Beauty From Ashes (66 page)

The subjugation of the South is the only salvation for the North, and the South can never be subjugated! But it is harder than anyone thought to drive this into Yankee heads.

With much love to one and all at home, and never, never forget that a brother never had a stronger, finer sister than my dear Pete. I rest in battle because I know I can count on you to guard and care for our dear mother. Always, I am your deeply

affectionate and devoted brother,

John Couper Fraser

May God continue to give us all the courage we need. It will be some time before you hear from me again.

Pete sat on her wooden bench for a long time just holding the pages of her brother’s letter. It was already hot in Marietta at a little after ten in the morning, but she felt herself shiver, almost as though she were feeling the cold rain John Couper had written about. He hadn’t mentioned their being on the move to the North, but with unexplainable pain, she felt him going away—far, far away.

Finally, on her feet, the letter tucked in her reticule, she stood for a long time looking across the street at the empty, darkened windows of Sam’s offices.

Without even whispering the words, she asked herself if a man could ever feel the black sense of loss a woman knew when he left. She would give almost anything even to know where Sam slept last night. Did he feel the terrible loss? Could John Couper, her knowing, always helpful, sensitive brother, have any idea of the loss the

last line of his letter left in her? 897

Her legs felt wooden as she began to trudge toward home. She was suddenly convinced that only Eve might truly understand, might even have one of her knowings. But Mama would be in her room waiting, as always, for a letter to one of them from John Couper. And for her brother’s sake and Mama’s, she must put aside her own helplessness and think—as brother and sister had always thought first—of Mama.

In early September, Big Boy, driving the horse and buggy because he could go faster than in the family carriage, snapped the reins sharply for as much speed as possible, heading away from the city toward the Fletchers’ new home at Woodlawn.

It was a dark, rainy day. Miss Louisa would be soaked wet by the time Big Boy could get her back to Miss Anne’s house, but he knew the nice, friendly lady would pack a valise and come with him without a question.

“It got to be somepin bad,” Big Boy

told himself as the buggy careened and rattled its way over the already muddy road. “Dat Miss Louisa lady, she be mighty partial to Miss Anne and it won’t make no difference at all to her that she just gettin’ settled in her new house and is needed there to boss people with boxes an’ trunks an’ what Eve she say be some mighty nice furniture. Miss Louisa trusts me,” Big Boy bragged to himself. “She come right along once I tell her Miss Pete she needs her to be with her mama when she read the letter she just picked up at the post office today. Giddap, Prince!” he called to the straining horse and reminded himself proudly again that Miss Louisa, she trust Big Boy.

“Lordy, Miss Louisa, you soaked wet all over,” Big Boy kept saying to Louisa Fletcher, alone back in the passenger seat of the buggy. Big Boy urged Prince to trot faster despite the sticky red mud underfoot. “Yes, ma’am, you be wet, wet, wet!”

“I know, Big Boy, but if Pete says Miss Anne needs me, that means she does and I do thank you for dropping everything to come for me.”

“Mr. Dix Fletcher, he trust 899 Big Boy too. He let you come right wif me.”

“Oh, my husband is extremely fond of both you and June. And he certainly knows how deeply I care about Mrs. Fraser. Do you have any idea what’s happened, Big Boy? It must be something dreadful to upset Pete so much.”

“No’m. I don’ know nuffin’. Only dat Miss Pete, she holdin’ onto a letter she mus’ think got bad news in it.”

“A letter for Miss Anne?”

“June, he teach me to read some, but I ain’t seen de letter close-up. Miss Pete she be white as a sheet. De letter mus’ be bad, bad, bad.”

“I wonder where Pete is now? Did she go straight to her mother?”

“No’m. She say she got to be wif somebody to help her, so she stay out in de brick cabin wif Eve. Since Rollie be rented out, I got me a room upstairs in the same brick cabin where June an’ Evie lives,” he added proudly.

“I know. Oh, dear. It doesn’t sound a

bit good, does it? If Pete can’t trust herself to be with her own mother, I—I’m really worried, Big Boy.”

“Yes’m. I be worried too. Miss Pete she got the nerve to break up wif Dr. Sam right in front of all dem people, Evie say, so effen Miss Pete be askeered to be wif her own mama, dey be somepin bad.”

“Had she opened the letter at all?”

“No’m. She just stan’ dere an’ hold it all bent up in her fist.”

“How did Mama seem when you helped her bathe and dress this morning, Eve?”

“Lawd, Petey, you done ax me that a dozen times since you walk into my brick cabin,” Eve said. “She seem all right. She talkin’ a lot today ‘bout your papa. I speck she dream about him again las’ night. But it seem like the dream was a good one. Mausa John, he mus’ have give her a good talkin’ to. She vowin’ hard to stay strong for his sake. Sweet Jesus, Petey, dat dear mama of yours she got to stay strong. Effen she don’t, we all gonna pay.”

Pete, who had been looking out Eve’s

window, whirled to face her. “I knew 901 it! You’ve had a knowing, haven’t you? You already know what’s in this—this scary letter, don’t you?”

“Why you call it scary?”

“Because it’s from John Couper’s close Savannah friend Major John Read. My brother’s been in his Light Artillery Battery from the first. Why would Major Read be writing to Mama if—if something terrible hadn’t happened to John Couper?”

Eve swayed a little, then only breathed her earnest prayer: “Sweet Jesus, we leanin’ on You! We leanin’ hard!”

“Tell me your knowing, Eve. I order you to tell me!”

“Eve be a free nigger now, Petey. Even Miss Anne she don’ own me no more ‘cept we belongs to each other in our hearts.”

“I know, I know! But don’t keep me dangling like this, please! I’m so scared. I’m so—so scared they’ve killed John Couper! Eve, if they have killed him, what will Mama do? What will you and I do—with Mama? Eve, this could kill Mama, too!”

Eve stood to her full height and with an

authority in her voice Pete had never heard before, she said, “You forget so soon? Your Mama she done had a dream wif your papa last night. She done promise him to be strong. Strong!”

Pete fell more than sank into Eve’s flowered armchair. “I know you’re half-white, Eve. But I’m all white! And I can’t believe in knowings and dreams the way you do. How do you do it? Can’t you help me? I ran to you because I need help! I should be with Mama, but I’m not. I’m —afraid to be with her.”

In a voice every bit as authoritative as before, but softer now and full of caring, Eve said, “I knows you’re white, Petey, but dat don’ need to keep you away from knowin’s an’ it don’ need to keep you from holdin’ on to the gift God give us all when He send dat dream about your papa to your mama.”

“What does God have to do with dreams?”

“Everything! God give His children sleep, an’ don’ dreams come outa sleep, Petey? Don’ you reckon God He know why Mausa John give dat message ‘bout Miss Anne bein’ strong? Effen John Couper be gone from dis earth, it mean he right wif both God an’ your

papa! Where yo’ faith, Pete? We 903 gotta han’ in faith too. God’s got His part in it, but we got ours.”

Anne was sitting at her small desk in her bedroom, struggling because she had promised John in her dream to write something courageous in her diary, when she heard the buggy rattle up her driveway. Through the open window she could hear not only Pete’s voice but Eve’s, and—her heart leaped with joy—Louisa Fletcher was down in the front yard in the rain!

She hurried to put away her diary, its courageous entry unfinished, stooped before her looking glass to examine her graying hair, and rushed downstairs, only half wondering why Pete had been so long at the post office and counting the unexpected visit from Louisa only as a happy surprise.

After greeting Louisa and slipping her own dry shoes on her friend’s feet, she asked Eve to bring refreshments and led the way into her parlor, the room still light and cheerful even on this showery day.

“Mama?” Pete asked. “Why don’t you sit down in your favorite rocking chair?”

After a little laugh, Anne chided, “Well, thank you very much, Miss Fraser. I am seldom received so graciously in my own parlor.”

“Will Eve be long?” Louisa asked, struggling, Pete knew, to keep her normally pleasant voice steady.

“Not long,” Anne said, a somewhat puzzled look on her face. “Why do you ask, Louisa? Surely you don’t have to leave anytime soon.”

“No, Anne, dear friend,” Louisa again betrayed her own churning emotions. “I can stay as long as you—as you need me.”

“Oh, good!” Anne’s face brightened. “Could you possibly spend the night with us? Say you can! I do miss seeing you now that you and Dix live out of the city.” Still standing, Anne hugged Louisa again. “Pete and Eve can both tell you how terribly I miss our talks.”

“I miss you, too, Anne. And I miss being in town. But I do wish you’d sit down now. Your daughter Pete has—has a letter for you.”

As though on an unmistakable signal, they

all quickly took seats. Only Anne 905 looked puzzled, but the sun breaking abruptly through the clouds outside caused her to smile.

“Look!” she said. “Look out the window. The sun has just come through. And Louisa, isn’t this room filled with a magic light all its own?”

Her voice shaking, Louisa said, “Yes, Anne. Oh, yes. I certainly understand why you call it your white-light house.”

“Have I ever told you what my dear, all-wise little son said to me about the shadows going away when there’s enough light? It was the day we buried his father. The whole family was together on Papa’s old Cannon’s Point veranda. The lad was only six, but he knew how I loved the sunrise. So he said he guessed that when there was enough light, the shadows just go away. I always thought that quite remarkable for such a small boy.” Anne turned to Pete. “Louisa mentioned that you have a letter for me, dear. It will explain that sudden burst of sunlight from outside if it’s from John Couper. Oh, I hope it is! He warned us in your latest letter from him, Pete, that it might be a long time before we heard again.” With a small smile at Louisa, she added, “It has seemed a very long

time.”

Pete held up the crumpled, still-sealed letter. “This—this isn’t from Brother, Mama. It’s— it’s from his close friend and superior officer, Major John P. W. Read.” Irrelevantly, she said, “It’s—it’s from Savannah.”

“Well, open it. Open it and read it to all of us.”

“Are—are you sure, Mama?”

“Why, of course! Eve’s here now with our buttered bread. Eve and I both apologize for the meager fare, but you know wartime scarcities.” As Eve served them all, Anne mentioned that she was sure they should all be grateful for enough flour and shortening to bake bread. Then she said, taking a small piece of bread from the tray, “Thank you, Eve. I wonder why Major Read is writing to me,” Anne went on. “Do you suppose John Couper’s had another promotion? Remember he wrote that Major Read was so proud when he was made captain.”

“Mama, in the name of heaven, stop chattering! If I don’t read this soon, I’ll— I’ll—was Tears began to stream down Pete’s

face because she had already glanced at the 907 opening of Major Read’s message.

“Pete!” Anne repeated her daughter’s name. “Pete!” This time it was almost a scream.

Everyone in the room looked hard at Pete when she began to read, because her voice sounded so unlike her. Each word seemed pushed out.

“Savannah, 4 September 1863

My dear Madam,

I have seldom been forced to write such a painful letter, but intelligence has reached me of the death of your brave and noble son, Captain John Couper Fraser. I, as you doubtless know, was his commanding officer in the old battery from Savannah, but above all, I counted him my close, personal, trusted friend. He was mortally wounded in the thigh on July 2, in the battle of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, where he was heroically leading his men in the most terrible artillery duel the world has ever known. …”

Pete choked on those words and began to weep too hard to read. Louisa took the letter from her at once and with tears glistening on her own face,

continued, fighting her way through the words.

“In his fall, the Confederacy has lost one of her noblest sons and most gallant officers. His wound was too severe for him to go on living. We all knew that, but I assure you he had every possible care and kindness. Your son bore his sufferings as only the truly noble can bear them. He offered not one regret, because he had fallen in the defense of Southern freedom and independence. It was impossible to move him, owing to the serious nature of his wounds, and he was left in comfortable quarters with an ample detail of nurses and medical officers to care for him. Be assured, dear Madam, of our sympathies in the loss of so noble a son. We all regarded him as no less than a brother. Hoping that with divine assistance you may be able to bear your loss as a Christian. John Couper did not die until July 11, but suffered without a visible sign of complaint and knew from the first that his wounds would be fatal. It is my prayer that commendations do sometimes help at such sorrowful times and beg you to know that we regarded him as a brave, gallant, and generous soldier and one that was beloved by all who

knew him. I feel as though I have lost 909 my last and best friend.”

Eve was standing beside Anne, a hand on her quiet shoulder. Pete fought to curb her sobbing. Finally, Anne whispered, “Louisa. Louisa, my—boy will—never come home—again.” Her voice gained what might be called a firmness: “He won’t come home again because—he can’t. The only reason he won’t be coming, Louisa, is that he— can’t.”

For what seemed a long, long time, no one said a word. Then Anne looked up at Eve. “Now, Eve, take me up to my bed, please. And look after Miss Louisa because she’s spending the night with us.”