Amy sat beside the bed, stitching up the rip in Daniel’s shirt and listening to her father. Eli punched his pillow and said, “Since ’53 they’ve had their eye on the area.”
She studied him over the shirt. “The Confederates? Father, by area, do you mean New Mexico Territory?”
“More’n that. See, Jefferson Davis was secretary of war in Pierce’s cabinet back in ’53. From the beginning he was a man determined to further the interests of the South. Namely slavery. Davis had a dream of securing a commercial route across the southern section of the country for the purpose of more closely tying the West Coast to the rest of the country. Coincidentally, he was interested in the California gold fields. To further this dream, he knew the United States must obtain land from Mexico.”
Amy ducked her head to hide the smile. When Eli adopted his “teacher voice,” he was unconscious of all except his subject. Amy interrupted, “You mean 1853? Father, are you telling me there were problems that far back?”
“Of course.” Looking at his excited face, she recalled the last time he had discussed politics with such fervor. It had been in Central City with Lucas Tristram.
The memory of that man’s face surfaced in Amy’s mind. She moved her shoulders uncomfortably as she began to wonder why he was in Santa Fe. Had he been there when the Confederate flag was raised? Why did the memory of his face cause such discomfort?
Eli’s voice overlapped Amy’s thoughts. With relief, she turned to listen. “Right now, both sides are blaming the other for the problems leading to the war. The Union is blamed for restricting the rights of the southern states—they called it freedom to allow slavery to exist. The Confederacy is accused of trying to split the Union apart. Neither one will bring out the real issue. Slavery has been a wound in the side of the whole country almost from the beginning, and it’s going to have to go!”
Amelia stacked dishes on the shelf. Nodding she said, “Because of the Constitution. Any man with a lick of conscience would declare his obligation to support it. Without a doubt it advocates freedom for all men.”
She spun around, and Amy saw the bright dots of red on her cheeks as she lifted her chin and added, “White superiority smells to high heaven!”
“Now, Amelia,” Eli chided. Amy watched the red fade from her mother’s cheeks as she turned back to the dishpan. She also noted the once-proud shoulders were drooping.
Caught by the difference and intrigued by her mother’s passionate statement, Amy dropped the mending into her lap and studied her. Somehow the words seemed to belong to the woman called Silverheels. Uncomfortable with that thought, Amy tried to push it aside, but it lingered.
Her father’s voice faded into the background as she looked at her mother’s faded blond hair twisted into a discreet knot and the unadorned face still marked by the ugly red scars.
She could see Amelia’s eyes were still flashing and her lips compressed as she bent over the dishpan. Mother is not just a former dancehall madame. There is something more, and I want to find out what it is.
Amy glanced at her mother, feeling a new excitement as she thought of the strong statements she had made.
Her father was silent. Amy stuck the needle back into the fabric and asked, “Father, you said slavery was a wound. Why?”
He brooded over the words as he said, “Because man could neither live with it or without it.” Leaning forward to shake his finger at Amy, he added, “It’s no secret that the North, for the most part, would rather the whole situation just go away. They fear losing their jobs to the black man. There have been enough Negroes willing to work circles around the lazy white man that we’ve learned to fear the results of true freedom for all.”
The words slipped past Amy as she watched her mother move about the little cabin restlessly. Her shoulders still drooped, and when she turned, in the moment before her smile, Amy saw the sadness in her face.
Amy realized her father was no longer speaking. She saw his eyes were closed. Amelia whispered, “Let’s go. I want you to meet some of the women.”
Carefully Amelia closed the door behind them and said, “There’s still a number of army wives here. I thought you might like to make their acquaintance.”
“I wonder what is happening to Daniel,” Amy brooded as she kept pace with Amelia’s long strides.
“No doubt he’s having a good visit,” Amelia smiled down at Amy and drew her arm through hers. “I can’t believe that silly charge will persist. A clergyman spying!”
Silently Amy pondered the problem of Matthew. Tentatively she probed. “What are they going to do with the prisoners?”
Her mother studied her. “I don’t know what they do. There’s still a war going on. Amy, you’re too sympathetic. Leave the war to the men.”
She studied the ground. “Do they let people visit them?”
“I would think so.” They stopped in front of another cabin and Amelia rapped on the door. “Katherine’s husband is an officer. They—”
The door flew open and a tousled head appeared on a level with the knob. “Mama isn’t here. Nanny says come.”
They stepped into the room. A tiny girl was seated in the middle of a cot. She sobbed soundlessly as she scrubbed at the tears on her face. A tall, ungainly figure leaned against the broom she held and peered into a shadowed corner.
“Set, if you wish. There’s a rat behind that barrel and I aim to be ready when he comes out. Now hush yourself, Elizabeth; it won’t do no good to fuss.” The sentence ended in a squeal and Amy watched the woman launch into action.
Elizabeth screamed and Amelia picked up the child. The broom stopped its flailing and the woman backed out of the corner. “James, hand me that shovel. I declare, this killing the varmints is getting to be a daily affair.”
“The poor child,” Amy crooned as she stroked the baby’s cheek.
The woman shook her head. “She just doesn’t want me to kill them.”
James added, “Elizabeth likes varmints.” He sat down and folded his arms. “Me, I don’t. I’m going to be a soldier like Pa; only I’m going to shoot rats.”
“Well, I hope by the time you’re growed this war’ll be over.” She faced Amy and asked, “You’re new. Husband in the Army?”
Amelia said, “Daniel’s a clergyman.”
“I think we need soldiers instead. Let me tell you, I lived in Texas until Missus Horton hired me away. Came from Georgia first off.”
“Why did you leave the South?” Amelia asked.
The woman studied them just long enough for Amy to note the careworn face and the calloused hand sweeping back her hair. “You say that like you think the South is good. It is if you live on a big plantation and have nothing to do all day but eat bonbons and do fancywork. When you’re poor whites, you scramble to make a living, just like the slaves.”
She returned the broom to its corner and added, “The big plantation owners are buying land as fast as they can beat a poor fellow to market. And they don’t want it for growing corn and beans, no sir. It’s for planting cotton so’s they can get rich. How’s a poor man to feed himself? We went to Texas, and now they’ve sold us down the river. Surrendered to the Confederates without a fight. No common man had a chance to say whether or not he wanted to be a part of their fight for independence.” She studied her frayed apron before adding, “Pretty soon there’ll be no room for any but the rich.”
Katherine didn’t return. Amy and Amelia soon left the cabin, but Amy continued to mull over the conversation. She was thinking about Amelia as they hurried back across the parade ground.
Looking at her mother, she said, “I’m learning things about this war I’d never thought about until today. I knew slavery was the cause of the war; didn’t stop to think how wrong it is. People need to be free, don’t they?”
Amelia looked down at her with a slight frown, and for a moment Amy wondered if they were talking about the same kind of freedom.
****
Daniel followed the orderly into the commandant’s office. With a flourish of his hat, the orderly waved at the man behind the desk. “This here is Colonel Paul.”
The man lifted his head. “So you’re the fellow picked up for aiding the enemy.”
Daniel hesitated. “Yes, sir, I suppose that’s about it. This fellow—”
“This is war. Why aren’t you in the Army?”
“Sir, I’m a missionary for the Methodist Episcopal Church. My wife and I came to New Mexico to look—”
“Never mind. I’m more interested in the charges against you. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Daniel pulled out the letter. “I was given this letter to pass on to you. I don’t know the fellow’s name who gave it to me. He asked us to call him Hal.”
Paul quickly scanned the letter and looked up at Daniel, “Describe the man.”
“Tall, thin, with white hair.”
“The letter is from a man who doesn’t fit the description. Also, the information is worthless. Our men have already engaged the enemy at Glorieta Pass.” He tossed the letter to the desk.
“This is war. Your actions indicate a hostile mind, favoring the enemy. You are under arrest. Because of the crowded conditions of the prison, you will be allowed the freedom of the post, but under no condition are you to leave the fort. Good day, sir.”
Daniel stood on the porch of the colonel’s office and took a deep breath. “Well, that is that. Until Chivington gets here, that is.” He studied the concrete walls of the prison and a grin tugged at his mouth. “Oh, boy, is Chivington going to be surprised!”
He walked slowly past the prison. The tiny cubicle was windowless, except for a narrow band of barred vents near the top of the wall. Taking a quick glance around, Daniel circled the prison. The parade grounds were still empty. Once more he passed behind the prison. With another quick glance behind him, he walked close to the wall and said, “Hey, you in there. Is Matthew with you?”
There was a pause and then a weak voice. “That you, Daniel?”
“Yes, how ya doing?”
“Fever’s come back.” Daniel chewed his lip and Matthew spoke again. “Haven’t had the rag changed today.”
“You oughta be in the hospital. I’ll see what I can do.”
Walking back the way he had come, Daniel examined the various small log buildings. There was one larger than the others. As he hesitated, the door opened and an enlisted man appeared. “Is this the hospital?” Daniel asked.
“As such,” the youth replied. “Infirmary is the name. Want to see the doc? He’s just come out of surgery.”
An older man appeared in the doorway. His face was lined with fatigue, but his tired eyes were patient. “Doc,” Daniel said, “we arrived yesterday with a soldier. He’s in the prison and I don’t think he’s doing too well—”
“And you want me to check on him,” the doctor said with a tired sigh.
“What I’d really like,” Daniel hurried out the words, “is for you to release him to me. My wife and I spent a couple of days nursing him along. We’d be glad to continue caring for him as long as we’re here. We’ll be leaving as soon as Major Chivington arrives, but until then—”
“It will be a blessing to me. I know the fellow and he’ll make it if he has someone to dress that wound about six times as often as it’s getting it right now.” He came down the steps. “Come along, I’ll have him out of there in a minute.”
He cut briskly down the row of buildings and stopped at the commandant’s office. Daniel’s heart sank, but by the time he reached the steps the man was inside. He was addressing the young lieutenant. “I’ve a volunteer to nurse that Reb with the hole in his arm. Please release him to—”
“Gerrett, sir.”
****
When Amy returned to their cabin, she opened the cabin door and gasped. “How did you get here?”
A grinning Matthew was propped up on a bunk built into the wall. Daniel turned from the stove. “Simple, my dear. We’re all prisoners of the United States Army. Somehow it didn’t seem to matter to them whether we have bars around us, just as long as we don’t intend to go anywhere. I think the doc was convinced Matthew wasn’t anxious to run.”
“We are prisoners too?”
He nodded. “But just until Chivington arrives. Meanwhile, we have a pile of bandages and some strange salve to use on Matthew. Also, I have a piece of deer meat and some potatoes and carrots—prisoner’s rations.”
With a smile Amy said, “I can only claim one wild story about rat hunting. I suppose that doesn’t impress you at all.”
“And that’s all you’ve done all day?” He grinned wryly and winked at her. “Come cook this stuff while I take care of Matthew, and you can tell me all about it.”
By the time Amy had the vegetables cooking and the meat ready to go into the skillet, Matthew was comfortably drifting toward sleep, and Daniel returned to the bench.
“You look a mite uneasy, Amy—what’s the problem?”
Amy glanced at the bunk and saw Matthew’s arm was across his face. She took a deep breath. “Uneasy? I guess that’s what I’m feeling. I was with Mother and Father. Some things were said, but that wasn’t as important as what I’m feeling,” she brooded as she carefully placed the meat in the melted fat.
She studied Daniel’s face. “It’s Mother. Daniel, all the spunk has gone out of her.”
“She’s different than when you knew her at Buckskin Joe? Amy, life’s dealt her a pretty hard line this winter.”
“I don’t think that’s it.” She turned the meat and came to sit beside Daniel. Seeing the concern in his eyes, for a moment she nearly regretted speaking out her thoughts.
He prodded, “Go on, I’m listening.”
“She—seemed to feel deeply about the war, more than that, about reasons behind. I could see it was important, and Father—”
Daniel sighed and nodded, “I see. Amy, I don’t want to criticize Father, but I get the feeling he’s walking on pins and needles, fearful—”
Amy said it slowly, “That Mother is going to disgrace him?”
“At least entertain ideas he can’t handle.” But immediately, he added, “Don’t forget, we haven’t spent much time around them.”
Amy spoke slowly. “Mother thinks, and she isn’t afraid to own her thoughts. I’d like to be that way. Sometimes the words burst out of me, and then I’m sorry. Not sorry I have them, just sorry I said what I did. It…causes problems, especially with Father.”
Matthew stirred and said, “That meat sure smells good.”
“And I’m not about to burn it,” Amy declared, jumping to her feet.
Their opportunity for real conversation was interrupted by Matthew’s waking, but Daniel rose and went to stand beside Amy at the stove. “Give it time, sweetheart,” he whispered as he put his arm around her. “Both for your mother and yourself. God’s still on the throne.”