He began to limp toward the car. Ester and Mr. Glenmore were already safely inside. He opened the driver’s-side door and moaned as he climbed in. Ester rolled down her window when the car started.
“You’ll be hearing from our lawyer,” she said, her gray eyes icy spots below her disheveled frosted hair.
“He’s in the back there.” Osbee nodded toward the backseat. “What’s he going to say?”
“Remember, Mother, this was your choice,” Ester said, and the car rolled down the drive. Osbee, Samuel, Henry, Oliver, Bea, and Ginger stood in the front yard and watched the Mercedes back up. It turned around when it reached the bottom of the drive.
“What did she mean by that?” Samuel asked. “It is she who was coercing her own mother.”
“She means to scare us,” Ginger replied, watching the Martins head down the lane. “To make us afraid of what she’s going to do.”
“What’s she going to do?” mumbled Bea.
“I don’t know,” Osbee answered. “But whatever it is, it won’t be good.”
“I think . . .” Oliver said carefully, holding his stick between his hands like a maestro who has just finished conducting a masterpiece and is listening to the applause. “I think . . . Grandma and Grandpa are just goats.”
There was a moment of utter silence and then everyone burst out laughing. Oliver gazed around, confused by the reaction.
Ginger bent down and kissed him on his head. “I think, Oliver, you are exactly right,” she said.
“We’re hungry,” Henry announced. “Come on, Oliver.”
“We went to Cedar Creek today,” Oliver said to his older brother as they headed around the side of the house.
“You did?” Bea asked, following them.
“Yep. We walked around for a couple minutes in a field but then Mama got hurt.”
Osbee took Ginger’s elbow, inquiring, “Hurt?”
“I have a headache,” she replied with a shrug. Together, they climbed the steps. She opened the door for the old woman, and before she followed Osbee in, she paused. At the end of the porch Samuel stood. Without looking at him directly, she whispered, “I saw you today.”
“I know,” he replied. “I see you today.”
The body parts, the Union rider, the spark and smoke of his gun were now part of her memory. She stepped into the house, closing the door behind her.
Ginger found Osbee in the kitchen making egg salad sandwiches. She took two aspirin and they made lunch in silence. They both started when the phone rang.
“I hope that’s not Ester,” Osbee breathed.
Ginger picked up the phone before it could finish its second ring. “Hello?”
“Hello? Virginia? It’s Deanna.”
Who is it? Osbee mouthed.
The nurse registry, Ginger replied in kind.
“Virginia?”
“Sorry. Yes, Deanna. It’s me.”
“Franklin is asking for you tonight.”
“Uh, Deanna. I was needing to talk with you. I need to remove my name from the registry.”
“Really? Is everything all right?” Deanna’s voice held the same concern as had Mrs. Castro’s and Mr. Taylor’s at the school.
“Yes, yes. We just need to plant now and all hands are required.”
“Plant?” Deanna repeated.
“Yeah. I live on a farm.”
“Ah, that’s right. Well, do you think you could give us one more night?”
“I do—”
“They specifically requested you because there’s a Mr. Wolfe in acute who is asking for you.”
Ginger pulled air between her teeth and thought for a minute. This man had given her Ginger-cow, in the bartering of which he had said something was moving. Whatever it was that Samuel had so keenly sensed moving for 150 years was felt also by Jack, and when last she saw the man he was quite ill. In a very deep way, Ginger felt she owed him, because he was connected to her—and to what was moving. All she had to give in return were the tasks she’d been educated to perform.
“What’s the shift?”
Osbee looked over at her. A small crease passed quickly across the old woman’s brow.
“Same as the last one.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Thanks, Virginia. And then I’ll take you off the roll. Let us know, though, if you want to pick up some shifts now and then.”
“Will do. Thanks, Deanna.” She hung up.
Osbee didn’t look at her; rather the old woman continued to cut celery sticks.
“Jack Wolfe, the man who gave us the cow, is in the hospital and is asking for me. I have to go.”
Osbee nodded.
“This is my last time.”
Osbee looked over at her and said, “You know what is best, daughter.”
She placed the celery sticks in a glass of ice water and headed to the sunroom door to call everyone in for lunch.
As they ate, Henry quietly delegated the work that had to be done. The tasks given to Ginger were cleaning the lunch dishes and planting the garden. Thus she found herself wandering out to the barn, picking up a hoe and a rake, and exiting through Christian’s stall. The cow was nowhere to be seen in the barn. She wasn’t worried, though, as she was quite sure Henry knew where everyone and everything was. He was so like his father—an organizer, a planner, a leader.
The tidy planting boxes were lined up next to the snake-rail fence that encircled the first garden patch. They were wooden rectangles five feet long and three feet wide and in each of them the students from VMI had dumped beautiful black dirt, not Virginia clay. With her headache numbed by the aspirin, she began to rake. For a good while she worked, breaking up the soil and smoothing it out. After that, she hoed small furrows in the dirt. The work with hoe and rake and dirt and sun rolled the war to the back of her mind.
When the soil was set, she planted the seeds that Ed Rogers had left. There were tomatoes and lettuce and peppers, as well as broccoli, cabbage, and cauliflower. According to Mr. Rogers, they were a little late to plant for transplants, but this would have to do. Once complete, Ginger watered everything. The sun reflected gold as she closed the glass lids of the planter boxes.
Alone and unoccupied, she wandered back to Cedar Creek in her mind. It was Samuel there but it was Jesse’s eyes and the vision changed as if she were seeing her husband shot in a war so far away. She held her throbbing head, walking out behind the barn, past all the farm implements, which sat in their new home without purpose at the moment. She felt their pain.
Gazing toward the covered bridge, she spotted Ginger-cow and the goat far afield and, with them, Rooster and the chickens. She walked toward them and as she cleared the back of the barn she found Oliver, Osbee, and Henry fixing the chicken paddock. In need of an occupation to silence the battle in her mind, she headed out to round up the chickens and Rooster.
It was slow going for sure. It took the better part of the day to get them across the field and into the orchard. Oliver came to help with Rooster, holding his stick like a baton and motioning Rooster in the right direction. After all the fowl were back safely in their pen, Henry and Ginger went to fetch Bubba and Ginger-cow.
The cow came easily. The goat . . . Well, Ginger decided he needed a tether with a chain to keep his whereabouts known and to prevent him from causing further mischief with visitors. When they came into the barn, it was four in the afternoon and, according to Henry, time for milking. Planting a stool next to Ginger-cow for his mother, Henry began to teach her how to milk. She wasn’t very good at it and after about fifteen minutes his patience ran out. Nudging his mother from the stool, he took over and Ginger headed to the house.
Osbee was in the kitchen lighting lamps. They started supper, saying very little to each other as was their usual, comfortable way when working. Chicken and biscuits with mixed vegetables was the bill o
f fare and shortly after six all the children trudged in—filthy, smelly, and tired. Henry handed a bucket of milk to his mother and, following Samuel, he and his siblings went up for a bath. The look of confusion on Ginger’s face regarding the bucket of milk and its disposition caused Osbee to remove it from her hands, with a low mumbled direction to set the dining room table for dinner.
Gathering the plates and utensils, Ginger headed into the dining room. How long had it been since they had eaten together there instead of the kitchen? Was it Thanksgiving? Christmas? No—she had worked Christmas Eve. It was Thanksgiving. She set the table for six, as was always the way—for they left a plate still for Jesse—and wondered why exactly they were eating in the dining room. When Bea and her brothers came down, the look on their faces showed they were just as perplexed.
Shortly Osbee entered with a pitcher of milk and one of water.
“Ginger, my dear, we need one more service.”
They did? Counting six place settings, Ginger shook her head and was about to say the number was correct when Osbee added, “And if you’ll take a seat at the head of the table, please.”
“That’s Daddy’s spot,” Oliver said.
Osbee nodded and repeated, “Ginger, please.”
After pulling the extra plate, fork, knife, and spoon from the cupboard, Ginger slid her own plate down the table and placed the extra one next to it. She moved a side chair into place and then reluctantly she sat down, the view from Jesse’s chair awkward and uncomfortable.
“Now I will sit in Ginger’s spot to the right and leave the new chair empty. Oliver, you will sit in Bea’s spot on your mother’s left. Henry, you sit in Oliver’s spot next to me, just to mix it up, and, Bea, you’ll sit in Henry’s spot, next to Oliver. And, Samuel, will you please sit at dinner with us? You will sit at the end.”
Startled, Samuel stood at attention, looking from one chair to another, his eyes wider than Ginger had ever seen them. Then he looked down at his disheveled, dirty clothes and shuffled uncomfortably from one tattered shoe to the other. Ginger smiled, leaning forward, placing her elbows on the table and resting her cheek on her right hand. He was so Southern. Could he sit at the table in his state of appearance?
Henry and Bea giggled at his awkwardness and quickly sat down in their new seats.
“Oliver,” Bea whispered and brushed her hand at him as if it would put him in his seat. He seemed confused, so Bea patted the chair next to her. With a shrug, Oliver sat down in his new spot on his mother’s left.
“Please sit, Samuel,” Osbee said as she went back into the kitchen.
He met Ginger’s eyes and was gone. All at the table let out a soft moan of disappointment.
“Wh-where’d he go?” Oliver asked.
“Maybe he’s changing,” Osbee said, returning with glasses and placing one at every plate, including Samuel’s.
“Can he change?” Henry wondered.
“I don’t know,” the old woman replied and stepped back into the kitchen.
As she came in with the chicken and biscuits, Samuel reappeared. He was now wearing his jacket, buttoned up neatly. The rest of his appearance was the same.
With both hands, he brushed the front of his coat to smooth it and then he sat down slowly as if the chair was going to up and run away from under him.
“You look fine, Samuel,” Osbee said reassuringly as she sat down next to Ginger.
He gave a nod as he looked around the table, adjusting himself in his seat. She watched his eyes move from person to person and when he finally rested his gaze upon her she peered back into the shadow of his soft brown irises. They had been so clear this day at Cedar Creek and though they were but shadows holding her within them, she felt she could still see Jesse there. She smiled a small smile and, in return, a matching smile appeared on his lips.
“Your elbows are on the table, Virginia Moon,” he said quietly. She popped up in her seat and quickly she put her hands in her lap.
“Their good manners are from their father?” Samuel inquired.
Henry, Bea, and Oliver snickered.
“I did say that,” Ginger noted.
“We’ll give thanks tonight,” Osbee said, folding her hands before her and bowing her head. Everyone followed. “Thank you for the food and for each other,” Osbee began. “Thank you for the love and peace we have in this house. And thank you . . . thank you for Samuel, who stood with me today when I thought I was alone, standing with me like family. We are grateful he finds a place at our table. Amen.”
“Amen,” was the response.
“Samuel?” Bea lifted her glass and handed it toward her mother for milk.
“Yes, Bea?”
“Why are your buttons all different?”
He thought a minute and laughed softly. “That, Bea, is a story. It starts when I was heading to war.”
“Please pass your glass, Henry,” Ginger said.
December 14, 1862
Fredericksburg
My love, Juliette,
We sit in ranks upon Prospect Hill, the dawn seen through thick fog as a drop of blood falling into water—a diffuse pink glow on the horizon. It will rise into the heavens as it did yesterday, taking with it the mist and leaving a harrowing view of what the day will bring on the field below. If this battle follows the many others before, the Union defeat will now proceed with a careful withdrawal. Cowardly is my only word for it. Why fight and withdraw? We are armies; our purpose is to fight, but with each withdrawal, we simply prolong this war, with mounting dead and the people, over whose fields we battle, reduced to eating what we leave behind under our feet. I’m afraid there will be no one left to celebrate or mourn the conclusion of this war on either side. It worries me deeply. So we wait as messengers ride up and down these hills and order us to hold position.
The battle yesterday was horrendous. Here on Prospect Hill, the Union broke through our line after achieving the top, but we countered and drove them back. By the end, we figure the losses nearly equal on both sides—4,000 to 5,000 each. I moved with the bird’s call, causing my own Lieutenant, Fletcher Hallings, to be hit in the arm. He rests next to me even now, the deep wound in his upper arm bandaged tightly. How he is going to fire his musket with the rising dawn is a quandary, but he will not leave my side.
The fight on the hill next to us, Marye’s Heights, was a one-sided victory. Seven assaults were pushed back with 9,000 Union soldiers dying afield as the sun set. We sat in the darkness, death sounding around us as if the earth itself hurt from holding the weight of such agony and let forth the deep, soulful moan of a mother’s loss all night. In answer, the sky came to life, a gentle stream of spectral color flowed across heaven. Never have I seen such and those around me whispered in wonder that it was God celebrating our victory.
But they do not see with their Child’s Eye. I do. The earth keened for her lost children as heaven above opened, showing us the fires and candles of Kronos’s Hall reflected in his raised glass as he greeted the victorious dead into Elysium. I have been convinced I alone see with my Child’s Eye and so did not share my view, as surely a war of words would break out in the dying night between my men and me.
Hope came, though, in the likes of a messenger from Marye’s Heights. It seems a man, a solitary South Carolinian, sat behind the stone wall at the base of the Heights. He was as close as any who were there from 9,000 dying men crying for help, for water, for death, separated by nothing more than a pile of stone. My love, this singular man crested the wall as the Northern Lights streamed above, risking his own life to bring water to the dying—to answer the call for help.
As the messenger relayed the story, many men cursed him for helping the enemy. I held my tongue, for I now know another in this war sees with their Child’s Eye and there is no explaining such to those who do not. I gazed over to Fletcher and found his face bright and full of hope at the new
s from Marye’s Heights. He met my eye and darkened quickly, but I winked and smiled. In response, he smiled, chuckling a little even as he was in pain from his wound. With Fletcher, we count three who see with the Child’s Eye.
There is no evidence this war shall ever end yet I have found hope, for I know now of others who seek to right all of this wrong. I know one who will, against orders, act to make right. My journey has become less lonely, for I have found comfort and companionship in others here. I have found a moment of joy as I travel to you.
Your devoted,
Samuel
Chapter 23
Jar of Clay
The moon was out. Its cool glow lifts the world from the deep, sorrowful shadows of the new moon. Dark and despairing in its separation from the warm light of its mother, the sun, the new moon drifts in darkness, gravity causing it to endlessly fall toward earth as if seeking comfort in the blinding black void in which it moves. Earth forever pushes the moon back the way an elder sibling pushes away a pestering younger one when the mother is gone. But the moon by its nature can only be selfless and small and as its mother, the sun, touches it once more, it exhales softly in gray and white over the earth, eternally sharing with its elder sibling the joy felt in their mother’s glow.
Lying on her side, Ginger found the world beyond her window bright against the darkness of her room. The window should have been shielded from her eyes by the shoulder of her husband, but he was not there. Instead, her view was inside her mind, held back then with Samuel on an autumn field in the violet hour of Virginia with tumultuous war raging around them. She couldn’t shake the vision and her head throbbed as it rested upon her pillow. Weary though she was, no sleep had come nor would it. The alarm on her cell phone was going to sound shortly and she was going to get up for work. She couldn’t wait. Work would close her mind’s eye.
She reached across the bed to the empty space where Jesse had once lain. It was cold and smooth, untouched for so long. Brushing it as if it were his back, she felt Samuel enter. Without a warning, she began to sob quietly, uncontrollably until the soft gray-white light beyond the window was but a blur.
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