Ben — March 20, 1862
When Ben first read his mother’s letter exhorting him to attend church every time he had a chance, and to curb in himself the carnal nature of mankind, he felt his ears burn. Anger rose in his chest. Ma had no call to give him such advice. He wasn’t a little child sitting at her skirts, owing her his attention and paying heed to her words. He was a man now, a soldier with a man’s responsibilities for killing or being killed. He had precious little opportunity to attend prayer services when his time was spent on the battlefield or building roads over the muck and mud so wagons could bring provisions to the brigade. He was a man. With time on his hands this evening. With temptation in the form of perfumed and painted women calling to him from just beyond the camp.
He was on the point of casting Ma’s letter into the fire and joining the fellows who were brushing the mud off their coats with the prospect of an evening’s pleasure when his eye fell upon a word in Ma’s fine handwriting. Disease.
He scoffed, but with a sense of unease as he recalled her words. Ma was a forthright woman, but she did have a sense of delicacy and had never come right out before and mentioned in such searing detail the dangers of partaking of forbidden fruits.
He reread the portion where her warnings had become particularly pointed. “...many cases of syphilis in the Soldier’s Hospital... suffering... go mad... treatment almost worse than the disease.”
Was Ma helping in the hospital, exposed to the results of man’s corruptible nature?
He’d never heard the proper name for French sickness before, but Ma knew it, and had warned him against venturing into a path that might bring such a vile retribution upon him. A thought chased through his mind that curdled the contents of his stomach. Pa had gone to war. Had he—?
“Impossible,” he muttered. Pa would never sin against his wife. He was a man of honor.
Where did that leave him, Ben? Where was his honor if he was contemplating lifting the skirt of a camp follower for a moment of relief?
The feeling of sickness caught him so quickly that he almost lost his supper. He fought the nausea, swallowing over and over. His thoughts swirled in a dizzy array, but one swam to the top of the whirlwind. He’d made up his mind that when he got a chance, he would ask Ella Ruth to be his bride. Did he want to take home an evil sickness to pass to her?
Sweat drenched his brow and ran in rivulets down his cheeks. He took out his handkerchief and mopped at his face. What would Ella Ruth think if he came home to her bearing the burden of worldliness? He could not stomach the thought of tainting her in such a manner. If he sinned in this fashion, he would lose her forever.
The dampness of the handkerchief seemed to freeze his hand. Ma was right. He needed to get his appetites under control. He needed to go to church. He needed to get right with God. Above all, he needed to forestall any barrier between himself and Ella Ruth.
~~~
Peter — June 10, 1862
The fight had moved into the Shenandoah Valley, and Peter’s cavalry regiment fought up and down the road that summer, as General Jackson’s army chased Yankees. The enemy chased back, and the competing forces alternated driving and being driven.
On a retreat through Mount Jackson, skirmishing with Frémont’s cavalry, Peter wished times were different and he could stop off at the farm for a visit. That would have to wait, as they were hard-pressed by vengeful Federals eager to take action against the Confederates for a defeat in the last battle.
A few days later, close by Harrisonburg, the Yankees got an unexpected benefit from a relatively minor engagement. A regiment of New Jersey cavalry led by an English adventurer attacked the Confederate cavalry, and in the fight, Colonel Turner Ashby’s horse was shot from under him. He rose to lead his men on foot, and fell almost immediately, pierced by a Yankee bullet. He died almost instantly.
Jun 10, 1862
In camp at Brown’s Gap, Vir.
Der Ma,
I wish I cood have pressed my lips to your browe when last I past the Farm, but Alas! the yankees drove us throu and we went up the Valy to a acursed place. You no dobt herd of our misfortunate encounter near Harisonburg. We are distrawt at the loss of Col. Ashby. Where will we find another leder of his dash and skill?
The boys are very loe of mind at his passing, as am I. We do not know who will become our comander. Pray for us to get a good’un.
I will leave off whinin, altho I coud speak my grief all the day.
I hope to be able to see you next time we pass nearby. If not, I will wave my hand in fond greetin. Does Pa ever stop by? I see him from time to time, but not often.
How big is Rulon’s little Baby now? Do you see him or does the Hilbrands family keep you away from him? I recall Rulon wanted Mistress Mary to live with you at the farm. Will she be moving there, now that she has presented an eir?
I must close now. I am told we will be on picket duty tonight.
With a heavy heart but most Affectionately,
Your son, Peter
~~~
Rulon — June 17, 1862
June 17, 1862 in Camp near Charles City C-H, Va.
Mary love,
Our company has returned from a great Adventure, riding clear around the entire Army of the Federals. This is McClellan’s bunch of invaders. The boys were ready for patrol duty, as we did not engage in the late affair at Seven Pines, although we stood in readiness to support the infantry.
What a time we had! It began when about a thousand of us were ordered to move to Kilby’s Station, where we were bid to cook three days’ rations, but given no further orders. You may imagine our surprise to be woke up in the middle of the night and told to be mounted in ten minutes! Oh Mary, what juices flowed in our veins at the prospect of a fight! I swear to you the very horses felt their oats that night.
When we started off, from the direction we took, we thought we were marching to the Valley, and I had hopes of catching a glimpse of yor sweet face, but soon it became apparent we were going to observe the enemy close to hand, and do our utmost to gain intelligence and cause what trouble we could behind their lines.
Our spirits were high, despite the grave danger of our situation at times. Col. Fitz Lee took us on a little jaunt down a side road in hopes of cutting off a squad of Yankees, which exployt ended up with us crossing a swamp with some difficulty. Most of the enemy fled, and we took only one prisoner.
Another day, Col. Rooney Lee’s 9th Reg’t got into a close fight with sabrs and pistols, but prevailed. The Yankees took off and our colonel begged to be permitted to make a pursuit, and gaining consent, we were off on the road to Old Church.
I have been doing a bit of tracking under the instruction of old Mister Vernon Earl. I do not recall if I told you of him before. He is a hunter from the Blue Ridge who has good skills that he is imparting to me. He has taut me how to find the spots where animals go besides where the human animals pass. We’ve been looking for the latter, of course. Mayhap I will have a use for the animal tracking after this war is done.
On one occasion, our Col. put me to work practicing the knowledge I have gained from Mr. Earl. I am happy to report that I did not lead us into a swamp, but with only one mistake on my part, we ended up on the trail of a patrol of Yankees, of which we captured a great lot.
There is so much more to recount, but my paper is almost used up, and I have other words to say to you. Mary, how I miss you. How I miss the little son you have borne me, even though I have not seen him with my own eyes. I wish you could get a likeness made of the boy to send to me. I would keep it upon my heart at all times. I treasure the one you sent to me of yor dear person. I kiss it every night. Oh my love. I dream of the sweet day when I can return home to you, greet you with an embrace, and lay with you once again cradled in my arms. Do you not dream of the same? Do not be shy in riting affectionate words to me, my darling. I hold sacred yor trust. Feer not. My body and soul are yors alone.
I figure we are going into battle again within a short time. I am informed that when the spring and summer come, with them arrives a new season of battles. General Lee will not hesitate to move on the enemy. I will do everything in my power to remain whole and safe.
With all the tender feelings of my soul,
Yor husband, Rulon
~~~
Mary — June 24, 1862
One morning, Rand Hilbrands came into the store with his arms full of letters and packages. “Ida, come take this parcel,” he said, glancing in her direction.
Mary, who was closer to him, put out her arms to receive it, but he gave it into Ida’s charge instead.
“Here is a letter for you, Mistress Mary. From your husband, I suspect.”
Mary took it, relief sweeping through her breast at having evidence of his good health in her hand. “Thank you, Papa. We have no customers in the store. May I go to read it?”
“Can I prevent you from doing so?” he replied in a jovial manner. “I hope it is good tidings.”
“Thank you, Papa,” she said, and hurried into the back room where Roddy slept in his cradle, his breathing even, except when he made an occasional little snuffling sound.
Mary sat, unsealed the envelope flap, and took out one sheet of paper, written on both sides to the very margins. Rulon had been on a grand adventure, he said, and recounted some of the events. He seemed to have a liking for the art of tracking. Mary shrugged. That was a man’s concern.
She caught her breath. He missed her. He spoke longingly of Roddy. She had not thought of sending a likeness of the boy, but must now certainly see about having one made of him, because Rulon wanted to have it.
Oh my, she thought, her heart leaping. She had just read his words of how he treated her likeness, and what effect it had upon him. Hungrily, she scanned the next sentence. “Oh my love,” it read. She scarce could breathe for the tightness in her chest. How long had it been since she had heard his voice whisper those words to her? The next bit caught her by surprise, and she froze.
Rulon longed for her to be in his embrace, to lie beside him, in his arms. And then she read, “Feer not. My body and soul are yors alone.”
She began to weep. Rulon had remained true to her. His letter clearly expressed his devotion. She had fretted and worried herself sick of mind for no reason. Her self-afflicted pain had been a misuse of her energies, and she regretted the waste of contentment while she had been engaged in doubting her husband’s fidelity.
Conscious of her precarious location, and fearing to awaken her babe, she wiped her eyes and breathed slowly until her tears were under control. She reckoned she must make every effort to put doubt out of her mind. She must aid Rulon in being true. He desired her to use words of affection in her letters. Her mind shrank at the idea of putting her private thoughts on paper. She hadn’t been a wife long enough to be comfortable in saying such things as he had included in this letter. He was a bolder creature than she. Even though he had taught her to relish certain intimacies, she certainly would not speak of them. Must she devise a code? Perhaps she would give thought to that notion. For now, it sufficed that Rulon bore bountiful affection for her and honored his vows.