The Ladies Society scheduled a fundraiser for December 15 months ago. The Fredericksburg victory encouraged heightened celebration as did the valiant solders returning home for a welcomed reprieve. Would Father be one of them? She’d not seen him since April of 1861. Only an occasional letter telling of his recent battle told her he was still alive. Now December of 1862, surely Father would be home for Christmas.
She heard the pitter-patter of shoes on the stairway and Aunt Louise entered the room slightly out of breath. “Oh, Maggie, you look beautiful! I can hardly wait to see you dancing off into the moonlight with that handsome Will. Oh, I do hope we make a sizeable amount for the Cause. Our brave men deserve our support.”
The hound dogs barked, Old Reb baying a welcome to his master. “It’s Father and Will—”
“And my Blake!”
The two women hurried down the winding staircase of Spirit Wind. The door burst open allowing the chilly December breezes to sweep across the room, then Father swept her into his arms.
She buried her head in his gray coat, which smelled of smoke, gunpowder, dried leaves, and tobacco, and wept for joy.
“Oh, Blake, Blake!” Aunt Louise ran with arms stretched wide and was instantly swept up into Blake’s strong embrace, their bodies forming one as they kissed.
Dear Father, how he must miss Mother at a time like this. “I missed you!” She kissed him on the cheek, then poked at his coat. “Father, your coat is stiff… and wet. Frozen in spots?”
His face, a pasty shade of gray, was set with deep concaves. His only color was his twinkling blue eyes embedded in black circles, like a sparkling sapphire in charcoal.
“I suspect these twenty months sleeping on the cold ground hasn’t helped your rheumatism. When are you going to admit you are too old to be fighting a young man’s war?”
“Ah, daughter, what man wouldn’t be proud to do so? I feel twenty years younger.” His beard, more a dirty white than gray, swept his chest; his body was lean and his skin brown like a walnut and leathery as an old buck’s. He rolled back his head and allowed his laughter to roar like a waterfall in his deep chest.
Will Jr. and Little Irene came clambering down the stairway, their screams drowning out any further conversation. Little Irene ran up to Maggie’s father, jumping up and down, screaming, “Santa Claus came early!” She looked curiously up at him. “What happened to your red suit and belly! Did the war take them, too?”
Will laughed, gathering her into his strong embrace. “No, daughter, it’s Papa Gatlan.” Picking her up in one arm and his son in the other, the two children’s little arms encircled his neck as they kissed him on his reddened cheek. It was clear that living in the outdoors agreed with Will. His ash-colored hair swept the back of his lieutenant’s uniform and met his sloping sideburns. His beard was shorter than her father’s, of a reddish-yellow color, which complemented the gold braiding sweeping his broad shoulders and the gold sash about his slender waist.
His sapphire-blue eyes swept her form with a covering glance. “My, you’re a vision, Maggie. I believe you’ve grown prettier, though how that is possible, I can’t believe. You’re already heads above any southern women I’ve ever met, except Irene. …Well, don’t I get a kiss for that compliment?”
Maggie laughed. “If I can find room between your children.” Will handed Little Irene to Ida and Will Jr. to Hattie. He stepped closer, his arms open and inviting.
Ben’s dark face flashed before her mind’s eye. She felt the touch of his lips burning hers as though it were yesterday. Her feet felt glued to the floor. “Aren’t you glad to see me?” Will’s face turned scarlet red.
“Of course, she is. Why she has prayed nonstop for you, Will,” said Aunt Louise.
Maggie stepped forward and kissed Will on the cheek, her heart pounding like a war drum at Aunt Louise’s remark. “It is true, Will. Little Irene, Will Jr., Miss Peabody, and I have prayed for Father’s and your safe return daily.” She sent a silent prayer heavenward that hers and Hattie’s efforts at making over Miss Peabody would work its charms into Will’s heart.
“Miss Peabody?” Will’s eyebrows furrowed.
“She is a great admirer of yours.”
Her father laughed. “Evidently your prayers were heard, daughter. Say, what’s all the going on at the courthouse?”
“Oh, Maryville is having a fundraiser for the Southern Cause. But we won’t go, you must be tired and—”
“Nonsense, that’s just what we need to renew our spirits.” Her father looked from Will to her uncle. “Tell Cook to start warming up the water, looks like we’ll need a soaking to get off a year and a half of dirt. And get my clothes cleaned up, daughter.”
Will chuckled. “It’s about time we kicked up our heels instead of fighting.”
Maggie and Aunt Louise entered the carriage in a flurry of hoops and petticoats and made themselves comfortable between Father, Will, and Blake. Father was in a cheerful mood and fingered his beard often as though it had given him his appointment as major general.
“Blake, tell the ladies how you managed to get through that squabble in Fredericksburg?” Her father bellowed like he was talking to a division of soldiers. Eyeing her aunt, Maggie tugged at his arm and motioned for him to be careful.
“Squabble?” Aunt Louise grabbed her husband’s arm, hugging it to her chest as if fearing Blake might be a dream. “Why the papers said that over 5,000 Confederates lost their lives. I was praying you weren’t one of them.”
“Darling.” Blake kissed her on the top of her draping long curls. “Gatlan likes to make sport of it because the North lost 12,000. Of course, I didn’t see any newspaper men out on the battlefield counting the dead, either.”
“You should have seen them. The Union army put this Irish regiment up first, playing their drums and waving this flag the color of grass. They were like sitting ducks.” Will pantomimed holding a rifle in his hand. “Pow, pow, pow, then we got the cannons loaded and—”
“That will be enough of that, Will,” her father said. “Didn’t Ben McConnell join that regiment, Maggie?”
She kept her face as impersonal as she could. “Yes.”
“I never saw such bravery.” Blake leaned back on the carriage seat and sighed. “You could hear their voices drifting across the hill side, singing ‘The Color of the Green.’ You know what they call their leader?” He looked around at their faces. “Fighting Dick, right, Gatlan?”
“Yeah. And heard tell Fighting Dick’s regiment is called ‘the rowdy fighters of the Irish Brigade.’” Her father chuckled. “Fighting Dick didn’t give them that title; the Confederates did. Remember what happened at Shiloh?”
“Oh, right, yeah.” Blake leaned forward, his eyes bright and shining. “Grant was their commander then. I heard they came storming over the bunkers. They might have won, but Grant decided to retreat. We’ve got us the best commander in Lee. He proved that in Fredericksburg. The North is whimpering now, licking their wounds like a whipped dog.”
“Isn’t there a Confederate Irish Brigade in Tennessee?” Maggie asked.
“How do you know that, daughter? Have you been keeping up with the reporters following the armies?”
“No,” Aunt Louise said. “We keep our ears open to all the gossip.”
“Well, they have a Georgia regiment, too. Colonel Patrick Moore commands the 10 th Tennessee Irish Regiment.” Her father looked down at his hands. “These Irish have adopted this land with their whole heart. The Union army puts them up front to take the first onslaught of bullets. It’s hard to watch at times. They fight father against son, just like a lot of our families do.”
Blake rubbed his chin. “I couldn’t believe that one Irishman. I think it must have been his son. …”
“What?” Maggie was instantly alert. Ben said his father had joined the Confederacy.
“The fighting had just commenced and we were waiting our orders. There the Irish Brigade cavalry was, right out in front, the bugle sounding charge an
d… they were being knocked down like turkeys at a shooting match. A tall captain bringing up Fighting Dick’s rear got hit… then this old Irish Reb from Colonel Moore’s regiment galloped forward and knocked this other Reb off his horse before he could shoot again, and sped across the field to help the Irish blue coat.”
Will’s eyes gleamed into hers. “I don’t see how either one could have lived through that battle.” He punched his fist into his open hand. “What a waste of brave men. Well, the war can’t last much longer. These Yanks know we’re serious. They’ll soon be scooting it back up north.”
Every potted plant in town had been commissioned for the dance, turning the drab brown building into a garden of color and grace. Hydrangea, oleanders, and elephant ears had made the trip over snow dusted roads and icy temperatures.
All types of instruments from bull fiddles to accordions, banjos and knuck-bones were available. Combined with an assortment of musicians ranging from the very young to the very old, the oldest being Old George who just turned ninety. The men’s voices raised in argument as to which songs to play first. Old George, due to his age and experience, won and picked a waltz.
Maggie, her father, Louise and Blake, Matron Burns, and Miss Peabody had purposely arrived early. Maggie set out the punch and glasses, arranged the cookies and refreshments, and surveyed the booths. Eli lit the candle wall sconces and her father and Blake lit the huge chandelier in the center of the room.
Days before, gracious settees and Queen Anne upholstered chairs had been brought and set in groups for the elderly ladies and gentlemen to watch the festivities of the evening in comfort.
The neighs of horses and the tinkling of bells on the harness and breastplates, coupled with the sound of carriage wheels, told Maggie the guests were arriving.
Like the roar of the great wind, the hall burst into life. Ladies, whose robin red and apple-green water silk hoop skirts gave the impression of floating in air, laughed and coquetted, their arms hugging a recovering soldier home for recuperation. The soldiers wore soft gray, with gold braids on their cuffs and collars. Red, yellow, or blue stripes on the trousers displayed the different branches of the service.
“My, too bad I have only two sides.” Will winked at Miss Peabody, who was arrayed in lavender. Her golden hair crowned her kind face and aqua blue eyes. “Save the next dance for me, Miss Peabody.” His gold sash swung in tempo to his quick steps. He offered Maggie his arm.
Maggie and Will joined the couples waltzing around the room. Glimmering lace petticoats peeped shyly from beneath the ladies’ rustling dresses as lace flounces gently caressed ivory bosoms and shoulders. Swans down feather fans dangled from their gloved wrists.
Will hadn’t taken his eyes off of her. She glanced at Miss Peabody.
Yes, Miss Peabody noticed. She was a welcomed visitor to Spirit Wind, babysitting Will’s children every chance she got between working at the hospital darning socks and gloves for the soldiers. Maggie made a note to tell Will.
Will looked dashing in his uniform. The shiny buttons captured the candlelight and the chandelier cast a glow on his blond hair, making him appear like a golden Caesar. His sweeping sideburns met his beard, which wrapped around his chin like a wooly scarf. His saber clanged with every stride of his long legs as if to remind his dancing partner that she was dancing with a gallant soldier armed to defend her honor.
“Will you keep your beard?”
“I will through winter. It helps to keep one’s face from freezing, sleeping out in the elements like we do. Do you like me better with or without it?”
Will was handsome; there was no getting around it. And if he decided to shave his face or even his sideburns, he’d still be handsome what with his large blue eyes framed with the longest lashes she’d ever seen on a man. “Whatever way you want to wear it is fine with me.”
The music stopped and the couples dispersed to the punch bowl, a few ladies opening their fans. She had forgotten hers.
“You are the most beautiful lady here, Maggie, so no use trying to compare yourself with the others, because, to me, there is no comparison.”
Maggie dabbed her handkerchief across her forehead. No wonder she was feeling warm, with Will burning a hole through her face. How could she tell him she could never consider him as a beau? To her, he would always be Irene’s husband.
Her father was suddenly by her side. “Will, Lincoln plans to sign a law freeing our Confederate slaves.”
“He can’t do that. Besides, we’re winning this war, with less men and less equipment than the Union.”
“Daughter, did you know about this?”
As if she or anyone could have stopped it. However, she could halt one catastrophe in its tracks. She needed to keep her father in good humor, at least through the evening’s festivities. The Ladies Society had gone to too much trouble for this ball, and she didn’t need Father getting the men up in arms.
Father gulped his whisky down. “To think I trusted that man.”
“Father, I don’t think you should blame President Lincoln. Congress has been busy enacting laws against the South since the war began. President Lincoln has called for both South and North to pray.”
“Daughter.” His eyes glared down at her like two steel swords. “He is not a gentleman of his word.”
“But… didn’t we give our word? And didn’t we start this war by firing on Fort Sumter?”
“Might as well accept the fact,” Lawyer Peabody said. “If we don’t win, forget about having the South we had before the war.”
“I think that you might be exaggerating the urgency. We shall still be Americans.” Maggie hardly recognized the reserved Peabody in his Confederate gray. His hair appeared darker and his black beard poked out like a teacher’s pointer in front of his chin. Could what Peabody say be true?
Peabody rolled back on his shiny boot heels. His eyes, as alert as a sentry, gleamed into hers. He appeared to enjoy her spirited comebacks. “Yes, we shall, but Lincoln has already signed a preliminary Emancipation Proclamation. It is only a matter of time when all slaves will be given their freedom under that proclamation, and,” he leaned closer, “given the vote.”
She frowned. “Women don’t have that privilege.”
“How can that be, most of them can’t read or write,” Will said.
“Which means our slaves will be voting the way their Union emancipators wish them to. We live in changing times and the South needs to quit holding onto the middle ages and change, too.” Peabody turned to Maggie. “You and your mother had the right idea. We also need to give women the vote. Southern women have a lot to offer the South.”
Her father looked down at his empty glass, twirling it in his hand. “We need to get France and Britain to join our side. How is that coming along?”
“What? With the Union blockading our ports?”
“Looks like the blockade runners are getting across.” Maggie nodded toward the bright finery and the scarlet and gold tassels of the men who milled around the room.
“Right, but they couldn’t get our ambassador through, and I don’t know that France or Britain is going to join unless we can assure them a victory.”
The scents of sachet and hair pomade and burning cranberry and evergreen candles floated past her nose. The hubbub of voices and occasional laughter mingling with the banjo and strings of Old George’s fiddle was only a backdrop to the entertainment, and the money freely flowed. Knoxville’s hospital should make a famous amount tonight.
“Well, the war should soon be over. Not even the arrogant Union can stand to lose all that many soldiers.” Peabody bowed. “Miss Maggie, may I have this dance?”
Miss Peabody was instantly by Will’s side, batting her silky lashes at him. Her lavender silk, with the wide insets of white lace, set off to perfection the golden highlights in her hair.
The laughter rose and the room vibrated with the firm steps of the soldiers and the dainty ones of the ladies. The pulsating spirit of the Confederacy ech
oed the chant that the war would soon be over. Stonewall Jackson’s victories in the Shenandoah Valley and the defeat of the Yankees at Manassas on the creek called Bull Run clearly showed the bravery and excellence of their gallant men in gray. The South had the best leaders in Lee and Jackson. Neither McClellan nor Grant could hold a candle to them.
Old George struck out the first notes of “Bonnie Blue Flag” and the room echoed with the sweet sopranos of the ladies and the deep basses of the gentlemen. But it was those arrayed in their gallant gray uniforms, like a solid, immovable wall that drew the admiring glances of the ladies and onlookers. Why there wasn’t a dry eye amongst them, so handsome, so reckless, so determined.
The bugler climbed up onto the platform with the musicians and standing at attention, the soldiers lifted their voices and sang. “Hurrah! Hurrah! For the Southern Rights, hurrah! Hurrah! For the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star.”
It was a beautiful flag. But, oh, how Maggie’s heart ached for the Stars and Stripes. She wished the South didn’t need to secede. The Confederacy was so determined to erase any semblance to their northern neighbors that they had changed their currency and bonds. Only gold remained as it always was.
As Maggie scanned the crowd, she spotted Reynolds. He shoved his way toward her, his eyes staring, not relinquishing his hold on her. She shuddered. Even murderers were accepted into the South’s social elite, if they would carry a gun for the cause. Lawyer Peabody glanced at her and promptly steered Reynolds toward the punch bowl.
“Hurrah! Hurrah! For the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star …”
Ben loved the South, but didn’t want a divided nation. Her heart was split between loving her southern neighbors and the United States. Between believing in the cause and believing in Christ. Conscience and consequence as Ben often said. With tears in her eyes, Maggie prayed. Lord, help southerners and northerners find a common ground, a common love between race and creed, and a unity of brotherly love that will forever unite this land of ours.
Swept into Destiny Page 19
