Tennessee Twilight: A Civil War Novel – Free Online Novel – Webnovel

This is a work of fiction. The main characters and the incidents in their lives are fictional. The setting, historical personages, and events in the Civil War are real.

Chapter 13 << – Index – >> Chapter 15

Chapter Fourteen

Back at Bluesmoke, Amanda sat on the chaise longue in a stupor, her legs drawn up, her chin resting on her knees.

“Well, Josie, I made a mess of things again,” she said with a sigh. “I wanted to make things better for you, but I might have made them worse.”

“Don’t cry, Mama,” he whimpered, touching her wet cheek.

“What did you call me?”

“Sorry,” he said softly, lowering his head.

“Don’t be sorry. I think I’m ready for you to call me Mama.”

“Really?” he shrieked. He reached up to hug her, knocked her off balance, and both of them tumbled to the floor.

“Yes,” she cried, “forever and ever.”

She grabbed him up and cradled him in her arms like a baby, kissing his face all over. When she kissed his neck, he squealed with laughter.

“Ticklish on the neck, are we?” she said, burying her face between his chin and his shoulder. “I’ll have to remember that.”

“I’m going to wet myself,” he giggled.

“You’d better not,” she said, laughing out loud.
***
That night, Josie was sitting on Amanda’s lap in the chaise before the fire. She was telling him a bedtime story. Suddenly she heard a loud bang on the front door, like someone was trying to break it down.

Before she could move, she heard a similar sound at the back door. As if those sounds were a signal of some sort, a whole cacophony of sounds—banging under the floors, tapping on the windows, knocking on the outside walls, and stomping on the roof—began all at once.

Then came the sound of voices. Many voices: a Rebel war cry, scary hoots and howls, and a very poor attempt at an Indian chant.

Amanda grabbed Josie and took cover in the corner of the center hall where there were no windows.

“Don’t worry, Josie,” she whispered. “They’re just trying to scare us.”

“Well, I’m surely scared,” he said, gulping.

Just then, a bullet passed through the open dining room door and stuck in the wall above their heads.

“This is all I will stand for!” Amanda said as loud as she could. But no one could have heard her above the commotion. She pushed Josie into the corner and told him to stay there.

She crawled to the sitting room, where she grabbed her revolver from the mantle, shoving extra bullets into the pocket of her skirt. She crawled on hands and knees to the dining room, where the bullet had shattered the window.

She rose up on her knees and fired, almost blowing a man’s head off. He had jumped up at the same time she did, but he wasn’t able to get off a round. She saw his body fly
backwards and land softly on the brick terrace, almost in slow motion.

She turned around and sat down on the floor beside the window, in a panic. She couldn’t catch her breath.

A deep voice from outside said, “Get up, old man. You’re not hit. She couldn’t hit a dog with a cannonball.”

“Do you want to find out?” Amanda shouted.

She heard running, shuffling feet, wagons’ wheels, and horses’ hooves, getting farther and farther away. Josie was shaking and crying when she got back to him.

“You shot them, didn’t you?” he sobbed.

“Luckily, I didn’t shoot anybody. I don’t want you to think that guns solve anybody’s problems. Usually they create more.”
* * *
The next morning, Crocker came riding in on his mule and wagon. She had allowed him to help her in the garden, in exchange for vegetables for his family.

Amanda greeted him from the front terrace. “Don’t come any closer,” she said.

“What is this now?” he said sourly. “Well, let’s have it. Say what you have to say.”

“There’s no work for you here today. Nor any day,” she said coldly. “Do you expect me to take your insults forever?” She walked out into the oval carriage drive.

“Oh, you mean that thing at church? That was nothing,” he said. “Just a little fit of temper. I didn’t mean nothing by it.”

“I have taken your bad behavior as a consequence of your own ignorance,” she said calmly. “Now your insolence is hurting people I love, and I won’t take that!” She bent over and picked up a rock.

“Now, don’t go on like that,” he whined. “I need the food. With all my sons fighting in the army, it’s hard to feed my large flock.”

“You should have thought of that yesterday when you were assaulting my character,” she said angrily. “I intended to make my past known, but not like that. And I don’t appreciate you and your bigoted friends coming here last night. I’m an adult; I can take it, but you scared Josie nearly to death. He had bad dreams all night long.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said. “What happened?”

“You’d better tell them not to come back. I just might shoot somebody next time.”

“I can’t tell them, because I don’t know who it was,” he insisted.

“Well, I don’t believe you,” she replied, staring him down.

“Come on now, Mrs. Armstrong.”

“I am barring you from my land from this day forward.”

“You can’t do that,” he begged. “There’s still work to be done in the garden, and you’ll need my help to get your firewood in for the winter.”

She threw the rock she had been holding in her hand. It hit the mule’s hoof and scared it so much it took off up the lane. Amanda laughed at the sight of the poor little mule running wildly, while Crocker struggled to stay in the wagon.

Saturday, September 3, 1864

When Amanda heard Luke call out, she ran out onto the front terrace. He was tethering his horse at the gatepost.

“It is you!” she shouted, running to meet him.

“Yes, Mama, it’s really me,” he said, smiling happily.

He grabbed her and hugged her tightly, kissing her cheek several times. “I’ve waited a long time to do that,” he said.

“Come in,” she urged. “You look hot and tired.”

“I am that,” he said, wiping his brow.

“Your poor face,” she said, touching the visible scars on his cheeks.

“It’s all right.”

“What happened to the house?” Luke asked.

“There’s a lot I need to tell you.”

In the sitting room, he grabbed her and hugged her again.

“You haven’t hugged me like this since you were a boy.”

“I know,” he said. “Papa said if he ever caught me fawning over you again, I’d be sorry.
Remember how I hugged you the morning he beat me?”

“He didn’t see us.”

“Yes, he did. He walked up behind you and looked directly into my eyes. I knew I was in
for it.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I was going to take my punishment like a man. I had no idea he’d try to kill me.”

“He blamed that whole situation on me,” she said. “I had hounded him so much, he lost control.”

“He would have said anything at that point to save his own hide.”

Josie came in through the back door. “Mama,” he said, and then stopped when he saw Luke.

“Who’s this?” Luke looked stunned. “Did he call you Mama?”

“This is one of the things I need to tell you about,” she said.

She introduced Luke to Josie, and explained how Josie came to be there. Luke didn’t seem too fond of the situation at first, but he came to her later in the day.

“Mama, I thought your generous heart had led you down the wrong path again, but the more I’m around Josie, the more I understand. He’s like a—a magnet—I don’t know how to say it but that.”

“I told you,” she said, smiling.

“I could be jealous, you know,” Luke said, his cheeks turning pink, “but I’m not.”

“I like having two boys.”

“When I left you last year, it was a selfish thing to do, Mama,” Luke said. Tears sprang to his eyes.

“Just seeing you now makes up for all that.”

“Can we go to Silver Plume’s tomorrow?” he asked. “I want to thank her for everything she taught me while I was growing up. The men call me Scout, because I’m so good at spying on the enemy.”

“Of course, we can go. She wants to see you, too. Where is the general encamped?”

“He’s happily ensconced at Mrs. Williams’s house in Greeneville. I think he’s missed the comfort of a soft bed and a roof over his head.”

“One of Catherine’s sons is in the Union army, and his wife lives there. That Union general named Gillem stayed there a few weeks ago. It’s not safe.”

“I know,” Luke said, calmly. “We went through all that, and he said not to worry.”

“Are you happy with General Morgan?”

“I’ve been disappointed by the conduct of some of his men. They’ve looted, stolen, and burned homes, especially on this last raid into Kentucky.” Luke sighed and shook his head.

“Then maybe it’s time you came home. Josie and I would love to have you.”

“Maybe I should,” he said, rubbing his chin, “but I don’t think I can leave him. He’s still a good man, but I don’t think his heart’s in it anymore. I think he’d be happy to just go home.”

“Why doesn’t he do that?”

“He still has a strong loyalty to the Confederacy. I don’t think he knows how to get out of it. Those months he spent in prison in Ohio changed him. I’m sure he doubted he would ever see his wife again. He clings to her more than before.”

“It seems to me—”

“But my loyalty to the man and what he stands for is as strong as ever.”

Amanda sighed, and said no more.

September 4, 1864

At some point during the night, Amanda was aware of quick steps and hushed whispers. Probably Luke or Josie going to the privy. They had stayed up late talking, and she was so tired.

Come morning, they would have a wonderful breakfast with the supplies Luke brought: salt, flour, sugar, and coffee. She had buried her nose in the little brown bag of ground beans, relishing the aroma she had missed more than anything else since the war began.

She thought Luke had whispered something in her ear, but she couldn’t quite make it out—something about somebody being in danger. But he would be back later. Was she dreaming?

She lay in bed for a few more minutes; until something Luke had said jarred her awake. She sat straight up.

She settled Josie, who was sleeping next to her, grabbed her boots and trousers, and ran onto the front terrace. She was hoping to catch Luke, but all she heard was his horse’s hooves galloping away in the distance.

The almost-full moon bathed the front yard in soft light. As she stood there, wondering if she should follow Luke, her peripheral vision caught some movement near the gatepost. She ran in that direction and soon made out Crocker’s form, astride one of his mules. He kicked the old creature, obviously having trouble getting it to move.

“What are you doing here?”

“Nothing,” he said.

“You told Luke something about General Morgan, didn’t you?” she asked, her heart thudding in her chest.

“Might have,” he said, clicking his tongue, urgently trying to get the mule to move, but Amanda ran forward, grabbed one of the reins, and held it tightly.

“What have you done now, old man?”

“Ain’t done nothing,” he said, looking everywhere except at her face.

She tried to remember what Luke had said. Something about General Morgan, that he was—think, Amanda, think! She slapped a hand against her forehead, trying desperately to clear her fuzzy mind.

“The news around these parts,” Crocker finally said, “is that somebody is riding hell-bent for General Gillem’s camp to tell him that General Morgan is at the Williams house.”

“Did you tell Luke that?”

“Might’ve.”

Amanda’s feet left the ground when she jumped up and grabbed the old man’s collar and pulled his face within inches of her own. “Did you?”

“‘Course I did.”

“You son of a bitch!” she shouted. She tightened her grip on his collar. “Prepare to die, Crocker, if anything happens to my boy,” she said in a gritty voice that she hardly recognized as her own. She gave him a good hard shove as she released her grip on his collar, and he fell off the mule with a thud.

“You better pray, old man,” she yelled as she ran for the barn. Her boots were still in her hand.

At the barn, she struggled with Molly, who didn’t appreciate having to move her arthritic legs in the damp predawn.

“Come on, old girl,” Amanda pleaded. “We have to go. Luke may be in trouble.” Molly quickly came right, as if she understood Amanda’s words.

What would she do about Josie?

The home of the Widow Wilkes was just up the road, on her way to Greeneville. The house was completely dark. She tapped lightly on the door.

“Mrs. Wilkes,” she called softly.

“What’s happening?” Widow asked, as she opened the door. There was abject fear in her face.

“I’m sorry to trouble you at this hour,” Amanda said. She quickly explained the situation to the sleepy woman.

“You go on and see about Luke. I’ll take care of Josie as good as you would until you return.”

“Thank you,” Amanda sighed, squeezing Widow’s hands.

The town was full of Yankees when Amanda arrived. A gray murky dawn was trying to break, but wasn’t having much success. She sneaked around the edges of the crowd that had gathered in front of the Williams house.

Just as she reached the front, she saw a Union soldier on a horse come galloping up the alley. He gave a shout, followed immediately by a shot. She saw General Morgan crouching down in the Williams’ vineyard. He clutched his chest and fell to the ground.
A bullet fired immediately afterward struck a young man who was trying to help General Morgan get away.

“Oh, Lord, it’s Luke!” Amanda shouted. She rushed forward, trying to get to her son. The man on the horse raised his gun to her.

“I’m the boy’s mother!” she screamed.

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” he said, “I’m sorry about the boy. He should have stayed out of the way.”

Her perfect child lay in a vineyard ripe with fruit. His bright blue eyes gleamed in the brightening light. She saw immediately that the bullet had cut his jugular. His warm red blood gushed out onto the bright green grass.

“Somebody help me!” she cried.

She got down on her knees and put one arm under his shoulders; the other, under his legs—like one would hold a baby—and tried to pick him up. When she lifted his shoulders, his head fell back. When she lifted his legs, his torso rolled out of her arms.

“Come on, now, Luke,” she whispered. “You’ve got to help me a little bit. You’ve got so tall, I can’t seem to—Luke,” she said louder, then her voice softened again. “Come on, sugar, help me just a little. We’ve got to get you home.”

Crocker was suddenly at her side. “Mrs. Armstrong,” he whispered, “let me help you.”

“Don’t you touch him!” she screamed.

“Don’t be that way,” Crocker whispered.

The man on the horse shouted to some of the soldiers who were standing nearby, “Get that woman out of here. She’s pitiful,” he said, spitting a stream of tobacco juice that landed on the ground near General Morgan’s head.

Some would say that General Morgan surrendered before he was shot; others would say not. Amanda wasn’t close enough to hear. Such a tragic figure he was, to come to such an untimely end.

Some Union soldiers lashed the General’s body to a mule, and then spooked it. The poor creature ran, its eyes wild with fright, while General Morgan’s body flapped and jerked.

“Stop that!” Amanda screamed, but they paid no attention.

A man finally took the mule’s reins and paraded it through the streets, while the soldiers laughed.

Crocker brought his wagon and hauled Luke’s body to Bluesmoke. Amanda followed close behind on Molly. They laid Luke on the old chaise in the sitting room.

Josie began to sob as soon as he saw the blood on Luke’s shirt.

Crocker asked Widow to stay with Amanda, while he made arrangements to bury Luke. As Crocker was leaving, Amanda ran onto the front terrace. “This is your fault!” she shouted at him with a raised fist.

* * *
Jonathan arrived from Strawberry Plains. Crocker had managed to get word to him. Amanda recalled speaking to Jonathan when he arrived, but she couldn’t remember what he said. He cried incessantly.

“Stop making such a scene,” she told him, not thinking about how heartbroken he must be. He hadn’t seen Luke since the day he beat him. Now he was forced to look at his son’s scarred face.

Josie cried all day, no matter how much Widow tried to lift his spirits. Amanda sat in a stupor.

“I think you’re so sad, because your Mama’s so sad, aren’t you?” Widow asked Josie.

“No, I met Luke yesterday, and he was kind to me. He didn’t make me feel like I don’t belong here—like some other people do.”

Amanda’s emotions were in a large ball in the middle of her chest. At times, it almost cut off her breath entirely.

They moved Luke’s body to the center hall, where they could gather around the chaise. When Amanda glanced at him at a certain angle, it looked like he was just sitting there. She touched his pale cold face and turned up the collar of his shirt to hide the wound in his neck.

Amanda had planned to read some scripture, and lead them in singing a few hymns, but when the time came, Amanda couldn’t get the words out. Widow took the Bible from her, read the marked passages, and led them in singing, in a rich alto voice.

After the service, Jonathan came up behind Amanda. He reached out to touch the small of her back. She remembered how much Jonathan once loved to caress her back, how proud he had been of her slim waist. She sidestepped his advance.

“I will send a request to my commander that I be allowed to remain at home a few weeks—until you are feeling better,” Jonathan said.

She floated across the floor to the curved staircase, turning as she reached the first step. “I saw one of your precious Yankees blow a hole in my child’s neck. I don’t want you here,” she said coldly.

“I know this is a difficult time,” he stuttered.

“If the war ends before we’re all killed, I will leave here,” she said. “This is your property. Right now I have responsibilities here, Josie—to whom you turn up your nose—you might as well say what’s on your mind about Josie.”

“I have nothing to say about Josie,” Jonathan said calmly, hanging his head.

“And I have nothing to say to you.”

“Very well,” he said softly,” I will return to my duties. Take care of yourself, Amanda.”

Crocker brought in a nicely crafted pinewood coffin. They carried Luke’s body to the family cemetery, where they buried him next to Charles. Amanda was only able to say a few words before they lowered Luke’s body into the grave somebody had already dug.

She turned to Crocker and said, “You killed my son, just as surely as if you pulled the trigger yourself. I don’t ever want to see your sorry face again!”

Saturday, September 17, 1864

For the first time since Luke’s death, Amanda went downstairs, and ate breakfast. She knew how worried Josie was about her, and she made a supreme effort to allay his fears as much as possible.

“I am so thankful, Widow Wilkes, for your help,” Amanda said. “I don’t know how I would have managed without you, but I don’t want to impose on you further.”

“You’re certainly welcome,” Widow said. “I’m glad to do it, and it keeps me from feeling so lonesome. Don’t worry for a minute about imposing on me. When the day comes you don’t need me anymore, I’ll go back home.”

“I’m sure your house needs some attention.”

“Josie and I have been there almost every day—while you napped in the afternoon.”

“Really?” Amanda said.

“Yeah,” Josie added. “I like to go there. There’s a nice big woods all around her house. I found some berries and scuppernongs.”

“He has a feast every time we go,” Widow said. “There’s really not much there to tend to—just a few sticks of furniture.”

“Furniture?” Amanda said, perking up. “We could sure use some furniture here. Poor Josie ends up sitting on the floor most of the time.”

“We can bring it, if you like,” Widow said. “Rebels stole my best wood furniture to burn in their fires. It’s nothing fancy, believe me. A small table and a few chairs.”

“Chairs! I can’t remember the last time I sat in a comfortable chair.”

“Well, they’re old, but still comfortable.”

“Let’s go get them right now,” Amanda said.

“Why don’t you let us do that,” Widow said, patting Josie’s head. “You’re still mighty weak, and you shouldn’t overdo.”

That afternoon, Amanda and Widow were sitting in the rockers they had brought from Widow’s place, in front of the fireplace in the sitting room. Josie was napping on the old chaise in the corner.

“Do you prefer being called Widow?” Amanda asked.

“It don’t matter much, I guess,” Widow said. “I’ve been called that so long—I’ve been widowed twice, you see—when I was very young. I doubt most people around here remember my real name.”

“What is it?”

Widow hesitated a moment.

“I think you’ve forgotten it, too,” Amanda said, smiling.

“No, I’ve not. It’s Eleanora.”

“That’s a beautiful name. Why don’t people call you that?”

“You’ll have to ask somebody besides me,” Widow said, shaking her head. “I was Jeb Long’s widow, then Arthur Wilkes’s widow. They started calling me The Widow, then just Widow.”

“Do you mind?”

“Not really. It’s just funny how people can be sometimes.”

“Amen,” Amanda said.

Widow’s appearance was a little old-fashioned—she was probably in her fifties—but she was always neat and clean. She wore her hair in a tight knot at the crown of her head. Amanda thought there was something elegant about her. Something in the way she carried herself. Despite the difficulties of her life, her self-confidence seemed never to waiver.

“I still miss Mr. Charles a right much.”

“That’s right,” Amanda said, remembering that long ago day when she and Widow talked in the churchyard. “You really loved him, didn’t you?”

“More than anyone I’ve ever known. I lost two children when I was young—one in childbirth and one to smallpox—but his loss affected me more even than that.”

“Were you ever in this house?”

“Lord, no,” Widow said. “Evalinda would have killed me—and him!”

“Do you think she knew about your relationship?”

“I can’t say. She never went anywhere. She didn’t have any friends. Charles was discreet, didn’t want to hurt her. I respected him for that. He’d come to my bed in the middle of the night, then rush back so he’d be in the kitchen when she came down. He did say she questioned him at first about his sudden habit of getting up so early. At Charles’s funeral was one of the few times I ever saw Evalinda.”

“Were you at the cemetery that day?” Amanda said. “Oh, I remember seeing a woman clothed all in black, with a veil over her face, leaning against a tree. It never occurred to me at the time that it was you.”

“I didn’t know whether to go or not go, in case Evalinda did know about the affair—but I couldn’t stay away completely. My whole body was shaking. I thought if I let go of that tree, I’d sink right away into the earth.”

“It was a sad day, made doubly sad by the drizzling rain.”

“Mr. Charles was a wonderful man—kinder to me than either of my husbands. I sure do miss him.”

“So do I,” Amanda said wistfully.

“You know, I don’t have a thing to remember him by—not that I need a reminder. Rarely does a day go by that I don’t have some thought of him. Did he leave any personal things? It’d be comforting to have something of his to hold to my heart when I’m sad.”

“My Lord, I forgot!” Amanda jumped up and hurried out of the room.

By the time Widow caught up to her, she was in the library. “What did you forget?”

“There’s a loose board in here somewhere,” Amanda said, squatting down. “Charles showed it to me a long time ago, and made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone about it. There was a metal box he hid under the board, but I don’t know what was in it. I don’t come in here very often. Out of about three hundred books, I salvaged thirty-two. Maybe I could have saved his books if I’d stayed here.”

“And maybe you’d be dead,” Widow said bluntly.

“Maybe so.”

“Where is the loose board?”

“I think it might be by the fireplace. It’s hard to remember.”

“Here?”

“No. I think it’s the other side,” Amanda said. “It sounds hollow when you step on it.”

They both started stepping heavily, and they couldn’t hear a thing.

“One board at a time,” Amanda said, laughing.

Widow looked as gleeful as a child.
“Wait,” Amanda said, listening to Widow’s footsteps, “step on that board right there again. Yes, that’s it! We need something to pry the end up with.”

“Would my pocket knife work?” the Widow asked, fumbling at the waist of her skirt.

“You carry a knife?”

“A woman alone can’t be too careful.”

“True enough.”

After several minutes of work, Amanda finally lifted the board, and pulled out a long narrow metal box. She set it on a bookshelf and opened it. The first thing she found was a tress of brownish, grayish hair, tied with a pink ribbon.

“Evalinda’s?” Widow asked.

“I’m sure it’s not,” Amanda said. “Probably his mother’s.”

Next, she pulled out a gold pocket watch. “That’s strange,” Amanda said. “We buried him with his pocket watch.”

“This was his father’s,” Widow said. “He showed it to me once. He adored his father, and he was a hard man to love.”

“Would you like to have this?”

Widow took the watch into her hand as if it were priceless. She carefully opened it, and discovered why he had kept the watch hidden. It held a picture of Widow. She carefully removed it, and another piece of paper floated to the floor.

“Saints be praised,” Widow whispered. Tears welled in her eyes.

Amanda picked up the paper that had fallen to the floor. It was a picture of a man. “Is this the other half of that picture?” Amanda asked, handing it to Widow.

“Yes,” Widow sighed. “My second husband, Arthur.”

Widow’s legs gave way; her face went white. Amanda grabbed her and helped her sit down on the floor.

“I thought he—” Widow stammered. “I thought he—” she began again.

“You thought he used you for his own pleasure?”

Widow’s tears kept coming, spilling down into her lap. “I gave up crying a long time ago,” she said, roughly wiping the tears from her face. She tried to stand, but Amanda held her down, afraid she would fall.

“I can’t,” Widow said, slapping at Amanda’s hands. “Let me go.”

“Listen to me,” Amanda said firmly. “This is a blessing.”

“What blessing?” Widow said angrily. “Why would he steal my picture?” She threw the watch across the room. It thudded against the wall.

“Maybe he decided that he couldn’t continue to see you. Knowing Charles as I did, he must have felt terrible about his infidelity. He probably took that picture to have something of yours with him—just like you want something of his to keep.”

“That makes no sense,” Widow said, drying her eyes.

“Wouldn’t you have enjoyed having a picture of him? Like you said—on your sad days.”

“Of course.”

“Then, there’s your answer,” Amanda said. “Charles loved you, Widow.”

“Surely not,” Widow said, shaking her head.

“Then, how do you explain this?” There was an envelope in the box with Widow’s name on it.

Widow grabbed it and clutched it to her breast. “I don’t understand.”

“At some point in time, he wrote a letter to you. I’ll let you read it in private.”

“No, stay with me.” Widow’s hands trembled as she opened the envelope and began to read the letter:

“My dearest Eleanora—he remembered my name!”

“See,” Amanda said.

“My dearest Eleanora,” Widow read out loud.

“I pray that someday this letter will find its way to you, though I can’t say how even God could make that wish come true. But I need to put down these words. I must unburden my heart. I’ve loved you so long—before you became aware of it, long before I came to your bed. But it’s unfair of me to mistreat you the way I have. You deserve so much more. I’m just a foolish old coward who has never had the backbone to go after what I want. I sit and wait for life to come to me—”

Amanda tiptoed out of the room.

Chapter 13 << – Index – >> Chapter 15