Authors: Gilbert Morris
“Why shouldn’t I?” Davis asked defiantly. “She used me and my family—and she killed my brother.”
Thad refused to argue, though he wanted to say that Lowell could have been killed on any account. Instead, he said, “Looks to me like she balanced the account by saving your life.”
Davis stubbornly clamped his lips together. He was in the grip of emotion, and logic had no power to move him. The long months he had spent in Libby had blocked off all normal activities, leaving him with nothing to do but dwell on the past. His sickness and the dreary routine of the place had quickly dulled his sharpness of mind, and his hatred for the South and for Belle, as a symbol of it, had fed upon itself. Now he desired only one thing—to get back to the war where he could express his anger by fighting the Confederacy.
No use talking to him,
Thad thought.
He’s so eaten up with hate he can’t even think straight.
After a few more minutes, he decided it was time to leave. “Not much going on right now, Owen,” he said in a normal tone. “Looks like I’ll be around Richmond for a spell. I’ll drop in from time to time.”
Davis felt a quick pang, knowing he owed the young man his life, but he could find no way to express it. He nodded. “All right, Thad.”
As he went to find Belle, Thad had an uneasy feeling about Davis. Physically he was much improved, but inside, the man was filled with a burning anger. If they were to get by with this masquerade, it would take a cool head—the one thing Davis lacked now. He found Belle in her office. “Hello, Nurse Wickham. Looks like you’ve pulled it off with Owen.”
Belle looked up from her desk. “He’s going to make it—but it didn’t look like it for a while. Is he awake?”
“Sure. I had a talk with him.” He slouched back against the wall and asked casually, “How long you figure he’ll keep that bed tied up?”
“He’s not over this thing yet, Thad,” she warned. “He’s nothing but skin and bones—and though that leg is better, it’s still touch and go. I’d say a month would be the best he could hope for—if everything goes well.”
Thad masked the dismay her words brought, saying only, “Well, he’s on his way—thanks to you, Belle.” He stood up to leave. “I’ll be around for a spell, so I’ll come in and check with him as often as I can.”
“Pet will be glad,” Belle smiled, and walked him to the door. Snowflakes were still falling, and as he got on his horse and rode off, Belle lingered, watching the snow swarm across the yard. On an impulse she walked off the porch, turned, and made her way down the walk running parallel with the building. The flakes bit at her face and melted on her lips like wax.
She had always loved the snow, though there was little in her world. She remembered as a young child, waking up to find the dark earth transformed into a fairyland of glistening crystal. Some of that same feeling swept over her now as she walked. The world was quiet, sounds muffled by the soft, downy blanket that covered everything.
Finally, the cold numbed her face and she turned back. As she passed one of the windows, a patient in Davis’s ward saw her from the window. “There goes Miz Belle! Lookee there!” he exclaimed. “She looks like a ghost—wearing that black in all the snow!”
Davis caught just a glimpse of the dark figure outlined against the white before she disappeared.
Lonnie, who had just awakened, asked, “Did you see her, Lieutenant Morgan?”
“Yes, I did, Lonnie.”
“She’s something, ain’t she now?”
Davis didn’t answer—he couldn’t.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
HOSPITAL VISIT
Most of Richmond’s population had gathered on the Capitol grounds to greet a large number of returned prisoners. It was a cold, blustery February day. Sky and Rebekah were standing close to the platform where the speeches were customarily made. “It doesn’t seem very humane to make the poor men come out and stand in this cold when they’ve already suffered so much, Sky,” Rebekah commented. “Why couldn’t they have the reception inside?”
“Couldn’t get as many people inside for the politicians to speak to.” Sky looked disgustedly at the members of Congress who were gathering on the platform. He shook his head and muttered, “Seems to me they could have visited the wounded in the hospital if they’re so concerned about our men. Bunch of vultures looking for votes!”
“I know, dear,” Rebekah said, squeezing his arm. “But the President will be here.
He’s
not one to put on a show.” She was aware of her husband’s growing disillusionment with the government the past months—as she herself had been. The first two months of 1864 had brought no good news from the military, for the Yankee armies were drawing the net tighter on all fronts. It was time, Sky said repeatedly, for the South to pull itself together in a determined effort—but just the opposite seemed to be happening. The states were refusing to send arms and supplies for Lee’s army, holding them back for their own units, and Sky had nearly gotten into a duel with one governor who had kept the warehouses full
in his own state, while the Army of Northern Virginia and the Army of Tennessee went barefooted and hungry.
Sky scanned the senators on the platform, then shrugged in a gesture of disgust. “Well, Rebekah, we have to honor the boys who’ve come back—but I don’t see how a long-winded speech is going to help—”
“Oh, look, Sky—there’s Belle!” exclaimed Rebekah, breaking into Sky’s diatribe.
“Where? Oh yes, I see her.” At the same time Belle spotted them, and Sky motioned for her to come over to where they were, but she shook her head firmly. “Well, she won’t come up here,” he said.
“She hates attention,” Rebekah commented. “Let’s go stand with her. I’d like her to spend the weekend with us at Belle Maison. She needs a rest.”
“You
know
she won’t do it,” he said as they pushed their way through the crowd. “She’s working too hard. Spends fifteen hours a day at that hospital.”
They finally made their way to her, and greeted her. She was wearing black, as always, and put her hand on the arm of a worn, middle-age woman beside her. “Father, Mother, this is Mrs. Donaldson—Emily, I’d like you to meet my parents—Mr. and Mrs. Winslow.”
The woman nodded nervously “How do you do?” and took the hand Rebekah extended. “Emily’s son, William, is one of my patients,” Belle informed them. “She’s hoping her husband will be one of the returned prisoners.”
“He was took at Gettysburg, I heard,” Mrs. Donaldson said. She lifted a basket, adding, “I brung him somethin’ to eat. My Tom was always a careful feeder.”
Rebekah caught Belle’s glance and saw they were both thinking the same thing:
He probably wasn’t so careful in a Yankee prison.
But Belle shook her head slightly; just at that moment a smattering of applause broke out.
“There they come,” Sky said.
A column of men, preceded by honor guards with flags
flying, appeared. They walked up the steps to a reserved section on one side of the platform; and the honor guards, all carrying muskets with bayonets in place, stepped down to form a line below. As the President and Vice-President mounted the platform, the people gave another round of applause. Jefferson Davis began to speak almost at once, his high tenor voice easily carrying over the crowd.
“He’s looking poorly,” Rebekah whispered to Sky. “How pale he is!”
“A little good news from the front would bring some color,” Sky murmured. “As well as less criticism from the papers here at home.”
Davis gave a short speech, specifying a tribute to the sacrifices of the gallant soldiers of the Confederacy. A cheer from the crowd—and the prisoners who were able—followed. Then the President stepped back, and the people moved forward to greet the prisoners.
As Emily Donaldson hurried off in search of her husband, Belle said, “I hope she finds him. It’s all she lives for.”
Rebekah took in the scene, her heart sad. “How worn they all look!”
Indeed, the men were a tragic sight—forlorn, gaunt, shrunken. Most of them were so emaciated their clothing hung like sackcloth, fluttering in the sharp winter breeze. Many stood as if rooted to the ground, unable to comprehend their surroundings or the world they had been dead to for so long. Others had a restless, wild look, their eyes mirroring a longing to run away from the noise and the press of the crowd.
“Look!” Sky cried. “There’s Gil Hardee!”
Sky rushed up to a small man standing off to one side. “Gil! By heaven, it’s good to see you back!” He put his hand out, smiling broadly, but Hardee stared back blankly. Sky dropped his hand, and his smile faded.
Gil had grown old and sick. The young man who had been so eager to join the Richmond Blades was no longer the same. He and his twin brother Robert had been two of the
young aristocrats who could hardly wait for the war to start. Young, wealthy, and full of life, they had gone as officers in the Third Virginia at the same time Sky’s own two sons had joined. The fire that had flamed in Gil Hardee was gone. The cheeks, once rosy and full, were sunken. He had lost most of his teeth in prison, and his eyes were dull and fearful.
Carefully, Sky put a hand on the thin shoulder, feeling the sharp bones through Gil’s new uniform, and said gently, “Well, my boy, I’m glad you’re home. It’s been hard, I know, but we’ll get you back in shape in no time.”
Hardee slowly nodded, but didn’t speak. Sky went back to Belle and Rebekah, depressed and sad. “He’s like a dead man,” he reported—“like most of these men. They’ve been ground to pieces and will never fight—”
“Look!” Belle broke in. “I think she’s found him!” She pointed to where Mrs. Donaldson was coming toward them, a tall, thin private in tow.
“He’s here, Miz Belle!” the woman cried, tears streaming down her face. “My Tom—he’s back!”
The man was thin but, unlike Hardee, his eyes were bright and he grinned from ear to ear. When he was introduced to Belle and her parents, he said in a strident voice, “Why, I knowed all the time I was comin’ back!”
“By the looks of the prisoners, prison must have been hell,” Sky commented.
“Oh, it wasn’t no Sunday school picnic,” Donaldson voiced; “but I’m ready to go back and even it up on them bluebellies!”
“Come on, Tom,” his wife urged. “William is going to jump out of that bed when he sees you.”
As the couple left, Belle watched them with wonder in her eyes. “I never thought he’d be here,” she said quietly. “It’s good to have a happy ending once in a while, at least.”
“Is her boy very ill?”
“No, he’ll be out soon.”
“Belle, you need a rest,” Sky interjected. “We’re going to
the country for a few days. Why don’t you come with us. We haven’t had any time together lately.”
She smiled and shook her head. “I can’t right now, Father. Maybe in a few weeks when I get some more help.”
They tried to persuade her, but she was adamant. Finally Sky said, “Why don’t we get something to eat before we go to the hospital with you.”
They went to the best restaurant in town and had a delicious meal. When they left, they stopped to buy some items for the prisoners—a large supply of newspapers and a few books, some bakery goods, and cotton for bandages (going to three stores to find enough). As they came out of the last store, Sky said in disbelief. “You’d think the one thing in this world we’d have plenty of is cotton—but it’s getting hard to find, like everything else.”
“Plenty of it on the docks,” Belle replied. “I read in the paper last week that the President is urging farmers to plant food instead of cotton—just what Thad said a long time ago.”
“He was right, too.” As they got into Sky’s buggy, he told them how well things had gone at Belle Maison in the fall. “Thad’s idea to plant corn and raise cattle and pigs saved our hides,” he said. “We paid off quite a bit of the debt on the place—and the food helped our men in the army. If we have another good year or two, we can really get rid of some paperwork.”
“If we last that long,” Belle commented, then put her hand on her father’s arm. “I’m sorry. I—I just get a little discouraged sometimes.”
“No wonder,” he sighed. “Attending those poor fellows day and night, with so many of them dying. I don’t see how you do it, Belle!” He studied her and said cautiously, “You’re not the same girl anymore. If I remember, the most serious problem you used to have was whether to wear a blue or a pink dress to a ball—and you pulled a real tantrum if you didn’t get your way. But now you deal with death every day. Everyone in Richmond—and the South, for that matter—admires you.”
His words stirred her for a moment, and she hung her head. “It’s the men who pay the price. I just do what I can.”
Rebekah longed to say more to Belle, but dared not. That morning at breakfast she and Sky had discussed how withdrawn their famous daughter had become. “She’s hurting inside,” Rebekah had remarked as they lingered over their coffee. “It’s not just the loss of Vance, Sky, though that hurt badly. She hasn’t been the same since her traumatic time in Washington. That whole episode took the life out of her.”
“She can’t bear any mention of it,” Sky noted. “People praise her for her work as a Confederate agent, but she freezes up.”
“Yes, she does, and have you noticed she hasn’t been to church since she came back, Sky?”
“She never was too much for church. It was kind of a duty for her.”
“Well, whenever you mention the Lord or church, her eyes get a strange look—and her face pales. I think she feels some kind of terrible guilt. But she’ll never talk to us about it.”
****
The visit at the hospital was rewarding. Both Sky and Rebekah noticed how everyone’s face lit up as Belle passed by, addressing each man by name. The three went from ward to ward, passing out the bakery goods and newspapers. As they came out of one ward and prepared to go into another, Belle remarked, “It’s good of you to do this. They love cake and are dying for something to read—but just having visitors is what gives them a lift.”
“Is the young officer Thad brought in still here?”
“Oh yes. He’s in this very ward. Come along and I’ll introduce you.”
She led them into the room, saying, “Men, this is Mr. and Mrs. Winslow—my parents. I don’t suppose any of you could down a piece of cake, could you?”