Jerusalem's Landing, Vermont, 1865
Doc took some scrapings from the end of Rusty LeRoche's cant hook and placed them under his microscope. Then he placed the pointed blade beneath the lens, turning it carefully as he studied every portion of it.
"There are some faint traces of blood," he said. "But I can't tell if it's human or animal blood. And I don't have the equipment here to do anything more with them. I'll have to take the specimens in to the university and have proper tests run." Doc set the specimens aside. "You think Rusty might have done it?" he asked.
I shrugged. "I'd pretty much written him off, and then his daughter came to see us, wanting us to arrest him for beating on her. Then she started in about the boys he'd beaten for coming to see her, and claimed she had even overheard Rusty telling his wife that he had a run-in with Johnny and 'gave him what for.'"
"All this according to Chantal," Doc said.
"She admitted the conversation between Rusty and her mother was very low and hard to hear."
"Not very good evidence," Doc said.
"No, it's not. I confronted Rusty and he admitted having a set-to with Johnny in his barn, but insisted he didn't kill him. Said Johnny pulled a Colt on him before he could do anything and told him to get out. What bothers me is that the first time I spoke to Rusty he told me he hadn't gone to Johnny's house, that he was waiting for him to come back up to Sherman Hollow."
"So Rusty lied to you," Doc said. "Does that surprise you when you're asking questions about a murder? It tells me that Rusty's every bit as sly as I always thought he was. But being smart enough not to put your head closer to a noose doesn't make you a killer."
"So you don't think Rusty is the type to do Johnny in?"
"I didn't say that," Doc replied. "I wouldn't put a killing past Rusty at all. Especially if he was real angry. Man's got a temper like a bull in rut. Tell you what does bother me. Him saying that Johnny was carrying a sidearm. That doesn't sound right." He glanced down at my weapon. "Most folks don't go walking around with guns in Jerusalem's Landing. Not unless they're headed out to the woods."
"Or unless they think someone's coming after them," I added.
"Yes, a man might keep a gun close to hand if he thought that." He stared at me for a long moment. "You, for example. I think it's good for you to carry one, especially if you're getting close to Johnny's killer. Anyone else, beside Rusty, you think Johnny might have been concerned about?"
"Bobby Suggs, maybe. Or it could have been somebody we haven't even come across yet. Johnny hurt a lot of people since he came back. And from what I've been told, he planned on hurting more before he was finished."
Doc drew a deep breath. "Lord, that is not the boy I knew all those years. What happened to him?"
He went off to a glorious war, I thought, knowing I could not say the words aloud, not even to Doc.
"Why don't I take the specimens in to the university?" I said instead. "It will save you a long trip."
"Fine with me," Doc responded. "Let me give you a name at the medical school and a letter of introduction."
* * *
I stopped at the store to pick up some buttermilk. One of the few good things that came out of the war was learning a Southern recipe for fried chicken that required an overnight soak in buttermilk. I had cooked it for my father, and now he asked for it whenever the thought of chicken crossed his mind.
Rebecca was working behind the counter when I asked for the buttermilk.
"Are you cooking chicken for your father?" she asked.
"How in heaven's name did you know that?"
"Oh, he was in here one day when somebody else was buying buttermilk and he started bragging on you, telling everybody what a good cook you are." She gave me a coy smile. "I think he was trying to convince me that you'd be a good catch for a husband."
I could tell my face was beginning to take on color, a fact that only seemed to intensify Rebecca's pleasure. Her eyes drifted to the envelope in the front pocket of my shirt.
"Have you been to the post office in Richmond?" she asked.
I shook my head. "It's a letter of introduction Doc gave me for someone at the medical school. I'm taking some evidence in to him tomorrow."
"You're going into Burlington?" she said with excitement. "Can I go with you? Oh please, Jubal. There are some things I need to buy at a store there. And I promise I won't delay you. I know just what I need and if you bring me to the store I can get it while you're seeing the person at the medical school."
It would mean taking our buggy instead of just riding Jezebel, but it would also give me Rebecca's company for a three-hour trip.
"I'll want to leave early in the morning," I warned.
"You just tell me when to be ready and I'll be standing out front," she said.
* * *
We started out at six thirty the next morning. It was cool and crisp, a typical fall morning in the mountains. I had brought a blanket to keep Rebecca warm, and she had brought a basket of food, saying that we could eat a picnic lunch on the way home and save the cost of stopping at a roadside tavern. If I ever told my father, he'd point to it as another good reason she'd make a man a fine wife: she was considerate and thrifty.
Rebecca placed the blanket across her lap and moved closer to me so I could share it if I chose, but feeling her that near to me was enough to increase my body temperature a few degrees.
We drove past the Gorge Road and up the small hill that led into Richmond, and I thought of Bobby Suggs at Lucie's woodlot, wondering what was keeping him here with winter fast approaching. Certainly whatever he had expected from Johnny Harris was long past, and the lumbering season was coming to an end.
"What are you thinking about?" Rebecca asked.
"That man Suggs," I said. "He's up there on Lucie's woodlot and I was wondering what really brought him here and why he's stayed."
"But you told him to stay, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"And I thought you said you'd go after him if he tried to leave."
"That's true too."
"Well?"
"I don't have any reason to hold him, so if it ever went before a court I'm pretty sure the judge would slap me down and turn him loose."
"So you've been bluffing?"
"Yes, and Suggs isn't stupid. He knows we could make it hard on him, but he also knows we can't keep him here unless we come up with some pretty strong evidence against him."
"So why is he staying?"
"That's the question. Why is he?"
"Maybe he's really interested in Chantal LeRoche. Maybe she's why he's staying."
I had told Rebecca about Suggs's run-in with Rusty, and her romantic mind was now spinning it into something else.
"All the young men around here are interested in Chantal," I said.
"And why is that?" She had turned on the seat and was looking at me intently.
"Because Chantal is interested in every one of them," I said.
"Are you interested in her?"
"No."
"Why aren't you?"
"She's too young, and even if she was older she's not the type of woman I'm attracted to."
Rebecca sat quietly for a moment. "I bet she's attracted to you," she finally said.
"I'm certain she is."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because I wear pants and I'm under forty. I think that's all it takes to spark Chantal's interest."
We rode on in silence for several minutes before Rebecca turned to me again. "What kind of woman are you attracted to?" she asked.
I looked at her and smiled. "I think you already know the answer to that."
* * *
We followed the Winooski River from Richmond and on through Williston and into the outskirts of Burlington. Winooski was an Abenaki Indian name for the wild onions they had found growing along the banks of that particular river. The Abenaki were a part of the Algonquin Nation, a peace-loving people who had been in Vermont when the first white settlers had arrived. They were noted hunters and trappers and fishermen, and the river had been a favorite campsite, especially at the point where it emptied into Lake Champlain. Unlike other members of the Algonquin Nation, they had never attacked the settlers they encountered.
As we left the foothills of Richmond behind, the terrain flattened out into farmland used primarily for dairy cattle and the rough crops needed to sustain them. We passed through gently rolling hills with hundreds of cows watching us pass.
"They always look so curious when they see people," Rebecca said.
"It's where their food comes from. They're watching to see if we're bringing anything."
She laughed. It was a warm, beautiful laugh, one I knew I'd be happy listening to for many, many years.
"I'd find that easier to believe if those cows were bulls," she said. "Men are always looking for someone to feed them."
We entered Burlington shortly before nine thirty. The University of Vermont was located on a high promontory that looked down on Lake Champlain and the Adirondack Mountains beyond. The city itself was at the base of a long, gentle slope that ended on the banks of the lake.
"Do you think the store will be open?" I asked.
"It should be."
I drove down into the city, following Rebecca's directions. The store was on Church Street, a wide shopping street that ran parallel to and three blocks above the lake, and came to an abrupt end at a stately brick church with a towering white steeple. It was a lady's apparel store that also sold dressmaking materials. I told Rebecca that my errand might take an hour or more and suggested she check back at the store on the hour and the half hour should she finish before I returned.
"Don't worry about me," she said. "There's plenty for a country girl to look at if you're held up."
I drove back up the hill to the university and went directly to the medical school, a three-story brick building that faced the university's quadrangle. As I tied up Jezebel to a hitching post I watched students cross the quad and enter the medical building, headed for the next hour of classes, and I felt a sudden sense of loss at not being among them. Had I not gone off to war I would have graduated from the university by now, and would likely be studying medicine with these same students. The thought brought a twinge in my missing limb and I glanced at my empty sleeve as another thought slipped across my mind. It envisioned a sign posted on the building's front door: One-armed would-be doctors need not apply.
The man Doc had sent me to see was Dr. William Evers, a tall man in his late fifties with flowing white hair and square-cut spectacles that magnified intelligent gray eyes. He had come out of his office to greet me and stood before me reading the letter Doc had written.
When he finished he looked up at me. "Do you have the specimens Brewster sent along?"
I withdrew a cloth-wrapped parcel from my pocket. Doc and I had removed the cant hook blade from its shaft to make it easier to deal with. I handed it to Dr. Evers. "I appreciate your help with this," I said.
"Happy to do it, constable." He glanced at my empty sleeve. "The war?" he asked.
"Yes sir. A place in Virginia called the Wilderness."
"Yes, I remember reading about it. That was one of the bloodiest battles of the war, was it not?"
"They all seemed pretty bloody when you were in the middle of them," I said.
"Yes, I'm sure they did."
We started down a flight of stairs into the basement. "Did Brewster tell you that we worked together in the hospital here, tending to the boys who were shipped home?"
"He doesn't much like to talk about his work at the hospital," I said. "He says it sends him to the brandy bottle when he does."
"Mmm." Dr. Evers nodded. "Yes, indeed. He also wrote that he's been urging you to finish up your undergraduate degree—says you left it to go off to war—and to enroll in medical school. He feels you have a natural aptitude."
I looked pointedly at my empty sleeve. "Not much point in thinking about medical school."
We had reached the basement and Dr. Evers stopped and took hold of my good arm. "Don't despair because of that," he said. "I have a friend who lost an arm and a leg and he returned to practice using a prosthesis for each missing limb. The devices are fairly primitive but he overcame that. There is no reason you cannot do the same." He let go of me and turned and continued down the hall. "Anyway, if you decide you want to try, finish up your undergraduate degree and come see me. Brewster has nothing but high praise for you. Now, let's have a look at this specimen."
The laboratory was next to the dissection room where the school's cadavers were stored. When I'd been a student there were endless tales about grave robberies and bodies being slipped in the school's back door by professional body snatchers. A student could always get a young lady to draw in close by walking her past the rear of the school and pointing out the basement door.
It took Dr. Evers less than half an hour to reach a conclusion. "It's blood all right, reptile blood. I'd venture a guess that someone used the instrument it came off of to kill a snake or a turtle, something of that sort." He shrugged. "Of course, it could have been used on a human first. I can't think of a better way to obscure evidence. Wash down the blade, then use it again on some animal. Our tests aren't sophisticated enough to separate the two. So we'd only be able to see whichever was dominant."
I thanked Dr. Evers for his time and told him I'd give serious thought to returning to the university. "I didn't realize how much I missed it until I came here today."
He smiled. "I look forward to seeing you again. Give my best to that old scallywag Brewster."
"I will."
* * *
It was quarter to eleven when I pulled up in front of the store. Rebecca was not waiting for me, so I tied Jezebel and went inside.
A heavyset woman behind a counter smiled at me. "Are you Constable Foster?" she asked.
"Yes ma'am, I am."
"Well, the young lady you're looking for said to tell you she'd be back at the time you'd agreed on. She just went up the street a bit. Her parcels are here behind the counter if you'd like to take them."
"Thank you. I'll put them in our buggy and wait outside."
The woman smiled at me, a bit flirtatiously, I thought. "We're you in the war?" she asked, trying not to look at my empty sleeve, but failing.
"Yes ma'am, I was."
"I'm glad you got home safe," she said, her voice filled with sincerity.
I looked at her for a long moment. "Thank you," I said.
* * *
I loaded Rebecca's parcels into the buggy and glanced up and down the street. There were a number of shoppers going in and out of stores, several students standing outside a bookshop, and a group of men wearing battered Union caps and jackets, who were harassing passersby, some making comments the others would laugh at, several extending their caps in open requests for money. I climbed into the buggy just as the church at the top of the street began to peal out the hour. On the stroke of eleven I saw Rebecca moving toward me with another parcel tucked under her arm. She smiled when she saw me and quickened her pace.
Across the street two men broke away from the group of former soldiers and began crossing at an angle to intercept her. I climbed down from the buggy and started toward her. They reached her two steps ahead of me and I heard one of them say: "Hey, sweet lil' girl, don' go runnin' off, stay an' talk ta a gen-u-ine war hero."
I stepped in front of the two men and took her elbow. "Shopping all finished?" I asked.
"Yes. We better get on home." Her eyes flashed nervously toward the two men.
"You go on and get in the buggy," I said. "I'll be right there."
Rebecca started toward the buggy as one of the men called after her: "Hey, lil' girl, you like fellas with one arm, I kin chop one off fer ya."
The second man started to guffaw and I turned to face them both. "I think you should go back to your friends and leave the lady alone," I said.
The man who had called after Rebecca sneered at me. "Well, now maybe yer girlfriend wants ta get herself a whole man."
I stared at him without speaking until the sneer began to fade. He glanced at the pistol on my hip and the bit of badge that showed under my tan canvas coat.
"You a police officer?" he asked. "Cause if ya are, I ain't breakin' no law talkin' ta that girl. I'm jus' sayin' maybe she'd like a man what's got all his parts."
I took a step toward him and he began backing away. "If you want to keep all those parts you're so proud of, you better start moving," I said.
"All right there, officer. We leavin', jus' settle yerself down."
He grinned at me as they began to move away; then they turned and headed across the street. I noticed that the men they'd been standing with weren't even watching them. They were content with their own games of harassment. I walked back to the buggy, untied Jezebel, and was climbing up to the seat when the man called out again.
"Hey, lil' girl! Ya come on back when yer policeman friend ain't aroun', an' I'll show ya what a man's got all his parts kin do."
I turned the buggy and headed back toward Main Street and the long hill that would take us past the university and to the road home. Rebecca reached out and gently touched my arm. "Don't pay those men any mind, Jubal. They're such sad souls, out begging in the street the way they are."
I gave her a weak smile. "What did you buy?" I asked.
"Oh, so much. Material for several dresses, buttons, bows, everything I need. But I spent much too much money," she added. "I just couldn't help myself. Everything was so beautiful."
Like you, I thought, as I turned Jezebel onto Main Street and started up the hill, still trying to keep the soldier's words out of my mind.
* * *
It was nearing one o'clock as we approached the Williston–Richmond line. Rebecca turned to me and said simply: "I am starving, Jubal. Please, let's find a place to stop."
I turned the buggy onto a narrow dirt track that I had taken before. My father and I had fished there and I knew the path went about fifty yards, crossed the railroad tracks, and entered a small stand of pines that stood next to the Winooski River.
"This is a lovely spot," Rebecca said as I pulled up next to the river so Jezebel could drink. When she had finished I hitched her to a tree, helped Rebecca down, and spread our blanket on a soft bed of pine needles. I removed my gun belt and jacket and placed them in the buggy.
"I have a jug of cider. If you set it in the river I think it would chill quickly," Rebecca said.
I did as she suggested as she began spreading the contents of her picnic basket out on the blanket. There was a large piece of cheddar, a loaf of bread, some apples, and a jar of rhubarb preserves. She put two plates out along with knives and forks and smiled at me. "It's a good, healthy meal," she said.
"Yes, it is." I looked at the wedge of cheddar and thought back to the time Abel had convinced his father to buy a new brand from a drummer passing through town. The drummer had given him the Roman candle, the firework we had set off on the Fourth of July, nearly burning down the town's bandstand.
"What are you smiling about?" Rebecca asked.
"Do you remember the time we almost burned down the town bandstand?"
"Of course. It was horrible."
"It all started with a wheel of cheddar cheese," I said, telling her how Abel had schemed with the drummer to get the firework.
She laughed softly, but there was also a tear in the corner of her eye. It began to run along her cheek and she reached up and brushed it away.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to make you sad."
She smiled. "You didn't. When I think of Abel I always think what a wonderful man he became and what a shame it is he never had children of his own. He would have been a wonderful father."
"Yes, he would have. I wish you could have seen him with little Alva."
"I would have liked that," she whispered. "It was so perfect, growing up the way we did. You and Abel and Johnny and Josiah. And me as the tagalong little sister." She reached out and cut us each a slice of cheese, then quartered an apple and cut two thick slices of bread. "God, how I wish that war had never come, and we were all alive and together the way we were." She stopped and stared at me. "If you had it to do again, would you still go off to fight?"
It was a question I'd asked myself many times. "No, I wouldn't. And I would have argued like the devil to keep Abel and Johnny from going too."
We ate our lunch, enjoying the warm sun that filtered through the pines and the gentle breeze that came in off the river. When we had finished, Rebecca repacked the picnic basket and I placed it in the buggy. As I turned to retrieve the blanket she came up to me and slipped her arms around my neck.
"Jubal Foster, I am tired of waiting for you. I love you, and I know you love me, and I want you to show me right here, right now." She stared into my eyes, then raised herself on her toes and brought her lips to mine. Then she turned and led me back to the blanket. She sat down and gently pulled me down beside her. "Make love to me, Jubal," she whispered. "I've waited my whole life and I don't want to wait any longer."
I lowered my eyes. "Maybe that fella in town was right," I said, my voice cracking. "Maybe it would be better for you to have a whole man."
She reached up and placed her hands on my cheeks. "Stop it, Jubal. I'm in love with you. I always have been, and it's you I want, not one particular part of you; just you."
* * *
We lay beside each other, my one arm holding her, both of hers wrapped around my waist. We dozed, satiated with each other, and I wondered what I had done to deserve what she was offering me. She stirred and reached up and kissed my cheek.
"You know you have to marry me now," she whispered. "If you don't my father will come after you with a gun."
I pulled her closer. "He won't have to do that," I whispered back.
* * *
Chancellorsville, Virginia, 1863
We had spent four months on reconnaissance patrols trying to keep track of Lee's army and determine where Union forces could best attack him again. General Joseph Hooker had been placed in charge of the Army of the Potomac, while General Burnside, following his failure at Fredericksburg, had been banished to the Western Theater where he would not command troops involved in either the defense of Washington or the all-important defeat of Lee's forces.
Fearing an attack on Richmond, Lee had divided his forces, a fact we reported back to General Hooker's subordinates in early February. Convinced our information was inaccurate, we were sent out again and again to reconfirm it. Finally, in late March a captain from the newly established Bureau of Military Intelligence accompanied us and was shocked to discover that Lee had truly scattered his forces throughout Virginia, including 15,000 men under General James Longstreet, who had been sent to Norfolk to guard against a Southern push against Richmond. When brought the news, Hooker realized that he had 133,000 well-rested and fully provisioned troops, while Lee's army now numbered under 61,000 poorly supplied men—men who were often hungry and badly clothed. The army's intelligence bureau, using spies recruited among the Southern populace, along with information gathered from prisoners, deserters, slaves, and fleeing Southern refugees, also learned that Longstreet had been relegated to scouring the countryside seeking provisions from farmers and planters, who themselves were nearly destitute.
Once all that information had been gathered, Hooker decided on a move against Chancellorsville in Spotsylvania County, a gateway that would lead directly to Richmond, the seat of the Confederacy.
As we waited for orders to move on Chancellorsville, we continued our forays south, keeping track of Lee's scattered forces, carefully avoiding any engagements with Rebel troops that might give away our plan to attack.
Coming in one night we were greeted by Jemma and Alva with warm cups of coffee. Josiah had been urging them to leave camp and travel with any of several small detachments headed for Washington. Once there they could wait out the war in safety.
"I see you're still here," Abel said, as he accepted a cup from Jemma. "Josiah's right, ya know. You'd be a lot safer in Washington, and ya could even get paid work in a good household there."
"I wants ta stay wit y'all," Jemma said.
"Josiah said he'd come git ya when the war's over," Abel said. "An' I know he's a man keeps his word."
Jemma looked at me and I nodded agreement. "It would be safer for Alva," I said.
"Alva don' wanna leave Massah Abel. She say he saved her an' she gonna stay wit him."
"See, Abel, it's all yer fault," Johnny said. "These girls'd be sittin' pretty in Washington it weren't fer this mysterious hold ya got on 'em." Johnny waggled his fingers to emphasize Abel's powers over them. His clowning made Abel and several other men laugh.
"We'll be leaving for a battle soon," I said, trying to bring the subject back to their need to leave the war zone. "And it won't be safe for you to follow.
"I goes wit Josiah when de moves da hosp'l."
"But Josiah wants you and Alva to go to Washington," I argued.
Jemma just smiled at me. It was a beautiful smile and it told me that any further argument would be a wasted effort.
* * *
Our forces moved out on April 27, crossing the Rappahannock River, then the Rapidan River near Germanna and Ely's Fords, bringing our various corps together outside Chancellorsville on April 30.
Heavy fighting began the following day, and as we prepared to begin our assault Abel nudged me and pointed above our heads, where an aerial balloon floated across enemy lines. We had heard of the new balloon corps that had been formed to report on the size and dispersal of Rebel forces. Once viewing those forces through long telescopes while remaining out of firing range, the balloonists would drop messages to waiting couriers, who would ride back to Hooker's command post and relay the information.
We had been told by our officers that Hooker was employing the tactic to provide more accurate information that would allow our troops to initiate flanking attacks, thereby avoiding the direct frontal assaults that had ended in bloodbaths at Antietam and Fredericksburg.
When Lee surprised everyone by dividing his forces, Hooker ordered our corps to push through in an area known as the Wilderness, a large, nearly impenetrable region of scrub pine and thickets so dense it rendered our superior artillery useless. We were to keep the Rebs from establishing a foothold there, so we moved forward to try to push back the smaller Confederate force.
"Damn," Abel shouted across an opening in the dense brush, "I think we're gonna win ourselves a battle here, boys!"
As we charged ahead under light resistance, an officer rode up and ordered us to stop our advance and move to the rear.
I grabbed his stirrup when his horse drew near. "Why the hell are we retreating?" I demanded. "We finally got these Rebs on the run."
The officer yanked his foot and ripped the stirrup from my hand. "You saw what happened to us at Fredericksburg when we engaged in a frontal assault," he snapped. "General Hooker is going to make Lee bring a frontal assault against us and give him a taste of his own tactics. Now do what you've been told, sergeant, and get your men moving."
* * *
We took up defensive positions around Chancellorsville, an insignificant hamlet that was little more than a large mansion and a few scattered houses at the junction of Orange Turnpike and Orange Plank Road.
Our corps, some 15,000 strong, spent the morning digging defensive positions in preparation for the Rebel attack that General Hooker was trying to promote. To our right, General Oliver Howard commanded 11,000 additional troops guarding against any flanking attack the Rebs might make. Far to our left, the balance of our army, nearly 75,000 men, were prepared to slaughter any major assault by Confederate forces that came out of the dense Wilderness. According to our reports, all we needed now was an all-out attack by Lee's army and victory would be assured.
I had learned over the years of fighting that war involved periods of intense terror, followed by the horror of what we had done, and what had been done to us, followed again by a seemingly endless period of boredom while we waited for the terror to return. Now we were nervously enjoying the boredom.
"Maybe Lee'll be too smart ta attack us," Johnny said. "If he's been kickin' our butts by layin' back an' waitin' fer us, why in hell's name would he change it now?"
"I hope he does attack," Abel responded. "I think I'd like it a lot better staying right cheer behind this trench wall an' takin' potshots at the Rebs as they come at us, instead a runnin' up some hill inta their teeth like we done at Marye's Heights over ta Fredericksburg. That was a livin' hell."
"Either way there's going to be Southern boys trying to kill us," I said. "So make sure your weapons are cleaned and loaded and that you've got enough cartridges for your rifles and sidearms."
"Yes, Mother," Johnny said, and grinned at me. "You sure do like bein' a sergeant, don't ya, Jubal?"
"Just do it," I replied, ignoring the jibe.
Actually, I did like having the rank. Not because I particularly cared about telling people what to do, but because it gave me some small degree of control over what was happening to me and the men I was fighting alongside. According to my superior officers, my only response was to be "yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir," every time they issued an order. But in the heat of an attack it did give me the ability to order my men to take cover when Rebel fire was at its most withering, or to order my squad to end an assault when the slaughter of enemy forces threatened to get out of control. I did not regard myself as a butcher, and I certainly did not accept the idea of becoming cannon fodder at the whim of some general. The rank gave me some ability to control both.
* * *
There were about five hundred yards between our forces and General Howard's troops, and I decided to go down the line with Abel and see what their exact position was. The men were on edge and I did not want them firing on our own troops if they moved toward us in the dark.
To reach Howard's position we cut back well behind the lines and moved down to a hill overlooking his position.
Abel pointed down at the 11,000 troops that stretched out before us. "They ain't got any trenches dug or anythin' else," he said. "An' best I kin see is all they got is two artillery pieces pointed out at that there Orange Plank Road where any flankin' attack is likely ta come from. Does that make sense ta ya, Jubal?"
"No, it doesn't." I thought about it and shrugged. "Maybe Howard is trying to lure a flanking attack in. Maybe he's got men hidden farther out where we can't see them."
"I sure hope so," Abel said. "Cause them boys down there sure look like sittin' ducks ta me."
It was three o'clock when we returned to our unit and there was still no sign of a Rebel attack. Josiah came up with three other litter-bearers and squatted down beside us.
"Where's Jemma and Alva?" Abel asked.
"They up at the hospital helpin' the nurses get ready," he said. He reached out and handed Abel a small item tightly wrapped in bandaging material.
"Wha's this?" Abel asked.
"Alva sent it fer ya," Josiah said.
Abel unwrapped the small parcel and held up a tiny doll. "An' wha's this?" he asked.
A wide grin spread across Josiah's face. "It's a voodoo doll ta protect ya in battle." He reached into his shirt and pulled out a similar doll. "Jemma gave me this un t'other day."
Johnny began waggling his fingers again and let out a low, mournful wail. "You really spooky now, Abel," he teased. "But I was you, I'd still keep yer head down—an' yer fat ass."
"I ain't got a fat ass," Abel said, grinning back at him.
"Oh, yes ya do," Johnny snapped back. "Tha's why I always stay behind ya. I use yer fat ass fer cover."
The sound of gunfire ended the bantering. It was coming from Howard's position off to our right. It was sporadic at first, and then became more sustained, lasting for almost an hour. Our officers ordered us to hold our position. The attack on Howard's position was certain to be a flanking attack they were well prepared to meet. We were to concentrate on the attack that would come straight at us.
As we focused on the area in front of us, small elements of Howard's troops began to filter into our ranks. I grabbed a sergeant and asked him what had happened.
He raised his arms and let them fall helplessly to his sides. "We was jus' gettin' settled in fer dinner 'bout an hour ago. Even had our rifles stacked, figgerin' there weren't gonna be no fightin' today, it startin' ta get dark an all. Then all hell broke loose. Rebs from Stonewall Jackson's army came outta them woods screamin' like banshees, an' was all over us afore we could even git ta our guns. Some managed ta get away, some managed ta fall back an' set up a perimeter. But a whole passel of 'em got captured without firin' a shot—maybe three, four thousand—an' a whole bunch more got slaughtered. Now they orderin' us back over cheer."
I stared at him. "So you never dug in, and you didn't have any troops hidden farther away?"
He shook his head. "When we first got there I tol' my men ta start diggin' in, but an officer come along an' tol' us ta stop an' jus' keep our men ready ta move. Well, they're movin' now. Some ta the graveyard, some ta the hospital, an' a whole lot more ta a Reb prison."
* * *
No attack came that night and word came down the line that Stonewall Jackson had been wounded and that a renewed attack had been stalled while the Rebs assigned a new commander to take over his army. Still, our troops had little sleep that night, and when dawn broke we were laying behind our trench walls scouring the opposite tree line for any sign of Rebel movement.
The attack came at midmorning as forces under the command of General J.E.B. Stuart launched a massive assault all along the front. Thousands of Reb infantry came pouring out of the woods which were now smoking and burning from heavy Union artillery fire.
"Make your shots count!" I shouted as our men opened up on the advancing Rebs. I took careful aim myself, and knocked down a man about a hundred yards out, too far to know if he was young or old or in between. He just flew back and I knew from the way he landed, arms and legs flapping, that he was dead before he hit the ground. I drew in a breath, let it out slowly, and fired again, and another Reb crumpled to his knees.
Artillery fire opened up behind us, howitzer canisters of grapeshot bursting about ninety yards away. I saw one man fly into the air, his leg torn from his body and going off in another direction. Still the Rebs kept coming, screaming their frightening Rebel Yell like savages. I saw one of our men rear up, preparing to break ranks and run, and I moved up behind him and slammed him back into the ground. I leaned forward and hissed into his ear, "You run and I will shoot you down. You are not gonna panic this line."
He glanced back over his shoulder and I could see he was no more than eighteen, nineteen years old. "I'm all right, sergeant. I'm all right now," he said.
I left him and went back along the line of men calling out encouragement I did not feel myself, then dropping down and firing again and again and again.
We were ordered to fall back an hour later and we abandoned Chancellorsville to the Rebs and took up a defensive position encircling a river crossing known as United States Ford, our last remaining open line of retreat. We fought there throughout the next day, repelling one Rebel assault after another in the bloodiest battle any of us had yet seen, and when the day ended our troops fell exhausted where they stood.
I moved down the line looking for wounded who needed attention, calling in Josiah and the other litter-bearers whenever I found one. One man was curled into a ball, his head pressed into the ground, and I reached down and turned him over to check for wounds. It was the boy who had nearly broken ranks the previous day. He stared back at me blindly, a gaping whole in his throat where a minie ball had cut off his life.
He might still be alive if you'd let him run, I told myself, knowing it was something I could not have done, grateful I would never have to explain to his family that their boy was dead because I made him stay and fight.
In the predawn hours we retreated back across the Rappahannock River, exhausted, with the smell of another defeat filling our nostrils. Officers rode up and down the line telling us we had not been defeated, that Lee had lost 13,000 of his 52,000-man force—men who the South could not replace.
Johnny, his face covered with grime, stared at me. "Tha's right, ol' General Lee can't call up more men ta take their place cause he ain't got 'em ta call up." He grinned bitterly. "Not like us. We got all the boys we need ta throw inta this slaughterhouse."
* * *
The next morning, while we were awaiting word that a truce had been called so we could cross the river and retrieve our dead, Bobby Suggs stopped by our camp and pulled Johnny aside. A few minutes later Johnny knelt down beside me and told me he wanted to go off with Suggs and some of his friends to "scrounge up" some extra provisions.
"If the Rebs can't find enough to feed their own men, what the hell do you expect to find?" I asked.
"They jus' ain't good scroungers like we are," Johnny said with a tired grin.
"Go on," I said. "But you hear the bugler blowing a ceasefire, it means we're going out to collect our dead, and I want you back to help us."
"I'll be back." Johnny winked at me. "I'll see if I kin git ya a bit of bacon, or somethin' ta make ya happier."
"Just get back when you hear the bugler," I said.
Josiah arrived at camp an hour later and came straight up to Abel and me. "Abel, ya gots ta get ta the field hospital," he said. "We got hit by a stray artillery roun', an' Alva gone an' got herself wounded."
I watched Abel's face turn pale. "How bad?" he asked, grabbing Josiah's shirt. "How bad is she hurt?"
"She ain't bad, jus' a flesh wound in her leg, but she in a lotta pain an' she callin' fer her Massah Abel."
Abel let out a long, relieved breath. He looked at me, his eyes pleading.
"You better go," I said. "And you tell Jemma this means she has to take Alva to Washington as soon as she's able to travel."
"I'll tell her," Abel said, and glanced at Josiah. "But she don' even listen ta him, an' he's promisin' ta marry her."
I smiled at Josiah, feeling a sudden release from the battle we had fought, feeling human again. "You sure you want to marry that woman?" I asked. "She is sure a handful of female."
Josiah grinned back at me. "She sure is, an' tha's jus' why I wants her."