Gone for a Soldier

by Ward, Marsha

  “Please consider my request, sir,” Rulon said, feeling like a beggar. “Mary’s wishes are in accord with mine.”

  Mr. Hilbrands eyed Rulon and stroked his thin moustache. “This will require discussion with my wife,” he said, his voice also conveying that he did not favor such a turn of events. “She must have an opportunity to give her opinion on this matter.”

  Rulon felt his heart plummeting to the pit of his stomach. He gulped anew and screwed up his courage for a final feint. “When might you give me an answer, sir?” He had so little time before other Virginia patriots stole a march on him and whipped the enemy. He might lose out entirely.

  Mr. Hilbrands looked even more startled, if possible. “I will speak to the missus today. I suppose you want a speedy reply?”

  Rulon nodded.

  Mr. Hilbrands raised his chin. “You may expect our answer on Sunday morning, then, before the Sabbath service.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir! I will see you then, sir.” Rulon turned on his heel and marched out of the store. Only then did he recall the errand Ma had given him to purchase a pound of sugar. He squared his shoulders—feeling very foolish—turned around, and re-entered the mercantile.

  ~~~

  Rulon arrived in the barnyard of the home place an hour later, and shouted “Pa!”

  “I’m here,” a voice called from inside the barn.

  Rulon dismounted and shoved his hair out of his eyes. When had he lost his hat? He pulled the horse along, wondering how his announcement would be received.

  “Pa,” he repeated, almost breathless, as he halted beside a horse tied securely in a stall. Rulon paused to swallow in an attempt to ease his dry throat.

  “Hmm?” Pa bent over an upraised hoof, his hammer held in midair as he evidently waited for Rulon to speak.

  “Charleston’s secesh boys fired on Fort Sumter last week. The Federals gave up the fort. Ol’ Abe Lincoln called on Virginia for troops. What an insult he gives us!” He stopped to get a breath, then continued, his words tumbling over each other. “The Virginia Convention voted to secede, but there’ll be a ratification vote in May. We’re going to war, Pa. The counties are raising new companies in case we’re called to fight. Of course we’ll be called up.”

  “What?” His father spit a mouthful of nails into his hand. “Where’d you hear that secession news, boy?”

  Rulon held out the newspaper, forgotten in his rush to impart what he had learned. “The Hilbrands’ store. I was—”

  “Hold on there.” Pa let the horse’s hoof down easy and straightened up. “You was makin’ love to his daughter. She’s too young for you.” He took the paper Rulon still offered him and let it dangle at the side of his leg.

  Rulon’s belly tightened. “I was fetchin’ the sugar Ma asked me to bring her,” he replied. Knowing he was on the edge of anger over the subject of Mary’s youth, he needed to move away and cool down.

  He stepped back to his horse, wrapped his fingers around the side of the stirrup, and gripped it so hard his hand went white. When his breathing had slowed, he released the stirrup and dug the parcel out of the saddlebag. He held it up where Pa could see the proof. Trying not to bite off his words as he lowered the packet of sugar, he said, “Miss Mary an’ me, we’ve had an understanding for quite a spell.”

  “She’s barely out of the cradle. You leave her be.”

  Rulon took a deep breath and held it for a moment before he said, “That’s up to Mary’s pa. I’ve asked him for her hand.”

  “You’ve done that? Asked Rand?” Pa shoulders seemed to sag slightly. “Have you given this plenty of thought, son? Miss Mary is still a schoolgirl.”

  Rulon measured his words. “I can’t help but think of her night and day. I know she’s young, but she’s coming up on fifteen. She wants to wed me, and she’s got a right strong opinion on the matter.”

  “You can’t wait till you whip the Yankees?”

  “No, Pa. I reckon I’ll take my chance for a bit of happiness before I leave.”

  His father shook his head in resignation. “I can’t blame you for that wish, Rulon. I expect you considered that wartime is risky?”

  “Yes, Pa. That figured into my decision.”

  Rod sighed. “If you’re set on this course, bear in mind to give the girl her happiness, too. Treat her well, and with respect. You’re committin’ for a lifetime, you understand?”

  “I never thought otherwise.”

  “You keep them marriage vows in mind while you’re away.” He looked off into the distance, as though remembering another time. Then he slapped his leg with the newspaper and turned to Rulon again. “Temptations to break them will present themselves. They always do.”

  Rulon chewed the inside of his cheek.

  “You won’t get diseased if you avoid those temptations. That’s not a thing you want to bring home to the wife.”

  Rulon shifted his weight from one leg to the other, then back again, wondering how they had gotten onto this subject. “I don’t intend—” He stopped, his voice strangled in his tight throat.

  “Then don’t give in to mankind’s carnal nature.” Pa turned away and lifted the horse’s hoof. “Don’t do it.”

  ~~~

  When Rulon came in the house before supper, Pa sat near the fireplace, reading the newspaper brought from town.

  Rulon took a seat on a stool, uneasy about striking up a conversation that could wander onto the previous topic. “Pa, are you about finished with the paper?” he asked, drumming his fingers on his knees.

  Pa looked up. “Not quite. What has you all-fired curious to read the news?”

  Rulon cleared his throat, not once, but twice. Pa continued looking at him. Rulon glanced at his father’s face, then away, and cleared his throat a third time. When he could no longer fail to respond, he said, “I’m seeking a cavalry company to join.” He swallowed, avoiding his father’s eyes entirely now. “I figured the paper would have word about a company or two being formed.”

  “Cavalry, you say?”

  “I been raised up with horses all my life long, Pa. I reckon it’s natural I go to war ridin’ one.”

  Pa nodded. “Good reasoning. Take a look, then.” He held out the paper.

  Rulon devoured the columns of print, moving his forefinger down each article. In a few moments, he flicked the paper with his nail in disgust. “There’s nothing.” He looked up to see his father watching him intently.

  “Nothing in our county?”

  “Yes. I cannot fathom it.”

  “There are several infantry companies forming up, one right over in Mount Jackson.”

  “I don’t admire the thought of trudging along on the ground. I prefer to ride.”

  Pa shifted in his chair. “Did you take notice of the mention of the Harrisonburg Cavalry?”

  “Yes, sir. It says they’re called to muster on the twenty-second of next month. Weren’t they formed a couple of years past?”

  “That’s right, after John Brown raised his ruckus. Valley folks feared his cock-eyed scheme to raise a rebellion among the Negroes would take root in the wrong minds.” He put out his hand for the newspaper.

  Rulon passed it over. “I recall the alarm that put into the ladies hereabouts. I’m glad Ma is made of sterner stuff than Mrs. Hilbrands. Her fit of the vapors is legendary.”

  “Would you consider enrolling with the Harrisonburg troop?”

  Rulon ran his hand through his hair. “I doubt they’d let me enroll, Pa. I’m not from Rockingham County, and I sure haven’t drilled with them none.”

  “Their captain is Tom Yancey.”

  Rulon stared at his father, not making a connection between his comments.

  “The Yanceys are kin of ours. Not close kin, but cousins, none the less.”

  Rulon straightened. “I’d forgotten.”

  “Family ties should count for something. I’ll write a letter, if you’d like.”

  “It might go down better if I do it.”

>   Pa considered that, and finally nodded. “You have the right of it. Let me go over the family connection.” He rose and got the family bible down, brought it back, and opened it to the center section.

  As Pa and Rulon explored the kinship between the two families, Ben came in and sank heavily onto the hearth, mumbling under his breath. He rubbed his head hard with both hands. “When are you goin’ to geld that colt, Pa?” he finally interrupted.

  “Throwed you again?” Rulon asked, smirking.

  “No, I flew off on my own,” Ben said, looking askance at Rulon.

  “You should leave the horse-breaking to James. He has the knack.”

  “He’s a baby.”

  “He still has the knack and you don’t.”

  “How’s he do that?” Ben rubbed his head again.

  “He was born to be a horseman,” Rulon said, then went back to his talk with Pa, who appeared amused at Ben’s misadventure.

  Before long, Rulon knew all about his relationship to Captain Yancey, and let Pa go back to reading his newspaper.

  “Ben,” Rulon said, standing up and putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Come set on the porch with me until supper’s ready. It’s too warm in here with the fire.” He cast a glance at his father, but he had resumed reading. “I don’t have old man’s bones,” he muttered in a soft voice.

  Ben acquiesced, and followed Rulon outside. “You called Pa an old man? You’re a brave soul, Rule. By the way, I found your hat fetched up against a blackberry thicket along the road as I came in from town. I left it hanging in the stable.”

  “That was kindly of you,” Rulon said with a snort. “It wouldn’t stay in your hand long enough to bring it to mine?”

  “The colt needed working.”

  Rulon nudged a chair out from the wall with the toe of his boot. “I can’t figure why there’s no cavalry company forming up hereabouts,” he mused as they settled into their seats.

  “Cavalry? You won’t see much action riding a horse around the country.”

  “I reckon I will. A horse will get a body to the heart of the action quicker than a footsore man can march there.”

  Ben cuffed Rulon on the arm. “A horse will get shot out from under you. Then where will you be? Afoot, brother. A mere camp dog.”

  “I’ll take the risk. I like horseflesh between my legs.”

  Ben chortled. “You like—”

  “Don’t you dare say it.” Rulon waggled his finger under Ben’s nose. “The haughty Miss Allen can’t be pleased that you prefer the mud-slogging infantry,” he added, deftly turning the conversation in another direction. “You’d rather come home to her with brogans full of muck than clean boots?”

  “It doesn’t seem likely that I’ll be comin’ home to her at all, except in a brotherly fashion.” Ben’s face lost all humor. “Miss Allen’s pa has forbidden her to consider a match with me.”

  Rulon raised an eyebrow. “An Owen boy ain’t good enough for him?”

  “This Owen boy don’t have any property. That’s all that matters to him. Property and possessions.”

  “That’s hard luck, Ben. What does the lady have to say?”

  Ben rubbed his nose with a knuckle. “I’ve a notion the lady is wavering a mite. I’m plannin’ to see her tomorrow night. With a little luck, maybe I can talk her into elopin’.”

  “You’d go that far?”

  “I ain’t content without her.”

  “I reckon I know that itch.” Rulon tipped his chair back, balancing on the rear legs.

  “Are you makin’ any headway in scratchin’ it?”

  Rulon sat silent for a time. He pinched a crease in the leg of his trousers and adjusted the fabric. “A mite,” he said finally.

  “You randy dog,” Ben said, and whistled.

  Rulon smacked him on the side of the head, growling in his throat, “It’s not what you think, brother.”

  “Ow! Spare the brainpan. It’s had enough abuse today.” Ben slapped away Rulon’s hand. “You’re always a-sniffin’ around the girl. What else can I think?”

  “Good luck in your quest with Miss Allen, brother.” Rulon leaned farther back in his chair. “We’re heading for war. Soon enough we’ll have other battles to win. Through the cavalry, of course.”

  Ben started to sweep his boot toward the legs of Rulon’s up tilted chair, but Rulon forestalled him by settling it back to the floor, then grinned at his brother in triumph. “I’m fixin’ to write a letter to Captain Yancey to offer my sword to the Harrisonburg Cavalry.”

  Ben’s guffaw exploded onto the soft evening air. “Your sword? Where do you reckon to get a sword to offer?”

  “It’s a metaphorical sword, you dolt. What will you offer? A bedroll?”

  “I’m goin’ to offer my own self, and see no impediment to being accepted. The Mount Jackson Rifles are taking enlistments soon.”

  “You’d best work fast on the girl’s pa, then.”

  “Don’t I know it!” Ben’s voice took on a note of despair. He rubbed his hands up and down his thighs. “If she won’t go away and marry me, you and me will have to beat back those Yanks quick so I can come home and change the man’s mind.”

  ~~~

  Rulon had just passed the fried potatoes down to Ben when he leaned back from the table, looked around at the family, straightened his shoulders, and cleared his throat with emphasis.

  “Got somethin’ to say, brother?” Ben asked, his eyes twinkling in the lamplight.

  “I do,” Rulon declared. He fiddled with his fork, then laid it on the table and got to his feet. “I’m fixin’ to wed Miss Mary Hilbrands.”

  “Scratchin’ your itch,” Ben muttered.

  Peter was next down the table from Ben. “Maybe in a year or two,” he jeered.

  Rulon sat down and picked up his fork. “No. We’ll do it as soon as Mr. Hilbrands gives me his consent.”

  Pa spoke. “How long do you reckon before he has an answer for you?”

  “He said he’ll talk to Missus Hilbrands and let me know their decision before church on Sunday.” Rulon wagged his head. “I hope Mary has occasion to converse with him and make her feelin’s known. He had a reluctant spirit about him.”

  Ben chuckled. “Miss Mary don’t have enough age on her to have an opinion, brother. She ain’t but a year older than James, and he’s a veritable baby.”

  “Am not,” James countered from across the table.

  “Are too.” Peter dived into the fray, grinning widely.

  “Always stirrin’ up trouble,” Rulon said, glaring at Ben, who gave him a triumphant look.

  “Quiet,” Pa thundered, slapping the flat of his hand on the table top.

  After a moment, once silence had been achieved, Ma spoke up. “Rulon, when did you ask Mr. Hilbrands?”

  He looked down the table at his mother. “Today when I was in town. After I read the news, I figured I’d best not wait longer.”

  “What news?” demanded his sister, Marie.

  “War news. Abe Lincoln asked for troops to put down the rebellion in the cotton states,” he said. “I’m going to enlist in a troop of cavalry, if they’ll have me.” He picked up his fork, held it for a moment, then stabbed it into his potatoes. “I want Mary to wed me before I go.”

  “Oh Rulon,” said Ma. “You’re too young.”

  “Ma.” The distress on her face disturbed him. “I aim to marry her in any case. Better now than later.” Or never, he dared to think.

  “To go for a soldier,” she said, her voice low.

  “I’m almost too old,” he huffed.

  “Can I go, Ma?” Albert was only ten.

  “No!”

  “They’ll need drummer boys. Or fife players.”

  “You don’t play drum or fife, either one.” Carl reached out and attempted to deliver a blow to Albert’s ear, but Albert ducked as Pa pounded the table again.

  “Food’s getting cold,” Pa declared. “Discussion’s over.”

  Rulon raised
his fork and shoved a mouthful of potatoes past his lips, wishing he hadn’t even begun to broach the subject. What an unruly bunch! The sooner he was off on his own, the better.

  Chapter 2

  Ben — April 20, 1861

  Ben waited in the darkness of the lane that led up from the north fork of the river. Before him on a rise stood the grand house, the centerpiece of the prosperous farm owned by Miss Ella Ruth Allen’s father. Behind him, tied to a low-hanging tree limb, his horse nickered softly and stamped a hoof.

  Ella Ruth was late in arriving to their tryst, but that was to be expected. Ella Ruth was late for every occasion.

  He smiled momentarily at her habitual tardiness, and then adjusted his leaning position against the smooth tree trunk. If he had his wish, he would scoop her up and run away to the nearest place he could marry her, but she hadn’t yet agreed to elope with him. He hoped his powers of persuasion would be sufficient to the task tonight. If not, he only had a few more days to win her over to the idea.

  Hearing footfalls on the lane, he pushed away from the tree and straightened.

  “Ben?” Breathless. Timid. Hopeful.

  “I’m here,” he called, keeping his voice low.

  The footsteps slowed. Hesitant. “Where? I cannot see you.”

  She was close, so close to him that he could smell the scent of the rose water she wore. He moved forward. “Here,” he said, bringing the girl into his arms.

  “Oh Ben,” she sighed, snuggling against him, her head fitting into the hollow beneath his chin. “I worried you wouldn’t come.” Her anxiety showed itself in a constrained giggle.

  “You can depend on me,” he told her, repeating a phrase he’d said many times before in his attempts to woo and win her.

  “You always say that,” she said, a bright little chuckle in her voice.

  “I want you to remember it. I want you to know I am true to you. There is no one in my heart but your dear person.”

  “Oh Ben,” she repeated. “It’s Poppa you need to convince, not me.”

  He sighed. “Don’t I know it.” He held her, rocking her slightly. “What’s the secret? How do I make him see my worth?”

  “I cannot advise you on that point.”

  He heard the despair in her voice. “Ella Ruth, what does your ma think? Does she influence him?”