Chapter Ten

The shadows beneath the green canopy of leaves were lengthening as Jeremiah rode the trail through the woods toward Will’s house. Tonight he would give his answer.

He had invited Clara to walk with him after breakfast, leading her into the relative privacy of the peach orchard where he had seen her with Jane earlier that week. Her blue plaid skirt swayed like a bell as she walked beside him. Perhaps she had saved her female histrionics for her sister, as he had yet to witness her shed more than a single tear over the matter. But he feared that if she was to lose her self-possession, it would be either upon hearing his announcement or at his departure.

She had held herself together well at her parents’ house, where they had supper on Sunday to meet Jane’s new suitor. Although he knew Clara was struggling with her own worries, she kept a pleasant smile on her face for her sister’s sake. Louis Bland seemed like a nice enough fellow, and since the setting was inappropriate to discuss politics, Jeremiah had no idea which side of the war Louis was on and whether or not he needed to worry of one day fighting him as well.

Taking Clara’s hand, Jeremiah led her under the sprawling limbs of a great peach tree, its green leaves trembling with the breeze. “I’ve thought the matter over thoroughly, and I must join the Federal Army, Clara. My sense of honor compels me to defend my country.”

He had expected angry tears and protests, but she had replied with acceptance, brown eyes dry as she lifted her chin to meet his gaze squarely. “I know,” she said, her voice serene and strong. “I knew last week.”

Jeremiah furrowed his brows. “How were you so sure, when even I wasn’t?”

“You sounded to me like a man who had made up his mind.”

Taking her hand, Jeremiah pressed a kiss into her palm. “Will you be able to forgive me for leaving you?” he worried.

“Only if you come home alive,” Clara retorted. She looked away then, her lip quivering, and Jeremiah realized how much this show of bravery was costing her.

“I’ll do my very best, darling,” he vowed, though there was little reassurance in the promise.

“When will you leave?” Sadness underscored the question.

“I can only say soon. We’ll decide more precisely tonight.”

“Have you told your father?” Clara wondered. The angle of the morning sun sent a shaft of light between the trees, catching in her auburn hair and setting it aglow.

“I wanted to tell you first,” he replied, his voice husky. “You know I wish I could stay with you,” he added softly, enfolding both her hands in his and holding them tightly. There was so much more in his heart, but he could not find the words to express it.

She blinked away tears, straightening her shoulders. “I’m sure he already knows,” she said. “He knows you as well as I do.”

Jeremiah nodded at the truth of her words. “Will you be all right here with him?”

“Yes, I’m sure we’ll be fine,” she assured him.

Turning Archie onto the road, Jeremiah remembered the tilt of her chin as she lied. She was trying so hard to be strong for him, and he loved her all the more for it.

His father hadn’t responded very differently. Quiet resignation was all he had offered as he said, “I’ll miss you, son. I’ll be praying for you and Charlie every day that you’re away.”

Jeremiah couldn’t determine if his father was disappointed with his decision or if he supported it in his own way. There was no use in asking. If Francis was opposed, it would have only made leaving that much harder. And Jeremiah knew it was going to be hard enough.

Reaching Will’s, he stabled his horse and reported to the study. The air was thick with cigar smoke as Jeremiah took the empty seat on the sofa, next to Amos Mosley. Will poured him a glass of whiskey from the decanter on the shelf. Sam Price and James Cecil had yet to arrive.

“Good to see you tonight,” Will grinned. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

“I don’t know why,” Jeremiah replied, not wishing to be judged as a coward or a pacifist.

“Have you made your decision?”

Jeremiah acknowledged the question with a nod. He still had his qualms, but having set himself upon this course, he must see it through. “I’ll be riding to Cambridge with you,” he answered.

Amos clapped him on the shoulder, the force of it sending the amber liquid in his glass rocking precariously. “Glad to hear it, man!” he exclaimed.

“I knew we could count on you,” Will laughed as he raised his glass in salute.

Their boisterous approval was interrupted as Sam arrived, going straight for the cigar box on the desk. He leaned in toward Will for a light, gripping the cigar between his teeth as he said, “I heard you say you’re going with us.” He accepted a glass of whiskey as he added, “Never doubted it.”

“Where’s James?” Sam paused to look around the room, noting the other man’s absence.

“On his way, I hope,” Will replied. He glanced at the clock on the wall. “We’ll give him a little more time.”

“Did you see the story in the paper about the arrest of Francis Key Howard?” Amos asked as he settled back in the sofa and puffed his cigar.

“Arrested for the article he wrote in the paper criticizing the President’s suspension of the writ of habeas corpus,” Jeremiah answered. “Sent to Fort McHenry.”

“You know he’s the grandson of Francis Scott Key, the man who wrote the poem which became The Star Spangled Banner?” Amos queried.

“He should have known better than to speak against the President of the very flag his grandfather celebrated,” Sam declared.

“Isn’t Fort McHenry where that poem was written?” Amos wondered.

“It was written about the flag flying over Fort McHenry, and the pride Key felt that his country had not lost the battle,” Will answered.

“I’m sure you’ve all heard who else has been imprisoned there?” Sam leaned against the edge of the desk, rubbing his chin with his thumb. “I’m not sure if I agree with going that far.”

“Twenty-seven state legislators… all in favor of secession,” Amos stated.

“That’s one-third of the Maryland General Assembly,” Jeremiah added, shaking his head. “I admit, it seems extreme.”

“I’ve been thinking it over, too,” Will admitted, “and I’ve come to this conclusion. It forced the legislative session to be cancelled, preventing a vote for secession or other anti-war measures. It could be said that their arrests saved Maryland from stepping over the line to become a rebel state and facing the consequences that would come with it.”

“It’s all a game of chess with high stakes,” Jeremiah commented. “Saving Maryland is just one move toward saving the Union.”

“And we will take our place in history as those who fought to defend—“ Will’s impassioned speech was halted as the door to the study creaked open and James Cecil slipped through the door.

“James,” Will acknowledged him with a pat on the back. “Glad you came.”

As Will moved toward the whiskey decanter, James stopped him with an upheld palm. “I’m not staying long. I almost didn’t come.” The young man’s lean features were sharpened with worry, a deep groove forming between his brows. “I just wanted to give my answer. I can’t put myself at risk right now. I believe in this nation, and I will always be a loyal patriot. But my wife needs me. She’s expecting another child, and her health is suffering. Our little one is weak, and I just can’t leave Mary to do this on her own. I won’t.” His eyes moved from face to face apologetically, “I’m behind you all the way. This just isn’t a battle I can fight right now.”

Will stepped toward him, offering his hand in a conciliatory gesture. “There’s no shame in that. Sometimes a man needs to choose deeper loyalties than country. Go ahead and have a drink before you head out,” he said, offering him a whiskey.

James accepted it, standing a little straighter now that the weight was off his chest. “I’m glad you understand.”

After James Cecil had taken his leave, Will turned to the three who had committed to enlist. “When will you be ready to go?” he asked them.

“I’m ready,” answered Amos.

“I can go whenever you decide,” Sam agreed.

Jeremiah swallowed. He could hardly say that he wanted more time, so he simply nodded his accord with the others.

“Let’s give it three days to put all our affairs in order. We can meet here Thursday afternoon and ride to Cambridge,” Will suggested.

And so it was decided.

Jeremiah stayed only a little longer than James, making his apologies as he left. He respected James’ decision to stay and care for his wife in her time of need. No one could judge a man for choosing to attend to his sickly wife and child. He was thankful Clara was neither ill nor carrying a child. He suspected it would be painful enough to say good-bye as it was.

He wasn’t surprised to find Clara waiting up for him when he crept silently into the bedroom. A pale yellow circle of light flickered from the oil lamp on the nightstand. Leaning against the headboard, Clara sat in her white cotton shift with a novel in her hands, knees drawn up in front of her. Her tired eyes brightened as soon as she saw him.

“You’re up late,” he forced a smile as he removed his boots and padded to the bed.

“I couldn’t sleep. I needed to know how much time we have left.”

Jeremiah sighed wearily as he removed his clothes and sank down onto the bed. “Three days. We leave on Thursday.”

Clara nodded, then reached over to turn out the lamp. She said nothing as she snuggled into the circle of his arm, but he could feel the dampness against his chest from her tears.

In the morning, Jeremiah instructed Mamie to gather the slaves on the back porch so that he might address them. During the night he had been disturbed by an owl hooting in the forest and was unable to fall back to sleep. He had lain awake thinking that if this was the last three days he had in this life with his wife, his father, or even the slaves who served his family, he wanted his last words to them to be meaningful and memorable.

Standing on the back porch, looking down at the black faces which were as much a part of home as the white portico at the front entrance and the laurel trees which flanked the house, Jeremiah was moved by deep emotions. Old Joe and Mamie stood with their youngest children, Lena and Silas, on either side of them. Next to the boy were Phoebe and her husband, Henry. The eldest son, Eli, stood by himself off to the side.

“On Thursday I will be leaving to join the Federal Army,” Jeremiah announced. “I am confident that in my absence I can trust each and every one of you to care for my wife, my father, and Laurel Hill, just as you have in the past. When I look at you, I see home. Each one of you are as deeply rooted in the soil of Laurel Hill as I am, and from the bottom of my heart, I wish to thank you for all your labors. God willing, I will return to work alongside you once again, but until then, may God bless you and keep you.”

“Yessuh, we gonna take care of things,” Old Joe promised.

“Don’t you worry none, we gonna take good care o’ Missus Clara,” Phoebe promised.

“I know you will,” Jeremiah nodded to both of them gratefully.

He would wait until the last day to say his final good-byes to Francis and Clara, but there was someone else he wanted to visit. Pausing to pluck a few of the purple crocus blooming in the flower garden, Jeremiah carried the bouquet to the family graveyard and placed them against Henrietta’s stone. Kneeling down on the grass, Jeremiah traced the letters of her name carved into the marble slab.

“Hi Mama,” he said in an almost whisper. “You might know it already, but it looks like I’m going to war. Charlie’s already left and he’s fighting on the other side. It’s a horrible time to live in, Mama, and it’s just as well you aren’t here to see it. But we miss you dearly and wish you were here, for our sakes. I’ll do my best to take care of myself, and I promise I won’t do anything to hurt Charlie if I can help it.” He sat in the stillness for a moment, listening to the cicadas humming in the nearby trees. “I love you, Mama,” he said finally before rising to his feet.

Jeremiah was thankful for these three days, but they sped by so quickly that it felt he hadn’t been given nearly enough time. If he had felt a clock ticking before, now it seemed that he could hear every second as it ticked past, time lost that could never be brought back.

His father seemed to age before his eyes in those last days. Francis’ white hair seemed thinner, and the creases and grooves of his face grew deeper than they were before. Gray circles developed under his eyes, as if sleep routinely eluded him. But perhaps the most disturbing change was his taciturn silence. It was as if a spark had gone out within him.

Wednesday evening Jeremiah found his father on the back porch, reclining in a rocking chair and smoking a pipe. Taking a seat on the divan, he waited to see if Francis would speak first, but when he continued to puff his pipe without a word, Jeremiah initiated the conversation.

“Father,” he spoke softly, and when Francis did not reply, Jeremiah feared his voice had been lost in the strident chorus of late summer insects. He spoke more loudly, “Father?”

“What is it, son?” Francis clenched the briarwood pipe between his teeth as he spoke.

Before he could lose courage, Jeremiah blurted: “Tomorrow I leave. I just wanted to say once and for all that I love you. You’ve been a good father and I’m glad you’ll be here to care for Clara while I’m gone.”

A sad half-smile curved his father’s mouth. “You’ve been a good son, Jeremiah. I’m going to miss you.”

“About Charlie…” Jeremiah began, the subject causing his throat to close.

Francis removed the pipe and rested his elbow on the arm of the rocker. “I know you love him, son. I know you don’t want to hurt him.”

“I’ll try to make you proud,” Jeremiah cleared his throat as his voice broke with emotion.

“I already am, Jeremiah,” Francis stated, coming to his feet and offering his hand, pulling Jeremiah into a hug as he accepted it. “I already am.”

Thursday morning dawned bright and clear. The sunlight streaming through the lace curtains fell across Jeremiah’s eyes, and he blinked against the brightness. Rolling onto his side, he took in the tranquil beauty of his wife as she lay sleeping, hand tucked under her cheek. Her long auburn braid fell across her shoulder, and he reached out to rub the silky strands of it between his thumb and forefinger. Watching the peaceful rise and fall of her breathing, Jeremiah felt an ache grow in his chest.

The knowledge of their imminent separation cast a pall over the entire house. No one seemed to have much to say. Breakfast was a somber affair.

Jeremiah packed extra shirts, socks and utensils in a knapsack, unsure what the army would provide. Mamie gave him a sack filled with sourdough biscuits, jerky, and dried beans called “leather britches” to take with him.

“Don’t want you goin’ hungry,” the plump Negro woman said as she handed him the sack.

Jeremiah nodded his gratitude. Eli had offered to saddle Archie, allowing Jeremiah a few more minutes to spend with his wife. Standing alone with her in the parlor, he drew her against his chest and held her tightly, his hand rubbing slow circles on her back. They stood this way for a moment, before she drew back, staring up at him with solemn eyes.

“Do you know how much I love you?” he asked softly, his eyes intense as they studied every curve and feature of her face. He noticed that she had worn the jade muslin dress he liked so much on her. It accentuated the reddish tint of her hair and her creamy complexion.

Blinking back tears, Clara whispered, “I do.”

“Never forget,” Jeremiah ordered gently, drawing her close and pressing his lips against hers. He deepened the kiss, wishing he never had to let go.

But the time soon came for him to leave. Francis and the slaves were all gathered at the front of the house, Eli holding Archie’s reins. Jeremiah followed Clara down the narrow brick walkway, the sound of his boots on the stones echoing with finality.

He turned to take in the details of his home one last time, trying to memorize it for the long months or years ahead. He shook hands with Old Joe, Henry and Eli, and hugged Mamie, Phoebe and Lena.

Francis stepped toward him, gripping his hand in a firm farewell. “Take care of yourself, son,” he said hoarsely.

Jeremiah nodded, then turned to his wife, standing quietly at his side. “Never forget,” he whispered in her ear as he drew her close for one last hug.

Then swinging up into the saddle, Jeremiah lifted his hand and nudged Archie forward.

Clara stopped him with a hand upon his thigh. Her brown eyes were pleading as she looked up at him. “Come home to me,” she ordered.