Chapter Fourteen

AUTUMN 1863

October had always been my favorite month, when the sun drenched the hills around us and blue-ridged mountains in the distance flamed in vibrant golds and burnt orange, when the maples outside my window took on scarlet and crimson gowns, when the air grew crisp and skies burst their bluest, when the ground carpeted itself in diamonds, glistening in first frosts.

But in that year of 1863, I seldom noticed the autumn wonder, and those few moments I did left me sick with guilt for loving life when my brother, full of his principles, might be facing a hangman’s noose or a firing squad.

Emma had grown pale and wan, haunting the post office each day for word that did not come. Did they even allow prisoners to write home? I didn’t know but urged her to remain at home, to save her strength.

Yet I was just as haunted and made a point to see Tom’s mother whenever I could, in case there was any news.

November, with its leaf showers and somber skies, had arrived when Obadiah sent for me through Martha. I found him in the barn, hitching Tammer to the buggy. “Met Miz Chatsworth on the road just now. Said she’d like a visit with you soon as you’re able.”

My hands fairly trembled. “I’ll go now.”

“I pray it’s good news.” Obadiah’s eyes didn’t hold the hope of his prayers. He helped me up and handed me the reins. “Careful now. You wanna get there in one piece.” He stepped back. “Let me know?” Worry lines creased his forehead. I loved him for the love he held for my brother, for all of us.

“As soon as I learn a thing.”

Obadiah stepped back, nodding. I flicked the reins and Tammer left the yard at a trot.

It was midafternoon. I had no expectations of meeting a soul on the road. If I did, well, I was out to pay a call. I tucked my hair into its snood with one hand, hoping to look presentable. This was the first time I’d gone to Chatsworth Lodge empty-handed since the morning I met Tom there, not so much as a jar of jelly to offer, but I couldn’t wait. That she’d sent for me surely meant there was some word from Tom.

No one was out front to meet me this time, so I tied Tammer to the hitching post beside the drive and did my best to walk up the steps without running. Before I raised my fist to knock on the door, it opened and Mrs. Chatsworth met me, a thing never done by the lady of a grand house and one that raised the hairs on my arms.

She said not a word but pulled me into the front parlor and closed the door. “I’ve a letter from Tom.” She led me to the settee. I needed to be led. She pulled a letter from her dress pocket, perused it quickly, and handed me one sheet of the writing paper. “This is what you’ll want to know.”

My eyes scanned the lines quickly and then again, more deliberately.

We accompanied our bound prisoners from No Creek to Camp Vance, where they’ve been placed under the jurisdiction of Captain James McRae’s battalion of North Carolina Cavalry, authorized to serve as enforcer of the Confederate Conscription Acts for western North Carolina. From there some of the prisoners were to be escorted to Salisbury, though I believe that ultimately, they will be sent to Raleigh for trial, likely before the end of the month. I know a man in McRae’s battalion, James Edwards —you may remember that he visited us once during the summer season. He’s promised to make me aware of any prisoner transport intended.

The page ended there. My eyes met the eyes of Tom’s mother.

“That’s all there was. The letter was dated October 14.”

“Salisbury. Raleigh. No telling where he is now.”

“I’m sure Tom will write as soon as he knows more. He loves you, my dear. He’ll do all in his power to help Elliott.”

“I know he will.” Still, Tom wore a Confederate uniform. He’d not held his vow as Elliott had. If it came to doing his duty to the Confederacy or helping Elliott, I knew which Tom would choose. I read the letter again. It was my only link and I must remember everything to share with Emma. “He speaks of prisoners, as if there are more than Elliott.”

“I don’t know how many. I rather think deserters . . . and some from Elliott’s regiment. John Robins was one, that I do know. His wife is beside herself with worry. Her third child is due anytime. To be alone now . . .”

“I’ll look in on her.”

Mrs. Chatsworth pressed my fingers. “I knew you would. You understand that being Tom’s mother, I cannot . . .”

“Yes. And I know he can’t write to me directly —for his sake or mine. I’m grateful you share his letters with me. It’s the only news we’ve had.”

She looked as if she was considering something.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know that Tom would want me to say this, but I must. There is more to his letter. He loves you, Minnie. He hopes for a future with you. I believe you know that.”

My eyes studied the hands in my lap. I couldn’t look at her.

“He’ll do all he can for Elliott.”

“I hope for that.”

“All that is in his power. But you must realize he cannot stop the wheels of military law from turning. He cannot control the outcome of Elliott’s trial, or those of the other men.”

Please stop. Don’t say another word. I can’t —

“He fears that this will come between you.”

It already has! I wanted to scream those words but didn’t dare. Mrs. Chatsworth waited, but I could not reassure her in the way she wanted.

“A word from you, some sign of —”

“I must get back now and share this news with Emma. She’s desperate to know what’s become of her husband. At least we know that when Tom wrote, Elliott was still alive. It will mean everything to her.”

“Yes, of course.”

It was not the answer she’d wanted. She’d been so kind. Could I offer her nothing? “I’ll look in on Mrs. Robins and let her know about John.”

“Best not to say how you know. I don’t want Tom’s helping to land him in trouble.”

“No.” I clenched my teeth but smiled. “No, of course not.” I stood to go. “You’ll let me know anything you hear —even the smallest thing.”

“You know I will, Minnie.” She stood beside me and drew me into her embrace. “Go with God, my dear, and may this war soon be over. May our loved ones all come home.”

I choked back tears and nearly melted in her arms, so good it felt to have them around me, a reminder of my own mother’s arms. But I could return only a quick embrace, conflicted as I was.