by J. L. Salter
“But what if you were known to be, or thought to be, sympathetic to the Confederacy?”
“No civil law, no due process… just martial law. The Federal commander was widely despised because of how he treated Kentuckians. By the spring of 1864, the occupying forces were involved in Kentucky civil matters, including elections. Mitch, check this out,” she said, stabbing the top pages. “In the Presidential election of 1864, Confederate sympathizers in Kentucky were denied the right to vote! If you were thought to be a collaborator or even a sympathizer, they could confiscate your property and have you imprisoned, deported, or even killed.”
“Sounds like you had no constitutional rights at all if you were thought to favor the South.” Returning to the sofa, Mitch examined more of Kelly’s notes and glanced back at the photocopied article she’d mentioned. “I see here that Kentucky as a whole furnished some 78,000 white Yankee soldiers, double the number of Rebel enlistees. Also about 25,000 black men joined the Union forces.”
Kelly reached for the article and scanned those numbers. “But politically — and I guess you’d say popularly — Kentucky went from neutral to mostly Union, then soured on the Yankees and cheered the Rebel raiders.” She handed the article back to Mitch. “In the period shortly after the war, all over the state, Confederate monuments were erected — at courthouses, cemeteries, and parks. Supposedly only one town, Vanceburg, put up a monument honoring Union soldiers.”
Mitch flipped to a different page. “This article says Kentucky experienced approximately 130 combats, however they’re defined, during the war. That number really surprised me. Also I hadn’t realized eleven significant battles were fought in Kentucky.”
“Me either. I’d only heard of two — Perryville and Mill Springs. Well, Dutton’s Hill makes three.”
“No doubt some of those combats occurred during Morgan’s famous raids. One of his raids came either through Pulaski County, or very near it. I read his marker at the library,” said Mitch. “It was the first thing I saw in Somerset. Know what my second sight was?”
“No clue.”
“You, walking down the library steps.”
Kelly smiled. “I’d almost forgotten. I thought you were one of the Ohio invaders, getting an early start on Labor Day.”
“Well, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.” Mitch hesitated. “Are the most beautiful.”
“Very chivalrous. But I think you’re intoxicated.”
“For eight solid months? No way.”
“Okay, if not drunk, then partly delusional.”
“Kelly, whatever I am, with you, I don’t want it to stop, no matter what medical term describes it. If I’m nuts, then I’m nuts… and don’t cure me.”
Kelly stood and moved next to where Mitch sat. He embraced her closely, his face buried against her breast. Surely he could hear her heartbeat and feel her breathing, and both were quickening. She loved embracing him, but realized he wanted much more.
She nudged his head backwards and leaned down to kiss his forehead. “No fair trying to start my engines, Mitch.” She also had deep inner stirrings which she longed to satisfy, but after the horrible marriage, bitter divorce, and a brief impetuous fling with her former boss, Kelly was adamant she would not jump into another bed.
Mitch groaned. “Kelly, I love you in my head and in my heart… and I want to show you all the rest of the ways. How long is this embargo going to last?” The look in his eyes was plaintive.
“I’m sorry, but it’s not a date on the calendar, Mitch.” She pulled him up from his chair, rested her hands on his shoulders, and studied his face. “I thought you understood I need some time… and this turn around the block, I’m not going to be rushed.” Her voice softened. “I love you, too, and I’m probably as randy as you are. But I need to wait.”
He nodded once, slowly.
“I don’t know how long, Mitch, but I need your support on this.”
“Can we still cuddle?”
Kelly smiled. “I love cuddling with you. But one of us has to be the designated stopper.”
“Uh, I guess I could volunteer.”
She whapped his chest softly. “If I trusted you to be the stopper, we would already have done the deed completely before you said a word.”
He grinned briefly, then sighed. “So it makes you the stopper, every time.”
“Can you wait, Mitch? Not sure how long, but will you be patient?”
His silence was not as long as it seemed. “I want you so bad that it hurts, Kelly. But I’ll wait, unless or until I ever get the feeling I’m just the stand-in for somebody else you’re waiting for.”
“No, Mitch.” Kelly’s eyes flooded. “No, it’s not about anybody else. No. This is me and you. But I’ve got at least two big mistakes under my belt, and I don’t want to strike out.”
“Okay.” Mitch pulled her close and hugged her tightly. Then he kissed her tear-moistened lips lightly. “Okay, I’ll wait. But I’m not going to pretend I like it.”
Chapter Nine
Saturday, April 21
Three days later, warm and beautiful with light puffs of cloud in blue skies, Kelly got a call from Diane Sutton.
“I don’t figure you for the daily coffee klatch type. But I wanted to visit with you for a bit, if you’re available.” Diane paused, possibly wondering if it sounded strange. “I mean, I interact with the girls at work, of course, but I haven’t really met anybody interesting since we’ve been up here.”
Kelly was a bit surprised at the call and considerably puzzled by that overture, but she also found Diane intriguing, so she had nothing to lose by hanging out for a while. “I’m going to the library in a few minutes. What say we meet afterwards? We could have coffee at the shop on Ogden Street. Know it?”
“The street with several big curves that comes from downtown as Mount Vernon, changes names three times, and ends up as old Highway 80?”
“The very same. How about ten-thirty?”
About an hour later, they met outside the coffee shop, Diane sitting in her sedan as Kelly drove up. The place was busy, but they didn’t have to wait for seats; the waitress came right over and they ordered. Two coffees.
“I’m glad we could get away, even if it’s just coffee. Sorry about my phone call. It must’ve made me sound pretty desperate.”
Kelly shook her head. “No, I told Mitch I thought you were interesting too.” Someone being seated next to them jostled Kelly’s chair.
“I really get tired of the everyday office talk, and I wanted to hear something different than gossip and staff meetings.” Diane observed the shop’s interior briefly. “So, how is your research going?”
“Well, I’m crawling around inside the head of Pop’s old Aunt Belva, to understand her and her family better. And I’m trying to get a feel for what life was like in Pulaski during the Civil War — you know, politically, militarily, uh, economically. Between those two efforts, I hardly recognize I’m in the twenty-first century at all.”
Without a word, the waitress brought their order and both added sweetener.
“Mitch stayed, briefly, in the farm house we’re renting now. Right?”
Kelly nodded.
“Is that where you met him?”
“Well, it’s a long story, but our first legitimate conversation was actually here in this coffee shop.” She pointed to the table they’d used.
“One of those immediate attractions?”
“Oh, no. We were working together on some research.”
Diane re-stirred her coffee. “But something bumped y’all from co-researchers to, um, a couple…”
“He was actually interested in me.” Kelly smiled. “Me, not just my figure. Not just me being a woman. But he liked my writing — he actually read it and seemed to get it. He seemed to want to read me inside. It was a brand new experience.”
“Your first time.”
Kelly laughed. “Yeah, I was a virgin, as far as a man wanting to know what goes on i
n my head and my heart. Most every other guy I’d known just wanted to know what was beneath my underwear.”
Diane nodded.
Noise occupied the entrance as a large group assembled, and several small tables were moved together to accommodate them. They dressed like secretaries from a prestigious law firm. Diane turned to observe and then faced Kelly again. “Mitch resembles somebody I’ve seen before. Can’t think who.”
“My library friend said Mitch reminds her of Harrison Ford, when he was a lot younger.”
“Hmm. Harrison Ford? Not sure I see it.”
“Well, Sallie actually said Mitch has that kind of appearance — handsome in a rumpled, maybe beat-up way. Not that he actually looks like Harrison Ford.”
“I think I might’ve been offended. Rumpled and beat up?”
“Well, remember, it was when Mitch first arrived here. He’s a lot less rumpled now… not as beat-up either.” Kelly wondered if her explanation had caused more confusion.
“So how old is Mitch?”
“Oh, about fifteen years younger than when we met last fall.”
Diane seemed even more puzzled.
“Mitch is widowed. His wife died from leukemia, nearly three years ago now. And he was a certified wreck when he rolled into town last August.”
“What happened? I mean, he seems okay to me.”
“Well, it’ll sound pretty vain for me to say it, but I’ve heard Mitch tell other people. What happened to him was… me.”
Diane’s eyes arched upward.
“I don’t know why I told you all this.”
“Because I asked,” said Diane, smiling.
The tired waitress brought the check, and her expression suggested it was time to empty their table so the early lunch crowd would have places to sit.
They did.
Out in the parking lot, they lingered near Kelly’s Jeep. The sun was warm and bright, and both had to squint.
“Kelly, do you know a woman named Ellie something?”
“Everybody in the county knows Ellie Graye. Why?”
“Figured you probably did. I met her at a scrapbook crop the other evening.”
Kelly laughed. “Now, I didn’t figure Ellie for scrapbook meetings. Unless she was barking out the instructions to everybody else.”
“No, she was just a regular cropper. We shared the same little table. Ellie’s not a fanatic about it. Tell you the truth, I think she was just going through the motions. But her sister is trying to make a little spending money selling the scrapbook supplies, so Ellie was there to support Emma.”
Kelly remembered small office environments where employees got invited to every home sales product gathering, including the ones selling scrapbook supplies.
“Well, anyway, I really enjoyed getting to know Ellie. She’s not the kind of person I’d want to go on vacation with, but she’s a live wire. She’s got a light in her eyes.”
“Light?”
“You know, some people you can spot from across a room. Their eyes just light up with energy and — oh, I’m not sure what — life, I guess. You can see the life in their eyes.”
Kelly nodded. “Yeah, Ellie’s got quite a bit of life in her, but not just her eyes. She can lift a vacuum cleaner with one hand and slap her sister-in-law with the other… while telling Emma not to miss dusting that corner. Ellie’s a live one all right. I sometimes wonder how our landlord keeps up with her.”
Diane just smiled. “Did you know Ellie was quite athletic as a girl and a teenager?” Diane fished in her purse for car keys.
“Well, like I said, I could tell she’s strong. You can see it in her upper arms when she wears short sleeves.”
“She was quite modest about it and even chastised Emma for bringing it up. But Ellie was a star on her high school softball team back in the early 1960s, I think. Went to tournaments, championships, and such.”
“Would’ve been fun to watch Ellie swing away.” Kelly smiled wistfully.
Chapter Ten
Tuesday, April 24
It was late morning when Kelly reached Don Norman’s real estate building off Craggy Road, not far from Macon Circle.
One of Pop’s Fulton aunts had married a Norman, and Don was the youngest son of one of those Norman first cousins. Pop had arranged the meeting with Don so Kelly could learn the whole story about Dutton Hill, but then the old man couldn’t attend, which left her to handle the visit alone.
After Don smiled and invited her into his office, the receptionist came to the door to ask if Kelly wanted a beverage. She didn’t.
“Well, I suppose Pop filled you in about some of what I need to ask about.” Kelly didn’t want to waste a lot of time on chit-chat.
Don seemed agreeable. “Somewhat. But he also sounded kind of mysterious. I know it’s related to the Butler family. Of course they’re as much my family as his, except I’m one generation later. So I’ll help you any way I can. But it’d be easier if I had a better picture of what you’re searching for.”
Now Kelly really wished Pop had been able to attend, because she was unsure how much information to reveal to Don. Pop and many of his contemporaries seemed to pride themselves in releasing only the tiniest bits of information, and then only to minutely specific questions. To some of them it appeared a game of information control. Kelly decided to play the opposite gambit. “Don, I’ll tell you everything I know.”
After Kelly explained her complete grasp of the two-pronged research assignment from Pop, Don seemed considerably more relaxed. Maybe I played this one right. But she also had a nagging question: what had Don assumed she wanted to uncover? And why had he seemed uneasy at first? Was there yet another mystery of the multiplied family lines coming from old Jonathan Butler? Maybe there are more skeletons among the Butler’s family issue.
Anyway, Don was currently on board with her quest, to learn as much as possible about the anonymous Confederate soldier who died in the Butler cabin. To discover Aunt Belva’s secret, if she had one, why she kept it or protected it, and who she kept it for… or from. Plus, to find out what else Belva hid, if she hid anything… and why.
Don said he could help with the general Civil War information, since it was one of his avocations. “I can also provide summary info on the Dutton Hill battle, though it won’t be all that helpful in itself. Primarily their order of battle and after-action reports, most from the Yankee perspective. There are also databases of Civil War pensions and those kinds of things. But they wouldn’t help much, figuring out anything about the individual who died in the Butler cabin.”
Kelly was puzzled.
“The thing to remember when you’re researching anything about Confederate forces — battles, reports, rosters, et cetera — is that the total body of Southern information is only a small fraction of what’s available on Union troops.”
Kelly shook her head slightly. “Why?”
“The best way to say it is because the North won the war. For every after-action report by a Rebel officer, you probably find twenty or thirty reports by Union commanders. The Yankees even had their company clerks writing up unit histories. That’s pretty rare for the beat down Rebel army retreating and eventually surrendering.”
Kelly understood his point.
“By the way, some of those unit histories on both sides are full of officers congratulating themselves or slapping each other on the back. And they routinely inflated the numbers of enemy casualties, along with other statistics. But another reason Southern records are so scant is because some of the Rebel units were organized, dissolved, reorganized, renamed, renumbered, attached to other larger units, and so on. It was a huge mess, and the Confederate Army lacked a stable, central headquarters which could have sorted out all those snags.”
“Do you have a list of the Rebel units which fought at Dutton Hill?”
“Not handy, but I can dig it up if you think you’ll need it.”
Kelly nodded.
“Nobody’s ever asked me before. The battle repo
rts of the two primary generals indicate some of the units on each side, but to get a full list, you pretty much have to research each unit’s history. Fortunately, some of them are cross-referenced. You know, the 9th battalion fought with the 10th regiment when the 11th brigade moved into Shiloh. That kind of thing. So it’s doable, if you’re sure you need it.”
She was sure.
“Okay, I’ll call you when I pull it together. But I’ve got to say, I doubt it’ll do you any good. The unit rosters, if you can find them at all, are typically incomplete. The most complete records are the mustering rolls at the end of the war when the units were dissolved, and those men still alive were sent home. But even those are less reliable for the Rebs than for the Yankees.”
“And if a man was separated from his unit?”
“If he was taken prisoner, his name might come up in records at the larger camps or compounds. Not as likely if he never got to a big prison. If he deserted, you’ll never find him… unless he was caught. If he died in a hospital, you have a chance. But if he died on the battlefield, it’s very slim, since the Confederates were often buried in mass graves. If the Union won a particular battle, there wasn’t anybody standing around writing names of the Rebel bodies being dragged into big trenches.”
“So guys badly wounded might or might not be listed by their own units as a casualty.”
“Right. Depended on the unit and how well it held together through the war. Some units were completely wiped out after a battle or two… wasn’t anybody left to write reports. Other units stayed mostly together ‘til they were paroled. So anyway, maybe the company clerk listed Frank and Ben as missing, when Frank was killed outright and Ben died three days later in a ditch where he was hiding from the enemy. There could be lots of reasons troops didn’t make it to the rendezvous point — killed, captured, wounded, deserted, or missing. Plus several of those captured later died of wounds or disease… some from starvation. A few of the missing might turn up later after they hid from enemy patrols for several days, or longer.” Don sighed heavily. “War is horrible on record-keeping.”
