Undaunted Love, page 14
“I asked Rafe not to go, too, before we got married. But he didn’t have a farm anymore, nor any way to support his family.” She shrugged. “I guess I understood. And he’s done well – he’s a captain now, you know!”
“You didn’t tell me! That’s wonderful, Liv,” Madeline said, genuinely pleased.
Livvie shrugged. “He says he’s a captain because so many others have died. He’s a good soldier, but he’s ready to be quit of the War.”
“Aren’t we all?”
There was a light knock on the door and Emmy poked her head in. The old woman had lost considerable weight between her bouts of fever and the food shortages, and the roundness in her cheeks had melted away. She was as cheerful as ever, though.
“I thought you might be up here hidin’. Your daddy says to come down and leave your mama be.” She grimaced.
The girls stood up, walking to the door like they were walking the plank on a blockade ship.
It was past ten o’clock when Hugh decided to go to bed. Madeline had been able to excuse herself early, claiming exhaustion, and Livvie envied her fiercely. She’d been made to sit with the men as they discussed the War, the shortages, the politics, and Lincoln’s landslide reelection. For several months before the election, the Union forces had not fared particularly well, and there was some hope that Lincoln would be defeated and McClellan unable to put the pieces back together, but the battles had begun to turn again, and there were rumors that Lincoln was already planning how to integrate the conquered Confederacy back into the Union.
Gardner walked out with her father, leaving Livvie alone with Wyman. They were sitting in front of the fire in two large upholstered chairs. She was usually successful at avoiding him, especially at not being alone with him, and she felt uncomfortable as he sat and smiled at her. She stood up, smoothing her skirts.
“Well, I’m gonna go on up too, then. Happy Thanksgiving to you, and sleep well.” She moved around her chair to go, but found her way blocked by Wyman.
“Stay awhile, Livvie. We’re finally alone.” He reached out and grabbed both of her hands, pulling her close to him. She yanked one free, but he held fast to the other.
“I’m tuckered out, Wyman, and I’m sure Daddy didn’t mean to leave us unaccompanied.” She tried to step back, but he still held her hand. He pulled again, and she stumbled forward. He grabbed her shoulders and suddenly she was pressed against him and he was kissing her. She put both of her hands on his chest and pushed, shaking her head and trying to get a breath, but he was bigger and stronger, and she was unable to get free.
“I know you’ve wanted this as long as I have. Your father meant for us to get married a long time ago, but he’s been so busy with the stupid War and all his important men, he hasn’t made time for the arrangements. I am growing tired of waiting!” He pulled her in again, his hand behind her head forcing her to him. She tried to fight, but knew she would never get away. She tried to scream, but his mouth covered hers, pressing hard and bruising her lips. His other hand was around her waist, pressing, pressing, keeping her hard against him. Her skirts kept her kicks from doing any damage, and although her hands pounded on his chest, his back, his ribs, he didn’t let go. He merely laughed.
“You’ve pranced around this house in front of me for years, batting your lashes and pretending disinterest, pretending to be a lady. But your mama and daddy ain’t here now, and I know you’re no lady, not really, not down deep. I know what you want.” He pushed her back, over towards the window, and Livvie knew that, if he got her down on the settee, there would be no getting up. If he ever got his weight on her, he would have her. She pulled her knee back, and then shoved it forward as hard as it would go into his groin, feeling as well as hearing when the breath left him. He released her and slumped forward, clutching himself, his face white as a sheet. She grabbed for the chair, then walked around him and towards the door.
She hadn’t reached it when it opened, and Gardner stepped in.
“Liv, I didn’t mean to leave you down here…” He stopped when he saw Wyman and the state he was in. He glanced at his sister-in-law and saw her hair awry, her cheeks flushed but the rest of her face white, her skirts rumpled. His teeth clenched, his jaw tightened, and he walked straight over to the groaning young man. Gardner’s right arm went back, and he landed a solid punch to Wyman’s jaw. After a brief look of shock, Wyman crumpled to the ground.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
April 9, 1865
Appomattox, Virginia
GENERAL ROBERT E. LEE RODE back through the lines on his horse, Traveler, and greeted the soldiers along the way. The surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia had been conducted in a peaceable and honorable way, General Ulysses Grant abiding by the terms exchanged the previous day between the two sides. Now there remained only the goodbyes, the encouragements, the honoring of the brave sacrifices of his men. As he made his way through the pressing crowds, he smiled wanly, shaking hands with some, saying, “You have served honorably, son,” to others.
Captain Rafe Colton was standing guard around the small remaining armory with his regiment. Unable to believe that the fighting was finally over, but hoping beyond hope that it was true, Rafe saluted the general as he rode past. From the look on Lee’s face, Rafe knew it was true. It was over. The Confederacy was lost, and they were, once again, part of the United States of America. The hated Abraham Lincoln was now his President. The Yankees they had sought out and killed were now his brothers. He shook his head. How did one go from hatred to brotherhood with the stroke of a pen?
April 10, 1865
Byrd’s Creek, South Carolina
Everyone left in the small town was outside in the streets. While glad that their men, those who hadn’t died of battle wounds or disease, were coming home, and looking forward to a future of adequate food and basic necessities, there were many unanswered questions for the South. Their money was not worth the paper it was printed on. Many had what wealth remained to them in land and slaves, but if the slaves were freed, what would they have then? So many had died, so much had been burned and destroyed. How would they pick up the pieces to return to their former lives?
Livvie had dismissed her students and was standing with a large group of women and children in front of the Baptist church. Her heart was pounding and her face flushed, but still she had to keep her secret. All of her being, her heart and soul, cried out for her to scream, to laugh, to hug everyone in sight, and yet she knew that the cause her husband and so many others had fought for all these years was lost. They were now the conquered enemy.
Thinking of Nackie and her mother-in-law suddenly, she turned and walked quickly back to her house. Her father was in Columbia, no doubt prostrate with grief at the lost business opportunities of the former Confederate States, and her mother had been unable to get out of bed these last several weeks. Pushing that thought out of her mind, she went to the small barn at the back of the house.
“Micah?” she called out. The young man, not more than fourteen, was Emmy’s grandson.
“Yes’m?” Micah called down from the hayloft.
“I need the buggy, please. Did you hear the news?”
“Yes’m,” he answered, moving quickly down the ladder. “Grandmama told me. She says we’re to just keep on like we always done, though.”
Livvie smiled. Emmy would stay with the Byrd family. She had been with them all her life. But this young man, once he was free, what would he do? So many things were going to change.
Twenty minutes later Livvie was trotting out to the Colton house. The day was glorious, and it seemed to Liv that all of Creation was celebrating. Surely even God must be smiling at the end of the bloodshed. She believed in the Confederacy, but there was no denying that too many people, too many brave men, had died on both sides. And starvation and disease and even murderous rampages had killed too many innocent women and children, destroyed too many homes, burned too many farms. Win or lose, she’d had enough of the War, and she said a prayer of thanks that her husband had survived it.
Nackie was stacking wood neatly onto the woodpile when she stopped by the barn. He turned to her and smiled.
“Miz Livvie! God bless you, child, you’re a sight for sore eyes!” He hobbled over to help her down. Livvie realized how much he had aged since Rafe had last been home.
“The War is over!” she said as she swung down from the buggy. “Lee surrendered.”
Nackie stared at her, speechless.
“It’s true! At least for Lee’s army, and that’s Rafe.” She hugged the old man. “I’ll go tell Mrs. Colton. Is she in her room?”
Nackie shook his head. “She be out t’back, readin’. She was feelin’ a bit better today.” Mariah had been suffering from fevers off and on since the New Year, and had been painfully weak, once again spending most of her time in bed.
“Wonderful!” Livvie said, and headed around the back of the house, leaving Nackie with a peck on the cheek.
April 19, 1865
Dear Livvie,
I received your letter, and am so thankful that you told Mama and Nackie. No one has told us yet when we can all go home. Seems they change their minds every day. Part of the terms of surrender was for us to hand over supplies and weapons, and exchange prisoners, so we’ve all been busy collecting muskets and counting them, and carting them along to the Yankees. It’s certainly strange to be handing our weapons over, and it seems that neither side really knows what to do. Do we shake hands and greet one another? Are we once again countrymen?
Do you remember Hezekiah Mitchell, from my first day in Charleston? He has been a prisoner of the Yanks for almost two years. I didn’t recognize him when the group came over to us – he is thin as a stick and the Federals shaved their heads because of lice. He is a broken man now, at twenty-two. I thank the good Lord above that I wasn’t captured.
There is still fighting, in North Carolina and out west, but they tell us it’s all over. I guess it is. They said that any officer who wanted to could take the Eagle Oath to foreswear the Confederacy and it might be we could keep our job for a time, but there aren’t too many likely to do it. I reckon they know that, but it was honorably done all the same. I don’t know what I’ll do in Byrd’s Creek, but I know that I want nothing more than to be there.
I’ll write as soon as they tell us we can go. I dream of holding you in my arms, my love.
Yours Truly,
Rafe
May 2, 1865
My Darling Rafe,
The rumor here, and in Columbia, for Daddy has said the same, is that the 1st South Carolina is being disbanded at the end of June! I am trying not to count my chickens, but still, I am giddy with happiness at the prospect. Since the assassination of President Lincoln, rumors have surrounded us on every topic, however, so I daren’t get my hopes too high.
Some Yankees have come, toting their belongings and buying up land that the people of Edisto and Wadmalaw can’t afford to pay back taxes on. Pay taxes with what, I ask you? So far there have been three of these “carpetbaggers,” as they call them, moving in and acting superior. The poor families have been tossed out with nowhere to go. The townspeople all over the islands are trying to take them in, and provide, although providing for ourselves is enough of a burden. Daddy says they’ll not have any of his land, and he has papers to prove that he paid during the war. I suspect they are letters of convenience rather than truth, but what these Yanks are doing is wrong, too.
I long to see you, and to declare myself for any and all as Mrs. Rafe Colton.
All My Love,
Your Livvie
June 8, 1865
Dearest Rafe,
It is with such sadness that I must tell you what has happened. Seven days ago a Yankee carpetbagger came into Byrd’s Creek, and he spent time at the courthouse, and with Daddy. Daddy didn’t want to see him at first, but the man, Mr. Monighan, had a letter of introduction from someone in Columbia, and Daddy let him in. On the third day, they went before the Yankee judge that’s been coming once a month, and by the end of that meeting Mr. Monighan had bought your house and land for $35. The judge said your mama hadn’t paid the taxes since before the war. That very day the Yankee took himself out there with the new sheriff, his hateful papers in hand, and made your mama and Nackie leave without much more than the clothes on their back. He said the furniture and everything else was part and parcel of the sale, and he waved those papers around. Daddy had sent Wyman out there with him, too, and Wyman and Mr. Monighan, they just pushed them right out the door. Nackie was able to keep the old cart, because Wyman said it wasn’t worth anything anyway, and the horse, because Mr. Greene hadn’t let you buy her, so they came on into town. Nackie was afraid to say anything about me, so both my things and yours were left behind. Your mama is staying with Mrs. Hauser, out on her farm, leastwise til some Yankee buys it, and Nackie is staying here in our barn with Micah, although Daddy doesn’t know it.
Rafe, I’m so sorry. Terrible things are happening all over, with rumors of the same thing reaching us from Savannah and Charleston. I am ashamed that Daddy helped, and I hope that you’ll forgive me for not being able to stop him. Please come home quickly, as soon as you can. Your mama isn’t well, and this has just about done old Nackie in.
With Sorrow,
Liv
Chapter Thirty
July 3, 1865
Byrd’s Creek
RAFE HOPPED OFF THE BACK of the wagon, waving thanks to the old man driving it. In Charleston, he had sought out Mr. Greene, but that good man had suffered much in the last two years of the war, and no longer had a horse to spare, although Rafe had stayed the night and been fed a hot breakfast before heading out. Mrs. Greene, no longer plump nor cheerful, still mustered a big smile for Rafe and sent him on his way with a parcel of warm biscuits and blackberry jam.
No stranger to long marches, he had set out on foot from the Greene’s house, strolling through the waterfront. There were small local fishing boats, but they were outnumbered by the various ships that had taken part in the blockade. Supply ships were allowed into the port, but they were searched. Rumors were swirling that there were still conspirators wanting to kill President Andrew Johnson; that there was a plot to reignite the Civil War; that there were Yankee anarchists wanting to set fire to large Southern cities, Charleston among them. Consequently Union forces had taken over, creating tension with the locals.
As he approached the bridge to James Island a wagon half full of barrels and boxes approached. He was in his uniform, such as it was, tattered and threadbare, but still the grey of the Confederacy. It was all he had. The wagon stopped. and the driver, an old man with most of the teeth missing from a welcoming smile, asked where he was going.
“Edisto Island, sir. Byrd’s Creek.”
“Hop on, son, least I can do for one of our boys in grey.” The man waited as Rafe climbed in back, stretching out.
He fell asleep with the rolling motion of the wagon, and awoke as they crossed the bridge from Wadmalaw to Edisto. It was strange to sleep without worrying, and he still had terrible dreams, but those hours on the cart were peaceful and blessedly free of nightmares.
The old man had let him off in front of the general store, and Rafe stood there, his rucksack at his feet, taking in the sight of his town. Where it used to be whitewashed and clean, with homes and stores proudly maintained, he now saw dilapidated porches, peeling paint, boarded windows and doors. It was like every other town he’d been in over the last year, and not as bad as many, but this was his home, and it was doubly depressing.
He hefted the pack and went into the store. He and Livvie and arranged to meet at the Hauser farm in the evening, giving him time to get to town before visiting his mama. He hoped that he wouldn’t run into Hugh Byrd or Wyman Phelps in the meantime.
“Rafe Colton! Welcome home!” Mrs. Smith, the owner’s wife, ran around the counter and hugged him, tears in her eyes. She had lost her son in 1863 at Gettysburg. Rafe knew that seeing him reminded her of John, who had been two years younger than himself, much too young to have died that day.
“Thank you, Mrs. Smith, thank you kindly. It’s… different now, isn’t it?” he asked.
She nodded, pointing to her once-full shelves, now sparse and bare. “I reckon so. Not sure what we’re gonna to, to be honest. But we’ll get by. We always do, with the good Lord’s help.”
“Yes’m,” Rafe said, but he was pessimistic. Men like Jeb Greene, with skills and equipment that could be quickly put back into service, would get by. In fact, Jeb would probably get rich in the reconstruction era. He’d said as much when he was there, and Jeb had once again extended his offer of a job. He thought he would probably accept this time – what was there for him in Byrd’s Creek now?
“Have you seen old Nackie, ma’am?” he asked.
“He walked by here not ten minutes ago, I believe,” she said. “Heading that way, out to the east.”
Rafe picked up the rucksack, slung it over his shoulder, and nodded to Mrs. Smith. He left the store and turned left, following in the old man’s footsteps.
