The Face of Heaven

by Murray Pura

  “I do. We may be in for another string of defeats just like it was before Antietam.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Burnside will be sent packing for the high number of casualties here. I expect Hooker is next in line and I have no more confidence in him than I do in Burnside.”

  “I thought we might have turned the corner at Antietam Creek.”

  Hiram bent to wipe his hands on the grass. “With victories at Perryville, Kentucky, and out west in Corinth, Mississippi, I thought so too. But I’m afraid this is looking like the familiar pattern reasserting itself.”

  Morganne had her hands on her hips. “You might be wrong, Hiram.”

  “Wrong?” He straightened. “Well, in the vagaries and vicissitudes of war and life things sometimes come full circle. One day it might be us dug in on the heights and entrenched behind the stone wall. Then we’ll see if Robert E. Lee fares any better than we did today.”

  The next morning Union troops began withdrawing across the canal and the Rappahannock. In the marching and the turmoil Lyndel glimpsed the black hats of the Iron Brigade but couldn’t spot Nathaniel or her brother. She and Morganne remained at Marye’s Heights and Fredericksburg for several more weeks, caring for the wounded men before they were sent on to hospitals in Washington and elsewhere. Hiram disappeared to file his story for his paper and then returned.

  The days were cold and harsh. Two letters came from Nathaniel that she devoured, sitting in the kitchen of an abandoned house in Fredericksburg. When she picked up a pencil in her gloved hands to write a short reply she found she couldn’t focus on the characters of the alphabet; they kept blurring or shifting positions.

  Getting up to make herself a cup of tea and set things to rights she felt dizzy, and she steadied herself on the back of the chair. She took a careful step, and then as she made ready for another, the dizziness enveloped her completely and she collapsed, knocking over the heavy wooden chair that had been her support.

  Morganne, washing up in the next room, came running and found Lyndel unconscious on the floor. She flew down the street for one of the surgeons, who quickly saw Lyndel had developed pneumonia in one of her lungs and that it was likely to spread to her second lung in her weakened condition.

  “She’s worn herself thin,” the physician scolded. “You both have. Not enough sleep. Few proper meals.”

  “The wounded always come first for us, Doctor,” replied Morganne. “You can’t budge us on that.”

  “Miss Keim will need to go somewhere clean and quiet in order to recuperate, and soon, or we will lose her.”

  “Hiram Wright can get her to Washington by wagon and rail. We have a residence there. The Palmer family will take her in.”

  “Are you certain of that? She will require care if she is to recover.”

  Morganne’s eyes were dark. “I’m sure the Palmers will take her in. Just as I am sure she will get the care she needs.”

  The doctor folded up his stethoscope. “Whatever arrangements you can make, do them now. If she is to survive, Miss Keim must be transported to Washington immediately.”

  17

  Nathaniel pulled open the wooden door of the small log cabin the men in the brigade had built for their winter camp in Virginia. Levi had removed a section of the roof for the daylight hours and sun poured into the normally dark enclosure. He looked up at Nathaniel from a Bible he was reading as he sat on an overturned cracker box. Joshua was on the edge of his cot with a newspaper spread over his knees.

  “Any mail?” Joshua asked without glancing up from the paper.

  “Not for us,” Nathaniel replied. “At least, not from home. Miss David sends me a note saying Lyndel rallies some days but does poorly on others.”

  Levi’s face was in a shadow. “We ought to pray together for her.”

  “Ja.”

  Joshua, with his eyes still on the newspaper said, “When Fighting Joe Hooker took over command of the army from Burnside he said he’d take care of his men. And he has. The whole brigade is loaded down with parcels from home he’s ordered through the lines at the pace of a lightning bolt. Ham got a bunch of summer preserves from Indiana just yesterday and not one jar was broken.”

  Levi answered, “Hooker didn’t reckon on the intractability of the Pennsylvania Amish. When they sent those goodbye letters in October they meant them. Lyndel told me they even stopped sending packages of medicine and bandages.”

  Nathaniel sat on his bed. “That’s true. She still mails them letters but who knows if anyone reads them? Before she took ill she sent them a note saying everyone was alive, that none of us had been injured at Fredericksburg.”

  “If they read the casualty lists in the paper they’ll know that,” said Joshua.

  “So would your father read such lists?” asked Nathaniel.

  “No.”

  Nathaniel nodded. “Most won’t. Perhaps Bishop Keim makes a habit of it so he knows how to pray. Well, boys, the fact is, we can’t stay gloomy all winter because others get food parcels and we don’t. I went to the sutler and purchased a few items.” He dug into the deep pockets of his frock coat and pulled out four red apples. “One for each of us. At least they’re hard as rock.” He tossed them to his friends and reached into another pocket and pulled out a glass jar of peaches. “Use your spoons to scoop up a few mouthfuls. No need to save it. Eat the peaches up now before one of us gets dysentery like Jones or Groom and can’t enjoy them.”

  He handed Joshua the jar first. Joshua swooped under his cot and pulled out his mess kit. Then he unscrewed the lid and spooned about a fourth of it onto his tin plate before passing the jar on to Levi. Nathaniel got what was left. He tipped the jar back to let the peach slices and juice slide into his mouth.

  “My, my, that was good,” Joshua said as he bit into his apple. “Thank you, Brother King. I don’t suppose the sutler sold them at a bargain price?”

  “He always says he has a family to support and that their house has twice been shelled by Rebel artillery.”

  Joshua snorted. “Some boy likely put a stone through his window with a slingshot. But his wares are worth it. Amish that have been orphaned need to find good food wherever they can get it. My treat next time.”

  Levi finished his apple. “I don’t wish to disrupt the festive occasion, but have you heard any more news about the…execution? Have they changed their minds?”

  The cabin grew silent. Nathaniel shook his head.

  “And Nip?”

  Nathaniel blew air out of his mouth. “He has to be part of the firing squad. There are fifteen of them from the regiment.”

  “Did you speak with him?”

  “No. Captain Hanson had taken him aside.”

  “Execution. Such a hard sentence for a young man who was afraid.” Levi looked up at the scrap of blue sky and then at his companions. “Can we have that time of prayer now?”

  They slowly nodded. All three knelt by their beds. Levi began to pray out loud in German. He began by asking mercy for the soul of the boy of seventeen who was going to be shot. Then he moved on to those who were ill in the brigade’s winter camp, especially those from their platoon and company. After that he asked that his sister’s life be spared. Joshua followed him, then finally Nathaniel. There was no time for the amen. A muffled and grim drumroll interrupted their thoughts and worship.

  Joshua’s face was white. “The boy and I—Wir sind im gleichen Alter. We are the same age.”

  The February afternoon remained bright and cool with pale clouds to the east. The 19th Indiana formed companies and stood rigidly at attention. The soldier was brought forward to stand in front of an embankment. Solomon Meredith, who commanded the Iron Brigade now after Gibbon’s promotion and appointment to another unit, sat on his horse staring straight ahead while the charges were read. Mounted next to him was the 19th’s new colonel, Samuel Williams. A captain barked an order and the firing squad marched forward.

  The platoon spotted Nip right away, the sh
ortest man in the group. There had been much rejoicing in the company when he had reappeared in their midst just before the Battle of Fredericksburg. Ham had promptly dubbed him Lazarus. Now Nathaniel felt the muscles of his stomach tighten for both Nip and the deserter. If only Meredith or Williams would rescind the decision and spare the two young men the agony of the moment. But the blindfold was tied over the deserter’s eyes and the fifteen muskets were raised as the commands were snapped out. The youth stood alone, swaying a bit in the cold breeze off the nearby Potomac, as if he were a thin sapling. Then the guns cracked and he fell.

  When the regiment was dismissed Nathaniel watched as Joshua made for Nip and put an arm around his shoulder. Nip did not shrug it off. God have mercy, he prayed, thinking of Nip and the boy whose body was sprawled on the hard earth next to a wooden coffin, Christ have mercy, Christus erbarme dich. He began to walk back to his winter cabin on a makeshift street lined with scores of similar cabins.

  I did not reckon on firing squads, Lord, when I prayed about bearing arms to put an end to slavery.

  “Sergeant King.” It was Captain Hanson.

  “Sir.”

  “What word do you have on our regimental nurses?”

  Nathaniel was at attention. “Miss David is at Armory Square Hospital until the army commences its spring offensives. Miss Keim is still recovering at a private residence.”

  “Stand easy. We’re not on the parade ground here.” Hanson handed Nathaniel a slip of paper. “Here’s something that’s better than money. Or a jar of summer peaches.”

  Nathaniel glanced at the note. It was a three-day pass to Washington. His eyes returned to Hanson in surprise. “What is this about?”

  Hanson smoothed the sides of his mustache. “What does it look like it’s about? We want you to get our girl back on her feet before the regiment moves out in April. Surely you can make a difference to her if anyone can. It’s Tuesday. I have no desire to see you back here until Saturday. Is that understood?”

  “I believe it is.”

  “Once you return you can think about the sermon you’ll be preaching to the Hoosiers on Sunday.”

  “Sermon?”

  “You know the trouble we’ve been having with our chaplains. We never seem to have one around when we need a good stiff morning of preaching. You’re from a religious family. You’ll fit the bill. Miss David has even agreed to come down and play a hymn for the boys on her guitar.”

  “I have no idea what to preach about. I’ve never done a sermon.”

  Hanson fixed him with a sharp gaze. “The regiment is much like the rest of the brigade and the Army of the Potomac when it comes to the Emancipation Proclamation—they didn’t sign up to fight for the darkies; they say they signed up to fight for their country. I’d like you to work on softening their opinion of the Africans. While you’re at it, bring the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost into it. You’ve told me several times why you enlisted and exactly what the slave hunters did in your farming community in Pennsylvania. Now tell the lads. Then bless ’em.”

  Hanson clapped a hand to Nathaniel’s shoulder. “There’s a steamer at the landing taking on sick for hospitals in Washington. Two men from your platoon are already on it, Jones and Groom. It’ll be heading up the Potomac in an hour. Get whatever gear you think you need and be on it. Mind you get that woman up and about again. Two months will go by like a racehorse and we’ll be on the march and looking for a fight with Stonewall and Lee.”

  It was not a long trip. Nathaniel chatted with Jones and Groom and afterward stood by the bow of the steamboat and let the edge of the February air fall sharp on his face.

  At the dock he made his way off the vessel and struck out for the Palmer house, where Lyndel and Morganne boarded. He was welcomed warmly, a cup of coffee was pushed into his hand, and then he was led to the sick room, where Lyndel slept. A nurse from Armory Square who had been caring for her got up from her chair and left him alone. He stood over the bed and lightly touched her hand but she didn’t stir.

  I didn’t think you would be so pale. Or so quiet. I thought I might finally get to see your scarlet hair in all its glory but they’ve tucked it up under a white cap. Where is your prayer covering? And what is this scar on your cheek?

  The fire was almost out in the hearth. Nathaniel peeled off his coat and pack and hung them from the back of the chair the nurse had been sitting in. Bending down he added several small logs to the dying flames and blew on them until the wood ignited. He returned to the bed, kissed Lyndel on a forehead that felt colder than the winter air, glanced at the edge of a mustard plaster he could see at the collar of her flannel nightgown, then turned and sat down in the chair. Pulling a thick black Bible from his pack he flipped through its pages, found the passage he wanted, and read a few verses in English followed by several in German. After several minutes of his voice Lyndel’s eyes opened. They were a blue, he thought, as brilliant as the February sky.

  “What is that you have been reading?” she asked.

  “Psalm 119. It’s very long.”

  “May I have a drink of water?”

  There was a tall glass and a pitcher on a table behind him. He got up, poured her a glass, and took it to the bed. Placing one arm under her shoulders and head he lifted her so that she could drink properly. When she’d had enough he carefully placed her head back on the pillow. Her eyes followed him.

  “What day is it?”

  He smiled down at her. “A Tuesday. February 10th.”

  “What year?”

  “It’s 1863.”

  “They told me it was still 1862.”

  “A little over a month ago they might have said that.”

  She frowned and her face took on a bit of color. “No. They told me that yesterday.”

  “Well, today it’s 1863.”

  Lyndel stared at the ceiling. “Am I not better yet?”

  “Not quite.”

  “I was told the pneumonia hadn’t spread to the other lung.”

  “That’s my understanding also.”

  He took her hand. She looked at him and tugged it away.

  “You’re being quite free.”

  Startled, he didn’t know how to reply. “I apologize.”

  “I like your voice, however. Perhaps you could read a while longer. How about the Gospel of Matthew?”

  He sat back in the chair, found Matthew, and began to read out loud again. Once he reached the Sermon on the Mount she stopped him. “What is your opinion of turning the other cheek? Is it something that is practicable?”

  “Christ practiced it.”

  “Sometimes. Not so much when he cleansed the temple. Or when you come to Matthew chapter 23 and he calls the religious leaders sons of hell and a brood of vipers.”

  “Still he didn’t harm anyone or kill anyone.”

  “No. He was not a man of violence.” She stared at him, the blue in her eyes brightening. “Is turning the other cheek something that can be practiced in war?”

  Nathaniel closed the Bible on his thumb. “It would be difficult on the large scale but possible between one man and another.”

  “Explain yourself.”

  “I mean it would be hard to practice on a battlefield but easier between one soldier and another.”

  Her eyes roamed back to the ceiling. “Yet I’ve seen it done on the battleground. A sergeant of the Confederacy took his life in his hands to walk out plainly among the Union wounded and offer them water. No guns were fired at him. Nor did he consider the wounded soldiers his enemy.”

  “Ja. I’ve heard about that.”

  “Then there are the pickets from both sides who exchange food and pleasantries. Some have even crossed the river and sat by each other’s campfires.”

  He nodded. “They can get in trouble from their commanding officers but a good number do it just the same.”

  “I see by your clothing you are a soldier.”

  “I am, ma’am.”

  “Addressing me as Miss will do. And w
here are you stationed at the present?”

  “Belle Plain. Just over the border in Virginia. On the banks of the Potomac River.”

  “Some church folk think you can’t follow Christ and fight in this war. How would you respond to such an assertion?”

  “For two years I have tried to do it, Miss.”

  “Have you succeeded?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But God knows. Though you would hardly call all the fury and killing of battle turning the other cheek, Sergeant.”

  “No. Yet I have not hated. I have not rejoiced in the flow of another man’s blood.” He leaned back in the chair. “Sometimes in the fight I do feel, even there, I’m trying to turn the other cheek. It’s hard to put into words. I’m sure a religious person who was against war would say my thoughts on the matter made no sense. Especially while I was squeezing the trigger.”

  Her eyes were upon him again. “How strangely you talk. I could let you ramble on all day but I’m growing tired again.” Her eyes closed. “How odd that I could be so intimate with a total stranger.”

  She was suddenly as deeply asleep as she had been when he first entered the room. As the heat from the fire continued to fill the small space he settled back and closed his own eyes and also slept. There was the sound of their breathing and the sound of the flames and that was all.

  18

  I have seen Him in the watchfires of a hundred circling camps,

  They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;

  I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps;

  His day is marching on.

  I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel:

  “As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;

  Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,

  Since God is marching on.”