Beauty From Ashes (71 page)

Politely, but without much warmth, Pete said, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Matthews.” Then her breeding took over. “I really am sorry. So is my mother. Excuse me for being curt with you earlier. I’m just so tired.”

“I understand, Miss Pete. They say it goes with red hair, lovely as it is. I felt sure, though, that you’d both grieve for the heartbreak and worry poor Fanny must be enduring. She does love my son. And I don’t know when you left the Square, Miss

Pete, but the sight of those weary, 965 tramping feet of the South’s brave retreating boys broke my heart all over again. One old man stood weeping openly on the sidewalk. I longed to comfort him. Poor Cobb County! My heart aches for every person living in our beloved county. Our defenders leaving and the heartless enemy taking over!”

“My heart aches for us all, too, Mrs. Matthews,” Anne said firmly. “And I promise to pray for your Buster this very night. I know we don’t see eye-to-eye on this war, but we’re both mothers. We’re all three women and I sometimes think women fall victim to the loss of their men in war beyond anyone else. Come back anytime you need to come. Pete and I will both pray, won’t we, Pete?”

“Yes, Mama. If ever people needed prayer, it’s now, all of us. North and South. Try very hard, Mrs. Matthews, to remember that God is in charge. I seem to forget it much of the time. But He is.”

Retreating Confederates tramped through Marietta streets throughout most of the night. The

once picturesque little city was filling up fast with blue uniforms as Sherman’s Federals marched in. By 8:30 A.M. the next day, Sunday, July 3, General William Tecumseh Sherman himself was on the Marietta Square in the heart of the city. The regular Sunday sermon was being preached in most of the churches when Northern canvas-topped wagon trains loaded with Yankee wounded and supplies rolled into town, followed by the marching men of the Federal Army. Anne’s church, St. James, had six communicants present in its pews. So far as anyone knew, no service anywhere was disturbed, and the worshipers continued to sing while the din of the invaders’ boots and the creaking of Northern supply wagons sounded through open sanctuary windows.

During that first day of occupation, dozens of Marietta men, many of them too old to fight, were arrested and taken prisoner with no chance given them to communicate with their families. St. James Episcopal Church was broken into within twenty hours of the Yankees’ arrival and robbed of vestments, large sections of carpeting, kneeling cushions, and quantities of books.

Early on Monday, few stores were 967 open and what little they had was for sale at exorbitant prices. Pete made her regular trip to the post office in hopes of finding the long-awaited letter from Selina’s George. She also hoped to buy sugar and lard. She had sold her cherished evening scarf for money to pay for any supplies she might find. Alas, there was no sugar and no lard. But, glory be, there was, at last, the letter in George Stubinger’s handwriting!

Pete shoved aside whatever ladylike conduct Mama would expect her to conform to and all but ran the whole way from the Square to their house.

No one in the family could whistle or shout as could Pete, and she did both as she burst through their front door, clutching the letter, bellowing Selina’s name.

Her sister’s hands shook as she reached for the letter after a barrage of perplexed questions that no one could answer: “Mama,” Selina gasped, “George’s letter is from Illinois! What’s he doing way up in Illinois? And where is Rock Island?”

“We’ll know the answers, Selina,” Mama

said, “as soon as you’ve read what George wrote. So read, child, read!”

“All right, Mama, but I have to open it first.” Selina broke the seal, and with trouble getting her breath, she read the scant one-page letter.

“28 June 1864

My dearest Selina …

I am a prisoner of war in Rock Island, Illinois, having arrived yesterday after I was captured at Cynthiana, Kentucky, on June 12. I have written one letter to you, but since I have heard nothing, I assume you did not receive it. Conditions could be a lot worse here, but any real man hates being a prisoner and I find myself worrying and wondering night and day about everyone’s health back there—especially that of my new son, John Couper Fraser Stubinger. Is dear Mother Fraser still so pleased with his name? Do not write more than one single page to me in reply or it won’t reach me, but I beg you to write soon.

Your loving husband,

Captain George Stubinger.”

Her face drained of color, Selina 969 said in little more than a whisper, “He’s all right. He’s far, far away, Mama, Pete, but he’s all right! How will I ever find a way to thank God that George is alive and at least as well as he was when I kissed him the last time!”

“You must write at once, Selina,” Anne said, “and be sure to tell him we did not receive his first letter from Kentucky. And my dear, you can thank God by taking good care of you and of George’s fine boy! We’ll all do our very best to thank the dear Lord when we’re together in church next Sunday. But God is not penned up in any church, as my blessed Louisa Fletcher says, and we can all begin right now to give thanks and smother George in prayer for his protection.”

Pete took a step toward her mother. “Mama, I have something to tell you. You too, Selina. We won’t be going to church together anytime soon. The Yankees are taking St. James over as a hospital for their wounded. I heard a man at the post office telling someone that they’ve already stripped it of its pews for firewood—the picket fence, too—and should be bringing in the more

seriously wounded in a day or so.”

“Pete, you made that up!”

“I did no such thing! It’s true. Furthermore, the Reverend Benedict, along with other ministers in town, was ordered to read the prayer for the President of the United States. He refused and on Wednesday, July 6, he’s going to be interrogated.”

“By General Sherman?” Anne asked. “That was a silly question when we’ve been told the general has already left Marietta and is heading for Atlanta. But why are they interrogating our rector?”

“I told you. He refuses to pray for Mr. Lincoln! And as I also told you, no church services will be held at St. James. It’s right now being turned into a hospital. If the Reverend Benedict continues to refuse to pray for Mr. Lincoln, there the hospital will stay and even Georgia Fletcher Cole can’t get in to play her beloved church organ—maybe ever again. At least not as long as the Yankees are in town. And if the Reverend Benedict fails his interrogation, he’ll be arrested and ordered to report every single day to Federal headquarters.

Martial law is already declared, too, and 971 that means no men can be on our streets until the Yankees can be sure of their loyalties and issue them passes.”

“Does that mean colored men, too?” Anne asked. “No, it can’t. The Northerners are hard at the business of setting Negroes free!”

“That’s just part of it, Mama,” Selina said. “George told me before he left that freeing the slaves—I mean really freeing them—isn’t the only reason there’s a war. It also has to do with tariffs and a lot of other mean things Yankees do to Southerners.”

Anne took Selina by the shoulders and turned her around so that they were face-to-face. “Selina, has your love for dear George turned you into a Rebel, too? It’s your business if that’s true. But I think Pete and I deserve to know the straight of things around this house.”

“Answer Mama, Selina,” Pete ordered.

“A—Rebel?” Selina asked. “I don’t think so, Mama. I mean I really don’t know. I don’t know much of anything anymore except that George is alive and maybe he’ll come home to me someday!”

On Saturday, August 6, just after Mina had scraped together enough sweet potatoes, a bit of ham, and some turnip greens for what Anne insisted still be called dinner, a knock at the front door sent Pete running to open it.

To everyone’s joy and relief, Louisa Fletcher stood there, a big smile showing her delight at seeing them all again.

“Do you realize it’s been more than a month since I’ve been able to look at any of you?” Louisa exclaimed as she hurried after Pete to the parlor, where she found Anne, Selina, the baby, and Eve all waiting to greet and welcome her.

“Is that all?” Anne asked as they embraced. “It seems as though I haven’t seen you, dear Louisa, in six months! Sit down, sit down. Eve will bring what we laughingly call okra brew, and you can tell us all about conditions at Woodlawn. Have you been visiting Georgia today? How did you get permission to come to town?”

“Which question shall I answer first?”

“None of them,” Anne said quickly. 973 “Just tell us if you and Dix have enough good food to eat out there. And we’ve heard so many horrible stories about the ill treatment by these Yankee soldiers. How’s your Unionist heart faring?”

“I still believe Mr. Lincoln’s right—`a house divided against itself cannot stand`—but it grieves me to admit we found the Confederate troops much more gentlemanly and accommodating. Oh, there are kind, considerate Northern soldiers, too. Just not as many. Dix has been in town almost every day since they occupied us because he has a pass to move about freely. Bless him, he’s found a nephew among the Yankee officers, and now I am also free to come anytime I can. The nephew couldn’t save our faithful old half-blind horse, Hunter, though. Dix was hauling a load of firewood into town for Georgia not long ago, and some rude Yankees simply stole one of his team and left him to make his way as best he could with one horse. Still, we have ample plain food to eat, and since Dix’s nephew has now placed a guard at Woodlawn, they’ve stolen little so far. How are you ladies here in town all alone, without a man

to look after you?”

“We get along,” Pete said. “Selina, Big Boy, and I planted a huge garden, you know. I’m sure there’ll be more than we’ll need of every kind of vegetable for a whole year and some to sell—I hope! We have little money beyond my mother’s pension from the British government, but thank God it still comes. It’s a struggle to keep up our small house payments.”

“We’ve—we’ve sold a lot of our clothing,” Selina offered, a little embarrassed. “There are some things even Pete and I can’t grow in the ground, you know.”

“We mustn’t do all the talking,” Anne said. “I’ve missed you so, Louisa. Tell us everything and anything you know! We see almost no one. Most of our friends have places to go and enough resources to get out of Marietta. I don’t really envy them. I still love my house. I wouldn’t have it without my sweet husband’s pension and John Couper’s regular help before he was killed. My house comforts me in more ways than I could explain even to you, Louisa.”

“Is there any war news, Mrs. Fletcher?” Pete asked. “Is Sherman still heading for

Atlanta? Are they fighting there? 975 We’re sure we can hear distant guns barking when it isn’t too noisy here.”

“Yes, they’re fighting all around Atlanta, and Dix heard yesterday that there are Yankee troops even in Macon by now. I suppose you know our fine old friend Mr. Robert McAlpin Goodman is thinking of going North with his family?”

“No! Somehow I didn’t think he’d really leave us,” Anne said.

“And my other news could be happy news for a change. Dix has learned that the Reverend Benedict will soon be paroled and let out of his house arrest at the Marietta Hotel. He’s there now for his crime of refusing to pray for President Lincoln. Anne and Selina, I believe we can be hopeful that the rector will be allowed to come to our homes to baptize both your little Johnny and my grandbaby, Webster Cole, before he leaves for Canada under orders of banishment. Dix has already spoken to him and believes there’s plenty of time for the baptism, because Reverend Benedict doesn’t leave town until September 1.”

“That would mean so much to Mama,” Pete said. “The Reverend Benedict could use Grandmama Couper’s silver tureen as a font.”

“That’s exactly what Georgia and I planned to suggest,” Louisa said. “My old china soup tureen!”

Over their happy talk, everyone heard the hard, brisk gallop of horses in their driveway.

“Mama,” Selina gasped. “I’m going to run upstairs with Johnny where he’ll be safe!”

“What do you mean, safe?” Pete asked, heading for the front door as the impatient, loud knocking began.

“I don’t know,” Selina said, gathering up her baby. “I’m just scared every time anyone knocks at our door.”

“That isn’t just anyone, I’m afraid,” Louisa whispered. “They sound like soldiers. I heard voices like those before Dix’s nephew had the guard put around our house. You’d better hurry upstairs with the child, Selina.”

“Louisa! Why would soldiers come knocking at our door? Surely they won’t steal from three

women living here alone!” 977

“It depends on what type of men they are, Anne,” Louisa said, still whispering. She moved quickly to catch Anne’s arm. “Don’t turn around, Anne! Don’t look out your French doors onto the porch!”

Anne looked anyway, and peering in at her was the young, steely-eyed face of a Northern soldier, his blue cap set at a jaunty angle on his blond head. “I’m glad Selina’s upstairs. That young man would turn her blood to ice water! She’d be so scared of him.”

The heavy banging kept up at the door until Pete opened it a little with the terse question: “What do you want?”

“I don’t know what business it is of yours, ma’am, but I’m Provost Jack Allen, United States Army, and if you’ll step aside, we’re coming in to inspect the plan of your house. You’ve plenty of room outside here for our purposes, but we’ll need sleeping quarters for our officers inside.”

“What right have you got to come barging into our home? We’re only three white women here and a tiny baby.” Pete wasn’t pleading. She demanded

to know.

“The right of the Army of the United States, ma’am. And I advise you—all of you—to stop trying to hide behind that despised English flag hanging outside and to give us no trouble.”

“Please, sir,” Anne’s voice was pleading, “what is it you want with us? What do you mean to do with us?”

“Nothing at all, ma’am, if you behave yourselves and do as we say.”

With that, he pushed open the door and motioned five or six other soldiers behind him to come inside the gracious entrance hall. Provost Allen shoved Pete aside, and in seconds the front hall seemed filled with rough, rude young men. The soldiers stood for a moment, taking in the look of the house, and then Provost Allen counted aloud: “One, two, three, four.” Selina had come halfway down the stairs. Louisa stood close beside Anne, giving the provost her most forbidding look.