Undaunted Love (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

April 9, 1865

Appomattox, Virginia

G
ENERAL ROBERT E. LEE RODE back through the lines on his horse, Traveler, and greeted the soldiers along the way. The surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia had been conducted in a peaceable and honorable way, General Ulysses Grant abiding by the terms exchanged the previous day between the two sides. Now there remained only the goodbyes, the encouragements, the honoring of the brave sacrifices of his men. As he made his way through the pressing crowds, he smiled wanly, shaking hands with some, saying, “You have served honorably, son,” to others.

Captain Rafe Colton was standing guard around the small remaining armory with his regiment. Unable to believe that the fighting was finally over, but hoping beyond hope that it was true, Rafe saluted the general as he rode past. From the look on Lee’s face, Rafe knew it was true. It was over. The Confederacy was lost, and they were, once again, part of the United States of America. The hated Abraham Lincoln was now his President. The Yankees they had sought out and killed were now his brothers. He shook his head. How did one go from hatred to brotherhood with the stroke of a pen?

April 10, 1865

Byrd’s Creek, South Carolina

Everyone left in the small town was outside in the streets. While glad that their men, those who hadn’t died of battle wounds or disease, were coming home, and looking forward to a future of adequate food and basic necessities, there were many unanswered questions for the South. Their money was not worth the paper it was printed on. Many had what wealth remained to them in land and slaves, but if the slaves were freed, what would they have then? So many had died, so much had been burned and destroyed. How would they pick up the pieces to return to their former lives?

Livvie had dismissed her students and was standing with a large group of women and children in front of the Baptist church. Her heart was pounding and her face flushed, but still she had to keep her secret. All of her being, her heart and soul, cried out for her to scream, to laugh, to hug everyone in sight, and yet she knew that the cause her husband and so many others had fought for all these years was lost. They were now the conquered enemy.

Thinking of Nackie and her mother-in-law suddenly, she turned and walked quickly back to her house. Her father was in Columbia, no doubt prostrate with grief at the lost business opportunities of the former Confederate States, and her mother had been unable to get out of bed these last several weeks. Pushing that thought out of her mind, she went to the small barn at the back of the house.

“Micah?” she called out. The young man, not more than fourteen, was Emmy’s grandson.

“Yes’m?” Micah called down from the hayloft.

“I need the buggy, please. Did you hear the news?”

“Yes’m,” he answered, moving quickly down the ladder. “Grandmama told me. She says we’re to just keep on like we always done, though.”

Livvie smiled. Emmy would stay with the Byrd family. She had been with them all her life. But this young man, once he was free, what would he do? So many things were going to change.

Twenty minutes later Livvie was trotting out to the Colton house. The day was glorious, and it seemed to Liv that all of Creation was celebrating. Surely even God must be smiling at the end of the bloodshed. She believed in the Confederacy, but there was no denying that too many people, too many brave men, had died on both sides. And starvation and disease and even murderous rampages had killed too many innocent women and children, destroyed too many homes, burned too many farms. Win or lose, she’d had enough of the War, and she said a prayer of thanks that her husband had survived it.

Nackie was stacking wood neatly onto the woodpile when she stopped by the barn. He turned to her and smiled.

“Miz Livvie! God bless you, child, you’re a sight for sore eyes!” He hobbled over to help her down. Livvie realized how much he had aged since Rafe had last been home.

“The War is over!” she said as she swung down from the buggy. “Lee surrendered.”

Nackie stared at her, speechless.

“It’s true! At least for Lee’s army, and that’s Rafe.” She hugged the old man. “I’ll go tell Mrs. Colton. Is she in her room?”

Nackie shook his head. “She be out t’back, readin’. She was feelin’ a bit better today.” Mariah had been suffering from fevers off and on since the New Year, and had been painfully weak, once again spending most of her time in bed.

“Wonderful!” Livvie said, and headed around the back of the house, leaving Nackie with a peck on the cheek.

April 19, 1865

Dear Livvie,

I received your letter, and am so thankful that you told Mama and Nackie. No one has told us yet when we can all go home. Seems they change their minds every day. Part of the terms of surrender was for us to hand over supplies and weapons, and exchange prisoners, so we’ve all been busy collecting muskets and counting them, and carting them along to the Yankees. It’s certainly strange to be handing our weapons over, and it seems that neither side really knows what to do. Do we shake hands and greet one another? Are we once again countrymen?

Do you remember Hezekiah Mitchell, from my first day in Charleston? He has been a prisoner of the Yanks for almost two years. I didn’t recognize him when the group came over to us – he is thin as a stick and the Federals shaved their heads because of lice. He is a broken man now, at twenty-two. I thank the good Lord above that I wasn’t captured.

There is still fighting, in North Carolina and out west, but they tell us it’s all over. I guess it is. They said that any officer who wanted to could take the Eagle Oath to foreswear the Confederacy and it might be we could keep our job for a time, but there aren’t too many likely to do it. I reckon they know that, but it was honorably done all the same. I don’t know what I’ll do in Byrd’s Creek, but I know that I want nothing more than to be there.

I’ll write as soon as they tell us we can go. I dream of holding you in my arms, my love.

Yours Truly,

Rafe

May 2, 1865

My Darling Rafe,

The rumor here, and in Columbia, for Daddy has said the same, is that the 1st South Carolina is being disbanded at the end of June! I am trying not to count my chickens, but still, I am giddy with happiness at the prospect. Since the assassination of President Lincoln, rumors have surrounded us on every topic, however, so I daren’t get my hopes too high.

Some Yankees have come, toting their belongings and buying up land that the people of Edisto and Wadmalaw can’t afford to pay back taxes on. Pay taxes with what, I ask you? So far there have been three of these “carpetbaggers,” as they call them, moving in and acting superior. The poor families have been tossed out with nowhere to go. The townspeople all over the islands are trying to take them in, and provide, although providing for ourselves is enough of a burden. Daddy says they’ll not have any of his land, and he has papers to prove that he paid during the war. I suspect they are letters of convenience rather than truth, but what these Yanks are doing is wrong, too.

I long to see you, and to declare myself for any and all as Mrs. Rafe Colton.

All My Love,

Your Livvie

June 8, 1865

Dearest Rafe,

It is with such sadness that I must tell you what has happened. Seven days ago a Yankee carpetbagger came into Byrd’s Creek, and he spent time at the courthouse, and with Daddy. Daddy didn’t want to see him at first, but the man, Mr. Monighan, had a letter of introduction from someone in Columbia, and Daddy let him in. On the third day, they went before the Yankee judge that’s been coming once a month, and by the end of that meeting Mr. Monighan had bought your house and land for $35. The judge said your mama hadn’t paid the taxes since before the war. That very day the Yankee took himself out there with the new sheriff, his hateful papers in hand, and made your mama and Nackie leave without much more than the clothes on their back. He said the furniture and everything else was part and parcel of the sale, and he waved those papers around. Daddy had sent Wyman out there with him, too, and Wyman and Mr. Monighan, they just pushed them right out the door. Nackie was able to keep the old cart, because Wyman said it wasn’t worth anything anyway, and the horse, because Mr. Greene hadn’t let you buy her, so they came on into town. Nackie was afraid to say anything about me, so both my things and yours were left behind. Your mama is staying with Mrs. Hauser, out on her farm, leastwise til some Yankee buys it, and Nackie is staying here in our barn with Micah, although Daddy doesn’t know it.

Rafe, I’m so sorry. Terrible things are happening all over, with rumors of the same thing reaching us from Savannah and Charleston. I am ashamed that Daddy helped, and I hope that you’ll forgive me for not being able to stop him. Please come home quickly, as soon as you can. Your mama isn’t well, and this has just about done old Nackie in.

With Sorrow,

Liv

Chapter Thirty

July 3, 1865

Byrd’s Creek

R
AFE HOPPED OFF THE BACK of the wagon, waving thanks to the old man driving it. In Charleston, he had sought out Mr. Greene, but that good man had suffered much in the last two years of the war, and no longer had a horse to spare, although Rafe had stayed the night and been fed a hot breakfast before heading out. Mrs. Greene, no longer plump nor cheerful, still mustered a big smile for Rafe and sent him on his way with a parcel of warm biscuits and blackberry jam.

No stranger to long marches, he had set out on foot from the Greene’s house, strolling through the waterfront. There were small local fishing boats, but they were outnumbered by the various ships that had taken part in the blockade. Supply ships were allowed into the port, but they were searched. Rumors were swirling that there were still conspirators wanting to kill President Andrew Johnson; that there was a plot to reignite the Civil War; that there were Yankee anarchists wanting to set fire to large Southern cities, Charleston among them. Consequently Union forces had taken over, creating tension with the locals.

As he approached the bridge to James Island a wagon half full of barrels and boxes approached. He was in his uniform, such as it was, tattered and threadbare, but still the grey of the Confederacy. It was all he had. The wagon stopped. and the driver, an old man with most of the teeth missing from a welcoming smile, asked where he was going.

“Edisto Island, sir. Byrd’s Creek.”

“Hop on, son, least I can do for one of our boys in grey.” The man waited as Rafe climbed in back, stretching out.

He fell asleep with the rolling motion of the wagon, and awoke as they crossed the bridge from Wadmalaw to Edisto. It was strange to sleep without worrying, and he still had terrible dreams, but those hours on the cart were peaceful and blessedly free of nightmares.

The old man had let him off in front of the general store, and Rafe stood there, his rucksack at his feet, taking in the sight of his town. Where it used to be whitewashed and clean, with homes and stores proudly maintained, he now saw dilapidated porches, peeling paint, boarded windows and doors. It was like every other town he’d been in over the last year, and not as bad as many, but this was his home, and it was doubly depressing.

He hefted the pack and went into the store. He and Livvie and arranged to meet at the Hauser farm in the evening, giving him time to get to town before visiting his mama. He hoped that he wouldn’t run into Hugh Byrd or Wyman Phelps in the meantime.

“Rafe Colton! Welcome home!” Mrs. Smith, the owner’s wife, ran around the counter and hugged him, tears in her eyes. She had lost her son in 1863 at Gettysburg. Rafe knew that seeing him reminded her of John, who had been two years younger than himself, much too young to have died that day.

“Thank you, Mrs. Smith, thank you kindly. It’s… different now, isn’t it?” he asked.

She nodded, pointing to her once-f shelves, now sparse and bare. “I reckon so. Not sure what we’re gonna to, to be honest. But we’ll get by. We always do, with the good Lord’s help.”

“Yes’m,” Rafe said, but he was pessimistic. Men like Jeb Greene, with skills and equipment that could be quickly put back into service, would get by. In fact, Jeb would probably get rich in the reconstruction era. He’d said as much when he was there, and Jeb had once again extended his offer of a job. He thought he would probably accept this time – what was there for him in Byrd’s Creek now?

“Have you seen old Nackie, ma’am?” he asked.

“He walked by here not ten minutes ago, I believe,” she said. “Heading that way, out to the east.”

Rafe picked up the rucksack, slung it over his shoulder, and nodded to Mrs. Smith. He left the store and turned left, following in the old man’s footsteps.

He caught up with Nackie at the outskirts of town. The old negro was using a walking stick, one that Rafe recognized as having been his grandfather’s. His back was stooped, and Rafe hated to see him walking so far.

“Nackie!” he called, jogging to catch up with the man.

Nackie slowly turned, and his eyes lit up when he saw Rafe. “Mistuh Rafe, suh! You’s home! Praise the Lord!” Rafe hugged him, realizing just how shrunken the man had become.

“Are you on the way to see Mama?” he asked.

“Yes, suh. Yo mama and me, we been together a long time. Don’t seem right now, bein’ apart. But Miz Hauser, she ain’t got much herself, and even this old man eats too much when you ain’t got nothin’.”

“How’s she doing? Mama, I mean?” Rafe asked.

Nackie was silent for a long moment, speaking volumes. Finally he said, “Not so good, Mistuh Rafe, not so good. She was already weak from those fevers, and then when that man took her house, why she just died inside. She’s right back where she was, not talkin’ and not movin’. Miz Hauser, she been mighty good to her. She was a friend of your grandmama, and she’s all alone now, so she’s dotin’ on poor Miz Mariah. But I don’t know, suh, I just don’t know.”

Rafe didn’t press him for more. He knew the thing Nackie didn’t know: how long his mother was going to live.

Mariah Colton was propped on a long upholstered sofa wrapped in quilts, even though the day was hot and humid. Her hair was lank, her skin frighteningly pale, her lips bloodless. Mrs. Hauser put her hand on Rafe’s arm and squeezed.

“Now dear, she’s not well, as you can see. Don’t be upset if she doesn’t recognize you, you hear? This is one of her bad days, I’m afraid.”

Rafe wondered if she ever had good days. He walked over and sat down gently next to her. She was skeletal, the bones of her face just under the skin, and her body taking up no space under the covers. With the quilt drawn up under her chin, he couldn’t take her hand, but he stroked her hair.

“Mama? It’s me, it’s Rafe.” He watched her face and saw nothing. No flicker of recognition, no warmth, no life. “I’m home now, Mama. The War’s over. I ain’t a soldier no more.” He could feel Nackie and Mrs. Hauser watching him, feel their pity. Anger burned in the pit of his stomach, anger against Mr. Hugh Byrd, against this carpetbagger Mr. Monighan, against the Yankee judge who gave his home away. He leaned over and kissed Mariah’s cheek, feeling the coldness there.

He stood up, clenching his fists. Without a word, he walked out of the room and out into the open. The air was full of the sound of birds and nothing else. He stalked over to a magnolia whose lower limbs had been hacked off, for firewood, he assumed. He kicked a root that had meandered up out of the ground, snaking through the dirt and grass, only to disappear again two feet on. He kicked it again, then again, then hit the tree and kicked its base, hitting and kicking until he felt the tears running down his face and the gnarled hands of Nackie on his arm.

“Mistuh Rafe… Come on now, Mistuh Rafe, you come inside with me. Mrs. Hauser, she has some nice sweet tea. You’ll feel better, you’ll see.”

Rafe allowed Nackie to lead him as far as the front porch, but he sat there on an old rocker, staring sightlessly down the drive. Nackie brought him tea that had been sweetened with honey, and sat down in the chair next to him, but neither spoke. Livvie would come down that drive, and as far as Rafe could tell, she was the only good thing left in his life.