” he muttered.

  Daria bit her lips to keep back her own hurt and anger. After a moment, she said as calmly as she could, “I waited for my feeling, my intuition, to go away. I kept hoping it would. I’ve prayed and prayed that I’m wrong. But the feeling is still here.” She placed her hand over her stomach. “Deep in here. As much as I want to, I can’t shake it.”

  “Well, your feeling is wrong. Dead wrong. I can tell you that for certain. I don’t even want to talk about this anymore. You’d better go on back to bed.”

  “At least pray about it. Will you do that?” She felt funny saying the words. Just a few months ago, it would have been Andrew telling her to pray.

  “Of course, Daria. I’ll pray.”

  For a moment, Daria felt relieved. Maybe she could leave this with God, the way Mama was always saying they should do about anything that worried them. Then she happened to glance down at her brother’s hand. Andrew had crossed his fingers. Her heart sank. She knew her brother had no intention of praying.

  Daria couldn’t sleep that night. She tossed and turned all night long, fighting and fighting against her suspicions. She had never ever see
n her twin so angry at her. Yet Daria knew that she had to tell someone. She hated how she felt. Andrew was right; Philip had been a good friend, and she had enjoyed spending time with him. He was a touch of Papa. But she just couldn’t make the odd feeling inside her go away. Something about Philip just wasn’t right.

  The next morning at breakfast, she noticed that Andrew couldn’t even bring himself to look at her. His eyes were angry and his mouth was set in a straight line. Daria hated how much she had hurt him.

  Devastating news arrived in Cincinnati just before the big July Fourth celebration. General Lee had routed the Union forces, driving them back from Richmond, Virginia. Everyone who was crowded about the newspaper office was disgusted and discouraged.

  Daria wondered how much more the country could take. The horrific battle had begun on June 25 and ended on July 1—the longest running battle of the war so far. And for what? Victory seemed further and further away. Who would have thought those few little states in the South would fight with such pluck and audacity?

  No letters came from Edward. For several days, Jenny appeared to be on the brink of tears nearly every waking moment. It broke Daria’s heart to see her so distraught.

  Meanwhile, both by telegraph and by word of mouth, rumors spread of raids in Kentucky led by Colonel John Hunt Morgan. Brazenly, he struck at federal supply points and destroyed railroad tracks and bridges. He took control of telegraph offices, breaking off important communications. These hit-and-run raids had Cincinnati panicked.

  Then one day, Colonel Morgan and his men actually moved into Kentucky. By July 9, he’d taken Tompkinsville and Glasgow. There wasn’t much to stop him from pressing through Kentucky, crossing the Ohio River, and taking over Cincinnati.

  CHAPTER 14

  The War Approaches

  A few days later, after time had helped heal some of the wounds between the twins, Daria and Andrew went into town. Daria felt swallowed up in the press of the crowd milling about the Court Street marketplace. On a makeshift platform stood Judge Hugh Jewett, giving a speech to the mass of alarmed citizens. He appealed for recruits to help defend Kentucky. Large numbers of men were lining up.