“I’d know that face anywhere. When I was a child I was terrified of him.”
“Well, let’s see.” Tabitha went into the house and came back lugging a big book. “Move some of that out of the way,” Tabitha said. “This is heavy.”
“Give it to me and you make room on the table,” Samuel said, taking the book from her. “You shouldn’t be lifting heavy things.” He examined the tooled leather cover of the book in his hands. “English heraldry?”
“Yes,” she said as she pushed dishes, cups and saucers aside. “I bought it so I could identify the swells.”
“It looks, feels and smells expensive.”
“It was very dear. I suppose they do that to keep the riffraff from knowing anything about their betters.”
He put the book on the table and looked back down at Park Avenue. “He’s gone. Thank God.”
Tabitha turned through the pages. “How long has it been since you last saw him?”
“I don’t know. But that was him.”
“You were a child – yes?”
“Yes. But I’m absolutely sure that the man in that coach was William. He looks very much like his brothers. He and Tom could pass for twins.”
“Ah. Here it is.” Tabitha pointed to a full-page plate in the book. “The crest belongs to William de Iturbide, Duke de Padilla. That’s who you saw.”
Samuel shrugged. “Then all I can say is that William de Iturbide, Duke de Padilla is William Van Buskirk, the outlaw known as Lucky Billy Van.”
July 19, 1863
Van Buskirk Point, New Jersey
The little graveyard was overflowing with people. Those outside the wrought iron fence were four deep. Dry-eyed, Anna dropped a handful of earth onto the coffin, then made her way toward the gate to join the crowd that was headed for the tent which had been erected on the lawn for the occasion.
“Mrs. Lagrange?” The woman was young, shapely and very beautiful.
“Yes,” Anna replied.
“I’m Urilla Van Buskirk.”
Anna looked blank.
“Johnny’s wife?” the woman offered. She nodded toward the wide-eyed little boy of about two who was clinging nervously to her hand. “This is our son, Jefferson. Your grandnephew.”
Anna gasped, then caught her breath.
“I’m so sorry to… I didn’t know about – this when I left Richmond. That is…”
“No, no. Of course you didn’t know. Don’t be sorry.” Anna hugged Urilla. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” She knelt in front of the child and took his free hand. “Hello, Jefferson. I’m your Aunt Anna and I’m so very, very happy to meet you.”
“Hello,” the boy said, quickly extracting his hand and moving a little closer to his mother.
Anna stood up. “Let’s walk down to the water.”
“I don’t want to impose at a time like this,” Urilla said. “I didn’t know about Johnny’s Aunt Nancy when I left Richmond. Then when I got here and heard the news, I wasn’t sure what to do.”
“It’s wonderful to have you here.” Anna gestured toward the tent. “No one else from our immediate family is here. Most of these people are from Nancy’s family or the New York branch of our family. I don’t know half of them. I was just told that my brother Robert is on the way. Had I known he was coming I’d have postponed the funeral. Sorry. I’m gushing.” She started across the lawn toward the Kill.
Urilla picked up Jefferson and fell into step next to Anna. “There’s been a mix-up.”
“About what?”
“Johnny’s convinced that the war is lost and that Richmond will fall soon.”
Anna looked at her. “I’m not following you.”
“He sent me here to stay with you and Nancy. From your reaction to seeing me, it’s obvious that he didn’t discuss it with you.”
“He probably sent a letter or telegram that I’ve not seen. When I went in this morning there was a pile of mail inside the front door. I just picked it up and didn’t look at it. The house has been closed up for some time. I don’t suppose that Johnny knows that.” Anna glanced up at the house.
“I don’t know what to do now,” Urilla said.
“You’ll stay with me in Washington.”
“No, no. I can’t do that.”
“Why not? I have a two-bedroom suite at the Willard. You can have Nancy’s room.”
“I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but no thank you. I grew up on a plantation. I’d feel stifled in a city. I’m going home as soon as it can be arranged.”
Anna gave her a cold look. “Very well. I’ll make your arrangements immediately. You can leave on the Manhattan ferry with the mourners.”
~
The Van Buskirk house was dusty and smelled of mildew. Anna removed a cover from the couch in the living room, wadded it into a ball and tossed it into the corner. “I’m sorry, Robert. Had I known you were coming…”
“Yes. So you said. It doesn’t matter.” He removed the cover from an overstuffed chair and began folding it. “Tell me about Urilla.”
“I told you all there is to tell.”
“You just sent her on her way?”
“No. I offered her Nancy’s room at the Willard, but she said she disliked cities.” Anna watched him a moment. “You obviously disapprove.” She plopped down on the couch sending a cloud up from the cushions.
Robert shrugged.
“What should I have done?”
“Well, for one thing, you could have hired a small staff, had them clean this place up, and let her stay here. The trust fund can afford it.”
“Have you looked around the estate, Robert? Since Abe and Ginger sold their property, the Point’s been overrun by riffraff. There are people living in our woods. It wouldn’t be safe here for a young woman and a child – unless we hired a small army. The trust fund can’t afford that.”
“Liberty Hall, then. Great-grandmother’s cottage in New York. Buy her a little house somewhere. Hell, I don’t know. You could have done something. She’s Johnny’s wife.”
“She’s a grown woman,” Anna said, her voice becoming shrill. “She made her own choice.”
“She’s a girl caught in the middle of a war,” Robert said, raising his voice to match hers.
“Pooh.” Anna looked away. “Don’t be so melodramatic. We’re all caught in the middle of a war.”
“It’s not the same for her.” He sat down carefully on the chair. “The South will lose the war and Urilla’s way of life will be gone forever.”
“Good riddance to Urilla’s way of life,” Anna growled. “No more slaves to wait on her hand-and-foot. No more fancy balls with Urilla and her ilk holding court. No more Southern aristocracy. Good riddance.”
“That’s not fair, Anna.”
“Have you ever been on a big plantation, Robert?”
“Yes. Of course. Dozens.”
“Have you ever been on a plantation that hadn’t already been liberated by the Union army?”
“Stop it, Anna. You’re trying to sidestep the issue by starting a debate about southern customs.”
“All right, Little Brother.” Anna threw her hands in the air. “What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know,” he shouted. “I just lost my wife and I can’t think straight.”
“She was my best friend a hell of a lot longer than she was your wife,” Anna shouted back.
“There’s a war going on, Anna, and I have to get back to it. I don’t have time to play ‘who’s the most grieved’ with you. You’re the only member of this family that’s not in uniform. That makes you the head of our family.”
“All right then, as the head of the family, what do you want from me, Robert?”
He shook his head.
“It was a serious question. What do you want me to do about Urilla?”
He rubbed his eyes. “Why don’t you take her with you to Kansas and decide later?”
“Kansas? Why in God’s name would I want to go to Kansas?”
She shrugged. “I’ve gotten several wires from you, but none that mentioned Kansas.”
“Quincy and Chrissy’s marriage has been – annulled. Quincy’s been transferred to Kansas. Chrissy and maybe Ginger will be joining him soon.”
“Wait. I’m not following any of this. Start from the beginning.”
“Quincy and Chrissy’s marriage was illegal in Mississippi. To keep them from being prosecuted we destroyed the records. They’ll be remarried in Kansas where interracial marriage is permitted. It’s to be a formal affair, in a church with an honor guard. Anyway, I thought you’d want to be there.”
“Yes. Of course I want to be there.” Anna thought a moment. “But Urilla’s already gone home.”
“If we leave right away we can catch her in New York.”
Anna looked away.
“Okay,” Robert said with a dismissive gesture. “I’ll go by myself.”
“No. I’ll go with you.”
“And then what?”
“I’ll take her with me to Kansas,” Anna said with resolve. “After that – I don’t know.”
July 25, 1863
Fort Delaware, Delaware
The duty sergeant at the Fort Delaware military prison added the form he’d just completed to the pile on his right. “Take him away,” he said to the guard. He selected a blank form from the pile on his left and inked his pen. “Next.” He yawned while the Confederate prisoner shuffled away with the guard and the next prisoner in line stepped forward. “State your name, rank and unit.”
The prisoner’s dirty shirt and trousers were blood-stained and in tatters. Dirty bandages on his torso showed through the tears in his shirt. “John Smith. Private. Unassigned recruit.” His tone of voice and facial expression were defiant.
The sergeant began completing the form. “Private John Smith. We get a lot of them. I’ll have to give you a number. Let me look it up.”
A colonel who was sitting at a desk near the back of the room put down his pen. “Just a moment, Sergeant.”
The sergeant turned in his seat. “Yes, sir?”
The colonel gestured toward the prisoner. “That man’s no private. Log him as an uncooperative senior officer with no name, then put him in solitary confinement.”
“Yes, sir. Senior officer – no name.” The sergeant made the entry on the form. “How do you know that, sir?”
“By the way the other prisoners defer to him. You must learn to be more observant, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.” The sergeant signaled a guard. “Take ‘General No Name’ to solitary confinement.”
The colonel watched as the prisoner was escorted from the room, then he picked up his pen and turned his attention back to the paperwork on his desk.
July 28, 1863
Huntsville, Texas
Margaret Moffette Lea had been only twenty-one years old when she married Sam Houston; he was in his forties. Now Margaret was in her forties and Sam would get no older. She nodded at the woman in black who was approaching her. The face was familiar but Margaret couldn’t connect it with a name. “Thank you for coming.” She offered her hand.
“Please accept my deepest condolences.” The woman took Margaret’s hand in both of hers, squeezed for a moment and then released it and stepped back. “My father-in-law counted Governor Houston as his best friend.”
Margaret smiled. “You must be one of Yank Van Buskirk’s daughters-in-law.”
“Yes. I’m Jane. Tom’s wife.”
“Of course – Jane,” Margaret said, nodding her head. “Please forgive me for not recognizing you. There are too many faces and too many years.”
Jane laughed softly. “It’s not your fault. I haven’t aged well. I look like I’m Marina’s age.”
“Did you come all the way down here from Waco?” Margaret asked, to change the subject.
“Yes.”
“How kind of you.”
“It was no trouble,” Jane said. “I’m so very sorry for your loss.”
“His death wasn’t a surprise. I was as prepared as one can be. Last winter he developed a persistent cough that turned into pneumonia.” She sighed. “I’ll miss him.”
“So will Texas and our family.”
“How is your family?”
“The Civil War’s taking its toll. My mother-in-law and Jack’s wife were killed by Confederate soldiers in New Mexico. Tom and Jack are missing in action after Gettysburg, and Robert’s wife was recently killed in the New York draft riots.”
“I heard about Marina and Clementine, but I somehow missed the news about Thomas, Jack and Nancy.”
“You’ve had a lot on your mind.”
“Yes.” After a long, uncomfortable silence Margaret put on a smile. “So. You’re all alone up there in Waco, are you?”
“Not exactly,” Jane said. “The ranch hands take care of me and I have a friend or two.”
“From what I read in the papers, Waco seems – well, lawless. There are always stories of gunfights and murders.”
“The Chisholm Trail brings in a lot of troublemakers so the area around the saloons and brothels is very dangerous, but the merchant police and the local sheriff’s deputies keep the violence contained.”
“Every so often there’s a report that your brother-in-law, William, has been seen in Waco.”
“None of those stories are true.” Jane shook her head. “William is surely dead.”
Margaret blushed. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I brought that up.”
“No, no. Please don’t apologize. I know how hard this must be for you – trying to make polite conversation… Anyway. I hardly knew William and what I knew of him I disliked. If he’s dead, good riddance. If he’s not dead I hope he dies soon.” She put her hand on Margaret’s arm. “I’m very sorry for your loss. If there’s anything I can do…”
“Thank you, Jane.”
August 1, 1863
Lawrence, Kansas
The town of Lawrence, situated on the south side of the Kansas River, had a population of twelve hundred. Today a large portion of that population was gathered outside the Plymouth Congregational Church, while inside, a marriage ceremony was underway.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God, before these witnesses, to join this man, Quincy Livingston Van Buskirk and this woman, Christina Mae Davenport, in holy matrimony.”
“I’ll take him,” Anna whispered, holding out her arms toward Urilla. “I need to stretch my legs, anyway.”
Gratefully, Urilla handed the complaining and squirming child to Anna.
“Hush now and I’ll take you to see the soldiers.” Anna got up with Jefferson on her hip and made her way toward the vestibule where the army honor guard, in dress blues, was waiting to present their Arch of Sabers. As she reached the troops, she was surprised that they were all black troops and shocked to see a familiar face in front of them. “Abe?” She rushed to him, threw her free arm around his neck, then kissed him noisily. “I almost didn’t recognize you, Sergeant Major. What in the world are you doing here?”
Abe gave his troops an embarrassed glance, then stepped away, taking Anna’s arm. “This may be Kansas, but a white woman kissing a black man is still scandalous.”
“Oh bother,” she scoffed.
“Say that again when you see me hanging from a tree.” He smiled at the wide-eyed child on her hip. “Who’s this?”
“This is Jefferson Davis Van Buskirk. Johnny’s son.” She bounced the little boy. “Jefferson, this is Abraham Van Buskirk. You can call him Uncle Abe.”
“Is he your nigger?” Jefferson asked.
Abe shook his head at Anna to stop her from chastising the child. “How do you do, Jefferson?” He offered his hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”
Jefferson shook Abe’s hand, then looked up at Anna to be sure that she approved.
“In the north we call people with black skin colored,” Anna
said. “That other word is hurtful.”
“Colored.” Jefferson nodded, but he was still quite obviously confused.
Abe looked toward the altar to see how much time he had before the marriage ceremony was complete. “The benediction’s started. I have to get back in formation.”
“Of course,” Anna said. “Will I see you again?”
“Yes. I’m stationed here in Quincy’s command.” He moved back to his position and waited for Quincy and Chrissy to rise from their kneeling position. “Honor guard,” he said in a carefully modulated tone. “Center face.” The men turned in unison to face each other. “Arch Sabers.” The men raised their sabers in their right hands and rotated their wrists clockwise until the cutting edges were at the top.
Anna put Jefferson down, led him by the hand behind the soldiers and out the door to the steps where more troops were holding back the crowd of spectators.
“Who are all these people?” the little boy asked nervously.
Anna shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Where’s my mama?”
“She’ll be coming out soon.” She pointed. “First your Uncle Quincy and Aunt Chrissy will walk out under those swords, then the soldiers will line up here in two rows, and everyone else will walk out of the church between them.”
“My father is a soldier,” Jefferson said proudly.
“Yes. I know. Your father’s my nephew.”
He gave her a puzzled look.
“Your father’s father is my brother,” Anna explained.
The boy thought about that for a moment, but was soon distracted by the appearance of the bride in her gown and groom in dress blues, beneath the arch of sabers.
~
Anna had maneuvered Quincy away from reception and into the lobby of the Planters Hotel. “I don’t understand why Abe is here,” she said.
Quincy shrugged. “Uncle Robert, General Grant and General Sherman have taken over all our lives, Mother. We just do what they order us to do.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t do that to me, Quincy. Those three never did anything that wasn’t in the best interest of the United States.”
Freedom (Gone For Soldiers) Page 7
