Storm Clouds Rolling In & On To Richmond (Books 1 & 2 in the Bregdan Chronicles) by Ginny Dye - HTML preview

Chapter Twelve

Clouds and rain blanketed the city when Carrie joined her father the next morning for breakfast. He was poring over his paper, absentmindedly sipping his coffee, obviously in a hurry to be off to the Capitol. They had not gotten home until the wee hours of the morning, but he looked refreshed and rested, eager to face his duties. The news of the Confederate victory had invigorated him.

“Listen to this,” Thomas said as she slid into the chair across from him. Flipping back to the front page of the Richmond Enquirer, he read:

Night has closed on a hard fought field. Our forces have won a glorious victory. The enemy was routed and tired precipitately, abandoning a very large amount of arms, munitions, knapsacks and baggage. The ground was strewn with their killed for miles, and the farmhouses and grounds around filled with their wounded... We have captured several field batteries and regimental standards and one US flag. Many prisoners have been taken.

Carrie watched her father. His eyes were glowing. She was doing her best to understand him. She knew that, to him, all of this was about maintaining the only way of life he had ever known. Each victory meant he was less likely to lose that.

“Father, are you glad you don’t have a son right now?”

she asked.

Thomas lowered his paper. “A son?” He looked at her blankly for a moment until understanding dawned. “Yes, I suppose I am,” he admitted. “It gives me peace to know you are right here in Richmond with me. I don’t have to wonder if you are dead or alive.”

“Has there been any word of Robert?”

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Thomas shook his head. “These things take time,” he said soothingly. “Robert is a resourceful young man. I’m sure he is okay.”

“I understand Colonel Bartow and General Bee were resourceful men as well,” Carrie observed.

“Yes. Yes, they were… We knew there would be an awful price to pay, but it’s worth it,” he said firmly. “Here, listen to this,” he continued, obviously not wanting her to ask more questions. Once again he turned to the Enquirer.

The importance of the victory cannot be overestimated. If the enemy had destroyed our army as we have destroyed his, who can picture the gloom that would this day have shrouded our prospects?

We would have been, for the present, almost at the mercy of the invading host which has profaned our soil. We cannot be too grateful to Heaven for the glorious deliverance which has been granted us.

Carrie thought it best not to comment on what her father had just read. She had lain awake for long hours the night before envisioning the pain and suffering the men on both sides must have endured, and must still be enduring. She had taken Aunt Abby’s words as her own—

she could not determine the will of God in who should be victor of this horrible conflict. All she could do was live each day asking God what his will for her was. “When will news of the casualties and wounded soldiers reach the city?” she asked quietly.

“Telegrams should start arriving today. When I talked with Governor Letcher last night, he seemed to think the wounded would not make their way into the city before tomorrow.” He flipped open to another page of the paper.

“Here. Mayor Mayo is calling for a meeting in Capitol Square to make arrangements for the care of the wounded.”

“There must be a lot,” Carrie commented, watching her father’s face closely. She sensed he knew more than he was saying.

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Thomas looked up and saw her watching him. His face was grim as he nodded. “All I know is that there are well over a thousand who will need medical attention.”

Carrie groaned and once more fear engulfed her heart.

Fear, and sorrow for the men who would soon return to the city they had left so gallantly and lightheartedly just days or weeks before. Sorrow for the family members whose greatest fear had become jarring reality. “Over a thousand...” she whispered. Her heart was torn with conflict.

“What is it?”

She struggled to find words to express what she was feeling. “I am so torn. All I want to do is help people who are sick—people who have been hurt. I find myself wanting to stay here in Richmond and help with the medical needs, but”—she paused for a long moment—

“there are needs to be met on the plantation as well. Our soldiers need food. The people of Richmond need food. I can meet that need as well...” Her voice trailed off.

Thomas sat quietly.

Carrie finally looked up at him. “Thank you.”

He merely nodded. “It is a decision only you can make.

I may have my preference, but I know in the end you will make your decision yourself.”

Carrie nodded. “I will return to the plantation. I still feel my place is there. But I will not leave for a few days,”

she added firmly.

“Not until you know if Robert is okay.” It wasn’t a question.

Carrie nodded again, grateful that her father understood, even though it wasn’t at the level she wanted him to. She would have to be content with what she could have. “Yes. I have to know about Robert.”

The dark clouds dumping rain on the city also seemed to have cast a pall over the previous night’s feelings of

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celebration and jubilation. There were no telegrams coming in to ease anxious hearts and minds. The rain had disrupted the lines and made communication impossible. How long before they knew the price of victory? How long before each family knew if they had been called upon to make the ultimate sacrifice?

Carrie was near the front of the crowd swelling Capitol Square when Mayor Mayo took his place on the steps of the Capitol Building. She listened as he spoke of the need to care for the gallant soldiers returning wounded from the glorious victory that had been won.

“We need a committee to go up to Manassas and aid in bringing the soldiers home,” he said.

It took just minutes for a group of people to step forward to heed his call. Then the mayor continued on.

“Hospital accommodations here in Richmond are rather limited...”

Rather limited, Carrie thought. She would have substituted the word, painfully. No one had thought very much about medical care. In fact, it had been given hardly any thought at all. People had gone blissfully along thinking there would be no real war, and if there was, the South would be gloriously victorious with hardly anyone injured. Reality was becoming a bitter pill to swallow.

She swung her attention back to the mayor as he continued.

“...until we can provide facilities on a more permanent basis, we will need a committee to help secure temporary facilities. We will need rooms, supplies and nurses to take care of the men coming in.”

Carrie looked around as an eager swell of voices rose.

Richmond may not have known what was being requested of her when she became the capital of the Confederacy, but the city was certainly giving her all to rise to the occasion. Once more, Carrie struggled with her desire to stay in the city. She could make a difference here. She knew she could. In spite of the crowded congestion, this was where she wanted to be. Once more the mayor’s voice broke into her thoughts.

“And we’ll need a committee to go out into the surrounding countryside. We need donations of farm-

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fresh produce. The soldiers will need good food. There simply is not enough to meet the need.”

His words once again settled the conflict in Carrie’s heart. For now, her place was on the plantation. She would return as soon as there was news of Robert. As she listened to the swell of voices, her mind was busily planning how to manage the fields to produce the most food for the city. It wasn’t the job she wanted to do, but it was the job she had been given to do. She would do it to the best of her ability.

“Here comes the first train!” someone standing next to Carrie shouted. “Here come our boys!”

Carrie strained to catch her first glimpse of the approaching train. Already she was dreading what she would see. The stream of broken humanity had begun that morning. She was riding with her father in the carriage when she had seen a group of men moving slowly down the road ahead of her. Tears had rolled down her face as she drew close enough to identify them.

Tattered gray uniforms, still covered with the dust of battle, clothed the first troops to reach the city. They called themselves the walking wounded, still able to laugh and talk about the victory they had won. Bloody bandages covered head wounds, arms were held with slings, and rough crutches supported broken or strained limbs. Tears had swollen in the eyes of some as they witnessed the hero’s reception with which they were greeted.

Now, the first ambulance train was rolling slowly into the station. Rain was once more pelting the city as the engine ground to a halt in the deepening twilight. A hush fell over the crowd as the doors to one of the cars slid open. Men and women had come by the scores, either curious to see what the great battle had cost or to look for loved ones.

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Carrie had come only to look for Robert. She could not return to the plantation until she knew in her heart he was all right. She didn’t stop to question or examine her feelings. She simply knew she couldn’t leave. Maybe in the quiet of her own room at home on the plantation she would analyze the deep love that held her in the city when she should be breaking ground for seed in one of the fields. But not now. She didn’t have a need to understand her feelings. She just had to know Robert was alive and well.

The first stretcher was carried slowly from the train.

The soldier looked to be in his late teens. He was filthy, but the sickly pallor of his skin stood out against the darkening day. His eyes were open but staring seemingly at nothing. His grimy hands gripped the side of the stretcher tightly, as if he were trying to control his desire to scream in pain. His head was wrapped in a soiled bandage and his arm was held tightly against his chest in a sling, but it was his leg that drew everyone’s attention. There was only one of them. The other had been blown away by a cannon shell or taken away by a surgeon’s knife.

Carrie raised her hand and quickly stuffed her knuckles against her mouth to keep from crying out. How could anything be worth this? The stunned silence around her continued as dozens of men were pulled out of the cars lining the tracks. Scores of carriages were lined up to transport the soldiers to the homes waiting for them. She wanted to turn and run from the horrible scene before her, but she couldn’t move. She had to know if Robert’s strong, handsome face was among those being pulled from the trains.

Over one thousand men... The caravan of ambulance trains would continue for a long time.

Carrie clutched the piece of paper in her hands. Her father had given it to her this morning. It was a list of all

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the homes housing wounded soldiers. She would go to them one by one. Another list had come through the night before. It was a list of the wounded from the battle at Bull Run. She had almost cried with relief when she had not found Robert’s name. Then her father, understanding her need to know, had gently reminded her the list might not be complete.

Carrie looked up at the gracious brownstone in front of her. The steep stairs, lined with graceful wrought iron, must have been quite a challenge to the men carrying stretchers. This was a home designed for entertaining and family fun. She could smell the hospital odor as she slowly approached the door. Open windows allowed all the smells to waft out on the streets. She knocked on the door quietly so as not to disturb anyone.

“May I help you?”

Carrie smiled at the woman who answered the door.

“My name is Carrie Cromwell. I’m so sorry to disturb you, but I’m looking for someone. His name is Robert Borden.

Is he here by any chance?” she asked, fervently hoping the answer was no.

“I’m sorry, but no, he’s not here. Have you seen the list of wounded? They have posted it at the Capitol,” she said kindly, looking as if she wanted to help.

“Yes, I’ve seen it, but it may not be complete. I just have to know...” Her voice trailed off as the sympathy in the other woman’s eyes deepened.

“Is Robert Borden your husband?”

“No,” Carrie said quickly. “He’s...” Just what was he?

“He’s someone very special to me.”

“I see,” the woman said. “Well, good luck in your search.” A hoarse voice cried out, and she backed quickly away from the door. “Excuse me, please. I must go to my patient.”

The door closed and once more Carrie was alone on the porch. She listened for a moment as the woman’s calming voice drifted through the open window. The moans of the wounded man ceased. Carrie looked at the next address on her list, walked down the steps, and continued along the street. The next house was just one block further.

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By late afternoon, Carrie was exhausted. She didn’t know whether to be happy or disappointed. She didn’t want to find Robert wounded in one of these houses, but she yearned for some sure knowledge of how he was.

There were only three addresses left on her list when she knocked at the door of a plain, yet well-built wooden frame house. Dutifully, she repeated her speech, then waited for the woman to shake her head like all the rest.

“Robert Borden? Did you say Robert Borden? A lieutenant?” the rather large woman with the lined face asked.

Carrie took a step forward. “Yes! Yes, I did. Is he here?”

The woman shook her head decisively. “No, Miss Cromwell. He isn’t here, but someone is here I think you would like to meet.” She held the door open and beckoned her inside.

Mystified, Carrie stepped inside the cool foyer. The afternoon had brought a cooling breeze that ruffled the heavy drapes at the tall windows. The woman started up the wide staircase and then turned around.

“My name is Jane Fenmore. I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself earlier.”

Carrie smiled graciously. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs.

Fenmore.” She controlled the urge to dash up the stairs past her.

“You must have had quite a search today,” Mrs.

Fenmore observed.

Carrie nodded, knowing she must look exhausted. “I started at nine o’clock this morning.”

“You poor dear,” she clucked. They reached the open door of a room at the far end of the long hallway on the second floor of the home. “Hobbs, I have some company for you,” she said gently.

Carrie followed her in the room and stared at the young boy lying on the bed, propped up by several pillows. A bandage across his chest spoke of a bullet wound. His brown eyes were tired, but there was still a hint of a sparkle in them.

“Miss Cromwell, this is Warren Hobbs. He has told me everyone just calls him Hobbs. He likes it better that way.” Carrie nodded, wondering when she was going to

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discover why she had been brought up to visit this stranger.

“Hobbs, this is Carrie Cromwell. I don’t know who she is, but she showed up at my door looking for Robert Borden.”

Hobbs’ eyes lit eagerly. “Robert Borden? You mean Lieutenant Borden, ma’am?”

Carrie moved forward to stand beside the bed. “You know Lieutenant Borden?” she asked breathlessly.

“Know him? Know him?” Hobbs exclaimed. “Why, he saved my life, ma’am.”

Mrs. Fenmore laughed. “He has talked of little else besides his lieutenant since he arrived here a couple of days ago.” She patted Hobbs’ hand and moved away. “I’ll leave you two to talk.” She pulled up a chair for Carrie and left the room.

“How do you know the lieutenant?” Hobbs asked. “Are you his girl?”

Carrie shook her head. “He’s just a special friend of mine.”

Hobbs’ look said it all.

“The Lieutenant is a prince of a man, Miss Cromwell.

If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be alive right now. He risked his life for me, he did.” Carrie’s questioning look drove him on. “We were down in that thicket, with Union soldiers raining bullets on us. Some of the boys didn’t make it out.”

Carrie shuddered as his face darkened with the memory. She couldn’t even imagine what it must have been like.

Hobbs continued. “One of those bullets caught me right in the chest. The doc said it was a wonder it didn’t kill me. It probably would have if the lieutenant hadn’t carried me out.” His face darkened again. “The lieutenant picked me up and slung me over his shoulder when they yelled retreat. Hurt like the dickens, but I didn’t say nothing. I sure didn’t want to get left behind in that slaughter hole. Then the lieutenant took off running up the hill with bullets whizzing all around us and me slapping on his back.” He paused, remembering. “I passed out at some point, I guess. The next thing I knew

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I was in a surgeon’s tent, with them probing in my chest for a bullet. Then I think I passed out again.” He gave her a weak grin.

Carrie reached out and grasped his hand. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“Heck, don’t feel sorry for me. I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m still alive, and I still got all my arms and legs.

Some of the others weren’t so lucky.”

Carrie nodded. “I know.” Silence fell between them for a long minute and then Carrie leaned closer. “Lieutenant Borden. Is he all right?” She couldn’t wait one more second to know.

Hobbs nodded. “The lieutenant came out without a scratch on him.”

Carrie sagged against her chair in relief while Hobbs continued.

“He came to see me before I got put on the train. Said it took him three hours of hunting to find me.” Hobbs’

face filled with something like adoration. “He wanted to make sure I was okay. I told him I would be right as rain soon and be back to join him in the next battle if them Yankees got enough guts to try and take us on again.”

“So he is still up at Manassas?”

“Yes, ma’am. Least he was a few days ago. Don’t you be worrying none, Miss Cromwell. The lieutenant’s just fine. And he’s one prince of a man.”

Carrie nodded gratefully, her heart swelling with thankfulness. “Thank you so much, Hobbs.”

She could understand why Robert had been so taken with the boy. His sparkling eyes, topped with the rust-colored mop of hair, made him very appealing. He couldn’t be that much younger than her, but he looked like he was barely in his teens. “Where are you from, Hobbs?”

“Out in western Virginia, ma’am. My family been farming up in those mountains for a long time.”

“Does your mother know you’re all right? Does she know you got hurt? Has she been to see you?”

Hobbs looked at her in astonishment. “Been to see me? Why, my family ain’t been farther than a few miles from home ever since I been born. Takes a lot of money to go places, ma’am. I reckon I’m the first one to go very

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far away,” he said proudly. “But my mama, she ought to know I’m all right. Mrs. Fenmore done wrote a letter for me and sent it off. My mama might not have got it yet, but she will sometime. I told her not to be worrying about me. That I made it through that battle just fine.”

“Did you tell her you got shot?”

“Shucks no, ma’am. Why would I do a thing like that?

It would just make her fret about me that much more.

No, I told her I was back here in Richmond a little while after winning the big battle.” He grinned at Carrie. “What she don’t know can’t hurt her, you know? She’s got plenty to be worrying about with all them mouths at home to feed. I don’t need to add another worry. Besides, I’ll probably be home soon. I don’t see those Yankees coming after more of what we gave them a few days ago. I reckon it will all be over soon, and then won’t I have a story to tell!”

Carrie handed her bags to Micah and turned to her father. “I have everything now, Father. I guess I’m ready to go.” She was suddenly reluctant to leave him.

The city was still rejoicing in its victory, but the somber realities of war had settled in with a vengeance as house after house filled with the wounded. There was hardly an hour went by that a funeral procession did not wind its way down to Oakwood Cemetery where land had been put aside for soldiers to be laid to rest. The city, already stretched beyond its limits, was being stretched even more. The people were rising valiantly to the effort, but the strain was seen on almost every face. Her father was no exception.

Thomas walked with her out onto the porch and engulfed her in a hug. “I’m going to miss you, Carrie.”

Carrie’s throat tightened as she heard the roughness in his voice. “I’m going to miss you, too.” She pulled back to look into his face. “I love you,” she whispered.

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“I love you, too,” Thomas said, forcing a smile to his face. He cleared his throat. “You tell Ike Adams to keep taking such good care of things. And tell him to do whatever you want about those fields. Of course, you shouldn’t have to. I wrote him a long letter with all the details. You have that, don’t you?”

Carrie nodded and patted her bag. “It’s right here. You don’t have anything to worry about. The overseer and I are taking care of things just fine,” she said smoothly.

Now that she was headed home, she could hardly wait to get back to Rose and Moses. Her heart longed to spend time with Sarah. She had been in the city almost three weeks, and her soul longed for the open expanses of the plantation again, even while a part of her still yearned to stay in the city.

“Take care of yourself,” Thomas said for what seemed like the hundredth time.

Carrie nodded. “I will. You too,” she added. She wished there was some way to reassure her father. She had never seen so much worry in his face. She knew he hated having her so far away and felt guilty depending on her to keep the plantation going. She also knew he was concerned about her safety if any more battles happened soon. He was confident there would be more, but he didn’t know when, or where.

She reached up and gave him another hug. “I’m a big girl. I’m going to be just fine. You do your job. I promise I’ll do mine.”

Thomas managed another smile and stepped away. “If you want to be there by dark, you need to be going.”

Carrie waved until she was out of sight and then turned her attention to home. Already her mind was full of plans for providing food for the city.

“Are you comfortable, Miss Cromwell?”

Carrie smiled up at the large, burly man her father had hired to take her home. “I’m fine, Spencer. Isn’t it a lovely day?” Surprise showed on the black man’s face. It was obvious he wasn’t used to having casual conversation with a white person.

“Yes, ma’am. It is at that,” he responded. Then he fell silent.

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Carrie left him to his thoughts. She had plenty of her own to occupy her. They had only been moving down the road a few minutes when a mass of movement caught her attention. She looked more closely. What in the world were a group of people, including well-dressed men and women, doing walking around outside of one of the tobacco warehouses? Leaning forward in her seat, she tried to figure out what was causing so much interest.

She could see nothing but the sturdy brick walls of one of the buildings. “What in the world is going on, Spencer?” He would certainly know.

Spencer looked back at her with a wide grin. “That be the new prison, Miss Cromwell.”

“The new prison?” Carrie echoed.

Spencer nodded. “Yes, ma’am. The soldiers done brought in a lot of them Union men a couple of days ago.

I heard tell the army marched right into one of them warehouses and told the manager they was taking it over.

That it would be a prison from now on. The one everybody be walking around is the one for the officers. Folks been swarming around outside ever since they found out them Yankees were in there.”

Carrie stared at the imposing walls. Now that Spencer had said something, she remembered her father talking about the prisoners who had been taken after the Battle of Bull Run.

Spencer must have sensed that she knew nothing, because he kept right on talking. “They brought them soldiers in late at night on the train. I done heard they didn’t want them to see much of the city. So’s they couldn’t send back information. You can’t talk about what you don’t see, you know.”

Carrie nodded and studied Spencer carefully. He seemed genuinely excited about the prospect of Union prisoners. “How do you feel about this war, Spencer?” she asked.

Spencer looked back at her for a moment as if deciding whether it was safe to answer. “I reckon as how I want to see the South win, ma’am,” he said.

Carrie gazed at him in surprise. “You do?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he repeated.

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“Why?” Carrie couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Was he afraid to be honest with her? She knew people were being jailed for Northern sympathies, yet he seemed genuinely excited.

Spencer shrugged. “I ain’t got no complaints about my life, ma’am. I got me steady work. Sure, most of my money goes to my owner, but I get me some on the side for my work, too. My family, we all eat good, and we ain’t never been treated bad.” He paused. “I got me some family up north. They work harder than me to make a living, and it be awful cold up there. I don’t want to leave the South. It be my home. I don’t gots no idea what to expect if them Yankees come down here to try to take things over. My mama used to tell me it was better to fight a devil you knew than to fight a devil you didn’t know. I reckon black folks in this country always gonna be fighting some kind of devil. I reckon I’d rather fight the one I know.”

Carrie stared at him. “Thank you for being so honest.”

His candor had left her slightly speechless.

Spencer shrugged. “I know you ain’t like most white folks, Miss Cromwell.”

“How in the world do you know that?” Carrie had never laid eyes on Spencer until today.

He shrugged again. “Word gets around, Miss Cromwell. Word gets around.”

Just then Carrie’s attention was jerked back to the new prison warehouse by loud yelling.

“There they are!”

“Look at the Yankees!”

“Hope you have a good time in Richmond!” another taunted.

Carrie willed the carriage to go faster. She wanted to get home. She had no desire to taunt prisoners and make their lives more miserable than they already were. The carriage was directly in front of the prison when a barrage of rocks being thrown against the brick walls by the spectators had her snapping her head up. For just a moment, she looked up and saw the row of faces staring down from the second and third floor windows.

One face had her grabbing both sides of the carriage.

“Matthew Justin,” she breathed in a shocked whisper.

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She leaned forward and spoke urgently. “Turn the carriage around, Spencer. I want to go back to my father’s house.”

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