The Blue and the Gray Undercover

by Ed Gorman

“Keep an eye open without seeming to do so,” he said. “The front gate to the house yard has needed mending for a while. I expect this is a good time to do it.”

  * * *

  Katie found Princess, a pretty fawn-colored beast, already halfway down the hillside when she went looking for her. Princess’s calf, a wide-eyed, knobby-legged heifer too innocent to be shy, trailed after.

  “Got tired of playing coy and wondering why no one came looking for you?” Katie asked, rubbing the cow’s soft nose and wishing her own eyelashes were as long and silky. “Come along and get settled in. You’re the last.”

  Princess lowed a reproach but allowed herself to be escorted to the barn. Katie hurried the cow along, for she’d glimpsed the toylike shapes of horses on the farm road. Although she knew eavesdropping was frowned upon, she wanted to get to where she could hear what they said to Grandpa.

  Katie managed to slip into the toolshed just before the two riders drew up before the farmyard gate.

  “Would you be Dr. Rowland?” asked the one Katie thought of as the artist. His tone was polite and courteous, but Katie couldn’t make out his accent. It held notes of Virginia but something else lurked beneath. She stiffened and hoped Grandpa would be careful.

  “I am,” came the measured reply. “Now, who might you be? You may know my name but I don’t fancy I’ve set eyes on you before.”

  “We learned it from your neighbor up the road, Mrs. Sally Miller,” the artist replied. “I’m Jed Hotchkiss and this is Howell Brown.”

  Katie pressed her eye to a crack in the toolshed wall and finally got a look at the spies that wasn’t distorted by her being above, and them in the shadows below.

  Jed Hotchkiss seemed a man of middle years—somewhere around thirty. He was fairly tall; Katie guessed him around six feet in height, but he was not at all bulky, Hotchkiss wore his dark beard long, spilling over his chest, and what she could see of his face was calm and thoughtful.

  Howell Brown was another big man, but where Hotchkiss gave the impression of leanness, Brown was strongly made. His beard was more neatly trimmed, too. Whereas Hotchkiss seemed a scholar or artist, Katie thought Brown more a soldier or at least an outdoorsman.

  Glancing at her grandfather, Katie saw that Dr. Rowland was inspecting Hotchkiss with the same cool appraisal she’d seen him use on bellyaching patients who weren’t confessing all they’d had to eat or drink. The old doctor hadn’t uttered a word since Hotchkiss finished his initial introductions, but his very silence seemed to press Hotchkiss to explain further.

  “We’re with General Jackson,” Hotchkiss said, “General Thomas Jackson and the Army of the Valley.”

  “I know of General Jackson,” Dr. Rowland said. “Indeed, last I heard, my son was serving in his army.”

  Hotchkiss didn’t blanch at this. Indeed, he seemed to relax a bit, but Katie wasn’t willing to trust him yet.

  “I’ve been trying to decide,” Dr. Rowland continued, “whether you gentlemen are civilians or military. Your horses bear the army brand and so does some of your gear, but you are not in uniform, sir, nor did you offer me a rank.”

  Hotchkiss sighed almost imperceptibly. Katie had the impression that he had answered this question or some form of it many times before.

  “I am a civilian, Dr. Rowland, as is my companion, but we are in the employ of General Jackson. Doubtless our commissions will come in time, but I only met the general a few days ago—three days before the battle of Kernstown.”

  “So you’ve seen fighting,” Grandpa said.

  Hotchkiss nodded. “And when the retreat to Rude’s Hill was completed, General Jackson sent me right our again to map him the valley.”

  “All of it?” Grandpa laughed, for the Shenandoah Valley was both long and broad. Katie had never been out of it her entire life.

  Hotchkiss shared the laughter, though Brown looked vaguely disapproving.

  “‘From Harper’s Ferry to Lexington, showing all points of offense and defense,’” Hotchkiss quoted. “Those were General Jackson’s orders. I figured he’d be needing to know the lay of the local land first, though. Brown and I have been mapping west of Mount Jackson, for the army has men and supplies there, as well, and it would be good to have a clear picture of what surrounds them.”

  “And what might you want me to do for you?”

  There was steel in the old man’s tone and Katie was suddenly very conscious that Grandpa had not yet invited the visitors to step down from their horses.

  “A very important thing, Dr. Rowland,” Hotchkiss admitted frankly. “No one knows the land like a country doctor. I was hoping you might tell me what to expect in this area. I’d like to know about any fords or bridges, any particularly bad stretches and any particularly good. After all, though the Pike is an admirable road, we may not always be able to rely on it.”

  “I might be able to help you there,” Dr. Rowland said equably. Katie thought he was coming to like Hotchkiss. “Why don’t you gentlemen join my family for dinner? We are starved for news and anything you can tell us would he a fair trade for my knowledge of the countryside.”

  Hotchkiss beamed and the silent Brown smiled his own thanks. When the strangers led their horses around to the stables, Katie slipped out of the toolshed and into the house. As she stepped out of her brogans in the mudroom, she heard Grandpa cautioning the others:

  “Let me do the talking over dinner. Hotchkiss and Brown seem polite enough and their gear is more Confederate than not, but we need to be careful.”

  He spied Katie as she paused at the foot of the stairs.

  “That goes double for you, Katie Ann. Best they don’t know you were watching them.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, and scampered barefoot up the smooth wooden steps.

  * * *

  Dinner conversation was absorbing enough that Katie felt no desire to interrupt. Even the little boys were quiet, awed by the presence of strangers. Lorry, who read more than was wise, was frankly starry-eyed, envisioning these two as heroes from some novel.

  Dr. Rowland began by asking for news of his son, Michael Rowland, who at last report had been part of the Twenty-seventh Virginia. Katie was aware of her own heart beating faster and saw her mother pause with her fork partway to her lips.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know of him,” Hotchkiss replied, looking at the intent faces around the table. “The Twenty-seventh is with Jackson but, as I told you, I joined the army only a few days before Kernstown and then Jackson sent me out again before I had a chance to get to know many of the men. Still, when I report to Jackson, I will make inquiries after your son.”

  “Thank you,” Dr. Rowland said gravely, and politely turned the conversation to other, less personally painful matters.

  At his request their guests related the details of the battle of Kernstown. His right hand gesturing widely as if to map the action on the air, Hotchkiss told how General Jackson—misled by reports that the Federal forces had mostly withdrawn from the area—had attempted to take Kernstown; how the Confederate attack, though fierce, had ultimately failed, how Jackson had refused to leave until every one of his wounded could be collected.

  “Had the Yankees pressed,” Hotchkiss admitted, with the same openness that Katie suspected had won her grandfather over, “it would have been ugly for us, but they didn’t, maybe because the light was fading. Even the day after the battle, General Banks didn’t venture more than four miles in pursuit. Our men may have failed to take Kernstown, but that battle surely put the fear of Stonewall Jackson into General Banks.”

  “And now?” Grandpa probed.

  “The army’s resting at Rude’s Hill,” Brown said. “It’s a natural fort, as you must know, living so close to it.”

  Grandpa nodded. “The river curls around the hill on two sides. There’s only one bridge over the North Fork of the Shenandoah anywhere close and that could easily be burned if pursuit came from the west side of the river.”

  Hotchkiss grinned, looking as pl
eased as if he’d invented the position himself.

  “And burning the bridge would cut the turnpike, making it harder for the Yankees to pursue. Rude’s Hill is gifted with height in addition to that natural moat. As my altimeter read it, it stands some hundred feet over the surrounding countryside.”

  Katie recalled picnicking on that high hill, looking down over the Shenandoah River and enjoying the view over the relatively clear land. It was hard to imagine the quiet place full of soldiers—harder, too, to believe that her father could be so close to home and yet not get word to them. She began to believe that he must indeed be dead.

  While Katie’s thoughts wandered, Hotchkiss continued his account of the aftermath of the battle at Kernstown.

  “Now, the Federals didn’t dally forever. Our commander of cavalry, Colonel Turner Ashby, and his troops slowed them a bit. At last report they were holding the Yankees at a water course…”

  He paused and Brown, who Katie had already noted tended to be methodical and precise regarding any sort of detail, interjected:

  “Tom’s Brook.”

  “Tom’s Brook!” Hotchkiss repeated with a nod of thanks to his companion. “The cavalry is holding the Federals at Tom’s Brook, but that can’t last. Eventually the bluecoats will get the courage up to go wading and then our army will be pressed again. Rude’s Hill may be a natural fortress, but you need men to hold a position and Jackson’s are tuckered out.”

  Grandpa pondered, then said slowly, “I may be able to help you there. There’s another creek—Stony Creek, we call it—between Mount Jackson and Tom’s Brook. It’s wide, especially at this time of year when the waters are running high, and its banks are steep. A smaller force could hold off a larger one there even better than at Tom’s Brook.”

  Hotchkiss, who had been looking sleepy as the meal drew to a close, was suddenly alert once more.

  “I believe I recall where that creek crosses the turnpike, but that’s well out of our way. Surely the creek extends farther west. Could you guide me there overland, sir? I could do a quick survey and pass on the essential information to General Jackson.”

  Dr. Rowland hesitated, coloring a dark red. Hotchkiss looked confused.

  “If it’s a matter of payment for your time,” the cartographer ventured tentatively.

  “No, I…”

  Katie’s mother took mercy on her father-in-law’s embarrassment.

  “My father cannot ride—not as you would need him to ride,” she explained in a soft voice. “He lost his right leg below the knee some years ago. Muscles were damaged as well, so he cannot stay on a horse over rough ground. When he does his rounds, he takes a light gig, but the gig won’t reach Stony Creek—not overland, and you need to go overland if time is essential.”

  “I believe it is,” Hotchkiss stated frankly, “Colonel Ashby has been playing cat and mouse with the Yanks for nearly a week. Eventually—even if for no other reason than to save their pride—they must push forward.”

  Inspired by Hotchkiss’s intensity, Katie forgot her grandfather’s order to keep silent.

  “But I know,” she blurted out. “I know how to get to Stony Creek overland.”

  She blushed as all eyes—most of them quite disapproving—centered on her. At last Grandpa spoke:

  “You do indeed, Katie,” he said, “and you may be the best chance if we are to help these men buy General Jackson’s army the time it needs.”

  Katie’s mother drew in her breath sharply, but the same courage that had allowed her to send both son and husband off to war kept her from protesting.

  Brown stated with deliberate politeness and a solemn frown, “We couldn’t bring a young lady into dangerous territory, sir.”

  Dr. Rowland sighed. “Without a local guide, it would take you quite a bit longer to find Stony Creek from here and I have no gift for drawing maps. Let Katie go with you. I trust her good sense.”

  The two mapmakers fell silent and Katie realized something of the seriousness of the Confederate position in the men’s willingness to accept her as a guide.

  Her mother broke the silence. “You gentlemen won’t want to be heading out tonight—after all, you can’t make maps in the dark. We’ll bed you down in the parlor and Katie can guide you come dawn.”

  Hotchkiss smiled and for the first time Katie realized how tired he and Brown must be if they’d fought at Kernstown and then been sent out to make maps as soon as the retreat to Rude’s Hill was accomplished.

  “Mrs. Rowland, thank you,” Hotchkiss said. “I can’t say no to a bed, not when it’s offered so kindly.”

  * * *

  Katie lay awake for what felt like a long time that night, feeling alone despite Lorry’s soft breathing from the other bed. She was suddenly afraid of what she’d volunteered for.

  At last she convinced herself that the trip wouldn’t be a whit more onerous than the picnicking jaunts she’d taken with Tod and Beth before the war had ended such pleasant things forever. Even when she slept, however, her dreams were peopled with men in blue coats.

  The rooster’s crowing announced the coming of dawn and Katie, conditioned to awaken at that signal, rolled out of bed. Lorry moaned softly and pulled the blanket over her head. Most days Katie would have resented her sister’s invalid’s privilege, but today she was eager to avoid conversation.

  She wondered if Lorry was, too.

  The room was chilly, so Katie hurried to dress, waiting until after she had her clothes on to break the thin shell of ice that skimmed the water pitcher and wash her face. Lastly she dragged a comb through her thick, curly black hair, wishing as she did every morning that Beth was there to comb and braid it like she had done as long as Katie could remember.

  Lest she wake the little boys, Katie carried her shoes in her hand as she went down the stairs. After some consideration, she’d chosen her boots rather than the useful brogans, for she guessed she’d be riding.

  As she slipped past the parlor, she could hear Hotchkiss and Brown moving about inside. In the kitchen, Mother was stirring a pot of grits with one hand and turning duck slabs of bacon with the other.

  Her expression was grim and her eyelids were red, as if she’d been crying, but when she heard Katie come in she managed a bright and almost convincing smile.

  “Your grandfather will tend the cows,” she said, as if this was any other day, “and I’ll have the boys take care of the other stock. I know we were going to make butter, but that will wait until you get home.”

  Mrs. Rowland’s brave smile broke for just an instant.

  “And do come home, Katie,” she added earnestly. “I’ve given enough of my family to this war. I need you here.”

  She laughed, the notes just a little high and false. “After all, otherwise Lorry and I will be the only women in this house of men!”

  Katie hugged her, squeezing the comfortable roundness of Mrs. Rowland’s farmwife’s waist.

  “I’ll be careful,” she promised. “Stony Creek isn’t far. I may be home early enough that we can still get to the churning.”

  A discreet throat-clearing at the doorway announced Brown and Hotchkiss. Hotchkiss, ever the spokesman for the two, said:

  “Good morning, ma’am, Miss Katie. That smells wonderful.”

  Mrs. Rowland immediately set the bacon to drain. Katie started dishing out the grits.

  “My father,” Mrs. Rowland said by way of greeting, “is saddling up the horses and giving them a bite to eat. They’ll be ready for you just as soon as you’ve eaten.”

  Hotchkiss bowed his thanks and Brown stepped over to carry two bowls to the table.

  Hotchkiss cut a bit of butter to top his grits and said conversationally, “I happened to hear that this is churning day. Don’t worry, ma’am. We’ll not keep your daughter a moment longer than we must.”

  Mrs. Rowland smiled. “Stony Creek’s several miles from here, so I’ll cut you some bread and give you the extra bacon, just in case you need a meal.”

  Dr. Rowla
nd led the horses around as they were scraping their bowls clean. Katie hurried herself into the saddle of the mount her grandfather had chosen for her, a cobby dark gray named Stormshadow. Stormshadow wasn’t long on looks but he was as steady as rainfall and could walk—so Grandpa claimed—straight up the side of the Massanutten Mountains if you let him pick his own path.

  Leave-taking was brief and matter-of-fact—mostly because Katie was afraid her mother would start crying and Katie knew that if Mother did, Katie wouldn’t be able to stop her own frightened tears.

  She felt a bit odd when Hotchkiss and Brown hung back, waiting for her to take the lead. Then she urged Stormshadow forward and they were under way.

  Late March had brought out the early spring flowers. Snowdrops peeped white and delicate from the shelter of the wet, brown earth. Dogwoods were showing white blossoms. Many of the trees were beginning to leaf out, the pale green of the new growth seeming like a watercolor wash over the grays and browns of winter. The air was chilly, but Katie was used to that and Stormshadow was warm beneath her.

  After they had left the familiar buildings of the Rowland farm behind them, paradoxically Katie felt more at ease. Her natural manners asserted herself and she fell into the role of hostess.

  “You headed west from Mount Jackson,” she said. “We’ll be heading back east and somewhat south, but we can’t go directly since gullies cut up the land all over. Still, there’s a game trail we can take that will give the horses fair footing. Even with slowing down to go through the woods, this way should be faster than if you rode back east to the turnpike and then north some seven miles along the Pike to Stony Creek.”

  “Sounds like you know this land as well as I know the area around my hometown of Staunton,” Hotchkiss said admiringly.

  Katie warmed under his praise, enough so she found the courage to ask a question that had been bothering her since she’d first heard Hotchkiss speak.

  “Are you from Staunton, Mr. Hotchkiss?”

  “I am,” he said. “Taught school there—my own Mossy Creek Academy. My wife, Sara Ann, still resides there.”

  “So you are a Virginian,” Katie said, and heard the note of doubt in her own voice.