Authors: Gilbert Morris
A noisy cheer erupted, and arguments broke out about who
deserved the largest piece. As the Winslows walked toward the end of the room, a tall lanky soldier sitting on his bed called out, “Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Winslow, lookee what I got!”
The man showed them a framed picture on the table beside his bed.
“Why, that’s very nice, my boy,” Sky said, admiring the portrait, which was of the young man and Belle. He was seated and she was standing beside him, her hand on his shoulder.
“He was supposed to send it to his sweetheart,” Belle smiled. “But he fell in love with himself and couldn’t bear to part with it.”
“Didn’t know what a handsome feller I was till Miz Belle had this took,” he admitted. “Anyway, I had another one made and sent it to my girl.” His face broke out into a rueful grin, and he shook his head sadly. “Made her plum green with envy, it did! But we’re gettin’ married soon as I get back—and that’s right off.”
They congratulated him, then Belle moved to a bed just opposite. “This is Thad’s friend, Lieutenant Owen Morgan. My parents, Lieutenant.”
“Happy to know you, sir,” Sky said, shaking the thin hand.
Rebekah added, “Thad told me to make sure Belle takes extra good care of you.”
“She’s doing that, Mrs. Winslow.”
The man was tall, but very thin. His face was covered by a thick, bushy reddish-brown beard, with crisp hair the same tint. He considered them out of a pair of brown eyes, deep set and intent. He spoke so softly that Rebekah had to lean forward to hear as he added, “I owe a lot to Lieutenant Novak—and to Mrs. Wickham, of course.”
“Father,” Belle suggested, “why don’t you let Mother visit with the lieutenant? One of your old friends, Ray Stallings, is in the next ward.”
“Why, of course.” Sky plucked a newspaper out of the bundle under his arm and gave it to Davis. “You may want to read this later.”
After Sky and Belle had moved on, Rebekah said, “Can you sit up, Lieutenant?”
“Yes. I’m doing much better.”
“Now, let me see, I’ve got some chocolate—and this caramel is very good, the men say; or maybe some of this angel food would suit you.”
“Chocolate would be fine, Mrs. Winslow.”
She sorted a thick wedge of the chocolate cake from the others, then looked around. “There’s no plate, I’m afraid—but I’ll bet you’ll manage.”
He took the cake and ate it quickly, trying not to spill. As he consumed the delicacy, she reported on Thad’s activities, concluding with, “He’s managed to stay on here in Richmond, though I don’t know how! He and Pet—that’s Belle’s sister, you know—they spend a lot of time together. They’re such a fine young couple!”
“Is Miss Pet like your older daughter?”
“Oh no. Not at all!” Rebekah replied. “They’re as different as night from day. Pet’s always been a tomboy. Never cared anything about parties or dresses. Of course, she does now a bit more. But she and Thad are so compatible—and will do well when they get married. Both love farming.”
“Your other daughter is very efficient,” Davis said carefully. “She’s quite well known, isn’t she?”
Rebekah seemed disturbed at the question, her eyes troubled. “Belle was a very flighty girl while growing up. Cared for nothing but parties—and was very sought after.” She paused hesitantly. “She hates all the talk about being a spy—but tell me about yourself, Lieutenant Morgan,” she said, changing the subject. “Thad says you’re from Ireland.”
“Well, yes, I am.”
“You don’t sound very Irish.”
“I-I’ve been away for a long time, Mrs. Winslow.”
“You have a family?”
She drew him out, thinking what a shy person he was. Both Thad and Belle had spoken of the man’s critical condition
when he was first admitted to Chimborazo—mentally as well as physically. Thad had warned her, “He’s kind of mixed up. Keeps forgetting things—and it bothers him, so if you go see him, don’t press him too hard.”
She didn’t question him further, but for the next twenty minutes talked about current happenings until Sky returned. She took Davis’s hand as she said goodbye. “I’m so glad you’re making such good progress, Lieutenant Morgan. You must pay us a visit while you’re in Richmond—as soon as you’re up and about.”
He nodded and promised to do so. After they left, he picked up the papers with rather unsteady hands. When Belle’s mother had first looked at him, he thought she had a gleam of recognition in her eyes, and fully expected Rebekah to cry out, “Why, Davis Winslow—what are you doing here?”
It was still a miracle that he could face these people and not be recognized. But when he looked into a mirror later that morning, he realized why. Belle had brought a mirror and a pair of scissors, saying firmly, “You can keep that beard you’re so attached to, Lieutenant, but it’s got to be trimmed. You look like a wild hermit! Now get out of that bed and sit in this chair.”
He had protested, but she had pulled the blanket back, and soon he was sitting there as she trimmed his beard. “Leave it long, please,” he pleaded.
“You’re as vain as a peacock!” she laughed, but agreed. As she worked on his beard, moving his face from one position to another with quick and firm hands, her face was uncomfortably near. He studied her intent expression carefully.
How can a woman so evil be so beautiful?
he wondered—not for the first time, however. She was biting her full lower lip with perfect teeth in deep concentration, and he could not help admiring the smooth planes of her lovely face. Her eyes were fixed on his beard, but as she shifted them, Belle caught his gaze and smiled. “Now see what sort of barber I am,” she challenged.
He took the small mirror, looked at his image, and was surprised. There was little to remind him of the plump-cheeked smiling man he’d been before his imprisonment. The cheeks were still thin, the eyes sunken, and the hard-set mouth almost totally foreign. He handed her the mirror. “It feels better,” he admitted. “Thank you, Mrs. Wickham.”
She noted he never called her “Miss Belle,” as most of the patients did. He was a mystery, with his distant air and reserved manner. He never smiled, and made few friends in the ward. She thought it was because he was an officer among enlisted men, but the reticent manner went deeper than that. The Irishmen she had known had been outgoing. But Morgan, while not sullen, kept himself firmly behind a mask, polite but unapproachable.
She put the shears down and said with a slight smile, “Now, let’s see if that leg will work.”
Startled, he asked, “You mean—walk?”
“Well, you can’t lie in that bed the rest of your life, can you? Come on, get up and let’s try a few steps.”
He slowly rose to his feet, and she stepped beside him. “Put your arm around my shoulder,” she commanded. “Come on, Lieutenant, I won’t let you fall.”
“The room’s spinning,” he said faintly. But he wanted to walk, so he did as she said, putting his right arm around her shoulder. He took one step, swayed, and she put her left arm around him, holding him firmly.
“That’s good, Owen,” she coached, using his given name for the first time. “Very good! Now another . . . that’s it!” She led him out to the aisle, turned him carefully, and they moved slowly along as the men in the beds called out encouragement: “Go to it, Lieutenant!” . . .”Run him this way, Miss Belle!”
Finally she turned, and they walked back to the bed. Davis was concentrating on staying upright, but at the same time, he was acutely conscious of her firm body pressing against his, of the warmth of her arm around him. And the pressure of his own arm around her shoulder was disturbing. He made
the final turn, and she helped him sit down on the bed and he shifted his legs up.
“You’ve made a good beginning,” she said. “We’ll do a little more tomorrow.”
“I—I think I can manage by myself,” he replied.
“You will
not
get out of that bed alone, Owen Morgan! Do you hear me?”
“Yes, but . . . !”
She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him down; and as he went back, she brushed her hands across his lips.
“You’ve got chocolate cake all over your mouth—just like a little boy,” she quipped. Then she picked up the shears and moved away. “We’ll walk some more tomorrow.”
Davis tried to read the newspaper, but had difficulty concentrating. For a long time he thought of Sky and Rebekah, of Thad and Pet, of his parents and his grandfather—and of the dark eyes of Belle Winslow. For once, the anger he usually felt did not come.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
DEATH IN THE NIGHT
Every day Davis grew stronger, and by the time March blustered in, driving the snow away, he was able to walk with the aid of a cane. He had suffered Belle’s assistance only a week, then had rebelliously insisted on making his own way.
“Let’s see you do it, then,” she had said with a smile. “We need your bed. No room for a healthy man in this place.”
He mused about Belle’s comment as he hobbled along the walk one Sunday afternoon, savoring the tang of air that drove the dead leaves along in front of him, like ghosts fleeing from an enchanter. He stopped, balanced on his good leg and, swept by an unexpected sense of well-being, took a sudden swing at the leaves. “By George, it’s good to be on my feet!” he exclaimed. He glanced around quickly to make certain nobody had overheard, then continued his walk.
No room for a healthy man in this place,
Belle had said. The thought returned, and he moved slowly along under the huge oaks that lifted bare arms to a leaden sky.
I’ve got to think of something—and soon,
he mused. His recovery, Dr. Stevens had proclaimed, was “nothing short of miraculous,” his leg healing faster than any of them had expected, and the flesh filling out his frame so that he no longer looked like a skeleton.
I’ve got to get away from here.
It was not a new conviction, but before, it had been impossible. He could not have crawled on board a train, to say nothing of riding a horse.
But now that he could walk better, though stiffly, he tried to think of some way to get out of Richmond.
As if in answer to his dilemma, he saw Thad riding up the road, and waved his stick to catch his attention. The young man rode up, dismounted and tied his horse to the picket fence. “Well, Davis, this looks promising!” Thad said with a smile. “How long have you been able to go outdoors?”
“My maiden voyage, Thad,” Davis replied. “I’m beginning to feel more like a human being. Come on, walk with me, but take it easy.” The two moved slowly along the walk, and Davis added, “This is the first time I’ve been able to say a word out loud since January without being afraid I’d be denounced as a spy.”
“You’ve done a good job. I sort of fished around with the Winslows to see if they thought you looked familiar—but they don’t have any suspicions at all.” He peered at Davis carefully. “You sure don’t look anything like you did when you were here with your grandfather. I always think of Davis Winslow as a fat man, with baby-faced red cheeks, always smiling. Now you have the appearance of a mature fellow, maybe ten years older.”
Davis nodded. “It’s been a freaky thing, Thad. Makes me feel creepy—but it saved my life, so I’m not complaining.”
“I got a letter from Perry Hale last week. I brought it along—think maybe you ought to read it.” He handed it over to Davis.
February 21, 1864
Dear Thad,
I write to tell you that I am back on duty—and so is
Ezra. We are stationed outside Washington, waiting to be reassigned. And I thought you would like to know. I went to see our friend Captain W. yesterday. He is in good health, but is quite sad over his loss. The letter came last week telling him of the death of his grandson in the prison, and the entire family is taking it hard, as you might expect. His daughter-in-law is prostrate, he said. I wanted to comfort him, but was uncertain as to how to do it. If you can think of anything I could say to him to assuage his grief, write at the address below. I will be here for at least three more weeks and will be happy to give any message you think good to the family.
Give my best to our young friend, who is mending well by this time, I hope. Lee and I will never forget him—nor you, Thad. Mr. Lee pokes fun at my strict Calvinistic theology, but as the poet says, “God’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world!”
Sincerely,
Captain Perry Hale
Maddox Hotel
Washington
“I’m glad about Perry and Ezra,” Davis said; “but I wonder if it hurts your conscience any—letting two of your enemies escape.”
“Not a bit!” Thad assured, taking the letter. “This letter is sort of in code. He’s asking if he can tell your people you’re alive.”
“Yes, I know.” Davis moved his stick back and forth, paused, and said, “It would be dangerous. Bad as I hate to see them suffer, I think they’ll just have to stand it until I can get away.”
“Up to you now, Davis,” Thad shrugged. “How long you figure that’ll be?”
“Belle dropped a hint that I’d have to let someone who’s worse off have my bed. I’d better leave the hospital as soon as possible. Maybe I can make it like Perry and Ezra. Just shove me on a train, and I’ll try to get to one of the border states. From there I can make it back to our lines.”
“Not till you can navigate better than you’re doing now,” Thad insisted firmly. “If you get caught impersonating a Confederate officer, they won’t waste much time on a trial. You’d be shot out of hand.”
“Well, I’ve got to do
something,
” Davis countered.
“I’ll try to find a place for you to stay for a few days,” Thad said. “God’s brought you this far, Davis—He’s not going to lose you now!”
Davis kept his head down, and when he finally lifted his eyes to meet Thad’s gaze, there was an intensely sober expression on his face. “I’ve wondered about that, Thad. Guess you have too, as many men as you’ve seen die. Why did
they
die—and not us?”
“I don’t know the answer to that, Davis,” Thad replied thoughtfully. “Don’t really think anyone does. But since God did bring me through alive, I figure He’s got something in mind for me.”
“That’s what the preachers say,” Davis sighed, and changed the subject, saying, “I promised one of the patients I’d be at the service this afternoon, Thad. You remember the young fellow in the bed next to mine?”