Divided Nation, United Hearts

by Yolanda Wallace

  Clara hated to think of the sweet boy she had grown up with forced to grow old alone. Even though he would have his family near, he had always longed for a wife to call his own and children to bear his name. She hoped he hadn’t given up on his dreams simply because he could no longer watch them come true.

  “Any woman he marries would be lucky to have him.”

  Enid patted Clara’s hand. “I appreciate you saying so. Able-bodied men are in short supply these days, so maybe the women in town will be able to look past what he can’t do and see what he can.” She paused and heaved a sigh. Her breath plumed in the frigid air like smoke from a chimney. “Even if none of them are able to stop comparing the man he is to the one he used to be, he won’t lack for anything. Mary and I will continue to look after him. Family takes care of family. Even when they aren’t related by blood.”

  “Yes, they do.” Clara didn’t have to try real hard to catch Enid’s meaning. Enid and her kin were as close to Clara as family and always would be. “I’ll see you at supper.”

  “Do me one favor first. Tell the boys not to ask Moses to tell them stories about the war. He doesn’t like to talk about it. It upsets him something fierce.”

  “I understand,” Clara said, though she doubted Abram and Percy would.

  Her little brothers loved nothing more than hearing about the latest skirmishes. She didn’t know what they would do for entertainment when the war finally ended, but she certainly couldn’t wait to find out.

  There had to be more to life than killing. All she needed to do was hold on until she discovered what it was.

  Chapter Four

  The steady back-and-forth movement of the train was almost soothing enough to rock Wilhelmina to sleep, but the pain in her hands kept her awake. She flexed her fingers as she regarded the blisters in her palms.

  After her first few embarrassing attempts at using the bayonet attached to the end of her rifle, she had subjected herself to extra drills after chow. While her fellow soldiers slept soundly on their cots or sat around smoking hand-rolled cigarettes and lying about their experiences with women, she had attempted to master all the skills that came so easily to them but were a struggle for her. The muscles in her shoulders and arms ached from the extra effort, and her newly formed calluses assured that, even if she allowed her hair to grow back, she would never be mistaken for a society woman again.

  “Rub some vinegar on those blisters, son,” Erwin said as he puffed on his corncob pipe. “It’ll ease the pain and make sure the wounds don’t get infected. You won’t smell so good, but you’ll definitely feel better.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll be sure to check in with the medical tent once we get to camp.”

  Wilhelmina looked around the darkened train car. Some light streamed in through a tiny window that provided her only vantage point to the passing countryside. What little illumination that remained was provided by the lit ends of nearly burned-out cigarettes or the brief bursts of matches used to light fresh ones.

  The train was slowly rattling its way from Pennsylvania to Kentucky, where Wilhelmina and the other soldiers with her would join the rest of their infantry. The 77th had been bunked down in Munfordsville since December and were set to march to Bowling Green as soon as reinforcements arrived.

  Wilhelmina had taken long journeys before, but never on foot. She hoped she would be able to keep up with the rest of her regiment during the more than fifty-mile march as she bore the added weight of her haversack, rifle, ammunition, and assorted supplies.

  It had been three weeks since she had run away from home and disguised her sex in order to enlist. The constant drills and exercises she had undertaken since then had made her stronger in every way, but she knew she still had a long way to go if she hoped to pull her own weight on the battlefield. Training was one thing. Fighting was another.

  She looked out the window as her rifle rested between her bent knees. Had the night sky always been this beautiful or the stars so plentiful? She had never noticed them when she was in Philadelphia. Now she couldn’t look away.

  “Get all the daydreaming out of your system now, boy,” Maynard said. “Once we get where we’re going, we’ve got Rebs to kill.”

  Wilhelmina chewed on a piece of hardtack to ease the hunger pains gnawing at her insides. She and the rest of the men hadn’t eaten in nearly half a day, and there was no telling when they would be able to sit down to their next meal.

  “You don’t like me much, do you, Mr. Harrison?” she asked as she struggled to swallow the dry cracker.

  “No, I don’t.”

  She had tried not to draw attention to herself and made an effort to remain cordial with everyone she came across so no one would hold any grudges against her. The other men seemed to have accepted her into their ranks, but Maynard had always kept his distance. She had caught him staring at her from time to time with an odd look on his face. The first time it happened, she had feared he had seen through her disguise. When daybreak came and she hadn’t found herself on a train bound for home, she had thought something else might be the issue, but she hadn’t been able to figure out what it could be.

  “Please tell me what I did to get on your bad side.”

  “You’re the weakest link in this unit, Fredericks. The proverbial albatross around our necks. When we get to the front, make sure you stay as far away from me as you can. I don’t want to wind up getting killed because you can’t defend yourself. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

  “I’m not the only one, believe me.”

  When some of the other men looked away rather than meeting her eye, Wilhelmina realized what Maynard had said was true. They didn’t trust her to keep them safe from harm.

  “Face it, Fredericks. You’re the worst man in this regiment. Don’t be surprised if no one wants to partner with you once we start seeing action. We’ve all got families we want to get back to. We don’t need you standing in our way.”

  Wilhelmina tried to think of something to say in her defense, but words failed her. The uncomfortable silence stretched on for several minutes before Erwin’s deep voice breached the peace.

  “Forgive me if I’m wrong,” Erwin said, “but the last time I looked, the enemy was wearing gray not blue.”

  Maynard batted the air with his hand. “With your fondness for books and poetry, you’re as bad as the boy. The two of you deserve each other.”

  Erwin clenched the stem of his pipe between his teeth and inhaled deeply. “I could think of worse company.” He moved closer to Wilhelmina and pulled a tintype from the recesses of his haversack. “My family. My wife, Sarah, and our daughters, Beatrice and Pauline.”

  Wilhelmina angled the photograph toward the moonlight. She squinted to see the faces of a petite woman with blond hair and the two children who were the spitting image of her.

  “How old are your daughters?” she asked, returning the photo.

  “Eight and six,” Erwin said proudly, “though they often seem much older. Some of the words and phrases that spill from their lips make them sound like women rather than children. When I’m finally able to return home, I wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t have families of their own.” He kissed the photograph and returned it to his haversack. “Do you have someone waiting for you to return? A young lady, perhaps?”

  Wilhelmina hesitated only briefly before she reached for the tintype tucked inside her uniform. “That’s Libby.”

  Erwin took a long draw on his pipe as he regarded the photo. “Quite a comely woman. As Lord Byron would say, she walks in beauty like the night.”

  “Thank you, sir. I think so, too,” Wilhelmina said as she returned the tintype to its hiding place. Next to her heart, as Rose had directed.

  “Do you intend to make her your bride one day?”

  “I’d like to.”

  “But?”

  Wilhelmina didn’t know how much information she should share. Should she tell a versio
n of the truth, or come up with a plausible lie?

  “I would like to make her mine, but she’s betrothed to another.”

  “I see.” Maynard took another puff on his pipe. “Does she love him?”

  “She says she does.”

  “Yet that doesn’t stop you from writing to her every day.”

  Wilhelmina felt her cheeks redden and was grateful for the gathering darkness. She knew she wasn’t the only one who constantly sent missives home, but her letter-writing campaign might be the only one that could be considered a lost cause.

  “I’ve known Libby since we were young. I always imagined we would spend the rest of our lives together.”

  “God willing, you still can.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, wondering if He was still able or willing to answer her prayers, “God willing.”

  *

  Abram spooned some baked beans and roasted sweet potatoes into his mouth and followed them up with a big bite of fried chicken. He hadn’t been able to scrounge up any game lately so Enid had sacrificed one of her hens to make tonight’s meal.

  “What do you miss most about the war, Moses?” Abram asked as he slathered butter on his cornbread.

  Clara tried to kick Abram’s leg under the table, but he dodged the attempted blow. This was their third trip to the Braggs’ for Sunday supper in as many weeks. Abram had been able to hold his curiosity at bay during the first couple of trips, but his thirst for information had gotten the best of him tonight. Clara had given him and Percy a talking-to before they left the house. Same as she did every week. Both boys knew they weren’t supposed to mention the war to Moses, but they had barely sat down to eat before Abram did what she had expressly told him not to.

  Moses stuck the fingers of his left hand in his plate to gauge where his food was before he attempted to gather some with his spoon. Both Enid and Mary had offered to feed him, but he had insisted on trying to fend for himself. Clara admired his desire to remain as independent as possible, though she hoped he wasn’t too proud to ask for help when he truly needed it.

  “I don’t miss any of it, to be honest.”

  Moses’s sightless eyes wandered the room as if looking for a place to land. His gaunt face, pale skin, and lank hair made him look like a ghost. It was almost as if he had died in battle and someone had forgotten to tell him.

  “I don’t miss the hours of marching, the sound of gunfire, or the smell of death. I don’t miss wounded men calling for help or dying ones begging for water to slake their unquenchable thirst.”

  His hands shook as they hovered above his plate. He looked like someone suffering from the palsy. Before he was shot, he had never been sick a day in his life. Now he seemed to have as many ailments as an old man and he was only twenty-one years old.

  “I don’t miss the flies, the maggots, or any of the innumerable insects that spread disease. In a way, I’m happy for what happened to me because I would much rather be here than there.”

  Abram’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open in disbelief. Clara had never heard someone speak so honestly about the war. She hoped Moses’s words had managed to end Abram’s fascination with both the conflict and its combatants.

  “You still think our side’s going to win, don’t you?” Percy asked.

  His expression was as innocent as his question. Clara wished he could remain that naïve forever, but she knew his innocence to the ways of the world wouldn’t last for much longer. If Percy kept peppering Moses with questions about the war, his guilelessness might not last past supper.

  “I used to,” Moses said, chewing on a drumstick. “Now I’m not so certain.”

  “What do you mean?” Enid asked. “Preacher Parsons said just last week that God’s on our side.”

  “Preacher Parsons may know more about heaven and hell than the average man, but he don’t know a thing about war,” Moses said. “He’s never fought a day in his life, which means he’s seeing with his heart instead of his head. The plain truth is the Federals have more money, more provisions, and more men than we do. They can take us at any time. I’m surprised they haven’t already.”

  “That’s because we have Jefferson Davis and Stonewall Jackson on our side,” Abram said. To him and thousands of boys like him, the Southern generals were more than heroes. They were practically gods. “Those two can take anything the Yankees try to dish out.”

  Moses’s smile held more sorrow than mirth. “Unfortunately, Davis and Jackson aren’t the ones doing the taking. The men in the trenches are. Men who are devoted to their cause but are as blind to the results of their outcome as the man you see before you now.”

  “But—”

  “Enough talk of madness and mayhem,” Clara said. “Let’s move on to more pleasant subjects before we ruin what’s left of our dinner.”

  “Agreed,” Enid said. “Mary, fetch Abram another piece of your fine cornbread since he seems to be enjoying it so much.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mary got up from the table and headed over to the stove, where a plate of cornbread had been left to warm.

  “Mary’s an awful good cook, isn’t she, Abram?” Enid asked with a teasing smile. “She’d make some man a fine wife one day.”

  Abram’s face turned redder than the flames flickering in the fireplace as Mary held the plate of cornbread out to him.

  “Yes, ma’am, I suspect she would.” He took two pieces of cornbread and mumbled a bashful, “Thank you, Mary.”

  “You’re welcome, Abram.” Mary covered her mouth with her hands to hide her delighted smile as she set the plate on the table and returned to her seat.

  “Ain’t young love grand?” Enid said as she sucked the marrow out of a chicken bone. “I remember when Joseph and I started sparking. He was even more shamefaced than Abram is now. He could barely look me in the eye the first year we were courting, and I can count on the fingers of one hand how many words he said to me during that time.” Her laugh was fond as she recalled the memory. “I guess not much has changed. He still—”

  “Someone’s coming,” Moses said quietly.

  “How many?” Enid asked, looking alarmed.

  Moses listened for a minute or two.

  “One, but he’s coming fast.”

  “How can you tell?” Clara strained her ears but couldn’t hear anything.

  “Since I lost my sight, the rest of my senses have improved to make up for its absence.”

  “Now he can hear a butterfly flapping its wings five miles away.”

  Enid grabbed the rifle hanging above the mantle. She checked to make sure the rifle was loaded, then pressed the stock against her hip. She rested one hand on the barrel of the rifle and the other against the trigger. Both shook worse than Moses’s had when he was talking about the war.

  “Here, Mrs. Bragg,” Abram said, reaching for the rifle, “you’d better let me have that.”

  Enid gave Clara a skeptical look as she held fast to the rifle. Clara nodded her assurance that Abram was up to the task for which he had volunteered.

  “Let him have the gun.”

  After Enid finally handed him the rifle, Abram raised it to shoulder level and pointed it at the door.

  “Have you ever drawn down on a man before?” Moses asked, sitting so still he barely took up space.

  “No.” Abram closed one eye as he took aim. “But it can’t be much different from the time that black bear wandered out of the mountains and thought he could use me for food. I showed him a thing or two that day. I’ll be glad to teach whoever winds up on the other side of that door the same lesson.”

  Abram had crossed paths with the bear while out hunting one day last spring. The animal hadn’t been fully grown and was half-starved after hibernating all winter, but Abram had stood his ground and put it down after it had charged toward him. The family had dined on the meat for weeks and, at Abram’s insistence, Clara had turned the hide into a rug. The thing smelled worse than all get-out, but it was the most prized poss
ession Abram owned.

  “Killing an animal is a lot different than killing a man,” Moses said. “We’ll see if you have what it takes when it’s time for you to pull the trigger.”

  Abram swallowed hard, and Clara thought she saw a bead of sweat form on his forehead when the pounding of a horse’s hooves announced their visitor’s presence for all to hear, but his aim never wavered.

  “Who do you think it is?” Enid whispered. “A Yankee scout on patrol or one of our boys?”

  Moses cocked his head and listened intently.

  “A scout doesn’t ride this hard unless he’s rushing back to his regiment to tell his commanding officer what he found while he was out. This man is moving toward us, not away from us.”

  Enid drew Mary to her side and held her tight to her bosom.

  “I heard tell of a marauding group of Yankees who raped and murdered scores of women when they marched through Virginia,” she said, smoothing Mary’s hair. “If one comes through that door, Abram, make sure you hit him where it hurts.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I surely will.”

  Clara rested her hands on Moses’s bony shoulders to let him know he wasn’t alone. He covered one of her hands with his. His skin felt cold despite the warmth of the fire blazing in the hearth.

  “I should be protecting you, not the other way around.”

  “We all have a part to play in this war, even if we might not understand our roles at the time.”

  “Everybody, quiet down,” Moses said when the hoofbeats stopped. “He’s coming up the steps.”

  Mary buried her face in Enid’s chest, and Abram tightened his grip on the rifle. His knuckles were as white as his face.

  Clara flinched when someone pounded on the door hard enough to shake the rafters.

  “Who goes there?” Abram asked, his voice high-pitched with fear.

  “It’s me. Jedediah Ogletree. I’ve come to warn you of the Yankee invasion.”