Eleven

Spring 1862

Nancy breathed deeply of the mild spring air as she and Stella walked along the banks of the Ohio. Although it was the middle of May, a few dogwood trees were still blooming on the hills, and the trees were almost in full leaf. The goal of statehood for western Virginians loomed ever closer, for just a few days ago the Reorganized Government of Virginia had approved the creation of the new state with forty-eight counties. Believing that eastern Virginia wouldn’t lose a large portion of the state without a fight, Nancy’s father still worried about invasion by Confederate raiders.

“It’s hard to believe that a year has passed since the war started,” she said.

“It seems like more than a year since my life ended,” Stella commented bitterly. “A year ago we were rich and happy. Today we’re poor and miserable. I hate this war and the trouble it’s brought us.”

Nancy had been through this before with her friend, and she wanted to retort, “The Southerners started it.” But she knew that Stella’s life was miserable. Although she was tired of hearing her friend’s complaints, Nancy wouldn’t add to Stella’s misery.

Mr. Danford had eventually reclaimed their home, but most of their furniture was gone, and they were living in dangerous and impoverished conditions. Mr. Danford was operating his factory on a small scale, using the hoard of raw cotton he had stored before the war. But lacking a steady supply of cotton, the output wasn’t half what it had been prior to their disastrous flight from Wheeling. Because cotton goods were scarce in Wheeling, residents didn’t let their dislike of Mr. Danford’s Confederate sympathies keep them from buying his products. They needed to replenish their sheets, towels, and clothing.

Even so, the Danfords’ lifestyle had changed completely. They couldn’t afford any household servants, and new clothes were a thing of the past. Stella and her mother wore the clothing they had taken with them on their aborted flight at the beginning of the war.

“Although it’s against his conviction,” Stella continued morosely, “and he feels like a traitor, Papa got a Union flag and put it on the front porch. He did it for Mama and me. But the local residents know what we believe, and rowdies file past our home about every night shouting and calling us bad names. They’re still throwing rotten eggs and vegetables at the house, too.”

“The Fosters are having similar problems. Heath is happy to fly the flag because he’s a loyal Union man, but he’s still harassed because he doctors secessionists. Since that new doctor moved into town from the eastern panhandle, Heath has lost a lot of patients. Even Papa sympathizes with him, so that may be why he insisted that I go back to work for the Fosters.”

Stella slanted a sly glance toward Nancy. “And you’ve been a lot happier since then, too. I wish I had a beau as handsome as Dr. Foster.”

Nancy felt her face growing warm, and she didn’t answer. Her feelings for Heath were too precious to share with anyone, even her best friend. Stella had assumed the reason she had stopped working for the Fosters was because Pa feared that the Fosters’ secessionist sympathies might cause him to lose his hauling contracts with the Union Army. Nancy hadn’t corrected her assumptions.

“Dr. Foster is a fine man,” Stella continued. “He comes to see Mama every week, and he knows that Papa doesn’t have much money to pay him. I’m glad your pa came to his senses about the Fosters.”

“So am I. Pa would never admit it, but I think he realizes now what Heath and his mother are going through. Pa is as loyal to the Union as Abe Lincoln himself, but just because my brother is in the Confederate Army, a lot of people shun us. And the army has stopped giving him any shipping business, so we don’t have much money, either.”

The two girls walked in silence, and Nancy recalled how miserable she’d been during the two months and eleven days she hadn’t gone to the Foster home. Being unable to see Heath was about the worst thing that had happened to her, and she moped around the house day after day. Her pa must have thought the same thing, for one morning in February, out of the blue, he said, “If you want to go back to the Fosters, it’s all right with me. I’ll go with you to see Mrs. Foster tomorrow morning.”

Without questions or reservations, Mrs. Foster had welcomed Nancy back. They didn’t ask why she had stopped working for them, but she figured Heath suspected the reason. Nancy missed their rides and talks together, but Heath didn’t touch her or seek her company unless his mother was present.

Interrupting Nancy’s musings, Stella said, “Papa has heard that there’s going to be an attack on the Clark home tonight. Now that Mrs. Clark’s two brothers have sneaked out of town and joined the Confederate Army, she’s suspected of being a spy. People are saying that when she left Tommy with the housekeeper and was gone three days last week, she took information about what’s going on in Wheeling to her brothers. There’s a rumor flying around that they will guide an army in here to take over the town.”

“That’s probably a bunch of nonsense. I don’t believe Mrs. Clark is brave enough to do that. But because the Union seems to be losing the war, even Pa is fretting what will happen to us if the Confederacy wins. Virginia troops will take over our town if they possibly can and treat us like traitors.”

“I hope not,” Stella said. “I don’t wish that on anyone—not even the people who’ve been mean to us.”

Nancy had long ago forgiven Tabitha Clark for the way she’d treated her, and on her way home, she wondered if she should go and warn Mrs. Clark about the planned attack. Still, the woman had ordered Nancy and Pa to get out of her house and warned them to stay away. Nancy wasn’t quite brave enough to risk her anger alone, but she was determined to tell Pa about it. He would know the right thing to do.

❧

Nancy placed a dish of white beans, a platter of corn bread, and a bowl of chopped onions on the table. She took a chair beside her father and waited until he said the blessing.

Her father didn’t like to talk as he ate, so Nancy fidgeted until he ate two bowls of beans and onions with several chunks of corn bread. When he pushed back from the table and held up his cup for a coffee refill, she said, “Stella has heard that a mob is going after Mrs. Clark tonight.”

As was his way, Pa looked at Nancy to see if she had finished. When she didn’t speak, he threaded his graying hair with his fingers, none too clean after a day’s work in the shop.

“Don’t surprise me. She’s too uppity and makes enemies of the wrong people.”

“I reckon she’s got a right to her own beliefs same as anybody else.”

Pa nodded agreement. He never mentioned Clay’s name unless Nancy brought up the subject, but when he sat on the steps for several hours in the evening, looking eastward as if he was trying to see what was going on beyond the mountains, Nancy was convinced he was thinking of his son. She figured that was one reason he had mellowed toward the secessionists.

“I thought about warning her, but I didn’t want to cause you any trouble.”

Knowing that her father would give serious consideration to such a touchy situation before he made a decision, Nancy started clearing the table. She stored the leftovers and then washed and dried the dishes and placed them in the cupboard before she sat at the table again.

“It’s a problem, all right, and I don’t rightly know what to do about it,” her father said. “I don’t like the woman because she’s too highfalutin, and I fault her for the way she treated you. But I don’t like hoodlums, either—’specially when they prey on a woman and a boy. Wonder if she’s the kind to defend herself.”

“There’s a rack of guns in the hallway. I suppose they belonged to her husband, but I don’t know if she can use them.”

Pa took his hat from the coatrack beside the door and jammed it on his head. “The Good Book says we’re supposed to do good to them that despitefully use us, so I’m goin’ to help the woman.”

“I want to go, too.”

“You might as well,” Pa said. “I don’t know when I’ll be back, and you ain’t got no business bein’ alone.” He took a shotgun off the wall, stuck a handful of shells in his pocket, and reached in a cabinet drawer for a pistol.

“You’d better take the handgun,” he said. “Your brother taught you how to shoot it, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“It’s just for your protection, mind you. I don’t want you shootin’ at nobody unless you’re forced into it. We’ll wait till dusk to go. I don’t want to be seen totin’ all of this hardware along the streets.”

❧

Frogs croaked along the riverbank, and a slight breeze wafted the scent of wild plum blossoms from the island. The sound of a bugle carried on the night air brought memories of her brother. As they started out on their warlike mission, Nancy wondered if her father was thinking of Clay, too.

“It’s hard to believe that evil is afoot on such a nice night,” Nancy murmured, and her father nodded.

“Step lively,” he said.

Pa stopped when they were a block from the Clark home. “We’d better go to the back door. I’d like to talk to someone other than the widow first. Does she have any live-in help?”

“I’ve heard that Nora Lively, one of her poor relations, came to live with her after I left.”

“It’s worth checkin’ out,” he said, circling the house to the backyard.

A light still burned in the kitchen, and the curtains were drawn, but they detected movement as if someone moved back and forth in the room. Motioning for Nancy to stay in the background, Pa strode up on the porch and tapped softly on the door.

The door opened slightly, and a quavering voice asked, “Who is it?”

“Wendell Logan,” he said quietly. “I want to talk to Mrs. Clark right away. I’ve come peacefully.”

She quickly closed the door and locked it.

“You think she’ll talk to you?” Nancy asked.

“I don’t know.” Pa stared into the darkness that had settled over the city.

“It’s too quiet to suit me. If she don’t show up soon, we’re gettin’ out of here.”

The door opened a few inches. “You’re not welcome here, Mr. Logan,” Mrs. Clark said in her haughtiest voice.

“That may be, but Nancy heard today that your house is gonna be attacked tonight. We came to help.”

Tabitha peered into the darkness. Nancy moved so she could be seen in the dim light from the kitchen.

“A likely story! Do you think I’d trust you after the way you talked to me?”

Pa stepped forward, shoved on the door, pushed Mrs. Clark aside, and walked into the kitchen. He motioned for Nancy to follow him.

“Leave my house at once.”

Pa ignored her and strode toward the front of the house. “It may be a false alarm, but a lot of secessionists are being attacked now, and you being without menfolk, I ain’t gonna stand by and see a bunch of riffraff burn your house. Men that attack and pillage in the night are usually cowards, and if they see you’re not alone, that might scare them off.”

“Take charge, then,” Mrs. Clark said meekly.

“Where’s your boy?” Pa asked as he walked through the hallway.

“Upstairs in his room.”

“Good. That’s the safest place for him.”

In the dim candlelight, Nancy saw a woman huddled on the stairway, wringing her hands and moaning. Her father must have sensed that she wouldn’t be any help, for he said to Mrs. Clark, “Send her to stay with the boy.”

“Nora, please go upstairs and look after Tommy. Don’t let him out of his room.”

The distraught woman jumped to her feet and scurried up the steps.

To Pa, Mrs. Clark said, “He likes to think he’s the man of the house, but he’s only eight and a sickly child at that.”

“You’re right to protect your own,” Pa said. With Tommy’s safety taken care of, Pa laid out his plans.

“Nancy, be sure the back door is locked, then open the window and watch for anybody who comes up the alley.” To Mrs. Clark, he said, “I’m not aimin’ to shoot nobody, but it won’t hurt to be prepared. Do you know how to shoot any of them guns hanging on the wall?”

“One of them.”

“Then load up and be ready. Keep a candle burning so we can see to move around inside, but blow out the other lights. Set by an open window. I’ll be out on the front porch, and if I open fire, shoot up in the air. You, too, Nancy,” he called quietly. “Be sure you don’t hit nobody unless they rush the house.”

“Shouldn’t the police know about this?” Mrs. Clark asked.

“They’re all pro-Union and would likely refuse to help.”

“Rather than fighting for a lost cause, I can’t understand why my brothers didn’t realize that they were needed here,” she said in a harsh, raw voice. “We’re going to lose everything—our business, our wealth, our homes.”

“So you don’t think the Confederates will win the war?” Pa asked, and he sounded surprised.

“How can they? The North has railroads, factories, money. Southerners have slaves, cotton, and bravado, none of which is worth much in fighting a war. I sympathize with the secessionists, but old Abe Lincoln has the determination of a bulldog, and he won’t give up. Unfortunately, I couldn’t make my brothers realize that. Our boats are sitting idle while they’re off fighting.”

In a tone Nancy had never heard from Mrs. Clark, she added, “Mr. Logan, in light of our past differences, much of which was my fault, I truly appreciate your help tonight. Most of my neighbors don’t feel kindly toward me because of my secessionist views. I don’t know what I would have done without you and Nancy tonight. I’m thankful you came.” She extended her hand, and Pa grasped it without hesitation.

“You’ve got a right to your political beliefs same as anyone else. Just because I don’t believe the same as you do won’t keep me from doing what I can to protect you and your boy.”

In a trembling voice, Mrs. Clark said, “Whatever happens tonight, I won’t forget your kindness.”

Pa stepped out on the porch, and quietness settled over the house. Nancy scurried to her post in the kitchen and monitored the passage of time by the clock on the wall. When it struck midnight, as if that was a signal for action, she saw two men sneaking up the alley.

Nancy stepped into the hallway. “Mrs. Clark, tell Pa they’re coming the back way,” she said. Her heart was hammering, but it was gratifying to know that her voice sounded normal.

Mrs. Clark turned from her post at one of the windows. “And I see a small group of men coming up the street, too. Some of them are carrying torches. Be careful.”

At that moment, Nancy saw Tabitha Clark in a new light. If she had thought about it, she would have guessed that Mrs. Clark would be cringing in a corner with her head covered. But there was a steel edge to her voice, and Nancy was convinced that the woman wouldn’t hesitate to fire the gun she held if anyone tried to enter the house. Despite her other faults, the woman loved her son devotedly, and she would fight for him like a lioness defending her cub.

The two men moved from the alley, and Nancy heard their steps on the back porch. They pushed on the door, and Nancy turned in that direction, her back against the kitchen wall. If there was any shooting, she figured Pa should start it, but she pushed the pistol in front of her and held it with a steady hand. If the men tried to break in, she would fire.

She moved closer to the door and heard a man’s voice mumble, “Pry it open with the crowbar, and don’t make no noise.”

God, what should I do? I don’t want to kill anyone, Nancy thought.

Suddenly she remembered when Heath had told his neighbor that if someone tried to break into the house and harm his mother and Nancy, he wouldn’t hesitate to defend them.

Recalling that was enough for Nancy. She tilted the pistol and without warning pulled the trigger. The wood at the top of the door splintered, and one of the men yelled. She was sure she hadn’t hit him, so the surprise must have caused him to shout. Nancy stood to one side of the door in case they returned her fire. But no shot sounded, and the men must have thrown the crowbar away, for it hit the side of the house. She heard the rapid beat of footsteps leaving the porch.

As if her shot was a signal, a barrage of gunfire sounded from the street.

“Are you all right, Nancy?” Mrs. Clark called.

“Yes. I shot through the door and scared the attackers away.”

For the time being, Nancy decided the back door was safe. She scurried into the front hall and peered out a small window near the place Mrs. Clark knelt.

“So far, they’ve been shooting in the air,” she said quietly.

“I haven’t heard Pa’s gun. I figure he’s mad because I fired, but a couple of men were trying to break in through the kitchen door.”

“Hey, secesh,” a voice taunted. “You want a quick trip to the Confederacy? We’ll ride you out of town on a rail.”

Coarse laughter greeted his remark. No doubt this attack was fueled by liquor, for in spite of the town’s efforts to control the sale and use of alcohol, it was still available. A man separated from the crowd milling in the street and started toward the house.

When he put his foot on the bottom step, Pa shouted, “That’s far enough,” and unloaded a volley of shotgun pellets to the right of where the man stood. “The next load of grape-shot will be for real. Get out of here.”

“There’s only one man—we can take care of him,” the man on the step shouted.

Mrs. Clark fired. Pa’s gun sounded again, and the advance halted as the attackers huddled together, talking angrily in the middle of the street. Nancy opened a window, knelt beside it, and braced herself for another attack.

❧

Heath yawned, tempted to stop the horse and take a nap in his buggy. He had been at a farmhouse ten miles out in the country for several hours, his patient in labor. Now the baby was delivered, the mother was resting, and he was finally on his way home. He shook his head, slapped his cheeks lightly, relaxed his shoulders, and kept going.

When he arrived in town and drove down Twelfth Street, he noticed a glow a few blocks away. He halted the horse and heard the sound of gunfire. Heath had a sense of uneasiness about what was going on. The Clark home was down that street, and pressure was being put on all secessionists right now. Heath pumped the reins, and the horse picked up speed.

As he drew closer, Heath saw the men milling in front of Tabitha’s home. He knew that she and Tommy were alone, with only a weakling cousin for company. A shotgun blast echoed over the street, but he couldn’t tell if it came from the house or from the attackers.

He lifted the reins, and with a silent apology to the horse, which had also had a long day and night, he touched its flanks with the whip.

“Giddyup,” he yelled, flicking the reins and heading straight toward the rabble. Unaccustomed to the sting of the whip, the horse lunged into action and plowed through the middle of the mob. A few men were knocked down by the wheels, but most of them dove to safety when they saw the buggy bearing down on them. By the time Heath slowed the animal and turned around, the street was empty.

❧

Nancy hurried out on the porch just as Pa stood up, took off his hat, and tossed it into the air. He burst into laughter. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a funnier sight. They scattered like a covey of quail.”

“Who ran them down, Pa?”

“I don’t know. Everything happened so fast, I couldn’t take it all in. Whoever it is has turned the vehicle and is coming our way.”

Cradling the gun under his arm, Pa walked off the porch.

“Why, it’s Doc Foster!” he said.

Heath halted his horse and jumped out of the buggy. “What’s going on here?”

“Not much. But there might have been a lot of action if you hadn’t arrived when you did.” Pa grabbed Heath’s hand and pumped it up and down. “You’re all right, Doc. You’re all right.”

As soon as the ruffians had scattered and Heath had come to help, Nancy hurried to the kitchen to light the oil lamp. Now that Pa knew Heath wasn’t a coward and would fight when forced into it, a glad song sang in her heart. Would Pa be less concerned about her relationship with Heath?

❧

Surprised not only by his own action but to find Wendell Logan defending the Clark home, Heath stepped inside the hallway. Mrs. Clark hurried out of the parlor and, with a glad cry, ran to Heath, threw her arms around him, and laid her head on his shoulder.

“Oh, I might have known you would come to help me,” she cried.

Before Heath could extricate himself from her embrace, he heard footsteps approaching. He looked to the rear of the hallway just as Nancy entered, carrying a lighted lamp. She stopped abruptly and stared. Her features contorted with shock and anger, soon replaced by a look of disappointment and sadness. She set the lamp on a long table and brushed by Heath and Mrs. Clark.

“Let’s go home, Pa,” she said in a resigned voice. “We aren’t needed here any longer.”

With Mrs. Clark still holding him tightly, Heath watched the Logans walk away from the house. He removed himself from her arms and turned to follow Nancy.

“Mama, are you all right?” Tommy called from the top of the stairs in a tearful voice.

Mrs. Clark went to the stairway and motioned for Tommy. He ran to her, and she hugged him.

“Everything is all right now. Thanks to the Logans and Dr. Foster.”

“I wanted to help, but I don’t feel good.”

Knowing that Tommy was a fragile child, Heath decided he had better check the boy’s heart before he left. Innately, he realized that this wasn’t the time to talk to Nancy. In that brief moment when Nancy had found him in Mrs. Clark’s embrace, a range of emotions that he hadn’t seen there before had flitted across her face. Was it possible that Nancy loved him? With a sigh of resignation, he walked out to his buggy and picked up his medical bag. He would have to mend his fences with Nancy at a later time.