The First Lady and the Rebel, page 22
Today, so many bright, loving children like Willie had been saved from the chains of bondage. And in that thought, Mary felt a certain consolation that had eluded her in all of her attempts to communicate with the spirit world. Who would have guessed that the awkward young man she had met in Springfield could have transformed so many lives with a stroke of his pen?
Well, she had known he would do great things, just not in what way. There was no need to deny herself credit for that.
16
Emily
October 1862 to February 1863
In the months since Emily had last seen Chattanooga, it had changed, and not for the better. The constant movement of soldiers and wagons through the town had worn ruts in the city’s roads, which filled with water when it rained and perpetually oozed mud and filth. With their homes requisitioned by the army and the general difficulty of making a living, most of the town’s gentry had departed. The weather was gloomy, alternating between clouds with rain and clouds without rain, with an occasional howling wind for variety.
Emily had not been so happy since before the war began.
She, Hardin, and the children had the tiniest of cottages, but after months of living as other people’s guests, they had it to themselves, and the owners had even left behind a melodeon. In the mornings, Hardin would hobble off to headquarters on his crutches, Emily walking beside him and carrying his valise and the food she had packed for him. In the evenings, they would eat at their own little table, and then would go into the parlor, where they might read a book aloud, or Emily might play the melodeon.
Their friend George McCawley and the other staff officers, quartered wherever the army could find a space for them, often spent evenings with the Helms, and sometimes Emily would invite the more presentable of the town’s young ladies—that is, the ones who did not chew tobacco—to join them. When Mac came over alone, he and Hardin would usually end the evening by going into the tiny room that had been designated as the smokery, and Mac, upon leaving, would call out, “Well, Emily, we won the war for President Davis tonight.”
They even had a visiting relation: Kitty, who arrived just days after they had settled into their lodgings. “I have to get back to Kentucky,” she said almost as soon as she stepped across the threshold. “Elodie has her husband to keep her company now, not to mention Martha, and anyway, the baby will be taking up all of her time when it comes. I miss our mother, and she needs me.”
“I can get you a pass through the lines,” Hardin said. He stroked his beard. “But getting you safely into Kentucky is another matter. You’ll need an escort.”
“I can help,” offered Lieutenant William Herr. He had happened to be passing by when Kitty arrived and had accepted Emily’s invitation to stay for dinner with such alacrity, one would think the man had not had a hot meal in months.
“That would be lovely of you, Lieutenant Herr,” Kitty said. She dimpled, which appeared to unman the lieutenant entirely. He managed the weakest of smiles.
As it was pleasant to see this attachment sprouting, and Hardin had nothing but praise for the lieutenant’s character, Emily proposed an excursion to Lookout Mountain while they were waiting for Kitty’s pass. Lieutenant Herr and Kitty simultaneously declared that they had always wanted to see the famous mountain, which was certainly news to Emily as far as Kitty was concerned, and the matter was settled.
Joined by Mac, and leaving Ben Junior full of milk with Maggie and the girls in the home of an accommodating householder at the base of the mountain, they hired horses and followed a four-mile road that had been cut into the mountain. Someone had warned Emily not to look behind her or down, and she soon recognized the wisdom of the advice as her horse calmly plodded up turns so narrow that to lose its footing would have sent her to her death. Kitty was heard to whimper in fear now and then, but was comforted by Lieutenant Herr, who generously offered to dismount and lead her horse himself. But Kitty, like most of Lexington’s ladies, prided herself on her equestrienne abilities, so she gritted her teeth until they reached the summit.
“Well?” asked Mac as they dismounted, Hardin with the careful assistance of Phil. “Was it worth it?”
Emily stared at the prospect before her—the glowing autumn leaves, the winding Tennessee River, the surrounding mountain peaks—and could only nod.
After eating a spartan picnic lunch, the six separated—Mac and Phil to explore another path, Lieutenant Herr and Kitty to collect leaves (so they said), Hardin and Emily to remain seated under some trees. “They say you can see seven states from here, if you have the right glass,” Emily said as Hardin put his arm around her.
“Including Kentucky. Are you homesick for it?”
“Often, but not now. It’s too beautiful up here.”
“You could accompany Kitty back to Kentucky.”
“I could, and I could fly to the moon. You know I haven’t changed my mind. I stay with you, or as near as I can.”
“I know. And I’m glad of it.” He caressed her cheek as she snuggled closer to him. “Besides, I’d like to be the one who takes you back home. And I promise you, someday I will.”
* * *
Kitty’s pass arrived a few days later. With it and her fine collection of leaves in hand, Kitty set off for Kentucky, her pockets bulging with letters from her sisters to Mrs. Todd as well as photographs of Mrs. Todd’s grandchildren. Her carriage was guarded by four of Hardin’s men, including, of course, Lieutenant Herr. In due time, Lieutenant Herr, looking somewhat dejected, returned with the news that Kitty had safely crossed over the lines and had been left with a friend of the Todds, who would escort her to Lexington.
Then another visitor came to Chattanooga—the smallpox. Making no distinction between friend and foe, it could be every bit as deadly as a minié ball. Hardin promptly ordered that an office be opened where the entire population, white and colored alike, could come for a free vaccination. Emily had been vaccinated some time before, as had Hardin and the girls, so she could not set a personal example, but could only offer encouragement as Chattanoogans of all ages and stations presented themselves for the ordeal, the old ladies taking it much more philosophically than the young soldiers. “Remember, there’s coffee when you’re done,” she called, waving a pot enticingly.
“Perhaps I could get a pouf à l’inoculation, as did Marie Antoinette,” Emily suggested that evening. “That would encourage them.”
“With an enticing gown cut down to here,” Hardin mused, laying a hand on Emily’s bosom. “I like that idea.”
Emily snorted. “I’ll stick to coffee.”
About that same time, a telegram arrived from Richmond, instructing them to expect a visit from President Jefferson Davis, who was taking a tour of the western front. After a day or so of frantic preparations, the grimy city was well nigh presentable when the President’s train chugged into the station. Emily had heard that President Davis was a rather cold man, but she had also heard that he had an eye for the ladies, so she was not surprised when the Confederate leader bestowed a gracious smile upon her as Kate stepped forward and proudly offered him a bouquet of flowers. “A daughter who promises to be as fair as her lovely mother,” he said.
“Thank you, sir.”
After commending Emily upon her homespun gown, the President turned to Hardin. “You have rendered us valuable services, General, and I hope you are recovering apace.”
“Thank you, sir,” Hardin said. “I am eager to return to the field.”
“No doubt you are.” The President glanced at Hardin’s cane, which Hardin was holding in a way that made it as inconspicuous as possible. “But”—he gave a faint smile—“it is no surprise you are a man of valor, for I expect nothing less of a fellow Kentuckian.”
As the men traded more compliments—perhaps the President’s reputation for frigidity was ill-deserved—Emily gazed at their visitor. She could not help but note that he looked ill and tired, a far cry from his carte de visite that could be bought at any photographer’s shop. Did her brother-in-law in Washington look as careworn?
* * *
For weeks, both armies had been anticipating a fight in Tennessee, and it came at last at Murfreesboro as 1862 limped to a close. Neither side could quite claim victory, but the conduct of the campaign left Hardin and Mac with much to discuss and a friend to mourn: Brigadier General Roger Hanson, who had been mortally wounded while leading his Kentuckians into battle.
“I wonder who will get poor General Hanson’s command,” Emily said.
Mac cleared his throat. “Your husband should. He’s fit to return to the field, and he deserves it. He’s done a fine job here, amid the muck.”
“Why, thank you, my friend,” Hardin said.
“Merely stating the truth.”
“I do want it,” Hardin said. “My one regret when I was promoted to general was that I had to leave my brave Kentucky men behind and take over Tennessee troops—fine men, to be sure, but it’s not the same as joining with one’s fellow exiles and fighting not just for states’ rights, but to free our own state from Yankee rule.”
“So do you think you’ll get it?”
Hardin shrugged. “I’ve made it known to my superiors that I’ve recovered and am eager to return to action. But there are other possibilities. Some want to see Colonel Trabue promoted, and he has distinguished himself. Some would like to see Buckner back over the brigade, and Buckner himself has said that he would be willing, although it would technically be a demotion for him. I like to think that I have my own adherents, but the truth is, I just don’t know. It all depends on their whims in Richmond, where, frankly, we in the west have always felt ourselves to be somewhat of an afterthought. And yet I believe this front is key to the war.”
He pulled out the pocket map he always carried and showed Emily all manner of ways in which a victory in the west for the Confederacy could spell disaster for the Union. Emily listened, her occasional nods and murmurs lulling her husband into thinking that she was attending to his words instead of focusing on her own thoughts. Hardin, back at the front. Hardin, who has been so safe here.
* * *
A day or so later, she saw her chance to waylay Mac before he stepped into the house. “Mac, do you think Hardin is really ready to return to the field?”
“I half feared you would ask that.”
“Well?”
“Speaking from my vast expertise as a doctor’s brother, I’d say that he is. He can get upon his horse without help now. He doesn’t seem to need the cane except when he’s on an uneven surface or when he’s had a long day of dealing with the smallpox.”
“But he still has me carry his valise for him and walk with him to headquarters.”
“Emily. Admittedly, I’m a bachelor and not qualified to comment on what guides married people, but I suspect that he still has you doing those things because he enjoys your company, and he knows it makes you happy to be of use to him.”
“Oh.”
“He’s always going to be in some pain, I think… My brother had his leg removed when he was a boy, and he still gets twinges from it, so I suppose it’s no different when the leg is actually there. I doubt he’ll lose that limp entirely. But the most important part is that he wants to be back in the field. Being here is wearing on him. Oh, the part about being with you is pleasant, I know. But he’s not happy sitting out a war behind a desk. Neither am I, for that matter.”
“Then I will have to hope he gets the assignment he wants, and not the one I want. Which would to be remain right here.”
She sighed, and Mac smiled. “It can’t be easy to be a soldier’s wife, Emily.”
“It is not. Particularly since I married with the intention of being a lawyer’s wife.”
“That time will come again. Just you wait.”
“I hope so.” She lingered outside the door. “Do you have a sweetheart, Mac?”
“No. I was too fancy-free in Louisville to settle down to a particular young lady, and now that I’m here, I haven’t the heart to let someone lose hers to me. Not that I think anyone’s in danger of that.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that. I’ve seen some young ladies eyeing you.”
“I’m tempted to eye them back, because the single state does have its mixed blessings. On the one hand, it’s some comfort to know that if I fall, no one’s heart will be broken. On the other, it can be a comfort to know that one is the object of some beautiful creature’s prayers when one goes into battle.”
“I am a poor substitute for that beautiful creature, but I hope you know that you are always in my prayers.”
“That actually is a comfort, Emily. Thank you.”
As they walked inside, Hardin came into the room, newspaper in hand. “Well, hello, Mac. When did you get in?”
“A few minutes ago. Your wife was interrogating me about my sweethearts, or lack thereof.”
Hardin laughed. “I tried to marry you off in Louisville. Remember the charming Miss Harrison?”
“Yes.” Mac smiled. “I suppose it’s all for the best.”
* * *
When news came in January, it was not of an appointment for Hardin, but of Mr. Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation. Despite its secession from the Union, Tennessee still contained many Unionists, whom Mr. Lincoln had not wanted to alienate; as result, its slaves were not included in the proclamation—not that anyone would have known that from the excited whispers of Chattanooga’s colored population as they headed about their business on the first of the year.
“Mary once told me that Mr. Lincoln wasn’t an abolitionist,” Emily said as she and Hardin walked to his headquarters the morning after the proclamation. “I suppose he changed his mind.”
“He certainly did. I don’t know if it was a wise move on his part; it’ll put more fight in the South—not that we are lacking in that regard—and will alienate those in North who are fighting this war merely to preserve the Union. But it is a bold move.”
They parted, and Emily slogged her way through the muddy streets back to their cottage. Planning to read further about Mr. Lincoln’s radical course of action, she looked around for the newspaper. “Maggie? Have you seen today’s paper?”
“I’m sorry, missus. I think I threw it out.”
“It is all right; I can borrow a neighbor’s. Just take care in the future to make sure I have finished with it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Maggie said, and resumed her housework, with her mistress quite unconscious of the fact that the newspaper with its announcement of Mr. Lincoln’s proclamation was at the bottom of Maggie’s trunk, carefully preserved underneath Maggie’s summer clothing.
* * *
Emily’s thoughts were soon distracted anyway by news from Selma, courtesy of Captain Dawson: Elodie had given birth to a boy. The news was still fresh when Hardin received a second letter from Captain Dawson. He handed it to Emily with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Emily, but this contains bad news. Elodie’s baby died.”
“Oh no! Poor Elodie. She will need our mother’s comfort—and will not be able to get it.” She read Captain Dawson’s sad, simple letter, in which he told Hardin that the poor little boy had been named for Alec. “I know Captain Dawson will do his best to comfort her, but of course he is grieving as well. I should go to her and offer what help I can. Can you spare me? Hardin?”
Hardin was staring at another letter. “I’m being transferred,” he said quietly. “To the Eastern District Department of the Gulf at Pollard, Alabama.”
“I don’t even know where that is.”
“The bottom of the state, bordering Florida. It’s at a major railroad junction, and there’s a training camp there. The Yankees hold Pensacola, and our presence in Pollard is necessary to protect the railroads leading to Mobile and Montgomery. It’s a mark of confidence, I suppose. But it’s not what I hoped for.”
“You will still take it?”
“Of course. Even if I had a choice in the matter, refusing would put paid to any good assignments in the future. But…”
He sighed, and Emily put an arm around him. When he arose to go to his supper, his limp seemed more pronounced.
Hardin said nothing more of his disappointment, however, and they made their arrangements to leave Chattanooga. Emily and the children would be staying in Selma. It would give Emily a chance to comfort her bereaved sister, and Hardin an opportunity to determine whether the situation in Pollard was suitable for the children and if so to arrange decent lodgings for them—if any such were to be found in the thrown-together town, Emily thought gloomily.
Emily found Elodie in adequate health but the lowest of spirits. With her own hearty brood of children, Emily could offer scant comfort, only let her sister weep as she described the pretty, perfectly formed little boy who had been her short-lived son. “I should have never named him after Alec,” she said. “It was bad luck.”
“That would have made no difference, sweetheart. You only meant to honor our brother. He was too good for this world, that is all.”
It was hollow comfort, and Emily knew it. In the end, it was Captain Dawson, who had endured the loss of two beloved wives, who had the soundest advice. “We must give her time to find her strength. She has it.”
Elodie was still subdued in February, when a letter from Hardin arrived. It was dated from Tullahoma, Tennessee, not from Pollard, Alabama. Emily frowned. Was not Hardin supposed to be in the latter place? Then she looked closer and saw the exuberant cross of the T and the sweeping tail of the A.
Hardin’s pleasure breathed forth in every word she read. He had barely assumed his duties at Pollard when a telegram had arrived. On orders of President Davis, General Braxton Bragg was relieving him of his post at Pollard and ordering him to report to Tullahoma, to take over command of Hanson’s brigade. What maneuverings had taken place in Richmond Hardin did not know, and did not care. He had the command he had coveted from the very start, leading Kentucky men, and he prayed that God would grant him the courage and ability to do it well. But her husband’s pious hope seemed almost an afterthought in the midst of his exulting.
