June 20, 1863
Hickory Heights
“I hoped that our paths would cross again, Miss Sinclair.” Thomas bowed his head and removed his hat.
Annie felt a ripple of gladness in seeing this young man who loved poetry. She opened her mouth to say something welcoming, but then her mind played back parts of the Manassas battle during which they’d met—trees exploding, men crumpling up in agony before her, she and her mother surrounded by men running in terror. Sickened, she swayed in her chair.
Immediately Thomas knelt beside her. “Are you all right?”
Blinking hard to push back the nightmare memories, she focused on his face. It was a kind face, still lean and handsome, although now there was a small, trim, moustache on it. He had large dark brown eyes, almost black they were so dark, very intense in their look of concern. For a moment, Annie steadied herself by his sympathy. But then anger took over. Yankees such as this man were to blame for that Battle of First Manassas—they and their self-righteous, meddling politicians! If only they had let the Confederates go in peace, then all this bloodshed, this invasion of her home, this slow starvation of her family never would have happened. And William Farley would be alive.
Annie leaned away from him. “I can’t say, sir, that I had the same wish.”
Thomas sat back on his heels. He frowned, then stood. He put his hat back on and became official. “I’m afraid that I must invade your family’s home and ask your help. We are looking for a Confederate officer who was wounded and presumed to be hiding in the vicinity. There is the thought he might be General Stuart. Do you know of his whereabouts?”
Annie took a deep breath. As of yet, she had not had to lie to a direct question from a Union soldier. If she wanted to be nitpicking, the way he phrased things, it sounded as if he were asking if she knew where General Stuart was. She had no idea where General Stuart was at the moment. “No,” she answered truthfully.
A colonel and a lieutenant entered the room.
“Anything, Major?”
“No, sir,” Thomas answered.
“Well, keep looking.”
More soldiers came upstairs. They began tapping the walls, listening for a hollow ring that would betray a hidden compartment. No one had yet looked up at the ceiling.
“Major Walker.” Annie spoke to distract. Politeness dictated she stand at this point, but Annie remained rooted to her chair, her skirts spread wide over the telltale marks on the floor.
The colonel raised an eyebrow. “You know the lady?”
“Yes, sir. She and her mother bandaged me during the First Battle of Bull Run. I think they saved my life.”
“Ah. They are Unionists, then?”
With some amusement, Thomas answered. “No, sir, I think not.”
The colonel turned to assess Annie. His look was not unkind, but confused.
“My mother believes a hurt boy is a hurt boy,” explained Annie. “In its retreat, your army left many of your soldiers in great need. They were lucky my mother is so skilled as a nurse.” From the corner of her eye, she saw one of the soldiers approaching the wardrobe. She rushed on, “My mother is in the next room, and actually quite ill. If you must disturb her, I prefer Major Walker be the one to question her. For some reason”—she pulled out the words with sarcasm—“Mother liked him.” She added icily, “Surely your men will not do me the insult of fishing through my clothes?”
Walker grinned at the colonel. “Definitely not a Unionist, sir.” He snapped his finger at the private peering into the wardrobe. “That’s enough. This room is clear.” He stepped out of the room himself, waiting for Annie to follow.
This was a terrible moment. She would have to move swiftly and keep their attention on her. Annie fairly bolted out of her chair, crossed the room, and closed the door behind her. In her haste, she snagged her skirts in the door.
As he leaned over to tug the skirt free for her, Thomas spoke. “I am grieved to hear your mother is sick. Is there anything we can do? We have a surgeon at camp. I could—”
The colonel interrupted. “I can’t be carrying our sawbones all the way here without good cause, Thomas. Why don’t you speak with the woman just to clear her room? I will wait downstairs. Otherwise, I don’t see anything suspicious here. Miss.” He tipped his hat to Annie. “Thank you.”
Annie opened the door to Miriam’s room. Despite all the noise, Miriam was asleep. She seemed to sleep most of the time now, or drift between wakefulness and what looked like sleep. Aunt May sat in her usual chair, in the corner of the room, keeping watch.
Seeing the scene, Thomas whispered, “What is wrong with Mrs. Sinclair?”
“She had diphtheria last summer. Her heart has just gotten weaker and weaker.”
“I am deeply grieved to hear it,” he murmured.
“She is a very kind lady.” He thought a moment.
“Please, would you tell her I asked after her? Perhaps I can procure some meat or medicine for her.”
Foolishly, Annie let her pride answer. “We don’t need Yankee charity.”
Thomas’s face tightened. “I see that the war has changed you. I am sorry to see it. I had been much impressed by your prior graciousness in the face of an invading army. I spoke often of it when I was home and people expressed opinions of what renegades Southerners must be.” He bowed to leave.
Stung, Annie held out her hand. “Here. Take this book. I don’t want it. Byron is a self-infatuated poet. Much like the Northerners I have been forced to meet.”
Thomas looked down at the book and shook his head. “There are moments of beauty in the verse, though, you must admit, Miss Sinclair.” He smiled at her. “Please keep the volume. Surely poetry can be neutral territory for us.”
He jogged down the stairs.
The next day Stuart’s cavalry skirmished repeatedly with Union riders along Goose Creek and Ashby’s Gap Turnpike between Upperville and Middleburg. That evening General Stuart stopped at Hickory Heights to see his friend von Borcke. He could stay only a few moments. His cavalry needed to parallel Robert E. Lee’s infantry as it marched north along the western side of the Blue Ridge, using the mountains as a curtain. To the east, on the other side of the Bull Run Mountains, the Yankee army was lurking, waiting, trying to foresee Lee’s next move. Stuart was between the two. Even though he’d fallen back during the fighting of the previous three days, he’d held the mountain gaps and kept Union cavalry from discovering Lee’s movements. The general’s plan for northward invasion remained hidden.
It was a momentous plan. Dick Ewell and his troops were already in Maryland close to the Pennsylvania border, waiting for Lee’s command. Longstreet’s army was crossing the Potomac River. The Confederates were massing for a huge strike. If only, only they could continue to move undetected and catch the Union army by surprise. That was Stuart’s responsibility—to shield them from Union scouts, to distract the Yankees with his raids, to keep a sharp eye on the Federal enemy’s movements.
Stuart and his staff cantered up Hickory Heights’ lane with their usual showmanship. The general jumped off his horse and ran up the porch steps two at a time, excited, off on an adventure. But he slowed and lost his glamour when he saw his friend.
Isaac, Bob, and Jamie had carried von Borcke out of the attic and brought him onto the front porch for some fresh air. The Prussian had managed to down some soup and sit up. It was a miracle that he had survived at all. A bullet had cut part of his wind-pipe. Annie could see that he’d never ride with Stuart again. He’d be lucky to be able to speak and walk.
Stuart’s long gait shortened as he crossed the porch. His face changed to a mask of careful cheeriness. “Von, old fellow,” he said heartily, “you are looking marvelously well.” Stuart sat down beside him and took his hand in his.
Von Borcke tried to answer, but only a whistling sound came out. Stuart patted his arm. “Don’t try to speak, Von. Rest. Mend quickly. Our camp will not be the same until you return. I will miss you.”
Fighting his emotions, Stuart stood and went to his horse.
“Miss Annie,” he called to her. He was quiet, serious. “Thank you for taking in Von. Poor fellow. He was sitting right beside me when he was hit. Just before he was struck down, another close bullet had torn off some gold braid from his uniform trousers. Von did love to dress smartly. I think they thought he was me. Von said…he said…” Stuart swallowed hard and continued hoarsely, “He said, ‘Those Yankees are giving it to me rather hotly on your account.’ And then he was hit.”
Stuart looked down and kicked some dirt. After a moment, he reached into his pocket. “I had hoped that I might see you. I began another verse in December. I was going to give it to you at the Culpeper ball, but you were occupied with William Farley.” He paused again to control his voice. “Poor William. So many bright stars fallen.” He shook his head slowly and handed Annie a folded paper. “You have become a beautiful woman, Miss Annie. I hope that life gives you great happiness.”
For a moment their hands touched. But it was a solemn exchange. Stuart was saying good-bye. Annie could feel it. He expected never to see her again.
Without another word, Stuart heaved himself into his saddle and rode off, silent.
Later, she read the snippet of poetry:
When music’s soft enrapt’ring swell
delights thy list’ning ear,
When zephyrs whisper all is well
and all thou lov’st are near,
When skies are bright and thou art all
that thou couldst wish to be,
I dare not ask, for ’twould be vain,
that thou couldst think of me.
There were more good-byes in the next days. Laurence rode to the house to see Miriam. As he left, walking down the stairs, weary, saddened with worry for his mother, he ran into Jamie. It was like two stallions meeting each other over a herd of mares.
Annie was standing by the hall door. She couldn’t believe the violent change in Laurence’s face. He hurled himself at Jamie and grabbed him by the collar. “Where have you been, boy?”
Jamie’s face turned its rage-purple. But he held his ground and answered stoutly, “I’ve been out with Major Mosby, scouting a ford for you boys to cross the Potomac.” He tried to shove Laurence away from him. Jamie was quite tall and thickset for his age, but the older brother was stronger.
Laurence held fast to his collar and shook him. “Why aren’t you watching out for Mother? Don’t you realize your shenanigans weaken her further and imperil this family? Why aren’t you here protecting the house?”
“Because I’m fighting for my country. I’m doing my duty.”
“Duty?” Laurence spat out. “All Mosby’s done is steal from supply wagons and keep the loot for himself. There is no honor in that, Jamie. Choose honorable service, if you must fight. In the end, when this war is over, that’s all we’re going to have left to us. Ride with me instead.”
“And be bossed around by you wherever I go? No, thank you, brother. Mosby not honorable? Shows what you know. We’ve kidnaped a Union general right out of his bed. We’ve cut railroad lines and disrupted supply trains, even when we were outnumbered ten to one. So what if we keep the spoils? The Confederate army sure doesn’t supply us with anything. Had a decent meal recently, brother? I have. I’ve brought food home for everyone here, too. All you’ve done is take our horses.
“I’ve also had the satisfaction of watching Yankees turn tail and run like the dogs they are. You’re so all-fired high-and-mighty—Stuart and his fancy parading cavalry. From what I’ve seen in the last few days of fighting, you boys could use our help. I saw your riders turn and run plenty.”
Laurence drew back and struck Jamie’s jaw. The blow made a horrible cracking noise. Jamie staggered, then flung himself at Laurence, knocking him down. They rolled on the floor, until Laurence surfaced on top of Jamie. Jamie kicked at him from underneath. They came up with their hands wrapped around each other’s throats.
“Laurence! Jamie! For shame,” shrieked Annie, wading into the fray. “Take your hands away!” She tugged on Laurence, who let go instantly, shock and shame registering on his face.
Jamie held fast.
Laurence held his hands down by his side, doing nothing to get his brother off him.
Jamie tightened his grip.
“Jamie!” Annie began pulling at his fingers.
Laurence’s breath began to come in fits, but he didn’t say a word. Didn’t make a move.
“Jamie! Jamie. Let go! You’re choking him.” Annie was sobbing. She tore at his hands.
Suddenly, a little body flung itself on Jamie’s back and began beating him. It was Will.
The surprise of it stopped Jamie. Finally, he let go. Laurence fell back to the floor, coughing. Jamie shoved Will away and stood.
“I am a Mosby ranger, Laurence,” Jamie gasped. “You do not own me. I don’t care what you think of me any longer. And I’m going to do whatever I must to stop the Yankees.” He stormed out the front door, slamming it hard.
It took a long time for Laurence to catch his breath, a long time for Annie to stop shaking. Meanwhile, Will disappeared as silently as he had appeared.
Finally, Annie voiced a question she’d had for years: “Laurence, what is the matter with you? Why are you so hard on Jamie?”
“Hard? You consider that hard? You should have seen Father with me.”
Laurence looked down and changed his tone. “I don’t know, Annie. Mother always told me I was responsible for making a man of him. I don’t know how to do it. How do you be a brother and a father both?” He looked at Annie, but she had no answer for him.
“Really, I just don’t want him to get hurt. I don’t understand why he doesn’t see that and listen to me. I don’t understand why he’s so angry with me all the time. All I’m trying to do is help. Do you know that once he…?” Laurence stopped short.
Annie waited for him to tell the story about Jamie throwing rocks at his horse while Laurence was riding. But he didn’t. He muttered to himself, “My other brothers wouldn’t have done that.”
He shook his head as if trying to shake off an annoying bee. He finished aloud with, “I simply don’t understand the boy.”
But Annie had heard the comment about their other brothers. She recognized something new about Laurence. And felt like a fool for not seeing it before. Laurence missed those dead brothers! Jamie was not a replacement for them, not by a long shot. Spoiled, hotheaded, jealous, he didn’t even compare. She suddenly felt immense pity for both of them. Neither one had what he really wanted—Laurence those long-gone brothers, or Jamie his real father.
But how could Annie speak to that big of an empty space in them? Clearly they loved each other as much as resented each other, or they wouldn’t fight so much. All she knew was that Laurence was going to have to let Jamie make his own mistakes from now on, no matter how painful it was. That was the sad truth. Jamie wasn’t going to listen to advice from either Laurence or Annie. In fact, anything they told him right now, he’d be sure to do the opposite.
“He’s not a child any longer, Laurence,” said Annie. “Nor am I. And if you listen, you may actually learn something from us.”
Laurence thought a minute. “I can see that in you, Annie. I was amazed by your calm resolve and cleverness about hiding von Borcke. Very different from the girl who was so afraid at Manassas. But Jamie…Jamie is too young to die for the cause, Annie.”
He looked away from her. “The cause…the accursed cause…I was fighting for Hickory Heights. To save Hickory Heights. To take care of you and Jamie and Mother and everyone else. And I can see that it will probably be for nothing. I don’t know what will be left after all this killing. Look at how Jamie and I instinctively grabbed each other’s throats. That’s what the war has taught us.”
He dropped his head in his hands and wept.
For a long time, he cried. Annie sat paralyzed.
Finally something told her to put her arm around his shoulders. “I’m here, Laurence,” she whispered to the top of his fair-haired head. “I’ll do the best I can to keep home safe.” She turned to teasing, their old way of relating. “If the Yankees come, why, I’ll get one of Jamie’s precious guns, and Aunt May will get her broom, and between the two of us, we can take on all the whole Union army. I promise.”
Laurence laughed. “I imagine you two could,” he said into his hands. He lifted his head and wiped his eyes. “Forgive me, Annie.”
Annie’s heart swelled. Oh, dear brother.
There was a light tap on the door. It was Sam. Rachel stood a few feet behind him. “They’re waiting for us at the end of the lane, Captain.”
Laurence nodded and picked up the saddlebag that Aunt May had stuffed with biscuits and bacon.
He hugged Annie. “You are worth twelve brothers, Lady Liberty. Don’t forget to take care of yourself now.”
He handed her an envelope to post to Charlotte and then pulled himself onto Angel. Sam got onto his horse.
Annie couldn’t help a final embrace for Angel. “Do you know where you’re going, Laurence?”
“North somewhere. Word is General Lee plans for this campaign to break the war. We can only hope.”
There was a gallant sadness, a stoic determination about Laurence as he turned Angel and cantered away. Annie squared her shoulders and tried to adopt the straightforward, no-nonsense courage of her brother. She took Rachel’s hand. “You all right?” she asked.
Rachel shrugged, then nodded. As all right as she could be, watching her husband ride off into another battle, purely out of love and loyalty to a man, a friend, who had once owned him. Laurence had a deep sense of honor, but Sam did, too—both of which outsiders could probably never understand. Together, Annie and Rachel went back into the house, back to their work of tending the sick, stretching their food, and waiting.