by Julianne Lee
The housework was hard, and Shelby had expected to resent that it was parceled out only to the women, but starting with that first day after the wedding she knew she wouldn’t be unhappy in it. Particularly once she’d seen the men come in from their day with the horses. Lucas, Amos and Gar never approached the house of an evening without their shirts stuck to their backs with sweat, rivulets of grime tracing from their hat bands to their collars, and an air of exhaustion from a hard day’s work. They would wash up in a bucket at the well and slick their wet hair back with their fingers, scrape their boots at the door, then head directly to the supper table to eat. Once supper was eaten and cleared, the men retired to the other room to light cigars and the women picked up their sewing, knitting, and mending to sit with them. More often than not, Amos would pick up a book to read aloud and they would all enjoy a story.
Shelby was amused to learn the current selection was “Dracula” by Bram Stoker. This place wasn’t so strange after all, and it felt good to be part of a family again.
“Teach me to ride.”
“You don’t need to ride. We’ve got a wagon. Besides, we don’t have a sidesaddle.” Lucas was dropping off to sleep after a very nice romp in the sheets, and Shelby figured he’d be in an agreeable mood.
“I want to ride. You’re so good at it, why don’t you teach me to ride in trousers?”
He chuckled. “Don’t be ridiculous. Now, let me sleep, it’s been a long day.”
“They’re all long days. And I don’t want to live on a horse farm and not know how to handle a horse.” The part she didn’t tell him was that she knew she would have to before long, and she wanted to be prepared.
He grunted. She took that as “You’ve got a point.”
She pressed. “Teach me. Nobody has to see. We can take some time just before sunset, and nobody will be around to see me in trousers.”
After a long moment of thought, he said, “I’ll buy a sidesaddle. Pete might could find me an old one nobody else wants.”
That disappointed Shelby, for she wasn’t certain how she was going to get along with a sidesaddle, but she nodded. “Good. I need to know this stuff.”
After a while, just as she was about to drop off to sleep herself, Lucas muttered, “Who is this woman I’ve married?”
Too drowsy to think clearly, she snuggled up to his chest and he hugged her close.
During these weeks, news of secession was all anyone talked about. Seven states had left the Union and formed the Confederacy, and the entire country was breathless to know what President Lincoln would do about it. Everyone thought it certain Tennessee would also leave. The sentiment in Nashville was strongly for it. The feeling in the Brosnahan household was also undivided; all four of the men—all five if one counted Clyde who was happy to nod agreement with anything Lucas, Amos or Gar said—hoped for secession on the basis of the threat to states’ rights, and their wives were assumed to agree with them.
It was a struggle for Shelby to keep quiet. Knowing what she knew, it was hard to sit by the fire after supper night after night and attend to her sewing while listening to the men talk about whipping the Yankees in a week. Amos and Gar both had been in the Mexican War as young men, and Lucas was rapt at their stories of the battle courage shown by Southern boys. Shelby watched him fidget in his seat as if he could hardly wait to climb into a uniform and go shoot Yankees. Tears stung the corners of her eyes, and it was all she could do to not let them spill.
Finally one night as the men were enjoying their evening cigars, Amos came right out and said he wished the Yankees would hurry up and start something so the South could finish it once and for all. Shelby couldn’t take it any more.
“It’s going to be longer than you think, and the South is going to lose.”
Silence fell. Shelby kept her head down, her attention on the shirt she was making. After a moment, Amos chuckled and said, “Your wife’s got a mouth on her, Lucas Robert.”
Lucas cleared his throat. “She didn’t mean anything by it.” His tone was pointed, and suggested to her she should shut up if she knew what was good for her.
Anger rose. Shelby’s throat closed, and she gripped the fabric in her hands hard to keep them still. She ventured a look at the men, who stared at her as if they’d just heard a frog croak the Lord’s Prayer and didn’t particularly want to hear it again. Martha and Ruth were silent, Martha with a smile starting at the corner of her mouth. Shelby found herself unable to just shut up. Though she knew she’d regret it, she contradicted her husband.
“I did. I meant every word of it.”
Now the men laughed aloud, except for Lucas. He said, “Mary Beth, I’ll ask you to keep your disloyal comments to yourself.”
Now she looked up, and laid her hands in her lap for the sake of undivided attention. “I’ll ask you to leave me alone about what I know to be true. The North has gun factories. The South doesn’t even have many state of the art guns at hand, let alone factories to manufacture them. The North needs the things we grow in the South, and doesn’t want to have to pay to import them from a separate country. They’re not going to let us win, not ever, and they have the means to enforce their wishes, and the population from which to draft enough fighting men to outlast us.”
“Mary Beth, you hush.” The edge in Lucas’s voice was sharper now. “Nobody wants to hear discouraging talk like that.”
“Don’t you be telling me to hush, Lucas Robert.”
At that, he rose and grabbed her wrist to haul her to her feet. Her sewing dropped to the floor, and she twisted to get away from him. He held fast, and pulled her, struggling, to the foyer and up the stairs. She stumbled and struggled, barely able to keep her feet under his tow. Then he shoved her into their bedroom, where she staggered to a halt at the middle of the room.
“What are you doing?!” She held her sore wrist. The fragile life she’d formed for herself out of what had been given to her began to crumble before her eyes, for the look of pure fury on Lucas cut to her heart. Surely he hated her now, and everything that meant anything to her would be gone if he did. But she stuck to her guns and hoped to at least retain a sense of self, for she knew she was right. And he had no right to treat her this way. She stuck out her chin.
“You don’t ever talk to me like that!” he said, his voice a low, choked growl. “Not in front of family, not in front of strangers, not in front of anyone!”
“I’ll talk to you any way I please.”
“You won’t. Not if you want a husband who isn’t scorned by everyone around him, you won’t. What is wrong with you? I can’t be letting you treat me like that in front of people. Not and keep my head up. I should smack you sideways.” He raised his right palm as a threat.
Her eyes went wide. “Just you try it. Go ahead. Try it.” She looked around to the fireplace, then went to pick up the poker leaning against the stone. “Here. Hit me. Take this and whack me with it.” She offered him the weapon.
He lowered his hand and took a step back, frowning at the heavy iron bar. “I don’t want to hit you. Particularly not with that there—”
“No, really. Knock me out.” She lowered the heavy poker to rest the pointed tip on the floor and stepped up, toe to toe with him, her head back to see his face which was so much higher than hers. “But know this, Lucas Robert Brosnahan: if you hit me, you’d best kill me. ’Cause if you don’t, I’ll just wait till you go to sleep then use this on you. Do you hear me? You hit me, I’ll kill you. I can’t live with a man who will raise his hand to me.”
“I don’t want—”
“You just want me to shut up and not embarrass you. I don’t want to embarrass you in public, Lucas, but I’ve got to have a say in my own home. And if you men are going to sit around and tell each other things I happen to know are not true, and I happen to know believing these things will get you killed, then I’m going to speak up.” Tears rose, and this time she couldn’t keep them from shining in her eyes. “If you value me as your wife, as your f
riend...as someone who has your best interests at heart, you’ll value my words. Tell me, Lucas, do you value me?”
A dark, confused look came over him. “Of course, I do.”
“Not of course. I need you to listen to me. I need you to hear what I say and take it serious—”
“What makes you think you know more than Amos about what goes on outside this house?”
Good question. “I read, Lucas. I listen to people. You know what I said downstairs was the truth. You know the northern states are better equipped than we are to wage war. You boys are counting on making this war a Highland Charge and scaring the Yankees back across the Mason-Dixon line. But it’s not going to happen that way. It’s just not.”
As anger ebbed, she lowered her voice to a soft murmur. “I love you more than anything. You’re everything to me, and I can’t just sit by and watch these things happen without trying to keep you from a fate that will take you from me.”
He considered that for a moment, his eyes still agog at the fire iron in her hand, then said quietly, “I can’t let you make a fool out of me.”
“You’re no fool, and anyone can see it.”
“What they see is that I can’t control my wife.”
“Threatening me isn’t the way to do that. I guarantee it.”
There was a long silence as he stared into her face, his eyes glittering with anger and questions. She could see his problem. As the youngest brother—the baby—he was under the authority of three other men, none of whom cared what he did to shut her up, so long as she stopped bothering them. “Then, what? What will it take to make peace in my home?”
She sighed, and knew she was going to have to acknowledge she was no longer living in the twenty-first century. “I’ll try to be more circumspect on certain things when your brothers are around.”
“Try?” His tone made it clear a promise to “try” wasn’t enough.
She shrugged. “All right, I’ll button my lip. But I need you to listen to me when I talk to you in private. Don’t blow me off just because you think Amos and Gar have all the answers.”
He considered that. “All right, then.”
“All right.”
There was a long silence as they stared at each other. The doubt was there again, she’d seen the morning after the wedding. She knew he was having second thoughts, and a sick feeling sunk deep into her stomach. For one horrible moment she thought she might vomit, and she swallowed hard to keep it down. Then Lucas turned on his heel and left the room.
Tears came, and Shelby sank to the floor and sat on the rag rug with the fire poker across her lap. Her body ached.
She gave him long enough to make it down the stairs, then climbed to her feet to return the poker to the hearth, and dried her tears as she returned to the sitting room. There conversation was subdued, and faltered as she came in. Lucas pressed on with a comment about being glad they owned no slaves to be running off and causing trouble, and Shelby gathered her sewing from the floor to restore it to her lap as she sat. She glanced at Lucas, who was eyeing her quietly. His anger seemed to have abated, and the look in his eyes made her think he might listen to her when she talked to him about the war. Hope rose. Perhaps there was a chance of talking him out of joining the army in three weeks.
On the morning of April 14, while the family sat down to breakfast, ears perked to hear the pounding of hooves approaching the house. Someone was riding into the yard at full gallop, shouting and carrying on like his horse’s tail was afire. The Brosnahans all looked up, puzzled, for nobody could make out what the fuss was about. As one, the six rose to investigate, leaving Dad on his cot to wait for their return.
It was a brisk but sunny morning, and the air bit Shelby’s nose as she followed the others out to the porch. Ruth’s brother, Henry Carmichael, was dismounting from his nearly blown horse. The animal’s sides heaved for breath, and its head hung low.
Amos crossed his arms and said, “Henry, what’s got you so excited?”
Henry’s face glowed with happiness as well as exertion, and he grinned up at Amos. “There’s been shots fired!”
Fort Sumter. Shelby had known it would be soon, but her heart sank just the same as if she hadn’t. If only there were a way to make time stand still, so she wouldn’t have to live through this!
“Up at Fort Sumter! The Yankees at Fort Sumter have been attacked by South Carolina troops!”
Shelby hugged herself, for she feared she would start shaking. She went ignored, though she trembled, as her husband and brothers and sisters in law listened, rapt, to the story of how the army mustered by South Carolina had fired upon the Federal installation at Fort Sumter three days before.
Breakfast was forgotten. When Dad Brosnahan eventually tottered out to the porch on his cane, the tale was retold to him with great excitement. Shelby saw in their father’s eyes that he knew what a terrible thing had happened. Amos and Gar may still have idealized memories of their time in the military, but their father surely knew they were in for a hard fight. He said nothing, but only let himself down slowly onto the bench by the door and watched his sons, one hand gripping the head of his cane with white knuckles. Shelby sat with him, also silent, still hugging herself.
Little work was accomplished that morning. Henry stayed to visit, and the men lounged about the dining table in their work clothes, speculating about what Tennessee would do now.
Henry said, “Will Bate is putting together an infantry unit in Gallatin.”
“Tennessee hasn’t seceded yet, have we?”
“Nah. But there’s no doubt we’re going to war. It’s just a matter of time. Very little time, I’ll wager.”
Lucas’s voice was quiet, but tense. “I’m going to join up right away. I’m not going to wait for secession.”
Shelby’s heart dropped. She was bringing coffee from the kitchen, and heard the comment at the doorway. She listened, perfectly still and quiet, and gaping at her husband. Lucas glanced up at her, but gave her no more than a glance to be certain she would remain silent in front of the family. He gave a perfunctory wave, indicating she should come on in and serve the coffee.
Amos waved away Lucas’s statement. “Not infantry. You don’t want to be walking everywhere like an old mule. We’ve got plenty of horses; why don’t you wait till they muster cavalry?”
Shelby entered the room with her tray and set it on the table between Amos and Lucas. Yes, wait.
“Because they’re signing men up for infantry now. I want to go now.” No glance at Shelby; his attention was on Amos.
“You’re making a mistake.”
Shelby opened her mouth to agree, but Lucas shot her a look and she closed it.
Amos continued, “Gar and I were both of us in the cavalry. Infantry is the sorriest job a soldier can have. There’s far more glory in mounted warfare.”
Glory. Shelby coughed and turned away as if looking for a chair, but pressed a palm to her face to keep from crying.
“I’ve made up my mind. In fact, I made my mind up months ago,” said Lucas. Shelby turned back, her heart in her shoes. He’d never uttered a word to her about this. Taking glances at her, he fiddled with an unused fork between his fingers, fidgety with the tension of knowing his words were not going over well with his wife. “I’m signing up for the first unit mustered. If it’s infantry, then I reckon I’ll be a foot soldier.”
There was a silence, filled with things unsaid, then Amos spoke up. “I want your horse.”
“You leave my roan alone.”
“You can’t leave an animal like that to herself. She’ll be worthless by the time you get back. Besides, she’s a promising breeder.”
“Don’t you be fooling with my horse, Amos.”
Amos was grinning, but anyone who knew the man even a little knew he was serious about Lucas’s roan, and everyone in the family knew that mare was one of the best on the property.
Shelby cleared the table of uneaten breakfast, and carried the plates out the side doo
r and across to the kitchen, struggling all the way to maintain her composure. Unless she could talk him out of it, she knew in less than a week he would be gone. In the other building, Ruth and Martha must have seen the glistening of her eyes, but they said nothing. Not even Martha, who ordinarily would have had something curt to say, uttered a word.
That night in bed, Lucas lay on his back, preoccupied and staring at the ceiling. The spring weather was sufficiently warm they didn’t need a fire, but the windows were closed and they both wore night clothes. The room was dark and still. Shelby snuggled in close under his arm and laid her head on his shoulder. “Please don’t go.”
“I’ve got to.” In the darkness his voice was flat. Final.
“No, you don’t. There isn’t even a need yet.”
“There will be. You said it yourself; the South needs all the men they can get.”
Shelby nearly groaned, to have her words handed back to her this way. She gathered a wad of his linen nightshirt in her fist. “The South is going to lose too many good men as it is. I want to lose one less.” ...than before. She swallowed those words and continued, “I’d rather every man in Tennessee died before you would give yourself.”
He chuckled. “Now, you know I can’t let that happen. I might be the tenth to enlist, but never the last.”
“Then wait a little while. Listen to your brother, and wait for a cavalry unit to form. With your ability as a horseman, it would be a waste of talent for you to go to battle on foot.” Truly, it would be a waste of so much more, but she steered carefully away from what she knew his fate must be if he joined the Army of Tennessee.
“No. You heard me tell Amos why I can’t wait. Besides, what if the war ends up being over before they get around to putting together cavalry units?”
