by Ward, Marsha
“Just like at home.” He handed Mary the trousers and buttons.
Mary looked at him, a little smile playing around her mouth as she tilted her head.
He backed away. “I’d rather look at you in all your finery.” As he dropped his hand, it slid across the edge of his belt buckle, and he let it linger there. “My wife.” He watched the spread of happiness across Mary’s face. “It gives me great satisfaction to say them words,” he said, a little huskily.
Mary looked up with a full smile. “It gives me great satisfaction to hear you say them.” She shook a finger in his direction. “Now don’t you get any ideas, Mister Rulon Owen. I don’t have time for sport if I’m to get the buttons back on these trousers and you dressed like a fat holiday turkey for my mother to admire.”
Rulon hooted with laughter and went back to where she sat to give her a quick hug. She returned it with relish, gave him her cheek to kiss, and went back to work on the buttons.
~~~
Well into supper, Randolph Hilbrands cleared his throat. “Mr. Owen.”
Rulon had taken notice that Mr. Hilbrands had begun to address him in that manner since the wedding. He looked up and gave the man his attention.
“I understand you received a letter today.”
“I did, sir.”
“Daughter Ida says it came from Rockingham County.”
Nosy little chit. “Yes, sir, it did.”
“Mr. Owen, may I know who sent you the letter?”
That’s where Ida gets her nosiness. “Sir, it’s from my cavalry troop’s commander, Captain Yancey, who is kin to me.”
“Ah, a military matter.”
Although the man made a statement, a slight upturn to his voice made Rulon aware that it really was meant as a question.
“Sir, he welcomed me to the Harrisonburg Cavalry and gave me a date to report for duty.” Rulon figured he may as well give the man what he wanted. He was, after all, paying for Rulon’s and Mary’s keep. “It’s May 22nd, as I reckoned it would be. I will leave here on the 21st in order to arrive early on the appointed day.” He glanced at Mary. Their discussion of the matter had been a mournful one.
“Ah,” Mr. Hilbrands said again, evidently satisfied with the answer. “Have you a hat?”
“My everyday one is all, sir.”
“That will not do.” Mr. Hilbrands arose and went to the sideboard, where he opened a door and drew forth a round box. He brought it to the table and reseated himself. “Now this is an acceptable hat for a cavalryman,” he said, lifting from the box a slouch hat decorated with a black plume and held up on one side with a pin. Holding the headgear in reverent hands, he murmured, “It is after the fashion of the one worn by Colonel J.E.B. Stuart himself. I imagine he will be your ultimate commander.”
Rulon gulped. “I reckon that’s a mighty fine hat, sir,” he managed to say. “Much obliged.”
“The best available.” He put the hat to one side on the table and looked up. “You will require armaments?”
“Yes, sir. Whatever I can bring.”
“I have a pistol I want you to carry.” Mr. Hilbrands took one from the hat box and laid it on the table.
“Thank you, sir. I’m much obliged.”
“I would extract your promise to bring it home, but I know I cannot.”
Rulon looked at Mary. Her face had gone white. “Sir, if you don’t mind, the ladies.”
“I know of their tender sensibilities, man. I live with a passel of ‘em, don’t I?” Rand scowled and his face reddened.
“My wife—”
“My daughter knows she could lose you.” Mr. Hilbrands’s scowl deepened. “I reckon that’s why she was so insistent in the matter of your somewhat hasty marriage.”
Mary made a little sound of distress, and Rulon reached for her hand under cover of the tablecloth. He bent his head close to her ear and asked in a low tone, “Have you had your fill?”
She nodded, and he stood up and looked at Mary’s mother. “Excuse us, Mrs. Hilbrands. My wife and I are going to retire. With your permission, ma’am?” He glanced at Mr. Hilbrands’ annoyed countenance. “I am very much obliged to you, sir, for the gifts of the splendid hat and the pistol. However, my wife is unwell. Goodnight, sir.” He hoped that was sop enough to deflect Mr. Hilbrands’ anger as he gave Mary his arm and beat a formal but hasty retreat.
~~~
Rulon lay on his side, watching the rise and fall of Mary’s bosom as she slept. His ardor spent for the time being, he only marveled at the mysteries kept hidden beneath the cloth of her nightdress. For a girl everyone told him was too young to be his wife, she was undoubtedly woman enough for him.
He regretted that he would have to leave her soon. The letter Peter had shoved at him earlier that day wiped out all his wonderings about their future. Captain Yancey had replied to his question and had agreed to take Rulon into the troop, but only on the strength of the family connection. The captain stated in no uncertain terms that he had to prove himself a worthy cavalier.
He could ride. That wasn’t a problem. He could shoot a shotgun, rifle or pistol, as he had proven countless times. Since he had been old enough to hold a weapon, Pa had taken him along to hunt meat for the family. His ability to shoot with better-than-average accuracy wasn’t a question in his mind. The question causing him disquiet was, could he kill a man?
He felt sweat break out along his upper lip, upon his limbs and his brow. Could he ride into battle, take aim at a human being, and squeeze the trigger? He ran a hand over his forehead and down his face.
Mary stirred and he froze. She mumbled something he couldn’t catch and threw an arm over his body. Then she resumed her slow, regular breathing.
Rulon let out his breath and returned to his thoughts.
Could anyone who was already a member of the Harrisonburg Cavalry kill another man? As far as he knew, none of them had had occasion to meet an enemy on a battlefield. They likely had only drilled for the happenstance. Training. That was what he lacked. Training. How did one train to kill an enemy?
He swallowed. Captain Yancey’s letter had given the date on which he was to appear at the Harrisonburg Cavalry’s camp in that town. Next week. So soon. So soon.
He was to bring what arms he could gather, along with a good horse and tack, and whatever personal effects he would need to sustain his needs as a military man. He had the horse and tack as his father’s gift, two changes of clothing, and the fine uniform his mother and sisters had sewn for him. Mr. Hilbrands’ hat was a mite outlandish, but the pistol was a timely gift and would serve him in good stead. He supposed he would have to acquire powder and lead balls, but perhaps the company would provide that. He knew so little about the details of war.
He was to enlist for one year.
He gulped. A year! He would be gone from Mary for a year. Would she forget him during that length of time? Would his caresses be gone from her memory when he returned? Would time dim her recall of the fervor of their entanglements, flesh against flesh as he had convinced her was right and proper?
He carefully placed his hand over hers as desire returned. Dare he wake her? Dare he not? He brought her hand to his lips, and at his soft kiss, she awoke and turned to him, eyes hooded and dark.
“Rulon? I am glad you’re here. I dreamed you had gone.”
“No, it’s not time to leave you. Not yet.” His voice sounded a little uneven, perhaps hesitant, to his ears. “Not for several more days.”
“You are troubled.” She got her hand loose and touched his cheek.
How do women know these things? “A little. I’m worried that I’ll show myself a coward in battle.”
She made a small sound, a disbelieving sound. “Not you. You’re strong, like your papa. Did he ever run from anything?”
She sounded sleepy, and Rulon regretted awakening her.
“No. Not to my knowledge.”
“I like your papa.” She closed her eyes and smiled a bit.
“I reckon
he’s a good man. Go to sleep, little wife. Morning will come early.”
“It always does,” she agreed, and turned her head away, sighing herself into sleep.
~~~
Rulon — May 21, 1861
It’s here at last, Rulon thought when he awoke on the day he was to leave for Harrisonburg. He looked at Mary’s face in the dimness, lightly touching his arm, peaceful in sleep. This ain’t going to be easy. Last night they had spent a considerable time finishing off their honeymoon before sleep overcame them. He had intended to leave this morning without further connubial contact, but the sight of Mary’s slightly parted lips, and the curl of hair that lay across her throat aroused him.
He put out a finger to brush her cheek. She was awake in an instant, although her eyes opened only partway, like her lips. Her hand went around the back of his neck, and Rulon heard himself moan as his resolve slipped away.
Later, he thought, It’s still early. If I don’t stop to eat, I can make camp tonight and arrive in good time tomorrow.
Mary climbed out of bed as Rulon dressed. She had removed her nightgown, and held it so it covered her, but she dropped it, approached him, and put her arms around his neck.
“Woman, I can’t take the time—”
“I know that. I’m searing myself upon your memory,” she said, her voice a little flirty, and at the same time, a little desperate. “You go win this war and come back to me and...” She ducked her head.
“And what? There’s no doubt what I’ll do when I return.” He hugged her fiercely. Excitement filled him, but it wasn’t a renewal of lust. It was a prickling anxiety to begin the new adventure, to beat back any Yankee threat to his country.
“I don’t mean ‘and we’ll have another go.’ I reckon something is different about my body.” Mary backed out of Rulon’s embrace and touched her white belly. “I believe... it might be possible... that I’m increasin’.” She didn’t give him a chance to draw her to him again, but bent out of his grasp, picked up her nightdress, and draped it over her arm as though it were a shield.
“Mary,” he whispered, his hands dangling. He gulped. Was he a father already? “When will you know for certain?”
She shook her head, biting her lip. After a moment she could speak again. “I don’t know. I don’t know. Perhaps a month, two months? I don’t know. You will be home soon, won’t you?”
He had no idea how to answer her. The reckless youth in him yearned to answer yes, but the unknown stretched before him like a dense cloud he could not penetrate. He tried to nod, to agree, but could not. “I will try,” was all he could force past his lips before he enfolded her in his arms for the last time today.
Today. The last time today. Not the last time forever. He shook off that spectral thought and turned away to finish dressing. He heard Mary’s clothing rustling as she dressed in silence. My wife. The mother of my child? God strengthen you, Mary.
~~~
Rulon cleared the outskirts of Mount Jackson and put the horse into a steady gait. Did he have time to bid his kinfolk farewell? His early morning dalliance with Mary had put him behind schedule, but he might have a moment to spare. Should he share Mary’s incredible supposition with his ma? No. It was just that as yet, a supposing, a feeling not proven. Still, canny women had canny senses, and his Mary was... What was Mary?
A little bit of a thing. The young girl he’d yearned for, all right, lusted after, and won because the Yankees were raising an army. Had times been different, would he have been able to marry her so quickly? Would she have consented to become his wife, to bare her heart and soul, and so readily give him her body to satiate his needs?
Surprisingly, she had taken to the marriage bed with an avid desire he had not expected. Was that a woman’s way in order to become with child? Was that what Mary had craved from him? A babe? Had his lovemaking pleased her, or was it a sham to collect his seed?
Rulon pulled up and dismounted, breathing heavily. Where had he picked up this doubt? He surely didn’t need to be unmanned when he was on his way to who knows what encounters with men who would take away his rights as a Virginia citizen. He scrubbed his clean-shaven face in his hands. He removed a flask of water from his saddlebag and took a swig of the liquid. He swallowed, put the bottle away and straightened his shoulders. Mary was pleased to become my woman. Those eyes did not lie. She rejoiced in being with me.
Half afraid of the tug that drew him back to Mount Jackson, he mounted and gigged the horse forward, onward toward Harrisonburg.
A mile or two more and he saw the bend in the road ahead where lay the turnoff to a lane that he could find on the darkest of nights. At the end of the lane, his family would be going about their daily tasks, perhaps thinking about him, perhaps not. Rulon cleared the bend in the road and reined the horse into the wide path. He had to be quick. Harrisonburg wasn’t far away, as the crow flies, but he would need most of the time left of the day to make the trip on horseback.
Julianna saw him first when she turned from feeding the hogs. “Rulon!” his younger sister shouted, then dropped her pails and ran toward him, braids flying, spindly legs showing beneath her swirling skirt, skinny arms outstretched to him.
He dismounted before she reached him and caught her in his arms, noting the tears streaking her face.
“Why are you goin’ to fight?” The anxiety in her voice caused it to come out high and thin, and he hugged her tighter than before.
“Our country needs me,” he answered, muffling his answer against her sunbonnet.
“What if you die?” she wailed.
He couldn’t reply. When he raised his head to take a last look around the place, Ma was there with Marie beside her, their grave faces bringing a lump to his already tight throat.
Then Albert, the mischievous scamp, came running down the lane, with Pa and the rest of the boys walking behind him. Ben was the only one missing. They had made their farewells in town.
He had to hug them all, even Pa. Then Ma began a prayer, and they quit their hats, joined hands right there in the lane, and listened to her heartfelt plea for a short war and safety for the troops.
As Ma spoke the “amen” and the family joined in, Rulon was reminded that he hadn’t left Mary with a prayer. Mayhap he should have, instead of bedding her one last time. Devotion to God should be in their marriage, as it was in his parents’ union, he reminded himself. He climbed on the horse, pledging to be a better husband when he got the chance. If I get the chance.
~~~
As Rulon approached Harrisonburg in late afternoon, he kept his eyes open for a place that would make a good camp. He would need water for the horse. The river lay nearby, rippling its way north to the Potomac.
The Potomac! He would be there in a few days. The federal armory stood on its bank at Harper’s Ferry, and he’d heard a whisper that it was now in the hands of his countrymen.
A glow of anticipation began to grow in the pit of his stomach. Across that wide river, his enemies gathered. He imagined a city of tents occupied by rough men eager to put a musket ball into his forehead.
His fingers touched the supposed spot. With effort, he lowered his hand as he admonished himself to quiet his fear. Don’t go borrowin’ trouble, boy. You may soon have a baby to support, a child to raise up. Keep your thoughts on gettin’ home to Mary, to Mary and your son.
His son! But could the babe be a girl? No. He was sure that if his seed had taken root in Mary’s body, he had made a son. There was no doubt in his mind. The elation rising in him, the warm conviction, assured him on that score.
His thoughts jumped to Mary, with her winsome smile and raven hair. How bold she had been this morning, tossing all convention aside with her nightdress to, what was it she had said? To sear herself upon my memory. He shivered. That moment was not to be forgotten. She had achieved her end.
Soon a fine meadow that stretched off the road a ways drew his attention. The lowering sun glinted on water beyond. Beside the meadow stood a barn and oth
er outbuildings. Near to a chicken coop, a house—white paint gleaming on half the boards—occupied the space at the head of a lane.
He reined the horse off the road, followed the path, and halted in the dooryard.
“Hello,” he called. “Is anybody home?”
A full-bearded man stepped out of the barn and approached. “Hallo,” he said, his deep voice easily pushing through the mass of facial hair. “What might I do for you?”
Rulon doffed his hat. “I was seekin’ a camp spot for the night and noticed your fine pasture over yonder. Might I bed down alongside the river?”
“Going for a soldier, are you?”
Rulon nodded. “I am. Enlisting tomorrow.”
“It will be my honor to have your company on the place. You are . . .?”
“Rulon Owen, Mount Jackson.”
“Mr. Owen. I am Helmut Strauss. You will sup with us tonight, if you please.”
The man offered his hand, and Rulon gave him his.
“Many thanks, Mr. Strauss.” He looked around the farmstead. “Have any chores I can do?”
“I was milking cows, Mr. Owen. Come. Get off your horse and take him to the well. When you have seen to his needs, you may lend me a hand with the last few animals.”
Rulon dismounted with a sigh. “You’re mighty gracious, Mr. Strauss. I’m obliged for your kindness.”
“We must do all in our power to repulse the threat to our lands, Mr. Owen. I am in your debt.”
Chapter 6
Rulon — May 22, 1861
When he had spent an hour helping around the Strauss farm, Rulon enjoyed a hearty meal laid on the table by Mrs. Strauss, and after a bit of conversation with Mr. Strauss, he bedded down beside the murmuring Shenandoah.
He was up early so he could don his finery, but no earlier than Mrs. Strauss, who turned aside his protest that he could eat a johnnycake from his saddlebag for breakfast, and plied him with sausage, fried potatoes, and eggs, which he washed down with large amounts of creamy milk. He took his leave soon after, stuffed to the brim with good food, and with a parcel of sandwiches from the good woman, to boot.
