“We won,” he said simply. She could hear the pride in his voice. “As for your general, he’s fine. And yes, he knows where you are. I had a bit of trouble with your scouts on the way here. That’s why my Da is downstairs having a very interesting conversation with a Confederate sergeant.”
He disentangled her hand from his and laid it gently on the coverlet.
No. Don’t leave. Don’t go back out there, from where you might never return.
“Travis. Take care of yourself. Please.” She knew her voice was shaking, and hoped he wouldn’t question her too closely. I have your friendship again, something I doubted was even possible. But that puts you in danger once more….
She could sense him leaning over her, smelling of horse and sweat and gunpowder and summer dust. She found it a strangely comforting odor.
He spoke softly, almost a whisper. “And you, my dear Starla, get yourself well. I’ll be back to see you, as soon as I can. I promise.”
There was a light touch in her hair, then he was gone. She listened to his steady steps grow fainter, disappearing down the stairs, leaving her alone in the silent darkness. No, not silent. She could hear the wind outside, and the rain, and the homey creaking of house timbers.
I’m so very tired, she thought dully. The long days with little rest, battle nerves, her head, and now a release from the fear and anxiety over Travis—I could sleep for days. But should I sleep? My head…. Her mind wandered again. What was I thinking? Oh. How dreadfully tired I am. And how wonderful it is to sleep in a real bed again. Then, like the last flaring spark of a settling fire, she realized something. He called me Starla. But I thought he said….
But before she could wonder more, the thought faded and she drifted into sleep.
14. Fairy Tales
July 4 – September 24, 1863
Black Forest (outside of Gettysburg, PA)
“Wake up, lass.”
Starla stirred, tugging the covers over her head with the only arm that responded. “Aww, come on, Will. Let me sleep a while yet.”
A gentle hand stripped away her quilt. “Starla dear, if you’ll not be sounding more coherent than that, I’ll be forced to fetch a more experienced healer for you. Since Dr. Hofmann and the apothecary are busy up in town, all you’d be seeing would be old Mother Hamm, and I greatly doubt that you would appreciate her ministrations. She has a fondness for leeches and purgatives.”
Where am I? was Star’s first confused thought. Pulling memories one by one out from under the blanket of fog in her mind, she finally figured out what was going on. She sat up wearily, wincing as she took too deep a breath.
“Making sure I’m still responsive, Mrs. Black?” There was a soft laugh from beside her. “Well, here I am. Tho’ my body feels like it’s been trotted on by the entire Black Horse Brigade.”
“You’re in terrible pain, to be sure. But right now I’m just happy you’re awake. We had a time of it, we did, trying to rouse you last night. As you can tell, we didn’t quite succeed.”
No, Star thought, trying to hold her thoughts together. You didn’t. In fact, I can’t remember much past Travis leaving, if he were even here. Yet I am here, so he must have been….
“One can never be too careful when it comes to head injuries, but I see our worst fears were not realized. So, be you hungry yet?”
At her words, Star realized just how hungry she was. “Ravenous.”
“I figured as much, seeing how it’s already half twelve.”
Half twelve. Eleven thirty, that was. “In the evening?”
“No, lass. In the morning. ‘Tis the Fourth of July. And a rather damp one at that. Just as well. There’ll be no one round here who wants to see more fireworks after the past few days.”
Independence Day. Not for my home, Star thought grimly. She could almost see the long lines of men trudging south, the sullen rattling of far too many wagons, hauling what wounded could be transported through the rain and mud. She’d seen it before, after Sharpsburg. Where the men lay threshed like corn on the fields. And again, trailing the Yankee wagons as they inched their way north from Fredericksburg. So much blood. Too much blood. Like children, countries are birthed in blood. Must remember to tell Will that. He’d appreciate the metaphor….
A tap at the door broke through her dark, confused ruminations.
“I’ve brought some broth and bread, Miz Caro.”
Starla started at the new voice. It was like velvet, the smooth, thick sound of the deep South. Whoever the woman speaking was, she wasn’t a native of these parts.
“Thank you, Ellen.”
There was the clink of a spoon on china, then the wonderfully rich aroma of beef broth drove out all thoughts but that of food. But afterwards curiosity filled her.
“Miss Ellen, please pardon my asking, but where are you from?”
There was a rich, throaty chuckle from the bedside. “I was born in Georgia, many, many years ago. Mr. O’Donnell, that being Miz Caro’s da, bought me while on a business trip and brought me up here.”
Starla was shocked. “You belong to the Blacks?” And he had the gall to accuse me of having slaves?
There was a sharp Gaelic exclamation from Caro Black.
Ellen merely laughed. “You’re still not thinking clearly, child. This is Pennsylvania—slavery’s been outlawed here for over eighty years. Besides, Mr. O’Donnell didn’t hold with such traffic. Freed me as soon as we got home. I worked for the O’Donnells, then came here to help Miz Caro when she married the major. My husband Alex and I help keep the house and gardens.”
“I’m sorry,” Star said, regretting her too quick tongue yet again. “I didn’t mean to offend either of you.”
A hand patted her hand. “‘Tis all right. There’s no offense taken.”
The musical voice continued, but Star’s mind had lapsed into disheveled dreams. Dreams of the cannon on Marye’s Heights, and Dani watching her from atop a caisson as fires lit the city below. Her arm too was on fire, burning, burning like the baggage that crushed it, like the houses of Fredericksburg. She remembered screaming out in pain, then the world exploded into nothing.
It was quiet when she awoke, very quiet. Her body felt oddly drained and her arm still burned. She lay quite still on the cool sheets, listening to the crickets outside, to the rustle of leaves in the wind. It must be night. So what woke me? she wondered, looking blindly about the room. There was a furtive sound nearby, the whisper of cloth against cloth.
“Mrs. Black?” she asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling. Why am I frightened? I am safer here than I have been in years.
“Thank God. You’re awake!” The voice was male, and well known to her ears.
She sat up in bed hurriedly, stomach tumbling, not a little bewildered. “Travis?”
There was the creak of a chair, then a step and a wooden thump and a heart rendingly familiar chuckle. “No, Miss Anderson. Tho’ we’ve often been told we sound alike.”
Too much alike.
“You must be Major Black. Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.” She held out her left hand into the darkness. She felt a firm grip, then a warm hand on her brow, followed by a barely audible sigh of relief.
“Just call me Sam. I haven’t been in the army for many a year. I leave that to the boys now. And I am just as pleased to finally meet the young lady to whom we owe so much.” There was another creak as he sat back down. “As much as a father wants his sons to follow in his footsteps, two of us hobbling around on wooden legs would have been too much for any household.”
Starla started to protest. This was getting ridiculous. She owed far more to Travis than he did to her. Had from the very beginning.
Sam cut her off. “Travis said you’d try to take more blame than credit, and you weren’t to be allowed to do so. Wouldn’t be good for you. So, how do you feel? You gave us quite a fright earlier.”
She grimaced as another wave of nausea washed over her, hoping he couldn’t see how bilious she felt.
“What do you mean, sir? I’m afraid my memory still hasn’t recovered. Did I do something I shouldn’t have?”
“Not at all. Your arm’s become a bit infected. You were quite delirious. Took all of Caro’s ability to pull you through. But you seem better now. Cooler. How’s the arm feel?”
“Like it’s on fire. And—” Her stomach heaved, once, twice. She whimpered, “Oh no. I’m going to—”
The rest of the sentence didn’t make it out of her mouth before she was doubled over, retching up what little food she’d had. Sam held her head carefully; she was dimly aware of a pail close to her mouth.
“Rinse out with this,” he said, wrapping her fingers around a glass of water. “Here’s the bucket. Good girl.” Pillows were placed behind her back, supporting her in an elevated position. “How’s that now?”
Summoning a crooked smile, she said, “Better, sir.”
“Well, I was going to ask if you were hungry, but I shan’t now.” She could hear Travis again in his voice, that dry, warped sense of humor. “Is there anything I can do for you instead?”
“Conversation, sir. Information. I think I’ve slept almost a full day now, depending on what time it is.”
“It’s approaching dawn. I volunteered for the late duty, seeing how the womenfolk had already spent most of the day with you.”
“I don’t mean to be a nuisance, sir. I’m sure I’ve caused enough disturbance for one night. I do feel fine now if you’d like to go to bed.”
An indelicate snort. “Caro would have my hide, and then Trav would make saddle leathers out of it if I left you unsupervised. No, my dear Miss Anderson, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
“Well, sir—” A soft cough interrupted her. “Sam. I am sorry. It just doesn’t seem proper. In return, would you please call me Starla or Star? I think the only people in the world who still call me by name are my sister, and your son. Though it’s always Miss Star from him, unless he’s mad at me.”
“Or worried sick about you,” came the soft rejoinder. “So, Star, what would you like to talk about?”
She promptly said, “The battle. I need to know what exactly happened at Gettysburg and since then, and don’t spare the details. I understand a great deal more about it than most women.”
“Good morning, lass. My, but it’s good to see you awake and coherent.”
Starla tried to smile, despite a growing irritability. Caro Black’s exuberance grated on her for some reason. “Is it morning already?”
“Oh yes. A brighter, sunnier day, you couldn’t ask for. And how are you feeling?”
“Miserable.” It came out almost a growl. “I’m hungry, I hurt, and I want to see again. I don’t care if I see two of everything—just give me my eyes back.”
Far from being upset, Caro simply chuckled. “Oh, so you’re going to be one of those. An ornery patient. That’s fine with me. I’ve had plenty o’ practice, seeing how both my boys are like that.”
There was a rustling at the back of the room: she was drawing the curtains to. “Ellen will bring up your tray shortly, so that takes care of complaint number one. I can’t do much about the pain, never learned how. Maybe a bit of laudanum, but only a very small bit. I can’t say I like the stuff. Somehow, it just doesn’t seem natural, the way it works and all. But your sight….” Soft, cool hands brushed Star’s face, unwrapping the bandage about her eyes. “How’s that now?”
Star blinked rapidly, eyes unaccustomed to even the dim light of the darkened bedroom. Slowly, the room came into focus. Thank God, she thought. My sight wasn’t permanently damaged. She twisted her head towards Mrs. Black, eager to put a face with the voice.
Caro Black stood to one side of the bed, watching her with a welcoming smile. She was a small woman, slender and quite a bit shorter than Starla. Her dark hair, sleek and controlled as Star’s never would be, had a touch of frost in it, but her face was still smooth and unwrinkled. She wore a dress of a soft smoky blue, collar and cuffs starched and white. And Travis’ eyes looked back at Star, those pale gray eyes.
Like the morning mist.
Later that morning, fed, bathed, and propped up in bed with many pillows, Star’s restlessness began to grow again. She twisted in the bed, grimacing at her reflection in the looking glass above the bureau. Caro and Ellen together had washed her hair for the first time in weeks, and now it cascaded about her in a dark, damp waterfall. She was wearing a cotton chemise, that sleeveless article of clothing the only thing she could wear without hurting her blasted arm. Black and blue splotches and old scars from the fire discolored her arm where the bandages allowed skin to show. She winced at how drawn and pale she was, skin too tight over prominent cheekbones, dark circles under her eyes.
I look hideous, was her gloomy thought. How can I ever expect him to view me differently if I look like this, like a refugee of war? Then she paused. I am a refugee. Hidden behind enemy lines. How easily I forget that these people are the enemy. My people, my army, have fled. But how are they? Have they escaped across the Potomac? The rain must have flooded the river. Were they trapped? Sam had not known.
The feeling of helplessness, of her world spinning out of control, caused her to clench her fist in anger. Hard on the heels of that came the overwhelming need to do something, anything. Some sort of activity for her mind and body. I can’t sew one handed, nor do I think my eyes will allow reading. Argh! I shall go mad if I can’t find an occupation soon! She shifted impatiently under the bright crazy quilt that draped the bed.
“What ails you now, lass? Are you uncomfortable?”
“No. Restless. Bored. Feeling useless.”
Caro glanced at her sharply, hearing more than Star intended in her tone. She laid down her sewing and felt her forehead instead. “I feared as much,” she said. “You’re a bit feverish again. I’ll have Ellen bring up some willow tea while I go see what kind of work we have around the house for an invalid.”
Later that afternoon, Star paused from sorting fabric scraps. Caro had returned as Star finished her bitter tea and lunch, and dumped the contents of her rag bag on the bed.
“Here you go, lass. You can sort these for me. By color, if you please. I’m wishing to start another quilt for the next church bazaar, and if the colors are already separated, it will save time on the piecing. That shouldn’t strain your eyes too badly.”
With that, Caro had settled in beside the bed, several issues of Godey’s Lady’s Book in hand. Occasionally, she’d show Star a picture and ask her opinion. Star felt that her own sense of fashion was dreadfully out of date, but gave what thoughts she could on the matter. No, she didn’t like that design. Yes, that was a lovely bonnet. And so the time had passed.
“Do you hear something?” Star asked suddenly, a piece of dark green calico in hand.
Caro looked up. “No. Why?”
“I thought I heard a horse.”
From outside came a loud shout, whether of warning or not, she couldn’t tell. The front door slammed, rattling the windows of the house. The sound of heavy boots thundering up the stairs brought Caro to her feet, hurrying for the door.
“Hello, Mum!”
“Travis? Whatever are you doing here? Can you stay long?”
“No.” He paused to catch his breath. “We’re on our way to Chambersburg. Rob let me ride ahead. Wanted to—hullo, Miss Star. You’ve got your eyes back.” He sounded startled, as if he hadn’t expected her to be able to see him.
Star said nothing, though she did have plenty to say. I think my tongue would burst if I tried to speak what I am feeling right now.
Caro looked from her son to her patient, pursed her lips as if in thought, then shrugged and excused herself.
Star didn’t really notice she was gone. She’d just realized she was wearing only the chemise, hair tumbling down about her shoulders like a cloak. A warm flush started up her neck and she hastily pulled the quilt up higher. Her carefully sorted piles of fabric fluttered to the floor in motley disarray.
&
nbsp; Travis just stood there, one hand behind his back, and stared at her, that odd silver gleam in his eye again. He didn’t seem to realize it when he walked over to stand beside the bed.
“Starla,” he said, voice husky. He reached out as if to touch her, but retreated. “I’m very glad to see you so much improved.”
“I ... I….” She faltered. “You have a wonderful family, Travis,” she finally got out, drinking in the sight of him. He was sweating, hair windblown, uniform dusty, a tear in one sleeve that looked like a saber cut. Cursed is every man…. She pushed down the voice. He was still alive, and had come to see her.
They were silent a heartbeat longer, gazing at each other. Outside, Star thought she could hear the pounding of many hooves, or was it only the pounding of her heart? She didn’t seem to be able to think clearly at all.
“I’ve got to go,” he said softly, breaking the silence, but not moving. Shaking his head as if to shake himself awake, he thrust a handful of wildflowers at her.
“I’ll write, I promise,” he said, then hurried towards the door. His mother met him there, handing him a large, paper wrapped packet.
“For you and Rob,” she said, pushing him out the door. “I know all too well what army food is like.”
He sniffed the package and grinned appreciatively. With a quick kiss on Caro’s cheek, he was gone.
The slamming of the front door broke the spell. Star looked down at the bouquet she clutched in a numb hand.
Caro shook her head and sighed in mock exasperation. “Must he always slam that door? Faith, but it will fall off the hinges one of these times.” She smiled. “Well, then, I’ll be getting you a vase for those, shall I?”
Star was suddenly alone with her thoughts, and the upheaval of emotions that Travis always seemed to leave in his wake. Burying her nose in the flowers, she breathed in deep the scent of summer. Field daisies and pale blue chicory, and a bright, fragrant handful of late roses. He must have raided somebody’s garden for those, she thought, not sure whether to laugh or cry. What does this mean? Do I dare hope…? Or are they only gifts to an ill friend?
An Uncivilized Yankee Page 24
