Gone for a Soldier

by Ward, Marsha

  “Oh no! Momma doesn’t meddle in Poppa’s affairs. She wouldn’t dream of telling him to let you—” Her voice choked.

  No help in that direction. Ben sighed again. “There has to be a remedy. Does your brother have influence?”

  “Merlin keeps out of Poppa’s business.”

  Gall rose in his throat, and he couldn’t speak until he had cleared it away. “My pa always told me life wasn’t fair, that I should buck up and realize it for truth. I reckon I didn’t know what he meant until now.”

  “Don’t you get disheartened, Ben. I adore you. Poppa will have to see, sooner or later, that you are not merely a farmer’s son, but a person of real substance, real importance. Like I do.” Her voice rose to a squeak.

  Marveling at her remarkable speech, he patted her hair, then stroked her cheek. “I won’t lose heart, but time is growing short. War is coming, the papers say. I expect I’ll go fight for the Confederacy.”

  “Oh no. You can’t. You would have to leave me.” She snuggled tighter against him.

  “That’s the way it is with war. All the more reason to redouble my efforts. When can I talk to your pa again?”

  “Not for days. He’s on a trip for business.”

  “Humph.” Ben pondered on the problem, still stroking Ella Ruth’s cheek until she stayed his hand.

  “Ben.”

  “Hmm?”

  “How much do you care for me?”

  He shook his head, drew all his focus together to answer the question. “There ain’t a measure large enough, girl.” Moonlight fell upon her brow. It gave him an idea. He took her chin between fingers and thumb and gently turned up her face so he could gaze directly into her eyes. “You are the sun, the moon, the stars to me. No man ever loved a woman more.”

  Ella Ruth giggled. “I wish Poppa had a romantic soul. He couldn’t help being moved by such tender words.” She shivered. “He’s a businessman.”

  “A very wealthy businessman.”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “Can’t you make a pretty speech about business, Ben?”

  His chuckle sounded rueful to his ears. “I could tell him about mill stones and sacking flour and the best method to repair a sluice. However, I don’t own the mill.”

  “Tell him about all your pa’s nice horses.”

  “They don’t belong to me, neither.”

  “Don’t you own anything, Ben?”

  He drew her close. “I own the love I bear you.”

  “Oh Ben. Such a pretty speech. And all for naught.” Ella Ruth turned her head and sighed against his chest.

  Disappointment in himself and his prospects surged through his veins. He really didn’t own anything of substance, anything that a wealthy businessman would count as property. Despite the momentary negative thrust of his thoughts, he knew he had to press on and gain the prize. “I will put my mind toward finding a solution, my darling,” he murmured. “All is not lost.”

  “Yes, Ben.”

  He stood quietly for a long moment, rocking her again in his arms. He didn’t dare kiss her and excite his yearning. Not right now. Instead, he rocked her.

  She said nothing, evidently content to be enfolded in his arms.

  When he could not bear the silence a moment more, he whispered, “We could go up to Staunton and find a judge to marry us.”

  Immediately she began to shake her head against his chest. “I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. That would be wanton.”

  He tightened his hold a fraction. “Oh girl, I am wantin’ you to marry me. Don’t you want to?”

  She wiggled his embrace loose enough that she could look up at him. “Of course I do. I want a lovely wedding in the church, with six bridesmaids, and roses heaped alongside the pews and under the altar, and my poppa giving me over to your keepin’, and my momma’s special cake afterward. That’s my dearest dream.”

  “Not me?”

  She tilted her head to one side. “Not you what?”

  “I’m not your dearest dream?”

  She giggled and gave his chest a little shove. “That’s my dearest dream of a wedding, silly boy. A girl must keep hold of her fond dreams.”

  And a boy has to damp down his passions, he thought, choking back his disappointment at her refusal to consider his suggestion. The company he intended to join, raised by her own cousin, was going to war soon. He didn’t dare tell her that tonight and chance a quarrel.

  “Once Poppa admits what a wonderful catch you are, we will have that lovely wedding, with all our friends and family to witness our happiness.” Her eyes sparkled. She walked two fingers up his shirt. “Ben, you’ll look so handsome in a frockcoat, with great long tails, just like in the novels.”

  “I’ve never seen such a coat,” he said, dubious that a piece of raiment like that was to be had in the entire county.

  “We can have it made to order in Boston, and shipped here by special coach.”

  Ben drew a breath and nearly choked at the thought of the expense. He turned aside and coughed. Ella Ruth took such wild fancies into her mind at times. “Girl, you do realize Boston is in another country now?”

  “Oh, you men say that, but it’s not important. Poppa can get anything.”

  Sometimes he simply wanted to shake sense into her, but knew it would do nothing to advance his cause. “Never mind,” he crooned into her hair. “First things first. When will your poppa return from his trip?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to ask Momma tomorrow.” She stirred. “I can’t chance being out too much longer, or she will suspect I’m meeting you.” She raised her face and gazed into his eyes. “Kiss me, Ben, before I go back.”

  He knew it was folly to arouse the ache that kissing her would unleash, but such a frank appeal could not be denied. He bent to the task, trying for a brief encounter, but the soft curves pressed against him worked their charms, and he yielded to a second kiss. Fortunately for his resolve, Ella Ruth pulled out of his embrace and patted him on the cheek.

  “Be good, Ben,” she bid him. “Think of me, not of any other girls.”

  “I am not acquainted with any other girls,” he murmured, half stupefied. “Only you. Only you.”

  She slipped away, turning briefly to blow him another kiss, then she was swallowed up amidst the trees surrounding the house.

  Ben exhaled until he thought his lungs surely were as bereft as his arms, then slumped over to support himself with hands on shaky knees as he took in air once more. If a whirlwind had caught him and flung him against the side of a barn, he figured he could not have felt more battered than he did by his emotional and physical upheaval. How could one little girl do this to him?

  He slowly straightened and went toward his horse, not sure if he even had the strength to haul himself into the saddle. “Brownie,” he said, patting the animal’s neck, “don’t you let me drown crossing the river.”

  ~~~

  Rulon — April 21, 1861

  Rulon stood just below the bottom step of the stairway leading up to the door of the church, clasping his hands behind his back. He heard his shoe tapping rapidly against the brick. He simply could not control the foot as he waited.

  “Young man!”

  Rulon swung around at the sharp tone he heard in Randolph Hilbrands’ voice. It sounded like the man intended to give him ill news. “Sir?” he said, hoping his face bore a conciliatory aspect.

  The man descended the steps, a frown bending his thin moustache in a downward curve.

  A chill raised the hairs on the back of Rulon’s neck. Had he lost Mary? He couldn’t feel his hands.

  Mr. Hilbrands stopped on the step above where Rulon was standing, and stared down at him. He took a quick breath. “My daughter wants to be your bride,” he said, a fierce look on his face. “She says it must be now, before you enlist. I told her that was a fanciful notion.”

  Rulon didn’t dare say a word. He couldn’t hear himself breathing.

  “She is most persuasive in her reasoning. She is young, but sh
e seems to have a firm grasp of what she is fixing to do. Given the circumstances, I am giving consent.”

  Rulon felt himself toppling, and slid his left foot back to maintain his balance. His ears rang with the man’s words. I am giving consent.

  “Tha-thank you, sir.” He struggled to stand upright, instead of sagging as he felt inclined to do. In point of fact, his knees begged to kiss the steps, but he conquered the impulse after a long moment, and thrust out his hand to seal the bargain.

  Mr. Hilbrands solemnly shook it, but added, “Her mother is not convinced as yet, but may come around in due course. You would do well to spend time in that effort.”

  “Yes, I will, sir. Thank you again.” Rulon left off pumping the man’s hand, expecting to take his leave and go to Mary’s side to ask her to marry him.

  Mr. Hilbrands forestalled him, saying, “Come to the house after the service to speak to my daughter. You will want to tell her that I spoke to the minister. It appears there are several weddings taking place due to this war fever. He does not have any open days until May 11th. Will that suit?”

  Rulon hoped his mouth wasn’t gaping as Mr. Hilbrands’ words swirled in his brain. May 11th. That was an age away. He gulped. “Yes, sir. That suits just fine. Give Mr. Moore my thanks.”

  “He’ll want your coin for the service. Two dollars.”

  Rulon gulped again. Two dollars. That was four days’ wages hereabouts! He’d never thought of any cost involved in getting wed. Two dollars! What would Pa say?

  ~~~

  After he had spoken to Mr. Hilbrands, Rulon entered the church, found his place in the family pew, and craned his neck to look at his intended, but Ma’s hand on his shoulder drew his attention to the proceedings at hand. The Sunday service had stretched to three hours, an interminable length, which gave him ample time to think on the moment of his encounter with Mary and its solemn significance.

  Now he knelt before the girl in the gloomy parlor of the Hilbrands’ home, his gut tied in knots.

  “Mary?”

  Dust motes danced in the sliver of light streaming between the drawn drapes. His throat felt dry as the dust lying underneath the table against the far wall. Which girl had stinted in her dusting duties the previous day? Perhaps his arrival had caught Mrs. Hilbrands so unaware that she had forgotten the sad state of her parlor.

  Where was Mrs. Hilbrands? Should he and Mary be alone? They’d never kept company in this room without another person as chaperone.

  Rulon fought his increasing panic, grateful that at least he was kneeling. The position gave his knees no chance to knock together. He knew he was squeezing Mary’s fingers too tightly, and willed his grip to loosen, his shoulders to lower from their hunched position near his ears.

  What was he doing here? How had he come to be proposing marriage to this girl who he knew to be so pure and tender and full of hopes for the future? What was their future to be? Only days before, his thoughts had centered only in somehow quenching the fire that arose in him whenever he was in Mary’s company... touched her hand... or merely thought about her. The swell of her bosom drove him insane with desire, and his constant thought up to now had been how he might coax her to be alone with him, to let him touch... her flesh.

  He swallowed.

  And now? Now war was upon then, hovering over their lives like an inky thundercloud. It changed everything: every path, every hope, every desire. His desire. Oh God, help me to have solemn thoughts on this holy day, this portentous day, this... engagement day.

  He cleared his throat, glad Mrs. Hilbrands had not had the opportunity to throw open the drapes. If Mary saw his countenance, surely she would see the doubts that must be covering it as he rethought his rash decision. He must be mad.

  “Mary,” he tried again, his ears catching the tremor in his voice. What a shambles he was making of the affair! Hearing how his voice trembled, she might now tell him “no,” guessing how much he doubted. Could she know that he was driven more by the burning in his loins than by a burning in his heart?

  No, that wasn’t right. Not right at all. I love Mary more than life! I’m sure that’s the truth of the matter.

  What would Ma think of him and his carnal desires? The truth was she’d never feared to lay down the law in their home, to broach a subject he’d quaked to speak about to his pa. She did not hesitate to tell her sons to keep their pants buttoned until they were duly wed.

  Well, if I can carry off this speech properly, I’ll soon be duly wed and she can set her mind at ease where I’m concerned.

  “Mary,” he said again, thinking, I’ve been doin’ this all wrong. Think on how much you love the girl. He pursed his lips and let out a long sigh. “I can scarcely bear the thought of goin’ off to fight, of leavin’ you behind, without makin’ you my wife.”

  Ah! This is fearsome work!

  He bowed his head, closing his eyes to block out distractions while he tried to regain his courage. He breathed deeply, feeling a need for a larger volume of air in his lungs, then opened his eyes again, focusing on Mary’s blue and gray striped skirt. The cloth shivered beneath his gaze. The realization that she was trembling as much as he, finally steadied him.

  He looked up. Mary’s face lay half in shadow, half in light as the sliver of sunlight illuminated one cheek, one side of her fair brow, one half of her raven-dark hair. She was biting her lip.

  Rulon took another deep breath. “My tenderest feelings are toward you,” he declared, voice steady at last. “My bosom swells with joy at the mere glimmer of hope that you bear me similar feelings.” Where was this flowery turn of phrase coming from? He brushed away the errant thought. “Will you marry me, my sweet girl?”

  “Yes.”

  Even though her answer was but a whisper, he heard it. Joy swelled his chest as he had just claimed it would, to such a degree that he felt he would suffocate. The next thing he knew, he was smothering both of Mary’s hands with kisses, and oddly, her fingers were wet.

  To his horror, he took note that the moisture came from his own streaming eyes. What shame! If his brothers ever heard of this—that he had cried like a mewling babe because a girl—

  No. He would own up to his seemingly womanish response if he ever had the occasion to do so. Mary had given him her answer, and bolstered by thought of the consent he’d won this morning from her father—reluctant though it had seemed—he reckoned he was justified in shedding a few tears of elation and triumph.

  “Rulon,” she whispered, her voice quivering slightly, “my heart is yours, and ever has been.” She inhaled quickly, twice, then said, “I saw you talkin’ to Papa this morning. What did he say?”

  “He gave consent,” Rulon began.

  Mary cut him off. “Thank the Good Lord!” She removed one of her hands from Rulon’s grasp to dash the tears from her brimming eyes.

  “He was somewhat reluctant, but did not seem inclined to demand a long courtship. He knows our time together is short with war comin’ upon us.”

  “Papa can be sensible when he puts his mind to it.”

  Rulon stroked the hand that Mary had allowed him to keep in his. “Your pa said he spoke to the minister about a ceremony.”

  She inhaled sharply. “He did?”

  “Mr. Moore is available on May 11th. Three whole weeks away!”

  “Only three weeks?” Mary shook her hand out of Rulon’s and covered her face.

  Rulon rocked backward at her strange reaction. “Sweet girl, three weeks is a lifetime to wait.”

  Mary peeked over her fingers. “Oh Rulon. I have only three weeks to get ready for my wedding day. I wonder what Mama will say?”

  ~~~

  Mary — April 21, 1861

  Mama had plenty to say, Mary discovered soon after Rulon took his leave.

  She had swept into the parlor almost before the front door had closed upon the man, dragging Mary with her by a tight grasp on her arm. She thrust her onto the same chair upon which she had sat when Rulon knelt before her, the
n dropped into the seat opposite.

  “You are too young to be a wife,” she said right off.

  Mary attempted to turn away that argument, pointing out that her own grandmother had married at the tender age of thirteen.

  Mama compressed her lips and wagged her head. “The society was much different in that era. I am raising you to be a lady, and ladies do not wed before a proper age.”

  “Mama, this is war time. Rulon is enlisting soon. If I let him go without, if I don’t marry him now, perhaps I will miss my chance entirely.” The idea that Rulon could die brought waves of sadness crashing upon her, almost knocking her against the back of the chair upon which she perched.

  “I do not recall hearing any proclamation of war. Mr. Hilbrands has not imparted any such news to me. He would have done so, had there been a need.”

  “I read in Papa’s newspaper that war with the North would commence soon.” Mary offered up the news as further evidence of her need. “The headlines were the largest letters I’ve ever seen. The editor said Virginia will surely secede and join the other states in the Confederacy. Mayhap they won’t even wait until the convention vote is ratified in May. Mama, I have to marry Rulon before he leaves the county.”

  “You do not have to do any such a thing,” Mrs. Hilbrands stated, but her voice had dropped in volume and firmness. “I suppose—” She stood abruptly, and headed toward the door.

  “Mama?” Mary got to her feet and called out her strongest argument. “We have an appointment to be wed. With the minister.”

  The door slammed.

  Mary stood rooted in place for a few seconds, then began to pace the room.

  Would Mama try to convince Papa that wedding Rulon was a bad notion? Did Mama have some unspoken objection to her marriage into his family? Her parents had known Rulon’s folks for years. Her father and Mr. Owen were friends of long standing. The man had a fine reputation as a farmer and horse breeder. Mary stopped in mid-stride. Did Mama dislike Mrs. Owen?

  No. That couldn’t be true. When she came to town, Mrs. Owen often traded her eggs and cream for goods in her parents’ mercantile establishment. Mary had never heard of any discord in their bartering of goods. Mama always conversed with her in a familiar manner.